Christopher G. Nuttall's Blog, page 26

OUT NOW – Child of Destiny (Schooled in Magic 24)

Eight years ago, the Sorcerer Void saved Emily’s life. To Emily, Void became, in so many ways, the father she’d never had. And yet Void kept a secret from her. To save the Allied Lands from themselves, to keep them from being destroyed by the necromancers or torn apart by their short-sighted rulers, he embarked on a plan to launch a coup and reunite the long-dead empire, a plan that can only end in total war or a permanent living death. He must be stopped.

And now, all that stands between him and his goal is his adopted daughter, Emily herself.

Gathering her allies, Emily prepares herself to return to Whitehall, to face the most dangerous opponent she has ever faced. But as she pits the new world against the old in a desperate bid to undo Void’s work before it is too late, she is forced to confront a deadly truth…

Is it possible that Void might be right?

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In Memoriam, Jill Murphy

Before JK Rowling, there was Jill Murphy.

Before Harry Potter, there was Mildred Hubble.

If there is any children’s author who disproves the canard that boys won’t read stories about girls written by women, it is Jill Murphy.  I first encountered The Worst Witch when I was in primary school and found myself enthralled by the stories of Mildred Hubble, a young witch in training with a habit of making mistakes, a certain amount of clumsiness and an enemy in the school bully, Ethel Hallow.  The Worst Witch is simplistic, by the standards of more modern books, but it maintains a certain charm that Harry Potter and many others lost over the years.  Indeed, the simplicity helps to keep the charm.  There are no gender-related issues or shipping wars that can turn readers off the books.  (My review is here.)

I was saddened to hear of the death of Jill Murphy last week.  She was a great inspiration to many other authors, including myself. She was, first and foremost, an entertainer who wrote to please her readers, yet one who grounded the fantastical world of Cackles Academy in the reality of boarding school life, of strict teachers and bullies, of friendships placed under stress, of characters pushed into making mistakes to stay with the crowd and much more.  Her characters are very human and very relatable.  Her work touched the child I was as well as the adult I became.  I wish I had had a chance to meet her before she passed away. 

Rest in peace.

Snippet – Standing Alone (Cast Adrift II)

Prologue I

From: A Short History of Galactic Civilisation V.XXVI.  Alphan History University (Terran Campus).  505PI.

Precisely how isolated Earth was from galactic society, prior to the Alphan Invasion and Conquest of 1PI, has been hotly debated over the years.  The invasion and attendant devastation did a great deal of damage to humanity’s records, as might be expected, but rumours of pre-invasion contact with non-human life forms persisted for several decades following the invasion.  The Alphan Viceroyalty was concerned enough about a number of oddly specific rumours to invest considerable effort in trying to determine what, if any, truth lay behind the stories; the investigation produced little, beyond rumours of crashed alien spacecraft and bodies held in top secret facilities, none of which could be confirmed to exist (or ever existed).  If there was pre-invasion contact, it almost certainly passed unnoticed.

Earth’s isolation from the galactic mainstream came to an end when the Alphan Conquest Fleet decloaked in orbit and opened fire.  The human defences, such as existed at the time, were unable to do more than irritate the invasion force, which swiftly wiped out all mobile forces on the planet’s surface before landing troops to take possession of important strategic points and impose their will on the human race.  Human resistance was formidable, in places, but with possession of the high orbitals firmly in enemy hands the outcome was inevitable.  The vast majority of the human nations surrendered within two weeks of the invasion itself and die-hard resisters found it impossible to prevent the invaders from going wherever they wanted, whenever they pleased.  The Alphans had good reason to believe that humanity would become just another subject race, one to exploit for everything from raw materials to military manpower.

At first, it seemed they were right.  Humans rapidly entered service at all levels of industry.  Many humans had no qualms about taking on the dirtiest and riskiest of jobs, from mining asteroids in interstellar wastelands to skimming gas giant atmospheres for rare gases and minerals.  Others joined the Alphan military and served in various units, fighting to maintain and even expand the alien empire.  It seemed likely, as humans inched their way further and further into the interstellar civilisation, that they would eventually carve out a place for themselves in society.  Indeed, to some extent they did.  Humanity was encouraged to settle and develop seven star systems within a handful of light years of Earth, while Earth’s steadily-growing orbital industry and merchant fleet – primitive compared to their masters, but larger with every passing year – took humans right across explored space and far beyond.  It should have gone on forever.

It did not.  First, as humanity became more and more important to the empire’s economy, they started to demand a say in how the empire was governed.  The Alphans were unsure how to handle the matter and, eventually, ended up angering both sides.  The growth of a representative human government, with very limited powers, bolstered the demand for more rights within the empire, even as it ensured it would be harder to convince the empire to grant anything of the sort.  Second, the Alphan Empire fought two wars in quick succession with the Lupines, an alien race technologically inferior to the Alphans but possessed of vast numbers and determination that more than evened the odds.  It was conceded, in the wake of the Second Lupine War, that only human involvement had saved the Alphans from an expensive and potentially catastrophic defeat.   And it was felt, on Earth, that humanity deserved – now – to be considered true partners in empire.

The Alphans hesitated.  It was impossible for them to concede equality to a race that hadn’t so much as settled its own moon, let alone started to explore multispace, before encountering alien life.  They had a tendency to regard humanity as not only primitive, but foolish.  Unlike many other races trapped in gravity wells, the human race could have climbed out before the invasion took place.  And yet, they were uneasily aware of how greatly they depended upon human labour.  The Alphan Empire had invited millions of humans to immigrate.  If those humans turned into a threat, the results would be disastrous. 

After much debate, they chose to cut their losses.  Earth and its neighbouring worlds were granted independence.  The Earth Defence Force – composed of humans who had once fought beside their Alphan masters – was released into Earth’s control.  The Alphans waited long enough to ensure a reasonably stable passing of the torch, then pulled out of the Human Sector completely.  Humanity was on its own.

It did not take long for predators to come calling.  The Vulteks, a primitive race that had been uplifted by the Pashtali, challenged the human navy and, after convincing themselves the human race was a paper tiger, launched an invasion.  The enemy thrust their way to a crossroad star system, where their fleet trapped and destroyed in a desperate battle.  Unwilling to give the Pashtali any time to support their clients, the EDF took the offensive and fought its way to the Vultek homeworld.  The Pashtali arrived barely in time to save the Vulteks from a brutal defeat, ensuring that humanity’s victory would be incomplete.  It was, however, more than enough to ensure the human race would take its place amongst the galaxy’s major players.  As peace descended, the human race looked to the future …

… And, as five years passed, came to realise the peace was unlikely to last.

Prologue II

From: Captain Thomas Anderson, CO James Bond

To: First Admiral Adam Glass, Commander Solar Navy (Earth Defence Force)

Subject: Galactic Geopolitics

Admiral.

As per your request, I have submitted my formal report to the EIS prior to writing this message for you.  I must warn you that a considerable amount consists of nothing more than speculation, of whispers and rumours that may have no more substance than the claim the Elder Gods are about to return and judge us all for our sins.  My tour of the neighbouring star systems has been informative, as the report says, but not everything can be substantiated.  I have had to leave certain details out of the official report because they cannot be backed up.

We had hoped, despite everything, that the Alphans would rally their people to the cause and stabilise their empire.  It is not to be.  Since granting Earth independence, the Alphans have done the same to three more races, two of which are primitive and unlikely to offer any real challenge to their masters if they decided they wanted to rebel.  From what I’ve heard, the Alphan Empire is in full retreat.  A number of important crossroads, economically as well as militarily, have simply been abandoned.  It is only a matter of time before one of the other Galactics moves in and takes them.  I doubt we could secure them ourselves, even if we had the deployable forces, if a more powerful race wanted them.

It is impossible, as of writing, to get a solid idea on how much military hardware remains in Alphan possession, but I’ve heard rumours that suggest warcruiser losses in the war were far higher than we supposed.  I have been unable to confirm these rumours – and some of them are nothing more than whispers and wishful thinking – yet it is clear the Alphans no longer have the will to patrol the space outside their core worlds.  They have stepped down everything from crossroad custom stations to deep space outposts and, if some of the wilder rumours are to be believed, even evacuating their personnel from multispecies worlds.  It is clear they’re withdrawing as much as possible to their core worlds.

This raises a worrying issue, sir.  Who is going to be the next galactic hyperpower?

It is not an easy question to answer.  The Alphans were the power, as far as they and everyone else were concerned.  They possessed enough firepower to make life difficult for the remaining Galactics, even if they had to fight them all at once.  It was they who enforced Galactic Law, such as it is.  As of writing, going by official reports, there is no power capable of taking their place.   Unofficial reports suggest the major powers are rapidly building up their forces as quickly as possible.  The Alphans have created a power vacuum and their rivals are moving to take advantage of it.

I think, off the record, that the Pashtali will be the major threat.  They took no part in either the Lupine Wars or the Vultek War, save at the very end.  They have long wanted to replace the Alphans as the predominant power in explored space, seeing the Alphans as a bunch of lucky bandits, if I may make so bold, rather than the destined masters of the known universe.  Quite aside from that, they also regard us as threats; they have good reason to fear what we, and our neighbours, will do if given time.  I’m surprised they haven’t put pressure on us already.  Given the Alphan retreat, that may be about to change.

