by Ben Galley
Farden took a deep breath and stood with his arms by his side. He glanced at Vice and the Undermage nodded slowly at him with a look that seemed to say ‘well done’. To his right, Modren clicked his fingers one by one, and stared at the skies. Farden tried to relax. He turned back to watch the roof as the deep sound of heavy wingbeats rocked the air, as if the clouds were tumbling down the mountains.
An audible gasp came from the crowded hall as a scarlet dragon suddenly dropped through the skylight. The great red beast momentarily folded its wings so as to fit through the gap and then blew a whining snort that deafened the nearest bystanders. It dropped to the floor in front of the statue of Evernia with a heavy thud, extinguishing more than a few of her candles with a final flap of its crimson wings. It looked like the dragon Farden had met briefly in Hjaussfen, Towerdawn. It solemnly bowed its head to the Arkmages and then stepped aside a few with ponderous steps that shook the floor. Its rider was a short woman with copper-coloured hair that cascaded over her dark metal armour like a rusty waterfall. She looked around the room with slow measured turns of her head and tawny eyes.
The next dragon to drop through the huge skylight was Brightshow. Her pale white and yellow-gold colouring glittered in the sunlight and as she bowed her head her horns shook and rattled. Her rider, Lakkin, if Farden remembered correctly, sat tall and straight in his saddle at the base of her neck. He wore black and silver armour and a very long sword was strapped between his shoulders. His black hair had been slicked back by the wind, and his keen eyes roved over the gathered council members.
Farden watched the Arka soldiers slowly manoeuvring around the hall. The tension hovered in the hall like a taught bowstring. They waited for the last dragon to arrive.
The hall was abruptly shaken by a massive roar from the skies above them, and then Farfallen descended through the skylight with a blinding flash of golden scales. He dropped to the floor with an enormous bang and then reared up to his full height as he tucked his huge wings behind him. Svarta sat tall and straight on Farfallen’s long neck, with no saddle beneath her and a small bundle of cloth in her hands. She jumped from her dragon’s back and stood imperiously by his side. She wore a grey leather tunic with leather and mail trousers that clung to her long legs. A black knife hung from her side. The blonde’s strands of hair that hung beside her flinty face flicked from side to side while she looked around the room with quick cat-like movements. Svarta cast a glance behind her and scowled at Farden.
Farfallen took a deep breath and flared his nostrils. He looked at the Arkmages, who were now standing up in front of their tall thrones. ‘Well met and good wishes your Mages. It has been a long time since we last met, and I regret that it is under such dark circumstances that we greet each other again,’ he said.
Åddren bowed low and cleared his throat. ‘It seems to be the destiny of our peoples, to always be at war, Old Dragon,’ he said. Farfallen nodded.
At the back of the hall Vice folded his hands behind his back and took a few steps forward. ‘Your message did not mention the purpose of your visit,‘ he said. He watched Farfallen suspiciously, and Farden could see his eyes flicking to the scar on the gold dragon’s chest.
Svarta completely ignored the Undermage behind her. Her harsh tone bounced off the walls like pieces of shattered ice. ‘We are here for an explanation, Arkmages, as to why you have attempted to betray us.’
‘Betray you...?’ Åddren started, but the Siren queen cut him off.
‘Don’t play games, Arkmage. Last night Farfallen’s tearbook was stolen from us along with the translations we had been working on, and to help you Arka, I might add! A score of our Sirens were slain and the murderer disappeared into the night along with the tearbook. And now we have come here to demand retribution!’ Her face was pale and lips pursed tight with restrained fury. Whispers again filled the hall. Svarta looked around her and glowered.
Åddren held a hand up and spoke in a calm voice. ‘Your accusation makes no sense. Why would we send you the tearbook only to steal it back again? And why are the Arka being so readily held to blame for these crimes?’
Svarta sneered. ‘You should know, Åddren, it was one of the Arkmages that committed this crime,’ she said. The hall erupted with angry shouts from the Arka and Farden could see the soldiers tensing warily. Towerdawn snarled and rattled his spikes, and Brightshow bared her fangs.
