THE PRICE OF MAGIC Chapter Nine

THE PRICE OF MAGIC

PART TWO: THE CLASSLESS SOCIETY

CHAPTER NINE

     The number of people who applied to fill the position left vacant by Rim's unexpected departure was extraordinary. Even Sor's final list of candidates was long. Yet, as capable as many of the men on that list were, the king was uncertain about his final choice. His primary concern was trustworthiness. He had been betrayed, in one form or another, by two of the three chancellors who had served him since his coronation, and he wasn't anxious to repeat the experience. Sor wanted someone to match Rim's devotion to king and duty, not a man who gave lip service while pursuing his own agenda.
     The three most promising names on the list were members of Sor's ten-man advisory council. He felt that he knew those men and the extent of their ambitions. Uss, a prosperous merchant, had a keen mind and a number of contacts in the other cities, but his reputation as a skinflint had earned him a poor name in some parts of Vorti. Ryf, commander-in-chief of the guards, was a hard man with a fear of no one. He was well-liked, perhaps even beloved, by the people, but his intelligence was limited and his capacity for original thought was non-existent. Fla, Vorti's farming representative, seemed the best compromise between the two, possessing some of Uss' intelligence and much of Ryf's acceptance within the community, but the man was more timid than Rim, and Sor wondered whether he might be too easily intimidated.
     There was a fourth name that had caught the king's eye, but it was one he knew only by reputation. Til, a scholar who had been born and raised in Tsab, the city of Sor's mother's birth, and had come to Vorti as a lad, was said to be both intelligent and charismatic. He was also rumored to be ambitious. Those who knew him well had nothing but praise for his initiative and drive. Sor didn't want a puppet or someone who would knuckle under to public opinion, but there were limits to how much aggressiveness he was willing to condone.
     Nevertheless, he was unwilling to dismiss Til's potential. Few men or women had anything bad to say about him, which was not true of Sor's three leading candidates. Somewhere along the line, even the likeable Ryf had acquired enemies, but Til seemed to have none, or at least none Sor could find.
     Finally, as the paperwork that was the chancellor's responsibility mounted, and Sor realized he couldn't put off the decision for much longer, he summoned Til to the little throne room for an interview.
     The scholar arrived at the palace dressed in an outfit of lavender doublet and hose with a finely tailored, ermine-trimmed sapphire tunic and soft velvet slippers. The costume, like his elegantly coiffured copper hair, was better suited to a noble or courtier than a hard-working student of the world. The man beneath the trimmings was tall, lean, youthful, and handsome. He had an athletic figure and a chiseled face. His eyes, staring from beneath bushy brows, were a pale blue to match his tunic.
     Til bowed to the man on the throne - the cultured bow of someone who had grown up at court - then remained quiet, awaiting the king's pleasure. Sor looked the scholar over, and, even though he was unimpressed by Til's foppish appearance, he decided to proceed with the interview.
     "You are Til, a scholar, formerly of the city Tsab and currently a resident of Vorti?"
     "Thus am I called, Sire."
     "I see. And why do you seek the job of chancellor? What qualities do you possess that other candidates might be lacking?"
     "I cannot say what others may or may not be lacking, Sire, but I can tell you what I offer. I am well trained and well read in medicine, history, and philosophy. I have carefully followed your reign since I was old enough to read, first through books and then through firsthand experience in Vorti. It is for that reason I came here - to observe such a bold and unique experiment firsthand. All students of history across Devforth long to come here, Sire, to behold your living legacy."
     Sor was aware that he was being flattered - something he had grown accustomed to during his tenure as king - but he suspected that underlying Til's superfluous praise was a genuine sincerity. There was a passionate quality to what he said that was absent from every empty sycophant's praise.
     "That you have observed my reign is interesting, but hardly a reason for me to choose you as my chief advisor," noted Sor.
