Chapter thirty

Ortia

 

Marthian went to sit at her usual place in the Emperor’s council chamber, at the opposite end of the rectangular walnut table, in the traditional proconsular position.  The table had been used for war councils before but it had somehow gained an extra sheen since Pallatian had re-occupied the PMB[1].

She had almost lowered her bottom on to the chair when the Emperor had nodded at her to stand up. She suppressed a niggle of irritation and struggled back up as gracefully as she could manage.  She assumed a diplomatic smile and walked over to her liege lord.

‘Sit here’ he said, pointing to the seat on his right hand. Marthian was shocked. She just prevented herself blurting out ‘that’s Titanius’s place’. She looked across to find out where the general was – he was already settled in on Pallatian’s left hand side. She caught his eye, he smiled serenely. This was clearly a set up.

‘Sit down, dear Marthian – I wanted to have you as close as possible to me’

In anyone even slightly more heterosexual than Pallatian this would have seemed a bit creepy, but from him it just seemed overly friendly and cloying. It also suggested that her fears that he was becoming more and more reliant on her might well be true. Worst of all, he had started to use her first name.

She smiled politely and sat down. Aurelian shot her a look that she couldn’t read and he settled down in his usual spot, which was now next to her empty chair. This was an inner war council meeting, there were just the four of them, and so he was now isolated at one end of the table. She tried to catch his eye again, but this time he was pointedly avoiding her gaze. As so often happened, he had failed to read her mind – a grievous fault of his. She forced herself to concentrate on the Emperor.

‘I’ve been thinking about our present predicament a lot; and I have taken heed of the Proconsul’s advice’

Marthian wondered which bit of advice he meant – her lord seemed addicted to advice but she suspected it was only hers he listened to, and only for the time being. Who knew who he’d turn to tomorrow? She distrusted this level of confidence in anyone. Everyone blundered eventually and when that happened the career consequences were likely to be severe. Fortunately, the Emperor didn’t wait for any response – he just carried on.

‘Tomorrow morning I plan to take the bulk of the army, along with the prisoners to Portalis, where we know that the garrison is still loyal. From there it will be far easier to pursue any campaign...’

Marthian glanced up at him. He grinned back at her with school-boy satisfaction.

‘...political or military...’

Marthian forced herself to smile back, pretending to acknowledge his cleverness. Grow up, boy she thought to herself and was immediately ashamed of her reflex. This is my Emperor she told herself.

‘...As I was saying, I intend to send out envoys to the senatorial rebels and aim to find a solution that will allow them to save face without getting off entirely free of censure’

He was still looking at Marthian – daring her to object. He shifted his gaze to Titanius and Marthian saw the slightest hint of a shrug from him. It was clear that the general had been told to keep quiet. Marthian wondered why.

‘What sort of censure?’ she asked

Pallatian thought for a moment, his right hand held up, theatrically, against the side of his head.

‘A moderate-sized fine; perhaps some confiscation of land...’

‘And why would they accept such terms?’

‘Because I am offering my own concessions – based, as it happens, on some of your proposals, Proconsul’

Marthian proceeded with exaggerated care. She could sense a trap when she saw one.

‘What sort of concessions do you mean, my lord?’

Pallatian gestured towards Titanius. Marthian hadn’t paid him much attention, but now that she was concentrating she could see that he was in civvies. He was dressed much as before but with no insignia on his jacket. She suspected that he’d just had the markings removed from his uniform. This had all the hallmarks of one of the Emperor’s elaborate practical jokes.

‘I have temporarily relieved Citizen Titanius of his duties’ explained Pallatian, combining smugness and concern in a single expression.

Marthian was shocked – this was a major over-interpretation of her advice. She searched around for a sensible response. Fortunately, the Emperor wasn’t expecting anything from her yet. He ploughed on.

‘I’ve ordered this temporary suspension in order to allow a full review to be conducted...’

Titanius nodded gravely – it seemed that he at least was taking things seriously.

 ‘I think it only fitting that the review should be written by my most trusted advisor...’

 Marthian felt a pit open up in her stomach. She knew exactly what was coming next, but there was no escaping it.

‘So, I am requesting that Proconsul Marthian write a report over the next few months and that during that time Citizen Titanius be confined to the city of Ortia under her care’

 Pallatian nodded at Marthian and she forced a smile. Who on earth will believe a report written by your new favourite? was her immediate thought.

