They buried Venalse beneath a great snake-fruit tree, whose long red blossoms curled down through bright green foliage. Chrys kept a few ornaments aside for his family and each said a few words after the custom of their people. Then they placed as many large rocks as they could find over the grave and went on.
There was not much talk. Grymwer and Kosohona consulted from time to time about the best direction, trying to match Berzo’s laconic directions with the landscape around them. After an hour and two frustrating back-tracks, there was general agreement that it was time to camp. After a short search they settled on a nook formed by a massive fallen log, a steep bank and a clump of thorns, made a glum meal and just sat there as the dusk fell. Chrys was staring across at the slanting trunk, trying not to think, when she realised that the mossy patches had stayed bright despite the gloom. More, as she watched several patches slowly came together to form one large blob, the edges of which crept about until it formed a face. The others followed her gaze and they watched together as the image sharpened into a sketch of Venalse, calm, smiling, thoughtful by slow turns.
“Is a moss reading our minds?” Aitonala asked.
“Seems so. Maybe because we’re all thinking much the same thoughts,” Chrys said. “Good likeness, though,” she added.
“He deserves that the land remember him,” Doryid said gravely. Rakt raised a hand in silent salute, then concentrated hard. The face changed bit by bit to one of alert curiosity, an expression characteristic of Venalse. Kosohona nodded appreciatively, then spent five minutes persuading the moss to depict Venalse cheerfully tipsy. They took turns each creating their best memories of Venalse and went to sleep in a much better mood.
Next morning Chrys left Grymwer and Doryid to argue about which of the several bald hills in view was the one that marked their direction and dropped back to talk to Kosohona.“That was a really nasty wound you took back there. Want to talk about it?”
Kosohona grimaced. “I still twinge when I think about it. Healing may have restored my body, but my mind is not there yet. Which affects my body – my stomach is still not sure it’s where it’s supposed to be. Still, better than the alternative, and I will thank Aitonala every morning for being so quick to get the stuff into me.”
“She gave you two vials, right?”
“Yes. Both the highest grade.”
“Fast Healing can have odd side effects. I knew a man in Mer Ammery who was hit on the head by a falling block. Luckily the ship’s doctor was three steps away, and had just come back from the alchemist’s. Anyway, his earlobes grew down to his shoulders and would wave around, signalling his mood. Got a bit embarrassing for him when he fancied someone, and he was hopeless at cards.”
Kosohona looked around. The others were a little ahead, but she leaned in and lowered her voice.
“It did something. When I took a pee this morning I saw the hair down there was bright red. Really bright, really red. Like a festival lantern.”
“Eh, so you have a red-light district,” Chrys snickered. Kosohona’s lips twitched upward even as she groaned.
“So long as it doesn’t start signalling.”
“Looks like we’re again not sure of which way to go,” said Chrys, looking ahead to where Grymwer, Doryid and Rakt had all halted to engage in animated discussion, with much pointing and waving of arms. “Maybe Berzo was a better liar than that first chief.”
“I talked to Grymwer about that yesterday. He said he had her tell him the way three times over. Every time the paste showed she lied, he would cut a notch on the bed frame. He told her that if he reached five notches, he would give her to the slaves and we would find our way as best we could. He only had to cut three notches, so he’s confident she cannot have been too misleading.”
“The first chief, Ekke wasn’t it? He seems to have been tougher,” Chrys commented.
“Grymwer talked about that too,” went on Kosohona. “Undermen think that when they die their souls go on as some sort of ghost. But if an enemy kills them and then eats some part of them, they become a ghost-slave to that person. Ekke knew we would not let him live, but he knew we would not eat him. Berzo knew the slaves would eat her, and then she would be their ghost-slave. She truly feared that.”Chrys nodded. “I saw what she did to them. I can believe she feared them. Even apart from the ghost-slave thing, Zhema struck me as having the self-control and the leadership to keep Berzo alive and suffering for a very long time.”