Political suggestions are a little outside my bailiwick, but I do have some observations …

Chapter One

ESS Magellan, Deep Space

There were people, Captain Ashleigh Harlem had discovered the first day she’d reported for survey training, who couldn’t endure multispace.  They looked through portholes at the eerie shimmering lights of multispace and recoiled in horror, or threw up, or started screaming as their minds tried to process something beyond their grasp.  Indeed, the Alphans based their claim to superiority on the simple fact that they found multispace almost homely, to the point they knew far more than any other race about manipulating the fabric of multispace and the threadlines running through it.  It was the Alphans, alone amongst the Galactics, who could drop out of multispace wherever they liked.  It gave them a priceless tactical advantage.

She sat in her command chair and studied the displays as Magellan picked her way through the endless energy surges and gravitational eddies.  They weren’t that far from the shipping lanes, but they might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy.  Her sensors weren’t picking up any other ships, not even patrolling cruisers and destroyers prowling the edge of the core worlds.  Alphan space, she reminded herself.  The days when the core worlds had been her core worlds were long gone.  It was strange, almost eerie, that they’d seen so few ships during the deployment.  There’d been a time when the threadlines were practically crowded with starships, from freighters carrying raw materials back to the core to warships patrolling the edge of explored space.  Now …

Interstellar trade will recover, she told herself.  And when it does, we will need accurate charts once again.

It wasn’t easy, but she forced herself to relax.  She’d been in the interstellar survey service from the day she’d graduated, hoping – against all logic and reason – that she’d be granted a chance to take a ship beyond the furthest reaches of explored space.  Updating charts and keeping a wary eye on energy storms in multispace was important – she wouldn’t have been in the survey service if she hadn’t understood just how important it was – but it wasn’t a chance to plunge into the unknown.  She’d grown up on tales of brave explorers – Alphans – who had steered their ships along previously unexplored threadlines, locating and logging star systems that could be claimed and exploited by their empire.  She’d heard stories of strange sights and encounters within multispace, from incomprehensible artefacts from long-gone races to godlike entities guarding the gates to heaven or hell.  Most of the stories were absurd, the sort of tall tales spacers told when they wanted to make their profession sound glamorous; she’d discovered, over the years, there was more truth in them than any groundpounder believed.  Who knew what might be lurking beyond the next threadline or on the far side of an unexplored crossroads?  She wanted to be the first one to see the unknown …

Her lips curved into a grim smile.  Soon.  The human race was free again, free to explore without the guiding hand of their former masters.  She’d been told, in confidence, that as the Solar Government asserted itself, humanity would start sending survey ships into the unknown, in hopes of finding inhabitable colony worlds or making first contact with new alien powers.  She had every intention of being one of, if not the, commander on a deep space exploration mission.  She’d spent her entire life preparing for the plunge into the unknown.  She was ready.

She put the thought out of her mind as she studied the console.  The multispace topography – one of her instructors had once compared it to crawling across the ocean bed – seemed unchanged.  The random energy fluctuations of multispace barely registered on the sensors.  She was almost disappointed – and yet, something nagged at her mind.  The economic slowdown had affected everyone, with fewer and fewer ships setting out on speculative trading missions, but there should have been more ships in the threadline.  She frowned as she studied the edges of the clear route, her ship slowing along the edge of the threadline as her sensors probed the energy storms beyond.  Multispace was merciless – any solid matter within the threadline fell down to the crossroads and beyond – but surely there should have been more.  It was worrying.

Her fingers danced across the console, bringing up the long-range sensor readings and comparing them to the records on file.  It had been too long since the last survey mission.  The Alphans – who’d once conducted the missions as a matter of routine – seemed to have lost interest in carrying them out, although they’d reacted badly when some of the other Galactics had offered to do them.  Or so Ashleigh had been told.  It couldn’t be easy to have an up and coming younger race offering to do something for you, even if one was grimly aware of one’s advancing age.  Ashleigh’s grandmother had never liked her children and grandchildren treating her as an invalid, right up to the end of her life.  The Alphans must feel the same way.  They’d been masters of the known universe for so long they had to find it hard to adjust to a universe that no longer automatically deferred to them.

And I wouldn’t be pleased if Ensign Simmons claimed he knew better than me, she reflected, with a hint of amusement.  Even if he did, it wouldn’t make me happy.

She kept her eyes on the display as the starship sped on, down the threadline.  It was a routine mission.  She did not, technically, have to be on the bridge at all.  There was no reason to think they’d come under attack – they were deep within explored space – or encounter something her XO couldn’t handle.  She knew she could go back to her cabin and do her paperwork – that was one thing that hadn’t changed, in the years following Independence – or even write proposals for deep space exploration.  Who knew?  The President and his government needed a success, now the lustre of independence had been replaced by the urgent need to carve a place for humanity in a hostile universe.  Perhaps they’d support a deep-space exploration mission …

A low shudder ran through the ship.  Ashleigh looked up, sharply, as red lights flared on the display.  Multispace was rarely quiet – energy surges and twisted gravity waves were far from uncommon, seemingly flickering and flaring out of nowhere and vanishing as quickly as they’d come – but they were still some distance from the edge of the threadline.  They were certainly closer to it than a freighter would dare, yet … her eyes narrowed as another wave of gravitational force crashed into the hull.  It shouldn’t have been there at all.

“Lieutenant Ellis,” she said, calmly.  It was unexpected, but hardly anything her crew couldn’t handle.  They’d trained on the assumption they’d be flying into unexplored and uncharted territory.  “Report.”

Lieutenant Ellis didn’t look up from his console.  “We just crossed a gravity wave, Captain,” he said, in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe his own words.  “The wave is actually twisted, to the point we hit it twice …”

Ashleigh leaned forward as the display updated rapidly.  Multispace was weird.  For every threadline that cut years off one’s journey, there was one that added centuries.  It was quite possible to follow a threadline that linked two neighbouring stars together, only to discover the journey would have been quicker if the ships had remained in normal space.  She’d heard stories of spacers who’d spent a week in multispace, only to discover – when they reached their destination – that years had passed.  It was rare, but it happened.  She’d even heard rumours of threadlines that led into the past.

Although those rumours are probably untrue, she reflected.  It would break causality into rubble.

She keyed her console, sounding the alert.  The mission was no longer routine.  The gravity wave – the folded gravity wave – should not have been there.  The threadline had been located and charted thousands of years ago, back when her distant ancestors were only starting to grasp the concept of fire.  And that meant … she frowned as the rest of her crew scrambled to their stations, readying themselves for anything.  If the last survey mission had missed a gravity fold, what else had they missed?  She had the sickening feeling she was about to find out?

“Deploy two recon drones,” she ordered.  “One to the edge of the threadline, one beyond.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Ensign Hinkson looked up.  “Captain, I just compared our sensor logs to the files from the shipping consortiums,” he said.  “There’s no mention of a shift in the gravitational topography, and none of the freighters reported encountering the wave.”

“Noted.”  Ashleigh hid her amusement with an effort.  If any of the freighters had reported the wave, it would have been reflected in her orders.  But the ensign was right to check, even if the last set of updates were dangerously outdated.  The big consortiums were scrupulous about reporting any navigational issues to the interstellar governments, but not all of them regarded humanity as an interstellar power in its own right.  “Draw up the last records and compare them to our current sensor readings.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Ashleigh smiled, then frowned as the drones started to report back.  The edge of the threadline was shifting … no, closing.  It was still huge – she could fly much of the Solar Navy through the threadline and have room for a few hundred alien ships – and the movement was so slight it was barely noticeable, but it was very definitely there.  She keyed her console, checking on the threadline’s internal topography.  It looked as if the walls were steadily closing in.  There was no danger – not yet, perhaps not ever – but she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of claustrophobia.  She’d taken her ship down threadlines that had been alarmingly thin, to the point only one ship could pass at a time, and yet … this threadline was meant to be stable.  Why was it shifting?

“Captain, Drone One is passing beyond the edge now,” Lieutenant Ellis reported.  “The signal link is becoming increasingly distorted.”

“Stay with it, as best as you can,” Ashleigh ordered.  Multispace played merry hell with communications too.  It wasn’t uncommon for ships to pick up transmissions that had been sent hundreds of years ago, while completely missing signals from a ship that was right next to them.  “And …”

Another shudder ran through the ship.  “Report!”

“The gravity wave twisted again,” Lieutenant Ellis said.  “I think …”

He broke off.  “Captain, we just lost the drone.”

Ashleigh frowned at his back.  “Was the drone destroyed?  Or did we just lose contact?”

“Uncertain,” Lieutenant Ellis admitted.  “There was no terminal signal, but the drone might have been destroyed too quickly to send one.”

Ashleigh forced herself to think.  The drones weren’t designed for rough conditions.  A lone gravity fluctuation might have destroyed the drone or simply tossed it light-years beyond human ken.  Her ship was designed to handle conditions that would tear a drone to pieces without even noticing … and yet, she was reluctant to cross the edge and press into the tangled reaches beyond.  She needed to know what was on the far side and yet … there were limits to how much she dared risk.

