“They have shut themselves off in their electorates for this past century and more, endlessly quarrelling amongst themselves. They are no longer interested in empire, or in any events east of the Malvennor Mountains.”
“They have fine armies, though. There is something you can take to your meeting of kings, Abeleyn. The west needs troops? There are untold tens of thousands of them in Fimbria contributing nothing to the defence of the continent.”
“The Five Kingdoms distrust Fimbria; men have long memories. I am not sure even Torunna would welcome Fimbrian troops on its soil, despite the urgency of its needs—and even if we could persuade the Fimbrians to send them. They are an isolationist power, Golophin. They are not even sending a representative to the conclave.”
Golophin leaned back from the table and flapped a hand in exasperation. “So be it then. Let the men of the west keep their fears and prejudices. They will no doubt still possess them when the hordes of Ahrimuz have cast the shadow of their scimitars over all the Ramusian kingdoms.”
Abeleyn scowled, feeling as though he were the pupil again and Golophin the teacher who had just received the wrong answer.
“All right then, blast you! I’ll see what can be done. It can do no harm, after all. I’ll send envoys to the four Fimbrian Electorates, and I’ll bring the whole thing up at the conclave. Much good it will do me.”
“That’s my boy,” Golophin said, knowing how much that phrase irritated the King. “But there is one thing you might remember when dealing with the Fimbrians, sire.”
“Yes?”
“Do not be proud. They hoard memories of empire, even if they say they no longer hanker after it. You must make yourself into a supplicant, no matter if it galls your pride.”
“I must be a willow, eh, bending in the wind?”
Golophin grinned. “Exactly—but not, of course, seen to be bending. You are a king, after all.”
They clinked flagons like men sealing a bargain or toasting a birth. The King drank deeply, and then pinched foam from his upper lip.
“There is one last thing tonight, something near to your heart, perhaps.”
Golophin cocked an eyebrow.
“The list. The list we drew up of those of your own kind who might be saved from the pyre.” The King did not meet the old wizard’s eyes as he spoke. He seemed oddly abashed. “Murad tells me he will be ready to sail within two sennights. He takes a demi-tercio with him, fifty Hebrian arquebusiers and sword-and-buckler men. Counting the crews, that leaves space for some hundred and forty passengers.”
“Less than we had hoped,” Golophin said tersely.
“I know, but he is convinced he will need the soldiers once landfall is made.”
“To deal with the wild natives he may meet, or with the passengers he must travel with?”
Abeleyn shrugged helplessly. “I have hamstrung his scheme enough as it is, Golophin. If I prune away at it any further he may throw it all up, and then we are back where we started. A man like Murad needs some kind of incentive.”
“The viceroyship of a new colony.”
“Yes. He has few superstitious prejudices against the Dweomer-folk. He should treat them fairly. They could be said to be the backbone of his ambitions.”
“And your ambitions, sire. How do the Dweomer-folk fit into those?”
The King coloured. “Let us say that Murad’s expedition eases my conscience and—”
“So many fewer innocents consigned to the flames.”
“I do not relish being interrupted, Golophin, not even by you.”
The old mage bowed in his seat.
“As you have said, it is a means of putting these folk beyond the reach of the Church, but you know also that there are other motives involved.”
“As always.”
“If there is a Western Continent, it must be claimed by Hebrion—must be. We are the westernmost seafaring power in the world. It is our right to expand in that direction whilst Gabrion and Astarac look to the Levangore for trade and influence. Think of it, Golophin. A new world, an empty world free of monopolies or corsairs. A virgin continent waiting for us.”
“And if the continent is not virgin?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if this fabled western land is inhabited?”
“I cannot imagine that it is, or at least that they have a civilization comparable to ours. And I am certain that they will not possess gunpowder. That is something we ourselves have had for only a century and a half.”
“So Murad will slaughter his way to a Hebrian hegemony on the shores of this primitive land, and the sorcerers who are his cargo will be the living artillery which backs him up?”
“Yes. It was the only way, Golophin. The colonists must be hardy, talented, able to defend themselves. What better way to ensure that they survive than to make every one a sorcerer, a herbalist, a weather-worker, or even a true thaumaturgist?”
Or a shifter, Golophin thought to himself, remembering Bardolin’s new ward. But he said nothing of that.
“A king’s motives are never simple,” he intoned at last. “I should have remembered that.”
“I do my best with what God sees fit to give me.”
“God, and Murad of Galiapeno. I would you had found another man to lead this expedition. He has a face I do not like. There is murder written in it and as for the ambition of which you spoke I do not think even he has yet plumbed the depths of it.”
“It was his discovery, his idea. I could not take it away from him without making an enemy.”
“Then tie him to you. Make sure he knows how long the arm of the Hebrian crown can be.”
“You are beginning to sound like an old woman, Golophin.”
“Maybe I am, but there is wisdom in the words of old women too, you know.”
Abeleyn grinned, looking boyish in the dim tavern light.
“Come, will you not return to the court and assume your rightful place?”
“What, crouching behind your throne and whispering in your ear?”
It was the popular Inceptine image of the King’s wizardly advisor.
“No, sire,” Golophin went on. “It is too early yet. Let us see how the Synod goes, and this conclave of yours. I have a feeling, like the ache in an old wound before a storm. I think the worst is yet to come; and not all of it is drawing in from the east.”
“You were ever free with prophecies of doom, despite the fact that you are no seer,” Abeleyn said. His good humour had thinned. The boy had disappeared. It was a man who stood up and held out a strong hand to the old mage. “I must go. Tongues wag in the court. They think I have a woman down near the waterfront.”
“An old woman?” Golophin asked, with one eye closed.
“A friend, Golophin. Even kings need those.”
“Kings most of all, my lord.”