The Arcanist (6 page)

His servants it was said held books for him to read day and night, and his library was held to be the largest in all the realms. Of course his books were likely on the large size too. He might well have sent a librarian to seek out and retrieve any books that might have been damaged or lost in the attack on Theria. Books which might not be in his collection. And perhaps even an archivist, if there were any interesting artefacts or curios no longer with a home.

Yule on the other hand probably wouldn't have cared about any of it. The fire giant would have sat in his castle working on his riddles. It had been years if not centuries since he had last interfered in mortal affairs, and his servants didn't even venture into the city save to buy what they were short of. But then his servants were taken from the slave pens. When he needed them he bought them from the various markets in the thankfully more distant cities. And they weren't handmaidens with a calling like Tyrel's, nor even scholars like Ascorlexia's. They had no special status and they carried none of his magic. They were just servants.

Edouard was also now wondering if in fact one of the powers actually had launched the attack, opening the portal and driving the great beasts through it. Though not Yule, Ascorlexia or Tyrel. There were only the three of them in the realm. Of course there were thousands or tens of thousands of other powers scattered throughout the rest of the world. Any of them could have done such a thing. But he couldn't imagine a reason why any of them would want to. Not the nearby ones. Not even the others.

They were powers. They already had everything they could wish for. Wealth, servants, comfort, immortality and a home. What else was there for them to desire? And all of them, like Tyrel herself, were mostly quiet beings, comfortable in their homes. If they weren't disturbed they were happy to let the rest of the world pass them by. In fact they preferred it that way.

Which left Edouard with the uncomfortable thought that there was another power somewhere out there who was not quite so happy to do the same. A flame could have created the portal, but it would have been a lot of work for him. And a lot of travel as he had to head north to the home of the mammoths – or else had a partner. Apart from which there was no flame with the magic of dimension living anywhere nearby as far as he knew. Besides, what would be the point? No one had stood to gain from the attack as far as he could determine. But a power, that was a different matter. Opening the portal would be a mere nothing for one and they wouldn't have to travel vast distances to do it. And the purpose could be no more than a whim.

But a whim was a very real possibility. The powers were mostly old beings. Ancients in truth. All that remained of an age long since passed when their races had walked the lands or flown the skies. Before the younger races had arisen. Many even heralded from the time before when even the older races; the elves, dwarves and gnomes had walked the lands. While the rest of their kind had passed from the world, they for some reason had remained.

But there were a few new ones as well. Beings of legendary strength and might that had somehow risen to the exalted position. No one knew how it happened or where they came from. But they did know that the newcomers were never so settled as the older powers. That took thousands of years. Also, being newer to the world they did more often concern themselves in the world of mortals.

If this was the work of another, younger power, then there was no way of stopping him or her. Not by mortal men anyway. And there was likely also no way of knowing why they'd done what they'd done, or what was coming next. The only thing they could be certain of was that it would be big and likely deadly.

There was one other matter that concerned him as he brought them home – the fact that they had been let go. Tyrel had known his name – that Edouard had unfortunately expected given that he occasionally interfered in what she would surely consider her business. But she had also known his brother's. That had surprised him. And then she had let them go. There had always been hope of course. And he had been careful not to offend her. But still given that she knew their names, it seemed too easy.

He had the worrying thought that maybe this was all a part of some plan of hers. There were stories – no more than tavern gossip really – that she interfered in the affairs of the world. That her handmaidens did more than just spread her words. That they spied for her, and also sometimes acted. Whether that was true or not he didn't know. But they had been released far too easily in his view.

Still what mattered he supposed, was that she had let them go. He had to concentrate on that – and absolutely stay out of her business from now on.

Just less than an hour later they reached the inaptly named town of Breakwater where he lived, and drove up the long main street. Actually it was almost the only street. A long winding dirt road that wound its way lazily around the side of a gently sloping green hill. Why it was called Breakwater he didn't know. The origin of the name was lost to time. But certainly there were no rivers or seas nearby. It was just a typical farming town on a hill surrounded by leagues of flat land on which crops were raised and sheep grazed.

