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    Glyphmaster
    Glyphmaster
    Glyphmaster
    Ebook383 pages5 hours

    Glyphmaster

    By Gareth Lewis

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    About this ebook

    War has been averted, the Society's power diminished, but peace has yet to reach the shores of the Scarred Sea. As unrest spreads, there remain a few finishing touches to making the world as Thjorn wishes it to be. But the hallucination of his dead friend won't let him work, and others have their own ideas about how things should be.

    The final plays are being made, as pawns and players alike are moved into place.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGareth Lewis
    Release dateJun 1, 2016
    ISBN9781310220012
    Glyphmaster
    Author

    Gareth Lewis

    Gareth Lewis has written a number of novels and shorter works in a few genres, including fantasy, science fiction, and thrillers. A programmer, he has a degree in computer studies, and lives in South Wales.

    Read more from Gareth Lewis

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      Book preview

      Glyphmaster - Gareth Lewis

      CHAPTER 1

      The trees regarded Thjorn with disdain, any secrets they still possessed squirreled away somewhere. Too securely to make their existence a real possibility.

      He had to admit that there was likely nothing new to be learnt here. This was his third visit to the Elinar grove in the past year. Like the other hidden groves he knew of, the glyphing secrets the First Ones had bequeathed mankind were inscribed into the trees. Out in the open, if you knew how to look. That was the only key to these secrets, and one he already possessed. So if he found nothing new, it was likely because there was nothing to be found.

      There should be more. He was certain. Yet the other groves all gave each other's locations, so an undiscovered grove was unlikely. He'd learned what he could from all of them.

      What did that mean for the secrets he was sure should be here?

      'You know you're wasting time here,' said the unwelcome voice behind him.

      Thjorn didn't turn to regard Augni. Or rather the hallucination that wore the appearance of his dead friend. 'My time, my choice. And my mind, so piss off out of it.' The hole in the pattern was irritating enough, without this delusion exacerbating matters.

      He focussed on the trees, even knowing he'd see nothing more in them. Like the other groves, the trees here had an indefinable sense of age, though in most respects they differed little from their unmarked neighbours. Maybe the knowing what they were affected how he viewed them.

      Or not. There was an unchanging something to them. Centuries hadn't deformed or worn away the knowledge they held. Though in all other respects they appeared to be ordinary old trees. He'd never bothered to learn much about plants. Since it was unlikely to aid his current endeavour, it was unlikely he'd start studying it now.

      'You're likely looking for secrets that aren't even here.'

      He'd obviously been thinking too loud. He was sure the hallucination only latched on to those thoughts that elicited strong feelings, such as frustration, and could only hear the louder thoughts. Assuming anything he thought he knew about the hallucination was accurate.

      Its manifestations had grown more frequent. It always appeared when he visited the groves, so initially he'd assumed a direct correlation, and the likelihood it was externally generated. It'd first appeared when he'd hung in the grove in the Whispering Forest, having been dehydrated and bleeding for days.

      A hallucination in those circumstances was understandable. Yet it'd returned when he hadn't been so encumbered. Possibly an ongoing result of the trauma, or even the change the knowledge had made to his mind.

      That it'd since appeared, sporadically, away from the groves, implied it wasn't geographically based. It was purely in his head. Probably.

      Attempting to understand it by the pattern of its appearances and knowledge had gained him only a rough working framework. But he was sure it had only limited access to his thoughts and memories. Or it was playing a long game to send him insane.

      If it was a side effect of the knowledge he'd gained, had Wotyn also had one? Was that why he'd done the things he'd done? And did it mean Thjorn would become a monster? So many questions remained around Wotyn that comparing them gained little.

      'You know what's here then?' asked Thjorn. To see what response he received, though he doubted it'd offer any insight.

      'I know you've checked thoroughly. Beyond the point of mere diligence. The groves are hidden. Kind of. But the knowledge here is open to any who can see.'