And if I don’t find out now, she thought, they’ll just have to send another ship back to do the job we should have done.

“Communications, burst transmission to the nearest relay posts,” she ordered.  The Galactics should relay the messages back to Earth … if interstellar law and treaties still meant anything in this day and age.  Everyone had an interest in maintaining navigational charts, even races and powers that were historically enemies.  “Helm, prepare to take us across the edge.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Ashleigh braced herself as the starship altered course.  She was designed for probing the unexplored and uncharted sections of multispace and yet … it was hard not to feel as though she was making a mistake.  But what choice did she have?  If the threadline was shifting, or closing, they needed to know why.  They needed to know if the other threadlines in the sector were threatened.  They needed to know … her lips thinned as the edge came closer, the starship girding her loins for a plunge into the unknown.  If they knew … what could they do about it?  The Alphans were the most advanced race in the known universe and even they couldn’t manipulate multispace, not beyond a very basic point.  There was nothing they could do, if the threadline closed, beyond rerouting traffic and hoping for the best.

“Captain, we will cross the edge in ten seconds,” Lieutenant Adams said.  “Nine … eight …”

The ship shuddered, again and again.  That wasn’t normal, certainly not in a well-charted threadline.  Ashleigh made a mental note to file a complaint about whoever had conducted the last survey as the shuddering grew worse, the ship’s drive fields struggling to compensate.  No wonder the first drone had been destroyed.  It was a minor miricle the second was still alive and broadcasting.  But then, it hadn’t tried to go beyond the edge.

She gritted her teeth as a low crash echoed through the hull.  It was her imagination, at least in part, and yet … she promised herself that, if she ever got back home, she’d never make fun of anyone who dreaded multispace again.  They’d just crashed into the unknown and … she snapped orders, directing the crew to reboot the sensors as the display fuzzed and blanked completely.  She hadn’t see anything like it since the war, since the enemy had tried to defeat a human flotilla by blanketing it with distortion and jamming pulses.  It hadn’t worked as well as the Lupines had hoped – Alphan sensors were still a cut above everyone else’s – but it had given them a chance to get into firing range.  She couldn’t help tensing.  If that happened again …

The display updated.  Ashleigh sucked in her breath as she saw the multispace beyond the walls.  It was a storm, a raging typhoon of energy sweeping towards her with all the inevitability of an asteroid falling into a gravity well.  She felt silence fall like a physical blow, her crew staring in horror.  They knew how dangerous space could be and yet … they’d never seen anything so powerful and dangerous outside training simulations.  The storm was so vast that … she swallowed hard, remembering stories from deep space explorers who had gone beyond the rim.  She’d thought they’d been pulling her leg, as if she was a credulous primitive who’d thought her world was flat before a more advanced race arrived to show them they were wrong.  She knew, now, they’d been telling the truth.

“Reverse course,” she snapped.  The sensors struggled to cope with the torrent of energy pouring towards them, but … she cursed under her breath.  They couldn’t enter such a storm and hope to live.  “Get us back into the threadline!”

“Aye, Captain.”

Ashleigh cursed under her breath as the shaking intensified, the drives whining loudly as they struggled to get them back to safely.  The gravity topography was growing steeper, as if they’d tried to fly through a planet’s atmosphere only to discover, too late, that they’d gone too far into the gravity well and doomed themselves to certain death.  She’d made a serious mistake.  She knew she’d had no choice, but … the ship shook one final time, then fell quiet.  They’d made it back into the threadline.  Barely.

Her nostrils twitched.  Someone had wet themselves.  She pretended not to notice.  They’d trained extensively for everything from transient threadlines to hostile aliens, but there were limits to how far they could go in training simulators.  They were never real.  How could they be?

“Captain.”  Lieutenant Ellis sounded shaken.  “If my readings are correct, the entire sector is caught in the storm.”

Ashleigh stared at the sensor logs, shaking her head in disbelief.  The storm was immense, beyond her ability to comprehend.  No wonder the threadlines were shrinking.  The more she looked at the records, the more she thought it was just a matter of time before the threadlines snapped completely.  Perhaps they’d reform, eventually … no, newer ones would take their place.  She keyed the console, bringing up the starchart.  It would take months, if not years, for the storm to disperse, then decades for the new threadlines to be charted and cleared for use.  Until then … starships would have to take the long way around if they didn’t want to risk the storm.  They’d have no choice.  Magellan was designed for harsh environments, to go boldly into regions of multispace that would daunt a warcruiser, but even she couldn’t fly through a storm.  There were probably better ways to commit suicide. 

Lieutenant Ellis was still talking, babbling speculation on what might have caused the storm.  The sensor records would fuel genuinely original science – the human race, like everyone else, wanted to know how to travel multispace without the crossroads – and yet, right now, it didn’t matter.  Ashleigh understood his enthusiasm, and she appreciated the story was going to have everyone buying her crew drinks, but she understood what it meant.  If they had to take an extra few weeks, if not months, to reach Alphan Prime … what would it do to interstellar trade? 

Hell, she reflected.  If the storm gets worse, we may not even be able to punch a message through to the other side.

She leaned back in her chair.  “Helm, set course for Ballade,” she ordered.  She’d sent a message earlier, but it was hard to be sure it had reached its destination.  They had to go in person.  “Best possible speed.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Out Now – The Prince’s War (The Empire’s Corps 19)

Prince Roland – the Childe Roland, Heir to the Imperial Throne – grew up in a gilded cage, surrounded by men who wanted to use his powers while keeping him under tight control.  He was growing into a petty sadistic brat until a Marine Pathfinder took him in hand, helping him to overcome his caretakers – jailers – and make something of himself.  But it was too late for Earth and, as the planet collapsed into chaos, Roland and his mentor barely escaped before it was too late.  He was taken into the care of the Marine Corps and given a chance to go to Boot Camp and forge a new life.

But now, unsure what to do with him, his superiors set him a task.  Roland has to take command of a training mission and travel to New Doncaster, a planet on the verge of exploding into civil war.  His mission is to build an army and stabilise the situation as quickly as possible …

… But, for an untried prince in a snake pit, facing enemies on both sides of the war, it will be far from easy …

Download a FREE SAMPLE, then purchase from Amazon or Draft2Digital.  And read the afterword here.

Updates …

Well … here we are, more updates.

Good news first – I’ve finished the first draft of The Cunning Man.  It now awaits a lot of editing, as – as always – there are a bunch of issues that need fixed before the book goes live.  I’m going to take a short break, now Edinburgh is coming to life again, before starting work on Standing Alone, the more or less direct sequel to Cast Adrift.  I’m sure you’ll agree the cover is a work of art.  Shame about the book . 

Also, Stuck in Magic has done very well and I intend to write a second serial – Her Majesty’s Warlord.  I hope you’re looking forward to this . 

Child of Destiny is still being edited, as is The Prince’s War.  I have hopes of getting the latter up within the week, but we will see.

On a wider scale …

I tried getting into Masters of the Universe Relivation, but I couldn’t.  I’m not talking about the controversial stuff – I just didn’t get that far!  I think a lot of it stems from the 2002 serial being far superior, as far as I can tell from what I saw; there’s also points in which the canon was simply never very well established until 2002.  And the whole first few sections just annoyed me.  Maybe I’m just too old.  She-Ra and the Princesses of Power did a far better job.

That said, I have managed to get partly into Amphibia, mainly the myth arc episodes.  I didn’t really like the early Anne and the Planters episodes, although I think they did a good job of introducing the setting and characters.  Sasha and Marcy are more interesting than Anne though – maybe that’ll change as I get closer to the end of Season 2.  The Owl House hasn’t dropped Season 2 on Disney+ yet, so I haven’t been able to catch up with season 2 of that yet (although I hear it’s a good one). 

Anyway, back to the kids.

Chris

Review: Queen of the Unwanted (Jenna Glass)

Queen of the Unwanted (The Women’s War 2)

-Jenna Glass

            “So that’s it, then?” Tynthanal said after a long and resentful silence. “You’d force me to abandon the woman I love to save Ellinsoltah the trouble of having to deal with a rival claimant to her throne?”

            “You make it sound like some triviality,” she retorted. “A man’s life hangs in the balance, although I hope you know I would put your happiness above the life of some man I’ve never met. But don’t you see that the issue would never have come up if Ellinsoltah had a firm hold on her throne? We owe our very existence to her willingness to protect us from Aaltah. If you marry Kailee, we will be assured of Rhozinolm’s support even if Ellinsoltah is dethroned.”

            “Then offer Corlin in my stead!” Tynthanal snapped. “If this marriage of state is so important, it shouldn’t matter that he’s younger than his potential bride!”

            Alys growled in frustration. She understood her brother’s distress, and she wished there were another way out, but she was in no mood to deal with a temper tantrum. “Stop being a child!” she snapped back. “As you well know, he cannot enter into a legal marriage agreement for another three years. I would not want to trust the lives of everyone in this principality on a nonbinding verbal agreement, would you? Even Delnamal did his duty and married Shelvon when he loved another. Are you telling me you cannot measure up to him, of all people?”

