by Ben Galley
To the southeast of the pensive mage, in the upper rooms of the sparkling Arkathedral, stood Cheska, sullen, chastised, and angry. Like Modren sleep had escaped her, and she had spent the last few hours pacing about her room and snapping at her handmaids. They had left quickly, apologising and bowing, and had left the princess alone with her mood. Cheska had heard about Farden, and how close he had come to reaching her, and how he had got away. Vice had been furious. No, Vice had been beyond furious. Cheska rubbed the tender spot on her cheek where he had struck her. The princess winced. Compared to the others she had been let off lightly.
Vice had thrown that captain of his, Modren or Mogred, whatever his name, through a door and cracked his rib, throttled Agfrey half to death, and sent several more of her Skölgard soldiers to the healers. They had their hands full tonight, she thought. One of the soldiers was not likely to see morning, or so Cheska had been told. She cared little.
Consequently the princess was confined to her rooms. Her little stunt in the market had not done wonders for the Arkmage’s mood, that was obvious, and now her room was guarded by General Agfrey and a whole hallway of her soldiers. Cheska wondered about the ugly woman standing outside her door, pondering whether she was actually a man in disguise, and then shook her head. There were more important things to think about.
Like it or not, her father’s words and Vice’s slap had struck a rather minor chord with her, and the chord had reverberated about her head all day. Disturbing thoughts niggled at her, and she couldn’t help but worry about what Vice had in store for her…
No, she told herself, and she stamped her foot. She was important. Better than that, she was crucial, she was integral to his plan. He needed her like a ship needed the sea. She was the crux of his scheming, and therefore he wouldn’t dare hurt her.
Cheska’s thoughts were rudely interrupted as something violently kicked her insides. She winced. The painful kicks were getting slowly worse. ‘Gods’ sakes,’ she said, and rubbed her belly with a scowl.
There came a loud knocking at the door and Cheska turned to face her visitor, making sure to stand as tall as she could manage, hands stuck fast to her hips. ‘Enter!’ she called, and the door swung open. Behind it stood General Agfrey, that troll of a woman. Her arms were by her sides and her lips pursed.
‘What is it?’ demanded Cheska. Agfrey looked visibly flustered.
‘You are to accompany me, Princess Cheska,’ she replied.
‘What? Why?’
‘Arkmage’s orders, I’m afraid,’ came the explanation. Cheska huffed, and pouted, and did everything to show her displeasure, but in the end she knew she would have to go with Agfrey. Her cheek still stung.
‘Fine,’ she hissed, and flounced towards the door. The general moved aside to let her pass, and then shut the door behind her with a quiet click. Agfrey pointed.
‘That way, your majesty,’ she said, and then for a reason that was quite beyond the princess, added a whispered ‘Sorry.’ It was a strange thing to say considering the circumstances, thought Cheska, and it suddenly made her feel a little nervous. She looked around at the ranks of soldiers flanking her and her uneasiness grew.
With a click of the general’s fingers, the soldiers moved off. Their boots stamped on the marble and their armour clanked nosily as they marched. Cheska coughed to clear her dry throat, and let the little group lead her down a flight of steps or two and down a long corridor. At the end, they stopped rather abruptly at a narrow wooden door that Cheska had never noticed before, a door studded with bolts and pins and strips of metal holding it together. She could feel her anxiety growing by the second. General Agfrey pointed at the doorway. ‘Vice waits for you inside, Princess,’ she said.
‘In there?’ she asked, pointing at the bleak-looking door.
Agfrey merely nodded and pointed again. Feeling the blank-eyed stares of the soldiers around her, Cheska stuck out her chin and replied with a snippy ‘Fine!’ She brushed a golden lock of hair from her face and stepped up to the door. Despite its heavy appearance it swung open at the lightest touch. She peered inside.
Whatever was in there, it certainly was not a candle or a torch. The paltry light from the corridor made no difference. The room was pitch black and thick with stifling darkness. Arrogantly confident to the last, Cheska huffed and strode into the room with a raised hand and called out to the Arkmage. ‘Vice?’ she said, as a light spell danced around her wrist. Its weak light barely penetrated the gloom. There was nothing there. ‘Where is he? Is this some sort of sick joke?’ she snapped, wheeling around to glare at Agfrey, but the general was already closing the door, toothy key in hand and a wry expression on her face. With a bang and a click the door was shut, and Cheska was left locked in the dark.
Her first reaction was to start pummelling the door with the flat of her hand. ‘What is the meaning of this?! Agfrey!’ yelled the princess. Unsurprisingly, nobody answered. The door didn’t budge. Cheska’s fingers began to buzz with electricity, crackling blue in the darkness, and she spread them over the space where the door-handle should have been. Suddenly there was a sound like a longbow snapping, and her hand flew from the door with a flash of light that wrenched her sideways. With a whimper of pain, Cheska stepped backwards and held her hand to her chest, nursing what felt to be like a few broken fingers. A tear rushed down her cheek.
