Date: Sat, 27 May 2006 11:43:56 -0700
From: Trewin Greenaway <trewingreenaway@cronnex.com>
Subject: A TALE OF WIZARDRY (jessan-12)

                  JESSAN  - A TALE OF WIZARDRY Chapter 12

Copyright 2006 Trewin Greenaway All Rights Reserved

To learn more about me and the genesis of this tale, visit my website
http://www.cronnex.com/ .

I hope to post a new chapter every Saturday. If you're enjoying the
story, do let me know!

	   ooooooooooooo0000O000ooooooooooooooo

                       Chapter 12

WHEN I ENTERED THE SHIP MASTER'S REST, I looked about and saw Alfrund
waiting in a distant corner, even as he saw me. When he did so, he
drained his flagon and rose from the table, flinging some coppers onto
it as he did so.

"All that time," he said, "and you carry nothing."

I had slipped the small volume into one of the pockets in my vest. It
occurred to me that my plan might not meet Alfrund's approval, and that
it would be best to confront him with it after - rather than before - it
had been carried out.

"Have you seen this new style of book, in which the words are somehow
imprinted with a device?" I asked.

"I'm familiar with them," Alfrund said. "But they're of no use to anyone
in my trade and even less to a practitioner of magic."

"Why so?" I asked. "They seemed ingenious things to me."

 "Ingenious, without doubt," he said, "but they're dead things
nonetheless. What value is writing when you don't have the writer's own
hand before you? It would be like listening to someone talking in
another room. You may hear what they say, but think how much would be
lost - the facial expressions, the gestures, even the tone of voice. If
I sent you a letter, would you rather I penned it myself, or had one
these machines imprint it instead."

"The former," I answered, for it was clearly true.

"There you are," Alfrund said. "And in a book, the difference is many
times greater. A book of spells that is not written by the magician who
cast them is not worth the paper upon which they appear. That's why we
herbalists will always write out our books ourselves."

"In any case, I spent most of your coins on such a book, and then
presented it to the clerk who sold it to me, since he desired it so
much." We were walking along as we talked and had already passed out of
the market area into the quiet lanes that bordered it.

Alfrund looked at me quizzically. "That was a princely gift to give a
stranger. And did he offer you a princely reward?"

I flushed. "Yes, although all I asked for in return was a simple kiss."
And then I explained exactly what the gift had been.

Alfrund gave a shout. "Jessan!" he said. "With a shop boy no less.
Goddess Mother give me strength - to think I've restrained myself with
you because of your innocence."

"You know of this method?" I asked, surprised.

Alfrund groaned. "Your shop boy did not invent it, idiot. And did you
think of what it was you fed him, O Nithaial? No doubt, he is right now
discovering he can make his rod rise and fall by simply passing his
hands above it."

I giggled. "Telo would require no magic for that act, I assure you.
But," I went on more seriously, remembering his drunken condition, "do
you really think...?"

"For that," Alfrund replied, "you'll have to ask Orien, and I hope to be
there when you do. And, behold, is that not he standing at our door?"

It was, and when we reached and greeted him, he said, "Onna invited me
in, of course, but I told her I would wait for you here. We need to
have some words without worrying that she might overhear them."

"Let us go to the house of Fendal then," Alfrund said. "He'll be busy at
work, and we can freely use his living space."

Naturally, it was not as simple as that, for hospitality demanded that
Fendal send out for ale, and then to drink some with us. But after that
he left us to our own counsel, closing the door to the sail yard behind
him.

"What exactly does this Fendal know?" Orien asked.

"As much as I choose to tell him," Alfrund answered, "whether you
approve or not. He's my lover, and I trust him easily as much as I
trust you."

Orien raised his eyebrows. "I meant no offense," he said, "but these are
dangerous matters."

Alfrund nodded in agreement. "Dangerous to know, and dangerous to not
know. Fendal is brave and true, and deserves to learn what trouble he
has been cast into, by no choice of his own. It may affect him soon
enough."

"Very well," Orien said. "What you say is true, although that doesn't
mean it's wise. But now, listen carefully. We're again in the same
situation that you faced when you went up the coast to rescue Jessan."

"I feared as much," Alfrund said. And then he turned to me. "The same
mountains that crowd your village against the sea isolate Gedd from the
rest of the kingdom. There's but one pass, and the king maintains a
great fort there, the Gates of Karn, where soldiers carefully check all
who pass through.

"This, of course, is to restrain smuggling, which flourishes
nonetheless. But it's one thing to find a sack of salt or some other
thing brought by ship up the coast from the land of Pharros, and
another to find you."

"Why did we not leave for that at once," I asked, "when they still
thought I might be drowned?"

Orien answered. "First, there was the necessity of reawakening Sondaram.
As dangerous as that was, it would be even more dangerous to try to
return later to do so. Secondly, our enemy is no fool. He has long
stationed extra troops at the Gates of Karn, just in case you might
slip through His net here.

"Once Sondaram sprang into existence, He no doubt decided to have the
gate shut and come here Himself."

Alfrund turned white. "Say not so," he whispered.

Orien looked grim. "That is my fear," he said. "Although He does not
travel much these days. His powers remain intact, but after almost a
thousand years His physical condition weakens. He was never meant to
last so long."

There was silence in the room for a while. Finally, I gathered up my
courage and asked, "Can you not tell me who my enemy is?"

Orien sighed. "I thought you might have already guessed," he said. "He
Whose Name Cannot Be Said. But of course you don't know who that
designates or why He has such a name. He's your predecessor and in His
creation some dreadful error was made."

Alfrund interrupted him. "Orien, perhaps it would be best to start from
the beginning. Even many in Gedd know nothing of this history, since
it's to risk death to tell it."

