Chapter fifty-two

Amansk

 

Pallatian rode into the city in his messenger disguise. He made his way to the Imperial garrison, and revealed himself to Colonel Hendryck, his garrison commander. Hendryck had been a Crimson Flame knight, but he had always been a loyal servant of the Emperor. He was no tactical genius, but he was loyal and human, which made him invaluable in a city that would have to be wooed back into the imperial fold. He preferred Hendryck to Arnon – at least the knight knew his place. 

The Emperor had formed no very clear plan beyond seeing what it was that so enamoured Marthian to the Lady. His memory of the visions that he had been vouchsafed was now growing increasingly hazy. The only thing that he could clearly recall is that Marthian appeared in all the realities that led to better outcomes. It had been hidden from him exactly what those outcomes were, or, he had chosen to forget them. He was well aware that many of the alternative realities might well be bad for him, but he knew that that was the price one paid for power.     

Hendryck gave him an officer’s house to stay in within the barracks area. He sat down and wrote himself a letter to deliver to Marthian. There was playful part of himself that loved this sort of trickery – he could see no good reason why he shouldn’t talk to the object of his investigations as someone else first. It was even more delicious to think that if General Titanius were here he would strongly disapprove. It was great to get away and play sometimes.   

 

***

Arnon and Natasha had given Marthian a large corner of the palace gardens to cultivate. She spent an increasing amount of her time there and the rest of her day seemed to be waiting for letters from Aurelian or writing them to him. 

Lily, who had very little to do now that her governess had gone and her entry to Eth City University was confirmed, spent a lot of time bothering Marthian in the garden. She never did anything very useful, as she had no real interest in gardening, but Marthian liked her there anyway, she helped postpone her acutest loneliness until later in the day.

When the messenger came, then, Lily was sitting on a log and Marthian was kneeling in a flower bed. Lily saw him first. She jumped up to greet him. Dashing elven messengers were as rare as hens’ teeth.

‘Who are you?’

The messenger smiled; he was tall and thin. He had jet black hair.  

 ‘I’m Captain Artifius, of the Imperial Guard. I have a message for ambassador Marthian. I was told she’d be out here’

Marthian, hearing her name, stood up. The messenger seemed unable to see her. She waited.

Lily looked at Marthian and then back to Artifius. She was momentarily stumped.

‘The ambassador?’ he asked again.

‘Umm’ Lily stuttered, ‘she’s standing three feet away from you…’

Artifius’s eyes focused on Marthian. He looked mildly shocked.

‘I thought you were the gardener’

Marthian’s eyes widened.  She put down her trowel and unpeeled her gloves. Her voice was stern.  

‘And had I been the gardener, that would have been an adequate excuse for your rudeness would it, captain?’

 Lily giggled, and made no attempt to cover up the sound. Artifius turned on his heels to address his superior. It was a very wooden performance.

‘I suppose not’ he admitted. There was a pause while Marthian waited for a ‘ma’am’ but it didn’t come.  She shook her head and wondered if he was ill. Perhaps it had been a difficult journey. 

‘You have a message for me?’

Artifius reached inside his cloak pocket, pulled out the note and handed it to his ambassador. She took it and placed it into her garden coat.

‘Thank you, Captain. I hope you have a pleasant stay in Amansk. A turn by the lake is very invigorating, if you have the time.’ She nodded at him, indicating that he could go. He paid no attention to her. It seemed that he was in some other world. Perhaps he really was ill. 

‘Is there anything else, officer?’

The captain shook his head and then changed his mind. The resulting movement was a weird sort of head rotation. It looked as if he had just been set a difficult feat of mental arithmetic.

‘Oh yes. I was told that I should stay until you’d read it’

She considered this. Well, at least that made sense.

‘Am I to write a reply?’

Artifius had another struggle with this. He frowned and looked worried again.

‘No’

‘Then why do you need to stay?’

The messenger made a final attempt to re-engage his normally substantial mind. He stood to attention; mindful at last, it seemed, of the task in hand. He’d always considered himself an excellent and engaging actor and now he was determined to demonstrate it.

‘You are to give me a verbal answer, that’s what he said…’  He saluted with a flourish, ‘of course he did...umm… ma’am’

His change of tone astonished his listeners.  Marthian began to feel wary. Was this a madman, a spy or an assassin? Whatever he was he seemed unstable.  She looked up the garden for some guards to call to assist her, but here there were none. She glanced over at Lily, her only available ally, but she just seemed fascinated by their visitor.  It appeared that she was rarely daunted.

‘Who said I should give you a verbal answer?’ Marthian asked.  

‘The Emperor’ he replied, ‘he charged me with this task personally’

‘Perhaps that explains why he sent a captain on a corporal’s errand’ she muttered.

Marthian thought all of this a little strange, but these were the Emperor’s order. She pulled out the note and began reading it. She hadn’t realised who was from and was now feeling foolish. She smiled to herself – at least only this mad captain would ever know.

