The king's large head nodded. "When I was a lad, and books still were copied by hand, King Harlof the Fearless bargained with the eastern ylver over a particular ruby their emperor coveted. Part of the exchange was books, ylvin books, and one of the books told of the Voitusotar. And the terrible sickness that grips them on the sea."
He paused, his old eyes glinting. "Of course, who knows what herbs they may have learned to brew since then, or what sorceries. Eh? For that was twenty centuries past, or more.
"But the same book described the perils found here, in what they called Vismearc." He leaned forward intently. "And suppose-suppose they do invade, rich as they are, and powerful. They know about us, here in the Mountain-know about us and are warned. Tis in the book! 'Most terrible of all,' it calls us. 'Short of leg but long of arm… bodies of stone… the strength of giants… no concept of mercy.' "
He shook his head. "If they come, they'll avoid trouble with us. And we are an ancient lineage. Even as individuals, our lives are far longer than the ylver's and the Sisters', and yer own. We watch dynasties come and go; they sprout like mushrooms after rain. Allies become enemies, and enemies allies. Tyrants are thrown down. Unlikely princes become statesmen, and are succeeded by handsome fools."
He paused, leaning forward again, eyeing Macurdy intently. "And we trade with them all. If the Voitusotar come, they will not trouble us. They will trade with us. If they come."
He sat back. "Is there aught else you'd care to say?"
Macurdy shook his head. Nowhere else had he arrived with greater hopes, and no one else had brushed him off like that. They will trade with us! He left more than disappointed. He left with a bad taste in his mouth.
The next day he was given a tour of diggings, great screening rooms, forging rooms. He inspected jewels being cut and polished, beautiful vessels being made of silver and gold. Heavy dwarven jewelry. And began to appreciate why some people-human, ylver, dwarves-put such value on them.
But some things he was not shown, and he missed them. Things that made the Mountain livable-the ventilation and drainage systems in particular.
On the third day, Macurdy ate breakfast with the aide who'd briefed him. From a fur, the dwarf drew a well-worn scabbard-Macurdy's-and laid it on the table. Macurdy picked it up, and from it drew his old Ozian saber, now beautifully polished, looking better than new. Then the dwarf brought forth another, in a splendid silver scabbard set with gemstones, and held out the hilt to Macurdy. "Draw it, dwarf friend," he said. "It's yers. Draw it and tell me what ye think."
Macurdy drew it. It shimmered awesomely with magic, and felt like an extension of his arm. "Blessed God," he whispered. "I never knew there were weapons like this."
"Spells were laid on it at every stage of its forging. It's the best we could do in two days. We could have done little better in any case. His Majesty wishes ye well. If the Voitusotar do arrive, he says, he sees in yew the best hope of the tallfolk. Yew and yer great boar."
Half an hour later, Macurdy was on Vulkan again, riding down the avenue of pines, reciting what he'd seen and learned. He'd decided the King in Silver Mountain was not as bad as he'd thought.
‹He's not,› Vulkan agreed. ‹He sees things from his own viewpoint. And there was wisdom in those words that annoyed you.› He paused reflectively. ‹But he does not appreciate what Yuulith would be like, ruled by the Voitusotar. I am not sure that you and I do, fully.›
PART FOUR
War: Bloody Beginnings
Among the Voitusotar, succession to the throne is not subject to dispute. A crown prince is selected by what they term the "Soul of the Voitusotar," most often from the family of the existing Crystal Lord.
The nature of the Soul of the Voitusotar is not clear. It appears to be an aspect of the voitik hive mind, acting upon the total knowledge of the species, but having its own volition…
Talent in sorcery is not held by the Voitusotar to be the supreme virtue. It shares that honor with intelligence. Knowledge, on the other hand, is taken for granted. The hive mind is the receptacle of everything known to them, and what one knows is available to all. But understanding presents problems, as does accessing specific knowledge only vaguely identified by the seeker. And while the content of that vast repository includes decisions, it does not hold wisdom…
From: The Voitusotar by Admiral Rister Vellinghuus
(translated from the Hithmearcisc by Magister Dohns Macurdy).
23 The Language Instructor
Of the three ships sent exploring westward, fifteen years earlier, only one returned to Hithmearc. That voyage had predated voitik knowledge of sextants, and navigation had been by the sun, the pole star, and dead reckoning. But after sixty-one days and nights at sea, with winds from various quarters, and having twice been driven far off course by storms, dead reckoning had left a lot of slack.
The surviving ship had been the smallest of the three, and the one given the most northerly course. The first land she'd raised had been a high rocky coast, dark with coniferous forest, and showing no sign of habitation. She'd replenished her water supply but not her food, then explored southward. After a week, a fishing boat was sighted, then more of them, along with villages, small towns, and several cargo ships of modest size, schooner-rigged for coastal travel. Her own square sails made the Hithik vessel conspicuous, and her human skipper nervous.
Meanwhile his food supply continued to shrink, and he'd already learned that Vismearc was inhabited and civilized. All he really needed besides that were captives to take home with him, from whom Vismearcisc could be learned.
Thus he anchored one night and sent out an armed party, which captured two youths just back from tending lobster traps. With this modest but important booty, the Hithik skipper set sail for home.
Before he got there, he became involved with autumn storms, and reached home late and hungry, his vessel severely battered. One of his captives had died of a bleeding flux.
The captain had early assigned his eleven-year-old cabin boy to be the captives' tutor, and the boy showed a talent for language. By the time they'd reached Hithmearc, both tutor and captive had made major progress in speaking and understanding the other's language. And in the process, the cabin boy learned that the ylver had indeed arrived in Vismearc, and prospered. The Ylvin Coast began a day south of the captive's village.
At the voitik crown prince's order, the cabin boy remained the captive's companion. A year later, the captive died of a plague. The cabin boy then became the crown prince's personal language instructor, and indirect resource for the hive mind.
24 An Ill Wind
On the horizon, the admiral of the voitik armada could see a low coast that could only be Vismearc. But where in Vismearc? The Ylvin Coast? South of it? North of it?
The armada had clocks; clocks had long been familiar in Hithmearc. It also had sextants, courtesy of the Occult Bureau of the Nazi SS, via the Bavarian Gate. So the admiral knew rather closely where on the globe they were. But as he pointed out to the crown prince, what he didn't know was where on the globe they needed to be.
The crown prince was not, of course, surprised, but the admiral felt uncomfortable with it. He was, after all, merely human, as were all the armada's officers and crew, and one preferred not to disappoint one's voitik masters.
Minutes later, the lookout reported a small sailboat to windward, and the crown prince ordered a captive taken. The admiral had signal flags run up, and for miles astern, the vast fleet hove to. A courier schooner was sent in to pick up the boat's occupant. From him, the crown prince learned that the ylver land was "off north some'rs"-far enough, he knew no more about it. Off north was adequate.