"They were so in awe of him, in fact," Arric continued, "That they have decided to join us much more directly. The entire tribe is now preparing to leave their homes and journey to Bastion."
There was a stunned silence.
"They will come in the spring, then?" ventured one General, still incredulous.
"No. Immediately," Arric said. "Apparently they consider it a holy journey, and will not delay. They are a northern people, and used to cold and snow. The greatest hardship will be when they arrive here."
The Anseilg tribe numbered in the tens of thousands, many of whom were men young and hale enough to serve as soldiers – a great influx of strong arms to ward off the Enemy. Now it would not only be they who came, but their children and elders as well.
"This will be the greatest migration Bastion has ever witnessed. They are likely to arrive in two months. We need to prepare quickly. General Tarrantian?"
Arric called upon the man who was in nominal charge of Bastion's domestic side, primarily the gathering and storage of food. It was an outmoded position – Bastion had not suffered from hunger since its earliest days, before the memories of any living man. The knowledge did come in handy from time to time, and so the mantle of that role was taken up anew with each generation.
"We'll have food enough for five winters, even with that many more mouths to eat it," Tarrantian replied without concern. "It is space for them to live in that concerns me."
Arric gestured for the man to continue.
Clasping both hands behind his back, the General was the picture of discipline as he spoke. "Bastion is full to the bursting, Wizard Arric. There are only a scattering of houses left fit to place a family in. There is no more room to build within the city, and people are uneasy at building outside the walls.”
A man stepped forward at the far end of the circle, one whom Ethion did not know. He was youthful, and the beard on his face was barely thick enough to be called such. For one so young to be made a General was unusual, and for him to be amongst this company was still more so. Ethion made a mental note to meet the man who had risen so high, so quickly.
"I have a suggestion," he said, and the depth of confidence in his voice belied his seeming youth. "It solves two problems. The one we have voiced now, and another: the destruction of Deem's Crossing."
There was a moment of silence, and many present hung their heads in renewed sadness at the tragedy that already seemed distant – so many and so dire had been the circumstances between then and the present.
The General continued. "The Crossing proved exceedingly useful in the brace of years it existed. Too useful to leave its role unfilled much longer. Another settlement should be erected to serve the purpose. Something much larger, a city, and heavily fortified. Once completed it will provide a number of benefits. Troops and supplies will again have a comfortable place to rest on their way to and from the border. Room will be freed within Bastion itself. New land can be cultivated around the settlement," The young leader paused for a moment before his next point to make sure he had everyone's attention. "Finally, it will form the foundation of a second strong defensive border." The General's steady gaze dropped for a brief moment, and his next statement was spoken to the floor. "Which may be needed, soon."
There were only a few low voices heard after he spoke, a handful muttering over the plan as the rest of the room mulled it over in their own minds.
After his own silent contemplations, Arric looked about at the others. "Does anyone have an objection to raise over this proposal?"
None spoke against the plan.
"Very well. Start your planning. I want possible locations, the number of soldiers, layfolk, and wizards to be sent, and a beginning timetable for construction," Arric ordered the man who'd introduced the idea, who bowed in acknowledgment.
Now Arric turned his eyes to Ethion, who had waited silently through the discussion.
"Thank you for joining us, Ethion. Did you have an issue to bring before us?"
"Yes, Arric. A somewhat difficult issue, but it must be given attention. We need to resume work on our transportation magic."
The look on Arric's face was stubborn, and he opened his mouth to deny Ethion flatly. Another man spoke first, though.
"Yes! It is about time someone brought this up," exclaimed one of the Generals. "Beg pardon, Wizard Arric," he apologized when he realized he had spoken over the Council Leader.
Ethion used the opening to speak again. "We have every reason to believe that the Enemy exhausted their resources within the city with their attack, and do not have the ability to repeat it. That spell is too important to delay any further."
"Absolutely right," said the General. "Even with our counterspell, Traigan possesses a vast advantage over us. Merely using it to move soldiers and supplies gives the Enemy a profound strategic edge."
Ethion tried to hide his pleasure at finding an ally in this endeavor, for between the two of them they had stopped Arric's protest before he'd uttered it.
Arric looked about the circle. The Generals and many of the wizards were nodding their heads in agreement. "Very well," he said. "We'll need precautions to prevent even the attempt at another such attack, nonetheless."
Ethion nodded. "Of course. I have already thought of some. Firstly, the wizards who carry out this research should be known to the Council, a team selected for the work. No haphazard experimentation. Secondly, all active trials with the spell should be announced beforehand, or take place only in a certain time frame to be decided by the Council."
"I see you've given this some thought," Arric said. "I assume you want to be among those selected?"
"I do. I also have a few other Wizards in mind," Ethion confirmed. He listed the names, finishing with Darius.
Arric raised an eyebrow. "You think he is ready to resume some manner of work?"
"I think it is exactly what he needs. He also remains the most intimately acquainted with the original spell."
"Very well. I leave it in your hands, Ethion."
