'The mage brought the fungus and its partner home. He waited until it produced spores, then went to work. The work was long and exacting, but over generations the Wirixers altered the nature of the fungus. It was found to have a rudimentary consciousness. By selective breeding and the most cogent and subtle genetic enchantments they expanded it until it equalled a man's. And then exceeded it.
'Their aim was to produce a variety of the mimic fungus that could store information, sort of within its own, well, mind, and not only produce facts but actually make deductions of its own.'
'But why bother, Your Sublimity?' asked Erimenes. 'You've the Library. It's the greatest in the world. Or was, when I lived.'
'It's the greatest still, though recently it has fallen into neglect. At times, it seems I am the only Medurimin with any interest in abstract knowledge.' He took a bite of the seaweed pod marinated in brandy. 'Be that as it may, the Library possesses over ten million volumes. It contains within its walls virtually the sum total of human knowledge, of history, of nature, of the workings of politics and the Universe. And ninety-nine parts of a hundred is as good as lost. No human intellect can absorb a fraction of it.' He leaned forward. His dark eyes glowed with passion.
'But Oracle's intellect can. For the first time in human history, man can actually make use of the immeasurable trove of facts.'
Fost felt his own pulse race. He remembered his frustrations as a boy under the tutelage of the pedant Ceratith, when he had completed learning how to read and in part appreciated the sheer size of the Library. He had been frustrated to tears when the truth first struck him. To his small-boy mind it had been like being confronted with all the sweets in the world and knowing if he lived to be a thousand he could sample only a paltry few.
'How does Magister Banshau come into this?' asked Moriana. 'I gather he wasn't involved in development of the Oracle himself.' She leaned to the side to let a serving maid refill her goblet. Dusky breasts threatened to pop from the maid's tight, skimpy bodice. At long last beauteous serving girls had made an appearance, to Erimenes's vocal delight.
'You gather correctly, Princess. What Banshau did, and what has earned him all the bounty I can bestow, is discover a new kind of nutrient. It enhances the Oracle's mental energy level so that it is capable of telepathy and projections and similar feats. Mental feats such as flourished in lost Athalau.'
The jolly, white-skinned little man who had been in the room adjoining the fungus solemnly entered and sat quietly beside Moriana. Teom smiled broadly and gestured to the man, saying, 'Tell them about this wonderous accomplishment, Oracle.' The man nodded, then spoke.
'This is similar to the mental magic that flourished in Athalau, what is now termed intrinsic magic as opposed to extrinsic, which involves manipulation of elementals and demons and other forces external to the magician.'
Fost looked at Moriana. She returned a small smile. Then she stiffened a little. Teom laughed. 'Ah, you perceive my little jest.'
'I don't,' said Fost. 'What's wrong?'
'Nothing is wrong, Fost,' said Teom. 'This being you see beside the princess is nothing more than a mental projection created by the fungus.'
'A Wirixer spell,' the little man said. 'I can teach it to you, Highness, since your mind is both powerful and agile.' He laughed at Moriana's thunderstruck expression. 'The Wirixers have been at the game of magic almost as long as your folk, Princess. Do not begrudge them their little abilities.'
While this interchange took place, Erimenes was growing livid, turning gray-blue with the veins standing out at his temples. If he'd been corporeal, Fost would have feared him to be on the brink of apoplexy. Erimenes was far from resigned to the existence of a second Athalar spirit. Oracle's projection struck him as a cheap imitation of himself. It was too much to bear. He was on the point of fulminating when Oracle turned to him, eyes widening.
'Oh! It comes to me now. Your pardon, sir, I have only recently attained consciousness. But you are the spirit of Erimenes? The mighty Athalar philosopher known as "the Ethical"?' Guardedly, Erimenes admitted he was.
'This is marvelous! You are a great man, sir. Your life and works are a part of history. Ah, to think I meet in person a man of such legendary erudition and wisdom.' He clapped his hands together – through one another. Oracle blinked rapidly and said, 'Please forgive me. I haven't learned all the possibilities of projection yet.'
'Pardon me, Your Magnificence,' Fost cut in. 'It's astonishing that Oracle can project his image like that. But I don't see the importance.' Teom waved his fingers airily.
'The projection is a mere trick, a side effect, if you will. You saw the old men sitting around the nutrient pool reading?' Fost nodded. 'Well, now Oracle can absorb knowledge directly from men's brains. Not only can it pick up the accumulated knowledge of a learned man's whole life, but it can read new material as fast as a man's eyes can scan a page. Can you imagine the lifetimes that will save teaching it?'
Having stripped the drumstick to bare bone, Temalla flung it over her shoulder and slumped back in her chair.
'You've grown so tedious, Teom,' she complained. 'All you can talk about is that horrid giant toadstool.'
Teom's fist slammed onto the table, setting goblets dancing. His own crystal goblet jumped off the table to shatter on the floor. 'It is not a giant toadstool. Oracle is the greatest achievement in
High Medurim in a thousand years. It is my Oracle who will bring about a renaissance of knowledge and wisdom and make Medurim mighty again.'
Sneering, she yawned ostentatiously and raised her arms above her head, squeezing her shoulder-blades together so that her heavy breasts jutted straight at Fost. Areolas like targets showed clearly through the gown's flimsy fabric.
'You spend all your time with that unnatural thing!' Inch-long lashes batted at Fost; he almost felt the wind. 'I'm sure Sir Fost would never neglect me so.'
He felt as if someone had poured molten wax into his stomach. Damn the woman! Why didn't she leave him alone? And why did she have this effect on him?
'Unnatural?' Teom's voice rose to a shrill scream of outrage. 'Unnatural, you witch? How can you say that about my creation?' 'Because it is. And it's not your creation.'
'I sponsored it. Without my patronage it would never have been completed!'
'But what's it good for?' the Empress shouted. 'Will it fill the Imperial coffers? Can you eat it, drink it, make love to it?' Her lip curled and her voice lowered. 'But knowing you, dear brother, you probably could. And enjoy it!' 'It would make a livelier bedmate than you.'
In the thick of silence, Fost and Moriana rose and murmured excuses which went unheard amid the gathering storm. Scooping up the genies' satchels, they pushed through a group of serving maids that had crowded around to watch. As they began walking rapidly toward their suite, they heard the explosion of a shrewdly hurled crystal decanter against a wall.
No sooner had they entered their chambers and chased out the dewy-eyed blond youth and girl they found already in their bed, than Moriana went to Fost and ripped his shirt open from collar to navel.
Swaying, he put a hand on the wall to steady himself. They were both more drunk than sober. 'What'd you do that for?'
Her hands slid cool and smooth along his ribs. She undulated against him, her breath warm and sweet in his ear.
'The way that slut Temalla's been making eyes at you,' she purred, 'I thought it best to give you something else to think about tonight.'
Moriana kept him occupied until dawn, when they both slipped into an exhausted sleep.
The next morning, they took advantage of their leisure to tour the fabled Imperial Palace. They wandered to and fro along the marble corridors, gazing at paintings hung on the walls and statues standing in silent alcoves. The place had been decorated in early plunder. Whatever hadn't been nailed down or too heavy to move, the Imperial Army had taken from its country of origin. There was no scheme to the collected art. Much of it was dross, much incomparably fine. What impressed Fost was that the collection spanned two continents and almost a hundred centuries.