They found a convenient rock, sat down and talked amicably until the pathfinders reached a consensus on the direction they all should take, then shouldered their packs and walked on. Through the day they worked their way north-east, hill by hill, each a little higher, until they reached the top of a long ridge. From here the view spread out in all directions; a many-armed lake filled the valley below, with a further ridge rising to high moors beyond. Forests rolled away to the south-west, while a steep-sided valley ran off into the northern distance. The ground dropped away steeply on this far side of the ridge, poking sharp spurs and isolated buttes into the valley below. Grymwer and Rakt directed attention to their right. Both agreed the tower they sought was supposed to be on this face of the ridge, on a spur facing west. Grymwer shaded his eyes from the westering sun, uttered a spell and slowly quartered the terrain.
“I think I see it, It’s about thumb-width above that spur with the fire-top grove on its upper slope. I would guess it’s about two hours walk away. A single large tower sitting on a rock pillar. I think there’s a path down from the ridge.”
They set off along the ridge, walking a little below the top where the going was easiest. Grymwer’s estimate proved accurate: in a little less than an hour they struck a rough path snaking along the ridge, and another hour brought them to where a side-path, marked by a stone pillar, ran off down the crest of a spur. After short hike through low woods, this emerged on to a paved platform hanging from the hillside. A long stone-throw away, another platform sat atop a rock spire and a similar distance beyond that a much larger pillar supported a building of several stories.
“If this is Maudil’s home, she has clearly done pretty well for herself,” remarked Chrys. “Also, I see no windows on this side, unless the tiny ones in those turrets count. How do we let her know she has visitors? There’s no bridge, just that arch inviting us to step off the cliff.”
There was a grating cough to her right. She turned to see the rough boulder atop a short column unfolding into a gargoyle. Wings unfurled, the head tucked beneath twisted around, arms unfolded. The creature shook itself, scratched one ear with a hind talon, then looked down.
“Honoured travellers, I am pleased to greet you.”“And we you,” Rakt responded. “May we have the honour of knowing whom we address?”
The gargoyle frowned, then turned to shout across the gulf.
“Oi! Tell those indoors we have visitors. I’ll do the politeness bit. Do I have a name?”
“Sure thing. I’ll pass the word,” came back a distant hail. “And your name’s Mudbrain.”
“I don’t think that’s right,” the gargoyle muttered. It drew itself up, again adopted a formal pose and intoned “I am the Herald of the Outer Gate. I am charged to ask your number, your names and your desires.”
“Certainly,” Rakt responded. “We are six in number. With me are the Magicians Chrysanthemum and Grymwer, Comrade Doryid of the Three Faces, Aspirant Kosohona of the Falling Leaf, Initiate Aitonala and myself, Rakt of Tonish. We are seeking news of the Gentle Maudil or her heirs.”
“If you will be pleased to wait a little, I will see if those within are at home.” It turned to shout towards the castle. “We got two magicians, three high-crafters and a gent from some place called Tonish. They want to talk to the ladies. What’s the word?”
The party waited, standing at ease or leaning on the wall to look over the country below. It was not long before a hail came back.
“They can come across. I’m putting the bridge up.”
The Herald turned to them. ”Please be welcome. In a short moment the Herald of the Middle Gate will open the way to you. May I wish you a pleasant stay and good fortune in your future endeavours.” It then shouted “All done here, I’m turning in,” and folded up into a boulder.
As they watched a faint thread sprang from the middle spire to the arch on the platform. This thickened rapidly to a yellow band wide enough for two to walk abreast, then spun guardrails on either side. When it stopped quivering, Rakt looked at the others, shrugged and placed a tentative foot on the bridge. It did not yield at all, so he kept on. The others followed, until all were assembled on the middle platform where another gargoyle requested they place their hands on a stone lectern and affirm that they would do no harm within the castle. As each said the words, their hand-print glowed green and sank slowly into the stone. It then shouted across to the building, and another bridge sprang into place. Doryid and Kosohona both paused to examine a low relief on the wall beside the entry arch, then crossed to a rather unimposing door. Here, yet a third gargoyle welcomed them and invited them in.