            She had the satisfaction of seeing her verbal barb hit its mark as Tynthanal flinched at the comparison. He had to see the truth in her words, and yet he refused to accept them. “So you’re basically telling me I have to take your damn potions or else!” There was a hint of panic hiding behind the anger that flashed in his eyes.

            Alys wondered how many young women had worn that particular expression over the long history of Seven Wells, how many had screamed and cried and begged to be released from unwanted marriages only to have their wishes ignored. Why should her brother be any different? And why did he have to make an already difficult situation even harder? “Yes,” she bit out. “That’s it exactly.”

            “Fine!” he snarled, pushing back his chair and standing up. “I’ll take the ‘or else.’ ”

-Queen of the Unwanted.

It is a sad truth, as politicians as diverse as Barrack Obama and Donald Trump discovered, that it is easy to win office, but harder to bring about lasting change.  The new officeholder rapidly discovers that the devil is in the details, that there were reasons beyond stupidity, incompetence and malice why the previous officeholder failed to have any long-term effects on the world.  It is easy to promise a new heaven and a new earth, but harder – far harder – to actually keep those promises. 

In the previous book, The Women’s War, a triad of unwanted women from the Abby of the Unwanted cast a spell that opened up whole new vistas of magic to women, from a subtle spell that prevented unwanted conception to nastier spells targeted that could be targeted on rapists, murderers and betrayers.  The remaining women from the Abbey were sent to the edge of the desert into an exile that was intended as a de facto death sentence, but they discovered – there – a new well of magic they could use to secure their independence from the kingdom and declare themselves an independent state.  The world, however, is still reeling under the effects of the Blessing (or the Curse, depending on whom you ask) and powerful forces are gathering to destroy Women’s Well once and for all.

Jenna Glass has taken a gamble in this book and centred a large part of the text on two new characters, Abbess Mairah, a cold and calculating young woman and Norah, an older woman, from a different kingdom.  Mairah, the first and only women to enter the Abby willingly (as the inevitable consequence of a revenge scheme), is perhaps the most powerful woman outside Women’s Well, under strict orders from her monarch to find a way to reverse the Blessing/Curse or else; Norah, who took an immediate dislike to Mairah before the world changed, intends to ensure the Blessing remains firmly in place.  The relationship between the two women is poisonous right from the start, triggering off a chain of events that lead directly to disaster as they eventually wind up at Women’s Well.  In a sense, toxic masculinity has given way to toxic femininity and both women play a major role in damaging their own cause. 

The characters introduced in the first book, therefore, have less development than I had expected, as they grapple with the new world order.  Queen Ellinsoltah struggles to establish herself as the ruler of her kingdom, even after she proved she could kill as effectively as any man; she discovers, just as the historical Queen Elizabeth did, that men on her council would work to circumvent her orders.  Delnamal struggles to stabilise his kingdom and resume the attack on Woman’s Well; Alysoon, now the ruler of Women’s Well, finds herself grappling with the same issues that confronted her father and reluctantly forced to admit, for better or worse, that he had reason.  Queen of the Unwanted is very much a middle book in a trilogy and it shows.

Alysoon, in fact, comes across as a hypocrite.  Having spent her early life battling for a marriage that actually suited her, then a sizable chunk of the last book trying to prevent her daughter being wedded off to an unsuitable man, Alysoon finds herself forced to offer her brother’s hand in marriage to Queen Ellinsoltah’s niece.  He doesn’t take it very calmly, as you can see above, and Alysoon doesn’t take that very calmly … which is the exact same problem her father had, when the time came to arrange marriages for himself and his children.  To be fair, Alysoon recognises her brother has reason to be unhappy – and it works out better than anyone has any right to expect – but her father had the same realization too.

Delnamal, meanwhile, continues his slow fall into madness, even though he’s got most of what he wanted (in particular, a heir from the woman he loved before he was forced into a loveless marriage).  It rapidly becomes clear he isn’t cut out for fatherhood, unable to offer any love to the baby or his adopted older son.  His kingdom’s instability, made worse by his poor decisions, make it harder for him to do anything, so he grasps at the straw Mairah offers when they cross paths towards the end of the book.  The result is a disaster that sets up the conflict for the final book.  (It is worth repeating that much of the monarchy described in this series is simply allohistorical.) 

There’s less to say about how the plot develops overall.  The new magics are explored and developed, allowing more research to be carried out.  There are some positive interactions as well as a negative ones, some characters prove themselves to be better than they seem; others, unable or unwilling to give up old grudges or even simply walk away, play a role as events move rapidly towards disaster.  In the end, most of the characters are deeply flawed, because of their society, and their flaws – all too often – overshadow their virtues.  It is odd, in my view, that there are few characters who are not nobility and the ones who are briefly mentioned do not get a chance to shine, at least on the page.

Overall, Queen of the Unwanted is a good read, if suffering under the weight of being a middle book.  It allows everyone to take a breath, before events start picking up speed again; it digs into some, if not all, of the logical consequences of the Blessing/Curse and how clashing personalities can cause disasters none of them intended.  I give it four out of five.

OUT NOW – Stuck in Magic (A Schooled in Magic Spin-Off)

Elliot Richardson thought he’d lost everything.

He’d come home from deployment to find his wife cheating on him, his sons strangers and his life in tatters. Driving away, unsure where he was going, he fell through an interdimensional rift and found himself in a very different world, a city of magic and mystery and dangers beyond his comprehension, a land spinning out of control as innovations from the distant west unsettle the monarchy and challenge the position of the aristocrats and warlords that hold the kingdom in their grasp.

Powerless and alone, with no way home, Elliot struggles to survive long enough to make a new life. But as war looms on the horizon, he finds himself forced to use his skills to make a name for himself, all too aware that the slightest slip will mean instant death – or worse.

Download a FREE SAMPLE, then purchase from Amazon HERE.  Read the AFTERWORD, or check out the original series HERE.

Schooled in Magic: The Levellers

This is the first draft of an appendix. Comments welcome.

The Levellers

By the time the Void Wars broke out, the Levellers were assumed – at least by kings, princes, aristocrats and even a few magical communities – to exist at every level of society, to the point there was nothing, from crop failure to riots and revolutions, that could not be blamed on them.  Kings saw Levellers behind every tree and, jumping at shadows, often ordered purges that, unsurprisingly, made it harder for the population to stay on the sidelines.  The uprising in Alluvia appeared to prove all their suspicions – particularly the worst – and the Levellers appeared a convenient scapegoat, a menace that had to be destroyed.  Their attempts, however, only ensured that Levelism spread further, in truth, than it could probably have carried itself.

The kings blamed Lady Emily for introducing Levelism and empowering the early Levellers to the point they believed they could make their dreams a reality.  This was untrue.  The genesis of Levelism lay in the city-states, which allowed a certain degree of political discourse, and the more intellectually-minded courts that tolerated academics, as long as said academics remained steady supporters of the monarch and didn’t cross the line into open criticism of the monarchy and/or the aristocracy.  Discussing the duties as well as the rights of the nobility was acceptable, if only to provide convenient excuses for challenging dissident noblemen; any questioning of the monarchy’s right to exist, regardless of who was on the throne, was not.  It was difficult for any early movement to make much headway.  The aristocracy had no interest in paying more than lip service to it, while the lower classes rarely had the education that would have allowed them to mount legal challenges to their social superiors.  Nor did they have the time.  The early thinkers were allowed to exist because they appeared largely harmless.

This changed as a result of Lady Emily’s early innovations.  It was suddenly possible for far more people than ever before to learn to read and write, allowing even those with very basic knowledge to sound out words and spread messages far and wide.  Early Leveller writings, including many written by palace academics that had never been intended for the public eye, followed in their wake.  The result was a series of social upheavals.  The cities saw the effective collapse of the scribe and accounting guilds, while the serfs and peasants in the countryside discovered, as many of them had suspected, that the nobility was denying them their legal rights.  It rapidly became impossible to convince the peasants to accept bland platitudes from their superiors, nor to force them to continue to honour documents they could not read.  There was no way to put the demon back in the bottle without force and trying would result in the destruction of lands and farms the nobility wanted to keep.  Discontent spread rapidly, moving far in advance of any attempt to stop it.  Entire regions rapidly became ungovernable.

Lady Emily made it worse, quite by accident, by abolishing serfdom within Cockatrice and insisting on very limited taxes and tithes from her people.  (This would normally have been heavily opposed by the local nobility, but most of them were either implicated in the attempted coup against King Randor or … convinced … to flee by the suddenly empowered peasants (a number would fight beside the Noblest during the Zangarian Civil War and die during the conflict.))  Cockatrice had never been known for being a land overflowing with milk and honey, but the simple fact the peasants were suddenly allowed to keep most of their produce – and sell it as they saw fit – doubled or tripled farm yields within two years.  The outside world suddenly had something to aspire to, forcing the nobility to either make concessions of their own or risk mass unrest (or simple desertion).

