image [https://mildegard.ru/otimg/png/capital5.png]
CHAPTER 7. THE GREY COUNCIL
The walls were about twenty metres high and just as thick, so the passage behind the front gate was a corridor, long, gloomy, and full of echoes, like an old well. The circle of light on the other end shone so brightly it was impossible to make out the features of the city from afar, the city that turned out to be as beautiful as a sparkling crystal.
“This is the Capital!” said Vlada with a hearty smile and spread her hands in a welcoming gesture.
All the way through the Gate District, Kangassk couldn’t stop gaping at pearly-white houses topped with intricate spires and steeples, wide alleys paved with colourful cobblestones, and countless fountains of all sizes, some with statues, some with bird baths, some with little swimming pools… He realized that he looked stupid but couldn’t stop. The capital city was an absolute feast for the eyes.
The worldholders were well-known to the citizens and were loved here rather than feared. Many people approached them just to say hello; students, the young mages in training, were especially polite. Unlike poor Nemaan, they knew the face of the founder of their Uni very well, some may have also met Vlada. They greeted Kangassk too, with a certain reserve and caution. They, of course, had no idea who he was but him openly wearing a licensed cold obsidian and accompanying the worldholders gave them a hint that he was someone important.
The pleasant breezy day brightened with the mild northern sun didn’t stay like that for long; soon, a flock of shaggy grey clouds crawled upon the azure blue; it began to drizzle. Sereg immediately put his hood on; half-hidden under its shadow, his face betrayed no emotion. Vlada shrugged, gave her friend a reproachful look and raised her smiling face toward the rain letting the cold droplets wash the road dust away. Kangassk, following his teacher’s example, left his head bare against the rain and it cost him: he got showered by a jet of ice-cold water from one of the ornate drainpipes that were there on every roof. The one that got Kan wet ended with a bronze lion’s head; the head, made by someone who had obviously never seen a lion, had bulging mad eyes and a horrible gaping mouth. Kangassk stuck his tongue out at it.
“Sereg, why are you hiding under your hood?” asked Vlada cheerfully. “The rain is not that bad! Come on, get out of hiding for a while, at least wash the dust off your hair. It’s grey with dust, didn’t you know? And… I thought you liked rain.”
“I did. I still do.” Sereg removed the hood. His face was grim. “I’m not feeling well, Vlada. Something is wrong, very wrong.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know yet,” he shook his head. “But now you see why I so badly want to pay the Grey Council a visit.”
Kangassk, hungry and tired after the journey, barely restrained the pitiful squeak “And what about lunch?” as he heard that. His dragonlighter, who was hungry as well because he had run out of crumbs and seeds in his pocket, climbed up his owner’s sleeve, perched on his shoulder, and sat there, in the rain, as still as a little statue. Even the hungry and wet fire critter kept quiet! Sereg’s gloomy mood was a powerful thing.
The drizzle turned into proper rain. There were very few people in the streets now. Most sought shelter from the rain in stores, inns, or their own homes. The ones that stayed outdoors, opened colourful umbrellas above their heads. Those little contraptions took Kangassk’s attention for a while. A desert dweller, he didn’t know such things existed. The idea of carrying a portable, foldable little roof with you was clever and the simple unfolding mechanism seemed curious, so Kangassk promised himself to buy one of those things as soon as he had a chance.
Meanwhile, Sereg led them through a small park toward something that looked like a small arbour. Only it wasn’t one. Kan guessed that as soon as they entered the strange structure. The place gave him that “tingling” feeling that hinted at its connection with magic. Kan’s suspicions got confirmed when a little dishevelled boy, drenched and panting, ran into the arbour before them and disappeared. Like in thin air.
“Wow!” exclaimed Kangassk, in a hushed tone, of course, Sereg’s gloom still hovering upon him. “Is it like a public Transvolo?”
“Transvolo is draining. Why would anyone waste energy on one within a city?” Sereg snorted and stepped under the arbour’s roof. “No. We transport people with Sprung here. It covers distances within a three kilometres limit.”
Kangassk noticed a heavy stone slab by the arbour’s wall. It was old, mossy, and sported a wide collection of sparkling crystals mounted into its surface. All of them had little, semitransparent pictures inside with various landmarks of the city.
image [https://mildegard.ru/otimg/png/sprung.png]
“So Sprung is a machine?” asked Kan.
