Magician: Master

  Hochopepa looked troubled. “I’m not sure, but I think…Go on.”

  “If that is true, then consider the rest. Second, there must never be a time when the need for stability overrules the need for growth.”

  “But we have always grown!” objected Hochopepa.

  “Not true,” countered Milamber. “You have always expanded, and that seems like growth if you don’t investigate closely. But while your armies have been bringing new lands into your borders, what has happened to your art, your music, your literature, your research? Even the vaunted Assembly does little more than refine that which is already known. You implied earlier that I was wasting my time finding new ways to ‘toss energy around.’ Well, what is wrong with that? Nothing. But there is something wrong with the type of society that looks upon the new as suspect.

  “Look around you, Hocho. Your artists are in shock because I described what I had seen in paintings in my youth, and a few young artists became excited. Your musicians spend all their time learning the old songs, perfectly, to the note, and no one composes new ones, just clever variations on melodies that are centuries old. No one creates new epics, they only retell old ones. Hocho, you are a people stagnating. This war is but one example. It is unjustified, fought from habit, to keep certain groups in power, to reap wealth for those already wealthy, and to play the Game of the Council. And the cost! Thousands of lives are wasted each year, the lives of those who are the Empire, its own citizens. The Empire is a cannibal, devouring its own people.”

  The older magician was disturbed by what he heard, in total contradiction with what he believed he saw: a vibrant, energetic, alive culture.

  “Third,” said Milamber, “if my duty is to serve the Empire, and the social order of the Empire is responsible for its own stagnation, then it is my duty to change that social order, even if I must destroy it.”

  Now Hochopepa was shocked. Milamber’s logic was without fault, but the suggested solution was potentially fraught with danger to everything Hochopepa knew and revered. “I understand what you say, Milamber, but what you speak of is too difficult to contemplate all at once.”

  Milamber’s voice took on reassuring tones. “I do not mean to imply that the destruction of the present social order is the only solution, Hocho. I used that to shock and to drive home a point. That is what much of my research is about, not only the visible mastery of energy, but also investigations into the nature of the Tsurani people and the Empire. Believe me, I am more than willing to spend as much time on the question as I need. I plan on spending some time in the archives.”

  Hochopepa’s brows furrowed, and he studied his younger friend’s face. “Be warned, you may find some unsettling things in those archives. As I said, your education is not complete.”

  Milamber let his voice drop. “I have already found some unsettling things, Hocho. Much of what is held to be common truth by the nations is based upon falsehoods.”

  Hochopepa became concerned. “There are things that are forbidden for any but members of the Assembly to know, Milamber, and even then it is unwise to speak about them to even one of your brethren.” He glanced away, thinking, then said, “Still, when you have finished prowling around in those musty old vaults, if you need to discuss your findings, I’ll be a willing ear.” He looked back at his friend. “I like you and think you’re a refreshing change of pace for us, Milamber, but there are many who would rather see you dead as not. Don’t go chattering on to anyone but Shimone or myself about this social research you’re doing.”

  “Agreed. But when I reach a judgment as to what must be done, I shall act.”

  Hochopepa stood, an expression of concern on his face. “It is not that I disagree with you, my friend, it is simply that I must have time to assimilate what you have said.”

  “I could only speak the truth to you, Hocho, no matter how disturbing.”

  Hochopepa smiled. “A fact I appreciate, Milamber. I must spend some time considering the proposition.” Some of his usual humor crept back into his voice. “Perhaps you will accompany me to the Assembly? You have been absent much of the time with this house building and all; you would do well to put in an appearance now and again.”

  Milamber smiled at his friend. “Of course.” He indicated that Hochopepa should lead the way to the pattern. As they walked, Hochopepa said, “If you wish to study our culture, Milamber, I still suggest you come to the Imperial Festival. There will be more political activity in the seats of the arena in that one day than could be observed in a month in the High Council.”