‘In the meantime’ the Emperor continued, ‘I will need to appoint a temporary supreme commander of my army...’

He peered down at Aurelian. The familiar half-cruel smile flickered on his lips.

 ‘Come closer, General – you can’t be my Acting Supreme Commander sitting all the way over there, now, can you...’

Aurelian looked up, a little like a startled rabbit.

‘My Lord – is this some sort of joke?’

Pallatian pretended to look hurt. His eyes flashed that he was lying, however. Marthian was shocked to find that he was ready to play these tinkering games with everyone – friend or foe, lover or confidante.

‘A joke, general? Of course, it’s not a joke. In fact, it is inevitable. As the only other general here, you are, by definition, the next in line in my military command’

Marthian willed Aurelian to pull himself together. He stood up and saluted his secular commander-in-chief. 

‘At your service, my lord commander’ he barked, ‘what are your instructions?’

The Emperor turned to Titanius. They shared a moment’s silent communication, which, because of where she was sitting, she couldn’t see at all.  It was only when Titanius got up that she could see his wan smile, but he looked more tired than upset.  He walked over to  Aurelian and fished his epaulettes out of his pocket; the insignia of purple eagle and crossed sword and bow were clearly visible.  Just one extra bow for a supreme commander thought Marthian, that doesn’t seem much of an advancement. Aurelian opened his palm as if he were about to be branded. There was a still moment when the badge of office changed hands. Aurelian finally looked at Marthian – she nodded. You’re his general now she told him, wordlessly. There was a tiny lump in her throat.

‘You can stand down, Citizen Titanius’ ordered the Emperor. Titanius turned to salute his liege lord and lefty briskly. He was a good soldier – he didn’t look back.   

Marthian marvelled at the formality – even here where the only elves present were two pairs of lovers. She wondered about the material of Pallatian’s heart. Perhaps it was the marble of Imperial columns.

They sat back down; with Aurelian now to his lord’s left and Marthian on his right. Pallatian turned to Marthian. It was clear that he had read some of her feelings

‘It’s only temporary; just a tactical manoeuvre...’

Marthian forced herself to nod as enthusiastically as she was able. This seemed to satisfy Pallatian’s conscience and they moved on.

‘As I said, my plan now is to move most of my army to Portalis. From there it will be easy enough to negotiate with the rebels and pass over the prisoners at an opportune time’

Marthian considered this without thinking it through fully.

‘A sensible plan, my lord’ she said, ‘it is certainly hard to negotiate from here’

Aurelian mumbled his support. Pallatian smiled.

‘That’s good – we’ll discuss the details once you’ve sorted out the troops, General. I’d like us to leave as soon as possible’

Aurelian made no sound, but his eyes automatically shifted to catch Marthian’s gaze. She felt a sudden constriction in her chest, as if her heart were about to burst. A vision of a cold, empty bed filled her mind. She knew what these feelings meant all too well but she was determined to resist them.  She had no intention of swapping homesickness for lovesickness.

‘Will you leave any of the Imperial garrison here?’ she asked, in an even tone.

‘I’ll leave Aurelian to decide the fine details. In the meantime, proconsul, perhaps we can talk later about what additional political solutions are available...’  

‘Of course, my lord’ she said, ‘I am always at your disposal’

‘We’ll have dinner tonight, then’ he announced.

He stood up and grinned at both of them. Aurelian saluted, Marthian bowed and then he was gone.  The lovers were left to contemplate the renewal of their separation.

---

[1] The Perclivius Memorial Building. Commandeered by the usurper-proconsul, Perclivius, during the Third Tlaxacan War as his headquarters, subsequently used by the Emperor on his occasional visits to the city.

Chapter thirty-one

The Anchor, Fanemouth

 

Tom walked back to the bar with the empty glass.

‘He’s getting used to it’ said Kathleen.

Bronwyn still felt ragged but was rallying.  This was the first time that she’d left Neman since Jacantha had come back and she felt relieved to be away.

’Must be tough for him, though’ she said, ‘his pub full of conspiring witches...’

Kathleen frowned.

‘Who says we’re conspiring?’

‘You did, when you sent me a message to come and meet you here alone and to tell no-one...’

Kathleen shook her head, but it wasn’t very convincing.

‘Just a precaution’ she whispered. She couldn’t help but sweep her gaze round the bar, like a theatrical spy.

Bronwyn laughed, despite herself.

