Heritage Of The Xandim

14

THE ART OF COMPROMISE

Now that Taine had departed, Cyran had other matters to deal with, and for the present, he put the spy out of his mind. ‘My apologies,’ he said to his fellow leaders. ‘I will detain you but a moment longer.’ He set wards of guard and silence, so that no one could approach undetected, or use magic to listen in on the meeting. Once all was secure, he sat down at the table, facing the others. Concentrating on their images, he reached out to them in thought: the gleaming golden form of Aizaiel, Matriarch of the Dragonfolk; the sleek, dark immensity of Kahuna, Speaker of the Leviathan, and the white-haired, brown-winged form of Pandion, Queen of the Skyfolk.

‘Greetings to you all,’ he began. ‘Please forgive me for keeping you waiting. A messenger came with news of great importance.’

‘Greetings, Archwizard.’ As usual, Aizaiel of the Dragonfolk took the lead, using both her own language of light and music, and mindspeech, which was a language of thought common to all the races of magic-users.

‘Greetings, Matriarch.’ Cyran kept his physical voice low and even, and his mindspeech rigidly controlled, anxious not to betray to the others the puzzlement and concern he was feeling. Previously, it had always been he who called these meetings. What had changed? Had his fellow leaders finally decided that his fears were groundless, and these discussions a waste of time?

As usual, however, he could not deceive the Matriarch, who wasted no time in enlightening him. ‘Cyran, we owe you an apology. It seems that you were right. Two days ago, Speaker Kahuna experienced visions similar to those you have described.’

‘Save that most of them dealt with the destruction of the Leviathan race,’ the Speaker added. He sounded very shaken.

‘Yesterday I also perceived corresponding images,’ Aizaiel said. ‘The end of our beloved realm of Dhiammara, and the extinction of the Dragonfolk.’

‘And I,’ added Pandion, ‘but mine came to me last night in a dream.’ Her face was very pale. ‘So much death, so much desperation. Nothing ever the same again.’ She shook her head. ‘Archwizard, I must confess that I have doubted you again and again these last two years. But no longer.’

Cyran’s throat clogged with emotion. His mind whirled in a conflict between relief that he wasn’t losing his sanity, thankfulness that he’d been vindicated at last, and horror at the thought of what the future might bring. There was also a good deal of puzzlement. Why now? And why had all the others received their visions at more or less the same time? A ball of ice began to form within his belly. Did this mean that the catastrophe - whatever form it would take - was about to begin? Or had the chain of events that would lead to disaster already begun to unfold?

Kahuna broke into his thoughts. ‘Thanks to Cyran’s timely warning, we are already aware of the situation. Now we must ask ourselves: what more can we do to prepare for the worst? Cyran, having experienced the foretellings first, you have been far more committed in your preparations. The fault lies with us, but now we must make up for lost time. Have we omitted anything that might make a difference? The nature of the visions tells me that we must have. Clearly, whatever we have achieved so far, it is not enough to avert disaster. Is there anything else we can do to save ourselves? Can anyone here think of something that we have previously overlooked?’

‘One thing we should investigate,’ Pandion said after a moment, ‘is whether the problem is likely to come from within the ranks of the Magefolk themselves, or from without. Perhaps we should each investigate our own people a little more closely. Are there any malcontents? Troublemakers?’ Her eyes lit with wry amusement. ‘Folk who think they could fulfil our roles better than we can?’

‘You are right,’ said Aizaiel, ‘though it comes hard to think that such devastation as we have witnessed might originate with one of our own.’

‘On that score,’ Cyran said, ‘I have grave tidings for you all, which I have just received from my informant in Eliorand. That was why it was necessary to keep you waiting. The news gave me deep misgivings when I heard it, but now it has even greater import, coinciding as it does with you all witnessing the same horrors as I have these past two years.’ Without delay, he related all that Taine had told him concerning the events that had taken place over the last few months within the realm of the Forest Lord.

After he had finally finished his tale, a long moment of silence stretched out while the Archwizard waited. He could hazard a fair guess at what his fellow Mages were thinking, for much the same thoughts had been racing through his own mind. Had the warning the others had received been connected in some way to this news of trouble in the Phaerie realm? Was this the beginning of the nightmare they had all foreseen?