‘I wouldn’t try that again,’ said a voice. The princess whirled around to face nothing but darkness. Soft footsteps scuffed against the flagstones, far away at first and then closer, behind her again, like a sabre-cat circling a rabbit. Cheska tried to follow the sounds. She waved her hand in front of her, groping at the darkness. Her fingers connected with what felt like cloth and she grabbed at it frantically. But to her surprise and fear the cloth turned hard and solid, and she found herself scraping at nothing but a marble wall.
‘Show yourself!’ yelled Cheska, tears now crowding at the corners of her wide eyes. She pressed her back against the wall and fell to her knees. Thoughts of what her father had said to her filled her mind and harassed her. She summoned enough wherewithal to clench her good hand into a fist and summon a stronger light spell, but the darkness held fast and would not move, as if she were surrounded by a thick curtain. The footsteps continued to circle her. ‘Show yourself!’ screamed Cheska. She had never known a fear this gripping.
All of a sudden something changed in the black room. Her light spell dimmed like a snuffed candle and the curtain of darkness seemed to move forward. But it was no curtain. A face formed out of nothing, and the shadow became man-shaped and grinning, arms placed calmly upon hips, clad in silver armour. Vice smirked. The darkness curled around his limbs like fingers of black smoke.
Cheska’s fear was momentarily replaced with cold hard fury. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ she snarled at the Arkmage. Vice took a step forward and towered over the princess in every way possible. His presence was like a hammer pushing her into the floor. His voice reverberated around the small stone room. ‘I think you know very well why you are here, Princess, after your little stunt today,’ replied Vice, coldly.
Cheska spluttered. ‘You can’t possibly blame me for what happened today, I had no idea Farden was there. It has nothing to do with me…’ but she was swiftly interrupted, and she put a hand to her face in fright as Vice stamped his foot on the hard floor. A spark flew from the heel of his metal boot.
‘IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH YOU!’ bellowed Vice. The purple veins along his neck stood out like ropes under his pale skin. ‘Farden is still hopelessly obsessed by you! You and the brat growing inside of you! It is the only reason he returns time and time again, to test and annoy me, and I will not have you wandering around in broad daylight, jeopardising everything we’ve worked for!’
‘Well maybe you shouldn’t have wasted your time and killed him at Carn Breagh, when you had the chance,’ spat the princess, a glint in her eye. ‘It’s your fault he’s still alive, not mine!’
Vice took another s
tep forward and raised his hand, ready to backhand the princess once again, but this time he stopped himself. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘No, I need you safe and sound. This child is too important to me. To us,’ he added, and put his hand back on his hip. Vice walked towards the door. ‘And that is why you will stay here, locked away in this room, until it’s finally time,’ he said, wagging a finger at Cheska’s pregnant bulge. She looked horrified. ‘I wouldn’t worry yourself. You’re perfectly safe. Nobody will be able to get to you here, Cheska, not Farden, not that vampyre, not a soul except me. And I for one will enjoy the peace and quiet,’ he sneered. Vice put a hand to the door and with the sound of cogs whirring and bolts sliding, it opened, spilling bright torchlight into the dark room. Cheska covered her eyes.
‘Oh and if you value the rest of your fingers, I wouldn’t try to open this door. It has a lock spell that answers only to me. Sleep well, Princess. Don’t exert yourself too much,’ chuckled Vice. The door slammed after him, and Cheska was left in the darkness to nurse her bruised and broken fingers and contemplate her fate. Underneath her skin, deep inside her, her unborn child twitched and kicked once, just once.
Outside the little room, Vice made sure the door was well and truly sealed by his spell, and then turned to General Agfrey. ‘I want the watch doubled, and the rest of your soldiers brought down from the north.’
Agfrey nodded, trying to look calm in front of her men. ‘Er, all of them, sire?’
‘All of them, Agfrey, every single last one of them. I don’t care what it takes, I want this city filled with soldiers. We’re moving forward with the plan.’
‘Yes, your Mage.’ Agfrey bobbed her head eagerly.
Vice turned on his heel and left, cloak swishing behind him, armour crackling. ‘Oh and Agfrey?’ he called without turning. ‘If you see that king of yours, send him to me. There are a few things I would like to discuss.’
‘Yes sire’ she shouted after him as the Arkmage disappeared around a corner. She shivered in a sudden cold draught. War was approaching, she could feel it. She could taste the excitement on her tongue.
