Rob Scott - The Larion Senators

Finally the current carried away a layer of mire from the subterranean womb and Steven dived for the bottom, careful to avoid the inky membrane.

It was the table.

He knelt beside it, convinced that Gilmour was somehow beneath the great stone tablet, pushing with all his Larion strength. Steven summoned his own magic, wrapped it about the table, felt it grip like a dockside loading net, and heaved. The sensation that greeted him was at once familiar and refreshing. It was Gilmour; Steven recognised his friend’s energy, the rippling waves of venerable power. Together, the two sorcerers hauled Lessek’s spell table from the mud and let it come gently to rest on the riverbed.

Steven strained to find Gilmour through the muck and dark mud that washed away in waves as the river scoured the granite artefact clean.

There he was, emerging from beneath the table, looking like a swamp creature from a Saturday morning movie.

Gilmour Stow of Estrad scraped several inches of riverbed from his face, scrubbed another half pound from his hair, wiped his hand over his eyes and looked over at his young apprentice. He was beaming like a devilish child.

Steven grinned back and gestured towards the surface.

When Steven emerged into the wintry morning air, Gilmour was already shouting and hooting.

‘You pimply-faced old horsecock!’ He waved one fist at the sky, and screamed, ‘I beat you, I beat you, you bucket of rancid demonpiss! ‘

‘Gilmour?’ Steven was confused. ‘Beat who? Nerak? He’s not here, is he?’ Panic threatened to take him again, and Gilmour calmed down enough to assure Steven that they were alone in the river.

‘No, no, my boy. Of course not. Nerak is right where you left him, screaming a silent scream for ever as the Fold swallows him into nothingness.’

‘Then what are you talking about? Where were you? I thought for sure you were dead-’

Gilmour patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘I did, too, Steven, especially when you managed to free yourself but I was still stuck there.’

Despite the chill, Steven felt his face flush. ‘Sorry about that; I wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘Oh, don’t be. You probably saved my life.’ Gilmour grinned again. ‘Great gods of the Northern Forest, I could use a beer or six.’

‘I still don’t understand-’

‘Because you weren’t there.’ He did another little victory dance.

‘Under the riverbed?’ Steven was getting increasingly bemused.

‘At Sandcliff!’ Gilmour raised his hands in a gesture that said I’ll start over. ‘No, Steven, you weren’t at Sandcliff Palace fifteen hundred Twinmoons ago.’

‘That saved you?’

‘Sure did – and it would have saved you too. When you broke free and kicked clear of the cave, I thought I was done. I could sense that there was a nasty trap in the muck, but I didn’t know what kind of spell it was, but you were clear, so I decided to blast the grettanshit out of the place, maybe throw it off enough to break myself loose. Instead, the whole moraine caved in on me, and there was no place to go but inside.’

‘Inside that oily thing?’

‘Right. And I knew it was a vicious bastard, but I didn’t know what it would do to me, so all I could do was hope against hope that something would come to me when I got sucked inside.’

‘What was in there?’

‘Oh, that’s immaterial.’ Gilmour waved the question away; he was enjoying his moment of triumph. ‘I’ll tell you in a moment, but that’s entirely beside the point. I was saved the moment that slimy, blackhearted puddle reached out for me.’

Steven ran his hands over his head, smoothing down his matted hair. ‘How? I was lost the moment it touched me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything.’

‘You were hopeless.’

‘Helpless, yes.’

Gilmour wagged a finger back and forth through the air, ‘No, hopeless – the trap was designed to grab hold of you and drain you of all hope.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Steven shuddered.

‘Had you been at Sandcliff Palace fifteen hundred Twinmoons ago, you would have learned that the greatest sin any Larion Senator could commit was that of hopelessness.’

Steven pursed his lips, then said, ‘There are some faiths in my world who teach the same thing.’

‘Hopelessness was the one fault for which there was no excuse and no forgiveness: we were the world’s greatest hope, the world’s teachers, researchers, scientists and leaders. If responsibility for Eldarn’s general welfare rested anywhere, it rested with us. Hopelessness was the worst thing a Larion Senator could feel. So Nerak left a spell here that would leave any Larion Senators who came looking for Lessek’s spell table feeling hopeless, and they would die not only knowing they had failed, but, worse than that, as a cruel added bonus, they would die experiencing the one feeling Larion Senators worked to avoid at all costs.’

‘Ironic little bastard, wasn’t he?’ Steven said.

‘He certainly was.’

‘I’m glad I killed him.’

‘So am I,’ Gilmour chuckled.

‘But-’ Steven interjected, ‘I still don’t know how you survived it.’

‘You saved me.’

‘You keep saying that, Gilmour, but I was out of the game. This was not my finest hour by a couple of touchdowns.’

‘It’s like I said, when you kicked clear of the cave, I brought the whole place down. It was all I could think to do. When the walls collapsed, the rutting rocks came smashing down on me. I think I’ve got two or three broken bones to mend when we get back to shore.’ Gilmour felt along his collarbone with two fingers, checking for a fracture. ‘Anyway, the riverbed didn’t let me go. I was heading into that black circle, going in nose-first-’ He winced and checked the opposite clavicle. ‘I didn’t do anything but hope, Steven. I hoped and I wished and I willed that someone – preferably you – would come along and save my life.’

‘And in fact you did.’

‘What happened to your magic when you reached inside the circle?’ he asked suddenly.

‘It disappeared,’ Steven said.

‘Did it?’ Gilmour looked genuinely surprised.

‘No,’ Steven corrected him, ‘it was still there, but it had faded to such a tiny little point that I couldn’t reach out and get it. I didn’t even try until you shifted my broken fingers and the pain slapped me out of that daze.’

‘Exactly,’ Gilmour said, ‘the magic was still there, but you had lost hope of using it to save yourself – or me, for that matter.’

‘Jesus, that’s a nasty one.’

‘It is,’ Gilmour said, ‘but there’s one guaranteed way to slip past it.’

‘Have hope?’

‘Have nothing but hope,’ Gilmour clarified. ‘If you have hope and the Orindale Chainball Team…’

‘You’re screwed,’ Steven finished.

‘Interesting way of putting it, but yes.’

‘Have nothing but hope,’ Steven said.

‘That’s right.’

Steven’s face changed. All at once angry, he glared at his friend and said, ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘Where are you going?’ Gilmour said. ‘You have other plans? I think Garec has his eye on Kellin, so I wouldn’t pursue that possibility.’ He was obviously still pleased with himself for outwitting his old nemesis.

‘It’s still down there.’ Steven dived for the riverbed, mustering all the hope he could summon. The end this time would be different. He knew how it felt to have nothing but hope; it had been a staple since the moment his best friend disappeared through the far portal in their living room. Now he would use that to his advantage.

The two sorcerers took a break to dry out and warm up. Brand built a bonfire, and both men, despite having been artificially warmed all morning, sat as near to the flames as they could. Steven and Gilmour answered question after question until Steven threw up his hands and begged a half-aven to rest.