     "I agree wholeheartedly, Your Majesty. But that is not my only qualification. For you see, my studies have been in a subject close to your heart - that of the differences between nobles and common men and how a society might function with the boundaries of class removed. I have learned that Vorti is not the first city to attempt this. Centuries ago, before the new calendar was started, the ancient city of Knex - now reduced to a fragment of its former greatness - attempted something similar. The result was disastrous, but I believe I have discovered where the government failed.
     "I have also studied the records of dozens of small settlements that have, over the years, attempted to exist without classes. Some have succeeded and are still in existence today. Others have become extinct. I believe I have begun to synthesize the basic reasons why and how a bold experiment such as this may be made to fail or succeed.
     "It is this qualification - my knowledge, understanding, and passion for the system you are creating - that is my primary qualification for the post of chancellor. Your Majesty, though I am certainly not the only one who approves of your actions, I may be the only one who understands what underlies each decision you make."
     Sor stared at Til, who stood before the throne, arms outspread and eyes gleaming with a light that was almost fanatical, and could not help but be impressed. Here was an intellect and personality that put all of the members of his council to shame. It was no wonder that every citizen he had spoken to had been full of praise for the young scholar. Til was a prince among men.
     However, there was one area of the young man's expertise yet to be probed. For, the more innovative and intelligent the chancellor, the less secure Sor's secret was, and, though the king might be impressed by Til, it was too early to trust him.
     "What do you know of Apaths and magic?" asked Sor. It was a crucial question. If Til, with his intellect, was knowledgeable about such things, he could represent a danger to Sor's reputation once placed in a position of power. It wouldn't take much examining of the facts for someone familiar with the ways of the Apath to determine how low the king's emotional reserves were.
     "Very little, I regret to say. I am, of course, aware that you are the first Apath ruler of a major city in the history of Devforth. Other than that, however, I am ignorant. I could name many historical figures who are said to have been Apaths, and list the deeds attributable to them, but these are mere names and incidents. I have never had the opportunity to study the disciplines of magic."
     "I see," noted Sor, reassured but not totally convinced. Somehow, Til's answer had been too close to what he was hoping for. But, no matter how intelligent, the young scholar couldn't possibly be a mind-reader. That was a talent only the most sophisticated of Apaths could claim. Not even Sor had the necessary finesse.
     "Might I inquire if Your Majesty will consider me for the post?"
     Sor had made his decision in Til's favor, but he didn't want the young man to know it so soon. "You will be kept under consideration. But you're one of many, and there are others who have greater experience in the day-to-day affairs of Vorti. The chancellor's duty is not merely to enforce and promote the will of the king, but to handle the mundane aspects of his reign."
     "Not meaning any offense, Your Majesty, but I am a quick learner."
     "As I said, you will be kept under consideration. This audience is ended. Good day."

* * *
     Til was officially proclaimed the new chancellor of Vorti on the first day of winter. It was a balmy day and one-quarter of the city's population showed up to celebrate. Of course, since only a few hundred could fit inside the palace, the rest jammed the surrounding streets where the atmosphere turned festival-like. Beer and ale flowed freely and soon snatches of bawdy songs were making their way through the growing throng.
     Despite the oncoming cold season, it was a joyous time, but less pleasant days lay ahead. The harvest had been poor, owing in part to confusion following the early-autumn execution of the farmers' guildmaster. Too many crops had been left rotting in the field and now, without increased trade with the other farming cities, a threat of famine existed. Even with an influx of food, rationing would be a certainty.
     Following his swearing-in, Til went to work immediately, clearing up the backlog which had accumulated since Rim's resignation. It was a massive task which he completed quickly, bringing the final old documents to Sor's attention days before the yearly Mid-winter's celebration.
     "Very impressive, Til," noted the king on that occasion. "I think any other man would have taken twice as long sorting things out. Even Rim, whose services I valued greatly, would not have been as efficient."
     Til's only response was a deep bow.