But it was a nice town. The houses and stores on both sides of the street were well maintained, and most people chose to keep a trough or two of flowers in front of their homes. It was custom. The buildings were an eclectic assortment. A mixture of stone and brick and wood. Some had thatched roofs, some slates and some tiles. And there was no rhyme or reason to the styles. But then Breakwater was an old town and had been settled at least a thousand years ago. As one building became too old to be of use or fell down a new one was built on the spot. The new one was naturally built in whatever style was popular at the time and of whatever materials were available.

It was a good town to live in. The people were friendly. Good folks who waved to them as they drove by. Edouard waved back as he always did. He knew them all. In fact he had spent more than a few evenings enjoying the libations of the two alehouses in town with many of them. Out here, far from the city and the watchful eye of his father, he could be a little more relaxed.

The town had developed to support the rich farmlands surrounding them. So nearly everything the people did was concerned with farming. The blacksmith shoed horses and beat metal for ploughs but he didn't touch swords or jewellery. The clothiers made work clothes and some leathers and furs for the hunters. Rough and serviceable garments, not pointless finery. There was only one seamstress and no tailor in town. There was no need for one. Unlike in Theria itself he was the only one who wandered around in a suit and waistcoat. The stores sold the things people needed rather than the luxuries that were so desired in the city. If he wanted something like that he had to travel into Theria. Which he tried to do once a week. A noble had to keep up appearances after all, and that meant dressing according to one’s station and being seen where one should be seen.

Of course it was easier for him to make the trip. He was the only one here who travelled as he did. He was the only one who had a horseless carriage, complete with plush leather seating. Everyone else either walked or rode or took a wagon. Expensive clothes did not last long when you travelled like that. That was why those who could afford expensive clothes also travelled in proper carriages with a driver.

Outside of Breakwater not many travelled as he did either. Even in Theria there was only one other horseless carriage and he had helped build it. Still, there were days he dreamed of there being more of them. Especially when he had to weave his way between wagons and riders, while trying to keep the wheels out of the endless piles of manure that the horses left all over the street.

Once they were through the town it was only a short way to his home. Three or four hundred more yards up the hill on the same road to the top of the hill where Breakwater Holding stood proudly overlooking them all. His home.

A few moments later they arrived there, and he was immediately faced with a new set of questions from the handmaidens. The first of them of course was why he lived in an old fort overlooking the small farming town. It seemed like an odd choice for someone who could afford better.

He could have told them that it was because of its size. That it was comfortable and spacious as befitted someone of noble lineage. That it had a huge basement downstairs which he had converted into a workshop where he tinkered away on his devices. Or even that it was a good location – close enough to the city so that he could travel there easily when he wanted to, but distant enough that city life didn't intrude. But the truth was that it was none of those things that had drawn him to the building. He had bought it because he liked it. He had from the moment he'd first seen the fort as a younger man.

He wasn't completely sure why. The stone walls surrounding the old fort were impressive enough standing twelve feet high and having crenelations, not to mention full battlements behind them, but they weren't particularly pretty. They also weren't that functional. Modern forts had walls at least half as tall again. And as for the iron gate, it was big and heavy and not even half as pretty as a regular portcullis. He left it open most of the time because the effort to close it even with the aid of the geared wheels was too much bother. The heavy wooden front door was defence enough. As for the emplacements, not a single one of them housed a cannon any longer. The serviceable ones had been taken when the fort had been abandoned centuries before and the others were stockpiled in his basement.

The fort itself standing inside the walls, was also fairly uninspiring aesthetically, being simply an oversized square building. It was two stories tall and probably not that much larger than many manor houses. Architecturally it was boring, the closest thing it had to an elegant arch or ornate columns were the crenelations on the roof, and they were there purely for defensive purposes. But then it was a fort not a house and even the windows had iron bars on them. It wasn't meant to be pretty. For pretty he had the lawns and gardens inside the wall and they softened the appearance of the stone a little. But only a little. Until the willow trees had finally grown to their full height they simply couldn't hide the massive dark grey walls, and that was still years away.

