The Ship Who Won (38 page)

long shadows on the field and hurried up to the ship.

As he reached the tall door, it slid upward to disgorge

Magess Plennafrey and Keff on her floating chair.

"Oh, Brannel!" Mage Keff said, surprised. "I'm glad you

came up. I am sorry, but we've got to run now. Carialle will

look after you, all right?" Before Brannel could tell him

that nothing was "all right," the chair was already wafting

them away. "See you later!" Keff called.

Brannel watched them ascend into the sky, then made

his way toward the heart of the tower.

Inside, Magess Carialle was doing something with a trio

of marsh creatures.

"Oh, Brannel," she said, in an unconscious echo of Keff.

"Welcome. Have you eaten yet?" A meal was bubbling in

the small doorway even before he had stopped shaking his

head. "I promised you a peep at the tapes. Will you sit

down in the big chair? I've got to keep doing another job at

me same time, but I can handle many tasks at once."

Keffs big chair turned toward him and, at that direct

invitation, Brannel came forward, only a little uneasy to be

alone in the great silver cylinder without any other living

beings. Marsh creatures didn't count, he thought, as he ate

his dinner, and he wasn't sure what Carialle was.

Though she didn't seem to eat, in deference to his appe-tite, Magess Carialle had prepared for him a meal twice

the size of the one he had eaten last time. Each dish was

satisfying and most delicious. With every bite he liked the

thought less and less of returning to raw roots and grains.

He was nearly finished eating when the big picture before

him lit up and he found himself looking into the weird

green face of an Old One. He stopped with a half-chewed

mouthful.

"Here's the first of the tapes, starting at the point we left

off last time," Carialles voice said.

"Ah," Brannel said, recovering his wits.

He couldn't not watch for he was fascinated and her

voice kept supplying translations in his tongue. Brannel

asked her the occasional question. She answered, but without offering as much of her attention as she gave one of

Keffs inquiries. He glanced back over his shoulder, wondering why she had made a picture of the marsh creatures,

and what they found so interesting in it.

"... And that's the last of the tapes," Carialle said,

sometime later. "What a fine resource to have turn up."

' "What am I to do now?" Brannel asked, looking around

him. Carialles picture appeared on the wall beside him.

The lady smiled.

"You've done so much for us-and for Ozran, by telling

us about farming," she said. "All we can do now is wait to

see what the mages think of our evidence."

"I would tell the mages all I know," Brannel said hope-fully. "It would help convince them to farm better." The

flat magess shook her head.

'Thank you, Brannel. Not yet. It would be better if you

didn't get involved-less dangerous for you," she said.

"Now, I don't have any tasks that need doing. Why don't

you go home and sleep? I'm sure Keffwill find you tomorrow, or the next day. As soon as he has any definite news to

teU you."

Brannel went away, but Keff didn't come.

The worker spent the next day, and the next, waiting for

Keff to stop off to see him between his hurried journeys to

the far reaches of Ozran on the magess's chair. He never

glanced at Brannel. In spite of his promise, he had forgotten the ,worker existed. He had forgotten their growing

friendship.

Worse yet, Brannel now had a head full of information

about the ancestors and the Old Ones, and what good did

it do him? Nothing to do with teaching him to become a

mage, or getting him better food to eat. In time his disappointment grew into a towering rage. How dare the

strangers build up his hopes and leave him to rot like one

of the despised roots of the field! How dare they make him

a promise, knowing he never forgot anything, and then

pretend it had never been spoken? Brannel swore to himself that he would never trust a mage again.

Femgals stronghold stood alone on a high, dentate

mountain peak, set apart by diverging river branches from

the rest of the eastern range. The obsidian-dark stone of its

walls offered little of the open hospitality of Chaumel's

home. In the dark, relatively low-ceilinged great hall, Keff

had the uncomfortable feeling the walls were closing in on

him. Brown-robed Lacia and a yellow-coated mage sat

with Femgal as Chaumel gave his by now familiar talk on

preserving and restoring the natural balances of Ozran.

Chaumel, in his bright robes, seemed like a living gas-flame as he hovered behind Carialles illusions. He

appealed to each of his listeners in turn, clearly disliking

talking to more than one mage at a time. He had voiced a

caution to Keff and Plenna before they had arrived.

"In a group, there is more chance of dissension. Careful

manipulation will be required and I do not know if I am

equal to it."

Keffhad felt a chill. "If you can't do it, we're in trouble,"

he had said. "But we need to speed up the process. The

power blackouts are becoming more frequent. I don't

know how long you have until there's a complete failure."

"If that happens," Chaumel told his audience, "then

mages will be trapped in the mountains with no means of

rescue at hand. Food distribution will end, causing starvation in many areas. We have made the fur-faces dependent

upon our system. We cannot fail them, or ourselves."

Early in the discussion, Lacia had announced that she

viewed the whole concept of the Core of Ozran as science

to be sacrilege. She frowned at Chaumel whenever the silver magiman made eye contact with her. The mage in

yellow robes, an older man named Whilashen, said little

and sat through Chaumel's speech pinching his lower lip

between thumb and forefinger.

"I do not like this idea of relying more upon the servant

class," Femgal said. 'They are mentally limited."

"With respect. High Mage," Keffsaid, "how would you

know? Chaumel tells me that even your house servants are

given a low dose of the docility drug in their food. I have

done tests on the workers in the late Mage Klemays

province and can show you the results. They are of the

same racial stock as you, and their capabilities are the

same. All they need is more nurturing and education, and

of course for you to stop the ritual mutilation and cranial

mutations. In the next generation all the children will

return to normal human appearance, with the possible

exception of retaining the hirsutism. That may need to be

bred out."

