The Temple itself was a low dome, ringed with forty spires and having a diameter of perhaps two hundred feet. A single needle spire rose from the centre of the planked and slated wooden roof, and the walls, marble and stone, shone in the post-rain sunshine.
The Wrethsires were as disparate as the four Colleges were intensely familial. Small temples were scattered all over Balaia, but were sparse in number in the west when compared to the east. The order believed in a death force magic that had nothing to do with mana energy and so drew the unswerving scorn of every mage.
They did harness something, that much was admitted, but whatever it was had proved unstable to control - far more so than mana - and the reports of accident and disaster were well documented throughout the two hundred years or so that the order had been established.
The Raven had arrived late the previous evening after a sodden but otherwise uneventful journey through forested hillsides, steep valleys and swollen streams. Had it been dry, the landscape would have been beautiful.
It had been dawn before the rain stopped, and the silence it brought was blessed relief from the incessant patter and drum. Full dawn was a brilliant sun from a cloudless sky, and quickly the land began to dry, steam rising from leaf, grass and shrub.
Thraun had brought them to a stop in a dense area of woodland three miles from the Temple. Approaching unseen would be close to impossible during the daylight, but Denser had agreed to undertake a CloakedWalk around the dome later that morning. For now, though, the talk was of the Wrethsires themselves.
‘They are actually very quiet as an organisation,’ said Erienne.
‘With plenty to be quiet about,’ said Denser.
‘But they’ve got something, isn’t that right?’ asked Jandyr.
‘You could say, I suppose.’ Denser shrugged.
‘Come on, Denser,’ snapped Thraun. ‘We’ve all got to go in there.’
Denser bridled. ‘They are a quasi-religious, quasi-magical - though I use the term very loosely - organisation. They pray to some idea of an earth death force, pretend they can harness it and claim some sort of brotherhood with the four Colleges because of it. They are frauds, their magic is flawed and their contention to be the fifth College is nothing short of repellent. Anything else?’ Denser fetched his pipe from his cloak, filled the bowl from a bulging tobacco pouch courtesy of Lystern, and lit it from a flame on his thumb.
Hirad flicked absently at a piece of leaf mould, his eyes spearing the Dark Mage.
‘In case it had slipped your mind, Denser, incomplete information has already claimed the life of my closest friend. And look at you. In fact look at all three of you mages, choking on the contempt you hold for these Wrethsires.’ There was an uncomfortable shifting around the campsite. ‘Now I don’t know whether this contempt is fair and I don’t, frankly, give a damn. What I and my friends without their noses stuck in the air want to know is exactly what we might face in there. What spells do they have, are they weapons users, how many are there, you know. If you can’t tell me because you don’t know, fine. But don’t keep me in the dark because you don’t think it’s important. Got it?’ He shook his head at them. ‘Bloody mages on bloody pedestals.’
Denser contemplated Hirad’s words, raising his eyebrows at Ilkar who, unaccountably, was trying to suppress a smile.
‘I’m sorry, Hirad,’ said Denser at length. ‘You’re right. But they aren’t magical and you can’t call their castings spells.’
‘I don’t care what you call them. Tell me what they do before I start getting irritated.’
‘Start?’ Ilkar’s smile surfaced.
‘Right.’ Denser clapped his hands on his thighs. ‘What we know about the Wrethsires’ castings is patchy. We know that they are based in prayer utterances and that all their work is done in groups - the more Sires, the stronger the result. Their power, such as it is, is based on violent elemental forces like wind, rain, fire and so on and the death force they are supposed to produce.
‘The thing to watch out for is that they don’t control it well. It makes all their castings unstable and so unpredictable both to them and, in this case, to us.’
‘In what way?’ asked Jandyr.
Denser shrugged. ‘Duration, power, direction, random result, backfire. You name it. Another belief is that when they die, their death force strengthens the Temple whole and that much of their combined power comes from this death element. It gives them a rather misplaced confidence.’
‘And you’re saying they don’t harness this force?’ said Will. Denser nodded. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘Pretty sure.’ The Dark Mage’s smile at Ilkar was somewhat embarrassed. Ilkar pursed his lips but said nothing.
‘Are they aggressive?’ Hirad looked back from Ilkar to Denser.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Not like Wesmen, although for whatever reason, the Wesmen leave them completely alone. Or so we understand. ’ He looked round The Raven. ‘Anything else?’
‘How many of them are there?’ Thraun took him up.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’
‘I mean in the Arch Temple. Are we talking thirty, three hundred, what?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’
‘Great,’ said The Unknown and Hirad together.
‘The temple will take several hundred but it was built for worship, don’t forget. The Gods only know how many Sires they have down there, or blades for that matter. Hopefully I’ll have some idea later.’
But he found nothing. Travelling to the edge of the woodland by the Temple with Thraun to avoid being seen, Denser cast his CloakedWalk and strolled up to the pillared entrance. It was shut and he couldn’t risk trying the grand polished brass rings that hung on the oak-striped doors. He moved in a clockwise direction around the Temple, taking in the ornate mosaics and carvings that decorated the walls. Great vistas of mountain and forest, sea and cliff and plain and desert mixed with representations of fire, wind through the sky and one particularly grim mosaic depicting a walk of the dead.
Not a sound came from inside. Vents were shuttered, side and rear doors were closed and the spires, beautifully worked cones of black marble standing twice his height, gave no clue to the whereabouts of the Wrethsires. He returned to Thraun and they made their way back to the campsite.
‘Should we be surprised, or not?’ asked Will, his eyes bright under his now completely grey hair.
‘To be honest, I don’t see why,’ said Denser. ‘Like I said, it’s a place of worship. Very few, if any, will actually live there. And it’s still only mid-morning. But I don’t know . . .’
‘What’s the problem?’ Hirad pulled himself to his feet and stretched. ‘Sounds to me as though we could get in and out right now and save ourselves a lot of trouble.’
‘The thought had crossed my mind too,’ agreed Denser. ‘But I can’t help thinking that if it was my temple, I’d have it guarded. Particularly with what’s going on around here right now.’
‘I don’t get where you’re going with this,’ said Hirad. ‘If they’ve screwed up leaving the place unguarded, that’s to our advantage.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Denser, ‘It just didn’t feel right.’
‘Sixth sense?’ Erienne ran a hand through Denser’s hair.
He nodded. ‘Something like that. I just think we should be careful.’
‘We were always going to be that,’ said Ilkar.
‘So do we move now or stick by the original plan?’ Jandyr looked to Hirad but it was The Unknown who spoke.
‘In daylight, we risk Wrethsires coming to the Temple; in the dead of night, we don’t. I can see no reason to rush in, we’re not in any danger here. Hirad?’