Chapter sixty-six a

An even more uncertain space

They appeared in a massive storm. The rain drove down on them and they slithered about in a thick layer of mud. Celia looked across at Owen, hopefully. He shook his head. Together they struggled to higher, slightly drier, ground.  The earth beneath them shook, making each of them fall over, several times. It felt like an earthquake that was starting but never reaching its full power. They clung on to each other, half-helping, half-hindering, but they finally found a slightly drier place.

‘This is another simulacrum’ he said, still struggling to stand, ‘this one is even more vague than the ones that came before’

They looked down at the sea of mud; it seemed to be writhing on the ground before them; parts of the earth rose and then fell back, other made shallow depressions in the ground. Clouds swirled through the air and then abruptly dissipated. Rain fell in showers across tiny patches of ground and then was gone.  Owen sniffed the air, chanting as he smelt.

‘This is one forming – it’s more complex than the others but it’s not yet complete’

He dropped down n to his knees and pulled a small paper bag out of his pocket. He filled it with mud, scrabbling with his hands. Celia walked over and stared and him quizzically.

‘I always carry a few bags… Just in case there’s something interesting to collect…’ he said, to her unspoken question.

Celia smiled at him.

‘Of course – just in case…’

He glared at her, mildly wounded by the sarcasm.

‘Like now…’ he muttered.

Celia’s smile disappeared.

‘Good point’ she admitted.

‘Anyway – let’s have a look around’

The area was small, not much larger than a cricket pitch, and chaotic. It took a long time to search it, as it kept shifting around so much.  At one moment they would be walking up a hill and in the next the hill would flatten out and hollow into a depression. There was no vegetation anywhere, not even the false grass that they had seen in the other two spaces. Bit by bit, though, Owen began to get a feel for the magical signature of the place. Finally he sat on a mud-smeared temporary hillock and announced his findings.

‘It’s a space in the process of forming; an embryonic world – but one much more dynamic and powerful than the earlier ones. This looks like it could evolve into something almost real. However, it is so elementary that it has neither end nor beginning and certainly no place’

‘So what are you saying, O?’

He tried to smile optimistically at her, but the result was more grim than gay.

‘I can’t find a way out; and there are still no traces to teleport to’

Celia stopped for a moment, carefully wiped the mud from her eyes, and concentrated hard. For the first time she could sense some shadowy hint of spell traces, but it was too difficult to recognise them; there was no way to use them to blink away.

She shook her head

‘I’m almost there – but they’re too vague’

Owen thought for a moment

‘Who’s the most powerful witch in the coven – not counting you, of course…’

‘Ha, ha’ she said

‘Well, anyway, what’s the answer?’ he asked 

‘Dai’ murmured Celia, without further hesitation, ‘strong and deep’

He nodded his enthusiastic agreement.

‘Very true – now try to find his trace’

She tried, but everything was too vague. She held on to Owen’s arms.

‘We’re doomed aren’t we?’ she moaned

‘Possibly… we have to keep looking. We can’t give up hope yet’

They sat there; looking for a trace of a powerful active mind. But as time went on, their spirits dropped. They were just two stranded souls covered in mud.

Chapter sixty-seven

Ortia besieged

 

By the end of the next day they could see the dust rising in the east and by dusk the lights of the approaching army were clear and bright, particularly to Viola’s eyes. They raced on, fearful that they would be caught up in a sea of attackers.

‘Who are they?’ asked Kath

‘Tlaxacans’ muttered, Viola, ‘that’s all I need to know’

Hardacre said nothing, but even he spent a lot of the time peering out of the coach.

‘Will we get there before them?’ asked Kath

Viola shrugged

‘Let’s hope so…’

There were no staging posts beyond the coal mining town of Karpika and so the poor horses had to gallop on with no hope of rest before Ortia, just under a day away. It rapidly became clear, however, that they would not get to the city before their enemies.

Hardacre told the coach driver to stop, a few miles from where they could see the encircling Tlaxacan fires.  This was only the vanguard, but it would be impossible to avoid encountering enemy troops however they approached.

They stood on a ridge overlooking the city. Viola could see that the walls were already covered in archers, most of whom were only a little less eagle eyed than she.

‘Even if we could avoid the enemy, we’re likely to get shot by our friends’

Hardacre nodded: ‘we need to find another way to get in’

‘How will you do that?’ asked Viola

‘I have a plan’ he said, ‘but first we need to persuade the coachman to lend us his coach’

 

***

The coach continued its journey towards the city. Hardacre had paid off the coacher and his postilion. He changed into dustier clothes and took up position driving the coach. This was easy as all he had to do was point it in a straight line.   They were stopped within a few minutes of seeing the besieging troops. There weren’t many, as yet, but they still represented an unbreachable obstacle.