 

Lily was watching the soldier carefully. She could sense when something was a bit odd. In particular, she wondered why he appeared to have such an itchy face. And one that seemed so bland – his face was so dull that she doubted whether she’d ever be able to recognise it again if she saw in a crowd. How sad to have an unmemorable face, and how strange. Her nimble mind began to calculate.  If John had been there, and had he been able to read her mind, of course, he would have been proud of her.

 ‘Where are you from?’ she asked, ‘are you from Visnea?’

He paused. Lily was fascinated to see how much effort was going in to answering this question. Perhaps he was some sort of great thinker, doomed to be a soldier, forever struggling to express the truth clearly. She felt sorry for this fictional philosopher.

‘I live there now, but I was raised in Hesperos’

‘Where’s that?’ Lily asked

Marthian looked up from her reading.

‘It’s in the far north west of West Visneoria, it’s from where the Emperor hails’

Lily’s eyes lit up.

‘Really? That’s great! Have you ever met him?’

The messenger did a double-double take. It was so hard to concentrate with this awful itching mask. What was the right answer? He laughed.

‘Yes, of course – when he gave me the message…’

Marthian laughed too. She shot Lily a glare, equal parts wither and affection. She returned to her reading. Lily blushed crimson.

‘I meant before…’

‘I left Hesperos when I was very young’

Lily tried to recover.

‘I thought you were raised there?’

Artifius ignored her. Fortunately, Marthian had finished reading. He nodded emphatically for her to speak, as was his usual habit.  Marthian frowned in puzzlement. There was a long pause.

‘What is your response, ambassador?’ He asked.

Marthian pursed her lips. All that the letter had said is that she should wait for instructions and do nothing before the Emperor had sent them. It wasn’t a testing order and it didn’t seem worth sending a middle-ranking army officer to deliver it.

‘Tell the Emperor that I will do exactly as he requires, as always’

‘Always?’ asked Artifius, ‘even when he treats you badly?’

Marthian’s eyes widened with shock. Her voice hardened in anger.

‘What by the gods do you mean by that?’

‘Oh – just what some officers have been saying back in the… umm… barracks’

‘Is it really your job to pass on tittle-tattle, captain?’

‘Of course not …’ his voice dropped to a whisper,’… but he did remove you from your post, didn’t he?’

Lily jumped up from her log. She suddenly saw an opportunity to get some useful information. Marthian had said very little to her about her recent history.

‘So, why did he sack you, auntie?’

Marthian shot Lily a ‘not in front of strangers’ look but she was now felt piqued into a response.   

‘Well, if you must know, I think that it’s because he lacks confidence in the ability of females in positions of authority. And, I suppose, because he needed to impose himself on the east.  It all makes perfect sense. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time’

Lily was shocked.

‘Does he really think that – about female rulers?’

Marthian shrugged.

‘He wouldn’t be the first or the last across the whole of the wide Empire to think that now, would he?’

‘I guess not’ pouted Lily, ‘or in the whole stupid human world, for that matter’

Artificius wasn’t interested in this at all. He continued slyly.  

‘I’ve also heard, just rumours you understand, that the Lady of Ortia isn’t happy with the Emperor; it seems that she supports your proconsulship over the Emperor’s choice. I wonder what you think about that?’

Marthian shook her head. She wasn’t going to engage with this sort of nonsense.

‘What is it that you want exactly, captain? Are you some sort of rebel?’

He straightened himself, revealing a patrician posture. Reality and artifice were becoming confused.  

‘Of course I’m not a rebel’ he boomed, ‘how dare you!’

He jerked upright so suddenly that Marthian wondered if he were having some sort of seizure. Concern overtook irritation in her mind.

‘Are you entirely well, captain? I’m a little concerned about your behaviour…’

He sighed and relaxed again. This was much harder and far less fun than he had anticipated. He made a mental note not to try it again.

‘I’m very tired, ma’am, and I have a lot of my mind’

‘Perhaps you should go and lie down’ Lily said, her hand over her mouth concealing a smirk. Marthian frowned at her, but she knew that would have no effect; best to get rid of the strange elf as soon as possible.

 ‘Princess Lily is quite right, even if it is absolutely none of her business; you should go and rest’

She stepped forward and touched his arm. She was dismissing him, but with concern not with anger.

How few people have any sympathy for an Emperor he thought, a prick of tears threatening his eyes.  I am definitely not doing this again. 

He saluted her, with far less irony than he had originally intended. 

‘Good afternoon, ambassador, your highness…’

Lily waved merrily. Marthian nodded. He wandered off out of the garden. Lily was still grinning. 

‘Was that the best spy the Emperor could find?’

Marthian knew that imperial protocol demanded that she should end this conversation immediately, but she didn’t have the heart. Also, wasn’t Amansk now in the Empire, and didn’t that make Lily an Imperial princess?