They looked around an austere entry hall, all panelled walls and chequered tiles, bare of ornament. A ball of blue light emerged from one wall, shaped itself into a bearded head and spoke.
“It is the custom of the Gentles Marlli and Lydissa to enjoy the sunset from the western terrace. They would be pleased if you would join them there in an hour. In the interval, if you will follow the guide-light it will lead you to the bathing area, where you may refresh yourselves and be provided with suitable attire. You are advised that it is not the custom to carry weapons or Items within these walls. You will be shown where to leave these; be assured that they will be returned to you. You are also advised that violence of any kind is not countenanced and a number of measures enforce this, some preventative and others retaliatory.” With this, the head dispersed. The party looked at each other. Again, Rakt shrugged. Chrys lifted an arm, sniffed and made a face.
“I wouldn’t invite us to tea on the terrace when we smell like this, so why should they?”
The guide-light led them first to a set of alcoves and bobbed insistently until they divested themselves of their gear. The bathing area proved to be chambers within the rock, equipped both with communal pools, hot and cold and, to the relief of Grymwer, Kosohona and Doryid, private rooms off the open area. They each took a cleaning ball from the basket and vanished within, while the others first rubbed off the grime then splashed away their unease in steaming water.
Chrys leaned back against the side of the pool, arms spread, hair floating. “What the Wild needs,” she said gravely, “is hot water and laundry service, spaced no more than two days apart.”
Aitonala nodded. “Perhaps I will found an order dedicated to persuading undermen to forgo eating people and instead scrub their backs and clean their clothes.”
Rakt snickered. “It might even work, so long as you don’t ask them to cook as well.”
* * * *
The western terrace did indeed offer a fine view of the sun setting over the hills and valleys below. Two women and a tall young man rose from chairs as the group entered, soft robes swishing about their ankles.
“Welcome to our home. I am Marlli and this is my sister, Lydissa. This gentleman is the Prosperous Cardnial of Frouan.”
Rakt bowed. ”Gentle Ladies, Your Prosperity, we thank you for your hospitality. May we introduce ourselves?”
As formal courtesies were exchanged, Chrys eyed their hosts. While both Marlli and Lydissa were of mature age they were, for sisters, strikingly different. Marlli was tall, dark-skinned, curly-haired; her dress showed considerable cleavage and clung to her legs. Lydissa was shorter, olive-skinned, slimmer, her dress simpler. Chrys thought she was the younger by a few years. Cardnial was a handsome young man, tall, clear-skinned, face outlined by a neat beard. His tailored robe emphasised broad shoulders and a narrow waist. When they were invited to sit, Cardnial was at Marlli’s left. Her casual endearments and fond touches made it clear that Cardnial was at the least a very close friend. Chrys noted, though, that Marlli eyed Rakt with some interest.
Lydissa uttered a quiet word and food and drink began to appear, winking into visibility a little distance from the table before floating to rest. There were tiny pastry parcels, fruits both whole and artfully shaped, slivers of vegetables accompanying spicy dips, chilled wine and cool water. It was a display not only of elegant hospitality but of command of magic. This, thought Chrys, was far beyond the paltry spell that had kept her student lodging free of dust. It was, in its way, a warning that their hosts were not to be trifled with.
After a polite amount of general talk, Rakt raised their purpose.
“While we are happy that our travels have afforded us the opportunity to meet such gracious persons and have the pleasure of your hospitality, we are here in in the Wild seeking word of the Gentle Maudil, who left Dtlag some sixty years ago. There are matters her great-nephew Ferdino wishes to clarify.”
“Maudil was our mother,” Marlli said. “She died some ten years ago, when she incautiously annulled the spell Quick Exit and projected her head into a passing fruit-bat. Or it into her head, as it may be.”