Ethion blinked in surprise. He had expected a great deal more difficulty in convincing the Council Leader – but of course, why would Arric suspect anything but sincerity from him? Guilt rose in him as he realized that simply by having a hidden agenda he was in effect betraying the trust of his peers.
It would be worth it in the end. It had to be.
"Thank you, Arric. I'll get started right away. I'll let you know before we resume work in earnest."
Ethion bowed to the assembly and took his leave of the chamber.
"Can you tell me where we're going, yet?"
Ethion kept his eyes straight ahead as he answered. "The lower levels. I thought it would be obvious by now."
He and Pendrick were even then descending the final and lowest staircase of the Tower. Pendrick huffed and gave a shake of his head at the non-answer.
"I've agreed to help in this plan, Ethion, and I understand why we must be careful. But must you be so secretive even with me?"
Ethion's walk slowed as he considered. Finally he stopped and turned to face the other man, a figure only partially seen by the sickly light of a few distantly-placed torches.
"We are going to meet the others. Every wizard Darius could convince to help us."
Pendrick nodded. "Ah. How many?"
Ethion had started walking again. "I do not know. Darius said perhaps three, or four."
"He brings four, and you only bring me?"
"He insisted I not approach anyone else."
"Why?"
Ethion sighed. "Darius said that if he approached the wrong man and was brought before the Council, he did not wish me to be involved."
Pendrick's brow furrowed at the thought. "I see."
They resumed their walk, silent now. Eventually they came to the final twist in the corridor, and voices could be heard echoing softly out of the distant gloom. Ethion's heartbeat had quickened – he and Darius and all who had joined them were about to take a large step down a
very important path. Succeed or fail, things could not fail to change now.
The two wizards walked through the entrance, and Ethion's jaw immediately dropped. Darius was there, seated in a mighty stone chair to the right of the doorway. Before him, seated two apiece on curiously low benches, Ethion counted seven men.
Before Ethion recovered from his shock, Darius gestured to the new arrivals. "My friends, our last two compatriots are here."
There were nods of greeting from around the room. Ethion returned them, his mouth still slightly agape. Behind him, Pendrick gave a quiet exclamation of disbelief.
"Darius," Ethion said. "I thought you said two or three?"
With a rueful smile, Darius nodded. "I know. It would seem, though, that we are not quite the radicals we first believed." Darius gestured to one of the wizards seated before him, a blonde man with a heavy beard and an intense stare. Barely visible above the collar of his robes was the scarring that covered much of the man's upper body. Alexander was one of the handful of wizards in history who, like Darius so recently, had survived the tender attentions of a Demon.
"Alexander was the last of the four I went to. He brought four others. We, Ethion, are far from the first wizards to see that our fates are commanded by the Aeonians."
The ghost of a smile appeared on Alexander's face. "Every man in Bastion knows that, Darius. Those of us here are the only ones who seem to find fault with it. We," he indicated four others seated near him, the group of wizards he had brought, "have been talking about it for years, how the world could be without the War. We never thought anything could be done about it. Until now."
Darius nodded. "Indeed, something can be done – but it should not be done lightly. Each of you knows the extent of what we hope to achieve – no longer will the Aeonians govern the lives of our people. The Choirs and the Demons can continue their Great War beyond the boundaries of our world, and leave us in peace."
"If we succeed," Darius said somberly, and paused for a moment. "The Archangel Aethel supports us in this goal. It is only because of him that we have any chance. The spell which will see our task complete is an Angelic ritual, and it is he who has given it to us. He has taught it to me, but will come again to share it with the rest of you, when we are ready."
"Wouldn't it be best to learn it now?" asked one man. "We may need time to practice..."
He trailed off as he realized Darius was chuckling softly at the suggestion. "I could not teach it to you if I tried. Fear not, though. This is no mortal spell – it needs no experimentation. It is Heavenly magic, suited perfectly to its task."
Darius did know the ritual. Aethel had imparted it directly into his mind – but the knowledge of such powerful magic carried with it no understanding. Darius knew it would work – he had no idea why. It was an unsettling schism.
"There are other requirements, and plans to be made. It is my hope that when we leave here, we will know precisely how – and when – our great work will be carried out."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The room was brightly lit by Pyre's standards, bricks of dried sod burning in raised braziers all about the room. The ceilings were high, allowing the smoke to rise substantially before escaping through holes in the roof, never bothering those below. The man Traigan sought was, as usual, lounging on a divan piled high with luxurious furs and pillows. On the floor beside him lay a woman, sleeping on yet more of the extravagant fur coverings.
When Geralt had returned from his years-long mission in Bastion, Traigan had greeted him warmly – this man, after all, had done an unheard-of service to Pyre, infiltrating their leadership and living amongst them for many years. The information he had provided to Traigan in that time had undone countless enemy plans. As with all those who served him well, the Warlord had heaped rewards upon the former wizard, granting him the right to have whatever he wished in the city – with the usual stipulation that he not interfere with the War. Geralt had wasted no time in taking advantage of the Warlord's generosity. His apartments had belonged to a cadre of Chieftains in good standing, evicted the very day of Geralt's return.
