High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (9 page)

“This council wasn’t
my
idea,” I said, defensively, after I’d listed to her the reasons why I should go in our private chambers that evening, after breaking the news at dinner.  “The Alka Alon want me to testify about the Dead God.  I’ve been summoned, and considering all they’ve done for us, I don’t feel right refusing.”

“I just . . . You know I just don’t like you going away like this.  Especially to . . . to
them
,” she said, guiltily.  She looked around, as if there were Alka hiding under the bed.  “I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling . . .”

“The place I’m going is
Carneduin
,” I said, soothingly. “It’s one of the wonders of the ancient world.  It’s been around since before the Magocracy.  A sanctuary of lore and learning, even among the Alka Alon.  Only a handful of humans have ever
seen
it, and no one knows where it is – not really.  It’s somewhere in the Kulines, supposedly.  Some beautiful, gorgeous, perfect little valley that you can only get to by magic.”

“It sounds lovely,” she said, unconvinced.

“It sounds perfectly safe,” I pointed out.  “No hidden minions of the Dead God, no assassins from the Censorate, no feuding vassals or vengeful enemies.  Just inquisitive Alka Alon lords – or whatever they use – asking me polite questions about Boval Vale.”

“There are more dangers than the blade of a knife,” she reminded me.  “Just . . . be careful,” she pleaded.  I grasped her hands in mine.

“Pentandra will be there.  Master Guri will be there.  Dara will be there.  Don’t worry – I’ll be very well protected.  And no power in the land, sea, or sky could keep me from coming back to you,” I promised her, kissing her on her forehead.  “Certainly not a bunch of short, naked Tree Folk.”

That seemed to mollify her. I should have known.  Some arguments don’t need to be made logically, but emotionally.  Particularly to your wife.  I was learning.

*                            *                            *

“We are ready for you now, Magelord,” came the sweet bell-like invitation from Lady Ithalia, at twilight the next morning as we arrived at the base of Matten’s Helm.  An Alkan magelight glowed overhead, at the summit of the spire on the summit of the summit.
Lesgaethael
, they called it
.
  It was breathtaking.  It was also a long, steep walk to the top.  Lady Ithalia did not seem troubled at the prospect.

She had re-transformed from the startlingly beautiful human-like woman we’d grown used to for months into her original form.  Still pretty, and still female, but three feet shorter and no breasts.  Or clothes.  When the Alka ambassadors favored us with their humanoid forms, they wore clothes to humor us and because they enjoyed the novelty, but they went naked when they were shortened.  It took a little getting used to.  Even the Tal Alon servants we employed were wearing clothes, now.

“So
who
exactly are we meeting?” I asked.  “And where precisely are we going?”

“The Halls of Carneduin,” Ithalia answered, as she led us up the path.  “The retreat of sages and songmasters.  Many councils of old were held there.  Even some of your folk were involved,” she said, a little patronizingly.  Dara shot me a quizzical look, and I gave her a grave nod in return.  She smirked, but didn’t say anything. 
She
was learning.

“I feel all the more honored to have been invited,” I responded by rote.  “Who rules Carneduin, and who else have they invited?”

“The master of Carneduin is Raer Haruthel, a songmaster of great renown and mighty lord among my people.  He often facilitates councils for matters affecting this realm.  He is wise and impartial to a fault when it comes to his dealings with the other great lords,” she explained.

“I thought they weren’t really lords?” Dara asked, before I could stop her.  She was huffing and puffing, carrying our baggage.  I’d hoped that would be burden enough to keep her quiet.  Once again I’d underestimated the loquaciousness of a fourteen year old girl.

“Let us use the term for convenience,” agreed Ithalia.  “In humani terms, Haruthel would be considered such rank as a Duke, or a grandmaster of his craft.  More importantly, he runs the sanctuary of Carneduin.  He
built
Carneduin, as it is, and is responsible for its safety and security.  A fair Alkan,” she decided.

“Good,” Dara said, catching my eye guiltily.

“Not necessarily,” said Ithalia. 

