Chapter 3

The Chief Loremaster bit down on the rising fear that his working against the machinations of his Sovereign had at last been discovered. 'My King, it is all that we can do. As I have tried to tell you from the beginning, on the one hand it is like trying to pick yourself up by your own bootstraps; on the other it is like stretching too little butter over too much toast; eventually, something must fail.'

'Not if that something is my life,' the old King said. 'You will find a way, at any cost, be that cost your worthless life. In that event, I will find others that will serve me, and serve me without question.'

The Chief Loremaster seemed to shrink within his robes, even as he took a deep breath. This was a nightmare How did one reason with the insane? One did not, of course. But if one had no choice, and that mad person was the King Himself, what then? Ah, then one had to seem to go along, to pretend to be party to the madness, watching for any opportunity to thwart the deliberations of a deluded will.

But at what cost?

'You have something to add?' The King seemed impatient to get back to his scribbling. His tall desk was covered with it; it littered the floor all round, was stuffed into every nook and cranny. The Chief Loremaster glanced at the nearest, latest piece, the one the King had been working on when he entered His chambers, and shuddered. The King was not illiterate; far from it, for in his day he was known to have been somewhat of a scholar. Yet now that his mental faculties had deteriorated, for years now he had taken to incessantly writing illegible, unintelligible gibberish. Now . . . did He even know what He was doing, somewhere underneath, inside, in some dark corner or half-forgotten recess of His mind? The Chief Loremaster sincerely doubted it, in light of the King's latest demands, which were becoming more erratic, dangerously, physically, morally, and . . .

Even as he tried to push the unpleasant thought away, the King seemed to speak it for him.

'One of your colleagues has told my son that there is a way. He was reluctant to speak of the matter, curse his craven soul But Prince Cir prised the information out of the disloyal wretch, at the cost of his life. Now, you will tell me, or you will find that reluctance in this matter carries a heavy price; all that you have to give, to put not too fine a point on it.'

The Chief Loremaster's mouth went dry, not at the threat to his own life, but to the implications of what he had just heard. 'My Lord What way . . . what method do you speak of? I-'

'It concerns the Book of Lore. The final illustration, to be precise.'

'But-' the Chief Loremaster bit his tongue to stop the words But this is madness from escaping his lips. 'Sire,' he said, trying to gain some measure of control over the situation, 'the final illustration has remained unfinished for many generations for good reason The Lore, at that point, reaches a level of puissance beyond the strength of any mortal to control, be he equipped with the greatest of periapts imaginable The Lore would be unleashed, the Balance violated briefly . . . and then the backlash of such an event, when the Earth Mother Herself reacts to what we've done . . .'

'If She reacts,' the King said, a half-smile on his lips, as he began scribbling once more.'

Leaning closer to emphasize his words, to try to force something of their import into the King's mind, he said, as fiercely as he dared, enunciating each word, 'She will react '

Still smiling, the King said, 'You do not know it, but others of your colleagues assure me that it will soon be in My power to deal with Her.' Turning to the old Loremaster, he said, 'And I will, deal . . . with . . . Her ' He shouted these last words, and the veins on his temples stood out, briefly. 'She has been the problem from the beginning, setting out the rules, cheating us . . . cheating us . . .' He controlled his petulant tirade, but only briefly. '. . . while She goes on living forever She gives the rest of us a mere taste of life, just enough to know that it is sweet, and dear, and so utterly precious . . . only to take it away once more, and in so doing, taking away all point in living. I have no doubt that She takes our lives to feed her own. A Vampire, that is what She truly is Well, I shall drive a stake through this Vampire's heart, and then I will be truly free . . . free to act, free to do what She has forever forbidden.' Leaning closer, so that they were almost face-to-face, the King said, 'Once I have Her, and I will have Her, shortly; then I will make sure that the final illustration is completed, and the full power of the Lore invoked, by myself Do you not see the beauty of it? The Lore cannot destroy me, if I command the Lore to endow me with life everlasting '

'But the Lore will be unleashed . . .' the old Loremaster tried to protest.

'Aye, it will,' the King said, sitting back in his chair, his gaze lost somewhere in his own imagination. 'The Lore will be unleashed. Well, what of it? Let it do what it will. It will not be able to harm me. I will be safe. For ever. I . . . will live, forever. Free of doubt; free of care; free of worry; free from the ravages of angst-ridden mortality.'

'But Sire Your Kingdom . . . the rest of the World-'

'They are worth the price,' the King replied, an almost reverential expression on his face. 'Think on it Were you the wealthiest person alive, and your time came, you would pay anything, do anything, to buy more time, if you could.'

