Chapter fifty-two

Kinspit – the University Senate Building

 

They gathered in the Great Hall of the chancellery on the fifth floor of the Core Building.  John had brought George and Huw with him. He had chosen George because he was the oldest, a former president, and well known to the mages; Huw because he had been very keen to be involved. John assumed that it was because Huw was Stephen’s apprentice, and Stephen had been the biggest elf-lover within the coven. They had both come at the last moment and there hadn’t been time to prepare.

They sat in the enormous hall, usually used for formal dinners and graduation ceremonies, with the three witches on one side of the long table and the mages on the other. The table hovered just below waist height, it was clearly made of a long plank of Zymena wood. It was more impressive than practical; if you paced a notebook on it and tried to write then the table would bob up and down. It was like trying to write on a big floating cork.

They sat there uncomfortable; waiting for something to happen. Huw looked particularly nervous to John, and he wondered about the wisdom of including him, but if he wasn’t allowed to pick women (those were Agora rules) then the choice was fairly limited.

Choron, the Strategoi of the Kinspit Mages, rose and spoke to them in a very soft voice. They strained to hear him.

‘Greetings to all who gather in this place,

Mage and witch; occupants of Skiophos

We come here now to speak of doom and power

The hour approaches…’

‘…fear stalks us daily’ added the elf sitting to Choron’s left. Choron glanced at his colleague and continued.  He raised his voice a little.

‘And now you seek our hasty counsel, men

Made to see just parts of dappled worlds

Care not to see their fabricant corrode

Hope not to have their tiny realm destroyed

‘tis unsurprising; no doubt alarming         

But what business is it to worry us?

When you know we can leave at any time’

 He stopped, as if waiting for that truth to sink in.

‘Now introduce yourselves you witch children,

And tell us why you need to speak to us’

‘I’m John Ismay, president of our council’

This simple sentence was greeted with gales of laughter, not unfriendly but undoubtedly unflattering.

‘I don’t understand…’ John spluttered

‘…no, of course you don’t…’ chortled Choron.

George whispered in his ear.

‘You were up a syllable…’

John turned to glare at George.

‘What?’ he hissed

‘Blank verse…’ he explained

‘What?’ John repeated, just a little more desperately

‘Iambic pentameter, only… At an Agora; age old tradition’

John’s lips thinned to a line.

‘You bloody well talk. You seem to know what you’re doing’

George frowned and nodded uncomfortably. He turned to Choron.

‘I am George Blackthorne, we have met before’

The laughter died down and Choron smiled approvingly.

‘Indeed we have, old friend; well met I say’

George smiled formally.

‘Well met, indeed, but times are running dry,

Forces move, deadly forces, threatening’

Huw looked even more bewildered than John. He sat, clearly hoping that no-one would address him. Where by Jones is Owen thought John, I should have brought him.

‘I am Glossion…’ Said a younger elf, sitting to Choron’s left.

‘…the historian’ completed Choron emphatically, as if they should all know who he was.     

‘And I am Tachys,’ said the third elf sourly, ‘no historian’

‘Tachys is a judge’ explained Choron, ‘but slow to condemn,

Despite the promise of his given name’

There was another academics chuckle. Choron smiled a self-satisfied smile.

They don’t care thought John, they don’t care if this world lives or dies. Perhaps they already think it’s doomed.

 ‘Are your fellow witches tongue tied or tired?’ asked Choron of George

George shook his head; tension was making his words come out awkwardly.

‘Waiting for the right moment to chip in,

John Ismay here and Huw Hargest, their names’

‘The hargest name to remember, I think’ said Glossion, smiling at his own wit.

There was another brief flurry of laughter.

John was bored with this; they had to get on to something substantial. He tried again.

‘The risks are greater than you seem to think

Our foes’ actions may bring us to the brink’

Choron’s face fell and the three elves stared at each other, in evident disbelief.  A silent disapproving space opened up between the two parties.

‘It mustn’t rhyme…’ whispered George, ‘they think that’s very vulgar’

John sighed but he was determined to try to save the moment.

‘I am sorry, I am but a rough sod

Dug up, discarded, from some stony ground

And I am like this world, just a plaything

It seems, for gods and elves. All the same

I love this world where we were coarsely made

And would have you help me save it…’

He paused, groping for the remaining two syllables.

‘…I will’ said a small voice from the far side of the hall.

The mages gasped in unison. All eyes were drawn across the room to the origin of the words. Choron’s voice cracked with apprehension.

‘You are not permitted here, my lady’

A small round elf-woman, apparently in her very early twenties, appeared from behind a curtain. She looked particularly well-fed. She was wearing a loose purple robe and a circlet of laurel leaves around her head. Her voice dripped with disdain.