‘I’m not sure you’d be a very good conspirator, anyway, Katy; you’re not the best person I’ve ever met at hiding her feelings...’ she paused for a second, wondering if that was rude, and then added ‘...but that’s mostly a good thing...’

Kathleen narrowed her eyes and sipped her latest pint.

‘Are you discounting my bouts of kelemeia and drunkenness?’ she asked

To Bronwyn both these states seemed rather exciting – she’d never experienced either. Her white wine remained almost untouched on the table in front of her.

‘Which of those states are you in now, then?’ she asked.

Kathleen’s flashed a look at her.

‘Neither’ she said, ‘anyway, sorry that I said that – this isn’t really a joke – this is important’

Bronwyn tilted her head to say ‘I’m listening...’

Kathleen looked around again. She seemed a little embarrassed.

‘What are you looking for?’ Bronwyn asked, intrigued.

‘Not “what”  but “who”...’

Bronwyn was a patient person and she knew her friend very well. Kathleen was essentially bonkers.

‘Who are we waiting for, then?’ she asked, gently

‘I can’t really tell you...’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the person asked me not to tell you before the person turned up...’

‘And?’

‘Well, it’s a bit irritating that the person hasn’t turned up...’

Bronwyn was beginning to get bored. She sipped her wine.

‘It’s a good thing that I can make a drink last a long time...’

Kathleen was already halfway through her third pint. Tom came wandering back to their table.

‘She’s got hollow legs’ he said, proudly.

Bronwyn was taken aback.

‘That sounds painful’

Tom stared at her. Kathleen hurried to explain.

‘He means that I can drink more than you’d expect...’

‘Given her size...’ grinned Tom

Bronwyn felt like she had lived the most sheltered life of anyone in the country. Maybe she had. Neman wasn’t exactly the centre of things.

She spotted someone out of the corner of her eye. She shouted out.

‘Oh look – it’s Owen! What a coincidence!’

She stood up and waved to him.  Owen didn’t look particularly pleased.

‘Not so loud’ whispered Kathleen, shooing Tom away. He took his grin with him and settled down to talk to a gaggle of fishermen on a far table. The bar staff carried drinks to and fro.

‘We’re waiting for Owen? Why didn’t you say so?’

Bronwyn stood up to embrace him. He hugged her and then turned to Kathleen, who waved vaguely at him. He looked contrite.

‘Sorry I’m late’ he said softly, ‘I lost track of time...’

‘So you should be...’ said Kathleen, half-seriously, ‘after all, this is your idea...;

The cogs in Bronwyn’s brain finally slipped into gear.

‘Oh’ she blurted out, ‘we’re the conspiracy: Owen and you and me’

Kathleen looked up as if the pub were about to go suddenly quiet. No-one stopped yapping – the tide of din continued to wash over their table, diffuse but covering up completely their whispered conversation. She looked mildly disappointed.

Owen ignored the noise and Kathleen’s strange behaviour. He got straight to the point.

‘I need your help, Bron, to find Celia’ he said, in a normal voice.

Bronwyn had been expecting something a bit more secretive. She couldn’t think of useful anything to say.

‘Well, yes, of course – we’re all very willing to help...’   

‘Owen means something more specific’ said Kathleen

Bronwyn felt her skin prickle. She had a twinge of worry; what could they want her to do?

‘Yes, I do’ said Owen, gravely, ‘I need you to distract your sister for about half-an-hour’

Bronwyn frowned.

‘Distract her? What do you mean?’

Kathleen gulped at her pint.

‘Tell her, Owen, while I get you a drink...’

Bronwyn assumed that she got as many free drinks as she wanted now, which wouldn’t be much use to her, but was obviously a boon to Kathleen.  

Kathleen wandered off to the bar. Owen, whose dark features often made him look brooding, appeared, for once, actually to be brooding.

‘I’ve seen Gwyneth’s font’ he said

Bronwyn’s heart jumped. That was the last thing she was expecting.

‘No!’ she exclaimed , ’how did that happen?’

‘John told me about it’

Bronwyn felt a wave of shame overcome her. I shouldn’t have allowed her to create it.

‘How did he know about it?’

‘Gwyn showed him when we were under attack’

Bronwyn wasn’t really listening to his answer; she had already gone somewhere else in her mind.

‘I’m not willing to have anything to do with it...’ she said

Owen had to trace this new course.

