“Good,” said Ephemere. “That's very good. And how do you think we will help you?”
Lyanna thought for a moment. “You'll make the bad dreams go away.”
“That's right!” said Myriell, clapping her hands. “And we'll do more. I know that the hurt inside you makes you angry sometimes. We'll teach you how to stop the hurt and make the magic do the things you want it to do.”
“You have a great gift, Lyanna,” said Cleress. “Will you let us help make it safe for you?”
Erienne wasn't sure that Lyanna had understood the last question but she nodded anyway.
“Good. Good girl,” said Ephemere. “Is there anything you want to ask us?”
“No.” Lyanna shook her head and yawned. “Mummy?”
“Yes, my sweet. Time for bed, I think,” said Erienne. The cook and serving boy came back and started clearing away the soup plates as Erienne picked up Lyanna. “I'll get her settled and be back. It could be a while.”
Cleress shrugged. “Take your time. We'll still be here. After this long, I think we can bear to wait a little longer to speak with you.”
Lyanna was asleep in Erienne's arms before they had reached her room and barely stirred as she was put into her nightgown.
“All too much for you, my sweet,” whispered Erienne, tucking the doll under the sheets beside her and experiencing another wash of guilt. “Sleep well.” She kissed Lyanna's forehead and left the room, closing the door gently behind her. Ren'erei was waiting.
“I'll stand here and listen,” she said. “If she stirs and calls for her mother, I'll come for you.”
Erienne kissed her on the cheek, a sudden relief running through her.
“Thank you, Ren'erei,” she said. “You're a friend, aren't you?”
“I hope so,” the elf replied.
Erienne hurried back to the dining room to find the table laid with meat and vegetables in serving dishes sitting over candles. A flagon of wine stood on a tray with crystal glasses, and smoke from a long pipe in Ephemere's hand curled toward the plain ceiling. A clear memory of Denser flashed through her mind; of him sitting against the bole of a tree, calmly smoking his foul-smelling tobacco while The Raven debated the end of everything. She smiled to herself and wished again he was with her.
“She went straight to sleep then?” asked Aviana. Erienne nodded. “Good. Good. Help yourself to food and wine and sit closer, then we shan't have to raise our voices.”
Erienne took a little food and poured half a glass of wine before sitting next to Ephemere, who wafted smoke away from her.
“I do apologise for this appalling habit,” she said, sounding hoarse. “But we find the inhalation eases our lungs and aching limbs. Unfortunately, as you can hear, it rather affects our voices.” She passed the pipe on to Aviana who sucked deeply, coughing as she swallowed the smoke that smelled of oak, roses and a sweet herb she couldn't quite place.
As if seeing them for the first time, Erienne took in their age and frailty. In the candle- and lantern light, Ephemere's skin looked so stretched across her face it might tear at any moment. It was very pale under her thick white hair, giving a stark backdrop to her sparkling deep emerald eyes, that displayed her magical vitality so effectively.
Her robes hung on a fleshless body from which her long, narrow neck, tendons and veins standing proud, jutted like a rock from a dark sea. Her hands were long, almost spidery, unadorned by jewellery and shaking slightly, her fingers ending in carefully tended short nails.
Erienne returned to those eyes and saw the light and warmth burning within them. Ephemere smiled.
“I expect you're thinking you didn't get here a moment too soon,” she said. “And you aren't far from the truth.”
“Oh Ephy, don't be so dramatic,” scalded Myriell, her voice ragged from the pipe.
“Is it so?” hissed Ephemere, tone hardening. “I, for one, will not hide from the risk we all take and the likely outcome for us all.”
“The girl must know the truth. All of it,” added Cleress.
“Know what, exactly?” asked Erienne, feeling a shiver in her mind. All the warmth had gone from Ephemere's eyes though the power still burned there, as it did from all their faces.
“Off you go, Ephy,” said Cleress.
“Erienne, as you can see, we are old, even for elves and there is a limit to how long even magic can delay the inevitable,” said Ephemere.