A captain and his entourage, about twenty men, approached them. Hardacre clambered down from the coach as they approached.

‘Hello there!’ he shouted in his best Eth City accent.

The captain rode close. He didn’t attempt to get down from his horse.

‘Who are you?’ he asked, in perfectly passable, if heavily accented, Ethian.

‘I’m Mr Samuel Denny – I’m a…’ Hardacre paused for a second, ‘…hired hand’ He reached down to where he might be concealing a knife if he had ever carried one.

‘And where are you from Samuel Denny?’

‘Eth…’

‘And why are you here?’

‘I’m returning a prisoner; there’s a ransom to be paid’

‘Show us’ the captain barked

Hardacre opened the door of the coach and gestured. Kath pulled Viola out – she was gagged and blindfolded and led by a thick rope that’s knotted end bound her hands. The elf glared at her captors and then at the Tlaxacans.

‘Who is that?’

‘An Ortian elf. We captured her running away, some time ago. She was consorting with humans. Mucky business. We wanted shot of her and the authorities here are willing to pay’

The captain considered Viola with unhidden disgust.  For a moment Hardacre thought that he was going to kick her. He grimly prepared himself to do nothing if he did.

‘Nasty little thing. But. That’s nothing to do with us…’

‘True – yes – I can see that – that’s why you need to let us through’

‘I can’t let you through – can you not see that this is a siege?’

‘Makes no difference to me – I can’t return without the ransom. In elf rounds, for preference. It’ll only take ten minutes to pop inside and get it’

‘You can’t’

Hardacre affected to study the captain closely.

‘You pay us then...’

The captain frowned.

‘We can’t. We have no money. Well, not yet…’

He grinned, nodding over to the old white city.

‘But….soon…’

Hardacre frowned, the sort of frown that a publican assumes when he hears the words put it on my slate, landlord.

‘I can’t wait that long’

‘Well, then, you’ll have to go back without the ransom then’

‘My master won’t like not getting his due’

‘Who’s your master?’

Hardacre forced his lips into a thin line.

‘Can’t say – but he’s easily upset; and he has a lot of powerful friends’

‘Eth is a long way from here…’

Hardacre shook his head. He lied smoothly.

‘Two days away; they have troops everywhere –in Amansk, Gorodnikov, even Karpika’

‘You don’t scare us. There can only be a few in each of those places…’

‘And witches’ muttered Hardacre, ‘there are always witches’

He stopped for a moment.

‘What’s your name, by the way?’ he asked, with an air of innocence. He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket and then scrambled around in the same place for a pencil

The captain turned abruptly and went to talk to his peers. There was a few minutes while the three friends were left considering their shared awkwardness

The captain returned.

‘We’ve agreed to let you in’ he grunted, ‘but we have a condition…’

‘Which is?’ asked Hardacre

‘You have to let us smuggle in two spies, inside your coach’

Hardacre didn’t hesitate.

‘Fine by me…’ he paused a beat.

‘That’ll cost you ten elf rounds’

‘What?’ bellowed the Captain, deeply affronted.

‘Or equivalent’ Hardacre conceded.

The Captain made as if to argue with this but then stopped himself.

‘We’ll pay you in gold’

Hardacre smiled.

‘No skin off my nose, mate, how you pay me, as long as I see the colour of your money.’

 

***

 

They piled back in the coach, now discombobulated by the two Tlaxacan spies lying at their feet. Kath almost felt sorry for them – she hoped that their spying days would soon be over.

They rolled forward, past the besieging army and into the no-man’s land between them and the wall. Hardacre waved a white shirt up at the battlements and hoped for the best. At least it was an Imperial coach. There were no arrows, at least for the time being.

A small door in the wall opened up and an elf looked out at them without leaving the safety of her little hiding place.

‘Who are you?’ she shouted up.

Hardacre made his way down to talk to her. His movements were exaggeratedly careful. A stray arrow whooshed over his head but he ignored it. There was a brief  whispered conversation and then they were let into the eastern gate.

By the time the city guards converged on the coach to find out exactly what was going on, an untied Viola had arrested the two spies, her sharp blade at their throats. It took a little while to explain what was happening, but as soon as the garrison saw Viola, in her battered imperial jacket, they were happy enough to believe Hardacre’s story.

They led the prisoners away. Hardacre was busy talking to a garrison captain, while Kath was blinking in the hard winter sunshine.  Major Viola pointed at a random soldier.

‘Citizen – take me to the Proconsul’ she commanded.  

Chapter sixty-eight

The Mage Agora

 

‘What’s going on?’ asked George, as soon as Queen Sophia and her treacherous consort had left.

‘Bloody elves’ John muttered, ‘they’ve always thought that they rule the place’

‘Not that…’

John made a sour face.

‘Huw? Oh – he’s a fool, a stupid fool’

George considered this.

