Chapter fifty-seven

Ortia

 

Marthian knew that something was wrong. There was nothing specific that she could put her finger on, but a series of unexplained events were worrying her.  

‘So – you’re sure there are no reports of intruders or anything else suspicious?’

Lieutenant Campanula, Viola’s successor as the proconsul’s intelligence officer, was seriously out of her depth. She shook her head unconvincingly. She was still waiting to be told she could sit down.

‘Just some odd illnesdses, winds where they shouldn’t be, objects moved in strane ways. I’m not sure it amounts to much…’

‘Well, I don’t want anything moving without me finding out about it…’

Campanula’s face fell.

‘Umm…’ she started

Marthian laughed and nodded.

‘Not everything… ‘she admitted, ‘…that is a bit of a tall order…’

Campanula smiled in relief.

Without warning the double doors that led into the garden sprung open and a thin, long-haired young man with a surprisingly luxuriant blonde-white beard came rapidly through the door. He was dressed in a rustic smock and grey trousers and carried a scythe. Neither elf even looked up at him.

‘Just grabbing some secateurs’ he mumbled. He proceeded to rummage around in a cupboard. Marthian looked across at him.

‘You’re meant to knock, Erik’ she said half-heartedly. He turned to her and smiled and then he was gone again. He closed the door with exaggerated care.

Marthian sighed.

‘It’s hard to take security seriously, I accept, when Formish princes wander around the proconsular residence unchallenged…’

Campanula looked alarmed.

‘You don’t think that he’s a spy, do you?’

Marthian lifted her fingers up to her forehead. A headache was forming there like a thundercloud.

‘Of course I don’t. The threat will not come from strange young barbarians with a love of horticulture…’

Campanula relaxed.

‘Where will it come from then, ma’am?’

The proconsul shrugged.

‘From the east, as always, I suppose, but it’s hard to tell’ 

‘I’ve doubled the guard under the city, as you requested…’

‘Good. But I suspect you could quadruple it and it still wouldn’t be safe’

There was a knock on her inner door. Campanula went to the door and opened it. Lieutenant Gaius was there and with him, what looked like an old man wrapped in a grey cloak. His head was cowled.

‘I have a visitor for you ma’am’ he announced

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me’ said Rem, in Ethian, lowering his cowl. Campanula looked up at Marthian, who nodded, and then the lieutenant scurried out. Gaius closed the door as soon as she had left. The Plains Dweller and the Ortian were left alone together.

Marthian studied him. She hadn’t seen him since he had left the city more than a year before and she was surprised to see him now. Surprised and worried, as this was unlikely to be a social call. The storm of her headache had now broken. A vein was throbbing.

‘Please sit, Master Healer’

Rem shook his head.

‘I will stand. Your chairs are not comfortable for my legs…’

Why hadn’t she remembered that? She tried to look beyond the awkwardness of their relationship, but it was hard. Rem just didn’t like Elven civilisation; although there were at least some elves that he was fond of. Marthian doubted very much that she was one of them.

‘Of course…’ was all she managed to say. Rem stood with his arms folded.

‘I have spoken to the High Priestess, and now I have come to talk to you’

Marthian was astonished by the improvement in his spoken Ethian. She suspected that now his was better than hers.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, abandoning all formalities.

He looked round her office. 

‘Is it safe to speak here?’  

She shrugged.

‘Who can tell? Our enemies are clever and have great resources…’

Rem nodded, which was a step forward. At least he seemed to acknowledge that they shared some foes.

‘…but this must be as safe as anywhere, I suppose…’

Rem moved close enough to her to whisper in her ear. 

‘The archwitch named Kratos is coming to destroy the Lady’

For a moment Marthian was unable to process this information. Who was Kratos? Then she remembered Mr Hardacre talking about him. He was one of two old witches who the Hybitor fought against. She had rather thought that their conflict was a purely human thing. Clearly she had been wrong.

‘Why?’

He stepped away from her. His grey eyes fixed on her brown ones. She felt an urge to look away, but she resisted it.

‘I was not told why. Does it matter? A threat is a threat whatever the reason behind it’

Marthian’s headache was gone. Sadly, it had been replaced by a physical terror. Her hands felt clammy and her heart was racing. Her mouth was almost too dry to speak.

‘Have you told the High Priestess?’ she croaked

‘Yes’

‘What did she say?’

‘That the Lady would resist, as always’

‘Well, that’s good – isn’t it?’

Rem shook his head.

‘She will fail’

The headache came back. She felt the strong urge to lie down and pull a blanket up over her head. A tiny part of her laughed drily at this – there’s no-one left to make things right but you, so get on with it.

‘How do you know that?’

‘My Master told me – Kratos is very strong’

But… How can a witch kill a god? Isn’t that against nature?’

Rem grinned savagely.

‘I think that is exactly why it is possible…It seems that Kratos has defeated nature’

‘What can we do?’

‘I am not sure, but my master told me that I must rely on my friends’

‘What did he mean by that?’

He shook his head but didn’t attempt to answer her question.

‘I need to find Kath… but I have no means to communicate with her. And perhaps no time to find her on foot’

‘Why do you need to contact her?’

‘Because it maybe that she will know what to do…’

‘I’m sorry – I have no idea where they are’

‘Then Mr Hardacre, I must contact him. Do you have a way to reach him?’

Marthian didn’t reply immediately to this. Instead she reached under her desk for a secret drawer. She pulled out a sheet of white paper.

‘Mail paper’ she explained, ‘I know how to use it’

Rem looked at it.

‘I remember Mr Hardacre using this. It has strong old magic on it…’

‘Magecraft’ she explained, ‘ancient magic from the beginning of this time’

Rem wrinkled up his face.

‘You mean elven magic… I do not trust it’

A spasm of irritation briefly overcame her fears.

‘Well, you’ll have to. I have no other way of reaching him’

Rem nodded slightly, acknowledging her point.

‘I’ll talk then and you write’

Marthian sat down at her desk. She took the small pot of squid ink out of the same secret draw and placed it on the table. Then, she unscrewed the top of the pot and dipped a fresh quill into it.  She wrote at the top of the paper, Mr Laurence Hardacre, Merchants’ Quarter, Kinspit, Paror.

‘I’m ready…’ she said.