“No,” answered Sereg. His gloomy mood was as strong as ever yet for some reason he decided to humour the mortal by explaining the basics to him. “Sprung is a spell that relies on the properties of these crystals. They are connected in pairs. Touching one triggers the spell and transports you to the other. You won’t see the starry void as you jump and the distance is three kilometres tops. As you see, it has nothing to do with Transvolo. In my Uni, these two spells are even being taught at different faculties. Also, Transvolo is high magic and Sprung is just ordinary magical crystallology.”
Having done with the lesson, Grey Inquisitor pressed the central crystal, the darkest of them all, holding a picture of some old, time-worn building so unbecoming to this beautiful city. So that was where the Grey Council sat. What a strange choice.
After his experience with Transvolo, Kangassk expected Sprung to be spectacular as well but it wasn’t. No distant stars, no light flashes, no mysterious sounds, nothing, just a swift change of the picture: the moss on the stone slab changed its position a bit, the light fell on it from a different angle, a little tuft of grass appeared between two old tiles on the floor; the other details followed those so fast that Kan couldn’t keep track of them… The shifting took maybe a second. The arbour they shifted to stood on the open ground, in the middle of a small square. There was more light and less moisture, so the moss had a harder time surviving there but grass felt more welcome. The square, unlike everything Kan had seen in Capital so far, wasn’t intended to be eye candy. It didn’t shine and had no colours on its cobblestones. The cobblestones themselves, to Kan’s surprise, resembled the rune-covered bricks of the Kuldaganian trading road. Only those were enchanted to repel the sands and these had some other purpose; the core of the runic composition was the same in both cases, though.
Kangassk shared his thoughts with Vlada and was rewarded with a surprised expression on the ancient worldholder’s face. Sereg, too, gave Kangassk a thoughtful look.
“Is something wrong?” Kan asked, just in case.
“Nothing,” replied Sereg and smiled to Vlada: “He’s very observant, isn’t he?”
They crossed the square and entered a wild park beyond it. Ancient pine trees reigned there, upturning the magical cobblestones with their gnarly roots and blocking the sun with their branches so that only they could grow on this land. The air under their crowns was cool, damp, and had a strong resinous smell. The magical stones on the ground seemed to be slowly losing their power and drowning in dry pine needles, just like their Kuldaganian brethren half-swallowed by sand.
A winding path led them to the gloomy grey building the Sprung crystal was marked with. Built of giant, roughly hewn stones, with windows as narrow as embrasures, it made battles and sieges but not politics come to mind because that exactly what it was: a fortress built for war, meant to stand its ground both against its enemies and the tides of time.
“This is the heart of Capital. The city was built around it,” said Vlada.
“I see,” nodded Kan. “Oh, before I forget again, I wanted to ask: why doesn’t this city have a proper name? Why just Capital?”
“To stop the arguments. The previous capital of the North was Erhaben, the city that fell. A competition for the right to become the next capital had nearly turned into a civil war, it had to be stopped. I remember how angry Sereg was. He smashed his fist against the table so hard the stone cracked, then ordered the building of an entirely new city around an old fortress. The city built specifically to become the new northern capital needed no other name.”
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“I broke my fingers that day,” Sereg snorted and… laughed.
It seemed strange to Kangassk to witness that man laugh. Somehow listening to Vlada tell him ancient stories felt more ordinary than this. He got used to her careless tone as she spoke about such things but that Sereg could laugh and not in a mean or menacing way was something entirely new.
There was another thought that made Kangassk feel uneasy: the way both worldholders kept their memories fresh and lively enough to recall the smallest details like that cracked table and laugh at them as Sereg laughed at breaking his fingers in a stupid fit of anger thousands of years ago. Kan suddenly felt mortal, vulnerable, and doomed, doomed to age and die just like all human beings are, but also reassured that he will never entirely disappear from the world because those two would remember him forever just like they remembered everything else…
When the current residence of Grey Council used to be a fortress, it had a moat, a drawbridge, and heavy gates. It bore the scars of its past still: the remains of the moat, now filled with gravel and overgrown with moss, the bridge that could no longer be drawn because it had no chains, the tall arch of the former gates now bricked up to leave space only for a small, neat door. The bricks, tiny against the giant stones the fortress was made of, were less sturdy; time, moisture, wind, and moss took a heavy toll from them.