‘Possibly, but we don’t know the full story…’

‘He’s betrayed us; there’s no excuse for that’

George frowned.

‘What did he mean by “the voice”?’

John shook his head.

‘I have no idea…’ he said

‘Well, we need to find out’ said George,  ‘There was something going on. I knew that, I’m afraid; I just didn’t pursue it far enough’

John pushed his extreme irritation as deep inside himself as it would go.

‘Too late for regrets now – we’ll just have to deal with it’   

George stopped talking for a second. John looked over at the mages. They seemed to be having a far more fractious conversation.

‘Oh well’ whispered John, ‘at least they seem to have more problems than even we have…’

George smiled.

‘Also – we need to find out what our new Queen is up to…’ he said

 ‘Too many questions…’ muttered John.

The mages turned to address them again, and then the talk lumbered discontentedly on.  John was finding it hard to summon up much enthusiasm, now that he knew that the mages didn’t really want to help and that they were all under acting under duress. They spent a lot of time huddled together in their separate groups, whispering.

John knew that the mages would talk for as long as it took to buy them time. They had no intention of helping. It was clear that at the moment the agora broke up they would run for Oikonde and from there flee to Helios. The only reason that they didn’t go immediately was the threat of their new mistress. This was a waste of everyone’s time. As much as the mages, John was looking for a way out.

Hours on, a mail paper phutted into existence and dropped into his lap. He picked it up eagerly and read it.

 

Dear President Ismay,

 

I have had an indirect message from Rem, via Proconsul Marthian. It seems that I am needed in Ortia as soon as is possible. I have made the decision to take Dr Fielding and Major Viola there by the most direct route that I could think of. This meant using the Council’s beacon, for which I apologise.

 

I appreciate that you may well have a myriad of problems yourself, but I am convinced that a threat to Ortia is a threat to us all. I will keep you informed, but I regret that you may have to come to the city at some point in the near future.

 

Despite protocol I will set up a beacon in Ortia with my trace signature. I will use the usual procedure and not activate my trace until I know that you are definitely needed.

 

Your servant,

 

Laurence Hardacre

 

There was nothing else that John could do now but wait for more information. The mages droned on and on and time dragged; he was certain they were making no progress. George did most of the talking – he had extraordinary reserves of patience and his Elven was exemplary. However, every step forward he took was accompanied by at least three steps beack – they would have to check the facts, consult an expert, run a feasibility study. It all added up to no progress at all.

A few hours later, when even George began to tire, the second, and completely unexpected, mail paper dropped from the sky. 

Chapter sixty-nine

Ortia

 

Rem greeted them in the Proconsul’s office, happy but wary. He embraced Kath with unalloyed joy, shook Hardacre’s hand, and nodded at Viola. Viola was sad to think that his old prejudices were still there even after everything they had been through together.

Rem allowed himself no time for reminiscences or nostalgia. He took a step back and rested his hand on Marthian’s table. 

‘Kratos plans to murder the Lady’

Viola was horrified, but also puzzled.

‘How is that possible?’

Rem didn’t respond immediately but Hardacre did. He shook his head.

‘It’s possible’ he muttered

Viola remembered Bea in the Prime-space. If Kratos were even more powerful, then anything might be possible.

‘What on earth do you think we can do?’ asked Kath

Rem frowned.

‘I’m sorry Kath – I have no idea, I’m just obeying my Master’s order’

‘Yes – of course…’ said Kath, her voice small with contrition.

Hardacre cleared his throat: it was the gentlest of interjectory utterances. They all looked at him. 

‘I will call the council’ 

Viola started.

‘What, here? I’m sure that would be against Imperial laws… Shouldn’t we inform the Emperor first?’

Hardacre had already pulled a stick of chalk out of his pocket.

‘You do what you need to do, major; and I’ll do what I need to do’

Viola stepped in front of him.

‘Not here – you can’t just do witchcraft in the Proconsul’s rooms’

Hardacre looked genuinely crestfallen but he didn’t stop.

‘For once, there’s no time for etiquette - lives are at stake’

‘At least wait for Marthian to come back…’

Hardacre shook his head.

‘She has a city to defend.  We have no time…’

Viola stepped aside. Hardacre chalked out his pentangle on the wooden floor. Once it was finished he took a deep breath and then whispered the invocation trigger word.

A hole opened up at head height. Through it they could see the hazy iamge of a redheaded woman.

‘Miss Preece!’ exclaimed Hardacre

‘Is that you, Laurence – what’s happening?’

‘Mae angen i chi alw y cwfen[1]’

The voice came back with the tiniest tremor

‘To where?’

‘To my trace; I have chalked a pentangle’

‘Where is that?

‘I’m not going to reveal my location. I will explain to each councillor separately as they arrive’

‘Understood’ said Bronwyn. The conversation ended. Her face disappeared.