Unusually, Kahuna was the first to speak. ‘This is grave news indeed,’ he said. ‘Hellorin was wily, proud and difficult to deal with at the best of times, but at least we had all reached an accommodation with him over the long years. Now his people are ruled by a new and unpredictable faction. Tiolani by herself would have been difficult enough, but she is young, and we might have been able to help her through her grief, and lead her along the road of cooperation and common sense. As it is, however, she has apparently come under the influence of a dangerous exploiter—’

‘And, if two and two still make four, an exploiter who is probably responsible for the death of her brother and the incapacitation of her father,’ Queen Pandion put in. ‘From what Cyran has told us, it seems obvious to me that this Ferimon used the rebel humans to rid himself of the Forest Lord. Once he weds Tiolani - which I’m sure is his plan - he will rule the Phaerie.’

‘Unless Hellorin awakes, of course,’ the Leviathan interrupted.

Pandion’s great wings rose and fell as she shrugged. ‘Hellorin won’t awake,’ she said. ‘Ferimon will make sure of that. And once he can persuade Tiolani to wed him, Hellorin will become completely dispensable. Unless that stupid girl comes to her senses soon, she will lose everything: her power, her throne and her father.’

‘If your conjecture is correct - and all the facts we have seem to point in that direction - my main concern is what Ferimon will do if and when he achieves his objective,’ Cyran said. ‘Having made the realm of the Phaerie his own, where will he look next? Already the accursed Wild Hunt is encroaching across our borders and killing our slaves.’ He spread his hands. ‘What shall I do? Fight? Wait to see what happens? Try to find a way to penetrate those closed borders and reason with Tiolani? Ultimately the decision must rest with me, but I would welcome your thoughts, for my actions now could affect all our futures.’

Aizaiel, who had remained silent during Cyran’s revelations and the discussions that had followed, fixed the Archwizard with her glowing garnet eyes. ‘I think we are all agreed that avoiding conflict must be our primary aim. But what if we cannot? What if the war we have foreseen is inevitable? The Phaerie wield the titanic powers of the Old Magic. As things stand now, could we counter that? Are we making the most of the magic we possess? I would say—’

‘I already know what you would say,’ Cyran interrupted. ‘I am sick to death of hearing it. In how many more of our meetings do you and Pandion plan to keep repeating yourselves?’

‘Until you finally listen. Cyran, the Dragonfolk are no more aggressive than the Wizards that you rule, but it is clear to us that currently we lack the means to defend ourselves. And the fact that all of us have now seen the dread visions you witnessed so long ago make the situation all the more urgent. In spite of Kahuna’s doubts, in spite of your objections to the Magefolk using their powers for the purposes of war, we must make master weapons that will store and focus the combined powers of all our people.’

‘Maybe your visions were different from mine, but it was plain to me that the wholesale, widespread destruction of our civilisation was due to the unleashing of vast amounts of power: in other words, magic produced by the use of exactly the sort of weapons you describe,’ Cyran said. ‘Can you not see that we are being warned? You would have us rushing headlong to our doom.’

‘You say we have been warned, and you are right,’ the Matriarch said, ‘but could it be possible that the portents have a different purpose? The Phaerie now pose a threat to us. The creation of magical weapons has become inevitable. All our races have been researching the possibilities these last two years, since you first warned us—’

‘You’ve been doing what?’

Cyran’s voice was like ice. ‘Did we not agree that the creation of master weapons would require the consent of all four races of Magefolk?’

‘The creation, yes.’ Pandion’s eyes showed a steely glint. ‘But no one forbade the investigation of ways and means to bring about such an implement, if the need should ever arise. If we do have urgent need to defend ourselves, we will have to move swiftly. There won’t be any time to carry out lengthy research at that point. Even Kahuna finally agreed with us on that.’

‘This is unconscionable,’ Cyran protested. ‘How could you be so duplicitous and irresponsible?’

‘And how can you be so stubborn and blind?’ Pandion shot back. ‘Even your own people have been working on this project, and—’

‘Enough, Pandion,’ Aizaiel said, but it was too late. The Archwizard, his guts twisting in anger, realised that he had been deceived.

‘Who has done this?’ he demanded. ‘As if I cannot guess. My ungrateful son and those devious Spellweavers - and I’m certain they were not alone in this. This time the Luen of Warriors has defied me once too often—’

‘Do not be hasty, Cyran,’ Aizaiel said. ‘After all, what harm has been done? No weapon has actually been created. And it may come to pass that in the future you’ll have reason to thank them for their foresight.’

‘I’ll thank them to respect my wishes. Am I right, Pandion? Is it my son? Is it Esmon and his Warriors? I want names.’

