He must have dozed off momentarily because he felt the cool air on his face without seeing the door to his bedchamber open and close to admit whoever it was who had come to see him. He sighed and opened his eyes, his vision swimming slightly as it always did. Another messenger, was it? Or perhaps Dystran. That would be comforting. He had a sudden urge to know what was going on and how the hunt for the elven raiders went.
The room was darker. It was because two figures were standing in front of the fire. He could sense others in the room too but he focused on the nearest. Strange there should be so many and he felt a menace that unnerved him.
'Our apologies for disturbing you, Master Ranyl,' said one, the smaller of the pair. He could make out a beard but the finer features were still blurred. The voice he recognised but couldn't place. At least it was human, not elven and he felt himself relax. He blinked and his vision cleared further.
'But we have messages to pass to you and the Circle Seven, and we have information to collect and you know where it is.' This was the other man. Huge, shaven-headed and deep-voiced.
Ranyl's calm deserted him. He knew these men. And a glance told him he knew nearly all in the room. His bedchamber. His heart was racing and pain flared in his stomach.
'Dear Gods burning, how did you get in here?'
Chapter 18
The TaiGethen fanned out from the base of the stairwell and ran across the ground floor. Two cells, six elite hunter-warriors armed with short blades, jaqruis and bows. Silent through the grid of shelves and cases, feet caressing stone, wood and carpet, their eyes missing nothing.
The Al-Arynaar mages walked in their wake, drinking in the mass of Xeteskian knowledge all around them, calm in the certainty that while the TaiGethen hunted in front of them, they had nothing to fear.
Auum ran at their head, with Duele and Evunn to his left, flitting in and out of his peripheral vision between the shelves. Marack and her cell mirrored them to the right. As on the upper floors, they expected to find no one. Their sweep took them through the desks and tables and all the way to the doors closed against the night and a threat that had already bypassed them.
Auum paused at the doors and the TaiGethen gathered about him. The library was a welcome change from the city outside and its filthy cloying odours. The air smelled of ancient paper, treated wood and the mustiness of age, mixed with traces of lantern oil. He breathed it in deeply before he spoke, voice low.
'You have all seen the five doors we passed on our left. These are the archive chambers of which Denser spoke. If the Aryn Hiil is here, it will be in one of those. You have all seen the light from beneath two of the doors. Split by Tai cell, one mage to each. Remember Denser's warnings and let Tual's hands guide yours. We move.'
Auum led his Tai back into the library, heading past tables and around bookshelves to the row of five doors that led into the secure archive chambers. He stood back to let the mage move to the door.
She stood directly in front of it and tuned to the mana spectrum. Beside Auum, Duele held his bow, and Evunn, two short swords.
Two doors along, Marack was ready. Auum nodded. The mages got to work.
Nyam's curiosity was undimmed. And he had no doubt the Al-Drechar were shielding a One mage despite their obstructive comments. Ever since their arrival, they had been kept from the most private rooms in the old house. The few remaining elves from the Guild of Drech were most insistent that their mistresses be afforded quiet and rest much of the time, so limiting the Xeteskian interrogation and, importantly, observation.
It was also clear that they were friendly enough with Diera who in turn had the ear of Sha-Kaan. And the dragon, weakened and without fire though he was, had let it be known that he didn't see the roof and walls of the house as a barrier to killing those who stepped out of line.
There came a time, however, when a mage had to make his move. Had to be noticed by the Circle Seven for initiative, ability, courage and loyalty. Gods drowning, on this small rock buried in the Southern Ocean that was difficult but Nyam had always been taught to grab opportunities, and he saw one now.
Let the others lick their wounds and remain scared of two old women and a dying dragon. He had listened to the messages passed via the Protectors through the Soul Tank. He knew the growing anxiety over the reality that the One still blossomed outside Heren-deneth and not in Xeteskian control. He had heard the rumours of the identity of the practitioner; and in so many ways it all made sense though their research hadn't revealed how The Raven mage, Erienne, might have developed the talent following her daughter's death. Best guess was it arose coincidentally but the fact remained that there were two people on this island who knew the truth. Nyam had the chance for quick promotion sleeping not thirty yards from him. He wasn't about to let his colleagues take it first. He had to gamble on the rumour being true and he had to do it now.