Murmurs of condolence and regret passed around the table. Marlli accepted these with a gentle smile, then went on. “We still miss her, but time has smoothed away the rougher edges of our grief. It does us no hurt to speak of her. May I ask what matters her great-nephew wishes clarified?”
“Certainly,” Rakt replied. “The Gentle Ferdino hired us to follow up on a sighting of an heirloom of his house in the hope that it might lead to Maudil. When she departed for the Wild she took with her, among other things, the Ancestor Book of Ferdino’s house. The Gentle thought that, after so long, she might be amenable to its return. By the way, we were able to recover the heirloom in question from an underman den.” He fished in the neck of his robe, drew out the pectoral and placed it on the table.Marlli’s face grew sad. “Ah, Periss, poor lad. I traced it as far as the underman lair, and knew him lost. I had my revenge on their chief, but their defences were too formidable to risk going beyond that. At least, formidable to magicians.” She gave the party a quizzical look, “If you took back this piece, you must have defeated them.”
Rakt nodded. “We did, with some help from inside, but not without cost. We buried a companion and friend yesterday.”
The two ladies offered their sympathy, then were silent for a little time. Marlli traced the design on the pectoral with a finger, sighed and looked up.
“I believe we have the book, although I would have to look to be sure. I will see if it can be found and then we two will consult. You are all welcome to stay the night. My sister and I are engaged in research that takes up much of our time, but I am sure Cardnial will be happy to have dinner with you. This floor and that below are open to you – there is a library, and refreshments are available in the sitting room. I do ask that you not enter other areas unless we are with you. It could be dangerous. Cardnial, could I ask you to show our guests their rooms?….and now, if you will excuse us?”
The two sisters rose, saluted the table and departed. Cardnial smiled at the group.
“We normally have a light meal in another hour. Perhaps I could show you around a little before then?”
* * * *
Aitonala accompanied Cardnial as he led them to a door off the terrace.
“The lady said you are from Frouan? I only recall it from geography lessons, as a great city at the far northern end of the Corillion Coast. Can you tell me of it?”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Cardnial smiled at her before turning to speak to the door. The bronze nails studding its surface brightened and then swirled into the outline of a grin as it creaked open. The grin became more like a leer as Chrys passed and the door tried to close against her backside. Doryid checked it with a foot and Cardnial turned to call back.
“Sorry. That door is a bit of a lecher. Just give it a good kick in the studs.” He turned back to Aitonala.
“Well, I was born in Frouan, but I spent a lot of time abroad. My father was a ship-owner and he took me with him on his voyages, as my mother died when I was very young. Then the last few years I was studying at the Wellspring. That’s one of our academies of magic. So I’m maybe not the best native guide, unless you want to know about the wharves or where students drink.”
They had entered a gallery on the south side of the castle. Tall windows overlooked the gorge below and cliffs opposite, while a series of niches on the interior wall held odd objects. At first glance they were large crystals, all sharp edges and brilliant colours. On a second look the outlines were softer, almost blurry, and the colours more muted. They resisted a steady gaze and, if one looked away then back, the shape had subtly altered and the colours changed. The gallery was permeated by sounds at the lower threshold of hearing – whispers, faint ringing tones, the merest hint of a whistle. Aitonala gave Cardnial a questioning look.
“One of the magicians before Maudil bought those from some dwarves. He was very excited, as he thought they had predictive powers.”
“I was taught that accurate prediction was impossible in theory and dangerous to attempt in practice,” remarked Chrys.
“That is my understanding too,” Grymwer added.
“Well, yes,” Cardnial agreed. “But that does not stop people trying. Anyway, these are etherically very powerful, and the patterns on one do sometimes forecast what another will do. It turned out, though, that this was less prediction than imitation, and often the other would do the opposite, or nothing at all. Also, they react badly to attempts to constrain them.”
“So what you have here,” Chrys summed up, “are a bunch of teenage rocks.”
