High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (65 page)

Why wasn’t there a god of brilliant last-minute solutions?  Would that just be too convenient for the universe?

Of the major Narasi pantheon I was personally familiar with among the idols, that left Briga the Bright One.  One of three sisters to the Four Brothers.  Goddess of fire, magic, poetry, wisdom, smithcraft, defensive warfare, crafts, archery, childbirth, vengeance, and baking.  That last is why I knew her so well. 

My father is a successful baker, and he holds a prestigious lay position among the temples of Briga as a result.   I’d worshipped the Bright One and learned her simple rites as a child.  Her fiery arrows kept the nightmares at bay.  Her warmth encouraged the yeast to grow.  Her fire baked the bread.  Her hearth was the center of the world.

Of course as I got older I avoided lessons that didn’t have to do with magic, and avoided boring services unless there was a girl involved.  Fire was a naturally-occurring alchemical phenomenon that, with magesight, could be seen as the expression of oxidation and plasmatic state that it was – no theological constructs required.  I developed the kind of healthy skepticism the young produce to give my studies additional meaning.  I snickered at the religious. 

My personal religion was comfortably buried . . . until I got to Farise. 
“There are no atheists in shield walls
” is a popular saying amongst warbrothers, and while I performed the rites of Duin with my fellows in war, I rediscovered Briga in those dark times, when I needed a mother’s solace but was a thousand miles away from my own.  After the war I lapsed back into practical agnosticism. 

Then I had invoked her again, during Minalyan’s birth, and accidently created the snowstone that was now the basis of my fortune and power.  That had been a time of high crisis, more so than any moment in the jungle.  And she had come through for me. 

So in a lot of ways, I suppose I felt like I owed her.  And there was every chance that praying to her might be useful, in some arcane way.  She was the goddess of wisdom, after all, and her folk tales were filled with her clever strategies, many of which involved baking or forging something ingenious.  Maybe she would send me a dream that would answer all of my problems. 

The more I thought about it, the better it sounded.  I took her idol down and prepared the altar as my father had taught me: candles, incense, water, salt, flour.  I lit the candles and incense and  began the rite.

The old, simple ritual came back to me with fond (if impatient) memories from my childhood.  I remembered doing this every day for months, praying to Our Lady of Rapid Oxidation to make the girls like me.  I forget now why I stopped – I suppose it worked.

I closed my eyes and said the ritual invocation, a simple poem four stanzas long that praised the Bright One’s presence in every flame, her ability to cleanse and destroy, her devotion to protect and nourish, her creative passion at invention and wisdom.  I invoked her, inviting her to be here in the chapel with me, to hear my prayers and accept my offerings, to bless me with her grace and –

“That’s enough, already,” a strong female voice commanded me.  I opened up my eyes abruptly. 

There was a woman there, very attractively slender, yet with very womanly curves.  She was wearing a bright red sideless surcoat with a bright orange chemise, and a mantle of gray.  Her hair spilled down her back like an advancing forest fire, and was just as scarlet.  You could cut cheese with her cheekbones, they were so high and sharp, as was her forehead.  Her eyes were bright green, preternaturally so, and her hands were long and narrow.  “I’m here, I’m here, you can stop the invocation!  I swear to me my priests are long-winded!”

I panicked.  There wasn’t supposed to be anyone in the tiny chapel, and it had been empty when I had come in.   I summoned Twilight to my hand with a whisper.  I felt a lot more secure with a magical blade eternally at my disposal, thanks to the pocketstone’s enchantment.

“Who the hells are
you?”
I demanded, startled.  I had three spells ready to lob with a thought. 
Mother uses female assassins almost exclusively,
my mind chose to recall.

“The Flame That Burneth Bright?  The Bright One? Or – I love this one –
Our Lady Of Rapid Oxidation?
  Cute. “

“Who—?”

“I’m
Briga,
you idiot, and you just
asked
me to be here.  And it’s about time.  You should have done this
months
ago.  We may be too late, as it is, but no matter.”  She glanced at Twilight quivering six inches from her throat.  She didn’t seem in the least concerned.  Her quick green eyes darted at the point of the blade and back. 

“Is that a magical sword in your hand, or am I showing too much cleavage?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Divine Intervention

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, confused.

“I’m Briga? Goddess of fire?  Narasi pantheon?  You just said a prayer and invoked me at an altar using all the approved prayers?”

“Uh . . . I’ve done this before,” I countered, warily, my blade unwavering.  Okay, maybe it wavered a little bit.  I was out of my depth, here.  “I’ve never had a gorgeous redhead appear before.  If I had, I would have been a damn sight more religious growing up.”

“You are so charming,” she said, flatly.  “You never tried it surrounded by . . . what do you call it?”

“Snowstone,” I replied.  “Good point.  So low magic resistance and . . . there are gods popping into existence?”

“We’re already in existence,” she said, shaking her head.  “You just invited me to manifest.”

“The priestess does that every day,” I countered.

“She’s not the one I wanted to talk to,” she riposted.  “You are, Minalan the Spellmonger.  We have a great deal to discuss, and only a short time to do so, even here where it is relatively easy to manifest.”

“Why would a goddess –assuming you are one – want to talk to me?  I’m one of the least religious people I know!”

“You think I, of all entities, don’t know that?” she shot back.  “A couple of lousy prayers, never hear from you, and then suddenly you’re
begging
for my intercession with the birth of your son.”

I lowered my blade.  Quite involuntarily. 
No one knew that except me.

And, apparently, the goddess standing before me.

“Uh . . . sorry,” I said, sheepishly, making Twilight vanish back into the ring.  “You’re my first divine encounter.”

“I know,” she repeated.  “So let’s make it count, shall we?  You were going to ask for my aid or intervention in the goblin invasion?”

