‘You misunderstand,’ said Denser. ‘She’ll have to go in.’
‘So we’re talking of sending Will and Thraun into this place in the company of a woman who’s out of her mind with grief and was schooled just around the corner, to steal a ring which is central to her beliefs.’
‘That is a very accurate summary,’ said Denser.
‘Do they know she’s coming?’ asked Hirad.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Denser. ‘Just one more thing. There’s to be no killing, Erienne will not stand for it.’
‘Want me to lop their hands off too?’
‘Sorry, Hirad.’
‘Let’s hope we’re not all sorry before tomorrow.’ He moved away and called to Thraun before turning back. ‘So before we met Erienne, what was the plan?’
Ilkar and Denser exchanged a glance and the cat raised its head.
‘It is possible to subvert weaker minds remotely, given time,’ replied Denser.
‘Believe me, you don’t want to know the details,’ said Ilkar.
Hirad nodded and walked over to the stove.
Styliann rattled his glass back on to the table, his eyes blazing, his face colouring red in the lanternlight of his study.
‘The Protectors are under my direct control. No one assigns a Protector without my prior authorisation. Not even you.’
‘But the situation, my Lord . . .’ began Nyer.
‘Should have been discussed with me,’ said Styliann. ‘I do not like the flouting of my authority. And I particularly do not like your choice of Protector.’
‘Sol is extremely capable.’
‘You know precisely what I am talking about,’ snapped Styliann. ‘You will recall him at once.’
Nyer dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded his head. ‘Naturally, my Lord. If that is your wish.’
‘Damn you, Nyer, I don’t know!’ said Styliann. He poured the older man a drink. ‘What has got into you? You always discuss such matters with me. Always.’
‘You were in conference at Triverne Lake. I felt a decision had to be made.’
Styliann considered and nodded. ‘Very well. Let the Protector stay. At least until after Dordover. But keep me closely informed of progress. I want a full account of all communions and I would hate to have to employ TruthTell to be sure you were telling me everything. ’
Nyer recoiled as if slapped, but recovered to smile. ‘I suppose I deserved that,’ he said. ‘Selyn is well?’
‘Considering the invading armies of the Wesmen trampled her toes on the way to Understone, yes.’ Styliann sucked his lip nervously.
‘She’ll make it, you know.’
‘Thank you for your thoughts.’ The Lord of the Mount rang the bell by the fire. ‘I need to rest. Please don’t work behind my back again.’ His expression was bleak. Nyer left in response to the opening of the door. Styliann sighed. He wouldn’t have believed it of Nyer, he really wouldn’t.
Erienne, with a few brief words to Denser and a squeeze of his hand, left the camp well before sundown alongside Thraun and Will. Unlike Xetesk, Dordover was not a closed city and the trio rode through the gates under the disinterested gaze of the west gate guards two hours later.
‘I couldn’t bear to go back to the house,’ said Erienne when they were seated at a table downstairs from the rooms they had taken for the night at a quiet inn near the College.
‘I understand,’ said Thraun. ‘When this is over, we’ll sort the place out for you.’
Erienne nodded her thanks, tears again threatening behind the sunken, dark-ringed eyes in her pale face. ‘So many memories, so much happiness. And now . . .’ She shook her head and dropped her gaze to the table, pushing her hair back over her ears.
‘We’ll help you through this,’ said Will. ‘We’ll always be here for you.’
Erienne reached out a hand and squeezed Will’s arm. She breathed in and composed herself. ‘Now listen,’ she said. ‘Although Dordover is far more open than somewhere like Xetesk, the College has strict rules concerning visitors. You’re not allowed in the College grounds after full dark, so please, take my lead and try not to say too much.’
‘Will you be recognised?’ asked Thraun.
‘I expect so, near the College anyway. I spent a lot of years here, after all.’
Food and drink arrived at the table.
‘Let’s eat,’ said Erienne. ‘Then we need to get out to the College. We won’t gain entry after dark.’
The College itself consisted of a group of ten or so buildings arranged in a rough circle around the ‘Tower’. That the Tower looked nothing like its name suggested it should was something Will was quick to point out.
The trio were walking up to the single gate of the walled-in college, and the Tower, in actuality a twin-winged four-storey mansion house, lay directly ahead of them.
‘There used to be a tower before the College was formalised as a centre of excellence in magic,’ explained Erienne. ‘It was the done thing about four hundred years ago, I think, but completely impractical. When the College developed around it, the Tower was eventually demolished to make way for the house. Only Xetesk retains towers. They’ve got seven, and that’s a reflection of the College hierarchy’s thinking.’ She couldn’t quite keep the sneer from her voice. ‘Everyone else has moved with the times.’
‘So what was the point of a Tower, if you’ll excuse the pun?’ asked Thraun.
‘They were a symbol of power and authority.’ Erienne shrugged. ‘Phallic symbols for men whose mana ability was less than their egos demanded. Pathetic, really.’
At the gate they were stopped by a single guard who, after a moment’s reflection, recognised the mage in front of him.
‘Erienne,’ he said kindly. ‘It’s been a few years since you came here.’
‘We all have to fly the coop sometime, Geran, but it’s good to see you.’ The guard smiled, then looked at Will and Thraun. ‘Friends of my husband,’ said Erienne. ‘I’ve had a little trouble, I’m afraid.’ Her voice caught and she stopped.
‘And now you’re here for some help.’
‘Something like that.’
Geran stepped aside. ‘You know the rules on visitors,’ he said.
Erienne nodded and walked past him. ‘I’ll see they don’t encroach. ’
‘How is Alun, by the way?’ asked Geran.
Erienne stiffened but carried on walking, not turning. Thraun came to Geran’s shoulder.
‘That’s the trouble. He’s dead. And the boys.’
Geran’s face fell. ‘I’m—’
‘I know. Best left.’
It was close on two hundred yards to the Tower from the gate. To their left, a line of stubby wooden windowed huts - classrooms - arced away, and to their right a long, shuttered building, metalled and black.
‘It’s where range spells are practised and new spells live-tested. It has to be strong,’ said Erienne, stopping to look. ‘Did you know that across the Colleges one in fifty mages die in their long rooms and test chambers? No, of course you didn’t. You thought we all just wake up one morning able to cast. There never has been enough respect for the dangers we face in training and research. You think it’s a gift, but to us it’s a calling we have no choice but to obey. We don’t walk in here, they find us and bring us.’
‘Take it easy, Erienne.’ Thraun, taken aback by her sudden anger, put a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off and began walking again.
‘Behind the Tower is another place to dread. The Mana Bowl. That’s where mages learn to accept, build and control mana. Next door is the ward where the ones who opened their minds too far too soon lie gibbering and drooling until death takes them. Mercifully, that isn’t usually too long.’
She marched up a short flight of stone steps, across a paved relief and hammered on the massive oak doors that fronted the Tower. The left-hand one swung open silently and a man stepped out. He was old beyond anything they had seen or even dreamed. White hair cascaded below his shoulders and his mouth was obscured by a grey-flecked beard. While his body was bent with age and he supported himself on two sticks, his eyes were a clear blue, flashing from a face wrinkled and rolled into a grotesque caricature of the man he once was. But the eyes gave him strength and Erienne bowed to him.