‘Now we should sleep,’ she said. ‘And then next time we can concentrate on pure enjoyment.’
Chapter 24
During her run into Parve, Selyn thanked the Gods for the unusual order of the Wesmen encampments. Although it had seemed from a distance that they were pitched anywhere, the stands of tents were all grouped in half-circles around large fires, giving her the opportunity to skirt the light, people and dogs.
A CloakedWalk spell, although rendering its caster completely invisible, did nothing to deaden noise or scent, and Selyn’s principal concern was the Destrana pure-bred war dogs favoured by the Wesmen tribes. Men’s eyes deceived the other senses; not so those of the Destrana.
Unable to stop except in deep shadow, Selyn ran, walked, crawled and trotted as circumstances dictated, always with one eye on the ground for a stray twig or loose rock. A thrill was in her heart. This was what she had trained for so long to do. Deep infiltration, awesome odds, a deadly enemy, and Selyn passing through it all like a breeze through the undergrowth.
Where the firelight cast good illumination on the ground, Selyn slowed to examine the encampments more closely. All had the same characteristics. A tribal standard stood proud in front of a blazing wood fire, over which cookpots hung and steamed.
Between six and ten squad tents were pitched in formal order around the fire, and here and there, knots of smaller tents denoted beds for senior ranks and, presumably, Shamen. To these, Selyn gave the widest berth.
Everywhere, there were Wesmen, most lounging in the heat of the fire as the night cooled off. Lanterns lit most tents, and here and there the screams and moans of women punctuated the noises of the night - some in pleasure, others not.
There were no guards, no patrols and no lookouts. Arrogant in their confidence, the Wesmen looked to the renewed might of Parve and wallowed in their safety. And safe they were, though for a mage spy, the shadow, the noise and the eyes forever turned inwards were more than enough to make a secure if cautious passage.
The City itself was quiet on its outer reaches, where the hand of the Wytch Lords and their acolytes had not yet been laid. Here, the legacy of the past, broken stone and splintered wood, served as a reminder of the battle scars of history.
For Selyn, though, it provided a stark and terrifying contrast to what lay beyond - a City rebuilt. She moved through the rubble and into an area of low storage buildings. Long, flat-roofed constructions of slate and stone, topped by chimneys, none of which was smoking. Away towards the central square, higher buildings rose into the night, testament to the effort of the Wesmen and the acolytes of the Wytch Lords who in scant months had turned a blasted region of stone and dust into a City with a heart that beat once more.
Selyn walked in a couple of blocks before swarming up the side of one of the store buildings and lying down in its centre to rest, the CloakedWalk slipping from her. Her pulse, which had raced through her journey to Parve, hardly slowed. Her next step was to reach the pyramid itself, and with her mana stamina gone, the dark would now be her only disguise.
Dusk was settling, throwing the Mount into shadow. Puddles of wan light cast from windows grew slowly in intensity, and the sounds of the day began to ebb. Denser, Erienne and Ilkar sat around a table with Laryon, a close associate of Styliann. He had intercepted them at the door to the rooms of Nyer, Denser’s mentor, and hurried them back to his chambers, where he spoke of Nyer’s recent troubles with the Lord of the Mount. Nyer had subsequently been seen closeted with a splinter group of mages and it had fallen to Laryon alone to assess the chances of releasing The Unknown from thrall.
Sol himself stood silent guard by the door of the study, and Denser pushed his concerns about Nyer’s intentions to one side to concentrate on rescuing the search for Dawnthief. At a nod from Laryon, Denser refilled their glasses with wine.
‘The risk is great,’ said the Xeteskian Master, leaning back in his chair, the lamplight catching his close-cropped grey hair and emphasising his bulbous nose and small mouth.
‘But it is possible,’ said Ilkar.
‘Technically,’ Laryon said carefully. ‘You must understand the process by which a Protector is created.’
‘I think I understand only too well,’ said Ilkar shortly.
‘No,’ said Denser. ‘You do not. And please can we leave aside the morals of the situation. What you are about to hear isn’t pleasant, but keep in mind that we are all of us trying to help Sol.’
‘Really?’ Ilkar chuckled mirthlessly. ‘I’d like to believe that, but I think we all know that this is purely to stop Hirad running off with Dawnthief.’
‘He wouldn’t get far,’ said Laryon dismissively.
‘Want to bet?’ Ilkar bridled.
‘Can we leave this?’ Denser’s patience wore a notch thinner. ‘Ilkar, this is not productive, and, Master Laryon, I wouldn’t take the bet. You have no idea what they are capable of.’
Laryon opened his mouth to reply but chose instead to exhale audibly through his nose.
‘A Protector,’ he said, ‘is a self-supporting resurrection with a body reincarnated from soul memories. The critical point about soul memories is that they are far more accurate than brain memories. As long as the soul is taken within about twelve hours of death, re-creation of mind skills and body will be complete.’
‘There’s a but in here somewhere.’ Ilkar was looking at The Unknown, shaking his head.
‘Correct. The soul does not re-enter the body.’
‘What?’ Erienne jerked upright in her chair.
‘Then how—’ began Ilkar.
‘What started as the only way to forge a bond became the ultimate mode of control,’ said Laryon. ‘When the spell was in its infancy, the only way to ensure life was to link the body and soul using a DemonChain - this is a spell which enthrals the mass consciousness of a multi-demonic conjuration. It works supremely well. Because the demons are under our command, we can instruct them exactly as we wish. Usually, this involves them in keeping a clear channel between body and soul.’
‘Usually,’ muttered Ilkar, seeing the bigger picture in all its horror.
‘Yes,’ said Denser. ‘And the Masters can also instruct the demons to do anything to the body or soul. They can even give free rein, and that is where hell for eternity begins. Now you can see why I couldn’t take it on myself.’
‘It’s barbaric,’ said Ilkar.
‘Worse,’ agreed Laryon.
‘So where are the souls?’ asked Erienne.
‘In stasis, here in the Mount. They are all together, and that’s what gives the Protectors their true power. Communication and action are instant. An army of them would be unstoppable.’ Laryon raised his eyebrows.
‘And what’s the procedure for releasing The Unknown?’ Ilkar indicated the statuesque figure of Sol.
‘Ilkar,’ said Laryon gravely, ‘I told you about the forming of a Protector so you would understand the risks involved - or at least the ones we can guess at. You must be aware that what Denser and I will attempt has never been tried before. I will do everything in my power to keep Sol alive, but I can’t guarantee it.’
‘It’d be convenient if he died, wouldn’t it?’
‘Not really. What would I gain?’
‘The continuation of the Protectors,’ said Ilkar. ‘You could prove to the Colleges that you’d tried and failed and could sit back on your “some life is better than none” argument. I personally would question whether being a Protector qualifies as “some life”, knowing what I now know.’
‘I understand your cynicism,’ said Laryon. ‘And although you won’t believe it, I agree with you. There’s a growing faction in the Mount demanding acceleration of reforms to certain antiquated and unpalatable practices. Denser is one such, and I am perhaps the most senior supporter. I want this to succeed, both as a reformer and as a research mage, which is why Denser will assist me. Surely you trust him.’