“Yes, that was the focus of my appeal,” I said, self-consciously.  “I know it’s not exactly your usual area . . .”

“You’d be surprised,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “I’m one of those unfortunate divinities who gets stuck with a whole bunch of mildly-related spheres-of-influence.  That’s what happens when a primordial elemental deity gets civilized.  Suddenly I go from the fiery avenger of the innocent on the steppes to being lauded for baking and smithing.  So . . . yes, I’m probably the best divinity for this particular crisis.”

“All right,” I said, accepting her expertise in the matter.  I felt drunk.   I was bantering with a goddess.  “So what should I do, then?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she admitted.  “Not precisely, at any rate.  Divine intervention isn’t going to make that goblin army or those dragons disappear, I’m afraid.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t be of assistance.  I can give you counsel.”

“Making the army disappear would be more useful,” I pointed out.

“I said I can’t – it’s protected too powerfully.  It’s complicated.  But as for your main question, yes, they need to be stopped and I don’t see anyone else around who can do that.”

“What makes you think I can do it?”

“I’m not positive that you will – but there is definitely the possibility that you
can
.”

“That’s not the sort of absolute certainty one expects from a goddess,” I pointed out.  I was trying to be diplomatic.  This whole situation was passing strange.

“That’s the most I can give you,” she promised.  “Minalan, the consequences of Shereul taking Anthatiel would be disastrous.  For your people and the Alka Alon.  In military terms, at the very least it will add years, even decades to the war.  In arcane terms, it will allow Shereul to produce a second, albeit weaker focus of power.  In political terms it would tremendously upset the balance of power on the Alka Alon council.”

“I understand all that,” I said, as respectfully as possible.  “What I need to know is
how.”

“That is the trick, isn’t it?” she said with a slightly guilty look.  Can a goddess appear uncertain of herself? Briga seemed to be.  It wasn’t exactly inspiring my confidence in the divine.  “Tactically speaking, your two options are intervention and pursuit.  But just pouring troops into the battle isn’t going to overwhelm that army.  You’re going to have to use cunning and guile.”

“You think?” I asked, sarcastically.  “I figured out as much on my own.  And misdirection, obfuscation, and subterfuge.  Not to mention some classy spellcasting.  But how?  I thought of just transporting more troops there from Sevendor, as I did for the battle at Cambrian, but—”

“It would be difficult and, ultimately, unhelpful,” she said, shaking her head.  “The issue isn’t just numbers.  It’s
power
.”

“It’s always about power,” I sighed, my shoulders sagging.

“You’re catching on,” she smiled, knowingly.  “It is, indeed, always about power.  Let me impart some wisdom of a cosmic nature upon you, Minalan: as much as the perquisites and trappings of power allure, the fact is that the weight of responsibility that comes with it usually makes those supposed privileges a very poor consolation.”

“That’s something else I figured out on my own,” I said, sourly.

“I know,” she said, sympathetically.  “Everyone who finds themselves with power does.  The achievement of the goal is almost never worth the effort.  However,” she continued, “that does not mean that you can just walk away, either.  You are where you are because of who you are and what you will do.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s sufficient,” I grumbled.

“You’re telling
me?
  Your people call me a goddess and expect wonders and miracles, and ascribe to me all sorts of incredible gifts.  The human mind for religious imagination is truly profound.  However, the responsibilities that come with those ‘gifts’ are oppressive.  But I cannot walk away, either.”

“So what can I do?” I pleaded.  “It’s about power, but the fact is that I don’t have enough!”

“You do,” she soothed.  “You just need to find a way to express it.  Consider a magical metaphor: once you have mastered the ability to manifest arcane power, in order to make it useful you have to channel and shape that power through the use of runes, sigils, and other symbolic expressions of will and desire.  You do have tremendous power, Minalan,” she said, nodding toward the sphere that bobbed obediently behind me.  “Enough so that I was able to incarnate on your will and desire alone.  Your problem is that you need to find a way to express that power in a useful way.”

“All right,” I conceded, “even if I do have the capacity to fight this army, the question remains how I express that power.  Hence my troubled excursion into religion.”

“Prayer is, indeed, the last refuge of the desperate,” she giggled.  “The key to discovering your solution lies in understanding the nature of victory.  In this case, there is little hope that the army’s advance up the Poros can be stopped.  They will reach Anthatiel.  Not unmolested, but there is little doubt that they will be able to scale the escarpment and drive their way into the vale.”

“Couldn’t you arrange for an earthquake, or something?”

“That region is geologically stable,” she said, shaking her head, “and that’s not exactly the style of a fire goddess.”

“Then what about a forest fire?” I asked, lamely.

“In early spring? During the rainy season?  When they’re standing on ice that can’t be burnt?” she asked.

“Fair point.  Wait, can’t you melt the ice under their feet?” I asked, wondering why I hadn’t thought of it before.

“It won’t work,” she said, shaking her head.  “Shereul himself is fueling that spell.  It takes a massive, almost unthinkable amount of power, but then he
has
an unthinkable amount of power.  It’s taking me a lot of power just to remain incarnate, even here.  Only the power of your need is sufficient to keep me here..  Trying to work directly against his magic would be futile, even for me.” She looked sad and frustrated over that, and just a little pouty.

“Come, now, you’re a powerful goddess,” I encouraged her.  “You’re the Bright One! You created the snowstone!  That’s pretty impressive.”  I was trying to cheer up a goddess.  This was what my life had become.

“That was a unique circumstance,” she countered, shaking her head.  “I had an opportunity to do something, and I took it.  Blind luck how it turned out, I think,” she shrugged.

“It changed the course of the war,” I pointed out.  “Not to mention my economic status.”