The Magestone

7 Mereth—events at Lormt (early 7th Day, Month of the Ice Dragon/Moon of the Knife)

As we plodded back toward Lormt’s upper levels, I labored under a double burden: the physical exertion of retracing our way through all those corridors and staircases, added to the internal exertion of controlling my seething feelings. I could scarcely suppress my sense of dread and revulsion at being within actual touching distance of an Alizonder.

It was true that Morfew was also of that cursed race, but from the moment I had met him, I discerned that his spirit was distinctly different from those of his rapacious countrymen. Like Dame Gwersa, Morfew was a true scholar. In recent years, he had been immersed in kinship studies. A quantity of documents had been sent to Lormt from the collection of Ostbor, an elderly Estcarpian famed for his kinship knowledge, who had died some months before the Turning. The lady Nolar had been Ostbor’s student, Morfew told me, and upon her settling at Lormt, she had assisted him greatly in bringing some order to her former master’s scrolls. Vast quantities of additional kinship records had been disclosed when Lormt’s hidden cellars were revealed by the Turning. I had just begun to work with Morfew and Nolar on that section of Lormt’s archives dealing with the Dales when this genuinely threatening Alizonder shattered our peace.

I told myself that this young Alizonder baron could have been no more than a child at the time of the invasion. It was unreasonable of me to hold Kasarian personally responsible for the injuries that I and other Dalesfolk had suffered . . . and yet he was an Alizonder baron, and thus represented our direst foes. Countering my aversion was my burning curiosity. He had to know something about my betrothal jewel, for it was by his remembered vision that I had seen it worn by his family’s enemy. I realized that I would have to curb my natural loathing and seek to learn more from Kasarian of Krevonel . . . if he, in turn, would deign to talk to me.

We settled ourselves at last in Ouen’s study, where Duratan served us a most welcome measure of warmed ale. Kasarian markedly refrained from tasting his share until after we had sampled ours.

Duratan’s and Jonja’s employment of their magical foreseeing tools evoked a forceful rejection by Kasarian for any form of what he branded “magework.” After a pause to deliberate, he pressed us to state whether Lormt would defend itself against the Dark mages, who were rumored to hold parts of Escore, the magic-haunted land beyond the mountains bordering Estcarp to the east.

When Duratan sharply demanded whether the baron was warning us or threatening us, I judged that it was time to interrupt before anger—however well-justified—flared into actual violence. I thumped my staff on the floor, and was gratified when all eyes immediately focused on me. Ouen read aloud my message: “Enough questions. Answers must be offered.”

An impish smile brightened Morfew’s face. “Dear lady,” he began, “how helpful of you to direct us to an essential point. Each side in this discussion possesses information desired by the other. Young man . . .” Morfew peered keenly at the Alizonder and asked in Estcarpian, “Am I not correct in believing that you can understand most of what we say? The time required for our exchanges could be halved if I did not have to repeat every statement in both tongues.”

The Alizonder smiled—an unpleasant grimace, disclosing his hound-sharp teeth. “You said your Alizonian was slack from disuse,” he responded in halting but intelligible Estcarpian. “I also find my Estcarpian similarly rust-bound. If you would speak slowly and assist me as needed. . . .”

“I thought as much,” said Morfew. “Let us try, then, to be as simple and clear as we can, for all our sakes. Since you have given us your name, you should know the names of my colleagues. This is Ouen, our chief scholar, as I just mentioned. Next to him is Duratan, a former Borderer and now our able chronicler; his lady wife Nolar, healer and scholar; Jonja, our resident Wise Woman; and Mereth, who has recently voyaged here from the Dales to pursue kinship queries.”

The Alizonder gazed intently at each of us in turn, then made a graceful gesture, touching his House badge. “I am honored to speak in such a company,” he said.

“These are troubling questions about Escore,” mused Ouen. “Morfew, did you not some time ago examine our archives seeking information concerning Escore?”

“So I did, Master Ouen.” The old scholar rubbed his hands together, a habit he indulged, I had noticed, whenever he saw an opportunity to share the fruits of his inquiries. “Kemoc Tregarth came here five years ago to search for lore about the east. In assisting him, I discovered that a thousand years before, the virulent Dark forces in Escore overpowered those of the Light. As they fled for their lives, the remnant of the Light’s forces worked a great magic spell to raise a wall of mountains to impede all further access to Escore. At the same time, they set a block in the minds of the Old Race to prevent any thought of the eastern direction. From those displaced Old Race folk arose the Witches of Estcarp. Only since the recent Turning of the earth—a Second Turning, one might say—has the Old Race again become able to think of or indeed travel to the east.”