      'Kind of. Your logic lacks a certain... logic.' Thjorn was sure his own was far more robust, even if he'd reached a similar conclusion.

      'The First Ones put this knowledge here for the seeker to find,' said the hallucination. 'They chose to share it with those who truly sought to learn.'

      'That doesn't preclude more hidden secrets, for those who truly wish to understand.' Thjorn didn't necessarily believe that. But he was inclined towards being argumentative with the unwelcome guest in his mind.

      'What makes you so sure there's more to learn?' asked the hallucination.

      Did it already know? Was it simply playing? Or did it truly not have access to those thoughts? It was the same game they'd played for a year now, though Thjorn wasn't sure whether he was the only one playing.

      If this was a hallucination, then by definition he was the only one playing. Regardless, he needed to determine the logic of how this manifestation of his unconscious worked. Everything had a logic, if you looked at it right. And the inconsistencies that'd developed in Wotyn's story convinced Thjorn there was more to learn. Somewhere.

      'There's always more to learn,' was the response he offered.

      'Liar,' said the hallucination. Probably a guess. 'Who knows why the idiot First Ones did anything anyway? Or that all of what they taught mankind was real?'

      'Glyphs are. Or are you saying their magic is a delusion?' Given society was built on them, it was hard to doubt their existence without doubting everything he experienced. While the hallucination may incline him to doubt some things he saw, he was hardly ready to believe all he knew was a lie. That way lay madness. While some may claim he'd already made that journey, they were idiots.

      Not that conversing with a hallucination was necessarily sane, but at least the setting was private.

      'Are you sure they taught it to mankind?' asked the hallucination. 'Many of the stories are vague. Some say the gods taught us glyphs, and the First Ones simply took credit when they tricked mankind into banishing the gods. Admittedly others say they taught mankind glyphs in order to free them from reliance on the gods, who'd previously controlled access to the magic. But can we really tell by this point which is true? If either.'

      'Some evidence surrounds us.'

      'That they didn't want mankind knowing all these secrets? Which version do you believe that supports?'

      'There's plenty of idiots today I wouldn't want getting their hands on this knowledge,' said Thjorn. 'Pretty sure there'd have been a damn sight more of them back then.'

      'And now it's your turn to decide who, like the First Ones did back then. And like Wotyn after their time.'

      Thjorn finally turned a hard stare on the hallucination. The danger of becoming like Wotyn was something he was always wary of. He accepted his temperament inclined him to becoming something similar if he didn't consciously check himself.

      The hallucination shrugged at his silence. 'Do you see the First Ones as mankind's friends? Freeing them from reliance on the gods?'

      'Of course not. I've met people. Most still want someone to tell them what to do. But if we believe the stories, the First Ones gave us the tools to take care of ourselves.'

      'And the capacity for some to supplant the gods.'

      'Men die,' said Thjorn. 'Even tyrants like Wotyn.'

      If the stories were to be believed, so did gods. In a manner of speaking. They certainly hadn't been heard of since the First Ones' time. They'd been all but forgotten as anything more than old stories, probably in part due to the First Ones purging most records of them. Even the oral tales that endured to be recorded later no longer remembered their real names, and they'd allegedly used many. Now they were usually known as the Thunder, Swordmaiden, Shadow, Killing Frost, Swordbearer, Lord of Oceans, and others he couldn't be bothered recalling.

      The tales had never interested him. Some seemed constructed as morality tales, and all seemed pretty much irrelevant to modern life. Thjorn's interest was in applicable knowledge. Facts he could use in a practical way.

      He'd read some scholarly works examining the histories, but they'd been speculative, unprovable. Some viewed the gods as capricious spirits who lost interest when man learned glyphs and no longer needed them. And the First Ones were simply the first men to learn this forbidden knowledge. Mostly it seemed an attempt to force a narrative structure on barely known facts which lacked verifiable authenticity.

