Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (28 page)

In magic there are countless possible ways to achieve
the same end.

Yes.  What could be devilishly difficult under one
talent could be simplicity itself under another.  Closer to the point, a clever
person could discover new ways to achieve the same effect under the exact same
talent, ways that consumed less power or less effort or required less skill.

“We’re looking at the problem from the plateau with
which we are most familiar,” he reasoned for the group.  “From the perspective
of how court mages, who are among those with the strongest talents in the
kingdom, would first choose to levitate a stone off the ground.  Court mages
who are so adept at working at a high level that they’ve long been separated
from lesser problems.”

The best players are the ones who can think
unconventionally.

“What we need,” he mused, reflecting over Ilona’s
words, “is a fresh perspective.  Something outside the normal ways in which you
work.  Simple is usually the most effective, after all.  So…if you can’t have
an army of geomancers manipulating power on the level of a god, what can you do
in its place?”

“Pray?” Galton asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t be cheeky,” Inora reprimanded.  “Bend your
efforts to work the problem instead.”

As it usually did when he least expected it, Tollaf’s
voice cut nastily through his brain.  Startled by the recollection, Marik
blurted out, “How many of you have formed alliances with elemental spirits?”

He might have laughed at the way all eight blinked
simultaneously.  Shanahan answered.  “I haven’t,” he admitted.  “In the first
place, elemental spirits are like flies.  They never keep their attention
focused on any one thing for longer than a few moments before their interest is
diverted.  Making them understand what you want is similar to getting a child
to read the newest law decrees.”

Verge took it up from there.  “Contacting them is a
pain in the neck, too.  It’s not like sorcery where you can set up diagrams and
yank a Devil away from his lunch whenever you please.”

Galiena scowled.  “I would
hardly
say sorcery
is so simple as
you
make it sound!”

Inora stepped between them to address Marik. 
“Elemental spirits can be handy to have alliances with
if
you happen to
have need of a specific task for which they are suited,
if
they are near
enough to answer your call, and
if
they are willing to aid you at all. 
They are very much creatures of whim.  The odds of, for example, finding
exactly the right situation in a battle where they could be useful are so low
that forming and maintaining alliances with them over time is not worth the
effort.”

“It sounds like a mixed blessing,” Marik allowed. 
“They would be best for small things.  Such as a burst of fire or a gust of
wind.  Small manipulations.”

She nodded.  “Any of which an adequate enemy geomancer
would be prepared for.  Having elemental spirits help us would save our own
strength and energy, true, except they are not very useful in most cases.”

After a look around, the others also admitting to
never having bothered with it.  Verge justified his lack by pointing out,
“Anyway, a dozen elemental spirits would have to unite in order to produce a
single attack to match what I could do on my own.”

“What you could do on your own,” Marik echoed. 
Verge’s superior bearing made Marik want to stick a pin in the man.  “But let’s
say that, under different circumstances, you were born with a talent only
twenty percent as strong as yours currently is.  You’d never be standing here
as part of the enclave.  The cityguard might be charitable and throw you a bone
from time to time if they needed help with an inquiry.  If what the elemental
spirits could accomplish was stronger than what your measly talent could
achieve, would you still think it was a waste of time to forge and maintain a
number of alliances with them?”

“That is a question of no value,” the man replied hotly,
puffing up as he did so, “since my talent is far beyond such trifles.”

“I think that alliances with such spirits are far more
common among lesser talented geomancers,” Marik announced.  He shook his head
in disgust while he added, “The effort is much less a nuisance if you are not
so ‘blessed’ with talent that you can accomplish high-level works on your own. 
Finesse is usually more effective than hammering a problem with greater and
greater strength until you finally force it.  And that’s what we’ve been
talking about the whole time.  How to
force
a rock into the air.  The
Arronaths’ mountain seems less impossible if it was broken down into smaller
chunks.  Say, using however many elemental spirits as you needed to, each one
assigned to a small portion of rock.  Each one doing whatever was needed with
their own tiny piece in order to achieve the larger effect.”

“That is equally impossible,” Verge countered
snidely.  “Keeping a few hundred-thousand earth spirits harnessed to a single
task for so long?  You’d need twice as many geomancers as them to keep a watch
on the little bastards to see that they didn’t wander away.  And no one is mad
enough to try contacting an elemental lord, so the whole field of spirit
alliances in geomancy is practically worthless.”

