Goblinopolis, The Tol Chronicles, Book 1 (31 page)

I have read of sentients who claim to call forth magical powers by using symbols, objects, and spoken incantations as substitutive Directors. I have no firsthand knowledge of such things, but I can say that this would be a very dangerous and rather ineffective method for exploiting the forces of which I speak. To call forth magical energy by any other means than straightforward Direction is a haphazard process and the results are left largely to the whim of Chaos, of which we will now speak at length.

Chaos is a wholly integral part of the holoverse, one of the pillars upon which the fabric of reality rests, but it is in many significant ways an enemy of the Directive mage. Entropic balance requires that any increase in orderliness, such as that resulting from an act of Directed magic, be accompanied by a concomitant increase in disorder at some other locus of the holoverse. In the vocabulary of the mage, this offsetting chaos is called the backflux. In symbolic terms, then,

(\/) + (/\) |> (o-o)

where (\/) represents an act of Directive magic, (/\) represents the equivalent backflux, and (o-o) represents the entropically balanced holoverse. The symbol |> represents ‘leads to’ or ‘results in.’ Positive entropic imbalance, such as exists in the short time between an act of Directive magic and the balancing of that act by a backflux, is denoted by (o-o)+. Negative entropic balance, symbolized by (o-o)-, can exist only in a local context, but never in the forward flow of space-time, called by mages the ventroverse. Entropy is always increasing in the ventroverse except during the periodic nodal events called flux singularities, where the total mass of the holoverse returns to the primordial energy state and entropy is reset. The last of these nodal events is referred to by modern cosmologists as the ‘Big Bang;’ the next will occur when the total entropic load of the ventroverse reaches the level necessary to penetrate the temperospatial envelope in which the holoverse is contained (as symbolized by o))). When this barrier is breached, the positive and negative entropic components will cancel each other and a new envelope will be created in the first nanoseconds of the next cycle.

On Perception

The Goblin sensory apparatus is capable of a surprisingly broad range of signal reception and processing. The demands of survival, mating, and offspring-rearing (which are the driving forces for evolution) place particular emphasis on the range of signals we have come to think of as normal, yet these represent in truth only a subset of the total information that can be processed by our species. Evolution has, in effect, developed filters to enable us to shut out signals not immediately concerned with tasks of genetic continuity. Many phenomena go largely or even completely unnoticed until we have reason to pay attention to them.

Magic is one these phenomena, or more accurately, the effects of magic. Like wind, magic itself is invisible. The energies that constitute magic cannot be seen by normal eyes. Unlike things affected by wind, however, the manifestations of chaotic magic are most often themselves imperceptible because they operate along a different temperospatial axis from the one with which we are natively familiar. The very nature of magical events dictates that they seem to the unknowing observer to manifest themselves from nothing; this could not be further from the truth. Magic flows along a conduit wrought by the mage from normal space-time to a vast extradimensional energy reservoir known as the Dark Energetic Continuum, or, colloquially, The Slice.

At this point his studies were interrupted by the return of Ballop’ril. The old bugbear was both surprised and pleased that Prond had chosen this particular treatise with which to entertain himself. “This is a very old book,” he said, reading over Prond’s shoulder, “and one that I haven’t seen for many years. Wherever did you find it?”

Prond pointed over his left shoulder. “Way up near the top over that way.”

“How did you know it was there?”

“Not sure; it sort of called to me.”

The mage twiggled his eyebrows. “Did it? Interesting.”

Ballop’ril and Prond spent the rest of the day strolling the caverns, deep in conversation. Prond didn’t consider himself any sort of intellectual, nor had he ever expended any real mental effort thinking about magic, but everything that Ballop’ril said made so much sense to him. Their brief relationship had opened up a whole world Prond had only dimly been aware existed. At the end of the evening Ballop’ril showed him to opulent guest quarters and, at the doorway, asked him a simple question that would have sounded utterly alien to Prond a scant few days ago but now seemed perfectly natural and reasonable.

“Young master Prond, you have proven a most pleasant and, more importantly, intelligent companion. Your mind is like a sponge, with a potential capacity for learning magical arts I’ve rarely encountered. With time and training you could quite plausibly take your place among the great mages of Tragacanthan history. Will you stay with me and be my apprentice?”

Prond’s eye slits dilated to their maximum extent (something like overstuffed sausage casings) and he suddenly had trouble breathing. He tried to speak, but his host held up a finger. “A momentous decision, I realize, and not one to be taken on the spur of the moment. Sleep on it, and we will resume this discussion by the cheery light of morning, over a hearty breakfast. Good night.”

With that he turned and strode down the hallway.

Prond stood there in stunned silence for a longish while, unable to remember how to walk. He finally allowed instinct to propel him forward in an awkward, no-knees manner toward what he assumed must be the bed, although from this vantage it more closely resembled the raised foundation for a new luxury housing project. A foundation swathed in costly velvet and fine linens, with a surprising array of overstuffed pillows. He half sat, half fell on the nearest edge and curled up in the goblin fetal position (which resembles a fossil imprint of an animal trampled by a much larger animal fleeing from something hideously brutal and ravenously hungry).

He lay awake for a few minutes, but the luxuriousness of the bed combined with his mental and physical exhaustion soon lulled Prond into deep slumber. It was anything but restful, however. He dreamed a dream of flying, being chased by dragons and four-winged demons. He dove and swerved through trees and spires of rock, but always the hot reptilian breath seared his eyes and nose. At last he swooped into a narrow cave his pursuers could not enter. It started as a vertical fissure barely wide enough to admit him, but soon opened out into a broad boulevard lined with soldiers in full dress uniform who saluted as he sailed past. At the end of the avenue was an elaborate dais, decorated with golden ribbons and a multitude of precious stones. On it stood a magnificent throne of the finest hardwoods, intricately carved with scenes from the long history of Tragacanth. Seated in the throne was a young monarch in rich robes, looking slightly ill at ease.

