‘But you fought alongside them,’ said Ballistar.
‘Yes. It is a source of endless regret. Come, sit by the fire and we shall talk.’ The black man rose and walked to the fireside, settling his long frame into a deep armchair of burnished leather. A servant appeared and drew back Ballistar’s seat, allowing the little man to slide from his cushions to the floor. Asmidir watched as he climbed with difficulty into the opposite armchair, then, waving away the servant, he leaned forward. ‘You treat your affliction with great courage, Ballistar. I respect that. Now what shall we speak of?’
‘You could tell me why you served the Outlanders,’ said the dwarf.
‘Swift and to the point,’ observed Asmidir, with an easy grin. ‘It all came down to politics. My family were accused of treason by the Kushir King. He was hunting us down at the time the Outlanders invaded. My sister and my wife were executed by him, my father blinded and thrown into a dungeon. We have a saying in Kushir – the enemy of my enemy must therefore be my friend. So I joined with the Outlanders.’
‘And now you regret it?’
‘Of course. There is no genuine satisfaction in revenge, Ballistar. All a man unleashes is a beast which will destroy even those he loves. Cities were laid waste, the people slaughtered or sold into slavery. A rich, cultured nation was set back two hundred years. And even when they had won, the slaughter continued. The Outlanders are a barbaric people, with no understanding of the simplest economic realities. The Kushir was rich because of trade and commerce. The lines of trade were severed, and treaties with friendly nations broken. There was a Great Library at Coshantin, the capital; the Outlanders burned it down.’ Asmidir sighed and lifted an iron poker, idly stabbing at the burning logs.
‘You grew to hate them?’
‘Oh yes! Hatred as strong and tall as High Druin. But two men more than any other, the Baron Ranulph and the Earl of Jastey. The King himself is merely a merciless savage, holding power through ruthlessness and manipulation. The Baron and the Earl hold the balance of his power.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ asked Ballistar. ‘It is not wise.’
Asmidir smiled. ‘It is a question of judgement, my friend. Do you trust Sigarni?’
‘In what way?’
‘Her instincts, her values, her courage … whatever?’
‘She is intelligent and does not suffer fools. What has this to do with anything?’
‘She trusts you, Ballistar. Therefore so do I. And as for the risk… well, all life is a risk. And time is running too short for me to remain conservative in my plans. Sigarni tells me you are a great storyteller, and somewhat of a historian. Tell me of the clans. Where are they from, how did they come here? Who are their heroes and why? What are their noble lines?’
‘You are moving too fast for me,’ said Ballistar. ‘A moment ago we were talking of trust. Before that, revenge. Now you want a story. Tell me first your purpose.’
‘A clear thinker … I like that. Very well. First I shall tell you a story.’ Asmidir clapped his hands and a servant came forward bearing a tray on which were two golden goblets filled with fine red wine. Ballistar accepted the first, holding it carefully in both hands. As the servant departed Asmidir sipped his drink, then set the goblet aside. Leaning back, he rested his head on the high back of the chair. ‘With Kushir in ruins I went home to my palace. An old man, dressed in a cloak of feathers, was waiting for me there. His face was seamed with wrinkles and lines, his hair and beard so thin they appeared to be fashioned from the memory of wood-smoke. He was sitting on the steps before my door. A servant told me he had arrived an hour before, and refused to be moved; they tried to lay hands upon him, but could not approach him. Knowing him to be a wizard, they withdrew. I approached him and asked what he wanted. He stood and walked towards my home. The door opened for him, though there were no servants close, and he made his way to my study. Once there, he asked me what I felt about the destruction of my land and my part in it. I did not answer him, for my shame was too great. He said nothing for a moment, then he bade me sit and began to talk of history. It was fascinating, Ballistar. It was as if he had witnessed all the events himself. Perhaps he had. I don’t know. He spoke of the growth of evil and how, like a plague, it spreads and destroys. It was vital, he said, that there should always be adequate counter-balances against the forces of wickedness.