Viola stared down at the pentangle.

How long will it take?’ asked Kath

Hardacre shook his head.

‘I do not know, but I will stay here until they have all arrived’

 ‘I will stay here with you, then, Mr Hardacre’ said Rem

Hardacre bowed to him.

‘Thank you, Master Healer’

 Viola frowned.

‘We can’t all stay here. I need to find a weapon and report to the Proconsul’

‘We two will be sufficient I am sure’ said Hardacre

Kath looked up at Viola expectantly.

‘And what should I do? I’m at a loss to see what use I’m going to be… I have no desire to use a weapon’

Viola gestured to the door.

 ‘Of course not. Go and find that secret book – before the war starts in earnest’

Kath nodded eagerly, she was happy to have something useful to do. She hurried away.

 

***

 

 

It took a while to persuade the archivist to let her see the books.  She had to explain in great detail why she needed to consult them; but once she had made it clear that her researches would help Viola then most of the opposition evaporated away.

The library was housed in a three long shed-like buildings in the centre of the  complex.  As Kath was not only a barbarian but also an unbeliever, she had to be blindfolded and led by a circuitous route to the archive.

As soon as they were indie one of the rooms she gently unfastened Kath’s blindfold. Kath was astonished to find that the room was packed full of ancient tomes. A quick scan showed that they were all in Archaic Elven.

‘Why are they all in the old tongue?’ she asked

‘They are books awaiting translation for the public library’ the archivist explained., ‘but we no longer have many who have the necessary training. I am about the youngest with a translator’s degree from Vyrnia’

That explained why it was so musty in the room.  No-one had used it for its original purpose in hundreds of years.

‘What about the Skiophographia?’

The Archivist shook her head.

‘There’s already a well-known translation of that…’ she explained

‘Not really…’ muttered Kath, remembering the heavily abridged versions in the Kinspit library.

The Archivist ignored her. She pointed over to an entire shelf of books.

‘There they are’

She glared at Kath. She wondered why they were here if they weren’t going to be translated. The archivist was very stern.

‘Don’t touch anything else…’

Kath nodded, assuming her most serous expression.

‘…I’ll be back periodically to check on you’

Kath continued to nod. The archivist backed away slowly. Kath was delighted to see her leave.

She ran her hand along the histories. They were bound in some luxuriant leather, but they weren’t, in eleven terms, particularly old – perhaps no more than five hundred years old.

She began to read the first page of the first book. There was no introduction, it just began abruptly

 

river ran, past Adeolus and Evanile, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, from its source to its mouth, the sea at Hesperos. It had ninety three tributaries from its upper reaches to its mouth. They were, in order, the rivers Ongilia, Retratus, Hemile…  

 

For a while this completely stumped her, but something about the fragmentary nature of the prose gave her a clue. She remembered how the Archaic Elves had written their script in the most ancient days – it was like a plough team working a field: first, right to left and then left to right. Perhaps this was a boustrophedon work. Right to left she thought, then left to right. But on a bigger scale.

She worked her way along the books and found the last volume, one hundred and fifty two volumes to the right.  She pulled it out and turned to the last page:

 

The First part – on the rivers of Visneoria. There are fort-two primary waterways in Greater Visneoria, including Eddorre.

 

Kath skipped backwards, page by page, until she came to this, at the bottom of a page about a third of the way back in the volume:

 

The exact mouth of that river is unknown as it enters the sea somewhere on the unexplored coast of Semprelysia. The thirteenth river of Greater Visneoria is the Riberia. Of old the…

 

…river ran… thought Kath, so that’s it. A bloody hard read for anyone without infinite patience. Or a lot of time on their hands. Or just an elf…

 

 

Kath pulled the scrap of paper out of her pocket. What was that page number?  – page fourteen-thousand, thirteen hundred and three. But was that of the main work or of the secret history part? There was only one way to find out.  

She began slipping a book mark into the volume every fifty pages as a way of counting them. She followed the sinuous progress of the narrative from book to book. Eventually she got to the right page, but it was a description of the court of Laurentius, the eleventh Emperor. It seemed to have nothing to do at all with Viola.  The next page was an example table of court expenses.

She probed further, darting back and forth between the volumes. Eventually, in part CC she found it. The Secret History – printed only on every ninth page, intercalated between the overt history, and still with no page numbers. Eventually, several hours later, she had found the page. It was clearly the right one, this time.

She copied out the page with great care, forcing herself to be accurate but not dwelling too long on the content. She knew she had very little time. She knew what it meant well enough, however.  She needed to take the page to Viola. She had to read it as soon as possible.

---

[1] The traditional words in Enchanter’s Rhylic used to summon the coven. It is a formal, binding, order that cannot be refused. Hardacre was the only non-council-member with the power to invoke it.