‘Fast on his feet, isn’t he?’ Itagne heard Ulath murmur to
Bevier.
Itagne looked up. ‘Colleagues,’ he said, ‘I submit that it was
not Prince Sparhawk that Zalasta so yearned for, but the
Bhelliom. Bhelliom is the source of ultimate power, and Zalasta
has been trying to get his hands on it for three centuries – for
reasons too disgusting to mention. He has been willing to go to
any lengths. He has betrayed his faith, his people, and his personal
integrity – such as it was – to gain what the Trolls call
“The Flower-Gem”. ‘
‘That tears it!’ the corpulent Quinsal declared, rising to his
feet. ‘This man is mad. Now he’s talking about Trolls! This is an
academic affair, Itagne, not the children’s hour. You’ve picked
the wrong forum for fairy-tales and ghost stories.’
‘Why don’t you let me do this, Itagne?’ Ulath said rising to
his feet and coming to the podium. ‘I can settle this question in
just a moment or two.’
‘Feel free,’ Itagne said gratefully.
Ulath set one huge hand on each side of the lectern. ‘Professor
Itagne has requested me to brief you gentlemen on a few matters,’
he said. ‘I take it that you’re having some difficulties with
the notion of Trolls.’
‘None at all, Sir Knight,’ Quinsal retorted. ‘Trolls are an Elene
myth and nothing else. There’s no difficulty in that at all.’
‘What an amazing thing. I spent five years compiling a Trollish
grammar. Are you saying that I was wasting my time?’
‘I think you’re as mad as Itagne is.’
‘Then you probably shouldn’t irritate me, should you? Particularly
in view of the fact that I’m so much bigger than you are.’
Ulath squinted at the ceiling. ‘Logic tells us that no one can
prove a negative. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to amend your
statement? ‘
‘No, Sir Ulath. I’ll stand by what I just said. There’s no such
thing as a Troll.’
‘Did you hear that, Bhlokw?’ Ulath raised his voice slightly.
This fellow says that you don’t exist.’
There was a hideous roar in the corridor outside the auditorium,
and the double doors at the rear splintered and crashed
inward.
‘Stay calm!’ Bevier hissed as Itagne jumped. ‘it’s an illusion.
Ulath’s amusing himself.’
‘Would you like to turn around and tell me what you see at
the back of the hall, ~Quinsal?’ Ulath asked. ‘Exactly what would
you call my friend Bhlokw there?’
The creature hulking in the doorway was huge, and its bestial
face was contorted with rage. It stretched its paws forth
hungrily. ‘Who has said this, U-Lat?’ it demanded in a hideous
voice. ‘I will cause hurt to it! I will rip it to pieces and eat it!’
‘Can that Troll actually speak Tamul?’ Itagne whispered. ‘
‘Of course not,’ Bevier smiled. ‘Ulath’s getting carried away.’
The hideous apparition in the doorway continued to bellow
horribly graphic descriptions of its plans for the faculty of the
Contemporary History Department.
‘Were there any other questions about Trolls?’ Ulath asked
mildly, but none of the assembled academics heard him over all
the shouts, screams and the tipping over of chairs.
It took the better part of a quarter of an hour to restore order
once Ulath had dismissed his illusion, and when Itagne reapproached
the lectern, the entire audience was huddled closely
together near the front of the auditorium. ‘i’m touched by your
eagerness to hear my every word, gentlemen,’ Itagne smiled,
‘but I can speak loudly enough to be heard at the back of the
hall, so you needn’t draw so close. I trust that the visit of Sir
Ulath’s friend has cleared up the little misunderstanding about
Trolls?’ He looked at Quinsal, who was still cowering on the
floor, ‘gibbering in terror. ‘Splendid,’ Itagne said. ‘Briefly then,
Prince Sparhawk came to Tamuli. Elenes are sometimes a devious
people, so Sparhawk’s wife, Queen Ehlana, proposed a state
visit to Matherion and concealed her husband and his friends
in her entourage. Upon their arrival, they almost immediately
uncovered some facts which we had somehow overlooked. First,
Emperor Sarabian actually has a mind, and second, the government
led by Pondia Subat was in league with our enemies.’
‘Treason!’ a thin, balding professor shrieked, leaping to his
feet.
‘Really, Dalash?’ Itagne asked, ‘against whom?’
‘Why – uh -‘ Dalash floundered.