      Did he believe the gods had ever existed? He could see how they may not have, being artificial constructs to serve a function necessary for early man. But actual beings, with the powers they'd supposedly possessed? Not really. That would be at least in part due to the lack of impact they had on his life. Why should he spend any time thinking of them? Why did he now?

      'Yet if the First Ones...' the hallucination began.

      'If,' snapped Thjorn. It did the trick of interrupting the hallucination. 'Do you know for a fact they existed? Does anyone? Even Wotyn probably didn't know for sure, and he's gone now. So any discussion of them is speculative, and hardly likely to lead anywhere constructive.'

      'Yet someone left the knowledge that surrounds us,' said the hallucination. What it hoped to achieve guiding the conversation wasn't obvious. If it had any such hopes. Obviously, if it was a hallucination, it may simply be the musings of his damaged mind.

      Or it may be his subconscious guiding him to something useful. That'd be a first though, and Thjorn wasn't inclined to entertain it.

      'That we have the knowledge left for us is all we know for sure,' said Thjorn. 'And all I care about.'

      'Your drive blinds you to so much wonder, doesn't it?'

      'I see wonder.'

      'And turn it into a weapon.'

      Thjorn stared at it again. 'Did you actually want something?'

      'Not something in which you have any interest, it would seem. I suppose you'll be getting back to work if you've finished chasing ghosts in the groves.'

      'I am working.'

      'Yes, I suppose you always are. Back to ruling the world then?'

      'I'm not Wotyn,' said Thjorn.

      'Neither was Wotyn. Until he was. But maybe he had no choice. He built an empire. Created civilisation. Without his firm hand would mankind have stayed together? Or fallen back into feuding tribes?'

      'Civilisation isn't in danger.'

      'I know you don't believe that,' said the hallucination. 'You gave them freedom from the tyranny of the guilds, and what do they do? Go to war. Almost.'

      'I can't guide their every step.'

      'Of course you can.'

      'Well I won't.'

      'Why not?' asked the hallucination. 'You broke the world.'

      'I gave them the chance to build the society they want.'

      'And they want to either rule, or be ruled. Do you truly believe any of them would be more suitable to rule than you?'

      'Yes.'

      'Liar.'

      'This was never about me taking power,' said Thjorn. 'That's not the plan.'

      'How much of the plan remains? Because you seem to have only tinkered around the edges of civilisation in the past year, when you haven't been tromping through forests. As though you can't help getting involved, but there's nothing left of your plan. Are you simply too afraid to retire, to find a life for yourself? Do you still have a grand plan, or are you simply reacting?'

      Thjorn said nothing. Did the hallucination know anything? Even if it weren't simply guessing, he saw no reason to respond. While deducing its intentions could be useful, it may also be impossible. Playing along with it could do no telling what harm to his psyche.

      It was frustrating knowing so little about a problem. Which the hallucination may be aware of, and playing on. It was, after all, probably a part of his mind. And he could be a bastard at times.

      'Company,' Irnskar called from further down the forest slope. Far enough out of sight and sound to not be bothered by Thjorn talking to himself, and in a position to warn when the locals approached, as they now apparently did.

      'Fine,' he called back. What did they want now? Well they could wait for him to gather his thoughts. Which was more of a chore than it should be.

      He should probably be glad they'd held off this long.

      Glancing around, he found the hallucination gone. No telling how long that peace would last. At least it had the good grace to rarely appear when he was talking to others. Was that because his mind was occupied in a certain way that precluded its manifestation? Unlikely. It'd occasionally hung around when he started talking to others, and he doubted manifesting and maintaining would be so distinct.

      Maybe it was simply polite? No. That would too obviously make it external to his mind.

      With a final glance around, he had to admit that he'd probably learned all he could here. And at the other groves. The secret he sought wasn't present. What did that mean?

      He could afford a few minutes to consider the question. There was no point rushing to greet the locals. They may think he considered them relevant.

