A Kind of Peace Read online

  Daliel suppressed another chuckle. His girth, turning from muscle to fat with age and inactivity, wobbled beneath his black tunic. "I think that there was more than the love of the land to hold your interest at the camp."

  Simeon was nonplussed. He thought that he and Jenna had been discrete; particularly in view of her position. He tried to frame an answer, but was saved by an unlikely intrusion.

  A wizened old man, dressed like a Bethelian, shambled around the corner. The peevish expression on his face was reinforced by his tone of voice.

  "I was wondering when I would find anybody in this open sewer. It's cold, it's boring, and now I've locked myself out of my room. So what are you going to do about it?"

  The two warriors exchanged a glance. The old man did not take kindly to the pause.

  "You two are men of Bethel are you not?" he snapped. Dumbly they assented. "Well then, while I have to be in this Gods-forsaken place then the least I can do is rely on you men to assist me. I do not wish to expend unnecessary energy on such a ridiculous matter as a locked door!"

  Without waiting for an answer he turned and shuffled off down the corridor. The two warriors looked at each other, shrugged, and followed him around the twisting stone passage.

  They were now in a part of the castle they had not seen before. It was almost at the highest level and in this section were bedchambers that were not, as far they were aware from their duties, occupied by any politicians, diplomats or warrior delegates. But certainly one, at least, was occupied by this old man of their nation, who now stood outside the door seething. Without preamble, he started as they approached.

  "The audacity of these people. They invite us to their land, then house us in this uncivilised pit of filth and to make it even worse, they have the temerity to cast a charm on these damn doors so that they are self-locking!"

  "If you knew that then why did you leave?" Daliel asked in a reasonable tone.

  "My dear man, if I couldn't break a simple charm then I would not be worth the honours bestowed on me," snapped the old man. His papery skin wrinkled into a frown.

  "So why don't you break it then?" Simeon asked. It was, he felt, a reasonable point. The old man obviously did not feel the same way. He glared.

  "You, sir. Who are you?" Simeon thought about lying, and then reasoned that it would probably backfire on him. When he had introduced himself, the old man sniffed. "Hmm... I shall, no doubt, have cause to rue that name. Now break down this damn door!"

  The two warriors once again exchanged glances, eyebrows raised. Their material weapons were the equal of simple magical charms true, but the use of such would raise an alarm. As Daliel reached for his blaster, Simeon stayed him.

  "Stay here with, er, with this worthy," he murmured. "I've got a better idea."

  Setting off back down the corridor it took only a few moments to find a Praalian castle worker. He explained the situation, ignoring the seemingly sardonic stare of the man, and waited until a security warrior had been fetched. Whereupon he explained the situation again. Nodding a brief assent, the Praalian warrior strode ahead back to the spot where the peevish old man waited with a distinctly embarrassed Daliel. Simeon could hear the old man's voice as they approached, complaining at length about the men of Bethel.

  The Praalian warrior unsealed the door with a brief pass, sparing the old man barely a glance. Before he went back into the bed chamber, the old man fixed Simeon with a steely glare.

  "I could end your life with the raise of an eyebrow if I wished. Today you have been lucky, Simeon 7. Remember my name, for I am Ramus-Bey and I will not give you cause to disrespect me a second time!"

  With which the old man swept imperiously into his chamber, the Praalian warrior closing the door and making a pass over the lock before giving them a look that held just the hint of a mocking smile.

  When Simeon stood in the great hall as the treaty was signed with ceremony before the tables groaning with Praalian delicacies, he was the only one outside of the select coterie who understood the presence of the old men. Three days is a long time to ponder an old man who knows magic caught in a corridor. Long enough to figure that if an elderly guest who got curious occupied one bedchamber, then the others on that stretch of corridor could equally be occupied by those who did not have the same restlessness.

  And long enough to figure out what his talk of magic had really meant.