“And it would be fair to say we none of us would still choose to be alive were it not for our enforced wait,” said Cleress.
Ephemere nodded. “You're going to see things here that you won't like. You're going to want to stop us doing what we do with Lyanna. You will fear for her safety and you have every right to, because she will be in danger every day of her training. I'm afraid this is an unfortunate consequence of the damage done by her Dordovan teachers.”
“Damage?” Erienne stopped chewing, heart thumping in her chest, her head thick with a growing fear.
“Calm yourself, Erienne, there is no lasting damage, either physical or mental. We have calmed the nightmares that threatened her in your College. The problem lies in that she is so very young to be accepting an Awakening. And if she fails to understand our teaching, the harm to her could be severe,” said Aviana.
“Death?” Erienne hardly dared mouth the word.
“That is the ultimate price any mage may pay for attempting to realise the gift of magic,” said Cleress. “But for Lyanna, the consequences before death would be most distressing.” She held up a hand to stop Erienne's next question. “We know that Lyanna had already accepted Dordovan mana as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and it was this that first alerted us through the mana trails we have studied for so long.
“But in her mind there is a conflict caused by her Dordovan training. Only part of her ability has been stirred and now we must awaken the rest, but we fear that the Dordovan-trained part of her mind will resist unless we can retrain it not to. It's a difficult enough concept to grasp for anyone but for a child so young…” Cleress shrugged.
Erienne put down her fork and held her hands to her mouth, searching for a way out. “Can you not just wait until she is older. Protect her from harm until she's ready somehow?”
“If we could, we would. But the process of her Awakening has been started. Unnecessarily.” Myriell's eyes bored into Erienne's.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Whatever they may have told you, the Dordovan masters hoped their magic would stifle the rest within her, so like fools they went ahead to bring it out. No doubt they told you it was the only way to save her,” said Myriell.
“Well yes, but…” There was a clamouring in Erienne's mind, like an alarm bell ringing but far too late. She felt on the edge of panic.
“What they wanted was to save themselves from her. But they had no real conception of what they were dealing with, Erienne, and your trust in them has put Lyanna in great danger from her own mind. And us with it.”
“No, no, no.” Erienne shook her head but couldn't make sense of the tumble of thoughts. “You're supposed to be able to help. Make her like you. How can she be in danger now? We've come here to be safe.”
Ephemere put a cold hand on Erienne's arm.
“Child, relax,” she said, her tone soothing despite its roughness. “Here is what you must know, but first keep in mind that you are not to blame for anything that has happened and that your bringing Lyanna here was her only hope. And ours too. Had she stayed in Dordover, she would surely have perished.”
Erienne breathed deep and felt her heart slow a little. She nodded and looked up into Ephemere's deep green eyes and waited for the Al-Drechar to continue.
“Within Lyanna is an ability none but one of her own can understand and nurture. She doesn't merely have the capacity to understand all College lores but has the innate knowledge of the base single force of magic that all mages once had. But to release it, she must first learn how to harness the individual str
ands. For her it will be like visiting the ManaBowl in each College to accept the mana and lore. This should be learned as one but Dordover has upset the balance.
“I cannot begin to explain to you the sheer power she holds inside her but her ability to shape mana can already be felt over hundreds of miles. If we don't teach her how to control her power, she could do immense damage before she inevitably kills herself. I'm afraid that in teaching her there will be problems. And while she learns, her mistakes will be a beacon for those who would do her harm. You will be the steadying influence on her life while she is at her most vulnerable. You must protect her.
“She is so young and physically frail. The poor girl should not have had to face this until she was your age.”
“But you can make it happen?” Erienne searched those eyes.
“We have to.” It was Aviana who spoke. “Because if we fail, there will be no Al-Drechar.”
“Why, what will happen to you?” Erienne thought she knew the answer and so did Ephemere, who laughed.
