Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy) (33 page)

“We will escort you directly to the High Magister,” Pryzius commanded. “House Wiegraf’s absence at its Imperial duties has been most irregular. Since your Master is not present, you are required to explain yourself in his absence.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, Pryzius turned and made his way down the ramp.

Gaeld did not follow immediately, instead apparently waiting for us to exit the vehicle before bringing up the rear. Dancer clearly wasn’t fond of our treatment, but I placed a hand on the little man’s shoulders and made eye contact with him, which seemed to relax him enough that I thought it safe to leave the craft.

When I put my feet down on the smooth stone walkway adjoining the hovercraft’s bay, I couldn’t help but look up at the incredible structure of the Great Tower and stand in awe of it. I had stood at the edge of the Grand Canyon once on a crisp autumn morning, and that was the closest thing to a religious experience that I had ever known. Looking up at the Great Tower was almost as impressive as that particular vista—if for very different reasons.

We followed Pryzius into a pair of massive, semi-circular metal doors which led to an administrative lobby of some kind. He stopped at one of the dozen or so ring-shaped counters and withdrew something from his robes which I assumed was a control key for the patrol craft we had ridden, and after a short bit of dialogue with the attendant stationed there, Pryzius continued on toward the back of the lobby.

When we had reached the far side, he turned to me with a look of superiority. “Your
companions
,” he began with obvious derision, “are required to remain here in the lobby. Only High Wizards are allowed in the upper sections of the Great Tower.”

I nodded, having visited the Great Tower before. “Dancer, stay with Pi’Vari,” I said pointedly. “Better if you both wait here until I’m finished,” I added, and Dancer nodded his understanding while Pi’Vari looked annoyed. I didn’t want Pi’Vari going anywhere without eyes on him, and Dancer wasn’t likely to shirk the task once it was assigned to him. For all his flaws, Dancer had never proven disloyal to me, and I found myself leaning on that fact more and more with each passing day.

I turned back to Pryzius, whose haughty expression hadn’t changed. “Lead on,” I gestured with both hands. I had left Master Antolin’s staff and robes in Coldetz with Baeld. I didn’t want to encourage too many questions, and this way I could claim plausible deniability when it came to Antolin’s exact fate. I had, however, brought the Spell Key which Arch Magos Rekir had given me in exchange for Gaeld. I doubted I could really do anything about it if the Arch Magos moved against me, but I was determined that if something untoward took place that I would go down swinging.

Gaeld also remained in the lobby, standing opposite Pi’Vari and Dancer. Dancer was still obviously wary of the Sundered warrior, but his nerves looked to be under control.

We made our way to a set of massive wooden doors and Pryzius touched his hand to a glyph carved into the frame, which glowed with a pale red light in response. We waited in silence for a few minutes before the door opened, revealing the Great Tower’s equivalent of an elevator car.

Pryzius gestured for me to enter first, and despite my annoyance at his general demeanor, I obliged. The chamber was a cube about ten feet on a side. There was a small, flat panel set beside the door, but no other visible structures within the lift.

Pryzius followed and held his palm to the single panel on the inner surface of the chamber, prompting the door to slide shut behind him. I stood with my arms folded in the center of the elevator, while Pryzius leaned up against the wall nonchalantly, his body language dripping scorn.

“In truth,” he said abruptly, “I am surprised you survived the wilds as long as you have. That is, of course, assuming you did not merely find some cave for shelter and waited until your supplies were exhausted before returning in some misguided attempt at a flashy entrance.”

I knew this was coming, but I was more tired than I expected following the Cloud King’s travel arrangements. All I could manage was a slightly exasperated shake of the head and shrug of the shoulders as I said, “I knew there was a reason I got selected before you.”

Pryzius’ countenance, which had previously been pure icy disdain, was replaced with barely controlled rage as his face flushed and his teeth audibly ground against each other, the muscles of his jaw bulging angrily.

But being the son of the most powerful man in the city had obviously taught him that control was preferable to a lack thereof—and that particular lesson had likely been learned the hard way.

Pryzius immediately schooled his features and looked pointedly at my shoulder bag. “What do you have in the bag?”