The new door was so small that Sereg the Grey Inquisitor had to bow his head to enter. The door was unlocked but no one greeted the visitors.
image [https://mildegard.ru/otimg/png/council2.png]
“I bet they’re already waiting for us, ripping their hair in panic,” Sereg grumbled.
“Why has no one met us then?” asked Kan, frowning.
“Because they know how I hate ceremonies.”
So there were no ceremonies. Sereg pushed the door open, wiped his boots on the door-mat, dropped Vlada’s backpack in the nearest corner, and headed upstairs, leading the way. Kangassk put his backpack next to Vlada’s, shrugged, and followed the worldholders.
The stairs rose in a narrow winding spiral. There were only three storeys in that building. Of them all, the top one was the least gloomy; also, the air was fresh there, free of omnipresent book dust, and the ancient embrasures were replaced with proper windows. Light, filtered through lacy curtains, fell onto the carpeted floor in intricate patterns. The symbols the carpet was decorated with once again reminded Kangassk of the runic bricks of Kuldaganian roads.
They were expected, just like Sereg said, by the Grey Council in corpore. The spacious hall, decorated by colourful tapestries depicting the glorious tales of old, was as silent as a tomb. Three tall armchairs stood by the wall on a wooden dais; they were identical, despite one belonging to the head of the Council and the others to his advisors, two Inquisitors of the highest rank: a man and a woman. All three councillors wore grey. Exquisite silvery patterns snaking on their sleeves and cloaks were the only things in their outfits that distinguished them from ordinary Hunters and… Sereg himself.
The northern lord strode toward the dais. The Grey Council stood up in sombre silence to greet him.
“Well hello, Zonar,” said Sereg looking the head of the Council in the eyes.
“Hello, Sereg,” Zonar replied with a slight bow. “Hello, Vladislava. Welcome to Capital.”
That voice, deep and powerful as it was, Kangassk disliked from the very beginning, just as much as he did the look Zonar gave him. No one had been giving Kangassk such looks since Kuldagan where he was a local freak.
“You can go look around, Kangassk,” said Vlada. The phrase was like a gentle push in the back: go play outside, kid, let the adults talk in peace. “There are lots of ancient books, statues and tapestries there and the view from the eastern windows is beautiful…”
“Okay, I got it, I’ll leave you to your business,” Kangassk nodded and walked away. The dark looks the councillors gave him were almost palpable and made his ears burn. He could tell that those three were curious about what he was and that their curiosity wasn’t of a kind or idle type.
Kangassk crossed the hall and leaned against a wall by one of the eastern windows. Vlada hadn’t lied about the view; it was breathtaking. The ancient forest slowly moved below like a fairy tale sea, the distant silvery towers of the city scratched the shaggy clouds with their tall, spiked roofs, arched bridges and curved walkways connected the buildings with a thin lace-like web… All that was as far from the land Kangassk had come from as fantasy books were far from reality. Still, Kan couldn’t concentrate on the view and kept glancing at the opposite side of the hall where the worldholders were talking to the Council.
Vlada spoke little. She took a position of an observer and mostly stood aside with her arms crossed on her chest and let Sereg do the talking. Understandable; he’s the northern lord, after all, and Zonar answers directly to him.
Zonar was tall, as tall as Sereg himself, but broader in the shoulders. He looked older as well. Yes, being a powerful mage is a golden ticket to longevity and prolonged youth but a mage doesn’t stop being mortal. Mortals age; mortals die… Zonar must’ve been at least in his fifties; the Grey Inquisitor looked like a boy beside him, a boy with grey hair, clad in a dusty robe and worn unadorned cloak. The worldholder lacked the grandeur the human mage had but he didn’t seem to care…
image [https://mildegard.ru/otimg/png/greycouncil.png]
The conversation turned out to be longer than Kangassk had anticipated. He couldn’t hear a word from there; the fruitless guessing eventually tired him out. As usual, the young apprentice’s mind turned inward, back to unsolved puzzles and unanswered questions. Once again, Kan recalled the broken frame of Hora Lunaris. Who could steal it? And, more important, what for? First, Sereg’s journal had disappeared. Why would anyone need that thing? He wouldn’t write about removing the protection there because the only way to bypass it was to be a worldholder. So, why the journal? What was so interesting about it? And again: why steal the stabilizer? It gives no special power to its carrier. Yes, you can move it and watch Karlaman migrate along with the new border but there is no real practical use.