‘What makes you think he was a spy, Lily? He just seemed to be strange and incompetent’

‘Then why was he in disguise?’

‘Disguise? What do you mean?’

‘I think he was. He had some sort of magical mask on his face. Didn’t you notice the way he was constantly touching his cheeks?’

Marthian smiled, acknowledging Lily’s skill.

‘No, I hadn’t ‘

‘And his face was weird – he looked like a hundred portraits all painted on top of each other’

 ‘I’m not sure why you would disguise yourself as a fool, though’

‘Good point, Auntie M, but whoever he was, he must know some clever mages’

Marthian pulled her gloves back on and waded back into the flowerbed. She had decided on the day that she had arrived here to wait everything out. Messages from gods and strange visits from disguised oddballs were not going to change her mind.  She glanced up at Lily. She seemed to be in her own little world. 

‘Magic is so interesting!’ she said, ‘and I’m getting much better at seeing it’

Marthian nodded. She imagined the extraordinary future that lay ahead of her young friend.  She guessed that in five years’ time no-one would be calling her princess. She was like a sparrow hawk, trying out fledging wings. 

‘They’ll be very lucky to have you, Lily Sophia’

Lily wrinkled up her nose and grimaced.

‘What?’

‘The Hybitor, the witches’ council, who else?  Working for them; I’m sure that’s what Mr Ismay has in the back of his mind’

Lily blushed and looked down at the ground. She lay back on the log to hide her discomfort. Her stomach was filled with fear and pride.  

‘Don’t be silly, auntie’ she muttered, ‘anyway, it’s nearly tea time. You need get back to your gardening’

Marthian knelt back on her patch of flower bed and picked up her trowel. This bed was nearly done. A few more days and she’d be able to start planting. She was looking forward to that.

Chapter fifty-three

The Ideograms at Klethropolis

 

Dom walked out of the safe house, happy to be doing something useful.  He scanned the area, checking that no-one was moving around. Everything was quiet, and the city looked eerie in the early evening light, as the green shadows of the foliage began to grow over the red buildings. He stopped for a second and uncurled his fingers. He half expected the pebble to glow or buzz, but it didn’t do anything, it just sat there smooth and shiny. He looked up, concerned that he might have heard something. Kath’s fears came back to him – their enemies could appear at any time.   

He broke into a trot, trying to find the wall as rapidly as possible. At first he was confused by the tangle of brick and vegetation, and he worried that he would get lost and he would have to carry his burden for who-knew how much longer.  He forced himself to look at the sun – he knew that they had entered from the south and that if he doubled back that way he would be close both to the wall and to the gate that Potentilla was guarding. He turned sharply left from where he was standing and threaded his way through a cluster of silvery trees back to the city wall.

By the time he got to the wall his hands were so sweaty that he feared he would be unable to throw the pebble effectively. He wiped them on his shirt and the he stared up at the wall – it was higher than he had remembered and there was a tangle of trees and shrubs clinging to its surfaces. He wondered if he could throw it over the wall at all. One way or another, however, he needed to get rid of the stone.

He drew his arm back and threw the stone as high as he could. It was hard to see its trajectory in the fading light. For a moment he thought that it had sailed clear over the wall, passing through two small bushy trees, but then the bush on the left shuddered as the pebble hit it. Dom screwed up his eyes, but he couldn’t see it at all; it could equally well be on either side of the wall, or stuck in the bush. He rushed over to the base of the wall and scrabbled around to try to find it. He even cast a phoratos – a simple mage spell to detect magic – but he could see nothing except the endless diffuse dwimmer of the ancient wall. He hoped fervently that the stone had gone over the wall, but he felt that he could waste no more time looking for it in any case. Sighing, and cursing his incompetence, he set out to find Potentilla. He knew that she must be close by.

 

When the she saw Dom approaching, she rushed over to him and kissed him. For some reason it was a long time before he was able to break free. When he had managed it he took a step back and put his hand up to his gratefully-bruised mouth. He was panting – it must have been all that running.

‘The major said that we shouldn’t do that’ he spluttered

Potentilla’s face fell.  She turned back to the big black doors, as if expecting a host of the enemy to have sneaked in as they snogged.  

‘Oh no’ she said, ‘I’m so sorry. It’s just that I find danger exciting’

He didn’t say anything but he grabbed her hand and placed it against his chest. His heart was beating very fast. She grinned.

‘And I can feel that you find it exciting too!’

The only that he could think to say to that was well, you are a fantastic kisser but that seemed a bit redundant. All he really wanted to do is check one more time that it was still true. They stood there grinning at each other. He kept hold of her hand.

‘What have you been doing?’ she asked.

Dom’s mind, which had temporarily become completely discombobulated, reformed with a thud. He disentangled their fingers.