Matters were slightly more restrained in the city-states, as there was already a certain level of education and political participation.  Leveller movements took part in local government, to the best of their abilities, as Levellers themselves started to spread into local institutions.  It was no longer possible for a guild to enforce a monopoly on anything and, as the Levellers flexed their muscles, the majority of the guilds agreed to limited reforms.  This drove forward a major economic boom, which boosted everything from broadsheets – it was truly said that a new broadsheet was founded every day – to steam industries and railways.  Not every new business was a success – it was also said that few broadsheets lasted long enough to make a mark – and Vesperian’s Folly nearly destroyed Beneficence, but overall the changes took root and spread rapidly.  It helped that newly-minted apprentices set out to start their own businesses, in doing so, spread Levelism.

There is no such thing as a typical Leveller.  Levellers come from all walks of society, although the majority tend to be middle-class cityfolk or peasant leaders/activists, both of whom are very aware of how society is weighted against them and ambitious enough to try to make their mark.  Women are surprisingly well represented within Leveller councils, a reflection of what the Levellers owe Lady Emily and, more practically, an awareness that – at least in the more misogynistic communities – it is easier for women to both move around without being noticed and, if they are, to evade both harsh interrogation and the death sentence.  Most Leveller cells give at least lip service to the rights of women, as well as men, although it is unclear how this will shake out in practice.  Too many communities still regard women as little more than property, with their fathers – and later husbands – having ultimate responsibility for their conduct.

Kings, being used to top-down structures, came to believe that the Levellers were a unified force.  Lady Emily, some argued, was the Chief Leveller; others pointed to other names, often their political enemies, and insisted that they had to be in charge.  This was an understandable mistake (spurred by rumour and the fact that underground societies were quite common in aristocratic communities).  The Levellers are not, and never have been, an organised group.  They are, at best, a very loosely organised collection of cells, each one having a different idea of how best to do things and often in disagreement with each other.  City Levellers are often moderate, attached to ideas such as constitutions and laws; Country Levellers, often former serfs and peasants, are much more radical in their approach. 

There is, therefore, very little codification of Leveller thinking, let alone dogma.  However, nearly all Levellers adhere to three tenants:

First, all men (the term is generally taken to mean ‘mankind’) are equal before the law.

Second, all men have the right to bear arms.

Third, all men have the right to grant and withdraw their labour, and move around the world, at will.

These tenants were utterly unacceptable to the aristocracy and monarchs (and even to some magical communities).  The first tenant would undermine all the rights and privileges the aristocrats had claimed for themselves.  The second would threaten their ability to keep the commoners in line with naked force.  The third would make it impossible for them to keep peasants and serfs in the field (serfdom itself would be abolished by the third) unless they paid much better wages.  Their protests, however, did not stop the tenants from spreading and becoming, at least in part, something for the Levellers to work towards. 

It should be clear that there is little consensus beyond those three points.  The Levellers are deeply divided on a multitude of issues, from reform – moderates want an end to serfdom; radicals want the land divided amongst those who work it – to how mankind should be governed and the precise legal status of men, women and children.  Worst of all, perhaps., there is no clear blueprint for how the servants of the old order, still less the masters themselves, should be handled by the new world order.  The minor issues that may damage, perhaps even destroy, Leveller cells have often been allowed to fester.  The major issues have often made it impossible for the new world order to get off the ground and muster its power to defeat the reactionaries before they counterattack.

The future of the Leveller movement, in the wake of the end of the Necromantic Wars, is unclear.  The collapse of the Allied Lands has brought opportunities, but also threats.  The kings, no longer needing to pay lip service to unity (and afraid of the Alluvian Revolution spreading to their lands), have cracked down hard.  The international messenger system, created and maintained by the White Council, has been effectively ruined.  Old certainties are collapsing everywhere.  At the same time, the kings and princes – and the rules they created – have been discredited and there is a glimmer, at least, of hope for the future.

The Cunning Man (Schooled in Magic, but Stand-Alone) – Snippet

Prologue I

Background: The following is a transcript of a speech given by Lady Emily, Founder of Heart’s Eye University, when the university accepted its first influx of students.  It was warmly received by the newcomers, then transcribed and distributed shortly afterwards by the Heart’s Eye Press.  Copies of the speech were, naturally, banned in many kingdoms.  This did not, of course, stop bootleg copies being found everywhere.

***

I said: I want to build a university.

They said: what’s a university?

It was a hard question to answer.  The concept of universal education is largely unknown and very rare, even in the magical community.  Few masters have the experience and inclination to cover all the branches of magic; few apprentices, eager to make complete their apprenticeships and make a name for themselves, are willing to spend years, perhaps, studying all the different aspects of magic and learning how they work together.  I was fortunate that my master was willing to do so, allowing me to develop my magic in ways other masters would regard as frivolous at best and wasteful at worst.  Other apprentices, sad to say, were denied even the option of broadening their field of study.  This has produced a sizable number of alchemists, enchanters and charmsmiths, to list only the most popular apprenticeships, but very few magicians who are prepared to spend their time researching fields of magic that do not either provide immediate results or the possibility of sizable rewards.  Magical theory has advanced, as has the practical application of magic.  We know far more than Lord Whitehall and his peers.  But there is still far much more to learn.

The problem is even worse in the non-magical communities.  The concept of scientific research and technological development, introduced by me, is still relatively new.  It is difficult to convince someone to spend their lives, again, working on concepts that may never produce something worth the effort.  They have to be funded and those who provide the funding demand results, results that can only be measured in something practical.  Guns, for example, or steam engines.  It is no coincidence that kingdoms, cities and independent communities offer huge rewards for gunsmiths and engineers who design and produce newer and better guns and steam engines.  They have immediate practical value.  But again, there is still so much more to learn.

And the only way we can learn is by standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before.

This is a persistent issue in both communities.  The creators of newer and better ways to do things, from crafting a ward to forging a sword, want to benefit from their own research and experimentation.  They rarely share their work with anyone else, resulting in both magicians and mundanes wasting much of their time either reverse-engineering someone’s work or simply spying on them in hopes of ferreting out their secrets.  This, in turn, forces the creator  to work to hidetheir secrets, wasting even more time.  And yet, the original innovator may not be the one who develops the innovation to its fullest potential.  His successor may be the one who takes the original idea and makes it better.

Eight years ago, I designed the very first abacus, the very first steam engine and the very first printing press.  They were produced to wild applause.  They changed the world.  Now, they’re in the museum.  People point and laugh at my designs and wonder what I was thinking, when I drew them out and hired craftsmen to turn them into reality.  Of course they do.

You see, craftsmen – other craftsmen – looked at my designs and said ‘I can do better.’  And they did.  And now their work is in the museum too, because the next generation of craftsmen looked at their work said ‘I can do better too.’  And so on and so on, each successive generation improving upon the work of the previous generation, each generation inspiring the next to do better.  And that is how it has worked since time out of mind.  The man who first learnt to work metal was rapidly superseded by the men who took his original idea and improved upon it.  The man who first carved a wheel, who built a sailing ship, who came up with one of a million bright ideas, launched generations of better and better ideas that can be traces all the way back to the first spark, to the man who showed it could be done.

The university motto is in two parts.  First, we stand on the shoulders of giants.  Those men, the original innovators, are the giants.  Without them, we would not exist.  Second, and in doing so, we become giants ourselves.  Our improvements upon the original innovations lay the groundwork for the improvers and innovators who will follow in our footsteps and carry our work to levels we cannot even begin to imagine.  And the university exists to facilitate innovation, improvement and practical development.  You and your fellows will share your ideas and innovations and bounce off each other to blaze a path into the future, a future that is bright and full of promise … a future that can be ours, if we reach out and take it.

It is easy to say – many will – that we are merely providing free food and free drink to people who will produce nothing.  Or that we are giving away knowledge – magical and mundane alike – to people who will misuse it, or take it away, improve upon it, and try to claim credit for it.  They may have a point.  We will not be looking for solid measurable progress.  But we will ensure that those who do make process, in theory as well as practical application of said theories, will be rewarded.  It is our feeling – my feeling – that creating a melting pot of ideas and knowledge is worth the cost.

There will be missteps, of course.  There will be bad ideas.  There will be ideas that look good, but aren’t.  There will be impractical ideas; there will be ideas that will be impractical now, but may become practical later.  These ideas will all be tested, without fear, to see which are right and which are wrong.  We will never seek to destroy the spirit of free thought and innovation through stamping on ideas.  Instead, we will question and test every idea and prove it valid – or not.  We will have the right to speak freely – and we will also have the right to be wrong.  To err is human.  We will never make it impossible for someone to recover from their mistakes. 

It will not be easy.  There will always be the temptation to slide into an outdated mindset.  It is never easy to admit that one might be wrong.  Nor is it easy to see all of the little details, all of the tiny aspects of a problem that will defeat any attempt to solve it from a distance.  There will be those who will focus on the whole and miss the tiny details and those who will allow the tiny details to dominate their minds, so they lose track of the whole.  The only way to avoid disaster is to allow questioning, to allow people to put forward challenges, yet the urge to silence them will be very strong.  It must be quenched.  Those who choose to silence, no matter the provocation, are stepping onto a slippery slope that leads all the way to hell itself.