     As had been the tradition since Sor's father Kan had taken the throne in 515, the king gave a speech from atop the palace battlements on Mid-winter's day. This year, Sor dwelt at some length on the struggle the men and women were going through because of the shortage of food. After fixing the blame on the executed guildmasters, he promised that better times were on the horizon and noted that the ambassador of Tsab was in Vorti during the holiday season to negotiate a large corn-and-grain agreement intended to bring immediate relief to the city.
     The crowd was smaller than it had been in recent years, and their cheers feeble. Sor was a master at playing on the emotions of large groups of people, but several lines designed to provoke a shout of acclamation barely stirred the listeners. The king blamed the weather. It was cold and blustery on Mid-winter's day, with a slate-gray sky that threatened to let loose a torrent of snow at any moment. Of course, one year ago, it had been sleeting and hundreds more had come to hear him, all shouting and cheering at the appropriate moments.
     That night, after a modest repast in the palace - a less sumptuous feast than was typical for Mid-winter's night - Sor and Daf, Tsab's ambassador, retired to the little throne room to sign a treaty which Til and several delegates from the western city had spent weeks hammering out. Finally, with the differences resolved, it was ready for the final signatures, then delivery to King Hwo for his approval.
     Daf was a pale, light-skinned man with blond hair, hazel eyes, and a neatly trimmed goateé. He was tall and thin, as was often the case with citizens of Tsab. Sor could not remember having ever seen a fat man from that city. Daf wore the long, flowing golden robes of state for what was, after all, an official function.
     With the parchment unfurled on the desk, Daf indicated it and invited in his soft-spoken voice. "If Your Majesty would do me the great honor of signing first..."
     As Sor reached for the stylus next to the inkwell, the ambassador moved to restrain him by laying a hand on his arm, offering the king instead a sharp pointed writing instrument he had brought with him. "I hope Your Majesty will do me the great honor of using this writing tool as a sign of the newfound amity between our great cities."
     The king nodded since it was a common enough diplomatic act, extending his hand to receive the stylus from Daf. By the time he noticed something was wrong, it was too late.
     It was a little thing, but, as an Apath, Sor was a trained observer. The tip of the stylus was slick with a black substance already, even though it hadn't yet been dipped in the inkwell. The king's mind had barely registered the fact when Daf acted. Instead of laying the implement in Sor's hand, the ambassador suddenly turned it, and, holding it like a knife, drove it full-force into the king's open palm.
     Sor did not cry out or panic. A lesser man, or a non-Apath, would have been dead, killed within seconds by the fast acting poison on the stylus. But Sor had been given a fraction of a heartbeat to prepare and it made the difference between survival and succumbing. The moment the weapon tore through his skin, his magic was already at work, heating his blood to the boiling point, burning up the poison before it could pulse through his body to his heart. He lost consciousness with a ragged scream, the work of his own magic searing his insides, but Daf's attempt on his life was thwarted.
* * *
     He awoke in a room dimly lit by one candle. It took him a minute's concentration before he recognized that he was lying in his own bed. His head was throbbing and his right hand felt swollen to three times its normal size. He lifted off the covers to survey the damage, but it was securely encased in a sheath of white bandages.
     Sitting by the bed, half-dozing, was Rim. At the sight of him, the king could not resist a smile. Once, before accepting his post as chancellor, Rim had been the palace healer. Apparently, in this situation, someone had persuaded him to return to his old duties.
     "How am I?" whispered Sor, his voice hoarse and his throat raw. It surprised him how painful the simple act of speaking was.
     Rim started, opened his eyes, and peered through the gloom at his king, who had lifted himself into a half-sitting position. "You were lucky. Your magic saved you, although you've done all sorts of damage to your insides. You're going to have to stay in bed for a while until you heal up."
     "How bad is it?"
     "Difficult to say," admitted Rim. "Your right hand is burned, and there's evidence of blistering in your throat and urinary track. It's really going to hurt to piss. But I don't think there's anything permanently wrong."
     "I see you've gone back to your old career."
     Rim let out a mirthless chuckle. "I wasn't given much choice. I received a summons two nights ago from the royal chancellor saying that my presence was urgently needed at the palace. The guard sent along to fetch me made it clear that refusal wasn't an option. I don't know why I was chosen. There are dozens of equally good - if not better - healers in Vorti."