The old Loremaster sighed, and thought, No, I would not. Not if it had to be got at the expense of all else. He tried to imagine the implications of the Lore's being unleashed, but found he couldn't. A conflagration of unbridled power would be released, the Balance overthrown in the process, the Balance being that Force of Nature that regulated all excess or deficiency in the Grand Scale of things. But without the Balance The consequences were unthinkable. And that was only the beginning. The Balance Itself was little more than a trigger, a warning to the Earth Mother, who would then act. But if She were somehow to be prevented from intervening . . .

Again he tried to imagine such an occurrence; found that such imaginings were quite beyond his scope. Could anyone know such a thing? he wondered. Or, as is more likely, and infinitely more merciful, would there be no one left to know? The Lore, if unleashed, would continue, of course. But like a solvent distilled from Chaos Incarnate, it would dissolve anything it touched, moulding all life, like living, melting clay that was worked by frenetic hands with no eye or mind to guide them. The Chief Loremaster closed his eyes and suppressed a shudder, while the King, apparently oblivious, went back to his scribbling.

Seeming to divine the old Loremaster's shifting attention, the King frowned, and said, 'When the invocation is complete, I shall have more time to work on my memoirs. With eternal life, it would become an eternal task, perhaps, but one well worth the labour. Yes, that has become my Great Question.' He leaned back in his chair once more and contemplated the chaos of papers and scrolls which surrounded him. Gesturing, he said, 'To find the hidden meaning in all this . . .' He fixed the Loremaster with a menacing glare. 'And there is meaning in all of this. There are patterns here, whatever you might think '

'Sire . . . I-' The old Loremaster wanted to plead with the King, or at the least, to plead, somehow, with any vestige of sanity which might remain in the old King's being, to rekindle a spark of light in His inner darkness, if only for a moment, so that the King could see what He was doing, or at the least that His eyes would open . . .

'You don't see the patterns here, do you.' It was a statement.

Defeated, trying not to look at the sheet of paper in the King's hand, and in His own hand, he could only shake his head.

The King smiled, an air of triumph in his mien, and shaking his head, went back to scribbling. 'Loremasters Great scholars and intellects Get you gone. It is high time I had you replaced.'

Leaving the King's chambers and making his way out of the castle, and stepping out into the light of day and the clear, brisk morning air, did nothing to improve his spirits. He was under no illusion that the King would fail to carry out his threat of replacement; a euphemism for murder. He was tempted to leave the King's city of Valerian entirely, to cast aside his robes and go back to the outside world. But in the same breath he realized that such freedom was no longer attainable. Not for him. The knowledge of what he'd just heard had a claim on him. He may as well have been bound in chains. Which was probably the King's intent. Mad though He may be, He was still crafty, intelligent, and skilfully, breathtakingly manipulative. The old Loremaster's strings had thus been taken from his hands, without his knowledge or even a hint of suspicion on his part; they would shortly be divided up and placed in the hands of novices and scribes who couldn't even guess what they had, let alone what they were dealing with Each of them will have a piece of that deadly puzzle, he mused, finding that his feet had taken him to a nearby tavern, and not one of them will have the slightest idea of the nature of the overall picture. Several heads turned in surprise as he entered the dimly lighted, low-ceilinged room. A fire burned low in a hearth at the other end, and making his way towards this, he seated himself.

'Is something the matter, sir? Has anyone done-?'

He glanced up at the serving-woman, a careworn, middle-aged Elf woman, who stared at him uncertainly, wringing her hands.

'Wine,' he said.

'W-' she stared and gaped in amazement.

'Wine,' he repeated. 'Bring me a small cask. Black Strand, if you've got it.'

As she bustled hurriedly away, there was a general buzz from the other patrons, which he ignored. Presently, the woman returned, struggling with the cask, flagon dangling from a single finger of one hand. As she removed the bung and filled his flagon, he took a number of gold pieces from his purse and placed them on the table. The woman stared at them, and said in a timid voice, 'This is only a poor tavern, sir. I haven't any change for gold-'

'You may keep the gold,' he told her, and took a long draught of his wine. Wiping his mouth on the back of one sleeve, he added, 'I doubt very much that I will be needing it.' When she hesitated, he picked up the gold pieces, placed them in her hand, and closed her fingers around them. Too amazed even to consider her sudden good fortune, the woman left.

Before long, he was joined by an off-duty soldier who stood by his table. He winced, assuming that the soldier meant to cadge some of his wine. Instead, the soldier seated himself, placing his own flagon, which was quite full, and containing another sort of beverage entirely, on the table. 'You are a Loremaster, aren't you?' asked the soldier. 'I've seen you about. But I have never seen nor heard of a Loremaster hanging about with the likes of us plain folk.'