The university exists under the rule of law.  The rules will not change, no matter who you are.  The administrators don’t care if you’re the heir to a throne or if you were born in a pigsty, if you have magic or not.  You will have the right to have your say, to engage in debate and carry out experiments to tease out the truth.  You will not have the right to have your words accepted without question.  You can talk freely, but no one will be forced to listen and agree.  There will be no formal punishment for speaking your mind.  You will never be forbidden to speak or, in any way, express your ideas.  No one else, however, has to listen to you.  You will have to put your ideas together, and present them, and – if necessary – defend them. 

A good idea will stand the test of time.  A bad idea will not.

Technology promises to solve all our problems.  And it will.  But, in doing so, it will create new problems.  There will be those who will say that the new problems are worse than the old, that we should turn back before it is too late … but it is already too late.  The new problems will be solved in their turn, as will the problems that will come in the wake of those solutions.  We can, and we must, embrace the future.  And, to do this, we must learn from our mistakes.  We cannot do that if admitting our mistakes, let alone learning from them, costs more than we can afford to pay.

You will not find it easy.  Many of you come from societies that do not embrace the concept of reasoned debate, let alone freedom of speech.  Others will allow the concept to overwhelm them, to engage in speech without thinking, to push the limits without any purpose beyond shocking and scandalising society.  But you would not be here, listening to me, if you were not at least prepared to try.

The future is within our grasp.  All we have to do is reach out and take it.

Prologue II

“You’re a hard man to find, Master Lance.”

Lance looked up, thoughtfully, as the older man slid into a chair facing him.  The message had surprised him, although – in hindsight – he supposed it shouldn’t have been such a surprise.  Sir Xavier, Lord of the Black Daggers, the man who’d served King Randor from the shadows until the king’s collapse into madness and necromancy … if there was anyone in Alexis who’d know about his presence, it was Sir Xavier.  And yet, Lance was surprised Sir Xavier had dared show his face in public.  Queen Alassa had never formally granted him the kiss of peace.  The smart money suggested Sir Xavier would lose his head the moment he fell into the queen’s hands.  He knew too much.

“I like it that way,” Lance said, curtly.  He signalled the server for wine, then sat back in his chair.  “How did you find me?”

“I have sources within the community,” Sir Xavier told him.  “And one of them was kind enough to point you in my direction.”

“Sources,” Lance repeated.  “Am I to assume they’re not working for Her Most Splendid Majesty?”

Sir Xavier’s lips tightened, but he said nothing until the server had been and gone.  Lance smiled to himself as he lifted the wine to his lips and drank.  The older man had once been a man of wealth and power, one of the few people King Randor trusted to any degree.  It must sting to lose his position practically overnight.  The mere fact Sir Xavier hadn’t left the city suggested he hoped he could worm his way into the queen’s good graces, although Lance suspected he was wasting his time.  The queen was unlikely to trust anyone who hadn’t switched sides the moment her father’s necromancy became apparent.  Sir Xavier had stayed at his post, rather than desert his monarch, until it was too late.

“I have a job for you,” Sir Xavier said.  “I’m prepared to pay in gold.”

Lance raised an eyebrow.  “And who are your patrons?”

“They wish to remain unidentified,” Sir Xavier said, curtly.  “You will respect their feelings on the matter.”

“I see.”  Lance kept his expression bland, but behind his mask his mind was racing.  Sir Xavier wasn’t working for the queen or he would have offered land and royal appointments, rather than gold and gold alone.  That meant … what?  Did Sir Xavier think he could use the mission, whatever it was, to convince the queen to return him to his old post?  Or was he working for someone else?  “And what do they want me to do?”

“Heart’s Eye,” Sir Xavier said.  “Lady Emily’s university” – he stumbled over the odd word – “is up and running.  It is currently accepting students from all over the known world.”

“Interesting,” Lance said, as if he’d never heard of the university.  He had.  He’d even considered going himself, when he’d first heard the news.  Only the simple fact his style of magic demanded horrible things had kept him from packing up what few possessions he wanted to keep and heading to the university.  “I heard a rumour Lady Emily had lost her powers.”

Sir Xavier shook his head.  “The rumour was brutally quashed nearly a year ago,” he said.  “Right now, Lady Emily is in the Blighted Lands.  And will probably be there for quite some time.”

Lance nodded.  “So she’s out of the way,” he said.  “What do you want me to do?”

“The university must be discredited, or destroyed,” Sir Xavier said.  “My patrons hired me to do the job.  I have chosen you as my agent.”

“How … wise … of you,” Lance said.  “I do trust you’ve taken care to ensure your patrons won’t cut all ties and leave you holding the bag?”

He ignored the older man’s scowl.  Queen Alassa could not be Sir Xavier’s patron.  She was as close to Lady Emily as it was possible for someone to be.  And that meant … who?  A magical patriarch?  Or another king?  There were no shortage of possible suspects, men – and a handful of women – who’d be happy to accept Sir Xavier as their servant if they could bring themselves to trust him. Or to use him as a cat’s paw. 

“It won’t be easy,” he said, finally.  “How much support can your patrons give me?  Give us?”

“Gold, and little more,” Sir Xavier told him.  “They do not want to show their hand openly.”

“Of course not.”  Lance allowed himself a grin.  The magical patriarchs – and their mundane counterparts – were all too aware that Lady Emily, a young woman barely out of her teens, had killed necromancers.  They were afraid of her and hated it.  They’d probably be happier if Lady Emily’s father had terrified them instead.  At least he was old enough to be a respectable tyrant.  “They want to keep their hands clean, while we get ours dirty.”

“Your hands are already unclean,” Sir Xavier reminded him, sardonically.  “Or have you forgotten why you were kicked out of Mountaintop?”

“I forgot nothing,” Lance said.  He swallowed his anger with an effort.  “I’ll need gold for supplies and bribes, as well as payment.  Putting together a cover story won’t be easy without outside support.”

“You’ll have it,” Sir Xavier said.  “You’ll have enough money to get whatever you want, as long as the mission is completed before the university is firmly established.”

Lance nodded.  It wouldn’t be easy.  He was a skilled and powerful magician, with a gift for magic even Mountaintop considered dark and dangerous, but the university had a nexus point.  It would be difficult to destroy even if Lady Emily was on the far side of the Craggy Mountains.  He’d have to go there, establish a cover story – perhaps as a magical apprentice – and figure out a way to turn the university upside down.  He could do it and then … his lips curved into a grim smile.  The gold Sir Xavier promised would fund a lot of experiments.  He’d just have to make sure Sir Xavier didn’t have a chance to kill him, after the mission was completed, in hope of covering his tracks.  His patrons would certainly let Sir Xavier keep the gold if he eliminated the need to pay Lance for his services.

He stood.  “It will be a long time before the war is over,” he said.  “Lady Emily will be occupied for quite some time.  I’ll build up a cover story, with your help, and then make my way to Heart’s Eye.  And then we’ll see what I can do.”

“And make sure you send regular reports,” Sir Xavier said.  He dropped a coin on the table, then stood too.  “My patrons wish to be kept informed.”

“Of course.”  Lance bowed, with mocking politeness.  “It will be my pleasure.”

Chapter One

The war was over.

Adam, Son of Alexis, tried to stay out of the way of the cheering crowds as he walked through the streets of Beneficence.  The news had leaked barely thirty minutes ago and the city was already in chaos, rich and poor dancing and laughing together as it sank in that the Necromantic War was finally over.  Adam saw the people – young and old, male and female – shouting and singing and felt joy in his heart, even though he knew it wouldn’t last.  The cityfolk hadn’t paid much attention to the war, believing the necromancers were too far away to bother the city and its population.  It hadn’t been until King Randor of Zangaria – the kingdom on the far side of the bridge – had embraced necromancy that the city had started taking the war seriously and even that hadn’t lasted.  The war had still been a very long way away.

He allowed himself a tight smile as he stood aside to allow a bunch of heralds to march past, their voices – normally boosted by magic – somehow tinny and weak and almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd.  Their masters had finally decided – too late – what they were going to tell the population.  Adam hid his amusement as a broadsheet seller wandered past, waving copies of the latest edition as a crowd of buyers surrounded him.  The chances were good that the story, whatever it was, had come more from the writer’s imagination than the Blighted Lands – the full tale wouldn’t reach the city for days, if not weeks – but it didn’t matter.  The crowd just wanted to hear the good news.  He supposed he couldn’t blame them.  They might have chosen to pretend the necromancers didn’t exist, or that they were thousands of miles away and therefore unlikely to pose any threat to the city, but they knew – deep inside – that it was just an illusion.  Beneficence could stand off a mundane army, not a necromantic horde led by powerful and insane magicians.  The city would fall within minutes if the necromancers brought their power to bear on the sheer rocks, collapsing them into the rivers to provide a bridge for their armies.  It would be the end.

A trio of young women ran past him, fleeing their mother as they hurried to join the party before they were dragged back inside.  Adam grinned as the older woman was caught in the throng, their daughters making their escape before she burst through and came looking for them.  He couldn’t tell if it had been planned or not.  Young men and women were not supposed to meet, except when chaperoned by their elderly relatives, but climbing out of the window and meeting in secret was an old tradition.  Adam had done it himself, when he’d grown into manhood.  His brothers and sisters had done it too.  He felt his grin grow wider as he spotted one of the girls, fleeing – hand in hand – with a young man.  She’d be in trouble when she got home, naturally, but for now she was free.  He was almost tempted to wave at her retreating back.  He might be the youngest of his family, and therefore with more freedom than his older siblings, but he still knew what it was like to grow up in such an environment, to feel suffocated by the weight of social expectations.  It was why he’d worked so hard to become Master Pittwater’s apprentice.