  Milamber turned toward Hochopepa. “Perhaps you’re right. I shall think about it.”

  —

  WHEN THEY APPEARED on the pattern of the Assembly, Shimone was standing close by. He bowed slightly in greeting and said, “Welcome. I was about to go looking for you two.”

  Hochopepa said with mild amusement, “Are we so vital to the business of the Assembly that you must be sent to fetch us back?”

  Shimone inclined his head a little. “Perhaps, but not today. I merely thought you would find the business at hand interesting.”

  Milamber asked, “What is happening?”

  “The Warlord has sent messages to the Assembly, and Hodiku raises questions about them. We best hurry, for they are nearly ready to begin.”

  They walked quickly to the central hall of the Assembly and entered. Arrayed about a large open area was an amphitheater of open benches; they took seats in a lower row. Already several hundred black-robed Great Ones were in place. In the center of the floor they could see Fumita, the one-time brother of the Shinzawai lord, standing alone; he would be presiding over the business of the day. The presidency was allotted by chance to one of those in attendance. Milamber had seen Fumita in the Assembly only twice since being brought here.

  Shimone said, “It has been nearly three weeks since I saw you in the Assembly, Milamber.”

  “I must apologize, but I have been busy getting my home in order.”

  “So I hear. You’re something of a source of gossip in the imperial court. I hear the Warlord himself is anxious to meet you.”

  “Perhaps someday.”

  Hochopepa said to Shimone, “Who can understand such a man? Taking to building such a strange home.” He turned to Milamber. “Next you’ll be telling me that you’re taking a wife.”

  Milamber laughed. “Why, Hocho, how did you guess?”

  Hochopepa’s eyes grew wide. “You’re not!”

  “And why shouldn’t I?”

  “Milamber, it is not a wise course, believe me. To this day I have regretted my own marriage.”

  “Hocho, I didn’t know you were a married man.”

  “I choose not to speak of it much. My wife is a fine woman, though given to an overly sharp tongue and scathing wit. In my own home I’m not much more than another servant to be ordered about. That is why I see her only on prescribed holidays; it would be bad for my nerves to see her more often.”

  Shimone said, “Who is your intended, Milamber? A noble daughter?”

  “No. She was a slave with me at the Shinzawai estate.”

  Hochopepa mused, “A slave girl…hmm. That might work out.”

  Milamber laughed, and Shimone chuckled. Several other magicians regarded them with curiosity, for the Assembly was not a regular forum for mirth.

  Fumita held up his hand, and the Assembly became quiet. “Today there is a matter being brought before the Assembly by Hodiku.”

  A thin Great One, with shaved head and hooked nose, walked from his seat in front of Milamber and Hochopepa to the center of the floor.

  He surveyed the magicians in the hall, then spoke. “I come today so that I may speak about the Empire.” It was the formal opening of any business brought before the Assembly. “I speak for the good of the Empire,” he added, completing the ritual. “I am concerned about the demand made today by the Warlord for aid so he may broaden the war against the Midkemian world.”

  A chorus of jeers and cr
ies of “Politics” and “Sit down!” erupted from around the room. Soon Shimone and Hochopepa were on their feet with others crying, “Let him speak!”

  Fumita held up a hand for silence, and soon the room quieted. Hodiku continued. “We are precedented. Fifteen years ago the Assembly sent an order to the Warlord to end the war against the Thuril Confederation.”

  Another magician jumped to his feet. “If the Thuril conquest had continued, there would have been too few in the north to repulse the Thūn migration that year. It was a clear case of the salvation of Szetac Province and the Holy City. Now our borders in the north are secure. The situation is not the same.”

  Arguments erupted over the entire hall, and it took several minutes for Fumita to restore order. Hochopepa rose and said, “I would like to hear Hodiku’s reasons for considering this request vital to the security of the Empire. Any magician who is willing is free to work on behalf of the conquest.”

