MAP
Asteranor
VISIONARY (b)
Oddly enough Seama found his task more rewarding than expected. Once his brain accustomed itself not only to the grammar and lettering of the ancient Medeans but to the rhythm of their syntax and the style of their story-telling he actually began to enjoy himself. Better than that, Seama quickly discovered details in some of the older texts that he’d already seen referenced in The Song. Perhaps Haslem’s much derided style had emerged from over-long exposure to these same classics. Seama couldn’t help picturing Haslem sitting at his desk, one thousand years ago, in the library of Banya’s Palace in the new city of Astoril, struggling with his translations just as Seama struggled now. How many weeks and months had he given to his task; how many blind alleys had he been led along; how many incomplete passages had driven him into a rage? And yet at last Haslem must have found what he was looking for: something to give order to his thoughts and body to his theory... but what? There were elements from disparate texts Haslem seemed to think important, but in sum the picture they gave of a history unknown to modern times was fragmented and frankly unbelievable. It was nowhere near enough to satisfy Holander’s quest for proof. It was not enough even for Seama. What were they expecting, one key text to give them all the corroboration they needed? There was little chance of that. But as the days passed, while the Chronicler became yet more sceptical, and indeed scornful, the wizard became convinced the fault lay not in the absence of proof but merely in their lack of comprehension. The quest consumed him - he ploughed on undeterred.
When Grek ushered the poor man into his work room, the audible grumble of disapproval Seama produced was not really intended for Waldin’s secretary. The gripe was simply a measure of his sudden frustration. Seama was aware of the irony even before the secretary began to speak but it had nothing to amuse him: for months now Seama had been desperate for Waldin to find him something useful to do, an adventure to relieve the boredom, to get him off the island for a while. And here it was at last, Waldin calling him to an executive meeting ordered by The Council, no doubt with a mission in mind. But why did it have to be now?
The frustration was still evident when he reached Waldin’s office.
“You wanted me?”
Waldin was far too experienced an administrator to let bad behaviour put him off whatever he wanted to say. He sat behind his, to Seama’s mind, overly large desk, in his large but only just large enough chair, and greeted Seama with a careful smile.
“Welcome, Lord Seama. Good of you to come so promptly. Very helpful indeed.”
Sometimes Seama found the Master’s clipped tones rather irritating. “How is your arm now? Septuagem has been telling me that your recovery has been nothing less than astonishing – for which we are all, most certainly, grateful.”
The healing had gone well. Exceptionally well, in fact. There was general amazement. Seama’s unprecedented ability to accelerate the growth of new tissue had all the professors in the school of medicine jumping in excitement. They were less than happy when he refused to let them investigate the process, and simply would not believe that Seama was as confused by the phenomenon as they were. He could only suggest that the Power within him had recognised a need to be ready for action. Something surged through his veins, obliterating the dead tissue and setting a fire in the cells of each nerve, muscle and tendon; the heat of it could be felt by anyone passing nearby, and in a darkened room his arm seemed to throw off a nimbus of blue light that no one could explain. It was all hugely uncomfortable yet somehow felt right and good. In a few short weeks his arm was whole again, the skin unblemished though strangely hairless.
“It works well enough, Waldin. Thanks for your concern. I take it you need me fit.”
Waldin looked offended.
“Genuine concern, Seama. But yes you are right, we have a problem. Marat, could you ask them to come through?”
The secretary, now on the other side of a thick door, acknowledged he had heard by ringing a small bell vigorously. He had none of Waldin’s finer abilities. It was only a minute or two, during which Waldin got up and started to pull chairs closer to the desk, before the secretary brought them through.
Sight was pasty-faced and blind to his surroundings, moving slowly under Holander’s guidance. Holander shook his head slightly at Seama’s unspoken question and favoured Waldin with a disapproving look.
“He shouldn’t be out of his room, Waldin” he growled, “You know that. Not when he’s working. To ask him to come down for a meeting...”
“Actually I asked if he might attend.”
Two others had entered the room, the foremost of these smooth-voiced Aiden Peveril, current Leader of The Council, cool and collected as ever but at least apologetic.
“We needed to know what he has seen but I was not aware he was still in contact. Will this cause him pain?”
“Distress at the least - to be moved. He doesn’t know he’s here.” Holander gently eased his friend into the security of a big leather armchair. “It is not a comfortable thing to be so far away from yourself for so long. This has been going on for hours now.”