“Sorry, a what?” Marik asked.  He’d been rubbing his
chin with his fingers.  He stopped to reassess what Verge had said.

The nameless geomancer took up the challenge.  “An
elemental lord.  Or that’s what we name them.  Elemental spirits have no name
for them, so we call them that.  Basically you have elemental spirits, which
are like free-floating leaves drifting on the wind.  They only possess dim
awareness at best.  The only elemental beings that are truly sentient are the
lords, which are like sorcery’s Spirits or Devils.  Extremely powerful.  If
elemental spirits are leaves, the lords are the trees.”

Inora continued.  “There might be only one for each
element; fire, water, earth, wind and ether.  Or there might be several. 
Almost the only information we have regarding the lords come from the elemental
spirits, and they are not good with numbers or individuality.”

“Then why haven’t you asked one of these elemental
lords directly?” Marik demanded.

A visible shudder ran through the entire group.  “Not
me!” Galton adamantly proclaimed.

“Or me,” Galiena agreed.  “It’s worth more than your
life to pester one of them.”

At Marik’s raised eyebrow, Inora explained.  “There
have been attempts before…though not in my lifetime that I know of.  The
elemental lords do not enjoy humans attempting to call them, nor especially to
demand services from them.  Each approach has ended in…unpleasant
consequences.”

Unconventionally…

She shrugged.  Shanahan offered, “Basically, think of
pure, raw, unadulterated elemental force.  With a mind.  We have no real gauge
for their strength, except to say the strongest geomancers in history who
attempted to form alliances with them ended up as dust in the wind.”

“Or liquid running across the floor,” the first witch
added.

Marik thought about that for a long moment.  He felt
the slight clicking deep within his mind that he had experienced before. 
“Right,” he firmly announced, then retrieved his cloak from the standing rack
beside the door.

“Where are you going?” Inora asked.

“Over to Trask’s camp.  I want to ask the prisoners a
few questions of my own.”

A light breeze blew over the palace walls.  Marik had
found a balcony that he could easily access from the hallway outside the
council’s meeting chamber.  It afforded a view over northern Thoenar and the
flatlands beyond.

This afternoon, a great swatch of land teamed on the
city’s edge.  A rancher’s organization had driven their herds southward from
the lush grazing beside the Stygan Gulf.  An infinity of cows moved over the
land toward the slaughtering pens to the city’s west.  The green field
transformed into a roiling sea of brown, white and black.

Out of curiosity, Marik drifted through the etheric
plane, sending his
self
winging over the teaming city to flit between
the cattle.  They were on the edge of his distance limits.  He could feel the
connection of his mind to his physical body as a cord that tightened with every
additional inch he floated.

The experience was surreal owing to the fact that
sounds never pierced the veil between the mortal world and the etheric plane. 
He knew that around him raged a tumult to make a massive waterfall sound like a
pleasant trickle, or an avalanche resemble the simple scraping of boots over
street pavers.  Marik maintained a slight hover above the moving bodies since a
living aura passing through his incorporeal being always gave him a chill.

Running alongside the vast herd were countless small
dogs, no higher than his own calves.  They nipped at any bovine’s heels that
strayed away from their kitchen kettle destination.  It amused him to see kicks
from irate cows fly high over their tormentors’ heads.  A larger dog, such as
most of the ratters he had watched at Shaw’s, would have been in trouble if it
attempted to keep a cow in line.  Only the faster, agile and
smaller
dogs were effective at subduing the massive beasts.

Surely there must be a valuable lesson in that.

But
, he
reflected when he returned to his body,
given a choice, I would rather be a
bigger dog in the coming fight.  Agility is not always enviable if other
options were available.

The council chamber’s doors had been opened while he
took in the fresh air.  It meant they were preparing for the next session,
waiting for everyone to arrive who was due to report.  Several people hastened
to enter the room.  He made his way back down the hall without any great
haste.  Or enthusiasm.