‘This is my grandfather’s possession, is it not? I can do anything I want here’

 Choron stood up and bowed to her, extremely formally, as did the other two elves, each one trying to outdo the last in the depth and sincerity of their bow. John could sense that they were terrified. Despite her appearance, this was someone very important. John waited a moment, stood up and bowed himself. Who was she? He made an educated guess.

‘My lady, I have met your grandfather, and your father too, if I am not greatly mistaken’

 The girl’s expression shifted from contempt to suspicion.

‘How can you have? They are in the Other Place; they would never come anywhere near here…’

Glossion was shaking his head slowly. His voice dropped to a whisper.

‘Princess Sophia, ‘tis unbecoming,

 To consort so freely with a base one’

‘Who is she?’ whispered George to John. John responded aloud and in the Old Tongue.

‘Sophia Palaeologus, I assume; daughter of John Palaeologus; granddaughter of the Basilieus in Epipelagia’

A smile broke out on Sophia’s face. It turned her instantly from a spoilt child into a very grown up woman. Her blue eyes narrowed; intense and dangerous.

‘My Uncle John’ she said, ‘but yes, you are otherwise correct’

‘Why are you here?’ asked John, happy to be free of the strictures of elven poetics.

Choron, however, struggled on, talking across his princess.

‘She is on leave to here from… somewhere else.

She isn’t meant to be in here at all’

‘They mean’ she said, crisply, ‘that I am in exile’

 ‘Why?’ asked John

‘I won’t follow the rules…’

‘I can see that’

Choron stood up and waved her away; this clearly took a fair amount of moral courage. Sweat had broken out on his brow.

‘My Lady, I must tell you once again,

You have no formal status in this place’

Sophia snarled at him; for a moment it was if she were a she wolf protecting her cubs. Then John realised, she wasn’t fat at all, she was several month’s pregnant.

‘I order you to stop that stupid way of talking. In my realm no-one will claim superiority by the pattern of syllabic stresses in their sentences’

The sweat began to form a glassy sheen on Choron’s forehead. But he struggled on.

‘This is an Agora, the rules are set

By our ancestors, not by my wishes’

She smiled and then she shifted, without warning or signal, into a leopard. Her belly was still full; her coat was a glossy gold with pure black spots. John was in awe – he had never seen such a smooth transition into animal form. This was not just a princess; she was a mage of extraordinary power. John felt a chill in his bones – not another enemy, please…

Sophia padded towards Choron. He lifted his hands up and gabbled.

‘Of course, your highness. We will talk in prose

If that is what you really want from us’

She shook her big feline head and pawed him where he stood, gently, with her claws retracted.

‘I am sorry, your highness’ whimpered Choron

The leopard pulled back her paw and returned to elven form. She stood there completely naked, with her belly taut and full. She nodded at her fallen robe, expectantly. Huw got up and handed it to her reverentially. Another chill rippled through John. What is going on?

‘Huw?’ he said

‘I’m sorry, John,’ Huw muttered.

John still had no clear idea what was happening but he knew enough.

‘You fool’ he hissed, ‘you bloody fool’

Sophia stared at Huw and beckoned him towards her.

‘Huw, ignore him. Come with me – I’ll look after you…’

Huw walked over to her eagerly. She squeezed his hand as he approached. He turned back and stared at his former friends. His eyes beseeched them.  

‘She can stop the Voice – I no longer hear it. I know that she will be a wise and mighty ruler. Please listen to her’

‘Ruler?’ asked George, who was the only one still sitting, ‘ruler of what exactly?’

Sophia thought about this in a very studied way, as if no-one had ever asked her this before.

‘Of elves and humans’

She stopped for a second as a shadow of uncertainty flickered over her face.

‘If they will have me’

George started to respond, ‘but…’, and then he stopped, clearly thinking better of it. John sighed in relief. Not the right time to get into that he silently agreed.

Sophia ignored him. She lowered her arms, palms outwards as if beckoning them. Her voice became very gentle.

‘I just popped in to request, esteemed mages, that you provide whatever help you can to  support Mr Ismay’s coven. I hear that they are our only hope’

The mages murmured and looked at each other, but none of them said anything. Sophia waited. Choron was the first to break the silence of mutterings.

‘But, your highness… We are all agreed that Skiophos is doomed’

The others hummed in vague agreement. Sophia showed her teeth again.

‘My kingdom cannot be doomed – I have only just decided to acquire it’

Choron looked around the table. No-one seemed at all keen to respond to that. John smiled sympathetically; he felt sorry for him even though he had revealed himself to be both unreliable and obfuscatory.

Choron sighed.

‘As you wish your majesty…’

Queen Sophia turned and led her consort away. Huw didn’t look back again. At the door, at the far end of the long room, she turned and boomed back at them.

‘You can all stay here until you have sorted something out’

She swept out of the room, her robe flashing purple in the magecraft light. The mages and witches slumped back into their chairs, and began again.