  “That is the point,” responded Hodiku. “There is no reason for any magician who feels this war into another space-time is right and proper for the Empire not to work in support of the conquest. Without the Black Robes who already serve the Warlord, the rift would never have been prepared for such an undertaking. It is that he now makes demands of the Assembly itself I find objectionable. If five or six magicians choose to serve in the field, even to traveling to this other world to risk their lives in the battle, then it is their own concern. But if one magician responds to this demand without considering the issues, it will appear the Assembly is now subject to the will of the Warlord.”

  Several magicians applauded this sentiment, and others seemed to weigh its merits. Only a few booed and jeered. Hochopepa stood again. “I would like to offer a proposal. I will undertake on behalf of the Assembly to send a message to the Warlord expressing our regret that the Assembly as a body may not order any magician to perform as requested, but that he is free to seek the services of any magician willing to work on his behalf.”

  A general murmur of approval ran through the room, and Fumita asked, “Hochopepa offers a proposition to send a statement of policy to the Warlord on behalf of the Assembly. Does anyone find this objectionable?” When no objections were forthcoming, he said, “The Assembly thanks Hochopepa for his wisdom.”

  He paused for a moment, then said, “Another matter needs our attention: the novice Shiro has been found lacking in the moral qualities necessary for the Greater Art. The mind probes reveal that he harbors anti-Imperial feelings, learned as a youth from his maternal grandmother, a Thuril woman. Is the Assembly agreed?”

  Hands were raised, and each bore a nimbus of light as the magicians voted. Green for life, red for death, and blue for abstention. Milamber abstained, but the vote was otherwise unanimous for death. One Black Robe rose, and Milamber knew that within minutes the novice would be stunned senseless, then teleported to the bottom of the lake, where his lifeless body would remain, too cold to rise to the surface.

  After the meeting broke up, Shimone said, “You should make a point of coming more often, Milamber. We hardly see you anymore. And you spend too much time alone.”

  Milamber smiled. “That is true, but I plan to remedy the situation tomorrow.”

  —

  THE CHIME SOUNDED throughout the house, and servants jumped to make ready for the Great One’s visit. Kamatsu, Lord of the Shinzawai, knew that a Great One had struck a chime in the halls of the Assembly, willing the sound to come here, to announce his imminent appearance.

  In Kasumi’s room, Laurie and the elder son of the house sat engrossed in a game of pashawa, played with painted pieces of stiff paper. It was common to alehouses and inns in Midkemia and was one more detail in the young Tsurani’s drive to master every facet of Midkemian life.

  Kasumi stood. “It is most likely he who once was my uncle; I had best go.”

  Laurie smiled. “Or could it be that you wish to stem your losses?”

  The Tsurani shook his head. “I fear I have created a problem in my own house. You were never a good slave, Laurie, and if anything, you have grown more intractable. It is a good thing I like you.”

  They both laughed, and the elder son of the house left. A few minutes later a house slave came running to Laurie and informed him that the lord of the house commanded him to come at once. Laurie jumped up, more from the slave’s obvious agitation than from any inbred obedience. He hurried to the lord’s room and knocked on the doorjamb. The door slid to one side, and Kasumi held it. Laurie stepped through and saw the Shinzawai lord and his guest, and then confusion overtook him.

  The guest was wearing the black robe of the Tsurani Great Ones, but the face was Pug’s. He started to speak, stopped, and started again. “Pug?”

  The lord of the house looked outraged at this forward behavior by the slave, but his nearly voiced command was stopped by the Great One. “May I have the use of this room for a few minutes, lord? I wish to speak to this slave in private.”

  Kamatsu, Lord of the Shinzawai, bowed stiffly. “Your will, Great One.” He left the room with his son behind; he was still in shock over the appearance of the former slave and confused at the conflicts within himself. The Great One he was, there could be no thought of fraud: his manner of arrival proved it. But Kamatsu couldn’t help feeling that his arrival heralded disaster for the plan he and his son had so carefully nurtured for the last nine years.