Waldin gave them all a sheepish look. “We will look after him when he returns to us, but meanwhile we have matters to consider. Seama, may I introduce Gosbert Lanvers. He is our...”
“Our man in Astoril. Yes, we met a few years back.”
The fourth delegate was a lanky sort, clothes bespattered by recent travel and still sporting great riding boots as though he was ready for the off as soon as the meeting was over. Seama thought he looked a little uneasy.
“Gosbert. Good to see you. You’re not often in Errensea.”
“Thank you, Lord Seama. No, this is only my second visit. It’s a... a wonderful place.”
“But full of strange and scary people.”
Gosbert managed a laugh. “I suppose I should get used to it. We don’t see much in the way of magic back in Astoril. We’re more to do with machines and engines than enchantments and... well, I don’t know what. ”
Seama smiled sympathetically.
“Unknown territory for you, I understand. But our ‘magic’ is not so different from your science and mechanics. There’s room for both approaches.”
“And need for both too,” Waldin wanted to get things moving. “Gosbert brings us news of one sort but it has taken him a long journey to bring it; Sight can give us detail with less delay. Aiden, will you begin?”
Peveril took his seat and indicated that others should do the same.
“Some of the time I think the issue rather clouded and complicated but actually it is all really very simple. Late last night a final piece of information was brought to us by Gosbert here. There was an emergency meeting of the Council. Whether because we were all tired and wanting our beds, or because the answer to our debate was very clear we came to a quick conclusion. We need to act and we need to act now.
“You will all know that Mador is fighting battles out in the East of Pars, has been since March. We consider the situation under control. Five of the King’s armies are more than enough to contain the problem. Why the Sirdar should want to continue his attack is hard to fathom. The garrison at Aristeth was overrun more competently than ever his troops have managed before, and that’s strange enough in itself, but in the general run of things, after such success, he would surely have withdrawn, point made. We know he uses the dispute as an exercise to blood new recruits: when they are half-decimated he brings the remainder back – he believes it gives Masachea an army of battle-hardened warriors - but there has never been any suggestion he might want to go further than that.”
Seama stirred restlessly in his seat.
“You didn’t bring us down here to talk about the Sirdar’s brutalities. What has this to do with Astoril?”
“Well, you would think with Mador so busy in the East he wouldn’t be much interested in the West, and yet not two weeks past the King ordered Anparas and Temor to barracks just north of Riverport. Rumour was abroad that Jemenser had begun to requisition ships and supplies for an expedition. Up until last night we did not know why.”
“And how is it I didn’t get to hear about this?” Seama directed the question at the keeper of the Chronicle, who gave him a wry grin.
“Apparently you had too much on your plate already, Seama, what with your injuries and your studies. That right Master?”
“Yes it is.” Waldin seemed peeved that Holander felt the need to confront him. “Seama’s health is much more important to me than you suggest. Until we knew more there was no need to trouble him.”
Seama considered Waldin’s face for a moment and then decided they were being unkind. Waldin carried a great deal of responsibility both as Master of the College and Chief Officer of the Council, and to be fair he handled both of his jobs better than anyone else could have managed one, Seama included. He nodded briefly.
“Good point. I was, and am very busy at the moment. So, Gosbert, what news did you bring?”
“I got the information from Fel Awdrey,” Gosbert began, “But to be honest the situation wasn’t a secret anyway. Ever since King Sirl fell ill the Prime Minister’s been trying to promote this ah... “Open Government” thing - basically it requires that the Cabinet must put everything before the Assembly before they can make any sort of decision. As far as I can tell, all it means is nothing gets done very quickly.”
Seama nodded. “You’ll find Sirl’s keen on the idea too. He insists it goes back to the Founding but somehow got lost along the way. Not everyone’s so enthusiastic though. Some people think all this fairness and openness will lead to disorder.”
“Well I’m thankful for it – it’s a lot easier gathering information.”
“And the information is...?”
“Aegarde is threatening war.”
“War? With Gothery? Has Agwis gone mad?”
Waldin intervened. “As it happens, Seama, yes he has. Or at least that’s the story his odious son’s been putting about. Sight believes it is a lie and actually Agwis is under house arrest. We suspect drugs were used. The Aegardean Senate seems to have accepted that Agwis is demented, dangerous even. They have made Athoff regent and Athoff, now exactly where he wants to be, has sent an ultimatum to Sirl and is busying himself with raising an army.”
Wilf Kelleher Jones
wkj fantasy
A Song of Ages
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