I cracked a smile, knowing that anything enchanted or even particularly dangerous would have been detected long before reaching the elevator. “What, this?” I asked in mock confusion. “I’m hoping it’s something I can trade to re-stock my nearly-exhausted supplies before heading back to that cave of mine.”

We spent the rest of the ride, which took a few minutes in silence as the conveyance took us through the core of the Great Tower. Motion was detectable, but only barely so. I don’t think the elevator cars, or whatever they were called here, worked very quickly but they sure were smooth.

Then without warning, the doors slid open revealing a long corridor with a few doors on either side spaced fifteen feet or so. There was no security force present, since attempting to invade or otherwise cause mayhem in these towers was a laughable idea. The inhabitants were all easily capable of thwarting any potential invasion with little more than a flick of the wrist. I had never gotten an actual number of the inhabitants of the Great Tower’s arms, but it had to be in the hundreds, and they were all ranked Magos or higher.

Pryzius strode confidently out of the elevator and I followed, albeit more timidly. I gripped my shoulder bag in the same fashion I used to do in high school with my backpack, which I suppose was a nervous reaction of some kind. But the truth was that I didn’t want any part of that bag to be exposed to prying eyes, especially if those eyes were currently hidden from view. It was a serious strain carrying the thing since it was so heavy, but it couldn’t be helped.

We walked all the way to the end of the short hallway until we came to a familiar door. This one was emblazoned with the sigil of House Tyrdren: a closed silver fist over a bright red background. This was the private study of Arch Magos Rekir, Lord and Master of House Tyrdren, and father of my current ‘escort.’

I was momentarily confused. Pryzius had told me that I was to meet with the High Magister, but to my knowledge Arch Magos Rekir had not held that post. Things must have changed in my absence—not that I really cared, but it threw me for a loop which took a few seconds to reconcile.

Pryzius knocked and hesitated for just a second before opening the door. I smirked as I realized I wasn’t the only person who was intimidated by Rekir.

The door opened and once again, I was greeted with a slightly familiar sight. There were a handful of well-upholstered chairs scattered throughout the room, which was shaped like a quarter circle, the right angle of which held the door we had just entered through. The geometry of the Great Tower still confused me, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I needed my wits about me.

Lining the walls were books—
lots
of books. Antolin’s private library was impressive in my opinion, but Arch Magos Rekir’s was absurd. The shelves were at least twelve feet tall, and my previous estimate put the total number of physical tomes at over ten thousand, easily ten times House Wiegraf’s total collected works. And the really crazy part was that these were his less-valuable volumes; the stuff he actually used for current research was kept elsewhere, at least according to myth.

There was a large stone desk at the far end of the room, with the contour of its single, massive piece carved to match the curve of the outer wall. Seated at that desk with his back to the door was Arch Magos Rekir, whose flat-top style white hair was the only thing visible above his bright red robes with even more lavish silver trim than Pryzius’.

He turned as soon as we were in the middle of the room and looked at us over the top of his octagonal reading glasses as if trying to identify the interlopers in his private sanctuary.

Of course, it was all a ruse. I seriously doubted that anything happened in the Great Tower that he didn’t know about, and there was literally zero chance that anyone could activate the elevator bringing us to his private residence without his expressed authorization, but appearances had to be maintained for reasons which escaped me.

“Ah!” he exclaimed in a perfect semblance of the surprised old man who had been lost in his book, complete with a soft clap of his hands. “The future of Veldyrian has never been more clearly embodied than in the two young men standing before me.”

Pryzius bowed low—too low for a simple greeting—but I didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture. “Father,” he greeted the Master of House Tyrdren, “I thought you would be interested to hear the esteemed Journeyman’s story personally before I processed him for his various breeches of Imperial Law.”

That actually did shock me a bit, and I quirked an eyebrow reflexively but I managed to hold my tongue. Rekir chuckled as he stood from his seat behind the desk. “Pryzius,” he said warmly while wagging a finger in his son’s direction, “take care not to let the mundane nature of your current service to the Empire adversely influence your priorities. Why, when I was a Journeyman, I was known to bend the occasional rule on the Empire’s behalf,” he said with a knowing wink in my direction.