‘You still don’t understand, do you gentlemen?’ Itagne asked
the faculty of Contemporary History. ‘The previous government
has been overthrown – by Emperor Sarabian himself. Tamuli is
now an Elene-style monarchy, and Emperor Sarabian rules by
decree. The previous government – and its Prime Minister – are
no longer relevant.’
‘The Prime Minister cannot be removed from office!’ Dalash
screamed. ‘He holds his position for life!’
‘Even if that were true, it suggests a rather simple solution to
the problem, doesn’t it?’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Not me, old boy. That’s the Emperor’s decision. Don’t cross
him, gentlemen. If you do, he’ll decorate the city gates with
your heads. Let’s press on here. I’d like to cover a bit more
ground before our customary recess. It was the aborted coupattempt
that finally brought things to a head. Pondia Subat was
a party to the entire conspiracy and he fully intended to stand
around wringing his hands while the drunken mob murdered
all of his political enemies, evidently including the Emperor himself.
If Professor Dalash wants to scream “treason” he might
take a look at that. We discovered much in the aftermath of
that failed coup, not only concerning the treason of the Prime
Minister, but of the Minister of the Interior as well. Most important,
however, was the discovery that it had been Zalasta who
had engineered the entire plot, and that he was secretly allied
with Ekatas, High Priest of Cyrgon, the God of the supposedly
extinct Cyrgai.
‘At this point Prince Sparhawk had no choice but to retrieve
Bhelliom from its hiding place and to send to Chyrellos for
reinforcements. He enlisted other allies as well, not the least of
which were the Delphae – who do in fact exist in all their glowing
horror ‘
‘This is absurd!’ Contemporary History’s reigning bully-boy,
the crude and muscular Professor Pessalt sneered. ‘Are we supposed
to believe this nonsense?’
‘You’ve already seen a Troll this evening, Pessalt,’ Itagne
reminded him. ‘Would you like a personal visitation by a Shining
One as well? I can arrange it, if you’d like – but outside, please.
We’d never get rid of the stink if you were dissolved into a
puddle of slime right here in front of the platform.’
Dean Altus cleared his throat meaningfully.
‘Yes sir,’ Itagne assured him. ‘I’ll just be a few more minutes.’
He turned back to the audience. ‘Now then,’ he continued
quickly, ‘since the subject of the Trolls has come up again, we
might as well go into that and clear it away once and for all. As
you’ve noticed, the Trolls are real. They were lured to Tamuli
from their home range in northern Thalesia by Cyrgon, who
posed as one of their Gods. The real Troll-Gods have been
imprisoned for eons, and Prince Sparhawk offered them an
exchange – their freedom in return for their aid. He then led
a sizeable force to northern Atan, where the misguided Trolls had
been stirring up turmoil in hopes of forcing the Atans to return
to defend their homeland – which would have left us effectively
defenseless, since the Atans comprise the bulk of our army.
Sparhawk’s move seemed to play right into the hands of our
enemies, but when Cyrgon and Zalasta unleashed the Trolls,
Sparhawk called forth their Gods to reclaim them. In desperation,
Cyrgon reached back in time and produced a huge army
of his Cyrgai. Then the Trolls, true to their nature, ate them.’
‘You don’t really expect us to swallow this, do you, Itagne?’
Professor Sarafawn, Chairman of the Department of Contemporary
History and brother-in-law of the Prime Minister, demanded
scornfully.
‘You might as well, Sarafawn,’ Itagne told him. ‘Your wife’s
brother isn’t dictating official history any more. From now on,
the Emperor wants us to give our students the plain, unvarnished
truth. I’ll be publishing a factual account in the next
month or so. You’d better reserve a copy, Sarafawn, because
you’re going to be required to teach it to all your students in
the future – assuming that you have a future at this institution.
Next year’s budget’s going to be a little tight, I understand, so
a number of departments will probably have to be dropped.’ He
paused. ‘Are you any good with tools, Sarafawn? There’s a very
nice little vocational school at Jura, I hear. You’d just love
Daconia. ‘
The Dean cleared his throat again, a bit more urgently this
time.
‘Sorry, Dean Altus,’ Itagne apologized. ‘i’m running past
time, gentlemen, so I’ll just briefly sum up one more development.
Despite their crushing defeat, Cyrgon and Zalasta were
by no means powerless. In a bold stroke, Zalasta’s natural son,