In fact the only thing that stood out about the fort was the tower. Rising out of the very centre of the fort like a gigantic chimney, it stood at least fifty feet high and was topped by a roofed platform on which archers or musketeers could stand and rain down fire on approaching enemies. Of course that was something he had never needed to do. Not in these peaceful times. He didn't even shut the gate at night. But in his own defence it was on the heavy side and not many people bothered him after the sun went down. And Breakwater was a very peaceful town.

Still, sitting there in the horseless carriage with the others, Edouard found himself almost overcome with emotion for his home. It was big and squat and brutish, and undeniably intimidating, and yet just then it was the most beautiful building he knew. Maybe that was simply because when he'd left it a few hours before, he'd truly been afraid that he would never see it again.

Fortunately he was spared the need to explain his choice of home as Marcus came rushing out, clothed again. Of course since they were Edouard's clothes he was wearing, they were rather tight on him, and still left far too much skin showing to be respectable. Which was why he'd found another cape and started busily draping it around himself as he made himself comfortable in the carriage once more. Marcus was a large man.

He'd also grabbed a couple of Edouard's heavy muskets, and was nursing them on his knees. Edouard carefully didn't say anything about it. He knew why Marcus had taken them. The muskets of the city guards were good at stopping people, but the little half inch lead balls they fired would barely have stung a mammoth. His weapons though were far more powerful; the musket balls larger and with four barrels apiece they gave a soldier three more chances to hit what he aimed at before he had to reload. Whether even they could stop a mammoth he didn't know, but if they couldn't then that left only a cannon to try. He hoped it didn't come to that. Not least because he suspected the handmaidens would not have been so thrilled at the thought of shooting the beasts. In their minds the mammoths were innocent as well.

“Are we ready?” Edouard asked and Marcus nodded in response. The handmaidens nodded as well though they had no need. They'd never left the carriage.

“All right then, next stop Theria.”

Chapter Five

“By the Seven!”

Edouard was shocked when he first saw the city of Theria with his own eyes. Those same eyes grew even wider with every mile they travelled closer as he could see more clearly the damage done to the city. Such terrible damage!

The walls were the first sign that something was amiss, the vast holes in them writing a story he wasn't sure he wanted to read. But he had to. The holes in the walls were far too large to ignore, and as they drew closer he could see there were bodies lying on the grass beside them. A lot of bodies.

Theria was a walled city and they were the first thing that anyone saw when they arrived. The huge walls surrounding the entire city were a reminder of a time centuries before when the province had not been so peaceful. They had been built to repel invaders. And more than that, to intimidate. To tell any enemies that no matter how many soldiers they had, they would not break through. But they couldn't repel anyone anymore. The walls had been broken.

They stood forty feet tall at least and were built of countless tons of stone blocks held together with steel pegs. They were nearly unassailable by even cannon according to the militarily minded. And they could protect the thirty to fifty thousand people inside against an army. But against a herd of stampeding mammoths even they had given way.

Mammoths when they ran knew nothing of what they ran into. They just hit it like battering rams. They would not be stopped. Indeed Edouard had heard of tales of the beasts smashing into mountains and knocking over small hills. And where the city's great walls had been hit by the unstoppable force of the beasts, even they had collapsed completely.

Approaching the city Edouard could see a good dozen holes in the walls. And by each of those holes gangs of workmen were busy trying to clear the rubble. They had to. With the walls breached in so many places the city was vulnerable. The walls had to be repaired. These were peaceful times but there were still bandits and smugglers about.

By each of the holes there were bodies. The remains of the soldiers he guessed who had been walking the battlements at the time the mammoths had charged. They had presumably fallen to their deaths and then been covered in piles of rubble. As the gangs worked furiously to clear the rubble away, they also removed the bodies for burial. Their limp, broken forms served as a stark reminder that it wasn't just the city that had been broken. The people had been too.