The night was humid and, as ever, still. Stars scattered the night sky delivering nothing in the way of light and the house itself had few lanterns burning. Nyam walked through the damp-smelling corridors to the wing where the Al-Drechar, Diera and Jonas slept. Two Guild elves stood guard at its entrance, barring his way.
'I apologise for the unpleasantness of the hour but I have news concerning The Unknown Warrior that Diera must hear.'
'She is sleeping,' said one of the elves in heavily accented Balaian.
'I know, and I would normally keep news until the morning but this she must hear now. He is in serious danger.'
'You would worry her this much about things she cannot influence?'
'She has always said she would know everything,' countered Nyam. 'Please. Come with me to her. Ask her yourself before I even see her. At least give her the option.'
He knew they had no choice. He knew he looked innocent and sincere. One shrugged, the other nodded and the door was opened for him. He was accompanied the short distance down the corridor by the elf who had spoken to him, arriving at Diera's door where he was told to wait. Further down the corridor, more Guild elves stood guard in front of the Al-Drechar's private rooms. Shortly, the elf reappeared and beckoned him in. As they passed, the elf caught his arm.
'Do not wake die child. Do not betray our trust,' he said. 'You are here but we do not want you here. Remember that.'
Nyam nodded and walked inside. Diera was sitting on the side of her bed, a light shawl draped over her shoulders and covering the top of her nightdress. One hand stroked her sleeping son's head. A lamp, wick turned low, was enough to reveal her anxious face and knotted hair. Gods but she was so alluring. A woman just woken. How sweet it would be if she were to beckon him to her.
Of course, she did not. She stared at him with a mixture of trepidation and contempt.
'Tell me about my husband,' she demanded. 'And make it quick. I may need to talk to Sha-Kaan.'
'Of course,' said Nyam. 'And I am truly sorry for the intrusion.' She waved away his apology. 'And I am sorry for worrying you but it is not your husband who is in danger. It is Erienne.'
He held his breath for her reaction. There was none barring a coldness across her face.
'If my husband is not in danger, then neither is Erienne. I suggest you provide better reason for this unwelcome visit.'
Beside her, Jonas stirred. She stared at Nyam meaningfully.
'The power the Al-Drechar help her contain,' he said, all the time studying her face. 'They are not strong enough any more. We can help. Xetesk wants the One to grow.'
‘Idon't know what you're talking about,' said Diera, but there was no irritation in her voice and a flicker across her eyes gave her away.
'You do,' said Nyam gently. ‘Iknow you do.'
'Go,' said Diera. ‘Ican't help you.' She pulled the shawl tighter around her.
Nyam leaned forward and grabbed her upper arms roughly. 'Damn you, woman, you will help,' he hissed, seeing her moment's shock give way to fear. 'We cannot afford to have her running around unprotected by us. If the Al-Drechar were to fail, Balaia would b
e devastated all over again. My reports are it is already starting. Why do you think I am waking you now? Whatever it is the Al-Drechar are doing right now, it isn't enough. I must be allowed to see them, observe them, so we can lend our strength.'
'Then why not talk to the Guild elves or the Al-Drechar themselves if you are so genuine?' she asked.
'Because without you with me, they won't believe me. They will deny everything fearing what we will do. But all we want to do is help Erienne live.'
'Let go of my arms.'
He did so. ‘Iam sorry. Please Diera, for all our sakes?'
'You must think me very stupid, deaf or both,' she said, meeting his gaze. 'Do you think I talk to no one? Do you think I know nothing of Xetesk's desires? I am not the dim wife and mother you clearly think me to be. I am the wife of The Unknown Warrior. And you are in more trouble than you can possibly imagine.'
Nyam knew that already. A sense of calm had descended on him. He shrugged.
'The time for such fears is past. Xetesk has a war to win. Control of Erienne will bring us that victory.'