      Chapter 2

      Irnskar watched the approaching group with resignation. He didn't bother standing. That'd be taken as a challenge.

      With this lot anything'd be taken as a challenge, were they so inclined. And they were usually inclined to fight.

      While he wasn't averse to exercise on occasion, they took it too far. They had all kinds of challenges, many of which were to the death. That had a tendency to take the enjoyment out of the experience. Especially surrounded by friends of your opponent who may choose to challenge you for having beaten him.

      The one upside of watching their ascent up the hill was that it distracted his gaze from the distant ocean. Even as a mere sliver on the horizon it set his stomach on edge.

      All the wondrous discoveries Thjorn'd made in glyphs over the past year, yet he continually failed to cure seasickness. If he thought Thjorn had a sense of humour, Irnskar may be inclined to consider he did it on purpose. Or that he had them frequently sailing to Elinar just to get a reaction. But Thjorn was too obsessed to do so. Probably.

      The leader of the group was identifiable from a good way off. Amar towered over even his kinsmen, and that bloody great hammer he carted around was hard to ignore.

      As Thjorn had permission to visit, this would hardly be immediately hostile. He may have as much as a few seconds before it got to that. But he was determined to be as unthreatening as possible, so remained seated on a fallen trunk as he lazily watched them trudge up the trail.

      At least the tiring incline may defuse some of their innate anger. Though he didn't delude himself it'd be enough.

      Amar barely looked winded as they got closer. His lackeys weren't as resilient, though they tried to hide the fact they were winded. Mainly by scowling at Irnskar.

      Dealing with the residents of Elinar was always tricky, and something he preferred leaving to others. It showed up cultural differences he was unaccustomed to dealing with.

      He was too used to minor national differences. But where most nations had developed together as a civilisation, guided by the Society and Alliance to blur the cultural differences between them, Elinar had been ostracised. It felt alien. And hostile to those they felt didn't want them.

      The fact they'd only recently stopped raiding other countries didn't help. How long that'd last if they weren't integrated was another problem for Thjorn. While they'd officially been accepted as an equal by the other nations a year ago, little had been done to establish any real dialogue.

      And since Amar had been the figurehead for Elinar in that arrangement, the frustration sat on him like itchy undergarments, no doubt making him more volatile than normal. If possible.

      Amar stopped barely a few feet before Irnskar, arms at his sides. His hands clenched and unclenched in anticipation. 'Where's Thjorn?'

      Irnskar nodded over his shoulder. 'Usual place. Staring at trees.'

      'Your master's wanted,' said Amar. His eyes held a bald challenge. 'Will you try and stop me taking him?'

      'Not if I can avoid it. Though he might be resistant to leaving if he's not finished, and can get cranky.'

      Amar continued glaring, obviously in no rush to charge up there and drag Thjorn down. So not a complete idiot. 'We never did get to test ourselves in battle, did we?'

      Irnskar carefully avoided tensing or moving to any kind of a pose which could be even remotely considered threatening. 'Thankfully not. Else I suspect I'd be lacking a few things I'm happy to still be in possession of.'

      This caused a frown on Amar's brow, and some of his friends didn't seem to understand what was going on. Elinar politics was based on physical strength, and the perception of such. You either always acted aggressive, never backing down, or you went straight to meek and compliant if not a warrior.

      Casual indifference, and accepting someone could likely kill you with little challenge, was not the way of things. It confused them. Not that he was certain Amar would kill him in a fight. Given the weapons Thjorn had armed him with, there was a chance Irnskar could win. He was a good combatant, cool in a fight. He considered facing the giant, and a part of him might actually relish the challenge.

      The greater part of him, guided by common sense, was less keen. There was no point. And even if he won, Amar was good enough that Irnskar could sustain serious injury in the clash. There was little to gain, and plenty to lose, so he'd do his best to avoid it.

      He was a professional, after all. Or at least got paid professional rates.

      'You're the traitor,' said Amar. He'd have to work on his goads is he wanted to get a rise.