The mage nodded. "As we know it, at the creation of man, The Great
Mother also made the Twin Guardians, the Nithaial, to watch over us,
guiding us when necessary and protecting us both from the fell forces
that already roamed this world and, as needed, from ourselves, for we
proved easily seduced by such.

"As I've already told you, control of the great forces was divided
between you, mostly because one person, even  of spirit birth, couldn't
contain them all and still be able to relate to humans as closely as was
needed. But this was also a precaution, so that one twin could counter
the other, if this became necessary.

"Well, for eons this never happened, and when it did, the unimaginable
happened. The twin who is The Unnameable One ate the soul of the other,
thinking in doing so He would attain all four powers. It's believed He
hoped to become the equal of the Great Mother, to overthrow her and
become a god in her stead.

"This is not what happened. To His astonishment and rage, He lost both
His own powers instead of gaining those of His twin. And that might
have been that, but Ra'asiel, God of the demons and, once, husband of
the Great Mother, saw this as an opportunity to extend His influence
over the world of men.

"Ra'asiel appeared before Him and granted Him great powers, including
rule of the demon race, who now gladly serve Him. Conversely, magicks
once only practiced by demons have been adopted by men, and such as
warlocks and necromancers have appeared among us.

"He has used these powers to become the ruler rather than the guardian
of men, reducing the king to little more than a lackey. The race of our
kings is a proud one, and this greatly chafes at them, but they have
well learned to hide it, for they have no other choice."

Orien paused for a swallow of ale, wiped his face with his sleeve, and
continued. "The story grows only worse. For while the normal life span
of your kind is five hundred years, He has already lived twice that.
And He spends this time frantically searching for some fell magic that
will allow him to live forever. The lives of men would be far worse if
He were not so obsessed - and they'll become far worse if He ever
succeeds.

"Now, after His first five hundred years had passed, a new pair of twins
appeared, as if none of this had happened. He tracked them down and ate
their souls as He had His brother's. And so He'll continue to do until
we men find a way to keep them safe from Him until they're strong
enough to try to bring Him down."

The room seemed to have grown darker as Orien told this tale, and it may
have indeed have done so, or it may have been terror draining the blood
from head. I felt as if I might faint. I closed my eyes for a bit,
looking for the power to overcome my fear.

I found some, at last, and opened my eyes again. "And why is He called
'He Who Has No Name'?" I asked.

"Because He has cast spells that bring death to anyone who speaks it
aloud," Alfrund said somberly. "To know a name is to have power over
the possessor of it, and so He has done His best to stamp out all
memory of it. To speak it is to die, to write it is to die, and to know
it without speaking it is very dangerous indeed. All this, of course,
was to keep one such as you from ever learning it."

"So," I said, "that means that after a thousand years, no one knows it
anymore."

"True," Alfrund said.

"False," Orien said. "We mages aren't so easily cowed. We have that
discipline and we learned the name letter by letter,  each one a year
apart, so that they remain in separate parts of our mind." He looked at
me. "When the time comes, I'll spell it out to you."

"When will that be?" I asked. "I need every weapon I can use, and as
soon as possible."

Orien looked at me in surprise. "A moment ago I thought you might faint
from fear," he said.

I nodded. "And a few days ago, I might have done so. But, as you see,
today I did not. When we're alone, I'd like you to start  spelling it
out to me."

"Very well," Orien assented. "I've no good argument against it. But
meanwhile we must decide what to do next."

"Leave at once," Alfrund said. "Obviously. The question is how. I've
spent many days trying to discover if the smugglers have other routes
over the mountains. But none will speak to me if I wouldn't reveal my
purpose, and to do that - well, the reward for Jessan is so great that
it would overcome the scruples of any man, let alone a smuggler's."

Orien nodded. "I feared as much. Our possibilities are to go over the
mountains or around them, and each is fraught with danger."

"Can't we go under them?" I asked in jest.

Orien smiled grimly. "Don't think I haven't considered that, too," he
said. "But the kobold have never mined these mountains, only those to
the east. And if there are demon underways, which I doubt, we would be
well advised to keep our distance from them. The demons would be almost
as happy as The Unnameable One to get hold of you."

"So it's by sea then," Alfrund said, his heart visibly sinking.

Orien nodded. "Although that way, too, is full of risk. The people of
Pharros aren't completely under His dominion yet, and don't wish to be.
They'll do nothing to provoke Him, least of all helping us. And getting
there is not easy. It's a long sail. I've bought us a boat that, with
luck, is large enough to carry us there, but I've yet to locate a
sailor that I would trust to do so.

"If worst comes to worst, we will try it on our own. I'm familiar with
the ways of boats, as is, of course, Jessan. But it would be very
risky, and must be done only as a last resort. When we have word that
The Unnameable One approaches the Gates of Karn, we will sail
regardless. But not until then. I think we have at least a week yet."

"You have someone up there, then," Alfrund said.

"Yes," Orien answered, "a king's messenger. He regularly rides from the
Gates of Karn to the fort here and back again, carrying dispatches. In
this instance, I almost - almost - wish we had a Summoner at our beck
and call."

He turned to me and added, "You do have friends, more than you would
believe. Even after this great time,  many still yearn for your return,
and will do what they can in aid of it.

"Meanwhile," he continued, getting to his feet, "I think it best for me
to not return with you to Grysta's house," he said, "as much as I would
like to greet her. Even someone as thick-headed as our Lord of the Fort
will eventually notice my presence and have me watched. And I imagine,
after Sondaram's rebirth, the Unnameable has already used the Summoner
to order him to do so. Our enemy knows nothing of you, yet, Alfrund,
and I would dearly like to keep it that way."

"I pray it's still true," Alfrund said.

Orien then took my shoulder, bent over, and whispered in my ear, "M, as
in 'murderer.' There's the first letter. Remember it well."