‘I do not know their names,’ the Queen replied. ‘My own researchers have been in contact with them, and I knew of it, but I preferred not to ask their identities. What I do not know, you cannot ask me to reveal.’

‘Come, Cyran.’ The voice belonged to Kahuna. ‘Maybe all is not lost. I also abhor the use of magic for war, but this may turn out for the best. If the Dragons and the Skyfolk want to make weapons, that is their prerogative. Wind and Fire are natural forces for violence and destruction. But our powers, those of Water and Earth, tend more towards nurturing and healing. If disaster should strike us, there will be great need for such magic, and my own people, far from researching a weapon, have been attempting to turn our powers towards more beneficial ends. Maybe you also should be bending your thoughts in that direction - as, indeed, should all of us, instead of fighting among ourselves. We need to concentrate not only on retaliation and aggression, but also on the preservation and protection of our people, our lore and our civilisation. Are those not good and worthwhile ends?’

Queen Pandion raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Kahuna the peace-maker, ’ she scoffed.

‘Kahuna the wise,’ Aizaiel corrected her. ‘Cyran, please think on what our friend the Speaker of the Leviathan has said. What we - what you - could create need not necessarily be for destruction. Is that not a good end? And until you have considered, you have my word that none of us will forge any master weapons—’

‘Artefacts,’ Kahuna corrected. ‘Not necessarily weapons.’

The Dragon nodded. ‘Agreed. None of us will create any master artefacts until we have all reached agreement. And in the meantime, as Kahuna has suggested, can we turn our thoughts to preserving and protecting? Archwizard, you have accomplished far more than the rest of us to safeguard our accumulated lore. Have you any suggestions for us?’

Cyran took a sip of his neglected wine. ‘I can think of one thing you can do immediately,’ he said. ‘Cooperate with me on sharing our magic. I know, I know,’ he added, over the voices that Pandion and Aizaiel - but not Kahuna, he noted with interest - raised in immediate protest. ‘I know that such an innovation is against all our oldest traditions, but at least my students have shown that it is possible, have they not?’

From the beginning, one of the Archwizard’s main concerns had been the amount of magical knowledge and lore that might be lost forever when the disaster happened, plunging the entire Magefolk civilisation back into a primitive age of barbarism. His plan to explore the possibility of sharing magical powers between their races, however, had caused an uproar among the others. Nothing like it had ever been tried before, and the consensus of opinion seemed to be that it would be impossible for a Mage of one race to learn the magic of another. Even if Cyran was right, and such a thing could be accomplished after all, then they had been reluctant to give away the many secrets of their lore. Though they had accepted his three carefully selected delegates - who, incidentally, had been proving that they could learn, if not completely master the other forms of magic - their refusal to send representatives of their own had caused him great frustration. But could they now be persuaded to change their minds?

‘Surely now,’ he pressed, ‘in the cause of protecting all we know and all we hold most dear - all the knowledge and lore we should be keeping in trust for generations to come—’ He paused and looked from face to face. ‘Surely now you will change your minds about an exchange of students, a pooling of our knowledge? The safest way to preserve our heritage,’ he added, quoting his soulmate the Archivist, ‘is by disseminating all the information as widely as possible, thereby increasing the chances that some, or most of it will survive.’

‘I, for one, agree,’ said the Speaker of the Leviathan. ‘The hideous visions I experienced were enough to change my thinking on this matter. I feel that we have all been vouchsafed these warnings in the last few days because the danger is now drawing very near. It is already too late to be worrying about preserving our secrets. Our sole consideration now must be the survival - of our people and our civilisation.’

The Queen of the Winged Folk shook her head. ‘When I was crowned, I swore to safeguard the secrets of my people, and never to reveal them to a living soul. What would you have me do? How long do you think my people would support a Queen who had turned oathbreaker?’

‘But surely they would be able to see that these are exceptional circumstances, ’ Cyran protested.

‘Would they? Until I saw those visions for myself, Archwizard, even I doubted your warnings. What right have I to expect more of my subjects?’

Aizaiel drummed her tail tip rapidly on the ground - a Dragon’s equivalent, Cyran knew, of a frown. ‘I agree with Pandion. Our powers have been kept secret for good reason. It’s all very well for you Wizards, and even the Leviathan and the Skyfolk. But Fire magic could be appallingly destructive in the wrong hands.’

‘And you think our powers could not?’ Pandion snapped. ‘Ever heard of whirlwinds? Hurricanes, perhaps?’

‘Not to mention tidal waves, floods and whirlpools,’ Kahuna added.

