MAP
Asteranor
VISIONARY (c)
“But the regions won’t go for it, will they? Not for a war with Gothery, there’s too much trade at stake. What does this ultimatum have to say?”
“Well Seama,” Gosbert leapt back in, keen to tell the story himself given he had travelled such a long way to tell it, “It’s all to do with The Black Company. They’re criminals, a hundred or more, almost a small army. They’re led by four sorcerers, if you can believe such a thing. Past month or so they’ve been raiding villages in the Skirt – over on the Aegardean side of the border, just north of the Saddle if you know it?”
Seama smiled and nodded. “I think we’re all familiar with the geography.”
“Well I’m not sure Athoff is. He’s decided these raiders are based in Gothery.”
“Ridiculous. What do they do: swing down the cliffs on ropes? Utter nonsense.”
“Exactly. But Athoff’s looking for an excuse. He says that if Gothery won’t do anything about this Black Company, then Aegarde will. Gothery must either pay reparation and execute the ringleaders, or Athoff’ll bring an army into Gothery and do it himself. It’s all a ruse. He’s been making a case for claiming-back the plateau for months now - keeps bashing on about how Banya stole the land from Aegarde to start with.”
“But that was more than a thousand years ago – and it’s not true anyway: Banya bought the land with The Oath...”
“Well you may know your history, Seama, but there won’t be too many who’ll care to remember it. Not on the Aegardean side anyway. “A thousand years of insult” he calls it. What with all this new violence and terror, he reckons now’s the time for Aegarde to put things right. He’s been making speeches about it up and down the country. Not that he’s any real interest in history of course. What he’s after is Gothery industry and know-how and the wealth that comes of it. He’s had enough of Aegarde being the poor neighbour.”
“For national pride he threatens war. There you have a measure of the man. But does he really think he could win?”
“Well that depends on the size of his army and how Gothery can respond. Sorry, a bit obvious. What I mean is Gothery’s in a bit of a state just at present. It’s hard to explain why, but people aren’t happy, not with their bosses, not with the authorities. We’re having real trouble just trying to keep order. There were riots in Dreffield last week, machinery wrecked, looting. Of course they sent the army in and it may be they were a little heavy-handed. I’m ashamed to say there were some deaths - I’ll not say murder, as nothing’s been proven.”
“But this is terrible, Gosbert,” Waldin put in, clearly upset, “One cannot deny Gothery has a history of public dispute – the demonstrations, the rallies, all common enough. But riots Gosbert? How has it come to this?”
“Well that’s the mystery isn’t it. Everywhere you look there’s something going on. All sorts of different complaints to start off with but all leading to the same result: trouble on the streets. It’s become the fashion of the day.”
“What’s the government to say about this?”
“Not very much, Seama. The general idea seems to be that if they ignore it for long enough, things’ll eventually settle down.”
“Great plan. And what are they doing about this ultimatum? Ignoring that too?”
“Mostly they’re just arguing among themselves. And that was the point I was trying to make. With the country in such a mess, and the government all but paralysed, well, it’s all good news for Athoff’s chance of success. He’ll be reckoning up just now how few soldiers he’s going to need. Ten thousand? Five thousand? He must think he can win quite easily.”
Seama took a moment to think it through. It was not really Athoff’s end of it that mattered just now. In Aegarde building an army was a long process. Nothing could happen very quickly. In the East, however, Mador Bhadrada was not so handicapped. The King of Pars had standing armies to command and he was not the sort of man to ponder his options for too long. He would not be happy with the thought of Athoff Ringsøyr some day soon sitting on Sirl’s throne in the Palace of Astoril; he would not be at all happy with the thought of ten thousand Aegardean soldiers sitting easy on ground only the breadth of the Hypodedicus away from the Medean Part. It seemed very obvious to Seama what the Partain King would do.
“To secure his own borders against a possible threat from Aegarde, Mador’s going to invade Gothery first.”
“That is how the Council see it,” Peveril agreed, “We expect there to be movement before the end of the month.”