     Sor, however, had stopped listening to Rim's tale, having focused on something he had said at the start. "What do you mean, two nights ago?"
     "You've been unconscious for the better part of two days."
     "Get me Til, right now!" barked the king.
     Rim was about to tell him to rest, but, realizing the futility of trying, shrugged and got up to fetch the chancellor, who, at this hour, was likely to be abed.
     Til, however, was not in bed, nor did he have any intention of sleeping in the near future. Instead, he was sitting at the table in the little throne room, with half a dozen scrolls unfurled before him, attempting to complete both his own and the king's work while Sor was unconscious.
     At the summons delivered by Rim, he abandoned what he had been doing and made his way to the royal bedchamber where the re-enforced group of four guards at the door let him pass without question.
     "Your Majesty," he acknowledged, bowing to his reclining monarch.
     "What happened to that bastard?" demanded Sor.
     "He is in close confinement in the dungeon. The torturers have been working on him, but he has said little."
     "Let them keep at it until I'm well enough to put him on trial," said the king.
     "Is there any doubt of the outcome, Sire?" asked Til.
     "None."
     "Then might I suggest we go ahead with the execution now. We are unlikely to learn more from him and it may give the impression of weakness if we permit an attempted assassin to loll in the dungeon for weeks. It is standard practice to execute assassins. The right of trial does not apply to them."
     "This is a protected diplomat from another city. The rules are different in this case," noted Sor.
     "Then they should be changed! An attempt on your life was made. That the murderous man behind it was a representative of Tsab should make no difference. Your Majesty, you must show that you are not willing to tolerate acts such as this, especially from those who represent other governments. You must order the execution of Daf now."
     Sor found his chancellor's arguments sound, and, since he agreed with the philosophy that the best way to stem future trouble was a quick and painful execution, it didn't take much convincing to solicit his agreement. "Prepare the royal order of execution. I'll sign it."
     With a flourish, Til presented the document. This time, the stylus handed to Sor was benign. He signed with his left hand, then returned both parchment and writing tool to his chancellor.
     "See that it is carried out."
     "As Your Majesty commands."
* * *
     Shortly after sunup two days later, while a wide awake Sor was lounging in bed reading through a series of scrolls his chancellor had brought him the evening before, there came a light tap on the closed door to his bedchamber.
     "Come in," called the king.
     A slightly ruffled Til opened the door. His normally impeccably groomed hair was out-of-place and his eyes bore the dulled look of someone recently awakened from a deep sleep. He was, however, dressed in his normal costume of office: a simple gray robe with a black sash.
     "Your Majesty," he acknowledged, bowing. "You're awake, I see."
     Til, like many scholars, was far from his best early in the day. Two hours later, he never would have made such an obvious observation.
     "What is it, Til?"
     "There's a woman who requests an audience with Your Majesty."
     Sor put down the document he was holding and gave his chancellor a look of contempt. "You've come to me with a request for an audience at this hour? And before I've recovered enough to rise from bed?? Get out, Til. And if you can't handle something like this on your own, I'll replace you with someone who can."
     "Your pardon, Sire, but this is no ordinary woman. She claims to be a seeress and her eyes bear the markings. She is blind, yet she walks without aid."
     Sor's left eyebrow arched. Across Devforth, the only kind of creature more rare than an Apath was a seer or seeress. Although it was difficult to gauge their numbers at any one time because of their reclusiveness, Sor guessed that, at present, there were less than a half-dozen on the entire continent. To the best of his knowledge, the location of none was known, and the last time a seer had entered Vorti had been seventy years ago, just before his father Kan had taken the throne from the tyrant Rel XVI.
     Seers were gifted with "second sight" - an ability to look into both the future and past. They did not control what they saw, and their visions were frequently cryptic and incomplete. Nevertheless, given a proper interpretation, everything was true. If the seer was genuine, that is.