Vice stormed forward. ‘This is an outrage!’ he bellowed, and the crowd yelled with him. The Undermage stared straight at the golden dragon and Svarta as they turned to face him. Farfallen growled deep in his throat and Farden could see flame in his eyes. Vice showed no fear. ‘How dare you accuse the Arkmages of such a lie! What proof do you have, if any, of this ridiculous accusation?’ he shouted. His face was flushed and his knuckles white.
But Svarta laughed contemptuously and waved the small bundle in her hands. ‘You want proof, Vice? Arkmages?’ Here is your proof!’ She held the cloth package at one end and shook it. A blood-stained gold disk tumbled out of the fabric and fell to the floor with a metallic clang. It bounced and rattled noisily on the marble floor as it slowly spun to a rest just in front of the two thrones. As it fell silent, so did the great hall, and when the disk had stopped, everyone stared at the dried blood, and the lettering, and turned pale.
Vice was visibly shocked, and his face dropped. Svarta tossed the bloody cloth to the floor and crossed her arms with a smug expression. Modren looked to Farden, but he was watching Helyard’s face closely. The Arkmage sat perched on the edge of his throne, gripping the arms with white knuckles. His face struggled to remain calm and composed. Farden could see the sweat starting to gather at the roots of his dirty blonde hair. Watching the tall man’s face, his suspicions about the Arkmage were suddenly thrown into sharp and painful reality. With the apparent truth looming in front of him the mage felt a sudden sickening feeling of betrayal, as if the ice had just given way under the hall, and the Arka were falling with it. He looked at the disk.
It was a Weight, an enchanted symbol of office carried by all Arkmages since anyone could bare to remember. There were two of them; one for Åddren and one for Helyard, and together they balanced the scales sitting at Evernia’s golden feet. Farden cast a quick look at scales hanging awkwardly and askew, cornered and surrounded by the remaining candles.
The Weights were essentially quickdoors, smaller and more elegant than their unwieldy cousins. Hiding under the dried blood and lettering were powerful spells that allowed its bearer to travel to anywhere they wished in mere seconds. The Weights were dangerous for a mage who wasn’t strong enough to use one, and Farden had heard many stories about users getting the spell wrong and appearing on a mountain top or, in his opinion worse, half in half out of a wall, crushed and dead. Only the Arkmages could use them, and only fools tried.
Uncertainty scurried amidst the awkward silence, and there was a terrible feeling of dread in the hall. More than a few of the council members exchanged fearful looks. Svarta looked about her victoriously, challenging anyone with her scowling eyes. Farfallen was silent and brooding, waiting for someone to say something. The other two dragons were silent, but Brightshow wore a concerned look, and Farden watched her shuffle her clawed feet from side to side.
Vice looked to his superiors, and he was the first to speak. ‘Your Mages?’ he said. The Undermage’s voice sounded strangely loud after the awkward silence, and everyone watched the two men on their tall thrones. With a terrible slowness Åddren lifted a hand and reached inside his gold and green robe. Every single eye was upon him, and he looked whiter, paler, and his sparse hair made him look suddenly very old and frail. Carefully he pulled forth a gold disk from under his robe, a disk that was identical to the one lying on the floor. He lifted it high for all to see. Åddren then turned to his friend and fixed him with a stare that could have spoken a thousand different words. Svarta sniggered and looked to the two riders flanking her and Farfallen, waiting.
‘Helyard?’ He said
with a cracking voice, ‘I think an explanation is needed...’
The Arkmage’s jaw was set, eyes stuck on the Weight on the floor. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he croaked, and licked his lips.
Svarta cocked her head. ‘Excuse me?’
Helyard’s mahogany eyes flashed with anger and Farden could have sworn he heard him growl at the Siren queen. ‘I said that this is ridiculous! Gods damn it, can’t you hear how absurd this accusation is, Åddren? I was here in Krauslung for the entire evening, ask anyone! This is nonsense!’ His eyes were narrowed, and his expression was that of a venomous snake caught between a spade and the heel of a boot.
‘I wouldn’t call the death of a dozen Siren guards and the theft of the tearbook nonsense, Arkmage,’ Farfallen warned. The tension was slowly being drawn tighter and tighter. Farden looked up at the skylight and noticed the clouds gathering in the sky above the great hall, marring the crystal clear morning. Several other dragons were wheeling high above, colourful specks on a greying backdrop.
