‘Sorry will not take us home.’ The lack of lustre was plain. The immensity of the Kaan’s size and presence was undiminished but the verve was gone from his voice and his languid movement was a sign of his growing inertia.
‘Hirad mentioned your desire,’ said The Unknown.
‘It has always been a desire. Now it is a necessity.’ Sha-Kaan gazed at the pair unblinking. ‘You have picked a curious time for your visit. Rain and dark, I understand, are not to human liking.’
The Unknown shrugged. ‘We need Hirad. The weather is inconsequential.’
‘And I told them I wouldn’t be helping,’ interrupted Hirad.
‘With what?’ asked Sha-Kaan.
‘Finding Denser’s daughter.’
‘Ah.’ Sha-Kaan opened his mouth wide, his jaws stretching impossibly wide, fangs glinting in the lantern light. ‘I might have guessed the thief was at the heart of your anger, Hirad Coldheart. Presumably he isn’t yet offering a way back to Beshara.’
‘No,’ said Hirad curtly. ‘He hasn’t quite finished worming his way to the top of the Xeteskian mage society.’
Ilkar sighed.
‘You have something to add?’ asked Sha-Kaan.
‘Hirad knows I believe he’s being harsh on Denser, though I understand his and your frustration at the length of your wait. But we’re talking about the safety of Erienne and her child, Lyanna. They are in considerable danger though they probably don’t know it. Right now, Dordover is searching for them both and Denser thinks they don’t necessarily want to catch Lyanna alive.’
‘And I said he’s creating shit,’ said Hirad. ‘Dordover has been training her. Why would they want to kill her?’
‘I tried to explain but you weren’t listening. It’s because of what she represents and where they think she’s gone,’ Ilkar said.
Sha-Kaan breathed out, a low rumbling sound that sent echoes through the air.
‘This child is a mage?’ he asked.
‘ “Mage” hardly covers it,’ said Ilkar. ‘She is almost certainly a four-College adept and probably capable of encompassing the One Way.’
Nos- and Hyn-Kaan’s heads snapped up and all three dragons stared at Ilkar, who took an involuntary pace backwards. The Kaans’ necks moved, giving the impression of a three-headed beast with a single monstrous body.
‘Where has she gone?’ demanded Sha-Kaan.
‘Denser suspects she’s with practitioners of the One Way but we don’t know if they even still exist, let alone where they might be.’
‘Al-Drechar,’ breathed Sha-Kaan. ‘If they live, they must be found. Hirad, you must help.’
‘Who are these Al whatever?’
‘Keepers of the One,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Septern will surely have shared his knowledge with them. He was one of them. They can send us home.’
Dordover had ignored Xetesk’s call for a Triverne Lake meeting. That in itself would have been an act of aggression had they not invoked a dusty but very useful clause in the four-College treaty which in this case covered Julatsa. The College was inquorate, temporarily at least, and unable to fulfil its duties. More, its acting High Mage, Ilkar of The Raven, was absent.
Vuldaroq fully expected the deputation he received a few days later, particularly as it came in the aftermath of his mobilisation of a one-hundred-and-fifty-strong Dordovan mage force, enhanced by three hundred mounted swordsmen. That, added to Darrick’s Lysternan and Dordovan cavalry, however reluctant their commander, amounted to a significant troop movement. Xetesk were bound to be unhappy but, as in all things, it was the way in which they were told that was important.
This was not a stroke Vuldaroq would have pulled with Styliann still incumbent on The Mount. Whatever his personal feelings, Vuldaroq had respected Styliann’s intelligence and political acumen. But the pup, Dystran, had no respected network, no quality advisers and no sure thoughts of his own. Even Denser wasn’t on hand to help. Everything seemed to be working rather well and Dystran’s entirely predictable responses merely added to Vuldaroq’s feeling of control.
He chose to meet Dystran and his unimpressive entourage in the austere surroundings of a student’s study chambers, the small living area of which contained a round table and four straight wooden chairs, a basic iron-grated fireplace and plain brown drapes which hid ill-fitting shuttered windows. Candles cast a wan illumination amid gaunt shadows, and the air was heavy with old damp.
The only concession to the seniority of his guests was the ubiquitous bowl of fruits and an insulated jug of Dordover’s much vaunted herbal tea. It was cold, wet and very windy outside and the enlivening infusion would banish thoughts of that particular unpleasantness and stop tired minds from wandering.
Vuldaroq and High Secretary Berian were ensconced early in the chambers, situated in an outbuilding off the central courtyard behind the Tower. As the door opened to admit a scowling Dystran, Vuldaroq had positioned himself to greet him with a perfectly modelled expression of apology on his face. Behind Dystran, came Ranyl, an average mage in Vuldaroq’s opinion, and a pair of Protectors.
‘Gentlemen, I must apologise for the sparseness of our surroundings but your arrival finds us at rather a loss for quality accommodation. ’ He held out his hands in a gesture of supplication. Dystran regarded him coldly before moving to sit opposite Berian.
‘We have come here to talk, not debate the fine points of your College’s architecture and wallhangings,’ he said.
‘Indeed not,’ said Vuldaroq, smiling thinly. ‘Berian, tea for our guests. My Lord Dystran, your Protectors?’ Vuldaroq found it difficult to contain his distaste at the abominations that insulted his College by their presence. They should all have been put to the sword years ago.
‘They need nothing. If they make you feel uncomfortable, they can remain outside.’
‘Most kind.’ Vuldaroq took his seat and waited while the tea was poured. Ranyl selected an apple but he was the only one who ate. The Dordovan Tower Lord watched while the Xeteskians drank, noting with satisfaction their obvious pleasure.
‘Very good,’ admitted Dystran.
‘Perhaps our best kept secret,’ said Berian, inclining his head.
‘Hmm, and you keep very few of those these days, it seems,’ said Dystran, turning to face Vuldaroq.
‘You have issues you wish to discuss,’ said Vuldaroq smoothly.
‘I have not ridden here to idly pass the days,’ said Dystran shortly. ‘And I will not keep you from my point. Your mobilisation of forces is a clear act of aggression and an insult to the peace not only between the Colleges but that presiding across Balaia. And, I will add that your Arch Mage’s decision to send, with all due respect to yourself, a lesser lord, to attend me is a personal slur that I find both mystifying and unnecessary.’
Vuldaroq lifted his hands in a placatory gesture while he seethed behind his carefully neutral expression.
‘As I’m sure you are aware, my Lord Dystran, Arch Mage Herolus is in very poor health and his death is close. I and Berian act as his voice and his ears in his stead, as it has always been during times of Arch Mage sickness. There is no slur.’ He sipped his tea before continuing. ‘Furthermore, I find your use of the term aggression a little surprising. I fail to see who it is that we threaten. My meagre forces are acting on reputable intelligence suggesting a threat to our child, Lyanna, and her mother. We are naturally concerned and have dispatched a protective force to travel south, where we believe we have most chance of finding our people before our enemies do.
‘I fear the same cannot be said for your considerable number of, and I use the term advisedly, “Protectors” now marauding along the borders of the mage lands blatantly intimidating any Dordovans they and their masters encounter.’
Dystran frowned. ‘Against what are you protecting the child? You haven’t even found her yet and indeed probably never will. The Raven may bring her back but I fear even they will be left searching for spirits in the wind.