‘They put a special teleport device into Viola’s pack, but I’ve got rid of it now. They could have just ambushed us wherever we were’

Potentilla didn’t seem to be concentrating very hard on what he was saying – she was staring down at where their hands had been entwined.

‘Is it all safe now?’ she asked, shaking herself.

Don nodded. The practical and sensual parts of his mind were in conflict. The first part vowed not to bring any important messages to her again. The second part, however, really wished that they were home in Gorodnikov, with no quest, no Viola and with a large flagon of red wine.

‘How are things here?’ he asked, ‘any sign of intruders’

She jumped up on to a tree bole and clambered up into it, with the dexterity of a lithe monkey, until she was standing on a horizontal bough. This was clearly from where she kept watch, with the help of the parrots, who Dom could just about make out in the canopy of trees overhead. She signalled to him and he climbed up, judging each foot and hand hold with precision. The tree grew up over the high gate and there was a perfect view down into the parkland around the city. Most importantly, if anyone came near the gate they would be spotted immediately. Dom was relieved to see that his ardent would-be seducer was now back concentrating on her job. He stood watching for a few minutes, kissed her on the top of her hair without really thinking about it, and then climbed back down the tree.  He made his way, as quietly as he could, back to the safe house.  

 

***

 

Kath and Hardacre read through the papers with growing fascination, while Viola and Dom watched them. They were architectural plans, but not for buildings or bridges or temples – they were plans for animals and plants. Each bundle contained plans for a different sort of living creature, a fern, a shrub, a rodent and so on. They were laid out on transparent paper, so that the whole structure of each given organism was only apparent when all of the sheets were laid on top of each other.  Along with them were copious design notes in Archaic Elven.

Hardacre looked up from a set of plans for a stag beetle; he had spent several minutes fitting the sheets together in the right order.

‘Blueprints for an entire flora and fauna,’ he murmured, ‘from the smallest to the largest’

Kath looked down at her pile of papers – she thought it was a plan for a big daisy, but she was struggling to put the papers together properly.  

‘I wonder how they used these to make the creatures, though? These are obviously magical sheets, so they must be used to create what they depict, but how?’

Hardacre nodded and gestured round the room.

‘I’m fairly sure that it’s nothing in here. It must be something in another building’

‘Wouldn’t eggs and seeds have been easier?’ asked Viola, who had been standing over them while they went through the papers.

Kath looked up at her and shrugged. She shifted into a more comfortable position on the floor.  

‘I think these are designs for new animals. I think this was a creative exercise’  she said

‘Create a new world, with wonderful new things’ said Hardacre, his voice as dry as a desert bone.

Viola frowned and walked over to another container, pulled some more bundles out of it and flicked through the pages without untying them.

‘So – we live in a world where the plants and animals were refashioned by the whim of the creators’

Hardacre pulled his beetle bundle together and tied it back up with infinite care. He nodded politely at Kath who found herself beginning to do the same thing, without even giving it a thought. Hardacre didn’t seem to think that Viola’s comment needed any response.  They began to pile the binders back in the containers.

Viola looked out of the window. Dusk had nearly fallen.

‘Where are Potentilla and the scouts? I told them to come back before nightfall. The parrots can’t navigate in the dark’ 

They waited while the last dregs of sunlight slid under the horizon.  Viola became more and more agitated, moving repeatedly from window to window, peering out. Dom was about to volunteer to go and find them when there was a soft knock on the door.   

Viola whispered through the door. Once she was satisfied that it was Potentilla she opened it and let her in. The little parrots flew in just behind her.  They were all relieved to hear that there was still no sign of their enemies.

While they had been waiting Hardacre had been sorting through a number of the binders in the containers. Eventually he found one that she was happy with and he slipped it into his bag. No-one noticed his actions except Kath, who caught her eye for a fraction of a moment. There was no explicit conspiracy, but they were both happy that Viola had not seen what had happened. Kath had  no idea what the witch had in mind, but she trusted him enough to let this be.

Viola stood in the middle of the group to address them. The light had now completely failed.

‘No lights’ she commanded, ‘I think it will be safe to sleep in here tonight. Have some rations and then we’ll take it in turns to listen against the door. No-one is to go near the windows.’

There was a murmur of assent, but none of them felt able to talk above a whisper in the dark. The room seemed old and strange now, with no light and no sign of any plants. Now there was no ambient sound and every noise that they made seemed to fill the whole space. As she caught the others’ mood, Viola’s voice dropped.  

‘In the morning we will seek the naga and discover what she guards‘

In the blind and mute night, this seemed an impossible task, but somehow, despite their fears, they all fell asleep eventually.

Outside somewhere, in the cool distance, but getting ever closer, impossible panthers were on the prowl.    

