“There were many Grave-Pits in the youth of Alifros, but today we know of just one: deep in the hills of central Chaldryl, forty days from the coast. Despite its remoteness there were some who made the journey and explored the pit, for the place fairly reeked of ancient magic, and the lure of power was great.”
He looked out at the bright mansions, the stately trees. “I was your age, Pazel and Thasha, when my father remarked over breakfast that certain alchemists in a far corner of the Empire had devised a method for carving eguar bones into tools. I said, ‘How interesting, Father,’ and wished that he would hurry and carve the cake. I was an eager youth: in those days no shadow lay upon my heart.
“But the rumor proved true. Already the alchemists had placed seven eguar blades at the feet of the Emperor. He kept one, and gave the rest to his generals. At first they seemed mere curiosities, but later something woke in the blades, and they began to whisper: Let me in, let me into your soul and I will perfect it. That at least is how the Emperor recounted the sensation to my father, on his deathbed.
“The blades gave our generals power in battle such as had not been seen since the time of the Fell Princes. But that taste of power awoke an insatiable hunger in the blade-keepers. The Emperor demanded further weapons, darker tools. Of course he was not all-powerful, then. The Great Assembly of the Dlomu opposed him, as did the Council of Bali Adro Mages. Even his own family sensed the danger, and urged him to stop. But he did not stop. Instead he found secret partners, criminal partners, with the riches and the will to work in the shadows. I mean the Ravens, of course.”
Pazel sat back with a sigh. “The Ravens. Is that how they came to power?”
Olik nodded. “They were all but defeated, after sending Arunis away to seek the Nilstone. But they rose to the Emperor’s task. More blades were delivered, more power seized, and soon our lust for power swept all cautions aside. The Grave-Pit was quarried out. The bones and teeth of the eguar were carried by the ton to the War Forges, where the foulest blades of all were smithed. Plazic Blades, we called them: conquering blades. They made us invincible, for a time. Our armies spread over neighboring lands in a flood. Platazcra, Infinite Conquest, became both our motto and our aim.
“Is it any wonder that we failed to notice how we ourselves were being conquered? The Ravens, and above all Macadra, had become indispensable to the Crown. Little by little they came out into the light. Murder by stealthy murder, they removed those who stood in their way.”
“But that is not the worst of it,” said Ibjen. “Sire, you must tell them about human beings.”
“Yes,” said Hercol, “I should like to know what part we played in this tale.”
“A great one, as it happens,” said Olik. “The human mind-plague was only beginning, in tiny outbreaks we chose to ignore. But no humans, Nemmocians, atrungs or selk were ever trusted with Plazic Blades. Only dlomu. And because dlomic hands alone grasped the power, it was easy, and tempting, to push the races further apart. We were the mighty, the feared. They were leaner and shabbier, and their famished eyes made it hard to enjoy our plunder.
“Because humans were the most numerous, they made us the most uneasy. We began to live apart, more and more, and to restrict humans to the labor we disdained: the hard labor, that is. We compelled them to build our ships, forge our armor, march behind us as vassals in our war-trains. It was not long before this servitude decayed into outright slavery.”
“So we were slaves before we were animals,” said Chadfallow. “Is that what our would-be killers meant by the Old Sins?”
“They go by that name, yes,” said the prince. “Slavery, and later the denial of the plague. For all this time the tol-chenni affliction was spreading: a blighted village here, a swirl of panic there. And we dlomu, drunk on conquest as we were, could not make ourselves pay attention.
“But human beings did, of course. The first uprisings were on the borders of the slave-lands, and they were brutally repressed-townships razed, prisoners driven over cliffs at spear-point. And still we were afraid. We imagined that all humans wished us death, even those who swore their loyalty. This terror was magnified by new losses on the battlefield. The Plazic Blades had begun to disintegrate, to rot away. Their owners became irrationally suspicious, accusing one another of tricks, curses, theft. They slew one another over the blades, one man coveting another’s, especially if it seemed less corrupted. A few even fell to our enemies: the commander of the Karyskans who attacked your ship had a Plazic Knife. I expect he used it to strengthen his men.”
“How many were there, the keepers of these blades?” asked Pazel.
“A few hundred in all the Empire,” said Olik. “Some were minor figures, like Counselor Vadu. Others really did walk the earth like Gods-mad Gods, blinded and diseased. They could not rest. They bled the Imperial coffers dry. The War Forges blazed day and night; some were consumed by their own flames or exploded, and whole regions of Bali Adro were laid waste.
“Then, very suddenly it seemed, we woke to find our slaves stolen from us. It took but three decades for the plague to destroy every human mind in Bali Adro. And without them our Empire was crippled. The Blades gave us the power to destroy, not to build or nurture. Without human labor, we were titans of straw. We could not even feed ourselves.
“We lashed out. Karysk and Nemmoc remained to be conquered, as did some mountain regions, like the interior of this great peninsula. Enemies surrounded us, we thought, and if they were not killed, we would be. In growing delirium, our generals drove their armies to superhuman feats: marching them six hundred miles in as many days-only to see them collapse on the eve of battle, victims of a starvation the magic had disguised. Such blindness! All our worst wounds have been self-inflicted. The armada may destroy the realm of Karysk, but it will do nothing to save Bali Adro from itself.”
“You sound as though you’ve lost all hope,” said Thasha.
“Do I?” said Olik. “Then I must beg your pardon. I have not lost hope. Perhaps that is because I did not have to witness all these horrors unfolding. Ten years after that breakfast with my father I sailed into the Nelluroq on my doomed expedition, and the time-shift robbed me of eight decades. When I left Bali Adro I was still a thoughtless young man. The Platazcra was well under way, but our fortunes had not yet turned. I had a son of nine years and had wearied of raising him-and of his mother, truth be told. I thought a year or two away might help me tolerate them better. And though troubled by the Empire’s wars, I still accepted the verdict of my elders, who gave the name of Glory to all that murder, greed and gobbling.
“When I returned, our nation’s back was broken. Human beings were almost extinct; the other races were scattered; woken animals were no more to be seen. Laughter was cruel, poets mad or silent, temples were converted to armories and barracks, schools to prisons, and the old world, my world, was a thing forgotten. That was despair, Lady Thasha, and I barely survived it. Yet from that blackest pit strange gifts have come to me. Like Mr. Bolutu, I am a window on a vanished world, a spokesman of sorts for Alifros-that-was. When I accepted that bitter truth, I found my life’s purpose. I became a Spider Teller, and in time a chasmamancer, and there has been more joy in the fellowship of those impoverished wizards than ever I knew in palace or keep. I fell in love with learning, and out of love with the family cult. I met Ramachni, and his wisdom strengthened me in my resolve. ‘You are a fine mage, Olik,’ he said at our last meeting, ‘but you are also a warrior. You will fight less often with your hands than with your mind and heart, but you will fight ceaselessly, I think. A wiser path for all Alifros-that shall be what you fight for. That, and the extinction of madness and greed.’ Thus he spoke, and thus it has proved to this day.”