     To aid the second sight, when a child was identified as a seer, his or her eyes were put out. Those with the true gift were able to adapt so that they could move around and travel almost as easily as a sighted person, using, as it had been described to Sor, "their minds to see for them." A genuine seer would be blind, yet able to function as normally as any person with eyes.
     "You believe she is legitimate, then?" questioned Sor.
     "I do, Your Majesty. Otherwise, I would not have disturbed you at this hour."
     "Bring her to me, then."
     Til was gone only a few moments. He returned with a young woman dressed in a soiled white robe that hung to her ankles. Her unshod feet were caked with mud, and the exposed skin on her arms and face was streaked with grime. She wore a placid expression, and, beneath all the dirt, Sor thought she might look attractive. Her frame was slight, bordering on emaciated, and, at full height, she came only to the chancellor's chest. Both of her eye sockets were scarred pockets of flesh, evidence of the mutilation that had at some past time been performed on her. Recently she had shaved her head, but the hair was beginning to grow in again as a fair, half-inch long stubble.
     "Your Majesty," she said, bowing in Sor's direction. "I am the seeress Meg."
     "I am honored," said Sor. Turning to Til, he added, "Leave us." Although he wasn't convinced of the woman's credentials, there were things she might reveal that he didn't want anyone, including his chancellor, to be privy to.
     Til opened his mouth to protest, but his liege forestalled him with a firm "Now."
     After the chancellor had gone, Sor turned to Meg. "What brings you to Vorti."
     "My visions," she said. "I believe it is my fate to come to live in this city. For what purpose, I cannot say."
     "Have you something to tell me?"
     "At this time, no. Nothing other than to inform you of my presence in Vorti. I believe it to be my duty to pay my respects to Your Majesty, since I am to become one of your subjects."
     "Not an ordinary one, certainly."
     Meg bowed her head in silent acknowledgement of the truth of his words.
     Out of curiosity, Sor asked her, "When you look at me, what do you see?"
     An expression of concentration flickered across Meg's features before she answered. "Many things. In the 'normal' sense, the way of the world as I see it, you are a crown on a bed with your luster dimmed. I assume that means you are ill. When I look deeper, I see glimpses of other things, perhaps images of the future.
     "You are Sor of Vorti, son of Kan and Sye. You are king of this city and an Apath, but, for many years now, you have hovered near the brink of Burgeoning Apathy. You are fertile." Saying this, Meg paused, looking startled, as if she had stated something that was impossible.
     "Fertile?" questioned a puzzled Sor.
     "Capable of fathering children. In fact, you have already done so twice. Once with Joi, your first wife. That son died in the womb. A second time with Lis. That son still lives."
     That information, if nothing else, proved the woman's credentials. Joi's pregnancy had been public knowledge, but only three people knew that Sor was the father of Lis' son: himself, Lis, and Lis' lover, Wil.
     "Why the surprise?" asked Sor, having noticed her expression.
     "Are you not aware that no Apath since the dawn of recorded history has been fertile? Men and women alike, their magical aptitude has destroyed their ability to have children. It is an established fact that Apaths are infertile."
     "No," said Sor softly. "I wasn't aware of that."
     "You are the first exception. I wonder if your children shall be Apaths as well?"
     "What about...my son? Is he?"
     "I can see little about him through you. To know, I would have to read him. All I can tell you now is that he still lives and has been given a name. Gav."
     Sor nodded. He had learned from the records that Wil's father's name had been Gav. It was a fitting choice for a son who would never know that he was the child of the Apath king of Vorti.
     "What else do you see about me?" asked Sor.
     "I can see your past - who you were in the life before this one." An expression of frank amazement crossed Meg's face when she made this pronouncement, almost as if she saw something in Sor's previous existance that she found difficult to accept.
     "Who was I?"
     "Often such information is unsettling, if not dangerous. I am reluctant to reveal the truth, and will tell you only if you press me."
     "No," said Sor quickly. "Being Sor is enough for me." More than enough, in fact.