  Year Zero - Period Three

  "So you figured it out before anyone else. Well done. Just shows how smart you are. Was that why they picked you to guard Ramus-Bey?"

  Simeon didn't answer at first. There was something in her tone that smacked of sarcasm. Not that he blamed her. If he was so damned smart, they wouldn't be here now.

  "I tried to catch Daliel's eye. I figured he would have guessed too. But he was too busy watching the signing. Maybe he thought that was when any trouble would start, if it was going to. There had to be some reason they had us warriors there right?"

  "Well there was, wasn't there?"

  "Sure. But none of us knew that until later."

  Simeon moved to the view-screen. He looked out over the seemingly endless sea. On the horizon the pink glow of early morning was beginning to break, the scant rays of light revealing water that was wine dark, with only white breakers flicking the surface.

  "The thing you've got to remember is this," he continued. "At that moment we were all still thinking in terms of conventional warfare. We had no idea what was happening in the academies. Who had, outside a few people in government? You know what those people are like. Devoting themselves to magic, to the ways of the Gods, to knowledge, to pure abstract thought.

  "Now we've got used to the idea that the academies hold the fate of Inan in their balance - strange how these things become so normal so quickly- but at that actual moment they were just a bunch of old men. Some of them looked a bit lost, a bit senile. And Ramus-Bey looked pissed off."

  "He must be in paradise now then!"

  Simeon breathed out heavily, suppressing the urge to curse her. For one, he found it hard to curse the most perfect woman he had ever met. And second, you never cursed the Ensign of a holoship when you were standing in it. Especially not when you were over the middle of an ocean. Instead, he contented himself with: "You don't have to help if you don't want to Jen."

  She snorted. "Simeon, sometimes you can be a complete moron! I'm here, aren't I?"

  CHAPTER TWO

  Signing Day - Year Zero

  The heads of conference waited until the swell of sound had swept around the room and subsided before electing to continue. From his position at the back of the hall, it seemed to Simeon that they were smug in their knowledge. He had a glimmering of a notion that he should never ever trust any of these men.

  Finally the Chief Ministers of Varn and Bethel stood and faced the assembled throng. They were on a raised dais with their entourages seated to their rear. At their right and left hand, spread across the dais, sat the Chief Ministers of Turith and Kyas: as befitted smaller nation states, riding the coat-tails of the big two, they had much smaller delegations at their rear.

  The Chief Minister of Praal sat to one side. He had no delegation to back him up. He sat with only a wizened old man for company. Why not? They were standing on his land, and his people had been aloof for most of the war's immense span. He had a slightly amused expression about the eyes as he surveyed the warrior delegates standing in groups across the floor of the great hall. The old man ignored them, concentrating his impassive gaze upon the dais, eyes seeming to search out the other old men. To study them like insects on the ground.

  Simeon snapped back to attention, aware that the Chief Ministers had begun to speak, but that he had not registered a single word. He took a brief look around at the delegations and at those seated behind the Chief Ministers. All were at rapt attention as the two men took it in turn to speak.

  "... and so it became necessary for us to end the ceaseless strife, to attempt to make a better wo
rld. That is why we speak to you today, via holovid, as a world. This is a most momentous day. Never in the history of comm-systems on Inan has a simultaneous broadcast has been made worldwide. Every comm-receiver on the planet can hear our words. But we want you to do more than hear. We want you to listen."

  Bethel's Chief Minister stepped back a pace, allowing his Varnian counterpart to shuffle forward and take the lead. It became clear to Simeon that this was a carefully choreographed speech in which both men had been given equal time and prominence. It was perhaps an unworthy thought, but he wondered if half the interminable delay in this peace conference had been caused by the need to squabble over the order and form of the speeches, rather than their content.

  No matter. The Chief Minister at centre stage had started to speak.