‘I know’ he said, nodding his agreement, ‘none of us are. I’m only doing it to try to get Celia back’

Bronwyn was startled by this. She would be willing to do almost anything to get her back, too.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, feeling her determination not to get involved weaken a little.

‘John said that he thought it might be possible to extract some sort of trace signal from Celia’s patch of colour in the font’

Bronwyn looked blank.

‘I’ve never seen the font’ she explained. Owen looked surprised. ‘I didn’t want to see it – and Gwyn is very strange about it... Just thinking about it disturbs me’

For some unexplained reason tears began to well up in her eyes. She felt so fragile, and now people were making new demands on her. Owen reached over and held her hand.

‘I have to try this’ he said, ‘I know that Celia is back in this world and if I can get a recent trace then I may be able to blink to her’

Bronwyn ignored this for a second, and returned to something that had really disturbed her.

‘John told you...’ she said, ‘...he really shouldn’t have. Gwyn will be furious when she finds out’

‘Then we won’t let her find out’ said Kathleen, returning with a double whiskey and a big cob loaf of bread. Owen let go of Bronwyn’s hand.

Owen took the whiskey and held it in his hand without drinking it. Kathleen began to munch on the bread. Every now and then she was distracted by the sound of laughter from the gaggle of men around Tom. She couldn’t hear him but she knew what sort of jokes he was telling – the kind that no longer made her blush. She loved that he was so good at his job.  

‘There’s why we need you’ Owen said to Bronwyn, ‘Katy and I will sneak down to the font. All you have to do is find some excuse to take Gwyn somewhere out of the way for half-an-hour or so...’

Bronwyn felt entirely torn – between her loyalty to the coven, her loyalty to her sister, and her loyalty to her friends.  She shook her head slowly, from side to side.

‘No, no... Please don’t involve me in this; I have enough to worry about. And I’m not the right person to trust with something like this at the moment’

‘But it has to be you’ said Owen, pressing her, ‘you’re the only person she completely trusts’

‘Until I do this’ muttered Bronwyn, ‘then she’ll trust no-one’

‘She’ll never know’ said Kathleen, ‘all we need is to see if we can extract the trace from Celia’s essence’

Bronwyn felt backed into a corner and she was determined not to give in.

‘I won’t do it, and you should never have asked me to. It’s not safe and you might damage the font or yourselves. It’s madness and it may not even work. I wouldn’t do it for all the elfrounds in the Emperor’s mint’

‘Do it for love then’ whispered Kathleen, absentmindedly. She was staring down the room at her own love, who was now listening intently to some long-winded story of the sea. ‘Do it for Celia and Owen. Look at him – he’s heartbroken’

Owen looked away, embarrassed. Bronwyn had no intention of examining his emotions anyway.

‘For love?’ she snapped back at Kathleen, ‘why would I do anything for love? All that love is to me is people leaving me or being taken from me... How do you know it won’t be the same for both of you? The beginnings are easy but it will get harder, I promise you. And eventually – even the hardest places crash down into smoke and ash’

Owen nodded solemnly at her.

‘Don’t fret Bron, I know that that is true; I’m no love-stricken youth’

Kathleen’s face crumpled.

‘I’m sorry’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean it like that. And I know that you...’

She stopped abruptly; Bronwyn was grateful that she did. She had no desire to talk about specifics.  There was a heavy silence, during which the happy din around them engulfed them.

‘Things are simpler than yearnings for love’ Owen said, calmly, ‘without Celia we will fail. Without her we will not defeat our enemies’

‘You know that’s true’ said Kathleen, softly.

Bronwyn weighed all this in her mind, but she knew there was no escape. And also in the back of her mind a petty thought was rising – if Celia comes back then maybe Jac will go away again. Maybe everything will go back to how it was.

‘I’ll do it’ she said, finally, ‘but not for friendship, not for Celia and definitely not for love...’

‘Why then?’ asked Owen

‘For the coven’ she said, ‘what other reason would I have to do anything?’

Owen and Kathleen both sighed with relief. Owen finally put the whiskey glass to his lips. But Bronwyn hadn’t finished with them.

‘However, I am not happy with this at all’ she said, her voice unusually steely, ‘and I have a price for my co-operation’

Owen put the glass down again, the spirit still undrunk. He looked up at her. His eyes fully acknowledged this debt. Bronwyn knew that despair had driven him to this extreme action, and she knew all about despair.