The crowds grew wilder as he made his way along the street.  A middle-aged woman who looked like quality, her clothes making her as a woman of the merchant class, was dancing with a man young enough to be her son.  A pair of elderly gentlemen were regaling the crowd with war stories,  a handful of soldiers were surrounded by female admirers even though they could not possibly have fought in the war.  Here and there, the City Guard was trying to control the crowd, but failing utterly.  Shopkeepers were either shutting up shop, locking and warding their properties before the crowd could turn nasty, or throwing open their doors and inviting everyone to come and browse.  Adam’s lips twitched as he spotted a number of innkeepers, hastily putting up signs advertising FREE BEER.  The bars in the lower reaches of the city were known for poor quality beer, but today – of all days – no one was likely to complain.  The crowd was already halfway to being drunk on its own happiness and sheer relief the war was over.  Surely, things could start getting back to normal now.  It hadn’t occurred to them – yet – that the war had been going on for so long that it was normal.  The post-war world would be unrecognisable.

“HEAR YE!  HEAR YE!”  A herald marched down the street, waving a bell to draw attention and carrying a stack of broadsheets under his arm.  “LADY EMILY VICTORIOUS!  TEN NECROMANCERS DEAD!  HEAR YE!”

Adam took one of the broadsheets – the herald, perhaps wisely, wasn’t trying to charge – and scanned it quickly.  The news was good, too good.  Ten necromancers dead, seven more wondered, billions of orcs slaughtered like sheep … he shook his head, feeling suddenly despondent.  The figures were wrong.  They had to be.  The hastily-written story insisted the army had marched up and down the Blighted Lands, killing necromancers as easily as he might step on a slug.  Adam knew that couldn’t possibly be true.  Lady Emily was the only person who’d slain a necromancer in single combat and there were hundreds of question marks, from what he’d heard, over precisely how she’d done it.  How could anyone, even her, kill ten necromancers and wound seven more?  And yet, there had to be some truth to the story.  The war was over.  What had happened?

A young man, barely entering his teens, reached for the broadsheet.  Adam passed it to him and carried on, making his way towards the magical quarter.  The streets were normally quieter here, but now … he shook his head as he spotted older men hurrying towards the guildhalls, muttering to one another as they tried to decide what to do.  The guildmasters would have to get ahead of the news somehow … Adam rolled his eyes at the thought.  There was no point in trying to catch up now.  The news was already all over the city.  The best they could do was wait for the crowd to exhaust itself while they tried to decide how to react, then retake control once the streets were quiet again.  It might be quite some time.

He glanced up, alarmed, as he saw a scuffle ahead of him.  The craftsmen – their apprentices, rather – had gotten into a fight with a bunch of other apprentices.  Adam gritted his teeth as the fighting threatened to spread out of control, more and more young men – and a handful of young women – hurrying to join the punch-up before it was too late.  Apprentices fought at the drop of a hat and it wasn’t uncommon for fights to end in serious injury or even death, despite the best efforts of their masters and the city’s guardsmen.  He stepped aside and made his way up the alleyway, giving the growing riot a wide berth.  The apprentice robes he wore marked him as a target, yet he was alone.  No one would come to his aid.  If he was caught, he’d be lucky if they just gave him a good kicking.

The alleys were dark.  Adam kept one hand on his money pouch as he made his way down to the next street, careful not to look too closely at the shadows.  The dispossessed and homeless lived within the alleys, scrounging for what little scraps they could as they waited to die.  They wouldn’t hesitate to rob him, if they thought he couldn’t defend himself.  He tried to ignore shapes within the darkness as he reached the end of the alley and stepped into the light.  It was like stepping into another world.  The party on the streets was … different.

He looked up as a young woman, roughly the same age as himself, hurried up and kissed him as hard as she could.  Adam felt his body react to the feel of her body pressed against his, even as his mind spun in shock.  People did not kiss strangers on the streets.  They just didn’t.  The young woman was ruining her reputation … he kissed her back, just for a second, then forced himself to keep going.  She didn’t seem put out as he left her behind.  His hand dropped to his pouch, just to check it was still there.  It was.  He wondered, suddenly, what would happen if he turned back and rejoined her, then put the thought aside.  Master Pittwater had summoned him.  It would destroy his apprenticeship, such as it was, if he chose to ignore the summons.

His heart was still racing when he reached the magical quarter and forced himself to enter the street.  It was infinitively fascinating, as always, and yet there was a constant hint of danger that both attracted and repelled him.  The magicians on the streets – apprentices too, although they would be horrified at any comparison between them and the rioters behind him – had never been quite sure what to make of him.  Some of them treated him as a joke, others thought he needed to be driven out for his own good.  Adam wasn’t their only target, either.  It was truly said that anyone entering the quarter after dark would be lucky to see the next sunrise.  The magicians had marked their territory and guarded it very well.

He felt a pang of the old envy as he walked down the street to the apothecary.  The young men and women on the streets had more power in their little fingers than he had in his entire body.  The man eating fire might be performing a cheap trick, as far as his fellows were concerned, but Adam found it remarkable.  The street magicians danced and sang as they wove their spells into the air, showing off tricks that were more sleight of hand and illusion than anything more magical.  They were the lowest of the low, as far as their peers were concerned, yet they were still far more powerful than Adam himself.  It burned, sometimes, to realise he knew more magical theory than almost every magical apprentice in the city, but he’d never be able to do anything with it.  And yet, he dared to dream …

The apothecary looked surprisingly busy, from the outside.  A line of people – mainly youngsters – waited on the streets, the line inching forward as the apprentices and the hired shopkeepers handled them one by one.  Adam walked into the tiny alleyway and entered the shop through the rear door, the wards parting the moment he placed his hand on the doorknob.  The air smelt faintly of spice, tingling with the promise of magic.  It had never failed to thrill him, even as he slowly lost hope of being able to put his knowledge to good – or any – use.  He removed his cloak and hung it on the rails, then stepped into the brewing room.  Matt – his fellow apprentice – and a young girl he didn’t recognise were bent over a pair of cauldrons, brewing potions.  Adam looked at the remaining ingredients and put the pieces together.  It looked as if they were brewing enough contraceptive potion for the entire city.

Matt didn’t look up.  “Cut us some Ragwort, then Hammersmith Weed.”

Adam resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment.  Matt was his fellow apprentice, not his master.  He didn’t know the young girl at all, although – if she was brewing potion – she was clearly a magician.  But there was no point in arguing.  Master Pittwater would be furious if they missed out on sales because they didn’t have enough potion to sell and that would be bad.  Adam was all too aware – Matt had pointed it out, several times – that Master Pittwater had taken one hell of a chance on Adam by taking him as an apprentice, or as near to it as possible, and letting him work in the shop.  It was a privilege that could be withdrawn at any moment.

And Matt has it easy, he thought, with a trace of the old bitterness.  The master can’t dismiss him without a very good reason.

He scowled as he forced himself to get to work.  They were very different.  Matt was tall, dark and handsome, with a body that suggested physical strength as well as magic.  Adam was short, pale and blond, with a face that hadn’t quite grown into maturity and a body that had been permanently stunted by a shortage of food.  His father’s death had made food very short for several years and, while he knew his mother had done the best she could, he was all too aware it hadn’t been good enough.  And yet, he’d been lucky.  His mother had managed to keep the family together without remarrying, selling herself or – worst of all – sending her children into service.  He knew there were people on their streets, only a few doors down,  who’d had far less capable mothers.  A handful had vanished so completely that everyone knew they’d sunk to the very lowest parts of the city.  Their former friends pretended they were dead.

“I need a jar of powdered earwig now,” Matt shouted.  “Hurry!”

Adam snorted as he put the knife aside and hurried to get the jar, as well as a dozen other ingredients the other apprentice was likely to need sooner or later.  Matt wasn’t normally careless – Master Pittwater had drilled them both in making sure they had everything they needed on hand before they started to brew – but he was clearly distracted.  Adam eyed the girl beside Matt, wondering who she was.  Matt might have been on a date, when he’d received the summons from their master.  He might have brought her back to the shop in hopes of … Adam shook his head, silently.  Master Pittwater would be furious if Matt brought a stranger into the back without permission.  It was far more likely she’d just been hired for the day.  It was rare, almost unknown, for a male magician to take a young woman as an apprentice.