“Why Erienne, it takes all our energies to maintain ourselves and the illusions that protect us. I'm very much afraid that training your lovely daughter will be the death of us all.” She smiled and squeezed Erienne's arm. “But that is the way of things and death never comes quickly to an Al-Drechar.”
“When will you begin?” asked Erienne, not sure whether she should let them. Not just for Lyanna's sake but for theirs too.
“Tomorrow morning. Time is pressing. Ren'erei feels that our enemies are closer to us than they have ever been, as poor Tryuun's wound demonstrates. We must be vigilant. Nothing must deflect us from our task,” said Aviana.
Erienne had lost her appetite. In her dreams, she had seen the Al-Drechar as simply lifting the veil that fell between Lyanna and her understanding of the One. But now, with this talk of enemies, she was scared of what Denser would find in his way as he searched for her. And she found herself hoping he wouldn't find her.
“And now we should all take to our beds. The time for hard work and great strength is here. Sleep is the healer of the mind,” said Cleress.
“I'll finish my wine,” said Erienne, not able to even contemplate sleep. She took a sip and watched as the Al-Drechar helped each other from their chairs and made painfully slow progress to the ballroom door, each supporting another; Ephemere bowed under a curved back, Myriell ramrod straight but limping, Cleress tottering as if true balance eluded her and Aviana clearly plagued by arthritis in her knees.
They were just four terribly old women muttering to each other as they made their way to their chambers somewhere in the huge house. Erienne almost laughed at the thought that it would be almost dawn by the time they reached their destinations but managed to stifle it.
She poured another glass of wine and held it under her nose, letting its deep fruity aroma enclose her. What in all the hells had she done? She was entrusting the life of her daughter to a quartet of witches who all looked as if their final breaths were imminent. It should have appeared utter madness but somehow it made perfect sense and, through her fading anxiety Erienne saw what she had been searching for but that had eluded her until now.
A purpose for her and a chance for Lyanna.
Perhaps she would sleep well, after all.
Ilkar awoke to the familiar sounds of hammering from outside on the College grounds. By the smell of it, the day was another dry one and a steady light shone around the gently billowing drapes covering the open window. Beside him in the bed, Pheone shifted and turned over to face the wall. Ilkar smiled, as he had been doing every morning since the night of the long-room testing five days before.
That had been a wild night. They'd set up rough carved and painted wooden blocks depicting Wesmen Lords and members, past and present, of the Xeteskian Circle Seven and the Dordovan Quorum. Taking turns, they had destroyed them using an imaginative range of offensive fire and ice spells, some better prepared than others.
Twenty mages had joined in the barrage, easing a frustration that had been building up for weeks. It had been a spectacular sight, with mage fire thrashing off the walls, ice shattering wood and forming deep icicles in the corners of the long room, that were subsequently burned away with tight-beamed flame, filling the place with steam. And every time he wasn't casting, Ilkar had stood ready to deploy shields for those who didn't have the targeting skills of their companions.
Ilkar had felt Pheone's closeness the whole evening and in the drunken feast that followed, he'd found his arms around her and her head on his shoulder more times than he could count. His memories, though indistinct, were full of her flashing smile, her laughter and the revealing shirt she had worn.
The alcohol-fuelled sex had been abandoned and fantastic, though he had to confess to himself that time had blurred. He wasn't sure it had been a lengthy experience but the feeling of a female body against his, even that of a non-elf, had been wonderful.
Pheone had quelled his concerns once their hangovers had cleared enough for their brains to function. Elves shouldn't become involved with humans, the lifespan differences leading to inevitable heartbreak and, too often, the suicide of the almost-always elven survivor.
“I don't think either of us believe this will last,” she had said. “But we need each other now. Try and enjoy it and don't think too much about tomorrow.”
Ilkar wasn't sure Pheone really believed her own words and their passion on subsequent nights had been physically if perhaps not emotionally profound. She had been right. Their sexual union had given him a new outlook on everything. He had allowed himself to become so wrapped up in the rebuilding of Julatsa, all else had paled. He had even found himself beginning to resent The Unknown's infrequent visits, which was unforgivable. Pheone had reminded him how to relax and he found himself beginning to love her for that at least, if love was the right word.
