Ranyl knew he wouldn't be seeing too many more dawns. It was an abiding sadness. From his highest balcony, he had seen the most spectacular fire-red dawns when the season was right. But autumn was more than a lifetime away.
Perhaps worse, though, was that he was unlikely to see the outcome of the war or the final fruition of either the elven or dimensional researches. He allowed himself a smile. Good of Dystran to give him so much involvement. Further sign if it was needed that
Dystran had become a worthy and wily Lord of the Mount. After all, he had only allowed Ranyl access to such potential influence in Xetesk after discovering early that the cancer would be terminal.
Before Ranyl had, in fact.
Still, at least he would witness the first use of the adaptable dimensional magics gained from the understanding of the ageing Al-Drechar and the dragon, Sha-Kaan.
And there was another regret. How he would have loved to have met them, elf and beast alike. Again, though, he conceded he should really be grateful. He had, after all enjoyed a key decision-making position in these central affairs.
He must have dozed off momentarily because he felt the cool air on his face without seeing the door to his bedchamber open and close to admit whoever it was who had come to see him. He sighed and opened his eyes, his vision swimming slightly as it always did. Another messenger, was it? Or perhaps Dystran. That would be comforting. He had a sudden urge to know what was going on and how the hunt for the elven raiders went.
The room was darker. It was because two figures were standing in front of the fire. He could sense others in the room too but he focused on the nearest. Strange there should be so many and he felt a menace that unnerved him.
'Our apologies for disturbing you, Master Ranyl,' said one, the smaller of the pair. He could make out a beard but the finer features were still blurred. The voice he recognised but couldn't place. At least it was human, not elven and he felt himself relax. He blinked and his vision cleared further.
'But we have messages to pass to you and the Circle Seven, and we have information to collect and you know where it is.' This was the other man. Huge, shaven-headed and deep-voiced.
Ranyl's calm deserted him. He knew these men. And a glance told him he knew nearly all in the room. His bedchamber. His heart was racing and pain flared in his stomach.
'Dear Gods burning, how did you get in here?'
Chapter 18
The TaiGethen fanned out from the base of the stairwell and ran across the ground floor. Two cells, six elite hunter-warriors armed with short blades, jaqruis and bows. Silent through the grid of shelves and cases, feet caressing stone, wood and carpet, their eyes missing nothing.
The Al-Arynaar mages walked in their wake, drinking in the mass of Xeteskian knowledge all around them, calm in the certainty that while the TaiGethen hunted in front of them, they had nothing to fear.
Auum ran at their head, with Duele and Evunn to his left, flitting in and out of his peripheral vision between the shelves. Marack and her cell mirrored them to the right. As on the upper floors, they expected to find no one. Their sweep took them through the desks and tables and all the way to the doors closed against the night and a threat that had already bypassed them.
Auum paused at the doors and the TaiGethen gathered about him. The library was a welcome change from the city outside and its filthy cloying odours. The air smelled of ancient paper, treated wood and the mustiness of age, mixed with traces of lantern oil. He breathed it in deeply before he spoke, voice low.
'You have all seen the five doors we passed on our left. These are the archive chambers of which Denser spoke. If the Aryn Hiil is here, it will be in one of those. You have all seen the light from beneath two of the doors. Split by Tai cell, one mage to each. Remember Denser's warnings and let Tual's hands guide yours. We move.'
Auum led his Tai back into the library, heading past tables and around bookshelves to the row of five doors that led into the secure archive chambers. He stood back to let the mage move to the door.
She stood directly in front of it and tuned to the mana spectrum. Beside Auum, Duele held his bow, and Evunn, two short swords.
Two doors along, Marack was ready. Auum nodded. The mages got to work.
Nyam's curiosity was undimmed. And he had no doubt the Al-Drechar were shielding a One mage despite their obstructive comments. Ever since their arrival, they had been kept from the most private rooms in the old house. The few remaining elves from the Guild of Drech were most insistent that their mistresses be afforded quiet and rest much of the time, so limiting the Xeteskian interrogation and, importantly, observation.
It was also clear that they were friendly enough with Diera who in turn had the ear of Sha-Kaan. And the dragon, weakened and without fire though he was, had let it be known that he didn't see the roof and walls of the house as a barrier to killing those who stepped out of line.
There came a time, however, when a mage had to make his move. Had to be noticed by the Circle Seven for initiative, ability, courage and loyalty. Gods drowning, on this small rock buried in the Southern Ocean that was difficult but Nyam had always been taught to grab opportunities, and he saw one now.
Let the others lick their wounds and remain scared of two old women and a dying dragon. He had listened to the messages passed via the Protectors through the Soul Tank. He knew the growing anxiety over the reality that the One still blossomed outside Heren-deneth and not in Xeteskian control. He had heard the rumours of the identity of the practitioner; and in so many ways it all made sense though their research hadn't revealed how The Raven mage, Erienne, might have developed the talent following her daughter's death. Best guess was it arose coincidentally but the fact remained that there were two people on this island who knew the truth. Nyam had the chance for quick promotion sleeping not thirty yards from him. He wasn't about to let his colleagues take it first. He had to gamble on the rumour being true and he had to do it now.
The night was humid and, as ever, still. Stars scattered the night sky delivering nothing in the way of light and the house itself had few lanterns burning. Nyam walked through the damp-smelling corridors to the wing where the Al-Drechar, Diera and Jonas slept. Two Guild elves stood guard at its entrance, barring his way.
'I apologise for the unpleasantness of the hour but I have news concerning The Unknown Warrior that Diera must hear.'
'She is sleeping,' said one of the elves in heavily accented Balaian.
'I know, and I would normally keep news until the morning but this she must hear now. He is in serious danger.'
'You would worry her this much about things she cannot influence?'
'She has always said she would know everything,' countered Nyam. 'Please. Come with me to her. Ask her yourself before I even see her. At least give her the option.'
He knew they had no choice. He knew he looked innocent and sincere. One shrugged, the other nodded and the door was opened for him. He was accompanied the short distance down the corridor by the elf who had spoken to him, arriving at Diera's door where he was told to wait. Further down the corridor, more Guild elves stood guard in front of the Al-Drechar's private rooms. Shortly, the elf reappeared and beckoned him in. As they passed, the elf caught his arm.
'Do not wake die child. Do not betray our trust,' he said. 'You are here but we do not want you here. Remember that.'
Nyam nodded and walked inside. Diera was sitting on the side of her bed, a light shawl draped over her shoulders and covering the top of her nightdress. One hand stroked her sleeping son's head. A lamp, wick turned low, was enough to reveal her anxious face and knotted hair. Gods but she was so alluring. A woman just woken. How sweet it would be if she were to beckon him to her.