'Perhaps I'm thinking seriously of quitting my profession,' the old man said with the ghost of a smile. 'Or perhaps my profession is seriously considering quitting me.'

The soldier eyed him narrowly. 'To the best of my knowledge, a Loremaster can't ever stop being a Loremaster, no more than any other body in the direct service of the King, unless he be a mere soldier who has grown too old or too lame to be useful.'

'Well, you are certainly wrong on that count,' said the old Loremaster, who drained his flagon in one long draught and refilled it once more a little unsteadily. 'A Loremaster can stop being a Loremaster any time he wants, the same as anyone may leave the service of the King at any time, if he so chooses.'

'You're talking daft nonsense ' the soldier said, annoyed but intrigued. 'If people could leave the service of the King, then why don't they do it? I've never heard of such a thing '

'There is a good reason why you've never heard of such a thing,' the old Loremaster said, pouring himself another flagon. He was well on the way to being quite drunk by now. 'It's called fear. That's what keeps everyone in their place; that's what keeps the King in power, and everyone beneath him in line. Fear. It's why you take orders, and why you wear that uniform. It's why you kill when you're told to; it's why you get up at the crack of dawn every morning, even if you're tired or sick. But without fear,' he leered at the soldier conspiratorially, 'nothing works, at least, not where the lines of that sort of power are concerned.'

'What do you mean, that sort of power?' the soldier asked, perplexed. 'What are you on about? What other kind of power is there?'

The old man sighed, and listened, but thankfully heard nothing. Not yet. Not yet. 'Benign power,' he said. 'Sane power. Compassionate power-'

'Aye, and a life of feasting, dancing, merriment and song,' finished the soldier contemptuously. 'The sort of things old Gran's tell their children's children before the evening fire, about how things used to be long ago.'

'You don't believe things were ever like that?' the old Loremaster asked him.

'It's not a question of whether I believe it or not,' the soldier replied. 'The point is (if there is a point), that we have to live in the world as it is today, and not try to live in a past which has got nothing to do with us. I mean, if we've never lived that way ourselves, then what's it got to do with us? It's not like we never do any of those things; we just never seem to have the time for them. Maybe we simply outgrew them. Those were simpler times, by all accounts.'

'Yes, and these times are very, very complicated,' the Loremaster agreed sadly, but for reasons of his own, as he stared at his flagon. And then, 'Tell me, young man; what would you do, if you had a chance to get your hands on all the time in the world? How far would you go? What would you do to get it?'

The soldier was silent for a long moment, thinking. 'If I understand you aright, you're talking about more than just time enough to do what I want to do.'

'Close,' said the Loremaster. 'What I'm talking about is eternal life. My question to you is this: you find out there's a way to get eternal life, but it carries a heavy price. Would you pay it?'

'Of course I'd pay it ' the soldier said without hesitation. 'Why not? I mean, if you were going to live forever, even if you had to borrow the money, you'd have forever to pay it back. As far as that goes, you'd only have to wait for your creditors to die off '

The Loremaster poured himself another flagon, slopping a bit, while trying to gesture impatiently at the same time. 'I'm not talking about that sort of price We're not talking about money here. We're talking about consequences.'

'Consequences? What sort of consequences?' The soldier leaned forward, genuinely curious now.

Taking a long pull from his flagon, the old Loremaster sighed, relaxed now, his eyes glassy from drink. 'Let's just say that, for you to have eternal life, everyone else must either die, or suffer eternal torment. So tell me; would you still do it?'

The soldier swallowed, staring at the old Loremaster in fearful outrage. 'That's no choice at all ' Then the full import of what the old Loremaster had said sank in, and he got to his feet, furious. 'Is that what you people do in yon lofty towers all day? Sit about and plot such wickedness at the expense of simple folk like us?'

The old Loremaster sighed, sadly, listening. Ah, yes, they were coming now. He could hear them.

'Chief Loremaster '

While he still had the chance, he poured himself another flagon, and quickly drained it. They were standing right behind him now.

'Chief Loremaster, by order of the King, you are under penalty of death, such sentence as to be carried out immediately. You will come with us.'

'So,' the soldier jeered, 'you have been up to some wickedness I hope they burn you alive '

Getting unsteadily to his feet, facing the King's Own Guard, he said, 'We have all been up to some sort of wickedness or another. Some by complicity, others because they simply didn't know any better, and many because they were given no choice in the matter. Here we have a group of soldiers about to commit murder on my person. So be it.'

As he was led away, he said to the young soldier, 'I leave you with an important thought; remember what I told you about fear.'

'Daft old fool ' said the soldier as the King's Own Guard left with the old Loremaster. Seating himself, he pulled the bung from the cask, and pouring himself a drink, muttered, 'The only important thing he left behind was the wine.'