Chapter fifty-four

Neman Forest

 

Boo’s translocation had a catastrophic effect in two worlds – both where she had gone to and where she had come from. The cord that had connected the witches’ array to Celia was filled, for a moment, to over-brimming with energy. The force of the effect pushed part of the energy back along the cord, like water falling down an overflow pipe. Everyone in the array, including Owen, was struck with a spell bolt; an unfocused force, but traumatic.  The array broke and the individual parts of it dropped away.  All nine witches were struck down instantly, knocked unconscious by the percussive force.  Only Gwyneth was left, standing in horror as her companions fell.        

‘Help! Help me please!’ she shouted, running to her sister’s side and kneeling to examine her. For a second she feared that Bronwyn was dead; perhaps they were all dead. She bent down to listen for her breathing. There was a moment when she could hear nothing and her heart lurched, but then she heard her twin exhale, soft but unmistakeable.

Other people, apprentices and servants poured into the council chamber, some preparing potent spells of defence and offense and others simply bewildered by the strange sound of their mistress in distress.  Gwyneth got them to check the health of the other coveners. One by one they inspected  them and nodded as they found both pulse and breath, but at Stephen’s body they hesitated. In him they could find no signs of life.

The coven’s healers were called and they clustered round him, pushing aside the others. They were now entirely redundant and they fell back to the sides of the chamber. The healers cast what mending spells they could, but it was too late. They had nothing in their repertoire to pull him back from where he had gone. It was their law – the dead stayed dead; they would not cross the line.

‘His heart has failed’ said Anne, the oldest of the healers, ‘he had had a great shock and he has slipped away’

Tears sprung to Gwyneth’s eyes and for a moment she faltered. She put her hand on his cold cheek. How could it be that he’d never speak again? She had known him for thirty years and had never really liked him, but now that seemed the shallowest shelf of the ocean of her feelings.  Her long red hair fell over her face.

‘He was a very fine man…’ she sobbed, ‘ …irritatingly foolish about so many things … but such a kind soul… how will we do without him?’

They all stood back and watched her mourn. They had never seen her like this before and they had no idea how to respond to it. None of them had the courage to step forward and comfort her. Time stretched on. It seemed like their mistress’s fingers were glued on to her dead friend’s face. 

For a moment she felt like she was drowning, but then a sudden thought jerked her back to reality. She turned to Anne.

‘Wake John up.’ she said, ‘Now. Use whatever method is necessary. I need to talk to him’

The healer looked at her, wide-eyed. She shook her head with a little tremor.

‘What do you mean, Gwyn?’

Gwyneth’s face struggled to return to its natural configuration. With a great effort she frowned. Many of the onlookers felt a perverse sense of relief. 

‘Wake him up!’ she commanded, ‘I know you can do it’

Anne’s pale face went grey. He voice was high and cracked.

‘The jolt – is that what you mean?’

Gwyneth nodded ferociously.

‘It might kill him, too’ whispered Anne, ‘it’s only for the direst emergencies’

‘Then you should most definitely use it now!  I’ll take full responsibility’

Gwyneth looked suddenly up over the sprawled bodies out into the woods beyond.  All eyes followed her gaze, but, as yet, there was nothing to be seen.  Everyone could imagine exactly, however, what sorts of thing she might fear in the distance.

Anne rushed over to where John lay, curled up like a foetus, clutching something in his left hand. She placed her hands on his head and took a deep, troubled, breath.

‘Ysgegio’

John’s body tensed, as if it had suddenly been made elastic and it had been pulled to its maximum extent. The jolt forced his arms and legs straight and kicked him up in the air. He appeared to hover inches above the ground for a split second, his body arching, and then he fell down on to his backside.

‘Ow’ he said, his eyes open but seeing nothing very much, ‘For the god’s sake, Laurence – what sort of way is that to wake a man up?’        

His eyes focused on Gwyneth.

‘And what are you doing in my bedroom?’ he croaked, looking round, ‘where’s my dressing gown…’

Gwyneth kicked him sharply in the side. She seemed neither to relish this nor regret it.

‘We are in dreadful danger, idiot witch lord. I demand your full attention’

A young witch-apprentice helped John up from the ground. He dusted himself off, winced and rubbed the base of his back. His eyes finally focused on the council chamber.

‘What is it, Gwyneth?’

‘Not here’ she hissed, ‘I need to show you something’

 

***

 

John was too disorientated, at first, to take in the news of Stephen’s death. Gwyneth wouldn’t let him grieve, either, and so he was left in desolate confusion. What was going on? She hurried him back into the house and down into a part of the complex that he hardly knew at all. They clattered down a flight of rickety stairs into a basement area. She lit an oil lamp.

They were in a small circular room with a font in the centre of it. This structure was a raised basin with an eddying surface of liquid in it. The surface was a shimmering mass of colours. He looked at the strange play of light and texture without recognition.

‘What is that?’ he asked

‘It’s a life map, John. Angharad made it for me’  

‘And that is, what, exactly?’