‘Of course’ he said, ‘name your price’

Bronwyn swallowed – this was a hard thing to ask but it had to be done.

‘I need you to help me find my son’

Chapter thirty-two

Kinspit

 

Hardacre spent most of the next day searching the University precinct for Kath. He visited every academic that he knew she had connections with but all of those trails were cold. Everyone had been friendly but vague about when they had seen her last; but he saw nothing that seemed suspicious. By late afternoon his feet were sore and his tolerance for eleven scholars, usually exceptionally high for a human, was all but exhausted.  

He returned home and went through Kath’s notes again. He felt no compunction about this – he was sure that she would want him to do everything that he could to find her. He also studied Viola’s reply to his original letter, but that had been crystal clear that she had no idea where Kath was.

The notes were copious but inconclusive. Among them, however, was an unsent eighth of a mail paper. On it Kath had written Viola – where the gods are you? He took it to the desk, not really knowing what to do with it. He took the top off the ink well, dipped his pen in the squid ink and wrote below Kath’s question – We know where you are, Viola – now, where is Kath?  He tapped the paper three times and was mildly surprised when it disappeared. He was even more surprised, a matter of minutes later, when it reappeared. He grasped it eagerly. On the bottom, in the tiny space that was left, was scrawled, in thick blue pencil, I think she’s with the naga in K, but I can’t be sure.

Hardacre leapt up.  If Kath had gone to see the naga and had not come back then she was potentially in grave danger. He himself had been pursued by soldiers when he had visited the snake-elf. Why had she gone there? And why hadn’t she discussed her plans with him? He instructed Bentley to tell Mr Ismay where he was going as soon as she could and then rushed to the university library.

 

Hardacre was worried and in a hurry, but he never rushed things that couldn’t be rushed. Before he did anything else he had to see the Archivist.

At first it hard to get an appointment to talk to him – they said that he was busy, or that he was off-site. Eventually he had to talk his way into the Archivist’s office through the human librarian, who owed him a favour or two. When he got into the office it was clear that the young elf was disturbed by his presence. He looked over his wire-frame glasses as Hardacre entered the room. He put the manuscript he was studying down on his desk and got up to greet him.

‘Envoy Hardacre – this is an unexpected pleasure’

Hardacre bowed low enough to be polite, but not enough to suggest subservience. He knew the importance of body language with the Old Elves – both transmitted and received.  

‘Thank you, Logotheton’ Hardacre said, ‘and thank you for agreeing to see me’

Hardacre considered this to be de facto true, even if there had been no official appointment.

‘Always delighted to see you...’ said the Archivist, clearly lying, ‘...how can I be of assistance?’

Hardacre paused to consider his options. He saw no reason not to play this with a straight bat.

‘I’ve lost a house guest’

The Archivists eyes widened slightly.

‘Oh no – that’s unfortunate. Is it someone I know?’

‘Yes – it’s Dr Fielding from ECU. She said that you had helped her find a number of rare books. She said that you were very accommodating’

There was a twitch, no more than a tiny spasm, but enough to show Hardacre that something was wrong.  The Archivist smiled.

‘Yes, I remember Dr Fielding – a very knowledge human scholar. She was particularly interested in the works of Kalappos the historian. Sadly, those extensive volumes are beyond the capacity of any human to read...’ 

‘So I’m told’ said Hardacre. There was an edge in their conversation that he’d never noticed before. Perhaps John was right not to trust this ancient culture.

‘Anyway’ the Archivist continued, ‘I haven’t seen her for several days...’

As far as Hardacre could tell this was true. So, if he hadn’t seen her what was he covering up?

‘That’s a shame’ Hardacre said.  He decided that it was time for a speculative shot. He didn’t expect a direct hit but perhaps he could flush something out of hiding.

‘She told me that there were some problems getting to see the books she wanted...’

The Archivist looked genuinely shocked. He shook his head, but then made the mistake of trying to clarify.

‘No, not in that part of the library’

He had no idea that he’d just walked into a trap. Hardacre savoured the moment for a heartbeat.

‘Oh, so there are problems in other parts of the library. I’m sorry to hear that...’

The Archivist’s head was continuing to shake but beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead. Someone has got to him thought Hardacre, I wonder who?

‘Some technical problems... nothing serious’

Hardacre had another punt.

‘That room has always been a problem, I suppose...’