Helyard thumped his fist against the marble throne. ‘I am innocent of this crime! How dare you try to blame me, an Arkmage! I can’t believe these lies are actually being listened to!’ He was furious, scrabbling weakly at explanations and constantly looking to Åddren for help. Farden could see the guilt in his eyes now, and the mood in the hall had turned from uncertain fear to righteous indignant anger. Council members whispered and pointed, nodding and shaking their heads, all thinking the same. Farden felt the anger inside him welling up, and he contemplated dragging Helyard from the hall himself. ‘I am not a traitor!’ shouted the Arkmage.
‘THEN EXPLAIN THIS!’ yelled Svarta. With a snarl she kicked the Weight against the foot of his throne.
‘Lies! It was stolen and...’ Words caught in his throat. He blinked wide-eyed, and his mouth hung open. The clouds were darkening, and the other dragons were soaring on the approaching gale.
Svarta spread her arms wide and cast an accusing look around the hall. ‘Stolen! From one of the Arkmages? Even if it had been taken from you, who else can use it Helyard? Who?’ Several of the council members shook their heads at her as if they were actually being blamed. ‘I didn’t think as much,’ she said. Farfallen cleared his throat loudly, and gave Svarta a warning look. She retreated to her dragon’s side simmering with righteous anger.
Helyard continued to splutter and shake with rage. He looked to Åddren again, but the Arkmage was now slumped in the throne with his head resting in one hand. His own Weight lay in his open palm. Vice walked calmly forward and stood beside the Arkmage to whisper confidentially to him. Farden wondered how much privacy they could muster under the watchful eyes of the dragons and the rest of the hall. Ears were pricked. Vice seemed to ask a question. Åddren shook his head once or twice, and then nodded with a look of sad resignation at the Undermage, his blue eyes looking as if they could shatter like glass at any moment. Vice bowed his head and stepped back, folding his hands in front of him calmly even though he shook with anger and disappointment. Farden watched his friend carefully, and like everyone else in the great hall he waited, and boiled with tethered, indignant fury. He shared a look with Modren. The mage was wide-eyed and unsure.
Åddren’s voice sounded like a snapped twig in a silent forest. ‘Guards...’ he paused, and there was a moment of abject horror pasted on Helyard’s pale face. The clouds above were now heavy and ominous. The verdict was in. ‘...remove the Arkmage from the hall,’ managed Åddren in a quiet breath. Vice sighed and snapped his fingers at the armoured men standing behind the pillars. There were no shouts of protest, no whispers from the magick council this time. Everyone in the hall just watched, and glared.
‘This is impossible!’ Helyard shouted, his voice now high-pitched and his eyes burning. The soldiers approached him gingerly and tried to slowly uproot him from his throne. Fearful of touching him, they started to lead him across the hall. Farden half-expected the tall mage to try and fight his way out, but he just carried on shouting and protesting at the top of his voice. Once he tried to move past the guards and get away but the armoured men formed a ring around him and used their shields to move him along. Condemning shouts of “traitor!” and “snake!” came from the council. Helyard’s fists pounded the air, and his eyes were wide with rage. He pointed at Svarta and spat at her venomously. ‘This isn’t over Siren! I’m warning you! Åddren!’ Helyard’s voice echoed around the hall until he disappeared behind the gold doors with a bang.
Vice turned to Svarta and Farfallen. ‘Are you happy now?’ he said.
‘Not in the slightest,’ the Siren shook her head.
‘You’ve got what you came for, Helyard has been exposed and will be punished accordingly,’ said Vice, walking swiftly to take up his own seat near Åddren.
But Svarta wagged a finger at him. ‘Not so fast Undermage, we came here for an answers.’
Åddren exploded with sudden anger. ‘And what answers would they be!?’ he shouted. His face was pale and his hands were shaking with fury or grief, Farden couldn’t tell, and he slammed his palm down on the marble arm of his throne with a loud slap. ‘You’ve brought this magick council to its knees and had one of the Arkmages imprisoned for treason, what more could you possibly want! Do you want me as well? The cloak off my back? My throne? Here!’ Åddren tore wildly at his gold and green robe, ripping it from his shoulders and throwing it over his head. He threw it on the marble floor next to the bloody disk and stood with his arms wide, half-naked and eyes wide. Svarta was silent for once.