‘A device for showing the fate of a person, or of linked groups of people’

John stared into it. The surface of the font had a series of coloured areas bounded by black membranous lines. There were thirteen sections, all of different colours, but one was without hue, the colour of a fresh rain water puddle. He knew immediately what this was. His intake of breath was sharp, his voice was cold.

‘This is borderline magic, Gwyn, dangerous stuff – why didn’t I know about it?’

Her laugh was like sawdust.

‘For that very reason’

‘Why do you even need to have it?’

She stared down at a deep red patch. Adjoining it was a much fainter light blue one. The boundary between the two colours was very fine.

‘So that I can check that we are all alive, John; and look for those who are fading’

John shook his head and put his hand up to his face. His gaze was fixated on the transparent patch - where were Stephen’s colours now? Had they drained away for ever?

‘We vowed, Gwyn… We all made that vow. No reaching into the beyond – no playing with souls’

Gwyn looked away from the font and directly at him. She was as hard as rock.

‘And I have never broken my vow. And I never will – this is practical, needful magic. Without it we might have failed’

John couldn’t help but look for his own chromatic signature. He recognised it immediately – a cascading swirl of rainbow hues.  Was that what he was – protean, unfocused, undecided? Gwyneth, sensing his reverie, interrupted him.

‘Concentrate, witch lord. You are our leader and we face desperate times. We are a covener down, and we may lose another at any time’

She stabbed her finger at a patch of white light on the taut surface. It was brilliant, but hazy, like the sun seen through waterfall spray. Every now and then it flickered briefly.  John focused.

‘Is it doing that because she’s in the Outer Void or because she’s dying?’ he whispered.  She stared down at Celia’s signature and shrugged.

‘Both, I should imagine. But either way we have a functional coven of eleven, and most of that number are unconscious or befuddled.’ Her stare was withering. He tried to catch up with her meaning.

‘Yes, I can see that. What are the consequences?’

‘We don’t have enough active minds to ensure that this locality will remain hidden and defended. If they have minds probing for us then they will probably find us, particularly after such a major energy surge. And, if they find us then they will know that our array is weakened…’

‘…And they could attack at any time’

John was at a loss – he couldn’t see beyond Stephen’s death and Celia’s stranding.  It seemed possible that they might lose everything.

‘What can we do?’

‘We need a replacement coven member, and we need them now’

‘But who?’

She did not hesitate and he would have been lying if he’d said that he didn’t know what was coming.

‘Laurence. You need to go and get him, immediately. Even he will see the necessity’

The mention of his manservant made John open his hand. He had been clutching something in it ever since he had been jolted and suddenly it seemed important. The mail paper fell and Gwyneth caught it as it fluttered down.  She looked puzzled for a moment, but then hurried to read it. 

‘It’s for you’ she said, very flatly, ‘and once again it looks like Laurence has found a way of getting out of fatigues. Jones knows what he thinks he’s doing in Oket though’

‘What?’

She handed the paper back to him. He read it twice, but he still didn’t believe it. His forehead furrowed as he read.

‘He needs me. They’re in dreadful danger’

Gwyneth took the paper, folded it roughly, and put it in her pocket.

‘One thing at a time.  First the coven, then your friend’

John glared at her, momentarily hating her, but then he acquiesced. He knew he had no choice.    

‘Never single spies’ she murmured, ‘and with Laurence out of the running, now we have only one choice’

‘No’ said John, shaking his head, his open fingers clutched into a ball, ‘we all agreed… that we would never ask her… not after what she did…how can you even consider it…?’

Her face was still, but her water in the font dipped into a hollow and faded from the strongest red to the  weakest blush.   

‘That was a very long time ago and my feelings are irrelevant – my duty is to the coven, not to the urgings of ancient hurt. There are no other candidates. No-one else has even remotely her abilities’

‘There must be someone else?  She is a desperate choice; the others will never agree…’

‘Yes they will. As I have just said, there is no one else with her skills, not now that Celia is lost to us, and so they will have to accept her’

‘Then, she will never agree.  She has shown time and time again that she cares only for herself’

Gwyneth turned away from the font.  John had to bend round to see her face and to strain to hear her voice. 

‘She is grown dark and cruel, I know, but not even she will want to see the end of the coven’

John felt his head begin to rumble with a thunderous migraine. The rest of his body seemed keen to join in. He could think of nothing to say. It was all he could do stop himself from dissolving into misery.  

‘So, go and get her’ Gwyneth insisted, ‘and hurry back or there may be nothing to hurry back to.  I will do what I can here.’

‘But Gwyn…’ he moved towards her, wanting to comfort her. She glared at him.

‘Shush, foolish man; didn’t I tell you to hurry…’

He snapped back into reality. His instincts kicked in. He was ready to go, if he must.  

‘Wake the others; find out where Angharad and Huw are; get Dai and Owen to search for breaches; if necessary evacuate the complex; don’t try to fight without me… I mean, I suppose, without us’

Her eyes widened, but she nodded readily. When it really mattered she was the loyalist of all of them. 