      'Professionally speaking,' Irnskar replied amiably. 'Spy's the preferred term.'

      'Traitor,' Amar said with emphasis.

      Irnskar sighed, leaning back with his hands to his sides on the trunk taking his weight. 'Do you really see a fight between us achieving anything? For Elinar, or for us? It may not even prove satisfying, and killing me could only irritate Thjorn, making him less likely to go along with you.' Possibly. There was never any telling how Thjorn'd react.

      Amar maintained his glare, but seemed less on the edge of attacking. He'd probably given up hopes of getting a fight.

      'He'll just get snippy if you push him,' said Irnskar. 'You may as well relax a while. Let your friends recover from their climb.'

      That earned him a few glares, as they puffed themselves up to hide any hint of exhaustion. He doubted they'd attack. Since Amar had already laid claim to fighting him, they wouldn't want to risk crossing him.

      Snorting, Amar shrugged and began pacing. 'Why do you follow him?'

      'For a very generous salary.'

      Another snort, this time at getting paid. The raiders of Elinar were more about the taking what you want. Preferably from someone who didn't want to let you take it. 'Does he at least offer you the opportunity to fight much?'

      'Considering how many people want him dead, surprisingly little.'

      Amar regarded him with a slight frown. 'I don't understand you people. On the Storm Isles you fought well, and were prepared to die for people who were nothing to you. Yet I offer you an honourable fight and you have no interest.'

      'I was being paid to protect the Storm Isles. And in that situation running would have been more dangerous than standing.'

      Maybe not entirely. He'd had enough warning of the raid Amar led on Raering that he could have fled to safety. But that would've left civilians to die. And the contract of taking a job did mean something to him. Kind of.

      'As to the honourable fight, I'll take your word for it. I've always found fights more of a scramble to survive.' And he'd trust few opponents to fight honourably. Their survival instincts would prove too strong an impulse to allow such considerations. Would his? Probably. He didn't think he'd ever been pushed that far, but was far too pragmatic to entertain such romantic notions. You fought to avoid dying. Everything else was extra.

      'You truly don't feel the thrill of battle?'

      'You mean the adrenaline rush from the fear of having bits chopped off? Thrill isn't the word I'd use. I'll admit there's some joy to be gained from an evenly matched sparring session. But I've seen too many killed or seriously wounded in real combat to take it lightly. It can really cut into your earning potential, and if I'm going to risk such injury it'll be while earning enough to look after myself in retirement.'

      Amar frowned. 'Retirement?'

      'What you do after you're too old or otherwise incapable of doing what you do.'

      Shaking his head, Amar grinned. 'Around here, we call that dying.'

      'Remind me not to hang around here too long.'

      Amar laughed, a deep booming thing that shattered what tension remained.

      'What's the noise?' Thjorn asked as he strode into view. He didn't look particularly satisfied. It was a subtle thing, since his expression was generally in the vicinity of irritated. But there was a definite hint of frustration. If he'd learned something new there'd be focussed distraction as he considered it.

      'It's called laughing,' said Irnskar. 'It's what people do who aren't constantly obsessed by their mission.'

      'Gulmaer will see you,' said Amar, his glare returning. He didn't phrase it as a request.

      Thjorn maintained his pace as he strode by and down the trail. 'Well come on then. Why are you keeping him waiting?'

      Offering a helpless shrug in response to Amar's scowl, Irnskar rose and dusted himself off before following down the hill.

      At least this should be a step closer to getting the voyage home over with.

      Chapter 3

      Thjorn had finished on Elinar. With the grove, at least. The wider problem of integrating the inhabitants with society at large was another matter, and one that would require work done elsewhere.

      He had a few ideas about what could be done, but had yet to settle on a plan. That irked him. He was obviously too distracted by other problems, or he'd already have started implementing something.

      As anxious as he was to be on his way though, he'd have to postpone it.