The woman looked up and met his eyes.  Adam saw a flicker of disgust cross her face before she lowered her eyes back to the cauldron.  He hid his irritation as he turned away.  He knew the type.  A snobbish witch, looking down on the mundane who thought he could become a magician.  The only thing that separated her from Adam’s sisters was her magic and it was an impassable barrier … Adam sighed as he collected more ingredients for the couple without being asked, then returned to his table and continued his work.  Matt was brewing cauldron after cauldron, everything from hangover cures to basic healing salves.  They were simple potions, as long as one had magic.  Without it …

Adam forced himself to keep working as the day slowly gave way to night.  The city normally went to bed with the sun – save for magicians, footpads and guardsmen – but the noise from outside, if anything, grew louder.  He felt a twinge of sadness mingled with regret as the party swept through the streets; half-wishing he was out there with the rest of the city and half-glad he wasn’t.  Not, he supposed, that he had much of a choice.  Master Pittwater had summoned and Adam had to obey.  His lips quirked into a cold smile.  Matt and his girlfriend – they were clearly more than just friends, from the way they constantly brushed against each other – had been summoned too.  They couldn’t be any happier about the situation than Adam himself.

But at least I have an excuse for not attending the party, Adam told himself.  No one would fault me for obeying my master.

“Done.”  Matt’s voice rang through the air.  “Bottle up the potion, then give it to the shopgirls.”

They have names, you know, Adam thought.  You could at least pretend to treat them as people.

He put the thought aside as he collected the tiny glass bottles, all charmed to be unbreakable, and started to measure out the doses.  Master Pittwater had made it clear there was little margin for error, even with the most basic of potions.  Drinking too much could be as dangerous as too little.  Matt and his girlfriend watched – Adam didn’t need to look at them to know they were snickering behind their hands – as he filled the bottles, slotted the lids into place and piled them on a tray.  The noise outside seemed to grow louder.  Adam wondered, sourly, if they were waiting for him.

The door opened.  Master Pittwater stepped into the backroom.

“Matt, take the tray to the front and then you can go for the night,” he said.  He sounded harassed.  “I’ll see you back at the shop tomorrow morning.”

Matt bowed.  “Yes, Master.”

He took the tray from Adam and headed to the front, his girlfriend following in his wake.  Master Pittwater didn’t seem surprised to see her, which suggested … Adam felt another twinge of envy as his master headed towards his private office.  There were times when he felt Matt could do anything, anything at all, without being kicked out of the apothecary and dismissed from the apprenticeship.  Adam could not have brought a girl into the shop and proposed, in all seriousness, that she helped for a day.  Master Pittwater would have laughed at him – if he was lucky – if he’d dared hint his girlfriend joined the staff.  It was … it just wasn’t far.

“Adam,” Master Pittwater said.  His voice was calm.  Too calm.  “We need to talk.”

Hearts Eye Commencement Speech V.2

This is the second version – does it make sense?

Comments welcome.

Hearts Eye Commencement Speech

Background: The following is a transcript of a speech given by Lady Emily, Founder of Heart’s Eye University, when the university accepted its first influx of students.  It was warmly received by the newcomers, then transcribed and distributed shortly afterwards by the Heart’s Eye Press.  Copies of the speech were, naturally, banned in many kingdoms.  This did not, of course, stop bootleg copies being found everywhere.

***

I said: I want to build a university.

They said: what’s a university?

It was a hard question to answer.  The concept of universal education is largely unknown and very rare, even in the magical community.  Few masters have the experience and inclination to cover all the branches of magic; few apprentices, eager to make complete their apprenticeships and make a name for themselves, are willing to spend years, perhaps, studying all the different aspects of magic and learning how they work together.  I was fortunate that my master was willing to do so, allowing me to develop my magic in ways other masters would regard as frivolous at best and wasteful at worst.  Other apprentices, sad to say, were denied even the option of broadening their field of study.  This has produced a sizable number of alchemists, enchanters and charmsmiths, to list only the most popular apprenticeships, but very few magicians who are prepared to spend their time researching fields of magic that do not either provide immediate results or the possibility of sizable rewards.  Magical theory has advanced, as has the practical application of magic.  We know far more than Lord Whitehall and his peers.  But there is still far much more to learn.

The problem is even worse in the non-magical communities.  The concept of scientific research and technological development, introduced by me, is still relatively new.  It is difficult to convince someone to spend their lives, again, working on concepts that may never produce something worth the effort.  They have to be funded and those who provide the funding demand results, results that can only be measured in something practical.  Guns, for example, or steam engines.  It is no coincidence that kingdoms, cities and independent communities offer huge rewards for gunsmiths and engineers who design and produce newer and better guns and steam engines.  They have immediate practical value.  But again, there is still so much more to learn.

And the only way we can learn is by standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before.

This is a persistent issue in both communities.  The creators of newer and better ways to do things, from crafting a ward to forging a sword, want to benefit from their own research and experimentation.  They rarely share their work with anyone else, resulting in both magicians and mundanes wasting much of their time either reverse-engineering someone’s work or simply spying on them in hopes of ferreting out their secrets.  This, in turn, forces the creator  to work to hidetheir secrets, wasting even more time.  And yet, the original innovator may not be the one who develops the innovation to its fullest potential.  His successor may be the one who takes the original idea and makes it better.

Eight years ago, I designed the very first abacus, the very first steam engine and the very first printing press.  They were produced to wild applause.  They changed the world.  Now, they’re in the museum.  People point and laugh at my designs and wonder what I was thinking, when I drew them out and hired craftsmen to turn them into reality.  Of course they do.

You see, craftsmen – other craftsmen – looked at my designs and said ‘I can do better.’  And they did.  And now their work is in the museum too, because the next generation of craftsmen looked at their work said ‘I can do better too.’  And so on and so on, each successive generation improving upon the work of the previous generation, each generation inspiring the next to do better.  And that is how it has worked since time out of mind.  The man who first learnt to work metal was rapidly superseded by the men who took his original idea and improved upon it.  The man who first carved a wheel, who built a sailing ship, who came up with one of a million bright ideas, launched generations of better and better ideas that can be traces all the way back to the first spark, to the man who showed it could be done.

The university motto is in two parts.  First, we stand on the shoulders of giants.  Those men, the original innovators, are the giants.  Without them, we would not exist.  Second, and in doing so, we become giants ourselves.  Our improvements upon the original innovations lay the groundwork for the improvers and innovators who will follow in our footsteps and carry our work to levels we cannot even begin to imagine.  And the university exists to facilitate innovation, improvement and practical development.  You and your fellows will share your ideas and innovations and bounce off each other to blaze a path into the future, a future that is bright and full of promise … a future that can be ours, if we reach out and take it.

It is easy to say – many will – that we are merely providing free food and free drink to people who will produce nothing.  Or that we are giving away knowledge – magical and mundane alike – to people who will misuse it, or take it away, improve upon it, and try to claim credit for it.  They may have a point.  We will not be looking for solid measurable progress.  But we will ensure that those who do make process, in theory as well as practical application of said theories, will be rewarded.  It is our feeling – my feeling – that creating a melting pot of ideas and knowledge is worth the cost.

There will be missteps, of course.  There will be bad ideas.  There will be ideas that look good, but aren’t.  There will be impractical ideas; there will be ideas that will be impractical now, but may become practical later.  These ideas will all be tested, without fear, to see which are right and which are wrong.  We will never seek to destroy the spirit of free thought and innovation through stamping on ideas.  Instead, we will question and test every idea and prove it valid – or not.  We will have the right to speak freely – and we will also have the right to be wrong.  To err is human.  We will never make it impossible for someone to recover from their mistakes. 

It will not be easy.  There will always be the temptation to slide into an outdated mindset.  It is never easy to admit that one might be wrong.  Nor is it easy to see all of the little details, all of the tiny aspects of a problem that will defeat any attempt to solve it from a distance.  There will be those who will focus on the whole and miss the tiny details and those who will allow the tiny details to dominate their minds, so they lose track of the whole.  The only way to avoid disaster is to allow questioning, to allow people to put forward challenges, yet the urge to silence them will be very strong.  It must be quenched.  Those who choose to silence, no matter the provocation, are stepping onto a slippery slope that leads all the way to hell itself.

The university exists under the rule of law.  The rules will not change, no matter who you are.  The administrators don’t care if you’re the heir to a throne or if you were born in a pigsty, if you have magic or not.  You will have the right to have your say, to engage in debate and carry out experiments to tease out the truth.  You will not have the right to have your words accepted without question.  You can talk freely, but no one will be forced to listen and agree.  There will be no formal punishment for speaking your mind.  You will never be forbidden to speak or, in any way, express your ideas.  No one else, however, has to listen to you.  You will have to put your ideas together, and present them, and – if necessary – defend them. 

A good idea will stand the test of time.  A bad idea will not.

Technology promises to solve all our problems.  And it will.  But, in doing so, it will create new problems.  There will be those who will say that the new problems are worse than the old, that we should turn back before it is too late … but it is already too late.  The new problems will be solved in their turn, as will the problems that will come in the wake of those solutions.  We can, and we must, embrace the future.  And, to do this, we must learn from our mistakes.  We cannot do that if admitting our mistakes, let alone learning from them, costs more than we can afford to pay.

You will not find it easy.  Many of you come from societies that do not embrace the concept of reasoned debate, let alone freedom of speech.  Others will allow the concept to overwhelm them, to engage in speech without thinking, to push the limits without any purpose beyond shocking and scandalising society.  But you would not be here, listening to me, if you were not at least prepared to try.

The future is within our grasp.  All we have to do is reach out and take it.