He put his hand to his head and began to rub his forehead. A thousand searing memories flooded back into his brain.  He fought back a vision that had haunted him for twenty years, a vision of an empty cot and two red haired woman weeping inconsolably. The future seemed about to be infected by the dusty spores of the past.  For a brief moment he silently cursed poor Stephen’s wretched heart.     

He said nothing more.  He set himself to search his mind for a trace signature that he knew all too well, but had hoped he would never need again. He found it readily, it was sharp and strong, as he knew that it would be. He breathed in deeply, concentrated his mind into stillness, and then blinked to the trace.

Chapter fifty-five

The White Temple at Klethropolis

 

Viola woke at first light. She woke everyone else up with a minimum of noise. They ate a breakfast of figs and dry bread and drank a little water. Their rations were dwindling but they still had several days’ supply.

After that they packed and prepared to leave. Kath was in the front with Viola, who had said almost nothing during their meagre breakfast.  They were waiting at the door for the others.

‘Where are we going Vee?’

‘To the centre of the city – to the fire snake’

Kath looked at her friend. She appeared exactly as always but Kath knew that she was being driven by a compulsion. What worried her most was that Viola had stopped recounting dreams. Maybe she wasn’t having them anymore, but that seemed unlikely. 

‘Do you know exactly where the naga is?’

‘No – not yet. But I think that I will’

‘How?’

‘I’m going to follow my nose’

Kath frowned at her, but she didn’t notice. She’d opened the door and was ushering Potentilla and the birds out. She gave them their orders.

‘We will be heading for the big white temple in the centre of the city – the one with the long colonnade’ 

Potentilla took this is her stride.

‘Of course, ma’am’

‘So go back to your guard post and... if you see anything – retreat slowly and quietly to our position and warn us. Don’t let them see you!’

‘Yes, ma’am’

Potentilla sprinted off. The parrots prepared to follow her.

‘And you three’ Viola whispered to them, ‘look after my lieutenant’

 ‘Yes, my lady’ they tweeted together.

They fluttered off. Viola stood with her arms folded, watching them until they disappeared behind some buildings. Kath waited until she turned back towards her again and until Viola nodded that they should move off.

‘What big white temple?’

Viola looked puzzled.

‘The one that we saw yesterday’

‘Really? Where did we see it?’

Viola turned a half circle and pointed with her whole hand in roughly the opposite direction to the main gates.

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘And when did we see it?’

Viola’s voice, which had been crisp and certain, began to falter.

‘Yesterday… when we entered the city; wasn’t it then?’

Kath frowned and shook her head very slowly.

‘We came through the gate, went round a few blocks of houses and found the safe house. All we saw were the green silos and the brick buildings’

‘I was sure…’ Viola stopped herself.

‘Vee , I don’t think you’ve been there with me’

Viola’s head drooped, she looked tired and drawn.

‘Of course – I’m being foolish – it was in a dream.’

Hardacre caught up with them. He touched Viola’s shoulder and she turned around.

‘May I say something, madam?’

Viola paused, and although it was not her intention, her reply was hesitant.

‘Of course you may… I always value your advice’

‘I am concerned that we may be walking into a wilderness of snares, and that not all of them have been set by our enemies’

A wave of discomfort passed over Viola’s face; she narrowed her mouth until her lips were thin lines.

‘I know that all too well, Envoy Hardacre, but what do you propose that we do, now that we have come so far?’

 Hardacre frowned. He let go of her shoulder.

‘Be very careful. It is surely dangerous to allow a god to give you commands’

Anger ignited in her.

‘Or a witch lord. We all owe service to someone’

She walked off towards the centre of the city. They trailed after her; none of them had anything more to say. Hardacre’s face was as impassive as ever but his step was heavy.  Dom had long ago given up working out exactly what was going on, they were being carried forward by some compulsion that he couldn’t hope to understand.

Kath hurried to catch up with Viola again.

‘What now?’ she asked

‘Who knows? I’m half hoping that the white temple won’t be there’

 

***

 

But it was there.  The temple stretched half way along a street that was lined with a more imposing set of buildings than they had seen in the other parts of the city. The white temple, though, was the largest of them all. If this was what they had come to find, no-one had tried to hide it.

They walked round the building cautiously. The outside was entirely without decoration, but it was whitewashed and stuccoed and no bricks were visible. The whole structure was built on a raised area; whether natural or built it was impossible to say.  At the front there were steep steps that led up to a long white-walled building with two rows of large columns topped by a v-shaped roof. Along three sides was a colonnade with many, far smaller, slender columns and a flat, vaulted, roof.

Hardacre stood on the bottom step and looked up at the temple. He couldn’t see very far inside the inner part of the building, but he could see enough. He turned to the others, who hadn’t even dared to climb a single step.

