Ships from the West

'That is an abomination,' the old mage told his companion.

'Perhaps. I am no longer sure I care greatly. One can become accustomed to all sorts of things, Golophin.' The speaker had thrown back his cowl at last and now was revealed as a middle-aged man with close-cropped grey hair and a prize shy;fighter's face. He reached into the breast of his habit and brought forth a steel flask. Unscrewing the top, he took a sip and then tossed it across the fire. Golophin caught it deftly and drank in his turn. 'Hebrionese akvavit. I applaud your taste, Bard.'

'Call it a perk of the job.'

'Call it what it is: spoils of war.'

'Hebrion was my home also, Golophin.'

'I have not forgotten that, you may be sure.'

A tension fizzled across the flames between them, and then slackened as Bardolin chuckled. 'Why Golophin, your hauteur is almost impressive.'

'I'm working on it.'

'It is pleasant, this, sitting here as though the world were not on fire around us, listening to the hunting bats and the sough of the wind in the heather. I like this country. There is an austerity to it. I do not wonder that it breeds such sol shy;diers.'

'You met these soldiers in the field I hear, a decade ago. So are you become a general now?'

Bardolin bowed. 'Not much of a one, it must be said. Give me a tercio and I know what to do. Give me an army and I will admit to being somewhat ill at ease.'

"That doesn't bode well for your master's efforts in this part of the world, Presbyter.'

'We have generals, Golophin, ones who may surprise you. And we have numbers. And the Dweomer.'

"The Dweomer as a weapon of war. In the days before the Empire – the First Empire – it is said that certain kings fielded regiments of mages. But it has never been recorded that they tolerated the presence of shifters in their armies. Not even the ancients were barbarian enough for that.'

'You speak whereof you know nothing.'

'I know enough. I know that the thing seated across the fire from me is not Bardolin of Carreirida, and the succubus which hides silent in the shadows behind you was not conjured up for his comfort.'

'And yet she is a comfort, nonetheless.'

'Then why are you here? To sit and wax nostalgic about the old days?'

'Is that so inexplicable, so hard to believe?' Golophin dropped his eyes. 'I don't know. Ten, twelve years ago I thought there was a part of my apprentice which could still be saved. I am no longer so sure. I am consorting with the enemy now.'

'It does not have to be that way. I am still the Bardolin you knew. Because of me, Hawkwood is alive.'

'That was your master's whim.'

'Partly. The survival of the other had nothing to do with me though, you may be sure.' 'What other?'

'The Presbyter of Hebrion's right hand.' I don't understand, Bard.'

‘I can tell you no more. I, also, am consorting with the enemy do not forget.'

The two wizards stared at each other without animosity, only a gentle kind of sadness.

'It is not as though Hebrion has been destroyed, Golophin,' Bardolin said softly. 'It has merely suffered a change in ownership.'

'That sounds like the self-justification of the thief.'

'You are so damned wilful – and wilfully blind.' Here Bardolin leaned forward so that the firelight carved a crannied mask out of his bluff features.

"The fleet did not make landfall in Hebrion out of a mere whim, Golophin. Your – our – homeland is vital to Aruan's plans. It so happens that Hebrion, and the Hebros Mountains, were once part of the Western Continent.'

'How can you-'

'Let me finish. At some time in the unimaginable past Normannia and the west were one great land mass, but they split apart aons ago, drifting like great lilypads and letting the ocean flood in between them. Aruan and his chief mages have been conducting research into the matter for many years.'

'So?'

'So, there is something, some element or mineral in the very bowels of the Western Continent which is in effect the essence of the energy we know as magic. Pure theurgy, running like a vein of precious ore through the very bedrock of the earth. It is that which has made Aruan what he is.'

'And you what you have become, I take it.'

'This energy runs through the Hebros also, for the Hebros and the mountains of the Western Continent were once part of the same chain. That is why Hebrion has always been home to more of the Dweomer-folk than any other of the Five King shy;doms. That is why Hebrion had to fall. Golophin, you have no conception of the great researches that are underway, in the west, at Charibon, even in Perigraine. Aruan is close to solving an ancient and paramount riddle. What are the Dweomer-folk, and how were they created? Is it in fact possible to imbue an ordinary man with the Dweomer, and make of him a mage?'

Golophin found his bitter reply dying in his mouth. Despite himself, he was fascinated. Bardolin smiled.

'Think of the progress this army of mages can make in the pursuit of pure knowledge, given all the materials they need, allowed to proceed in peace with their studies. Golophin, for the first time in history, the bowels of the Library of St Garaso in Charibon have been opened up and laid bare. There are treatises and grimoires down there that predate the First Empire. They have been sealed away by the Church for centuries, and now they are finally being studied by those who can understand them. I have seen a first edition of Ardinac's Bestiary-'

'No! They were all destroyed by Willardius.'

Bardolin laughed, and threw his hands up in the air. 'I've seen it, I tell you! Golophin, listen to me, think about this. Imagine what a mind like yours, allied to that of Aruan, could mean for the progress of learning, both theurgical and other shy;wise. An eighth Discipline is only the beginning. This is a precious opportunity, a crux of history right here and now, with the bats squeaking round our ears in the hills north of Torunn. It may be there are things about our regime that you find distasteful – no man is perfect, not even Aruan. But damn it all, our motives are pure enough. To lead mankind down a different path.

'At this time, there is a fork in the road. Man can either follow what he terms as science, and develop ever more efficient means of killing, and build a world where there is no place for the Dweomer, and which will eventually see its death. Or he can embrace his true heritage, and become something entirely different. A society can be created in which theurgy is part of daily commerce, and learning is treasured above the soot-stained tinkering of the artisan. At this point in history, mankind must choose between these two destinies, and that choice will be made in a tide of blood, because that is the way of revolutions. But that, regrettable though it may be, does not make the choice invalid.

'Join us, Golophin, in the name of God. Perhaps we can spare the world some of that bloodletting.'

The two men stared intently across the fire at one another. Golophin could not speak. For the first time in his long life he did not know what to say.

'I'm not asking you to decide now. But at least think about it.' Bardolin rose. 'Aruan has been away from Normannia a long time. It is a foreign country to him. But that is not true for us. Learned though he is, we possess a familiarity with this world of today that he lacks. He respects you, Golophin. And if your conscience still niggles, think on this: I am convinced you would have more influence over his deeds as a counsellor and friend rather than as an antagonist.

'As for me, my friend you have always been, and yet remain – whatever you might choose to believe.'

Bardolin rose to his feet with the smooth alacrity of a much younger man. 'Think about it, Golophin. At least do that. Farewell.'