“Information? Couldn’t Um... Unniel or Aibem tell us how to avoid the war, then?”
Agor shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.” He sighed. “It’s too bad I could never get Piskor the Generous to answer; she provides food and water and advice, and that would be ideal if we’re besieged, wouldn’t it?”
“It would help, certainly,” Sterren agreed.
They sat in moody silence for a moment, thinking.
Sterren considered what he had just been told and decided that he did not care to rely on the gods for help.
That meant returning to his original intent of locating a really powerful magician and somehow buying a miracle. Agor, it appeared, did not qualify.
“So, Agor,” he said, “are there any other theurgists in Semma?”
“No,” Agor answered. “It’s too bad, because I wouldn’t mind having someone to talk theurgy with.”
“What about other magicians? Do you know of any?”
“Oh, certainly! When I first got the job here, naturally I looked over the potential competition. It turned out I had nothing to worry about.” Sterren suppressed a groan at this news. Agor continued, “There are a few village herbalists, of course, and a couple of local shamans who seem to be more fraud than anything else. There are two wizards in the whole kingdom; one’s here in the castle, where he helps out in the kitchen, and the other’s in a village to the east. The one here in the castle used to be the other’s apprentice, I think.”
He paused, thinking.
“I don’t remember exactly how many witches there are; four or five, I’d say. None of them are in the castle.”
“What about sorcerers, or demonologists, or warlocks, or... or anything?”
“Well, demonology is illegal, of course, and I haven’t found any outlaw demonologists, but I suppose one could be hiding somewhere. The gods can’t see demons, usually. Sorcery is illegal, too, I suppose because the Northerners used to use it so much, and I know for certain there aren’t any sorcerers.”
“And warlocks?” He used the Ethsharitic word, since he had never heard a Semmat term.
Agor looked puzzled. “What’s a warlock?” he asked.
“Another sort of magician,” Sterren explained. “We’ve had them in Ethshar for about twenty years now.”
Agor shrugged. “I never heard of them,” he said.
That accorded well with Sterren’s suspicion that warlockry did not work in Semma, that the Power in Aldagmor was too far away. Quite aside from his losses at dice, surely, if warlockry were possible, there would be warlocks.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Not that the gods would tell me about. Believe me, I’ve asked them.”
Sterren nodded. No mysterious hermits, then. He could not help asking, “You’re absolutely sure there aren’t any you’ve missed?”
“I could have missed a demonologist and maybe one of these warlock things you mentioned, but that’s all.”
“How good are the two wizards? And the witches?”
“My lord Sterren, the younger wizard is working in the castle kitchens, lighting fires and entertaining the cooks; how good do you think he is? And they always say you can judge the master by the student.”
Sterren did not entirely believe that particular proverb, but he admitted that the older wizard could not be much of a miracle-worker. “What about the witches?”
“Well, my lord, none of them ever gave me any competition for the post of royal magician; does that tell you enough?”
Sterren had to agree that it did. He stared at the gleaming silver hasp on a nearby trunk, trying to think what else he could ask.
“My lord Sterren,” Agor said, after a thoughtful pause, “Do you really mean to use magic to fight this war?”
Sterren started. “Of course I do!” he shouted. “How else am I going to get out of this alive?”
“In that case, my lord, I don’t think you’d want Semman magicians in any case. They’ve all been raised in the tradition of using no magic in war. Wouldn’t it make more sense to get your magicians from somewhere else?”
“I suppose so, but where?”
“Ethshar, of course.”
“Of course,” Sterren said sarcastically, “except that I’m not allowed to go back there!”
“Really? Well then, you could send somebody. But are you really sure you aren’t?”
Sterren opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Because of the way he had arrived, he had assumed that he would not be allowed to leave Semma, but nobody had ever actually said that. And certainly, there were all the magicians he could ever need in the Wizards’ Quarter of Ethshar of the Spices. Not that they would be eager to go gallivanting off to Semma to get involved in something as nasty and unpleasant as a war. He would need a powerful incentive. Gold would work just fine, of course.
Sterren didn’t have any gold himself, but Semma’s royal treasury contained a good bit of the stuff. As warlord, his officers had assured him that he had access to the treasury for legitimate military expenses. He didn’t even need the treasurer’s cooperation; as warlord, he outranked the treasurer.
However, he did need the king’s permission for any expenditures out of the ordinary.
Sterren realized that it was time to speak to the king.
CHAPTER 12
His Majesty Phenvel III looked distinctly bored, but Sterren pressed on with the speech he had prepared, trying not to stumble over any of the unfamiliar words. He had picked up a few choice Semmat phrases from Agor and Lar, and did not want to ruin their effect by mispronouncing them.
“It seems clear,” he said, “that if Semma has won so many of its wars, and yet neither treacherous Ophkar nor perfidious Ksinallion has ever resorted to magic to defeat us, then Ophkar and Ksinallion cannot have many magicians available. If they had magicians surely they would have used them rather than admit defeat! Therefore, they will be unable to counter whatever magic we use. One really good wizard could probably turn the tide of this next conflict, a competent demonologist might be even better, if one could bring oneself to deal with such dark forces-”
“No demons,” the king interrupted.
“Your Majesty?”
“No demons, no demonologists,” Phenvel said, emphasizing his words with a wagging finger. “No sorcerers, either. We’ll use good, clean magic if we need to use magic at all.”
“Oh, we do need to, your Majesty,” Sterren replied quickly. “I swear that my own inexperience and the sorry state that my poor senile great-uncle left the army in leave us no other choice.” He mildly regretted insulting his dead relative, but after all, the man was dead and he really had left the army in sad shape.
“All right,” the king said, “but no demonology and no sorcery. Is that clear?”
“Oh, yes, your Majesty!” Sterren grinned with sudden relief. Up until that moment he had thought the king was not listening and would reject the whole idea out of hand.
“It might be entertaining to have some real magic around here,” Phenvel said. “Agor’s all very well, with his lights and voices, but I’d like to see something new. Do you think you can find a wizard who can fly? I’ve heard that some of them can do that; is it true?”