Cardnial’s lips quirked. “Now serving as ornaments. We go through here.” He led through another door into a sitting room furnished with chairs, a couch and a sideboard. A large skylight showed the deepening blue of early evening and a few stars. Chrys knew it had to be an image, for there were at least two floors above them. Cardnial pointed out doors that led to bedchambers and the bathing area. “Your packs will be in the bedchambers. If you wish to exercise with weapons, I am sure they will be available to you. You will need to use the area on the floor below, as all this floor is under the Honest Circle. That can make even small accidents embarrassing.”
Grymwer raised an eyebrow. “The whole floor is covered by the Honest Circle? Permanently?”
“So I have been told. I’ve never tested it.”
“That’s a major exercise of power.”
“Yes, but this place has been a magician’s playground for well over a century, as near as I can figure. Maudil was gifted it before Marlli was born, and the magician who gave it to her wasn’t the first owner.”
“What’s this Honest Circle?” asked Rakt.
“It prevents the shedding of blood, returns any injury to the initiator and silences any verbal abuse,” answered Cardnial. “It’s used quite often in commercial negotiations in Frouan.”
Aitonala gestured at the chairs. “Why don’t we just sit and chat for a while?”
Cardnial smiled. “That’s fine with me. I need to talk to all of you anyway, as I would like to go with you when you leave.” He looked around apologetically. “Sorry to spring it on you so suddenly. I don’t know how long you are going to be here, and I do need to leave.”
Chrys sat down. “Maybe you could explain a bit more? Why you are here, why you need to leave, that sort of thing?”
Cardnial took one end of the couch, leaned back, spread his hands. “As I said, my dad was a shipowner in Frouan. A couple of months ago he decided to move to the Fire Islands, just after I graduated from the Wellspring. The short story is that our ship was sunk by a sea-monster, and only five of us managed to get away in a boat. We made it to Bukitan, but there I was – not much money, father gone, inheritance gone. I didn’t know what to do, so I stayed in Bukitan after the others left, hoping something would turn up. It’s a small town on the Corillion Coast, by the way. Some very good bars and great seafood.”
He paused, the resumed his story. “So Marlli buys me a drink one evening, we start talking and we’re getting along fine. She asks me if I want to come back to her place. I say yes, she pulls out this long pin and stabs herself in the eye and then we’re here.” He gave a quirky smile. “It was a shorter trip than I envisaged in some ways, longer in others. We were pretty wrapped up in each other for a month, but now she’s getting back to work and, well, I feel my time with her is coming to an end.”
“Why not just leave?” Rakt asked.
“Because I don’t really know where we are, or which direction is a good way to go, and I don’t want to go back to Bukitan. Also, Marlli points out that what happened to Periss illustrates the dangers of just hiking the Wild alone.”
“Is Marlli okay with you leaving?” Aitonala asked.
“I’ve raised it a couple of times. She hasn’t objected. Just put off making arrangements because she and Lydissa are really busy.”
“I don’t want to pry, but what keeps two lone magicians at work if they don’t want to be?” asked Grymwer.
“They are not that alone. There’s a network of magicians out here. Some drop in for dinner from time to time, and I’ve heard them mention others.”
The party exchanged looks. “We met one magician, named Salko,” Chrys ventured.
“I’ve never heard that name. Zelenka has a tower somewhere south of here and drops in every two or three weeks. I think he is involved in whatever they are working on. Marlli or Lydissa have mentioned a couple of others.”
“You gained your magician’s scroll just a few months back?” asked Grymwer.
“Yes, but I have more spells than most. My father’s friends gave me a few, and Marlli let me read some of her books. While I wasn’t the most talented magician in my class, I was a long way from the worst.”
Rakt glanced at the others, nodded. “We’ll talk about it, let you know tomorrow.”
Cardnial opened his hands in acquiescence and turned to anecdotes of life in Frouan, where his wry observations made them laugh more than once.