     Meg shrugged. "The only other thing I see when I look at you is blood. Much blood. And fire. Purifying fire, I think. I do not know what that means. Nor can I tell you whether it is an image of the past or the future, although visions such as that are frequently echoes of what has not yet transpired."
     "You can see all that by looking at me?"
     Meg nodded. "By looking and concentrating. My normal vision, as I said, shows me things much as they are - symbolically of course. I could not describe you as a person - whether you are tall or short, thin or fat, fair or dark. All you are to me is a crown. Your chancellor is a scepter. But this room is four walls and I can see the exit."
     "I welcome you to Vorti, Mistress Meg."
     "Thank you, Your Majesty. I am sure we will meet again."
     "Does your sight tell you that?" inquired the king.
     "No, but my intuition does. And, as you may know, that is a thing which rarely misleads a woman."
* * *
     Four days later, Sor was back in the little throne room, although his health had not improved to the extent where he was able to hold audiences in the main hall. He was still weak from his brush with death and his chancellor kept the number of petitioners to a minimum, allowing only those with an immediate need in to see the king.
     Toward evening, a missive arrived from Tsab bearing the royal seal. Sor, spent from the day's exertions, leaned back in the high chair and motioned for Til to read King Hwo's message aloud.
     "Greetings to Sor, King of Vorti and Apath, from Hwo, Sovereign of Tsab and the Western Lands of Devforth.
     "It has come to my attention that Daf, the ambassador sent by Tsab to negotiate a treaty with Vorti, has attempted treachery beyond thought by assaulting Your Most Royal Person. It is my sincerest hope that the rumors of your full recovery are certain and that you will again sit upon the throne of Vorti to continue your wise and just rule.
     "While we in Tsab can in no way condone the action of our ambassador, I claim the right to try and punish him myself. And, be assured, he shall be severely chastised for his action. Assassination is a capital punishment in Tsab. Therefore, I ask that you release Ambassador Daf to the contingent of guards accompanying this message and send him, in chains, back to his home city where he may be duly tried, and, when found guilty, hanged."
     "They're going to find it rather difficult to try him now," noted Til.
     "I see no reason why they shouldn't have him, though," said Sor. "Or, at least, what's left of him. Except the head. I want that to stay mounted on the wall for another week as a reminder to anyone who has similar ideas. My father lived his entire life under the threat of assassination. I don't want to start now."
     "I imagine King Hwo will be unhappy."
     "I don't give a damn what King Hwo is. I wouldn't be surprised if Daf hadn't been given orders to kill me by His Majesty of Tsab in the first place. The reason Hwo wants him back is to execute him for having failed."
     "The guards are waiting. How do you want me to handle the situation?" asked Til.
     "Compose a letter informing Hwo that Daf was executed three days ago, according to the law of Vorti, which he violated. Furthermore, even if he was still alive, we would not turn him over. His actions were blatant enough not to warrant a trial and, because of the nature of his crime, execution in Vorti was the only acceptable resolution of the situation. Give the guards whatever ashes you can scour up from the pyre where his body was burned. Let them depart before nightfall. I don't want a troop of Hwo's men spending a night in my city."
     If the intent of Sor's response was to anger King Hwo, it succeeded. Hwo's next message to his eastern counterpart was less genial, and threatened Vorti and its Apath king with ugly reprisals for the "unconscionable act of insult perpetrated upon the people of Tsab."
     After consulting with his chancellor and, later, with his council, Sor's next move was swift and simple. Without apology or explanation, he severed diplomatic relations with Tsab, recalling all citizens of Vorti from that city, and expelling from Vorti every man or woman claiming Tsab as their home. The irony that Sor's own chancellor had lived most of his life in Tsab was not lost on Sor, but Til claimed that all ties and allegiances to the other city had been severed and he was loyal to his new liege. The king didn't see any reason to doubt him.
     In essence, a limited state of war between the two cities now existed.

Back To Main Contents
Back to Chapter Eight
On to Chapter Ten