Morfew paused to reflect, then resumed, “I can recall only one incident regarding encounters with Escorian mages in Estcarp. Immediately after the Turning, when traveling far to the southwest, Nolar was captured by a Dark mage released by those very earthquakes from a binding spell set upon him at the time of the First Turning. Fortunately, that single, dangerous echo from ancient Escore was banished by the assistance of a Witch and certain localized powers. Your questions, however, imply some present threat. Do you bring us warning of evil stirring even now in Escore?”

Kasarian had listened intently, sitting motionless except for the fingers of his right hand, which rhythmically turned his gold signet ring. When Morfew posed his question, Kasarian spread both hands flat on the table. His fingers were long and supple, and I had observed from walking behind him how quickly and surely he moved. I suspected he would be a deadly opponent with sword or knife.

“I can tell you no names of Escore’s mages,” he admitted frankly, “but I have reason to believe that intense efforts are being made by a certain faction in Alizon to forge an alliance with such Dark forces. The roots of this treason stretch back to the time of the Kolder’s initial meddling. The alliance that Lord Baron Facellian formed with the Kolder over twenty years ago was a disaster for Alizon. The Kolder sought dominion over the Dales, but contrived to spend our fighters’ blood to obtain their desire. After inciting us to invade the Dales, they then abandoned us, failing to supply the vital aid they had promised. Well before the last of our invading Hounds were stranded across the sea and wiped out, it was apparent that the war was lost. Lords Baron of Alizon do not lose wars and survive. Mallandor took the throne. . . .”

Kasarian broke off to refresh himself with more ale. My thoughts were clamoring—it was as well that I had no voice, or I would have screamed at him. I clutched my staff until my knuckles ached. That he should dismiss so coolly the torment that Alizon had inflicted upon our Dales! And yet . . . I had never before considered how Alizon must have reacted when their Kolder alliance had failed them so miserably. With their fighting ships and trade ships, the blessed Sulcar had harried Alizon’s coast, and intercepted the Alizonders’ ships, thus contributing to the Kolder’s inability to supply the invaders. Suddenly, I could understand why Alizon’s version of those frantic years would require excuses as well as revenge for what they had to view as a sure victory snatched away from them. When Kasarian resumed his tale, I forced my fingers to relax their grip on my staff.

“There remained yet a few of the cursed Kolder in Alizon City,” Kasarian continued. “They bided their time, strengthening their ties with certain of our barons, and attempting to gain access to Lord Baron Mallandor’s ear. Three years ago, the faction favoring the Kolder persuaded Mallandor that an energetic effort must be made to bring new Kolder forces to Alizon by means of a Gate to be opened by magic. It was proposed that unguarded Witch pups could be brought from Estcarp to provide the Power needed for the Kolder’s Gate spell.”

Jonja seized her goblet so fiercely that I feared she would snap its stem. “We were told of that horrid raid,” she said, her voice shaking. “It was an evil affront to all of Estcarp.”

Kasarian nodded calmly. “I was opposed to the tactic from its first suggestion,” he said. “The ill-advised ploy failed disastrously, as I had suspected it would, leaving all of the Kolder dead. The Witchlings escaped, fleeing back into Estcarp. Another faction, headed by Baron Gurborian, then argued that Alizon should forget the Kolder and employ a bold new strategy. Gurborian’s chief henchman, Gratch from blighted Gorm, suggested that we could sweep away our enemies with assistance from other and closer sources. Through inquiries, he had identified certain lower-level mages in the mountains between Alizon and Escore. Gurborian endorsed Gratch’s plan to seek a linkage with the Dark forces still to be found in Escore. With the might of Escore’s Dark mages employed on Alizon’s behalf, he asserted that Alizon could occupy all of the lands west of the mountains—Estcarp, Karsten, as far south as we cared to extend.”

“And just what would these Dark mages of Escore gain from such an alliance with Alizon?” asked Morfew, his hands clenched into fists.

“They would, of course, be proclaimed fully sovereign in all lands east of the mountains,” Kasarian replied.

Ouen emitted a muffled snort. “Presumably they already consider themselves sovereign in those areas they control,” he stated. “Other folk also share those lands to the east. I cannot believe that the Dark mages tremble for fear that their scattered fiefdoms are at any risk from western invasion across the mountains. As you describe Gurborian’s plan, the Dark mages would gain only a gilding of words upon the already existing order of rule.”

“Yet I perceive one factor to bear in mind,” Morfew observed thoughtfully. “Such an alliance for Escore, should it result in the destruction of Estcarp, could be seen as a gratifying, if overly long-delayed revenge of sorts upon the Old Race for the ancient affront of the First Turning.”

I had been watching Duratan, whose stern expression had grown more severe throughout the discussion. “Let us consider another question for a moment,” he said in a disarmingly mild tone. “Why should a baron of Alizon openly disclose this previously unsuspected threat to Estcarp? Surely Alizon would rejoice in Estcarp’s fall, not choose to warn us in advance of any dire peril.”

Each one of us around the table regarded Kasarian warily as we awaited his explanation.