Marlli and Lydissa did not appear at breakfast. Cardnial did, looking somewhat tired. He passed on items of interest as they sat down to warm pastries and hot tea. They had found their packs in their rooms, cleaned, clothes washed, pressed and mended, items such as knives and plates polished. Marlli, Cardnial said, had no objections to his leaving and would see the party at sunset. At his request, she would allow Chrys and Grymwer to add to their spell knowledge. Both brightened at this news, and hurried through the rest of the meal.
Cardnial shortly conducted them to a large room looking out to the north. Books were ranked on shelves around long tables, reading stands and low chairs. One corner held a supply of paper, pens, ink, tapes and other similar necessities. Cardnial pointed out the shelves containing fiction to Aitonala and Kosohona, who both settled down with their chosen volumes in chairs by the window, and led the magicians to where wide shelves supported heavy volumes bound in velvet or leather.
“Here are the books on magic theory, there the ones on domains, spirits and similar manifestations, here the spell-books. In Frouan we grade spells by the amount of etheric cooperation required, using colours. Some here use that system: red ranks lowest, then yellow and green. These two follow Dravish practice - the weakest spells are marked with a rat, then come those with a cat, then a bear. None of these books goes above green, or bear, or the Third Opening, however you describe it.”
Both Chrys and Grymwer accepted this with a wave, seized several volumes each and carried them to a nearby table. “Be careful” Cardnial warned. “The books in here are treated as persons under the Honest Circle – turn a page roughly and you will bruise yourself.”
“I have this one, and this one, and this,” muttered Chrys. “How about this? It’s called Peeping, and makes cloth transparent to the user. Could be handy for checking for concealed weapons.”
“I doubt that was why it was devised,” remarked Grymwer drily.
“Here’s another – Selflight,” Chrys went on. “You see by its light, but no-one else does.”
“Handy, and you should memorise it, but I’m more interested in the higher-grade spells,” said Grymwer. “Flight, Unbreachable Armour and, oh, this must be the one Marlli used on the underman chief that made his brain run out his ears.”
“What’s it called,” asked Chrys, opening a second volume and scanning the contents page.
“Severe Headache.” came the answer.
“Unbreachable Armour sounds useful,” commented Kosohona, who had laid aside her book and wandered over.
“It has one drawback,” said Grymwer. “If more force is applied than it can resist, it contracts. Then the unbreachable part makes it less than desirable. Meet the new compact you.”
“So cast it on an enemy, whack them once hard and watch them squish.”
“That might work, except that you need to touch someone to cast it on them.”
Kosohona grinned and went back to her book. Chrys fetched pen and ink, uttered the Faithful Scribe and began copying spells. After a time Grymwer did the same, while Cardnial immersed himself in a dense tome on the relationships between etheric flows and different forms of matter. So it went until lunchtime. After lunch Cardnial suggested they practice Flight, went off and came back with two bright pink bobble hats, with matching scarves.
“Maudil made these for Marlli and Lydissa when they were small. They keep you from hitting yourself against the walls or floor and also stop you leaving the building. They used to have aerial water fights.”
Wearing these, and feeling very silly, Chrys wobbled into the air and attempted a trial circuit of the terrace under Cardnial’s instruction.
“Lean forward from the waist to go faster, back to slow down, twist your shoulders left or right to turn, shift your legs forward to rise, back to descend.” Chrys leaned forward, shot towards the edge of the terrace, twisted sharply and hurled herself backwards as the drop came up and ended drifting upside down, robe over her head. As she neared the edge of the terrace she slowed to a near halt, arms waving below the inverted robe. Cardnial walked forward, leapt up to catch her hand and pulled her down and upright. Chrys smoothed her robe and glared at him. He looked back with a face of mild sympathy, no trace of laughter visible. Aitonala and Kosohona were not so restrained. Both had sunk on to a bench and were leaning on each other, gasping.
“Righting yourself from that position is tricky,” observed Cardnial. “You have to dive to pick up speed, then roll and flip. Try again, keeping the movements small. Your gear will keep you away from the edge.”