Someone had been busy laying out the dead for the families to collect and they made for a grim sight. Especially when there were so many of them. But at least they looked peaceful as the priests had gone through them, closing eyes and crossing arms over chests, neatening clothing. They'd even placed funereal bouquets in their hands, trying to make things seem as respectful as possible. Somehow he doubted their families would find it so comforting.

What Edouard could see through those holes as he drove the horseless carriage closer to the gate though, was far worse.

The walls had only been the start. Once they had broken through them the mammoths had cut a broad swath of destruction through the streets, and they hadn't been mindful of buildings. Instead they'd just run straight through them.

Many buildings were in ruins; piles of rubble, stone and splintered timbers, and too often more bodies were laid out in front of them. Edouard guessed that the bodies bore testimony to the families of those who had lived and died in them. Too many of those bodies he noticed were very small. And as for how many had died, he estimated that there were hundreds of dead already laid out in front of them. There were probably many more hundreds or even thousands still buried in the remains of the buildings. Most of the broken buildings had barely even begun to be cleared.

As for the people, what he could see of them was distressing. Many of them were in a state of undress. The attack had happened during the night when many were in bed, or so Marcus had told him. A lot of them had run outside in only their nightwear. Now they did not have a home to return to, or clothes to wear. A lot of them were wearing clothes that were ripped and torn, some covered in blood, and he knew that even among those who had survived there had been a lot of injuries.

But worse than any of that was their mood.
Most
of the citizens were milling around like lost geese with no place to go. They weren't saying a lot, but their faces said everything about what had happened. One and all they wore expressions of horror, fear and disbelief.
Many
were showing the marks of the rivers of tears that had been cried. Some were still wailing. All of them looked shocked. Uncertain even now of what had happened. A few wore the armour of anger, and he suspected that as mighty as the beasts were they would still ache to kill them any way they could.
Many
more had simply given up and collapsed where they had stood, their faces masks of despair.

Most
were staring at the mammoths which were calmly wandering through the city, grazing on whatever they could find. No doubt they were still shocked that such beasts could be in their city. Probably though they were just terrified that the beasts might stampede again. And of course they were united in their confusion. Nobles stood beside street urchins, ladies of the night beside artisans, all of them unconcerned by whom they were rubbing shoulders with. The only thought on their minds was the great beasts.

Looking at them, seeing the pain and suffering in their eyes, Edouard knew something of their misery himself.

He had been born and raised in the city. He had played on these streets now filled with rubble and dead bodies and had got into the usual trouble that children did. He had spent time in many of the buildings that now stood in ruins. Be they alehouses, book stores, smithies or even the brothels, he knew them all. And now they had been reduced to rubble.

It was unbelievable. It was a crime. A violation of everything he knew and loved. Theria was the proud capital and only city of Therion. It was where he and his brothers and sisters had grown up. Where the Severin family based their trading concern. And all his life he had known only two things about the city. The first that it was his home. The second that it was safe. That nothing could get through the walls. But while it still might be his home, he could no longer say that it was safe. The walls couldn't keep anything out. Not anymore.

But even now that the stampede had ended the danger from the beasts wasn't over. That became obvious when he finally drove the carriage through the gate and saw the first of the great beasts just standing there, helping itself to lunch from the remains of a vegetable stall barely fifty paces in front of them. No one, he noticed, was trying to do anything with it. Instead the guards were just standing there watching the great beast, and warning people to keep back. It was probably the wisest course of action. Especially when there were so many more of the beasts scattered through the city.

When a mammoth stood at least fifteen to twenty feet tall at the shoulder, weighed as much as a large wagon train, had a small thicket of six foot long tusks emerging from behind its trunk, and could run like the wind when it was scared, upsetting it was likely to be a mistake. Attacking it would be an even bigger one. Still, wheeled cannon had been dragged into place, just in case. Soon Edouard knew, unless the beasts wandered out to the grasslands beyond the city by themselves, those cannon would fire. The Seven only knew what the result of that would be. He couldn't imagine that it would be good.