Logotheton’s head stopped moving. A pained look spread across his face.

‘What room?’

‘The Exotic Stack Library; is that not the problem you’re talking about?’

Logotheton’s face froze. Hardacre could see the cogs whirring in his mind, but the Archivist wasn’t quick enough. Hardacre had been a diplomat long enough to know when someone was making something up.

‘No, it’s not down there... it’s a problem on level seventeen – a lighting problem’

‘Oh no... Which level is that?’

‘Hydrology, Climatology, Physical Geography, those sorts of things’

Hardacre nodded and smiled sympathetically.

‘Well, Dr Fielding probably didn’t want to go there... I suppose’

‘Probably not’ agreed the Archivist. He half turned back to his manuscript. It was so obvious that he couldn’t wait for Hardacre to leave.  Not a tough nut to crack.

‘Well’ Hardacre said, ‘if you see her please let me know. Mr Ismay is very keen to find her again...’

John’s name made the Archivist pause for a second, as he had intended, but all he said was ‘I will, Envoy Hardacre’ and went back to his studies. Hardacre retreated slowly out of the Archivist’s room.

 

Even before he had stepped out of the room he knew among all the little victories he had made one major tactical mistake. It would only be a matter of a few hours before the Logotheton would report their conversation to whoever his masters were. At that point any access to the stack room would be much more limited. This meant that his only hope was to go straight there – a move that he hated on principle because it was forced on him. And that usually meant he would have to do something he hated even more – use witchcraft.

He hurried down the stairs with no clear idea how he would get into the stack room. He thought through everything that he knew about the nagas and the library but none of it seemed to give a clear view of what was going on. He would have to improvise, and that was something else that he was loth to do. But he had to do something and who knew how much time he had?

Two thirds of the way down, at the seventeenth level he stopped to check the Logotheton’s story. The door was clearly marked Physical Geography, but there was no sign of any problems. He pushed the large wooden doors open: the rows of bookcases were illuminated just as in the other levels, by a bright and steady light. After that, he hurried down the stairs even faster.  

Chapter thirty-two a

Advanced Mage Studies School, another part of Kinspit

 

The University at Kinspit was an old, august and sprawling entity; spread out over the flat western coastal plain of southern Paror. As new schools opened, so new buildings were constructed, all in the classical, and what Huw knew now was Helian, form.  The Advanced Mage Studies school was a very recent building – just a few hundred years old, In it were some eager, capable, students studying for their Doctor of Philosophy degrees and then a larger group who never wanted to leave academia – only some of them were official facility members.

It was to one of those shadowy hangers-on that Huw had come:  Euclid the Sophist, a wise but dangerous man. He had to find his way to the fourth floor, right at the back of the huge, crumbling, building. He also had to ask several people the way – they either claimed they had no idea who Euclid was, or they knew well enough but would only give instructions in whispers. Huw knew that this was a desperate measure but he had no idea who else to ask, particularly as he felt too guilty and awkward to ask anyone in the coven.

When he finally found Euclid’s room it turned out to be suspiciously spacious for someone with no official role. The door was open, and Euclid called him in from a comfortable armchair. The room was full of artworks, of a style he did not recognise. His eye was caught, however, by a painting of a dragon – fiercely devouring a deer, but with fur instead of scales. There was something else strange about it, but he didn’t have time to put his finger on it.

‘Come in – Covener Hargest’

‘Thank you for seeing me, Professor’ said Huw, stepping forward and offering his hand. Euclid ignored the gesture.

‘I’m no professor’ cackled the old elf, ‘and I need to see your elf rounds before I can be of any help at all’

Huw pulled out his purse from his pocket. It was heavy with gold coins, all obtained from the Grand Imperial Bank in Eth City, where for every two Ethian gold sovereigns they will gladly give you one Imperial gold sovereign.

He passed the purse over to the elf, who still remained sitting..

‘Fifty – as we agreed’

Euclid emptied the purse into his lap and counted the shiny gold coins. He took his time.

‘All there – you can sit down’

All there was to sit on was a hard wooden chair, which was piled up with books, and which he had to retrieve from a corner of the room. He placed it a few feet in front of his host and sat down on it. His feelings of apprehension had not gone away.

‘So, why are you paying me for information? You’re a witch and a coven member, there can’t be much that you don’t know already’

Huw saw no reason to dissemble. He continued in Archaic Elven.