‘This is an almost exact copy of the Temple of All Gods in Kinspit.’ He paused for a second, ‘or more probably, the other way around’

Viola found the courage to join him on the step.

‘What’s that temple for?’              

‘It’s where the population of the city worship their many gods; those considered sacred by elves, by humans or by both. Along the long walls of the building are niches. Each niche has a statue depicting the god, and a small area where the faithful can pray, light candles, sing religious songs or whatever their god requires. It can be a noisy place… although’ he bowed his head, ‘I rarely find time to visit’ 

They were all dying to ask him what god he would visit, but this was not the time. In fact, they all guessed that there would never be a good time.

‘Which gods are there?’ asked Dom

‘There are thirteen of them. All the normal, relatively wholesome ones; no cloaks, no Rhopadon, no unstable desert godlings, there are a couple of southern gods in there that I know little about…’

Viola peered up into the gloomy interior.

‘I see niches along the long walls of the temple, but it’s too dark to see what’s in them’

‘Perhaps we should go and have a look?’ suggested Kath, feeling the scholarly itch again, despite the fear that sat in the back of her mind. Viola nodded, but Hardacre signalled that Kath should stay where she was.

‘We should have a look first’

He turned to Dom. ‘I would be honoured if you would assist me, Mage Shavosky’ Dom smiled broadly. That was the first time that anyone had called him by any title, and that was the one he coveted more than any other.  After that, caution seemed churlish.

The two magic-practitioners walked slowly up the steps, casting simple diagnostic spells as they went. Halfway up, Hardacre spoke softly to Dom.

‘I must be frank, young mage. My diagnostic skills are rudimentary, and yours, although already more refined than mine, are perhaps not sufficient for us to discover any sophisticated traps or curses of the kind that we might reasonably expect to have been set up here’

 ‘Then why are we doing this?’

‘Because if we find nothing then we can report that we think everything is safe, without lying, and everyone will feel a little safer; perhaps, somewhat counter-intuitively, even you and I.’

Dom smiled. This was the sort of way that his gods-father spoke and thought.  And Hardacre was right, he did feel a little safer.

They reached the top of the steps and found nothing unusual. The temple radiated a stronger version of the general enchantment that the rest of the city held, but it was much more focused. No plants grew here on the bright white marble. They went down to get the others.

Viola walked slowly up the steps:  she counted them, nineteen steep steps leading to the flat area in front of the temple entrance.  Kath followed a little way behind.  Every step that she took made her eyes a little wider and brighter. This wasn’t Dwarven Magic – it was something older and more diffuse, but closely related at some fundamental level.

Viola looked at Hardacre and Dom. They both nodded, radiating professional competence.  She walked cautiously into the temple and the others followed, Kath just behind, Hardacre on the right and Dom on the left.

They walked down the central aisle of the temple. The light shone down from some skylights high above

They reached the far end. The front of the temple was dominated by a single caryatid pillar, separate from the nine paired rows of plain square-headed pillars that made up the bulk of the building. The caryatid was in the form of an elf, naked except for vines wrapped around her body from neck to toe. Her hair was long and straight, her face showed an intense concentration of effort.  Her hands were held out from her sides with the palms open. All around her were statues of plants and animals, except that none of them had clear forms – it was as if the sculptors had begun each piece and then decided to leave them protean, ill-defined and ready to be transformed. There were vaguely mammalian forms, and approximate birds, shrubs with sketchy leaves, and butterflies that were no more than silhouettes.

‘All ready to be filled with life…’ whispered Viola. She pointed at the caryatid elf, ‘…by her’

No-one needed to be asked who she was. This was the paramount architect.  Viola knew her face so very well from so many dreams.

Kath was looking at the sculptures with great care. She ran her hands over the surface of a prototype cow cum deer cum antelope.

‘It feels strange –  it’s like a cross between putty and stone. Everything here seems half complete and partially thought through’

Hardacre scanned the tableau of sculptures; they filled the whole space between the caryatid and the back wall. He turned and spoke to Viola. 

‘We need to hurry. Major – Is the naga here?’

Viola shrugged and put her hands out to show her open palms. For a moment she was standing in exactly the pose of the caryatid Quiena. Viola looked up at the statue and then back at her companions. For a second they were puzzled and mildly spooked. Then they started to laugh, and for a short while the tension was broken.

In the noise, it took the little parrot, Psithuros, who had just flown pell-mell into the room, some time to make herself heard. Eventually, Dom noticed her and she hopped on to his hand. Once they had all seen the little bird the laughter stopped abruptly.

 ‘The enemy are here’ she squeaked

 

They hurried straight out of the temple to look for signs of their foes. There was nothing.  At least they had a bit of time.  

Viola’s heart lurched. She had only just realised that there was only one parrot with them.

‘Where’s Tillie?’ she asked, in a cracking voice.

The little parrot cocked her head.

‘Fighting panthers with my kin’ she twittered.  Her voice was bright and proud.