“Now look, I don’t want to sound overly dramatic,” said Waldin, “but we are on the brink of disaster. Unless we do something, and quickly, the whole continent will be at war: Masachea on the Partain border, Athoff threatening everyone from the west, and Mador, no doubt reluctantly, planning to take Astoril before the month is out. And right at the centre of it all Gothery: fine, innocent and vulnerable Gothery, likely to suffer most. We cannot have it gentlemen. Gothery is the future we need; Gothery is the progress we have been nurturing for a thousand years. We need her intact and independent and strong, and not some plaything of chaos.”
Seama was both surprised and impressed by the passion in Waldin’s words but he was not so sure of the analysis. “Chaos?” he said, “You use the word as if it could explain everything. I don’t believe it. This is no coincidence. It’s strategy, from one end of the continent to the other. Though for what, or for why or by whom, I cannot think.”
“Coincidence or strategy,” said Peveril, “it makes little difference. The Council has decided it will take action. And the start of that is keeping Mador within his own borders. That achieved we may then turn our attention upon Athoff and the Aegardean succession.”
Holander, who had been listening silently, more concerned with Sight’s seeming agitation as he twitched and shivered in the armchair, spoke up at last.
“That’s just the way The Council always thinks. It’s all politics: how to keep things stable; go in at the head of government, control the state and the state will control the people.”
“You speak as if we do these things for our own benefit.” Peveril was annoyed. “What should we do? The people of Asteranor need peace first and foremost – it is our job to provide for that.”
“That’s not what I mean. What are you going to do about this Black Company? Leave them to get on with it while our lot are ponceing about in Garassa and Ayer? Chattering with Kings and Ministers isn’t going to get anything sorted. We need to get our hands dirty.”
Aiden looked as if the notion of “getting his hands dirty” was something deeply unpleasant and to be avoided at all cost. “We cannot solve all the ills of the world but we will give thought to the Black Company when Sight has spoken. Help can be sent. For now what is important is setting Seama on his way...”
“But what about the book?” It burst out of him. As Holander and Aiden crossed swords Seama had become distracted. There was a feeling building in him much like the head-spinning, gut-wrenching urgency the summons had provoked a few weeks ago, but all of it hung upon the word strategy. Suddenly Seama understood they were missing something vital, that there was something critically important he had to do. He had no idea what that might be but was strangely convinced The Song of Ages held the key.
Waldin pounced as though he had been waiting for the objection. “The book is a book, Seama, nothing more than that.” Waldin looked around the room, challenging them all, “Does anyone here think Seama’s book more important than acting to prevent a war and all the despair and agony that will bring?”
“It’s not my book, Waldin, it’s Haslem’s. The same Haslem who created Gothery in the first place. The same Haslem who more or less invented that notion of progress you hold to. The same Haslem, just in case you’ve forgotten, who gave us our greatest spells. From what I’ve read so far, Waldin, the Song of Ages may well look to the past but Haslem’s message is all about that future you’ve been looking for. Our future. We need to find out what it means.”
“Really Seama, that book has been sitting on a shelf in the library for nearly a thousand years – what makes it so important today rather than yesterday or five years from now? We have work to do. Mysteries can wait.”
It was so desperately annoying. Seama felt as if he might explode like a Besma Ball. Obviously there was sense in what Waldin had to say but he just knew it was all wrong. Something about the Song screamed out for attention and nothing the Master could say would quiet it. “Look Waldin, the book was not burned a thousand years ago, the book did not summon me five years from n...”
“NO!”
It was Sight. He had thrust forwards, hands gripping the arms of the chair white knuckled. “You cannot!” he cried, “You must not!” He stood abruptly, quivering in outrage, his eyes fixed on a horror they could not see, sudden tears pouring down his cheeks. “No!” he demanded; “No, no,” he sobbed. He pushed blindly away from Holander’s reaching arms, staggered across the room as if trying to run away from the pictures in his mind, and then with a final wordless cry he collapsed. What Sight had seen had been far too much.
Wilf Kelleher Jones
wkj fantasy
A Song of Ages
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