‘I am beset by a dark force, and I would like to be rid of it’

Euclid laughed again. He continued in Ethian.

‘The old words won’t protect you, you know; it’s just another language’

Huw shivered. Reluctantly he continued in the common tongue of humans.

‘Kratos, the Archwitch – that is who is invading my mind’

Euclid made a whistling noise.

‘I should have charged two hundred elfrounds’

‘Can you help me?’ asked Huw, a note of desperation had crept into his voice.

‘Of course I can’t help you’ sniggered Euclid, ‘and even if I could, I wouldn’t. No-one want to make an enemy of a necromancer’

Huw’s face crumpled. It was all he could do to stop himself weeping in desperation.

‘But…’ he started

Euclid cackled again

‘Which doesn’t mean I can’t find someone who can help you, of course…’

‘But who?’ half-snivelled Huw

‘The most powerful mage in Paror’

‘Who is that?’

‘I can’t tell you, but I can send a message and get an audience. She owes me several favours’

‘I have no more money…’ whispered Huw

Euclid shrugged.

‘She doesn’t care about money; she’s only interested in power. I’m sure she will be delighted to help a Coven member…’

‘Who is she?’ asked Huw

Euclid considered this

‘Who is she? Or, who does she want to be? Which question were you asking?’

Huw shook his head

‘I have no idea…’

‘And if you did I wouldn’t answer either question, anyway’

Huw was too bewildered to respond to this. Something else sprang into the front of his mind.

‘Can she stop the voice in my head’

Euclid laughed cruelly.

‘Assuming you’re not insane – I’m guessing yes’

‘And when can I meet her?’

‘Tomorrow, three hours past noon – in The Senate Building; she has rooms there’

 

 

‘You haven’t been avoiding me have you, acolyte?’

It was that voice in the middle of the night again. The voice that taunted and tempted him.

‘Of course not’ he responded. He knew from earlier experience that Kratos could only communicate with him, he could no way sense his surroundings. He knew, nothing, for example about the Angharad’s Fakenham Cage. Here, however, he had no defences against the enemy.

‘It seems like such a long time since we chatted. And I have so much to tell you…’

Huw lay in a pool of his own sweat. It was cold outside, but he was burning up. The spell that the archwitch was using was powerful and unstable.

‘What do you have to tell me?’ asked Huw flatly.

‘How to unlock powers you might think are impossible; how to control yourself and others. All the witchcraft you could ever want at your finger tips’

‘Thank you for your benisons to me, my lord’

The voice became impatient.

‘But you have accepted none of them, Covener Hargest. In fact, you have proven difficult to pin down’

There was a pause, during which the heat in Huw’s head and limbs became almost unbearable.

‘You have told no-one of our encounters, I hope’

‘No, no. no’ moaned Huw, lying. He dare not think to himself as he had no way of knowing if Kratos could read his mind.

‘We must meet soon’ insisted Kratos.

‘Yes’ agreed Huw

‘How about in two days’ time?’

 ‘Of course’

‘I will come to you tomorrow night and tell you where to meet in Eth City; I will show you wonders’

The voice cut off suddenly. His head was quiet.

By tomorrow night I hope to be free of you Huw whispered into the cold dark

 

The Senate Building was the oldest and grandest of the building in the central part of Kinspit .It was here that the mages sat in conclave and descided on the academic fate of hundreds of students – elf and human. However, the building was so immense that it housed numerous other organisations and even, it seemed, some private citizens.

He had a sealed letter of invitation from Euclid, which he was praying wasn’t just a sham, and a room to find: room twenty-four in the west quadrant, fifth floor. Those were his only instructions – go to the room and deliver the letter.

He searched for the western part of the building, and after several stumbles and backtracks he found the right place. The room was a plush, purple place guarded by two burly elves, each with long, evil-looking, swords hanging from their belts. They watched him as he went in, past heavy ornately carved wooden doors. It looked like a waiting room for some southern potentate. Who was he going to see?

At the far end of the room was a heavy table. Sitting behind the desk was a middle-aged female elf. She nodded at him as he handed over the letter, but said no words of acknowledgement or greeting.

She opened the letter and read it quickly. Her expression remained impassive. Then she got up , went to a door behind her, opened it slowly  and walked through. She closed it just as carefully behind herself and disappeared from view.

It was agony, but Huw had to wait only five minutes or so. The elf returned.

‘Queen Sophia will see you now’ she announced.