Chrys launched herself again, this time moving with caution, and was soon doing circuits of the terrace. She made a rude gesture to Aitonala and Kosohona each time she passed. Grymwer came out in bobble hat and trousers and joined her. They had both gained some confidence when Chrys’ spell closed. She yelped as she dropped abruptly, then slowed as she neared the floor to float the last short distance.
“I forgot to mention that it’s a good idea to have the cantrip Clock active, so you can keep track of when the spell closes,” Cardnial noted blandly. Chrys gave him a look and went off to change.
* * * *
They joined Marlli and Lydissa on the terrace at sunset. After some polite chit-chat, Marlli made known their decision.
“We have found the Ancestor Book, and have no objections to its return to Ferdino. We would be pleased if you could limit the accompanying information to the simple fact of our mother’s death, add our best wishes and note that we do not think further communication necessary.”
The party offered their thanks. Marlli and Lydissa accepted these, then Lydissa went on “We do have a further proposal for your consideration. We are in communication with the Saka High Councils. They are aware of your presence here, and have asked that you delay your departure for a few days. They feel you may be well-placed to help with a small situation, but they will not have all the details to hand for a little while. We are, of course, happy to extend our hospitality.”
Chrys thought of the magic to be learned and smiled. Looking around, she saw Grymwer had the same reaction. Rakt looked thoughtful, as did Aitonala. Kosohona and Doryid looked at each other, then Kosohona spoke.
“We did notice the emblems of the High Councils at your gates.”
Lydissa put her hands together, leaned forward. “Our mother was able to be of some service to the High Councils, and they offered that this house be a Friend to the Saka. We keep them informed of doings in the Wild.”
Doryid and Kosohona stood and bowed together, hands to face-marks. “We are honoured to be in your house, Saka-Friend. We will, of course stay as the High Councils request.”
Marlli and Lydissa bowed in return, then turned to other topics. They left shortly after, and the others went off to bathe.
* * * *
Chrys thought aloud as she lay in the hot water with Aitonala, Rakt and Cardnial. “This started out for me as a well-paid diversion. At least, well-paid if we succeeded. Which we have, so long as we get the book back to Ferdino. And I see no problem with that - Grymwer and I could fly it back to Dtlag, if it came to that. But, any business of the High Councils is going to be politics, probably politics of the messy kind. There are going to be Brahnaks involved, all seeking sin (like this bath) so they can stamp it out. Do I – do we - really want to get into that?”
“I’m not keen on taking orders again,” said Rakt. “I really like not being shouted at. And I like sin and baths.”
“Doryid and Kosohona will do as the Councils ask, no questions,” said Aitonala. “We can’t leave them to go it alone. Of course, my Order may have a view, but I can’t check unless we go back to Dtlag. The Haghar custom is to keep the eyes up,” she added in an aside to Cardnial.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m rather tired – Marlli’s farewells are thorough. On the topic at hand, though, I have heard the High Councils pay well.”
“I suppose it can’t do any harm to stay and listen,” Chrys sighed. “To most of us, anyway. I don’t know if you will cope with an extended farewell, Cardnial.”
Chrys and Grymwer spent the next morning in the library, bent over spell books. Aitonala was there too, leafing through alchemy texts with a few so far unidentified items from Salko’s laboratory in hand. After a time she sighed, put the books down and walked over.
“I’ve finally found what this is,” she said, showing them a large black pill in a box. “It’s a Resurrection Pill.”
Chrys and Grymwer looked at each other. “What does it do, exactly?” Chrys asked.
“If you place it within a dead body on the third day after death, it revives the soul,” answered Aitonala. “If we had known, we could have used it on Venalse. But now it’s too late, by some few hours. I’m so sorry.”
Chrys stood to give Aitonala a comforting hug, then took her hand and sat her down on a couch. “I don’t know if it helps to know this, but Venalse was dead and beyond the reach of anything but necromancy once that knife touched him. It truly carries a dark magic. It sucks life to the last vestiges, cutting all connection between the soul and the body.
