The day is hot, and Merriman and Ambrosia have managed to find a spot beneath a mountain cherry that permits, through its leaves and branches, enough golden light to provide a relaxing warmth, and enough shade to provide shelter from being burnt - in short a perfect balance. Ambrosia, her back against the trunk of the cherry, her legs crossed at the ankles, leans her head against the smooth bark and sighs, eyes momentarily closed, breathing in the fresh scented mountain air.

“We should do this more often,” she says, not looking at Merriman, who is standing, admiring the sight of the small waterfall that cascades and bubbles down the mountainside, his chest heaving slightly with the exertion of the climb that they have just completed. “The towers and masters are too stuffy, I feel more, when we’re there, that we’re in some cold damp prison, servants to fools and wastrels as opposed to some deep seat of learning. I mean what have we actually learnt since we’ve arrived, in the nearly three years that we’ve been here?”

Merriman’s face seems to agree but he says nothing, his eyes still taking in the views. To the Southwest, the peaks of Arkanthor’s towers can be seen just jutting above the mountain line, to the north a faint smattering of pines and cherries dot the landscape whilst to the west the straights of Pangor, a vast flat and calm expanse, stretching into the distance, the thin pencil line of Xana’s coastline lipping the horizon.

“Hmmm,” hmmms Hood, going to sit crosslegged near Ambrosia’s feet, unslinging his satchel from his back, and pulling from it a raft of sandwiches and a flask of cinnamon and raspberry tonic.

“You know I always marvel at you Merriman. I'm from one of the oldest and some would say noblest families in Keraseen, a seat of wealth and privilege and yet you seemingly have more at your disposal than I. How is that?”

Merriman just shrugs, smiling to himself, enjoying keeping his secrets. He offers Ambrosia a sandwich and takes a bite from one himself, leaning back on his elbows and letting the serenity of the environment sink into his bones.

“D’you miss home much?” Merriman asks, his legs unfurling and jostling playfully with Ambrosia’s, as they both eat.

“Not really,” she says, kicking at Merriman’s foot playfully. “My mother and I don’t see eye to eye.”

“Oh?”

“She thinks I’m spoilt. Thinks that I have gifts and waste them….”

Merriman nods, munching on his sandwich.

Observing Merriman’s nodding: “I hope you’re not agreeing with her?!” Madeleine asks incredulously, half laughing at the same time.

Merriman points at his mouth, full of sandwich and ahugdhs through his teeth.

“And I hope for your sake that that nodding is to do with how good the sandwich is,” Ambrosia says with mock anger.

Merriman nods more vigorously and raises his thumbs, smiling. Ambrosia laughs heartily.

Merriman gazes at his friend’s beautiful face, sees the merriment dance in her eyes, sees her in that moment, framed by the beauty of the scenery…experiences a different type of magic than he is used to…and realises: he could happily gaze at that face for ever…a face that turns serious...

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“You know she forced me to come here, I didn’t want to come, we had a massive argument and...well, we haven’t spoken since...Silly really I suppose...Maybe it’s more than that,” Ambrosia continues, “I don’t know, I’ve always felt my mother was distant somehow, sad or disappointed, but I could never understand why - well, with one exception. Merriman? Hellllloooo?…Merriman? Why are you staring at me like that?”

Merriman snaps out of his reverie, shaking his head imperceptibly and swallowing the remains of his chewed up sandwich. He smiles a slightly embarrassed smile before narrowing his eyes in consideration, deciding whether to ask or not.

“D’you want to see something?” he asks.

“What?”

“You mentioned that you don’t think you’re learning anything. I agree. I think there are maybe two or three mages at Arkanthor who have any degree of skill and the rest are just a bunch of conjurers, regurgitating whatever knowledge they’ve been fed with little understanding.”

“It’s hardly surprising really, there’s so much that’s been lost.”

“Yes, but there are ways and means of rediscovering it all again. It’s not that this stuff has been made up, it is. When it wasn’t known it has always been discovered, so it can always be re-found - whatever has been lost.”

“Go on.”

Merriman twists his face, and coming to a decision, reaches over and opens his satchel once more. He gingerly pulls out the the black leather bound book with golden lettering and a single gouged tear that runs diagonally across its cover, and turns it, presenting it to Ambrosia.

“What’s this?” Ambrosia asks, her interest piqued by the way in which Merriman’s body language has changed somewhat, almost as if he’s sharing a guilty secret.

“It’s a book…on Diabolicals. Do you know of them?”

“Diabolicals? I thought this had all been lost, destroyed...forbidden.”

“It speaks of how to summon them, how to use them to gain secrets and power.”

Ambrosia leans forward and accepts the offered book, carefully studying its cover, turning it over, running her hand across the course black leather, staring at it, her face a mixture of concern, intrigue and awe. She takes a breath and looks up, back at Merriman, places the book by her left side, her left hand resting on it and continues to stare pointedly at Merriman, a small smile twisting the corners of her mouth seemingly coming to a decision.

“I’m in,” she says.

“Are you sure, it could be dangerous?”

“What have we got to loose? We came here to learn, we’ve set ourselves a goal to journey along a path of knowledge. I feel we’ve barely made it to the gate. At this rate, what will we have accomplished? We’ll be doomed to be nothing but entertainers if it goes on like this. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life making rich idiots ooh and aah with light shows? Trust me I’ve seen my fair share and I can tell you it’s not something that appeals.”

Merriman considers her words carefully. “You know that this,” he indicates the book with a flick of his eyes, “this is the reason for the Great Purge? This was the first branch that they tried to excise. I’ve been studying a lot of the old histories and it seems that it was mastery of the Diabolicals that gave the great magi of old their true knowledge and power.”

Ambrosia nods. “Yes, I know. I’ve read a lot about them too, histories and about Diabolicals. My family has a private library in the west wing of our manse. It’s full of interesting books. I of course wasn’t allowed to read any of them. ‘Learn your history Ambrosia, and learn from history’, ‘If you know your history you won’t repeat the mistakes of the past’. My mother - the gods she’s annoying! She had me study them, I hated it. Dry, dull and boring. But after I had read those, there were times when I’d sneak in and access other writings.” She lifts the book again and studies it, arching an eyebrow and reading out the title aloud:

The Book of Diabolicals

- of hegemony and servitude, a beginners guide to summoning

“…this one however sounds infinitely more appealing than anything I’ve read before! When do we start?”

Merriman shrugs. “Turn the page,” he says.