“The border… I wonder how far can it be moved,” Kangassk thought, drumming his fingers on the windowsill, “and what would happen if someone placed one stabilizer next to the other?”
The thought shocked him for a reason he could not understand. Now, nothing seemed more important than sharing it with someone in the know. The boring wait turned into torture, every second dragged, every minute seemed an eternity. Kan paced the hall, stared at the window, tried to whistle or whisper a song to keep himself entertained but nothing helped; time still passed horribly slowly; Zonar and Sereg kept arguing, Vlada kept watching them. The end of the conversation didn’t seem even close!
Finally, the moment came when Kangassk couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to go for it even if it meant making a fool of himself again. He crossed the hall in a determined stride and stood beside Vlada. She gave him a long, condescending look that made Kan’s cheeks blush and his hair stand on end.
“I… well…” mumbled Kangassk.
“Excuse me,” said Vlada to the Grey Council and, her hand on her apprentice’s shoulder, left the dais. “Well, what’s up?” she frowned. “The bathroom is on the first floor…”
“No! It’s not…” Kangassk nearly shouted. “I would never… Ugh! I just wanted to ask: what would happen if someone placed two Horas next to each other?”
When he braced himself, made a deep breath, and raised his eyes from his dusty boots, he found that Vlada was looking at him in a very different way; he had her full attention now.
“I was thinking about why would anyone want to steal Hora Lunaris and came up with this question, probably a stupid question. So, if I placed Hora Lunaris next to Hora Solaris, they would just neutralize each other, right?”
“No, Kan. I wish they would…”
Vladislava said no more. She turned away. The puny mortal had poked his nose into some serious business, that was evident. The next question died on Kan’s lips when he looked his teacher in the eyes… they were dark, impenetrable like an obsidian mirror. There were reflections of Sereg and the councillors on their surface but Vlada herself was somewhere far away from here, her body stiff, her face a cold mask…
image [https://mildegard.ru/otimg/png/eye.png]
Unaware of what had just happened, Sereg the Grey Inquisitor kept arguing with Zonar on the dais, the conversation heating up with every passing second. Kangassk stood up close enough to make out the words now, so he listened.
“Stop drivelling, Zonar, and tell me what’s going on! Your ‘everything is under control’ doesn’t sound convincing one bit. I know when you lie and I hate it!”
Two younger councillors instinctively made a step back; Zonar stood his ground. Kangassk could guess how he felt under the immortal’s angry gaze and couldn’t help feeling a good deal of respect for the old mage.
“I did not lie to you,” said Zonar with dignity. “Yes, things are not as quiet as they used to be but my best Hunters will take care of everything.”
“Not quiet, you say?” said Sereg, with a menacing, sullen growl. “I want details, Zonar.”
“All right. My hunters have been quite busy lately confiscating forbidden magical items,” he threw a side glance at Kangassk’s obsidian, “arresting rogue mages…”
“Ah, them… yeah, good job!” The irony was blunt and evident there. “I met one myself on my way to Capital. Him and his gang. I bet none of your Hunters had ever lifted a finger to do something about them.”
Zonar swallowed the accusation without a reply and continued,
“I sent my best Hunters where they were needed most.”
“You left the border unprotected!” Sereg kept pressing. “So, where did you send the best? Stop drivelling Zonar, for your own good.”
“They are working at the outskirts of Capital, in the countryside. The situation is difficult, on the verge of panic. The nature of the troublemaker, a magical creature, required quarantining the population, that’s why I sent so many of my people there. Yet I repeat: everything is under control, Sereg. Five second-level Hunters are investigating this business.”
“What kind of magical creature is that?”
“We don’t know for sure. The investigators suspect it to be a dvoedushnik…”
A moment of silence followed, only to explode with the Grey Inquisitor’s furious outcry:
“Dvoedushnik near Capital!!! How on earth have you permitted this to happen, Zonar!!!”
image [https://mildegard.ru/otimg/png/RoyalRoad.jpg]