‘Yes,’ said both men.
The lock was so easy that Will felt vaguely insulted. At Erienne’s nod, he turned the handle and pushed the door ajar.
‘Go inside and move to the left. Lean against the wall, you’ll be safe enough. You too, Thraun, I’ve got to let the ward back.’
The two men moved inside. By the partial light cast by Erienne’s globe, they could make out a dim shape in the centre of the room, long and low. The light brightened as Erienne stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The globe illuminated a simple chamber, panelled in stone with its ceiling at around eight feet.
The shape in the centre was a single stone sarcophagus. It was flat, wide and featureless but for an inscription at one end. On top of it lay a sword, a deep blue and orange robe in a glass case, and an ornamental ring. The atmosphere was easier in the chamber, and Will breathed in deeply, gratefully. He looked around again. The walls were plain and they’d entered by the only door.
‘Is this it?’ Will was singularly unimpressed.
‘What did you expect?’ asked Erienne, walking to the sarcophagus, her eyes fixed on the ring, frowning.
‘Something a little grander, frankly.’
‘A Lore Master may be ostentatious in life, but in death he needs nothing but mana to cloak him. Oh, dear.’ She made a slow circuit of the casket, hands deep in her robes.
‘What is it?’ asked Will.
‘The ward surrounding the ring. I . . . hold on.’ She breathed deep and looked again at the extraordinary mana shape. It was small, perhaps the size of a human skull, but two factors set it apart. It had three bands of rotating colour - orange, blue and a deep green - and the shape itself was spiked, giving the whole the appearance of an oversized mace.
Erienne had never heard or read of anything like it before, and when she moved her mana-shielded hands towards it, the ward’s colours shifted and darkened, threatening to break the shield. She withdrew, arms tingling in the aftermath of the encounter.
‘You’d better lock that door, Will,’ she said. ‘This may take some time.’
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Thraun.
Erienne favoured him with a sympathetic smile. ‘I don’t think it’s something you’d understand.’
‘Try me.’
‘All right then. The ward shape and construction isn’t of purely Dordovan origin. It contains lore from another college and I can’t read it. Does that help?’
‘Not really,’ said Thraun. ‘Have you any idea what will trigger it?’
‘Someone breaking the shape, I expect,’ said Erienne a little petulantly.
‘I need you to be more specific,’ said Thraun. ‘What exactly passing through the shape will break it?’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘Remind me how a ward works,’ said Thraun.
‘Why?’
‘Humour me, please.’ His tone was insistent.
‘A ward is a shape of static mana positioned to protect a target,’ quoted Erienne. ‘The base lore of the shape allows the caster to include or exclude any class of object or being, living or inanimate. So what?’ There was an edge to her voice.
‘Do you think you can match the mana shape?’ asked Thraun.
Erienne sucked her lip and shrugged. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Not without considerable risk to us all.’
‘In that case, I suggest you concentrate on finding out if there are any exclusions to the ward,’ said Thraun quietly.
Erienne stared at Thraun as if he had slapped her, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. ‘You suggest?’ She reddened. ‘What are you, all of a sudden, some kind of ward constitution specialist? No, I’ll tell you what you are, you’re a walking slab of muscle who shouldn’t presume to speak on subjects you have no knowledge of. How dare you try to teach me?’
‘It was just a suggestion. A simple no would have done.’ For all Thraun’s voice remained calm and quiet, there was an animal menace in his very slight change of stance.
Will, who had been happy to watch the exchange from the door, now stepped forward, anxious to calm the situation and only too aware of the precarious position they were in.
‘Do you have an alternative idea if, indeed, you can’t match the ward shape?’ he asked.
‘With one sweep of my hand I could end all this, how about that?’ she said coldly, lifting an arm.
‘I mean a sensible one. There’s no point in losing everything.’
‘Not for you. In case you’ve forgotten, I already have.’ Erienne moved her arm closer to the ring. She sneered. ‘Look at you. Big man Thraun and clever little Will. I have the power of life and death over you both. How easy it is to snuff out life.’ Abruptly her eyes were full of tears.
Will and Thraun shared a glance. Thraun nodded.
‘Erienne, you know how much we grieve for your loss,’ said Will, moving towards her. ‘We loved your children and we loved Alun and no one can compensate for their deaths. But right now, we need you to help us. We need this ring and we don’t have much time before we’re caught.’ He laid a hand on her arm to draw her to face him. ‘Please, Erienne. There is time to cry when we’re out of this tomb.’
Erienne stared at Will while tears rolled down either cheek. She shook off his hand and wiped at her face.
‘The answer to your question, Thraun, is that, like most Dordovan wards, it excludes people by being triggered by human brain activity, and anything inanimate that passes through it will trigger it too.’ Her voice was shaking but she appeared to have regained rationality. ‘Not that knowing that does us any good.’
‘On the contrary, it means your work is done,’ said Thraun.
‘Apart from finding and training an animal to take the ring.’ The fire was back in Erienne’s eyes. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, there are none in here.’
‘That’s not strictly true,’ said Thraun.
‘What do you mean, not strictly true?’
‘Thraun—’ Will had tumbled to Thraun’s thoughts. He walked over and stood close to the other man. ‘You retain a critical part of your sentience. I don’t think that qualifies you as an animal,’ he hissed.
‘We don’t have time for anything else,’ said Thraun evenly. ‘And Erienne can’t move the ward. It’s our only option.’
‘Will you two stop talking riddles? What are you suggesting?’
‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Will. Thraun nodded. ‘Then you can explain.’
‘I wish one of you would,’ said Erienne, irritation edging her tone.
Thraun took a deep breath. ‘It’s quite simple.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m a shapechanger.’
In its cage, the Familiar chittered loudly, like a monkey. It hopped from claw to claw, unfurled its wings as far as the bars allowed, hissed, spat and taunted.
‘Close to death, Dordovan, close to death.’
For his part, the mage kept as calm as the situation allowed, never taking his attention from the door, his chosen mana shape part-prepared and quick to complete.
The taunting stopped.
‘Now,’ hissed the Familiar. It turned its back and covered its head with its wings, actions the mage didn’t see. Perhaps if he had, he would have been prepared. Perhaps.
The windows at his back blew in, glass and wood splinters showering the room. Next came Denser, ShadowWings sweeping back as he shot feet first into the middle of the floor.
The mage, disorientated by the sudden explosion behind him, was only halfway up and turned when Denser’s fist caught him full on the jaw. He staggered back, concentration broken, spell lost and unable to raise a defence to the next punch to his nose or the boot in his gut. He collapsed on to the floor, sliding down the door by which he’d been so sure Denser would enter.
The Xeteskian stood over him, hauled him to his feet, dark eyes burning into him with uncontrolled hatred.