      Gulmaer hadn't been willing to see him on previous visits. Still blaming him for withholding knowledge he hadn't been sure of. As though it would have made any difference to how things turned out. An emotional response, one he'd hoped the old man might have outgrown over the years. But it seemed age brought an atrophying of personality traits to accompany what little wisdom it dispensed.

      That didn't bode well for his own old age. Which he'd never really considered seeing.

      Regardless, he felt a kind of debt, so probably owed Gulmaer an audience. And it saved the hassle of making the locals understand he wouldn't comply with their request. That would be undiplomatic.

      Gulmaer's shack never looked stable at its best. Now it also managed to be somehow drab, despite the garish colouring. If the outside seemed drained of colour, it was barely enough to prepare Thjorn for the sight inside.

      'Don't look like that,' said Gulmaer. 'I'm not dead yet.'

      'Let's see how the meeting goes before making such bold declarations.'

      The gasp that escaped Gulmaer may have been a laugh.

      He was barely a ghost of the man Thjorn remembered, thankfully still on this side of the final border. His massive frame was a husk, his eyes holding little of their former sparkle.

      The place also felt less lively. It was becoming a tomb, the trophies plastered around the walls now reminders of who the occupant had once been. A long time ago.

      Seeing him like this actually threw Thjorn off his stride, though he seldom let that slow him down for long. 'How're the local thugs?'

      'Volatile,' said Gulmaer, shaking his head. 'A year ago they actually started to have hope. But that led nowhere.'

      'Centuries take time to undo.'

      'In case you'd failed to notice, we're not a patient people.'

      Thjorn reclined into the armchair facing Gulmaer's. Not exactly comfortable, it at least offered some informality. 'Will there be trouble?'

      Gulmaer shrugged. 'The Scarred were weakened by what seemed the failure of their raid, even if Amar brought back some kind of a victory. Not the kind they go looking for. It's weakened Amar's standing, so there's always the danger he'll feel compelled to act, despite my advice. There's still enough follow him to present a danger and reignite tensions.'

      'Anything I can do to help you curb their tendencies?'

      'I don't know, is there?' asked Gulmaer, a weak edge to his voice. 'If you knew of anything you'd already have done it, without asking. No, even the simple politics of Elinar can get messy now and again. It's better without your involvement. You're still viewed as a troublemaker, as well as a foreigner. And I doubt you'll hang around long anyway, will you?'

      'Probably not.'

      'And why would you? Are we still useful pawns?'

      Thjorn held the old man's challenging gaze. 'I've never seen you as a pawn.'

      'Isn't everyone, though. Just a pawn to help you win the game.'

      Why the needling? Thjorn couldn't detect much actual bitterness in his words. 'Is that what you think this is about?'

      'What then, if not a game? What are you really after?'

      'Peace.'

      Another dusty laugh escaped the old man. 'Peace. Come now. You're not stupid. Peace isn't in man's nature.'

      'It's in his dreams though. And isn't imposing our dreams on our nature what aspirations are all about. So maybe I'll settle for less conflict. Or less all-encompassing conflict. Smaller, silent wars, that leave the poor folk alone to live their lives.'

      'When did you ever care about the poor folk?' asked Gulmaer. 'You want peace so glyphs can prosper.'

      Thjorn couldn't deny that. 'The two goals aren't exclusive. Far from it.'

      'But the poor aren't your primary concern. None of us are.'

      'Doesn't mean I won't try to do what's right for all.'

      'No, I know that.' Gulmaer glanced away, sighing. 'Though often it may seem otherwise. Yet in your grand plans few of us were given any choice but to do as you wished. Unless you knew our choices would be what you wished them to be.'

      Thjorn said nothing.

      'I say this not in indignation. You have done what you can for my people. I see that. It's simply the way you are.'

      'Is this why you wanted to see me?' asked Thjorn, starting to grow impatient.

      Gulmaer shrugged. 'Indulge an old man. And let him make his point.'

      'He has a

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