‘I just watched a man thrown into prison for murder and betrayal, a man who I have known for years, a man I trusted implicitly! And yet under my very nose he has plotted and he has schemed against his own people! When have you known such betrayal Svarta? Tell me how you think that would feel!’ Åddren’s eyes glowed with fire as he waited for an answer, but the Siren queen said nothing and just stared at him. Farden had never seen the Arkmage like that before, and neither had the council.
Farfallen took a deep breath. ‘I think we have argued enough for one day.’ His deep voice appeared to calm Åddren, and he slumped wearily back into his seat. The gold dragon continued. ‘But the question still remains whether Helyard was working alone, or if we should still ready ourselves for the summoning of this creature?’
Vice stood. ‘I agree. Farden was attacked by a dark sorcerer while on his way to Nelska, so we must assume that there are others involved.’
Brightshow piped up. ‘But without the tearbook we have nothing, not even the translations.’
The whole council sighed, and felt the first icy tendrils of failure creeping over them. Farden racked his brains, and tried to quell the anger inside him. Cheska’s words from the night before echoed in his head.
Vice clicked his fingers suddenly. ‘Albion,’ he said, and looked around.
Åddren seemed confused. Farfallen narrowed his eyes at the Undermage. ‘Albion?’
‘Helyard has been travelling there at night for the past few weeks. I thought nothing of it until now.’
Farden remembered something, and spoke up. ‘He went to Albion the night before I left for Nelska. The sorcerer on the ship also had an Albion accent.’ The pieces began to click together.
‘He said he had business with one of the Dukes,’ said Åddren. Vice nodded. ‘He went to Kiltyrin two nights ago, and Fidlarig before that. This has to be what we’re looking for.’ Åddren put a hand under his chin and quietly muttered and agreement. The council members talked amongst themselves and wagged their chins and fingers. Everybody seemed to agree.
‘We can have dragons searching for the well in a few hours,’ Svarta said decisively, and Farden confidently walked forward. He resisted the urge to knock the Siren queen with his shoulder, and stood in front of the thrones. He looked to Vice. ‘The Written can quickdoor to the port of Dunyra, Undermage. I can have all of us there before sunset, ready to fight,’ he said.
Svarta looked disgusted at the thought of an army of Writ
ten, but Vice smiled. ‘We will need all the help we can get,’ said Åddren. Behind them the Old Dragon settled down to sit on the floor, and rumbled thoughtfully. ‘Now that Helyard’s been exposed, his friends are likely to spring their trap early,’ he warned.
‘That’s assuming they’ve already found a dark elf well,’ Svarta said.
Åddren raised a hand and spoke in a calm measured tone. ‘We cannot afford to take that chance. Who knows what Helyard has been up to all these years, what powerful friends he might have,’ he let out a brief sigh. ‘Vice, you will take the army to the port of Dunyra by ship or by quickdoor, find that well and destroy it. I will not allow these traitors to summon this creature, it must be killed at all costs!’ The council murmured, and a few yells could be heard.
‘I agree,’ Farfallen growled. ‘I will send my fastest dragons to Albion within the hour, and if you are willing, the rest of us will remain here to guard Krauslung for the time being. Our army will be ready to leave Nelska by the morning.’
‘Please, accept my hospitality,’ Åddren bowed his head with a friendly, and slightly weary, gesture. Farfallen flashed his reptilian smile and Svarta cleared her throat with some sort of icy, indifferent “thank you”.
The Arkmage rapped his knuckles on the side of his throne. ‘The council is now dismissed, the dragons and their riders may stay, as can you Farden.’ Åddren pointed to the mage. The council slowly drifted out of the door and out into the now hushed corridor. Servants and citizens peered over the heads of guards like eager chicks in a nest, trying to see into the great hall. Modren made to leave, but Farden beckoned him forward, and he joined him in front of the thrones.
Soon the hall was empty, and the doors were locked shut from the outside. Vice sighed loudly, still eyeing the scar on Farfallen’s chest. ‘Farden and I will go and ready our forces. There is much to do.’ His eyes flicked to the mage, and Farden nodded quickly.
Åddren spoke. ‘I will talk with Farfallen for a while. I want that Weight hidden in your chambers, Vice, keep it safe and out of sight.’