Tosh!" Femgal's ruddy face suffused further. .

"I can't wait to see what happens when we tell him

about the Frog Prince," Carialle said through the implants.

"He'll have apoplexy."

Keff leaned forward, his hands outstretched, making an

appeal. "I can explain the scientific process and show you

proof you'll understand."

"Proof you manufacture proves nothing," Femgal said.

"Illusions, that's all, like these pictures."

"But Nokias said..." Plennafrey began. Chaumel made

one attempt to silence her, but it was too late. "Nokias-"

Femgal cut her off at once. "You've talked to Noldas?

You spoke to him before you came to me?" The black

magiman s nostrils flared. "Have you no respect for protocol?"

"He is my liege," Plenna said with quiet dignity. "I was

required. You would demand the same from any of the

mages of the East."

"Well... that is true."

"Will you not consider what we have said?" she pleaded.

"No, I won't give up power and you can stuff your arguments about making the peasants smarter in a place where

a magic item won't fit. You're out of your mind asking

something like that. And if Nokias has softened enough to

say yes, he will regret it." Femgal showed his teeth in a

vicious grin. "I'll soon add the South to my domain.

Chaumel, you ought to know better."

"High Mage, sometimes truth must overcome even

common sense."

Abruptly, Femgal lost interest in them.

"Go," he said, tossing a deceptively casual gesture

toward the door behind him. "Go now before I lose my

temper."

"Heretics!" screamed Lacia.

With what dignity he could muster, Chaumel led the

small procession around Femgal toward the doors. Keff

gathered up the holo-table and opened his stride to catch

up without running.

He heard a voice whisper very close to his ear. Not Carialle's: a man's.

"Some of us have honor," the voice said. 'Tell your master to contact me later." Startled, Keff turned' around.

Whilashen nodded to him, his eyes intent.

In spite of Chaumels pleas for confidentiality, word

began to spread to the other mages before he had a chance

to speak with them in person. Rumors began to spread

that Chaumel and an unknown army of mages wanted to

take over the rest by destroying their connection to the

Core ofOzran. Chaumel spent a good deal of time on what

Keff called "damage control," scotching the gossip, and

reassuring the panic-stricken magifolk that he was not

planning an Ozran-wide coup.

"No one will be compelled to give up all power,"

Chaumel said, trying to calm an angry Zolaika. He sat in

her study in a hovering chair with his head at the level of

her knees to show respect. Keff and Plennafrey stood on

the floor meters below them, silent and watching. "Each

mage needs to be allowed free will in such an important

matter. But I think you see, Zolaika, and everyone will see

in the end, that inevitably we must be more judicious in

our use of power. You, in your great wisdom, will have seen

that the Core of Ozran is not infinite in its gifts,"

Zolaika was guarded. "Oh, I see the truth of what you

say, Chaumel, but so far, you have offered us no proof!

Pictures, what are they? I make pretty illusions like those

for my grandchildren."

"We are working on gathering solid proof," Chaumel

said, "proof that will convince everyone that what we say

about the Core of Ozran is the truth. But, in the meantime, it is necessary to soften the coming blow, don't you

think?"

"I'm an old woman," Zolaika snapped. "I don't want

words to 'soften the coming blow.' I want facts. I'm not

blind or senile. I will be convinced by evidence." Her eyes

lost their hard edge for a moment, and Keff fancied he saw

a twinkle there for a moment. "You have never bed to me,

Chaumel. You say a thousand words where one will do, but

you are not a liar, nor an imaginative man. If you're convinced, so will I be. But bring proof!"

As they flew off Zolaikas balcony, Chaumel sat bolt

upright in his chariot, a smug expression on his face. 'That

was most satisfactory."

"It was? She didn't say she'd support us," Keff said.

"But she believes us. Everyone respects her, even the

ones who are spelling for her position." Chaumel made a

cursory pass with one hand in the air to show what he

meant. "Her belief in us will carry weight. Whether or not

she actually says she supports us, she does by not saying

she doesn't."

'There speaks a diplomat," Carialle said. "He makes

pure black and white print into one of those awful moire

paintings. Progress report: out of some two hundred and

seventeen mages with multiple power items, I now have

one hundred fifty-two frequency signatures. It is now theo-retically possible for me to selectively intercept and

deaden power emissions in each of those items."

"Good going. We might need it," Keff said, "but I hope

i ??

not.

With Zolaika four of the high mages had given tentative

agreement to stand down power at the risk of losing it, but

meetings with some of the lesser magifolk had not gone

well. Potria had heard the first few sentences of Chaumels

discourse and driven them out of her home with a miniature dust storm. Harvel, the next most junior mage above

Plenna, had accused her of trying to climb the social ladder

over his head. When Chaumel explained that their tradi-tional structure for promotion was a perversion of the

ancestors' system, the insulted Harvel had done his best to

kill all of them with a bombardment of lightning. Carialle

turned off his two magic items, a rod and a ring, and left

him to stew as the others effected a hurried withdrawal.

"I think that among the remaining mages we can concentrate on the potential troublemakers," Chaumel said as

they materialized above his balcony. "Most of the others

will not become involved. A hundred of them barely use

their spells except to fetch and carry household items, or to

power their flying chairs."

"They'll miss it the most," Keff said, "but at least they

aren't the conspicuous consumers."

"Oh, well put!" Chaumel said, chortling, as he docketed

the phrase. 'The 'conspicuous consumers' have been making us do most of the work for them. I laughed when

Howet said he'd agree if we talked to his farm workers for