  Milamber spoke. “Shut the door, Laurie.”

  Laurie shut it, then studied his former friend. He looked fit, but vastly changed. His bearing was nearly regal, as if the mantle of power he now wore reflected some inner strength he had lacked before.

  “I…,” Laurie began, then lapsed into silence, confused about what to say. Finally he said, “Are you well?”

  Milamber nodded. “I am well, old friend.”

  Laurie smiled and crossed the room and embraced his friend, then pushed himself away. “Let me look at you.”

  Milamber smiled. “I am called Milamber, Laurie. The boy you knew as Pug is as dead as last year’s flowers. Come, sit and we will talk.”

  They sat at the table and poured two cups of chocha. Laurie sipped at the bitter brew and said, “We heard nothing about you. After the first year I gave you up for lost. I’m sorry.”

  Milamber nodded. “It is the way of the Assembly. As a magician I am expected to forgo all my former ties, except for those that can be maintained in a socially acceptable manner. Being without clan or family, I had nothing to forgo. And you were always a poor slave who never knew his place. What better friend for a renegade, barbarian magician?”

  Laurie nodded. “I am glad you have returned. Will you stay?”

  Milamber shook his head no. “I have no place here. Besides, there is work I must be about. I now have an estate of my own, near the city of Ontoset. I have come for you. And Katala, if…” His voice trailed off, as if he were fearful of asking about her.

  Sensing his distress, Laurie said, “She is still here and has not taken a husband. She would not forget you.” He broke into a grin. “Gods of Midkemia! It completely slipped my mind. You would have no way of knowing.”

  “What?”

  “You have a son.”

  Milamber sat dumbstruck. “A son?”

  Laurie laughed. “He was born eight months after you were taken. He is a fine boy, and Katala is a fine mother.”

  Milamber felt overwhelmed at the news and said, “Please. Would you bring her here?”

  Laurie jumped to his feet. “At once.”

  He rushed from the room. Milamber sat fighting down the upsurge of emotion. He composed himself, using his magician’s skills to relax his mind.

  The door slid open, and Katala was revealed, uncertainty on her face. Laurie stood behind, a boy of about four in his arms.

  Milamber rose and spread his arms to her. Katala rushed to him, and he nearly cried in his joy. They clung quietly for a moment, then she murmured, “I thought you gone. I hoped…but I thought you gone.”


  They stood for several minutes, each lost in the pure pleasure of the other’s presence, until she pushed herself away. “You must meet your son, Pug.”

  Laurie brought the boy forward. He regarded Milamber with large brown eyes. He was a well-formed boy, with a stronger likeness to his mother, but something in the way he tilted his head made him resemble the boy from Crydee keep. Katala took him from Laurie and passed him to Milamber. “William, this is your father.”

  The boy seemed to take this in with some skepticism. He ventured a shy smile, but leaned back, keeping his distance. “I want down,” he said abruptly. Milamber laughed and put the boy down. He looked at his father, then immediately lost interest in the stranger in black. “Ooh!” he cried, and rushed over to play with the Lord of the Shinzawai’s shāh pieces.

  Milamber watched him for a moment, then said, “William?”

  Katala stood next to him with her arm around his waist, hugging him as if afraid he would disappear again. Laurie said, “She wanted a Midkemian name for him, Milamber.”

  Katala started. “Milamber?”

  “It is my new name, love. You must get used to calling me that.” She frowned, not entirely pleased with the thought. “Milamber,” she repeated, testing the sound. She then shrugged. “It is a good name.”

  “How did he become William?”

  Laurie went over to the boy, who was trying to stand the pieces one atop the other, and gently took them away. The boy threw him a black look. “I want to play,” he said indignantly.

  Laurie picked him up and said, “I gave her a bunch of names, and she picked that one.”

  “I liked its sound,” she said; “William.”

  At the sound of his name the boy looked at his mother. “I’m hungry.”