More than that, though, he had started to look beyond the physical rebirth of the College to the longer term. The rebuilding of its psyche. There was so much to be done to attract mages back to Julatsa, to help it begin again, and he knew that, ultimately, he would need to leave to spread the word that his College of magic lived and breathed again.
But right now it was dormant and the place he had to be was here. He leaned over and kissed Pheone's sleeping face before jumping out of bed on to the cold stone floor, grabbing green breeches and rough woollen work shirt. He pulled on a pair of sturdy calf-length boots, pushed his hands through his ruffled hair and, hunger building, walked out into the passage, heading for the refectory which lay across the courtyard.
Outside, the day was fresh and warming. Dawn was an hour gone and he glanced at the work being done on the library roof and to a new structure whose foundations had been laid over the last seven days. As he always did, Ilkar paused for a while at the hole in which the Heart lay, contemplating their greatest remaining task.
One day, it would see light again and the bodies of those entombed within, including Barras, the last elven negotiator, could be paid proper respect. He mouthed a short prayer that the Gods would deliver him the tools to do the job.
“Ilkar!” He spun at the sound of his name, recognising the voice instantly. Its owner came through the gap that had been the north gate, leading his horse, and behind him, a second sight that gladdened Ilkar's heart still more.
“Denser!” He strode toward the gate. “Gods, they'll let anyone in here these days.”
“Sorry. I thought I had the freedom of the place after last time I was here.”
“That you do.” The two old friends embraced. “Let's look at you.” Ilkar stepped back and took in Denser's face. “A bit dusty, perhaps. And certainly a touch of grey here and there. Oh, and you need a haircut. But still recognisable.” He shook his head. “It's great to see you. You've brought your hammer and chisel, I hope.”
Denser smiled. “Sorry, never did go in for it much. I brought my pipe, though.”
“And I've missed its rank stench.” Ilkar patted him on t
he upper arm and looked past him. “Hey, Unknown, it's been a while.” Ilkar tried to keep a smile on his face but seeing these two men riding through his College gates together could only mean one thing. Something bad, probably very bad, had happened.
The Unknown walked over and shook his hand warmly, his grip, as ever, crushing.
“Too long,” he said.
“So.” Ilkar returned his attention to Denser. The Xeteskian was tired despite the hour of the morning and seemed solemn. “How's Erienne and Lyanna?”
Pain flashed in Denser's eyes and his brows pinched slightly. Instead of answering, he looked to The Unknown for help.
“That's what brings us here,” said the Big Man.
Ilkar nodded, his suspicion confirmed. “Oh I see. Are you hungry? We could talk over breakfast.”
The refectory was a long, low building set with a series of bench tables. It was quietening with most of the mages and paid workers already on site. Ilkar indicated a corner table and while the travellers made themselves comfortable, he went to the servery and packed a long wooden tray with bacon, bread and a large jug of coffee.
“Here,” he said as he sat. “Help yourselves. There's more if you need it.”
While they ate, Denser talked of Lyanna's progress and her nightmares, of Dordover's obstructive Quorum, and of the disappearance of both Erienne and their daughter. Finally, he passed Ilkar the letter, which the elf read in silence, frown deepening with almost every line. He passed it back after he'd read it twice and refilled all their mugs.
“If they find them first, they'll kill them,” said Denser.
“Who will?” asked Ilkar.
“The Dordovans. Don't you see?”
“That's a little extreme, don't you think? There's more to it than simple conspiracy. There's potential risk to all Balaian magic systems.”
“Don't you start,” said Denser. “Lyanna is the future for all of us, not our death and destruction. The Dordovans are just scared. All they need is education. No one is talking about an enforced return to the One Way, for God's sake. No one alive is capable of practising it.”
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