'She's just one Dordovan mage.'
Nyam smiled. 'Diera, I do respect you and your strength. Sol could not have chosen better. But respect me too. Erienne is very much more than just one Dordovan. Deny it all you like but we will prove it. Now, are we going to visit the Al-Drechar together?'
'Why should I move? All I have to do is shout.'
'Diera.' Nyam's lips thinned with his patience. 'My actions might bring about my death, I'm not sure. One thing I am sure of is that if you don't help me now, they will certainly bring about yours.' He reached a hand down to Jonas. 'Such a lovely boy. He needs his mother. Don't you think?'
Gylac knew he was close to the breakthrough. It could see him to the Circle Seven on Ranyl's death. The prospect excited him more than it should but he couldn't help it. He'd begun to notice the links in the elven texts two days before. Amongst the partially translated passages and the tracts of so far indecipherable script, there was a pattern emerging.
This Aryn Hiil was so much more than the history and practice of a religion expressed in ancient elvish. He was sure of that now though in truth, Dystran and Ranyl had always suspected it.
His initial theorising had been backed up by independent research from another member of his staff. It built on the centuries-old notion that the elves were inherently and dependently magical. All of them. The Elfsorrow had proved that beyond question but had run its course before they could synthesise it as a spell.
Now it looked as if they wouldn't have to worry about the loss of that opportunity. Because if he was right, and the magical theory supported him, there was a way of unpicking an elf from the mana that made him vulnerable. The elven nation would become Xetesk's new thralled race. Never mind Protectors, this would be a weapon infinitely more powerful. And it would be infinitely less risky than making pacts with demons.
He wouldn't sleep 'til he had the answer. After all, Ranyl didn't have long to live.
Gylac heard the door behind him open. He turned in his high backed chair, placing his quill on his note book.
'So, have you-'
What he saw in front of him was impossible. Laughable almost. He wasn't sure if he smiled or not. He felt a hot, incredibly hot, lancing pain in his throat. His body was flung back, connecting with the edge of the table. He scrabbled at the pain, trying to look down. He saw the shaft of an arrow and felt the hot pumping blood on his hands. There was a roaring in his ears.
They were all around him now, soundless like spirits. He was pushed aside, heard a short exclamation. They had the Aryn Hiil. His prize. His safe passage to power. He grabbed at an arm.
'You can't,' he gurgled, or thought he did.
A face stared down at him, so cold. The eyes held a hatred that made him shudder. He heard some words.
'Shorth awaits you.'
His grip slackened.
Ranyl barely had the strength to be scared, the pain in his stomach had intensified and his breath shortened. But even he could not help but respect the tenacity of this most deep of the thorns in Xetesk's side.
'You are persistent, I grant you that,' he said. 'We had thought you hidden outside Lystern somewhere.'
'Hiding is not in our nature,' said The Unknown Warrior.
Ranyl nodded and craned his head. 'Why don't you all come round here so I can see you. It isn't often one is confronted by The Raven in its entirety.'
'This is not the entire Raven. Ilkar died because of you.' Ranyl felt the touch of steel on his neck. 'Don't try anything. You aren't quick enough to beat me.'
Ranyl chuckled. 'Oh, Hirad, I am long past casting spells. I cannot muster the focus even to numb my own pain.'
'Gods' sake, Hirad, put it away,' said Denser.
'No,' said Hirad. 'No chances. Not in here.'
'My Lord Ranyl, we mean you no harm-'
'Right…'
'Hirad!' snapped Denser.
'He is Circle Seven. He is guilty of Ilkar's death. Mean him no harm if you like. I feel different.'
'We should have factored you in,' said Ranyl. 'Never ignore The Raven, eh?'
'My Lord.'
'Denser, yes, I'm sorry. What is it you want?' He felt for the bond with his familiar but it was weak. The demon was lost in sleep. He tried to pulse it awake, cursing his fading ability.
'Your dimensional researches. Tell us where they are,' said Denser. 'We need them.'
'Why?'
'That's our business.'