Next to Geralt's bed was a bowl full of a smoldering herb, the resultant white smoke rising seductively to the sky. As Traigan approached, Geralt used one hand to waft the sweet-smelling smoke towards his face, breathing deeply. Menshah smoke was mildly intoxicating and was often used to perfume the sleeping chambers of influential individuals. Geralt seemed to be burning it like grass.
Geralt did not even look as the Warlord moved a stool closer to him and sat, joining in the enjoyment of the menshah.
Geralt did not look at his commander. Traigan could see that the man's eyes were half lidded – his movements were lazy and slow. Obviously the wizard had been indulging in the smoke for a long time.
"You honor me with your visit, Warlord."
Traigan grunted.
"You have been honoring me often."
"There is still a great deal you have to tell me, Geralt," Traigan answered sharply. He looked to the girl on the floor, young with black hair and a sublime figure. Her back was to the Warlord, but he recognized her by the hair and exotic dark skin. "Her again?"
"She is my favorite."
Traigan chuckled. "I'll have your name branded on her ass."
Geralt's hand, lazily as before, dropped down to caress the girl. His fingers traced up her thigh, across her buttocks and onto the small of her back.
"Why would I want to mar such beautiful skin?"
She gave a soft murmur and stirred, and Geralt returned his hand to caressing the smoke with the same tenderness he had shown to the girl.
There was no answer from Traigan. Instead, the Warlord abruptly changed the subject, launching into the line of questioning he had come for. At the change of tone Geralt's eyes came open, his mind and body coming fully awake to answer the demands of his commander. Today the questions were strange – how much land did Bastion cultivate? What crops? When did they plant? When did they harvest? Geralt answered to the best of his ability, though as a wizard he'd had nothing to do with farming. He did, however, have an immaculate memory, and recited every detail he had overheard in his years amongst the Enemy.
The line of questioning almost amused Geralt. Before it had been about troops – how many? Where? How many are recruited from abroad each year? - and other directly war-related information. His third day back Traigan had had the traitor wizard sketch the details of every map he'd ever seen while in Bastion. Geralt was a poor artist and could only give the Warlord a broad sense of the lands about Bastion, and an even more general one of the explored lands beyond. It seemed to satisfy the Warlord, though.
At one point, during a lull in the interrogation, the slumbering girl upon the floor came awake. She looked coyly over her shoulder to see who spoke to her master. She could not have recognized the Warlord's face, but the circlet upon his head was unmistakeable. Her eyes went wide and she spun around to place her forehead upon the floor in supplication. Traigan did no more than flick an annoyed glance at her, and then Geralt.
The wizard took the hint. "Food for the Warlord and myself," he ordered her. She half-rose to obey, but froze again when her eyes met the burning orbs of the lone Thrall that had followed Traigan into the room. She crouched, paralyzed with fright, until Geralt flicked her on the rear with one hand. "Go!"
The woman scurried from the room without bothering to cover herself, moving gracefully even in her haste. Traigan smirked appreciatively.
"She has not been in the city long," he observed.
"No. She came in with the last recruitment gang. I took her off their hands."
The recruiters responsible for combing outlying villages for strong boys and potential sorcerers also had the habit of bringing along the most attractive women for the army's pleasure. The demand was constant – the smooth loveliness of youth was a flower that wilted quickly in Pyre.
Traigan resumed his questioning, moving now from farming to the industries of Bastion. Who m
ade the armor and weapons? How many were devoted to these tasks? Geralt never showed any confusion or curiosity at the topics the Warlord was concerned with; he simply answered. The girl eventually brought in a tray of bread and roasted meats, and was dismissed as soon as she set it down. For almost an hour The Warlord continued his questioning over the domestic life of the Enemy, until the braziers began to burn low and Geralt had to call for a servant to replenish the fuel.
"Do the wizards contribute to the firing of iron ore?" Traigan asked when they were once again alone. In Pyre, the lower ranks of sorcerers were required to assist in this task, as there was not enough wood and the more plentiful fuels like sod and dung did not burn hot enough. Sorcerers hated it, but it was essential to the War, and Traigan brooked no argument – nor had his predecessors.
"No. Wood and coal is plentiful in Bastion. Your wizards would no doubt hate to learn that."
"My sorcerers."
Geralt snorted. "What is the difference?"
Traigan chuckled. The wizard continued, lighting another bowl full of the menshah as he did.
"Wizards or sorcerers, soldiers or warriors. Angels, or Demons. Different names, only."
"Surely the Aeonians are not so similar as a wizard and a sorcerer."
Geralt looked up with unfocused eyes and an enigmatic smile.
"Aren't they?" was his answer. "Balkan told me once, years ago, that if two actions have an identical outcome, then the actions themselves can be considered as identical. The same may as well apply to people – or the Aeonians." Geralt laid himself back upon the divan. "A very clever man, was Balkan."
Traigan's lip curled. He was well aware of how clever the damned wizard had been – he had killed several men and wrecked part of the palace in a final act that still had the sorcerers baffled.
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