No,” she continued as Aitonala looked alarmed, “it does not destroy the soul. But Venalse is gone beyond our recall, whether dead days or hours or minutes.” They sat together for a time, then drank too much at lunch.
Lydissa met with Doryid and Kosohona the next day. They emerged to pass on the news that the High Councils were indeed prepared to offer the party a contract and requested a meeting in Dtlag in ten days. A flurry of calculation suggested that even at their best pace, and without delays, this would be impossible. At this point, Doryid blandly added that Lydissa had offered to transport them all some distance on their way. They were to be ready to depart that afternoon. They gave him a look and hurried off to pack.
“Just in time,” Aitonala remarked to Chrys a little later. “Cardnial might not have survived another night. He fell asleep in his breakfast this morning.” She settled her leather jerkin over her darkened chain-mail shirt and tested each dart in its pocket. A silver steel dagger, trophy from Ekke’s hoard, went into a sheath at her hip. She picked up the leech knife in its sheath and glared at it, then shrugged and strapped it to a forearm. A few potions went into her belt pouch and the remainder, carefully wrapped, into her pack. “Let’s join the others.”
In the sitting room the others were similarly settling gear into place, checking that scabbards and sheaths were in the right places, placing the last few items in packs. Cardnial, Chrys saw, now wore a rather ill-fitting leather jacket.
“Just being close to this many weapons disturbs my ether-sense,” noted Chrys.
“How does that work in a fight?” queried Rakt.
“In a fight their intent is manifest, so the ether flows with them,” explained Chrys. “Here, it’s all potential, and the uncertainty disturbs the ether.” She shrugged. “Armouries are not comfortable places for magicians.”
They gathered on the terrace, where Lydissa led them over to a side door. This gave on to a walkway overlooking the northern cliffs. Lydissa gestured to a door.
“An earlier owner of this house was a specialist in bridges, and the door here opens on to one which can reach some distance. I have asked it to lead you to a place above the North Trail on the far side of the Great Arch. That is the furthest it can reach in that direction. The bridge is invisible, but will be there nonetheless. Just step straight out; you will arrive in four steps. The bridge will be in place long enough for you all to cross and then vanish. Do not try to turn back – the transfer is one way only.”
She was about to open the door when Marlli came in and crossed to Cardnial.
“Goodbye, sweet boy. I will always remember you.” She kissed him soundly, pressed a small purse into his hand and left. Lydissa rolled her eyes, turned back and opened the door. If there was a bridge it was indeed invisible. The door gave straight on to empty air. They looked at each other, then Aitonala squared her shoulders, stepped forward and out in to space. She did not fall but walked forward, fading as she went until in three paces she was gone. Rakt went next, then Grymwer, then Chrys. Each hesitated a moment at the brink, and Chrys had to force her reluctant feet over the threshold. The air did feel firm, and she refused to look down. Two steps and a grey fog clouded her vision. Another step, a moment of blackness, then a spot of light. A last step and she felt leaves underfoot and saw green-tinted air about. She was on a wooded hillside and Aitonala was at hand to steady her.
“Neat. Where are we?”
“Rakt and Kosohona are trying to figure it out,” Aitonala said.
“That was brave of you, to go first.”
“I was wearing the Slowfall Pack, so I would just have drifted down to the bottom of the cliff. Would have been a long walk back, though. But why would they want to kill us?”
“Things can go wrong with magic like that, else there would be a bridge like that between Dtlag and Toul – for a fee, of course. You heard Lydissa say she asked it. What if it refused every fourth time, or sent people wearing the wrong colour to the bottom of a lake? Major Items like that are often moody. Anyway, I would have flown down and got you,” Chrys added. Rakt and Kosohona were looking at the mountains, pointing out landmarks and then comparing with a rough map they had found among Venalse’ gear. When Doryid arrived they pointed down the slope.
“The North Trail should be just around that shoulder there. Follow us.” And they set out.