'Hirad, please,' said Denser. 'We have a-friend to send home.'
'Ah, of course,' said Ranyl. 'The great Sha-Kaan. He will be repatriated when we have the capacity.'
The blade pressed harder. 'Wrong,' said Hirad. 'Every day, he dies a little more. If you can do it, you'll help us do it now.'
Ranyl waved a hand. 'It is a fairly simple casting. We just don't have the time. Now if you could persuade your friends to lift their siege, we could help you.' He pulsed again. The familiar didn't respond.
'Where is the research held? And who is in charge of it?' demanded Denser. 'I know you. Nothing is left unrecorded. Which catacomb houses it?'
Ranyl shrugged. /I haven't been down there for sometime, Denser. It could be anywhere.'
'He's stalling,' said another voice. Female.
'Erienne,' he said. The prize had walked into his bedchamber. ‘Igrieve for your loss.'
'Liar.'
'But a greater loss to the world would be you,' said Ranyl. 'You have such potential. Stay with us.'
'I've had enough of this.' The Unknown Warrior stepped in and grabbed Ranyl's jaw in one huge hand. He squeezed. 'No more games. No more delay. Let's get one thing straight. We can get in here undetected any time we want to so I suggest you take what I am about to say very seriously.'
The Unknown's face was very close to Ranyl's and he could see in the ex-Protector's eyes, the truth behind his words. There was more to this than capturing research. The warrior continued.
'Already, the Aryn Hiil will have been taken by its rightful owners but that isn't the only crime of yours we are halting here tonight. You will tell us where the dimensional alignment research is held so that we can end Sha-Kaan's imprisonment on Balaia, a trivial action unworthy of your urgent attention or not.' The grip on Ranyl's jaw tightened and The Unknown's face darkened further.
'There's something else. You and the rest of the Circle Seven will see to it that no harm comes to my wife and son on Herendeneth. They are there to keep them from the wreckage of this country. They are not your pawns. You will not suffer them to be threatened, used as any kind of ransom or even allow them to be touched by any Xeteskian.
'Do not fool yourself I will not find out. You know we are in contact. If anything… anything… happens to my family through one of your power games, you will wish your sickness had taken you earlier. And the Circle Seven will wish fervently that they had listened to you relating my words.
'Do you understand me?'
Ranyl was silent. No one had ever talked to him that way. His first reaction was to counter-threaten but he was in no position right now.
T-' His mouth would barely open, such was the pressure from The Unknown's hand.
'Do you understand me?' He relaxed his grip.
‘Ihear you.'
'Good.'
'What a shame, though,' said Ranyl.
‘Ibeg your pardon?' asked Denser.
'You could have been so much more.'
'Who?'
'You, Denser. The Circle Seven needs you. And you, Sol. You could have been the leader of the Protectors.'
The Unknown leaned in further, his smile carrying no humour.
‘Ialready am.' He straightened. 'So talk. The research.'
Ranyl breathed in deeply. They had handed him control though they appeared not to realise it. Anything to keep them here a little longer.
'We are testing our theories night and day in the catacombs below my Tower. I am the Circle Seven mage sponsoring dimensional research. Kestys is my lead man.' He shrugged. 'You know where to go, Denser. Take it, if you think you're able.'
'Do we need to know anything else?' asked Hirad.
Denser shook his head. 'No. He's telling the truth.'
'Why would I do otherwise?' said Ranyl. 'I have so little still to lose.'
'Let's go,' said The Unknown. 'Denser. Ranyl looks tired.'
'No problem.'
Denser began to cast. Ranyl knew he would. There was no point in raising an objection and, in truth, 1 large part of him looked forward to a few hours of blissful, pain-free rest. He felt a twitch in his mind. He smiled.
The Raven prepared to leave. Their big, blond, silent and clearly troubled warrior put an ear to the door and shook his head. Lystern's greatest loss, Ry Darrick, went to his shoulder, others followed him.
'Ready for this?' asked Denser, voice a little faint with the effort of sustaining the Casting, simple though it was.
‘Iam,' said Ranyl.
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