He continued walking, telling the Way to take him to the Library. He would find a book of Thumian history and carry it back to his Place and try to read . . .
“King Rap? Do I intrude upon your meditations?”
Archon Toom strolled at his side, peering cautiously up at Rap with guileless golden eyes.
“No indeed, Archon! I welcome company.”
“Ah. I apologize for my comrades’ incivility. I hope you will make allowances for a thousand years of custom?”
“Gladly. I appreciate the honor of your hospitality.”
“The Keeper’s hospitality,” Toom murmured in his plodding, deliberate speech. “And Archon Thaile’s, of course. There is a prophecy about the Chosen of the Chosen One, you see. But no matter. I wonder if you would spare a little time for a discussion. On a matter o€ some importance to us?”
Already the Way was leading them out into the forest. “Time,” Rap said with a laugh, “is one thing I have in excess. Gladly, Archon, gladly!”
A matter of importance? He still had enough premonition to sense a major turning point. Something was about to happen.
2
In a few minutes, Rap and Toom arrived at the Raim place, a simple cottage in a grove of willows, close by a stream. Archon Raim himself came hurrying out to greet the visitors, buttoning up his shirt. Toom spoke the ritual greeting; Rap picked up his cue and followed suit.
Raim was little older than Thaile, a comely youngster, husky by the standards of the dainty pixies. He offered chairs under the trees; he laid chilled mead and a dish of sugared fruits on the plank table. With obvious pleasure he introduced his goodwife Sial, who was even younger than he was, and of course a mundane. Rap sensed that their relationship was a very recent innovation, for they glowed at each other like honeymooners. She blushed and stammered, departing as soon as she decently could, and Raim smiled after her with eyes of gold
Rap sat back, crossed his ankles, and waited to hear what a matter of some importance might be. His admittance to the Accursed Land was a violation of an ancient tradition; such things did not happen by chance in a society of sorcerers. If he could be of use to the College, then perhaps he would have some scope for bargaining. Of course these two could drag every thought out of his head if they chose, but the use of power seemed to be restricted by custom and good manners in the College. The Keeper would not likely put much stock in etiquette, though, and the Keeper might have instigated this meeting.
The archons inquired after his welfare, and Kadie’s. They asked about his journey and means of travel. They frowned when he told them of the dragons and the elves’ intransigence. They revealed nothing.
Surprisingly, it was the older, stolid Toom who first grew tired of trivia and came to the point. He flexed his thick peasant fingers, as if longing for the feel of an ax or spade.
“I understand, Goodman Rap,” he said cautiously, “that it was you who cut off the supply of magic some years ago?”
“It was. Many years ago.”
The archons exchanged glances.
Young Raim said, “There is no chance that whatever you did could be reversed?”
“Why should you want to see it reversed?” Rap asked coldly.
“Oh, I don’t!” Raim protested, fumbling with his crystal goblet. ”It’s just that the dwarf Zinixo has assembled a worldwide monopoly of sorcery. In the past it was the wardens’ ability to draw on Faerie for additional words of power that prevented anyone ever doing that.”
“So in a sense I am responsible for what has happened,” Rap admitted. “But I have very few regrets. I should do the same again, I think. The farming of the fairies was an unthinkable atrocity.”
The archons stumbled over each other’s words in their haste to agree.
“I was merely inquiring,” Raim explained awkwardly, “because I should not like to think of the Almighty, as he calls himself, ever being able to draw on that prime source, also. I was just hoping for that reassurance.”
Oh, he was, was he? Or did the archons—at least these two—not share the Keeper’s absolute reliance on Thume’s immemorability?
“I do not believe that even the Covin can recover what I removed.” Rap reluctantly concluded that he must take them into his confidence if he hoped ever to be taken into theirs. “As I understand what you told me, Toom, when the Holy Keef established the College, she moved it to another Thume.”
Toom nodded. Then he nodded again, seeing the connection. “That is so. We exist side by side with the real world. The two lands are similar in big things—rivers and mountains, and so on. When Keef made the duplicate, the two would have been exactly the same, down to individual leaves and flowers. Except for the people, of course. You see, the new Thume was uninhabited until she moved her followers here. Now, after a thousand years, they have grown apart. Trees and so on have changed in different ways. The copy is no longer exact, you
Rap saw. “I did the same with Faerie. I moved the fairy folk to a land of their own, where they would be left in peace, not slaughtered like animals. I believe I located all of them, both free and captive. Unlike Keef, I then severed the connection.”
Toom smiled, apparently pleased. “And by now the two lands will have diverged so far that no sorcerer would be able to locate the replica? Not even Zinixo and his gang!”
“That is my belief,” Rap agreed, “and my hope. Even if he catches me and forces me to explain what I did, I do not think the fairies can be recovered.” He eyed the two men thoughtfully. “You agree?”
They agreed. They did not seem disappointed, either, which was a relief.
“More mead, your Majesty?” Raim said, offering the bottle. He was young enough to enjoy playing host to a king, even a very minor king in exile. ”That is good news.”
Perhaps it was, but it had not been the main business of the meeting.
For a few minutes the three men sat under the dappled shade of the willows while only the brook disturbed the silence. Archons were the rulers of Thume, but they apparently lived very simply. The Raim Place and the Thaile Place were humble abodes. Gold and jewels were irrelevant to sorcerers, multitudes of slaves unnecessary. Yet Thaile washed clothes; Raim made his own furniture. As a king who detested pomp and liked to groom his own horse, Rap thought he approved.
This time it was Raim who spoke up. “You are familiar with the occult protection around our land?”
“In a general way,” Rap said. “I have never met its like, though.”
“The barrier could only have been created by a demigod, for it requires powers beyond sorcery. It is a form of shielding, of course, concealing our use of power, yet more than that. Not quite an aversion spell, for that can be felt. Not a conventional inattention spell, because the existence of the land cannot be denied. The maps would not fit! No, it is mostly a matter of irrelevance. Everyone knows that Thume is here. No one cares. They know that it is empty, and they know it offers nothing of value.”
Curious to discover what provoked this admission, Rap prompted: “And it works most strongly on those with the strongest power?”
Raim frowned. “I never heard that!”
“I do not think so,” Toom said. “Not directly. But those who have great power are accustomed to certainty. They tend to reject what they cannot sense for themselves. The ignorant will accept Thume more readily, you see.”
Sagorn had been willing to believe in Thume!
Rap felt as if he were playing a part in one of Kadie’s romantic dramas. His next line was obvious. “But sometimes people do enter. What then?”
“Imps are notoriously nosy,” Toom agreed with a sigh, “and djinns rapacious. Mostly imps, though. We archons detect them—that is our function. If the matter is serious, the archon alerts the Keeper. He or she decides and usually . . . deals with them.” He paused uneasily. ”Keepers, you see, have, er . . . take a long-term view.”
What he meant was that they had few scruples. If every minute was a torment, a struggle against pain and magic overload, if life itself was a coat of fire, the foibles of mere humans would soon start to seem trivial.
“Keepers tend to be ruthless?”
“Er, well, yes.”
Raim intervened. “We all do our duty. A few months ago, a party of djinns crossed into my sector, hunting goats. Her Holiness told me to evict them, so I sent them troubles with mountain lions. One was badly clawed, another broke a leg running across a rock slide. This is why Thume is known as the Accursed Land.” He grinned with boyish glee. He had enjoyed the sport.