  "People of Inan. As you hear our words, translated into every dialect and tongue across the globe, realise that the traditions in which you were raised have now become defunct. The hatreds that existed between our peoples no longer matter. They must cease to be. The other is not your enemy, he is your friend. For half a millennium we have battled against our brothers, even as the sun turns and the crops grow to harvest. We have developed tech that has enhanced our existence, but have turned our backs on the Gods."

  Simeon's glance flickered to the Praalian Chief Minster. His expression hadn't changed. One thing he liked about the Praalians: a gambler's face. Never play against them.

  "...and in so doing have confined ourselves to the surface. We do not know what lies beyond, even though we now have the tech to explore. But there are those who have made it their life's work to explore the spiritual side of life. They have ignored the mere material motives of their governments. They were right. Instead of war, they have devoted their lives to the soul, to the spirit, to knowledge."

  He stepped back. Simeon was glad. Maybe they'd get to the point now it was the man from Bethel who was to speak. That was the thing about the Varn: didn't know when to shut up.

  The Chief Minister from Bethel stepped past his flamboyant counterpart with the briefest of glances. Simeon kept his smile inside. If looks counted for anything, they'd be back at war right now.

  Composing himself without skipping a beat, the Minister stared out over the heads of the delegates and began to speak, addressing his words to the comm-pickups that were located through the hall.

  Simeon couldn't spot them. The hall seemed to be bereft of anything remotely resembling tech. Even the light and heat was expertly concealed behind the seemingly simple facade. But he was missing the speech...

  "While we mere men have been waging war, those who chose to devote their lives to learning have been cloistered in the academies, searching for a greater truth. There are some who have found this. You see them seated up here with the leaders of the nation states. Although they are not familiar to you, I - we - assure you that they have a far greater import than we could ever have."

  Simeon suppressed a whistle. Figured that his guess was near the mark. It would have to be for a Chief Minister to downplay his own importance in the scheme of things.

  "People of Inan. For many anums these men have been exploring the breadth and depth of our world's knowledge. They have looked at the secrets of magic. While we have grown lazy, relying on tech to take the place of our own will, they have eschewed the use of such short cuts. Rather they have explored the true meaning of magic. They have become the greatest masters of substance over form. Indeed, such is their thirst for knowledge and their mastery of their arts that they have learned to prolong their lives in order to continue their studies. These men are older than we can imagine, and will in all likelihood outlive us all."

  A rumble of disbelief spread around the hall. Simeon could imagine it being echoed in every home, workplace and public holovid across Inan. And, to be truthful, you could understand the doubt. Five old men, a couple of them looking a little confused at all the fuss. The old man from Praal looking like anything could be going on behind that face, as cold and impassive as the stone of the castle walls. Another of the ancients looked embarrassed, like he'd rather be anywhere else but here, and the old man from Bethel, who Simeon had met just a few days before, looking even more peevish. If the practice of magic brought you serenity, then this one had skipped some lessons.

  Simeon scanned the immediate crowd, looking for Daliel. All the warrior delegates had clustered together according to race. Despite the fact that this was a peace, there was still a feeling of security in numbers, in the familiar. Daliel should be near. Even amongst other warriors a squat, heavily scarred man in a black tunic should be easy to spot.

  The Bethel contingent were a dark blot on the floor of the hall. The warriors of other castes were wearing ceremonial dress, a riot of colours that clashed in reds, oranges, greens and yellows. Insignia blared garishly. The Varn believed in brightness, their sartorial sense having infected other nation states over the anums. Bethel, on the other hand, was defiantly drab. Black with just the one insignia to break the shadow on ceremonial garb.

  Of course, this did have a tendency to make them blend into one. Simeon scanned the room for Daliel.

  He wasn't there.

  Before he had a chance to ponder why his comrade had vanished, the unrest was quelled by the unprecedented move of both the Bethel and Varn Chief Ministers stepping forward to the front of the stage. It was well rehearsed, and in some ways a very small gesture. Yet it held a gigantic significance. Neither yielded to the other. Both were equal.

