‘Let’s get ourselves going and talk on the way,’ said The Unknown. ‘We’ll take it easy until we hit open ground, give Erienne a chance to catch her breath a little. Anyone carrying an injury? No? Then let’s get moving.’
They mounted up, The Unknown and Hirad riding forward with Darrick, the horses at little more than a walk, through the quiet early morning streets. They could hear no pursuit.
‘They won’t bother,’ said Darrick. ‘They’ll guess where we’re heading. We haven’t got any other realistic choice.’
‘This complicates matters,’ said Hirad.
‘Every non-elf can now be assumed a potential threat - barring Izack perhaps but even he will have orders.’
‘You think they’ll come after us aggressively?’ Hirad looked across at Darrick.
‘You heard Heryst,’ said the former general. ‘He wants to control Erienne and more than that, he’ll not want her taken by Xetesk or Dordover.’
‘Hmm.’ The Unknown chewed his lip. ‘And if the ripple has been felt elsewhere we’ll find ourselves hunted by everyone when they work out what it means.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Hirad. ‘It’s a different magic.’
‘But it draws on mana first,’ said Erienne. ‘The real power of the One is what else you can bring to bear.’
‘I believe you,’ said Hirad. ‘Just take care of yourself.’
‘Don’t you worry about me,’ said Erienne, but Darrick could hear the affection in her voice.
Hirad turned in his saddle.
‘It’s my job,’ he said.
The Raven rode out of Lystern.
‘Tell me what it means,’ demanded Dystran.
He was standing in an archive room just above the catacombs, and all the laboratories and research chambers they contained. Like every mage in the college, he had been rudely awakened by the ripple in the mana, coming to with a sense of déjà vu. He had wrapped a cloak around his night shirt and run barefoot to the archive room where his spectrum guards spent their days and nights. He was tired but excited and, little over an hour after the incident, impatient for answers. One answer.
‘It is difficult to be certain. The effect was only faintly visible in the spectrum though even that was strong enough to wake us all,’ explained the middle-aged mage, a man whom Dystran had never come across before.
‘But it came from Lystern,’ said Dystran.
‘Undoubtedly, my Lord.’
‘Humour me now,’ said Dystran. ‘And take your best guess. I understand your desire for exactitude but I have to plan. I, after all, am in charge. What do you think caused this ripple or polarisation, whatever the term you prefer to use?’
‘It felt familiar, my Lord,’ said the analyst. ‘Unpleasantly so. If you pressed me, I would say, and I must beg leave to verify, but I would say we had experienced a casting of the One magic. All the signs that we learned so well from the Nightchild’s devastation were there but this was ordered. Under control.’
‘Yes!’ Dystran clapped his hands together. ‘Correct answer. Verify away. Don’t sleep until you have the proof you need and don’t fear being wrong. I need the truth more than I need lies dressed up as good news.’
Dystran called his advisers to him and strode from the room.
‘Get me whoever it is that’s in charge on Herendeneth. I need to know why the hell the Al-Drechar haven’t revealed there was another practitioner. And get me Chandyr and Myx from whatever front they’re defending. The march on Julatsa might have to be postponed.
‘Oh, and get me an update on our dimensional experiments based on the information those two women supplied us. Gods, there’s so much to do.’
He turned a corner and took a spiral staircase, going up two steps at a time.
‘Ranyl,’ he said to himself. ‘You’ll have to postpone dying. I need you more than the darkness does.’
In Dordover, the night’s rest was over for every mage capable of reading the signs in the spectrum. Vuldaroq had received powerful and urgent Communion from Lystern shortly after midnight. The news had sent him surging from his bed, his overweight body sweating as he ran, wiping a cloth at his puffy red face.
Even in his dreams he had felt the unease that had whispered through the mana spectrum and on hearing the report from his delegation and his experts, knew his feelings were grounded in truth.
‘Be absolutely sure,’ he instructed the research team. ‘But be quick about it. I want to know how this is possible. And at first light, I want to see the Lystern delegation. In the meantime, I want every spare man hunting The Raven. I think it’s safe to assume, as our delegation suspects, that Erienne carries the One, if indeed we are facing that power again. I want her here, where she belongs, as a child of this college.’
He sat back in his chair. ‘Dear Gods falling, The Raven. Praise the day when they stop making my life so bloody difficult.’ He sighed and looked around him. ‘Come on, we’ve got work to do.’
Chapter 7
In contrast to the dawn weather, the mood was distinctly cool in the Al-Drechar’s reception room on Herendeneth. Myriell joined Cleress as usual in their preferred location by the kitchen, their elven helpers shadowing every uncertain, arthritic step. No one would dare disturb their sleep but a trio of tired-looking Xeteskian mages was waiting for them as they awoke. She recognised them all; Nyam, Leryn and Krystaj.
‘To what do we owe this pleasure?’ asked Myriell, having spent an inordinate amount of time having her cushions and blankets precisely arranged by her Guild elf attendant, Nerane.
She could feel their irritation growing but ignored it and the increasingly frequent ‘tuts’ coming from Cleress. But then Cleress had spent so much more time defending Erienne’s mind of late, including her rather rash use of a creation she wasn’t quite ready to use. Understandably, she was tired.
Myriell, on the other hand, had enjoyed her best night’s rest for ages and felt energetic enough to indulge in mischief-making.
‘You have not been straight with us,’ said Leryn. He was their leader and a fool. All slimy smiles and political intent.
‘I think you’ll find we have answered all your questions to the best of our ability,’ said Myriell evenly.
‘You did not tell us there was another practitioner of the One.’
‘You didn’t ask.’
‘So there is.’ Krystaj this time, a bored and ineffectual student. A poor mage.
‘That is your assumption,’ said Cleress, finally connecting with Myriell’s train of thought.
‘And we wouldn’t dream of questioning the assumptions of Xetesk,’ added Myriell. Looking Leryn square in the eye.
‘So tell us,’ said Nyam, the only smart one among them. ‘Is there another practitioner?’
Myriell smiled. ‘We were a widespread order at one time. There is a chance that others have survived like we have.’
‘That is surely untrue,’ said Nyam. ‘You two are over four hundred years old and have survived this long only because you’ve been here and have had daily care. We have detected the One magic on Balaia. We suspect a student and you are the only teachers.’
Myriell and Cleress were silent.
‘Tell us,’ said Nyam. ‘Is there a student with whom you have contact?’
We cannot tell them, pulsed Cleress.
They know already. All we can do is divert them.
They will guess.
This was always inevitable.
‘I would remind you that we are not under your control, merely your protection, such as it is,’ said Myriell. ‘And we are happy to help with your researches. The state of our order is, and will remain, our own business.’