name of Glory to all that murder, greed and gobbling.
“When I returned, our nation’s back was broken. Human beings were almost extinct; the other races were scattered; woken animals were no more to be seen. Laughter was cruel, poets mad or silent, temples were converted to armories and barracks, schools to prisons, and the old world, my world, was a thing forgotten. That was despair, Lady Thasha, and I barely survived it. Yet from that blackest pit strange gifts have come to me. Like Mr. Bolutu, I am a window on a vanished world, a spokesman of sorts for Alifros-that-was. When I accepted that bitter truth, I found my life’s purpose. I became a Spider Teller, and in time a chasmamancer, and there has been more joy in the fellowship of those impoverished wizards than ever I knew in palace or keep. I fell in love with learning, and out of love with the family cult. I met Ramachni, and his wisdom strengthened me in my resolve. ‘You are a fine mage, Olik,’ he said at our last meeting, ‘but you are also a warrior. You will fight less often with your hands than with your mind and heart, but you will fight ceaselessly, I think. A wiser path for all Alifros-that shall be what you fight for. That, and the extinction of madness and greed.’ Thus he spoke, and thus it has proved to this day.”
Thasha’s whole face had brightened at the mention of Ramachni. Suddenly she gripped the prince’s hand, startling him. “I’d hoped from the beginning that you were allies,” she said. “I’ve been praying you’d help us find him, or help him return to us. Now I’m certain you’re going to do just that.”
Olik gazed at Thasha: a humble glance, such as Pazel would scarcely have thought possible on the face of royalty. Just like Bolutu, he thought. They hang on her every word. They know, blast it. They know the truth about her. And he resolved to corner Bolutu at the next opportunity, to wring it out of him. Arunis was gone; no one was spying on his thoughts. What possible excuse for secrets was there now?
Suddenly all the dogs barked in unison: the signal, said Olik, that they were nearing the palace. Rows of soldiers flashed by. Olik signaled them with a wave, then looked at Thasha again.
“Yes, I still hope, lady,” said Olik, “but that hope has been sorely tested. One reason is personal. Do you recall what I told you of the Karyskans, and why they pursued me?”
“You said they mistook you for someone else in the royal family,” said Thasha, “for the one who wanted to attack them.”
“Yes,” said Olik, “and I cannot blame them for the mistake. I sailed openly into their waters, and at first they welcomed me. But Karysk has certain spies in Bali Adro, and as I was making ready to depart these spies returned, and declared that they had seen my face in Orbilesc, pressing rabidly for the launch of the armada. Today the Issar’s message has confirmed my worst suspicion: that rabid warmonger is my grandson. We are alike as two peas in a pod.”
The others stared a moment. Then Pazel gasped. “The Red Storm,” he said. “You sailed away and left a son, and he-”
“Had a son as well, in time. When I returned I found my own son a frail old man, and his child grown to manhood. We have the same features, the same name-and thanks to the Red Storm, very nearly the same age. But Olik the Ninth hates this Olik the Seventh. He is a Plazic warlord; like Vadu he carries the stump of a Blade. I am sure he thinks of me as some sort of maukslarin, a demon made in his image, sent from Elsewhere to oppose him. There are days when I fancy he’s correct.
“The other blow to my hope is more serious-but only because the hope itself burned so brightly. For at long last, the horror of the Plazic Blades is ending. They are corroding, melting into nothingness. It seems the very act of removing the bones from the Grave-Pits began the process of decay, and in our greed we removed them all. In another year or two the Blades will have entirely decayed, and perhaps my people will be free of the Platazcra madness forever.”
“And now you bring the Nilstone!” said Ibjen.
“Yes,” said Olik, “the Nilstone. A thing more powerful and ruinous than all the Plazic Blades together. And who should come with it-and steal it before one week is out-but Arunis himself, old ally of the fiends who fashioned the Blades, and perhaps the vilest mind in Alifros? I do not despair, Lady Thasha, but I fear greatly for this world.”
“We’ll get it back,” said Thasha.
At that moment the sunlight disappeared. All about them were massive columns of red stone: they had driven right under the palace. There were shouts and echoes, the roars of sicunas, the rumble of gates. The carriages ground to a halt.
Before they could alight someone threw the door wide. It was a servant, but he had not opened it for them. A dlomic man of middle years, round-stomached, with a nervous pucker to his lips, was scurrying in their direction. A plain gray cloak was tied around his ample form; it appeared to have been hastily thrown over finer clothing. Servants bearing chests and sacks followed in his wake.
“Step down, get out!” he said. “Won’t you hurry, Sire? Do you know how long I have waited for a coach?”
The riders in both carriages descended. “Your pardon, Tayathu,” said Olik. “We had some difficulty locating the city’s… guests.”
“That’s enough about that!” snapped the man, bounding into the coach. When he was seated he leaned out again, facing Olik. To Pazel’s amazement he cupped his hands around his eyes, as though protecting himself from the sight of the humans. “My lord and prince,” he said, with some slight derision, “you have given me your word, you know. You absolutely must be gone before they… you understand the importance, surely-”
For the first time since Pazel laid eyes on the prince, he looked angry. “When Olik gives his word he keeps it, Tayathu, son of Tay.”
The man recoiled, waving his hand in agitation. “All so terrible, so ghastly! I wish you had never come to Masalym, and I hope we never, ever meet again! Of course we will not! You’re going to be jailed, or hunted, penniless, shoeless-Oh, get in, you creeping sloths, do you want to be left behind?”
The servants hoisted the last of their burdens onto the carriages’ roofs and crawled inside. The man in the gray robe slammed the door with a little shudder of nervousness. Olik whistled; the dogs rose and bore the carriages away.
“Who was that blary bounder?” said Druffle, walking forward.
“That,” said Olik, “was His Excellency the Issar.”
10. Olik’s assertion has mythological undertones. Dlomic legend identifies the nuhzat (literally, “night path”) as one of the Four Gifts chosen for the race when they descended from the stars (perhaps in proto-dlomic form?). The gifts, from certain obscure supernatural beings, were meant to help the newcomers become native to the world of Alifros, and hence survive there. Two other gifts were the “friendship of water” and the seed of the loloda tree. The fourth gift was capriciously withheld, by a spiteful being who did not welcome the arrival of the race. Its identity remains a mystery, and many dramas and moral parables refer to this possibly fatal hollow in the dlomic character. -EDITOR.
The Choice
5 Modobrin 941
The Honorable Captain Theimat Rose
Northbeck Abbey
Mereldin Isle, South Quezans Dear Sir, I will not be astonished, Father, if this proves our last communique. You have always made plain your intention to disown any son who failed the test of obedience, no matter at what stage of life. I hardly think that death will have altered your opinion; nothing alters your opinion. But there are those on this ship (those you pressed me to slay, for their own disobedience) who hold that the possibility of change is not for us to deny. We must believe it can happen in the heart of the basest wretch, they would say, no matter to what epic depravity he has pledged his life. You will observe that I do not choose to continue our long charade with Lady Oggosk. I know full well that you are dead. This very evening I went to the witch and demanded the truth, and she had no choice but to provide it. Dead may technically be inaccurate for one who dwells in the twilight of