  Two momentous revelations in one day. Within moments. You could feel the shock wave across the globe. It was as though the world had stopped spinning. No wonder that they were to call this Year Zero. After this, things could never be the same again.

  When the rumble had subsided, both men spoke together. It was a symbolic gesture of indescribable importance. Across Inan, every man and woman focused on them. In the hall Simeon forgot everything except each syllable that fell in unison from their lips.

  "From these men we have learned the wisdom of the ages. We have learned that there is such a thing as absolute power, and that those who possess this have power over the dominions of land, sea and air. But we have also learned that if all share this power then every man and every woman is an equal.

  "Our lives are about checks and balances. If one of us has this power and can wield it, then he can reign supreme by threat of absolute annihilation. Likewise, if all have this power, then dare one use it at the risk of retaliation?

  "We say no. None shall be so blind as to take this route. Together we are strong. Apart, we risk the destruction of our very mother Inan.

  "We cannot take this risk.

  "And so we have decreed that from this day forward we shall no longer be at war with each other. Never again will one nation state raise arms against another. The peace that we shall sign today will lead to a new era of peace and prosperity for our planet. And it is thanks to these men. These men of peace, whose learning and great wisdom has shown us the way forward.

  "Now let us show these great men to the world, so that the world may know those who have ultimately given us peace."

  It was like some strange holovid show where people are paraded before a vidscreen for entertainment, showing off some obscure talent. During the long downtime between missions, and in the dreary times on the prison farm, Simeon had whiled away the time watching such shows, wondering at the willingness of people to make fools of themselves for the fun of others... including himself, it had to be said.

  As the portent of the two Chef Ministers of Inan speaking as equals died away, it struck him that this presentation of the peace treaty to the planet resembled nothing more than a cheap holovid show. Their words had been carefully chosen to skirt around the truth, prodding at it from the corners and edges, lifting the covers a few degrees to allow the people a look inside while not actually spelling it out for them.

  But Simeon didn't need it spelt out. Not because he was an intellectual, but because of some
thing the tart and miserable Ramus-Bey had said to him: that he could wipe him out with a raise of the eyebrow.

  Ultimate destruction. Magic may be about the spirit, about the manipulation of reality by the will and the unseen forces it can draw upon to create its desired aim, but all that sweetness and light has a flipside. Those forces could be used for destruction as much as creation. If these old men, in their respective academies, had attained such a level, then...

  Could it really be possible that these collections of bones and wrinkles held the world in the palms of their shaking hands?

  As the ancient Mages of Varn, Bethel, Kyas, Turith, and finally Praal were paraded before the world, he could see in each of these unspeakably old men the potential for Inan to be snuffed out as the result of an attack of bad temper. Certainly, he could see the irascible Ramus-Bey falling prey to such a rage.

  Wegnak and Comul, the Mages of Kyas and Turith respectively, were tired old men who looked like they would rather be anywhere than here. Nervous out in the world after so long secluded, they seemed ill-at-ease. Not so Vixel, the Varnian Mage. Like many of his race, he had an easy confidence and flamboyance about him, almost playing to the unseen audience.

  Ramus-Bey was short, barely acknowledging the hall, let alone the watching millions. Simeon had him sized-up; a spoilt academic used to having his own way, irritated at being dragged from his secluded studies and paraded like a piece of livestock because of the whims of politicians. To be truthful, Simeon could not blame him and yet, if this were to be allied to what seemed to be a natural talent for the polar opposite of amiable, then it could make him a dangerous man with a whim.

  In truth, the only Mage to act with any dignity, and to inspire any trust, was the Praalian Mage. Despite his great age and seeming physical frailty, he had a bearing about him that at least gave the illusion of a straightness of back. He stood tall, with an air of authority that the others seemed to lack. He stood aloof, like many of his race, from the facile games of the Chief Ministers. Noticeably, he was the only Mage that either Minister declined to guide by touch. Where they had felt free to manhandle the other old men, they both demurred from laying hands on the Mage called Kathel.