From the last meeting, which had been his only time
thus far before the royal councilors, he understood these people scurrying to
enter were from a wide variety of walks.  Most would be guild masters.  With a
war brewing, a hundred less obvious, if related, matters needed tending to.  In
his council meeting four days previous, several merchants had reported on
numerous goods, on which were available and which materials were in short
supply.  Others had offered insights on where most of the hard coin in the
kingdom was, or lack thereof, and what could be made available for war efforts,
which proved to be little enough.  Food was always a major concern.  With that
in mind, the heads of the Farmers and Ranchers Guilds had presented their
piece.  The Miners Guild leader had been adamant that the mines in operation
around Galemar were producing as much iron ore as they possibly could without
jeopardizing the workers’ safety.  He had gone on to suggest purchasing ore in
bulk from Gusturief or Rubia, which had set off a minor attack of apoplexy
among the merchants.

The meeting had possessed two definite halves.  First,
the civilians, each of whom displayed inflated self-importance.  Once they’d
had their say and departed, the non-civilians discussed the important issues. 
This came from Tybalt, updating Raymond on the state of the army and what his
people had thus far worked out.  Celerity, doing much the same with her areas
of responsibility.  Bronwen, keeping the council informed of any slight change
in the political negotiations with Nolier.  Thorald, sitting slumped in the
corner like a forgotten tree stump.  Rancill, representing the city’s
magistrates, though why they had any interest in war matters was a mystery
since he had kept silent the entire meeting.  Delano, the head quartermaster
for the Galemaran territories along the Hollister Bridge area, except they had
some funny name for the position.  Joletta, offering her herdmaster knowledge
on all the crown-owned horses, riding or work animals, under her authority. 
Finally the seneschal, working his organizational magic to keep the entire
process moving smoothly and efficiently.

Marik flitted through the doorway and immediately made
his way right along the back wall.  Again he was reminded of Shaw’s blood sport
arena, this time of the rats huddled in a ball against the slat-boards. 
Lurking in the rear was impossible in a circular room.  Thorald managed to stay
in corners despite the round walls, yet Marik had met with difficulty in
remaining unobtrusive last time.  He saw no reason why this meeting would be
any different.

The chairs on the far side that spread away from the
semi-thrones would contain officials.  Each of the remaining seats would go to
whichever civilian bodies arrived first.  Over thirty ‘concerned parties’, as
the council named any civilian attending its sessions, had been left standing
behind the chairs directly opposite the king today.  It had risen by half over
his first meeting.

What would the council room look like once warfare
broke out in earnest?

Noise reverberated through the room.  As large as the
chamber was, it possessed an architecture that allowed sound to travel easily. 
No one needed to raise their voice much to be heard by their opposite on the
far side of the ring-like table.

Most disregarded that and chose to yell half the time
anyway.  Usually the ones with concerns that were devoid of importance to any
save themselves.

The officials entered through the hallway door.  They
quickly filled their personal seats.  Without preamble, the seneschal ordered
all to rise so Raymond and Ulecia could enter.

Both shunned the elaborate raiment they wore when on
public display.  No trailing robes or yards worth of silver chain hampered
them.  Their clothing still must have reached a cost into golds, but it
possessed no features that were unmatched by others throughout the room except
for the coronets on their brows.

The seneschal pounded his staff of office on the
hardwood floor to seal his pronouncement.  “This advisory council is now in
session.”  Outside, the two squires flanking the doors shut them.  “Captain of
the guard, pass out the lots.”

Thorald performed his sole duty for the meeting. 
Well
,
Marik silently amended,
sole if you don’t consider being the king’s chief
bodyguard an active duty.

With the lot box in hand, Thorald made his way along
the curving table, allowing each civilian to pull a tile from within and
surreptitiously evaluating them all for any hidden threats they might pose to
his monarch.  The box contained fifty numbered ceramic squares.  If no one
pulled the ‘number one’ tile, then the person with the lowest would present
their information, concerns or demands first.

This system did a fair job of eliminating any
political insults that might have arisen by granting implied importance to one
visiting noble or guild leader over another by deciding on an order.  What it
created in its wake was malcontented grumbling from wealthy merchants when they
withdrew a tile numbered forty-two.  After giving the seated concerned parties
the first pull, Thorald made his way back along the arc, allowing those
standing to draw their lots along the way.

The seneschal wasted no time.  “Has the first tile
been selected?”  He gestured at a woman sitting on the left side of the
civilian’s crescent after she raised a hand in acknowledgement.  “You may begin
the session.”

When the woman stood, the seneschal flipped over a
five-minute sandglass sitting on the table beside King Raymond’s hand.  If the
speaker could not finish in that time, they would be cut off in mid-sentence. 
The council members would prolong the speaker’s time only in the event that
they had any questions.