I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I had to ask another question before Dara did.  “Who else is likely to show up?”

“Emissaries from all the major strongholds and refuges will be there,” she told us, as we reached the first clearing.  Pentandra’s Veil loomed ahead, but Ithalia parted it with a wave of her hand.  “But it is likely that Raer Aeratas of Anthatiel will be in attendance.  He is rarely away from that beautiful but  hidden land.  He stays at the magnificent Tower of Vision, in the Lake of Rainbows, except in very special circumstances.  But his stronghold lies closest to the domain of the Abomination, so he will wish his opinions known, and the other lords will look closely to his counsel.”

“I can’t imagine he’d want Shereul as a neighbor,” I observed, as I stumbled gracelessly over a rock in the path. 

“He has no love for humani,” Ithalia said, quietly over her shoulder.  “He is known to be unhappy with your settlement of the westernmost lands.  He looks down upon the ruined forests from his beautiful city and despairs of your waste and shortsightedness.”

“Well . . . maybe I can convince him we’re not as bad as the gurvani,” I offered, weakly.

“Mayhap,” agreed Ithalia, skeptically.  “More friendly to your folk is likely to be Raer Micrethiel, mistress of Nandaroriel.  Though not a powerful stronghold, she is nonetheless very respected for her deep wisdom.  Raer Letharan will be less inclined to be sympathetic to the Duchies.  He once admired the humani, but after your ancestors destroyed the Magocracy you fell from his favor.  He shut his realm’s gates against your folk ever since.  Even worse is Aronin Radas.  She never favored your folk’s grant to so much of our realm, and hated the chaos you brought even as she rejoiced in the beauty of your trees.”

“But she has nothing directly against us?” I asked, pressing for some context to make this information useful.  I was playing for all of humanity here, I needed to know to whom I was speaking.   “Nothing
personal?
”

“I would not know such things,” Ithalia said, reluctantly.  “I am only recently come under the eye of such powers.  But the Lady of the Grove cannot ignore the threat that the Abomination poses, and that her realm would soon be troubled by it.  There are other powers at council as well.  Many smaller refuges will send representatives to Master Haruthel’s invitation, but those are the Great Houses.  The ones most likely to dominate the council.”

“This council is to determine how to fight the Abomination, then,” I summarized.  Ithalia stopped, and then started walking again.

“No, Magelord.  The council is to examine the appearance of the Abomination, the resulting loss of our refuges to his attacks, and other recent changes in the Duchies.  Including your own rise to power.”

There was something she wasn’t telling me.  I could tell.  “But that’s not all, is it?”

“Magelord, perhaps it would be best for you to save your questions for the council?  I am but their emissary!”

I’d irritated an Alka Alon.  My day was complete.

“The lass is grumpy, today,” Master Guri grunted from behind me somewhere.  The Karshak Alon stonesinger who had built the spire and who was now building my new castle trudged along wearing some outlandish garb.  Including an ornate apron and a ridiculous high-crowned hat.  Dara giggled.

“This is the ceremonial outfit of a stonesinger?” I’d asked him when he’d first shown up at the Great Hall unexpectedly that morning, dressed so flamboyantly.  I was intrigued.  “And why are
you
going?”

“Yes, it is.  And because of orders,” he said, gruffly. 

“From the Alka Alon?”

“From my elders in the lodge.  Just technical stuff, but they want a report made to the council, and I got elected.
Se
lected, actually.”  He sounded simultaneously proud and disgusted. “Two lifetimes o’ work to do here, and they have me attending bloody banquets!”  I certainly didn’t mind the gruff stonesinger’s company on the trip.  Guri had become a trusted friend and advisor.  I’d allowed his folk free reign of the snowstone mountain, which they were as excited over as the Alka Alon, though for different reasons.  My trust had paid off handsomely.  It was some kind of mystical place for them, apparently.