Edouard could see many more beasts scattered around the nearby streets. For the moment they were eating peacefully, untroubled by the people all around them or the carnage they'd wrought. But then they were simple beasts, and the fear from whatever had scared them and caused them to stampede had long been forgotten. Now they were just hungry.

“Stop the carriage please Lord Edouard. My sister and I need to begin our work here.” Kyriel leaned forward from her seat behind him and spoke into his ear. He had to admit that hers was a pleasant enough sounding voice to have in his ear.

As requested he pulled the carriage to a halt, pushing the lever that disconnected the flywheel from the rear axle and then gently applying the handbrake. Once the vehicle had stopped he leapt out and folded down the small ornate steps, and then offered his hand to help. To his surprise it was accepted without comment. Maybe away from their Honoured Mother they weren't quite so disapproving of men. Or maybe when they had been at the temple they just hadn't wanted to accept his brother’s hand given his – then – lack of attire.

“Are you sure you'll be able to handle the beasts?”

Seeing the immense size of the beasts he wondered about that and worried a little for them. One or both of them might have the spark of dominion, or perhaps something that Tyrel had given them to help instead. But these were mammoths not dogs. The slightest mistake could leave them broken and bloodied. It was hard to imagine anyone controlling them. He gestured to the nearest guards as he asked, calling them over.

“Quite sure.”

Mara answered him somewhat curtly, seemingly annoyed by his question. As if she considered he had called their abilities into doubt. Perhaps he had. Presumably Tyrel would have given her handmaidens whatever they needed.

Rather than saying anything else and risk causing greater offence Edouard turned to introduce the handmaidens to the nearby guards and explained what they were there to do, and that they should be given anything they needed. And though it was not his place to order the city guards around, Marcus was there beside him, and it was certainly his. Marcus simply nodded and the guards jumped to obey. Moments later the women were ready to begin their work.

“And is there anything else I can assist you with good maidens?”

“Just a ride back from here to your home when the sun sets. It seems there will be nowhere for us to stay here this night,” Kyriel answered.

“Of course.”

Edouard nodded respectfully to them and then stood back and watched as they walked slowly off toward the nearest of the living mountains of shaggy hair and tusks. Hopefully the gifts the Mother had granted them would keep them safe. Meanwhile he apparently was to have guests for the night. Edouard didn't know why they would be staying with him, but he knew that he would have to be the perfect host. Their Honoured Mother had demanded it and he would not dare to upset Tyrel. Not when she'd let him live.

“And I need to go and find some clothes too.”

Marcus was already down on the ground, not having bothered with the folding staircase. He'd just jumped, bold and direct as was ever his way. “I'll return with you tonight as well little brother since the royal guards quarters are no longer standing.”

“And the family?” Edouard knew they were alive and well and that by some miracle the estate had not been touched. Marcus had told him as much the previous night and his brother wouldn't lie to him. But somehow being told it just didn't seem enough. Not when he was looking around and seeing the terrible damage done to the city, not to mention all the dead and injured.

“I'll check on them again. Last night I checked before I left and the manor had not been damaged in the attack, but I expect it will be overflowing with family for the moment.”

He was probably right Edouard realised. The family estate was large but even the manor had only so many rooms, and with three children in the family still at home, six ex-wives and the mothers of those children also calling it home, not to mention his sister Leona's husband and children, and the live in servants, it was normally busy. Now he suspected everyone who could, would be bringing their families there. It would be crowded.

“Thank you. And remind them that if any need more room they can always stay with me.”

Edouard made the offer as would be expected. In truth though it wasn't necessary. They knew that they could just arrive at his door without asking and be welcome for however long they wanted to stay. Family came first; always.

The hardest part was that he wanted to go to the manor for himself and see that everyone was all right with his own eyes, and then offer the shelter of his home directly to them. But he had been asked to help and that had to come first. He was of noble birth and in times of crisis he had obligations that could not be set aside. Even if he hadn't specifically been asked to investigate, the king would expect it of him. So would his father. Besides, as with any crime, the sooner you started investigating the more likely you were to find evidence. And the scene of the crime was already nearly a day old.