‘Exactly.’ The Dragon sounded pleased. ‘Cyran, I should say that Earth magic is probably the most innocuous of all four elements. It tends to be more healing and nurturing than destructive. But can the rest of us afford to give our secrets away so easily? Pandion spoke of hurricanes. How much more destructive would such a tempest be when coupled with Water magic to produce torrential rain, tidal waves and floods? Then add Fire magic to produce lightning, and you have massive forces of destruction. Can we afford to let our knowledge become so widespread that any one of us could wield all four powers at once? If such a Mage turned to evil and destruction, they would be invincible - and for any one person to wield so much power would be a deadly temptation. We dare not take the risk.’

Aizaiel’s words gave Cyran cause to ponder. For many years now, he had kept a secret of his own from his fellow Magefolk leaders. Should he finally tell them? After all this time? The fact that he had a Wizard who possessed the powers of all four elements might be just what was needed to persuade the waverers that magical knowledge could and should be shared. He had kept silent for all these years to protect Iriana. She had problems enough in her life without having to grow up under close study. But now things were different. He smiled to himself. The girl could handle the scrutiny of the others. He’d lay wagers on it.

Then, for an instant, Cyran thought of his son. He would have something - quite a few things, in fact - to say about this. But the two of them had grown up together, and Avithan had always been more protective of the girl than she had ever wanted or needed. Besides, right now, the Archwizard didn’t feel that he owed his devious, recalcitrant son a thing. Iriana was a grown woman now, who knew her own mind, and Avithan would have to respect that. And I should too, Cyran realised. I ought to speak with her before I make her abilities common knowledge; ask her if she minds, or at least warn her that the time is fast approaching when I must destroy her privacy. She may be just the person to persuade the other Mages that someone holding all four powers isn’t necessarily a monster.

Or do they know otherwise? For the first time, he wondered whether his young Wizard really was unique. Could it be that the others had Mages of their own who had mastery of all four elements of magic? Maybe everyone at this meeting was guarding a similar secret. Maybe the Magefolk were evolving, in some mysterious way, to meet the demands of this future catastrophe. Without exposing Iriana, however, there was no way of finding out. The way things were going, he knew he would soon be compelled to speak out, but . . . Next time, he thought. I’ll tell them next time, for sure.

In the meantime, however, nothing had really been accomplished. The Archwizard sighed, suddenly feeling very weary. ‘We appear to have reached an impasse,’ he said. ‘If no one has anything more to add, we may as well adjourn for today.’

‘Wait.’ It was the calm voice of Kahuna. ‘Perhaps there is a way out of this impasse in which we find ourselves.’

‘Well I, for one, can’t see it,’ said Pandion bluntly. ‘If you have any bright ideas, I suggest you get to the point. I have other demands on my time. I can’t sit here all day.’

‘And I will, if you could refrain from interrupting.’ It was rare for the tranquil Leviathan to betray even a hint of irritation in his voice, Cyran thought, but the strains of this meeting were beginning to tell on them all.

‘Please listen, all of you,’ Kahuna said. ‘Today we have failed to reach agreement in two vital areas: the exchange of knowledge and the creation of master artefacts. Might we not, then, compromise? If Cyran will consent to the artefacts being made, and Aizaiel to cooperating in the sharing of our magical lore, then I will agree to put aside my concerns and participate in both ventures. Despite the considerable risks, this seems to me to be the only way forward. Otherwise we may damn ourselves and all the Magefolk through our sheer inertia.’

Aizaiel was the first to reply. ‘This sounds like a fair compromise to me, and I applaud the wisdom of our friend the Speaker of the Leviathan. Very well. I will agree if the others will.’

Though Cyran still had grave misgivings about the creation of such powerful magical artefacts, he realised that if he ever wanted to realise his dream of preserving knowledge, this was the only way forward. He took a deep breath, knowing that the very shape of the future would hang upon his next words. ‘Kahuna is wise indeed,’ he said. ‘I too will put aside my doubts and agree.’

Pandion shrugged. ‘I still think it’s a mistake to give away our secrets, but if it means we gain a way to defend ourselves, then I suspect it will prove the lesser of two evils. I also will agree to the Speaker’s suggestion.’

‘Then for good or ill, we are decided,’ Kahuna said. ‘Now we are weary, and have talked enough for one day. I suggest we meet again tomorrow, to start working out all the particulars, for I fear we will find it is one thing to agree that the artefacts should be made, but it will be quite another matter to actually create them.’