That seemed to take the younger Tyrdren by surprise. “But father,” he recovered smoothly, “ours is a society built upon adherence to order and obedience to the tenets set forth by our predecessors. We must hold ourselves to a higher standard than the unenlightened souls whose misfortune it has been to live outside the loving arms of our Empire, if for no other reason than to maintain order among the populace.”

The Arch Magos seemed to consider his son’s words, but I knew it was all just part of the act. The only question I had was whether or not the entire scene was staged for my benefit, or if Rekir was teaching his son a lesson and I was nothing but a prop. Since I didn’t have a clear idea what the case may be, I kept my mouth shut.

Rekir moved to the same chair he had occupied during our negotiations over Gaeld’s services and gestured for us to sit opposite him, and I didn’t find it coincidence that he motioned for me to sit in the same chair I had used during my other visit to this office.

“You have laid out the bones of the truth,” began Rekir as he sat slowly in his chair with an exaggerated grimace. He waited until he was seated before continuing, “But the mind of a ruler must be flexible,” he said warmly, yet somehow he managed to sound scolding, “since a simple calculation of the time and manpower required to enforce all written rules ever conceived would show that applying each and every law equally, and without exception, would bankrupt a kingdom – or even an Empire such as ours – in a very short time, to say nothing of the impact on the inevitably diminished labor force’s productivity.”

I sat down in the chair he had indicated, and Pryzius reluctantly followed suit a few feet away. “I have not ignored those factors, father,” he argued, “in point of fact, they are at the heart of my argument that delinquency and other forms of flagrant disregard for our most basic laws threaten our fundamental ability to govern. If we allow a fresh Journeyman from one of the lowest Houses to flaunt our simplest rules, then we lose our ability to enforce those rules on every other member of the Empire.”

A smirk crossed my face momentarily before I dismissed it. Even I could see that Pryzius had stepped in it, but it was going to be fun seeing how Rekir demonstrated his mistake. I had taken plenty of sociology and psychology classes at my local community college, but I didn’t want to overstep myself here so, again, I held my tongue.

Rekir nodded knowingly as he removed his glasses and placed them in one of his robe’s inner pockets. “So you would apply our laws more consistently to those at the lower end of the nobility’s social scale, compared to those at the top such as the members of House Tyrdren?” he asked patiently, and Pryzius clearly wanted to argue but he was silenced by a slight gesture of his father’s hand. “If there is to be discrimination based on social or economic status, it has been proven historically that applying the most stringent restrictions to those at the very
top
of the pyramid yields the greatest fruit for the society as a whole—so long as these occasional, yet harsh, disciplinary actions are made public for all to see.”

Pryzius was clearly angry at getting dressed down in public, but he managed to maintain his composure better than I had expected. This was apparently not the first such discussion in which the father-son combo had engaged.

“So, following that logic,” continued Rekir smoothly, “I should be more concerned with how I must publicly deal with
your
latest indiscretions—specifically those involving a third year student at the Wizard’s College named,” he furrowed his brow as if trying hard to remember before nodding to himself, “ah yes, I believe she is called ‘Verilisa,’ if the rumors are true.” He paused for effect, and when he resumed his voice hadn’t shifted in pitch or tone a single iota, “Because of course, as the newly-appointed High Magister I must be primarily concerned with the integrity of our great Empire’s legal system and its most effective application.” He turned to me pointedly without warning, “Would you agree, Journeyman?”

He had set the thing up on a tee for me and now it was my turn to knock it out of the park. I really didn’t know if I could, but I
did
know I couldn’t pass up the chance to try. “The
Apprentice
,” I said, slightly stressing his rank, “makes an interesting, if simplistic observation which you have very eloquently refuted.” He was a hard man to read, but I think Rekir approved of my not-so-subtle jab at his son’s lower rank thank my own. I decided to press a little further, even if it ended up backfiring, “But I think that any system built on the selective application of law in an effort to manipulate behavior is ultimately doomed to fail.”