Corlas relaxed as understanding sank in. ‘Thank you, my Throne,’ he said gratefully.
Naphur leaned forward. ‘Now on your way before I change my mind,’ he growled. ‘We will talk more later.’
Corlas bowed deeply.
Corlas was relieved he had managed to tell the truth, even if it had been a thoroughly misleading version. He well remembered Fahren’s reputation for seeing through false claims and could not afford to be caught out at this crucial stage of the plan. As he headed down the stairs someone called him from behind, and his heart sank as he realised the High Mage bounced down the steps after him.
‘Glad I caught you,’ said Fahren, landing at his side. ‘I understand why you wish to make a hasty retreat. You’re probably exhausted.’
‘I am tired,’ agreed Corlas.
‘Yes. I just wished to know a bit more of this Sprite woman.’
Corlas wondered how long it would be until his façade was shattered. ‘Of course,’ he said, knowing there would be no escaping this. Better to try to satisfy the mage’s curiosity now and have it done with one way or another.
‘Would you tell me about her?’
If you would listen , thought Corlas, I could talk of her for hours. Instead he shrugged. ‘What would you know?’
‘You said you were enchanted. I’m curious about what form this enchantment took.’
That was easy. ‘I believed I loved her.’
‘I see. And …’
‘I thought her the most beautiful creature in the whole world, High Mage. I remembered no time before her and could imagine no time after. One day I woke up and she was not there. So I left. I don’t know what else to tell you.’
‘You were in that wood for years,’ said Fahren, growing more forceful. ‘Surely there is more?’
‘That is the way I remember it.’
‘Where did you live?’
‘In the trees,’ replied Corlas, lying outright for the first time. ‘In a house in the trees.’
It was an image he remembered from stories of Sprites he’d heard as a child. If he told Fahren he’d lived in a little hut in a clearing, Fahren might start to ask difficult questions.
‘There is something else,’ said Fahren carefully. ‘Some months ago, while you may still have been there, there were some very peculiar goings-on in Whisperwood.’ The mage raised a wispy blond eyebrow. ‘Do you know anything of this? Did you see anything strange?’
‘The wood is a strange place,’ rumbled Corlas. ‘Often I believed there was more than trees out there. Is that what you mean?’
Fahren looked searchingly into Corlas’s eyes for a long moment. Finally he frowned. ‘No,’ he said. His expression grew friendlier once more. ‘Well then, Taskmaster Corlas,’ he said, patting Corlas’s shoulder, ‘I should let you go. I’m sure you’ve much settling in to do.’
Corlas bowed his head. ‘Thank you, High Mage.’
Fahren nodded. ‘And, Corlas?’
‘Yes, High Mage?’
‘Welcome home.’
For two months Corlas took up the purposeful waiting that he was careful to disguise. It took great willpower to appear to be settling in and glad to be back. His welcoming feast had called for him to be jovial as he drank. In actuality the drink made his mood darker, and he found himself trying to chuckle with people he would have preferred to put an axe through.
One startling moment was when he saw the paintings made in his honour. He was especially interested in one tableau of the battle at the Shining Mines. It depicted him amongst raging forces of light and shadow, aiming a crossbow, his face fiercer than he’d ever imagined it. The target of the bolt was a dark silhouette all wrapped up in a billowing cloak, long cruel hands extended to the sky – the Shadowdreamer. Above was a vortex of dark blue energy, conjured by the Shadowdreamer, set to obliterate the both of them. Corlas had paused for a long moment before the scene and the disturbing memories it returned to him. It had seemed a lifetime ago, until right then.
As he’d requested, the Throne had made him a taskmaster. To his great surprise he discovered that he was good with students. It was only with the children that he forgot his simmering anger and disconnection from any kind of loyalty to the light. His troubles were not the fault of the young. What was more unbelievable was that the children, especially the younger ones, liked their big, gruff hero teacher in return. He felt conflicted about training them to serve those he no longer believed in, but as he kept telling himself, it was necessary if he was to achieve his end. The students would be the only ones he’d miss once he escaped with his son.
He’d seen the boy once. It had been a risk, but he had invented an excuse to visit the High Mage in the Open Tower. Under the guise of asking some questions about the ‘enchantment’ placed on him, he’d been able to sit and talk with Fahren while forcing himself to appear uninterested in the baby in the corner. He’d dared to ask casually about the lad, and Fahren had fed him some story about Bel being the orphan of two of the Throne’s noble friends. Corlas didn’t need any magical senses to know that Fahren lied. In those brief glances he’d recognised his own flesh and blood, even if the blue hair had been hidden somehow. As far as Corlas was concerned, Bel was not the child of power. Some kind of enormous blunder had been made, some superstitious folly. A fairytale from a hundred years ago was no reason to keep his boy cooped up in a tower.
Now, a month after that visit, Corlas made his way back to the Open Tower. He passed two of his students, a boy and girl, who smiled shyly at the fact he’d caught them holding hands. He chuckled to himself and silently bade them goodbye.
Arriving at the base of the Tower, he entered unchallenged and made his way up the spiral stairs. Here and there were doorways into libraries and mages’ quarters and whatever else. It all seemed quite empty at the moment, in keeping with Corlas’s timing. Many were at the Sun Court, where a meeting had stretched into the night.
It was a good distance to the top, but eventually he came to the landing before Fahren’s door. Two guards stood there. They came to attention as they saw his uniform, and straightened even more when they recognised him – since his return, the Great Corlas had become well known around the Halls. It had made it harder that people wanted to befriend him all the time, necessitating more diligence in maintaining his mask.
‘Sir!’ One of the blades saluted. ‘The High Mage is not currently in.’
‘I know that, blade,’ said Corlas. ‘It was Fahren himself who sent me. You are aware of the boy he currently keeps within his chamber?’
‘Sir?’
‘There is some dispute over his lineage. The court wishes to see him, so Fahren sends me to fetch him.’
The guards looked uncertain. ‘We aren’t supposed to let anyone in, sir.’
Corlas tapped the insignia on his shoulder. ‘Well, I’m not just anyone, lads. I’m the fellow who can assign you a hundred crawls through the mud in punishment for disobeying direct orders. And the way Fahren is getting worked up by Assicon Cydus, I wouldn’t want to be in your sandals if he has to storm over here himself to see his will done. He is a man currently in dire need of taking out his anger on someone.’
The guards glanced at each other with obvious worry. Corlas was thankful they were so young, probably fresh out of peacekeeping; older guards might have stood their ground. He didn’t want to use violence, especially since he had no idea what magical security measures Fahren might have activated. He was taking a huge risk as it was, but now it had begun he had to follow through. In this moment he would put to use and simultaneously dispose of his good name as the hero Corlas.
‘It’s true I took on the Shadowdreamer,’ he chuckled, ‘but I would not like Fahren’s gaze focused on me right now.’
The guards parted before him and he went to the door.