But that had secured Guri’s invaluable assistance and, it seemed, his loyalty.  He’d explored the mountain thoroughly and had recovered prizes beyond mere snowstone for me.  I’d even brought a few of them as gifts to the council.  Fallawen had instructed me that the Alka Alon do not trade – they give gifts.  It was traditional to bring a “gift” to council.  If the council was favorable, then they would “gift” me in return, hopefully in irionite.  That made negotiations with the Alka Alon a bit frustrating, from our perspective.  It’s hard to complain about a gift.  But I suppose that was the idea.

Lady Ithalia led us the rest of the way to the summit in silence, while I tried to keep track of who the principals were in my head.

The top of Matten’s Helm was now a different world.  It was
Lesgaethael
now, and it was becoming more Lesgaethael every day. 

The spire complex was on the higher side of the truncated hill, to the northeast.  There was a nine-story tower of slender Alka Alon design, made entirely of snowstone quarried from my mountain and transported here by Guri’s masons, at Alka Alon request.  The graceful spire towered over the small complex below, which acted as a kind of hostelry and meeting place between our two races.  Lesgaethael was functionally the Alka Alon embassy, and while I had witnessed its speedy, magically-aided construction by the Karshak Alon, I was still amazed every time I saw it up close.

It was adorned with trees and plants of all varieties, but clearly favored were those especially loved by the Alka.  In the center of the elegant courtyard the single tree they had planted first was thriving, ten feet tall now, producing a kind of mysterious light on its own.  Alkan magelights, each one a pale blue teardrop shape, studded the exterior of their spire and provided illumination just a little above full moonlight.  Overhead their beacon shown.

The entire palace was filled with the feeling of magic.  The very stones seemed to sing their joy of being privileged to be there.  

We were interrupted by Pentandra and Lady Varen, the third Alka Alon ambassador, who shimmered into existence near their special tree.  Lady Varen was her normal self and naked.  Pentandra was dressed in Remeran-styled formality, a long gown of red and gold satin with a matching perky headdress.  She bore the Staff of the Order, an ornately gaudy stick-of-office I was supposed to carry at official functions.  I had left it in a closet in my quarters in Castabriel, but she had thoughtfully remembered the useless thing for me.  As well as my equally-awful official funny hat.

“I thought you might need these,” she said, sweetly, as she pushed them into my hands.  “It is your first official appearance before the Alka council as head of the human Arcane Orders, after all.  Try to make a good impression.”

“Please assume places around the perimeter of the circle,” Ithalia said, leading us to the smooth-cut flags that surrounded their special tree.  I put my toes on the crack and nodded.  Pentandra and Dara, to the left and right of me, did likewise. 

I heard the others grunt their readiness then there was a flash, a twist, a moment of terror . . .

. . . and I suddenly smelled mountains.

Chapter Three

The Council Of Carneduin

Not ‘mountains’ as in the little hills that passed for such in the Uwarris – but
mountains
, giant slabs of solid stone rising hundreds and hundreds of feet into the air.  The Kulines, I could tell by the sweet, piney aroma.  The fresh air was like a sharp slap in the face.  We were in the Kuline Range, somewhere, hundreds of miles north of Sevendor.  It was cooler.  And the sun was at a different angle.

“Welcome to the Vale of Carneduin,” Ithalia bid us, bowing graciously in welcome.  “It has been an age since an embassy from the humani has been here, far too long.  Let us show you to your quarters, and then we shall greet the Master of the Hall, Lord Haruthel, as is fit for visitors.  He wishes to see the Spellmonger first.”

I didn’t look at her.  I was too busy trying to look at everything else. 

Carneduin was
stunning
.  It was stately and sublime, beautiful and casual all at the same time. 

We had appeared on the northern side of a river valley that ran east to west for several miles in both directions.  Below us the bottom land was not farmed, exactly – not in the human fashion.  Instead there were clusters of Tal Alon burrows scattered almost at random across it, punctuated by groves of trees of every variety.  Here and there were little pavilions of elegant design, made of timber, stone or living wood.  Birds soared majestically past us in the air, and mountain nightstars floated along with the currents the other way, heading back to the treetops after a busy night capturing insects.