“Vanora Lett,” she announced to introduce herself. 
She brushed back her wave of white hair over one shoulder.  “I have come today
to represent the painter’s chapter of the Artisan’s Guild.  In order for us to
maintain our productivity, we must continue to possess access to the wide range
of pigments we need to craft our works.  The closing of the trade routes over
the eastern borders during the last war caused unprecedented shortages of
indigo violet, carmine, shaded rose and nickel yellow paint bases.  What little
was kept in stores around the kingdom became so expensive that most chapter
members were unable to afford the materials necessary to complete their
commissions without resorting to the practice of raising the promised price of
the paintings.  This resulted is general ill-will as well as a few isolated
altercations involving the parties and local magistrates.  With the prospect of
new strife in the making, we must express our concerns over the matter of a
second closing of the trade routes.  Along with the pigments already mentioned,
several other stock items imported from Nolier are in jeopardy, including…”

She rattled off a memorized list that Marik suspected
could easily consume the remaining minutes allotted to her.  He kept a straight
face with effort.

If he were a council member, these open sessions with
civilians would drive him mad.  The craziest part was that every one of them
categorically felt that a terrible injustice was underway.  That
their
concerns must be of staggering magnitude over all else to the council.

What do they expect?  Do they think that after the
endless concerns over a second war, finding out that a painter might not have
enough yellow to paint a sun in the sky will make the king abruptly realize
that the fighting will cause problems?  Whoa there, boys, I guess we’d better
get this troupe act together!

He wanted to frown, wanted to shout at this woman, and
all the rest, about what utter fools they were.  Who cared about obscure paint
shades, or slate roofing tiles, or spices that added a hint of flavor to meat,
or copper thread, or cobblestones of a particular grayness, or certain
differences in texture between local wool and elite Nolier sheep?

When the council left the door open for ‘concerned
parties’ to accompany what few civilians the members had specifically
contacted, the local leaders took it as an invitation to complain about the
world not being perfectly suited to their ideals.  It had amazed him during the
last meeting.  This time he felt a dull annoyance.

The only question in his mind was ‘what did she expect
the council to do about it?’  Raymond would hardly call off offensive actions
simply to suit Vanora’s wants.  There was literally nothing he could do to
appease her since the trade routes were already shutting down due to Nolier’s
land theft.  If he ceded the stolen land to keep from being drawn into a second
war, Nolier still would not allow traders across the border anytime soon, and
it would only imply that they could steal as much as they wanted with impunity.

But everyone wanted the council to make happen what
they
wanted.  They would rather complain and then blame than suffer the slightest
hardship.

Vanora continued droning for the entire five minutes. 
She seemed to be just getting started, building up a good froth while the sands
dwindled.  When the last grains slipped through the glass’ narrow neck, she
abruptly concluded with the statement, “And so we inform the king’s council to
demonstrate our concern,” as if the sandglass’s existence were of no concern at
all to her.

Either she had already answered any questions she
raised in the councilors’ minds, or they wished to waste as little time as
possible.  The seneschal declared, “Thank you for providing the council with
the information under your expertise.  You may be contacted for further details
later.”

I bet
, Marik
snorted within the privacy of his thoughts.

“Is the number two tile available?”  No one rose. 
“Number three?  You have the floor.”  He flipped the sandglass back to its
previous position.

“Esteemed members of the council,” the older man
intoned in a sonorous drawl.  “I am Fulton Tully, the head of the Rancher’s
Association for a partnership of eleven towns along the Tenpencia River’s
southern waters.  For several generations we have conducted a lucrative business
with our counterparts on Nolier soil.  By lucrative, I mean that families who
would have been reduced to digging for roots in lean seasons have managed to
keep bread on the table and lard in the pantry.  The recent strained relations
with our neighbors has cut off all mutual bartering and trade-sharing.  It
began with the first upsurge in conflict two years ago.”

He also continued for his full time limit.  This time
at the end, Bronwen asked a question.  “Have you made independent attempts to
contact your friends in Nolier?”

“We haven’t pushed the limits yet, madam councilor. 
We’ve tried several times to cross the bridge peacefully.  Our side told us we
were wasting our time, and they were right.  Every time we reached the far end,
the Noliers wouldn’t so much as crack the gates open.  They felt that shouting
through the doors was good enough for the likes of us.”