The king waited until Prond had landed at his feet, and then gestured toward him. The sovereign presented him silently with a staff encrusted with jewels, the gold-cast figure of an animal Prond had never seen before attached as a finial. The creature was powerfully built with four large paws. The ears were triangular and tilted forward. From the nape of the neck sprouted a generous tuft of hair that spread out around the head and upper body like a halo. The entire body of the beast seemed to be covered in short, thick hair, in fact. It was odd, but irrefutably majestic.

The dream ended abruptly when Prond awoke wrapped so tightly in the silk blankets he could scarcely breathe. He struggled out of his cocoon, confused and disoriented, until awareness slowly trickled back. Eventually the stark vividness of the dream began to fade, but its images remained strongly fixed in his mind. For the rest of the night he relived the mystical experience over and over, pondering its significance. He was not prone to vivid dreams; the vast majority of his oneiric adventures evaporated before he made it to the bathroom in the morning.

By the time a complex series of mirrors set in shafts leading to the surface directed the first rays of dawn dancing through the glass skylights set into the roof of his bedroom, Prond was in a peculiarly conflicted state of mind. The surrealistic dream had temporarily driven Ballop’ril’s proposal just below the surface of his consciousness and now, with the onset of the new day, it bubbled back up to take over his thoughts once again. The simple truth was that he still had no idea whether or not to accept the bugbear’s offer. He could not help but feel that the Archmage had somehow confused him for someone else.

They took breakfast on a stone platform high above a wondrous grotto with many waterfalls and colorful rock formations, including stalagmites, stalactites, curtains, and glittering crystalline flows. Flitting to and fro throughout were magical blue, green, and yellow butterflies that left trails of glowing rose-colored sparks as they flew. Ballop’ril seemed in no hurry to reopen the subject of apprenticeship, and Prond was grateful for that. 

Chapter Eighteen:
Astflanar

T
hree weeks after his coronation Aspet was finally beginning to settle in as king of Tragacanth. The ceremony itself was nothing short of overwhelming; he was glad that pretty much all he had to do was memorize his lines and stand on his marks. The presentation of the royal symbols, the swearing of fealty by officers of the court and high national officials, the investiture of lands, property, titles, and legal authority—each of these activities blended into the next in his recollection a fortnight and a half later. It was overload: an adrenalin-inducing blur.

The vicissitudes of running a kingdom as complex as Tragacanth were now Aspet’s chief concern. He had to decide whether to keep the previous monarch’s advisors or appoint his own, for starters. Some of the decisions were made for him when the incumbent advisors took the opportunity of a change in leadership to retire. His economic advisor, for example, was perhaps the leading economist of the day; Aspet didn’t want to lose her and in fact offered her a raise in salary to stay on, which she gracefully accepted.

His most problematic cabinet position was that of Magineer Liaison. This was the chief magical official of the administration and the primary means by which kings communicated with the Magineers, who operated quasi-independently of the royal government. Aspet suspected the current Liaison to have been involved in what he had good reason to believe was an attempt to cheat him out of the crown during the Challenge. Boogla had, in fact, provided him with clear and compelling evidence of this transgression his first day in office.

The ML didn’t have to be a great mage himself, but he did need to have a strong command of the terminology and theory of both magic and technology in order to be able to interact effectively with the Magineers and their staffs. The Royal Transition Team had provided him with a list of Civil Servant Corps officers with adequate magical training, but Aspet wasn’t enchanted by any of them. He paced along the parapets of the Royal Residence overlooking Goblinopolis and pondered the situation.

As he took in the dramatic sweep of the villas and inns crowding each bank of the wide, rolling green Mernal River that skirted the northern edge of the city, a tiny seedling of an idea took root and began inexorably to push its way up into the light. Aspet stopped and stared off into the distance, transfixed by this mental gestation. After a few seconds he blinked and a slow grin spread across his face. He turned abruptly on his heel and strode back to his office with renewed purpose and a sense of mission.

Having a good idea is one thing, making it a reality quite another. He knew without the merest sliver of a doubt who he wanted for the ML position, but he didn’t have any solid idea exactly how to move ahead with the recruiting process. For one thing, he and the candidate had never met face-to-face. For another, he had no idea at all where she resided, how old she actually was, or anything else about her, if indeed she was even truly a
her
. All he knew was that his gut told him she was the right person for the job.

To: boogla!boogla!boo

From: aspet!Palace!Royal!Tragacanth

Subject: Employment Offer

I need someone implicitly trustworthy and devastatingly intelligent to act as liaison between the crown and the magineers. Someone who has a great aptitude for technology, magic, and the interaction between the two.

The pay is pretty good, as are the benefits.

Interested?

A.

He didn’t expect an immediate reply, of course. He wasn’t sure if he’d get a reply at all, to be honest. He’d barely leaned back in his Alpha Humphing Beast leather chair with the Royal Seal of Tragacanth gold-embossed on the back when the reply popped up, nearly knocking him out of it:

From: boogla!boogla!boo

To: aspet!Palace!Royal!Tragacanth

Subject: RE: employment Offer

I’m all over it, Your Majesty. Where we can meet? I’m not very keen on public appearances. Someplace private and out of the way, perhaps?