Dawn broke the dark clutches of night, and with it came a clear cloudless sky smudged with reds and oranges, a cacophony of fiery colours that painted the mountainous horizon like an artist paints a canvas. To the north of the mountains a thin veil of mist hung over the silent forests. More snow was on the way. The morning air was brittle like charcoal.
The campfire had burnt out sometime in the night, leaving the ashes to blush and smoke, making the misty forest glade that much mistier. Durnus, Eyrum, and Ilios were still fast asleep. The gryphon twitched in his dreams, chasing imaginary beasts across desert plains, toying with thermals. The gryphon’s dreams seemed very far away from their forest surroundings, very far away indeed.
Only two of the men were awake. They lay on their backs, head to head and staring at the pine branches above them as they whispered and rattled. Farden lay with his head on a bundle of moss and his hands folded across his chest, pondering life and recent events. Tyrfing lay next to him, hands clasped behind his head, thinking of similar things. Both knew the other was awake, but for some reason neither could think of anything to say. It took a while, but Farden finally coughed and rubbed his stubbly chin with the back of his hand. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he mumbled. His low voice sounded so loud against the quiet of the forest.
There was a moment. ‘I’m not a coward, Farden.’
‘That remains to be seen.’
‘You knew I’d come, didn’t you?’
Farden nodded. ‘I hoped you would, after what I said. And did.’
Tyrfing sat up to poke the fire with a nearby stick. He rubbed his bruised lip and cheek. ‘I almost didn’t. But Ilios threatened to bite me if I didn’t follow you,’ he said, and Farden wondered if his uncle was trying to be funny. He wasn’t, and instead he stuck out a hand. It hovered over Farden’s face. ‘I should have come back a long time ago.’
‘All you needed were some harsh words,’ replied Farden, and he shook his uncle’s hand. Even though a great chunk of it remained, a little of the weight that had been lying on his heart disappeared. ‘I meant every word, uncle, but that doesn’t mean I should have said them,’ he said. ‘But what’s said is said, and now we can just concentrate on this war of ours, and killing Vice. I don’t want to hear anything about Dust Songs or Cheska.’
Tyrfing swallowed. He looked over at the slumbering gryphon. Ilios was still twitching and murmuring in his sleep. The dew-soaked grass underneath his wing was stained a dark and reddish brown. ‘Whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere without Ilios. We need to find a way to get this gryphon to Nelska before that arrow kills him. That is of course,’ added Tyrfing, ‘if the Sirens let me in. I don’t think your big friend is very fond of me.’ Farden raised his head and looked over to where Eyrum lay, snoring like a bear. Farden smiled, and absently put a hand to his dragonscale amulet that hung around his neck. ‘That may take a while,’ he said. ‘Let’s just say the Sirens are a little untrusting of mages in their midst. Wait until you meet Svarta; she’s a veritable hoot.’
‘Sounds it,’ murmured Tyrfing.
There was rustle as Durnus rolled over. ‘Must you two talk so loudly? I was happily fast asleep before you decided to start yapping. I was dreaming that I’d finally bitten that bastard Duke of Leath.’
Farden had to cough to keep from laughing.
The men rose slowly and at their leisure, waiting until the sun had risen above the mountains before packing away their camp. Tyrfing went to wake Ilios, and the gryphon awoke with a whistle and a groan.
‘Can you move, old friend?’ asked the mage, and Ilios managed to nod and make a clicking sound with his lizard-like tongue. ‘Good. Durnus says that it’s just a short walk to his tree.’
Ilios nodded again, and dozed until it was time to go.
Once the men were ready to leave, Durnus led them a winding path through the dense thicket of pines and firs that surrounded their little clearing and deeper into the forest. Slowly but surely, picking his way carefully around bushes and branches, Ilios followed them, limping heavily and making strange whistling noises. Tyrfing looked concerned. Durnus put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. ‘Not too far now,’ he said quietly.
‘It’s the jump I’m worried about,’ answered Tyrfing.
‘He should be fine; I’ll try to make it as smooth as possible.’
Tyrfing nodded in thanks, and true to the vampyre’s quiet words, they soon came across the strange arched tree he and Farden had discovered the night before. Durnus traced his hands over it, sharp nails searching for the pulsing areas of magick he knew would be hiding under the bark. The moss and ivy that covered the stance tree sparkled in the dappled sunlight, with dew, and something else.
‘Ah,’ announced Durnus, ‘here it is.’ He reached down to the thick winding roots at the base of the tree and poked at the soil. ‘This shouldn’t take too long at all,’ he said.
‘Good, I’m getting hungry,’ said Eyrum, and as if to prove his point his stomach gurgled loudly for all to hear. Farden shook his head.
‘Trust a Siren,’ said the mage. Eyrum scowled.
Durnus kept poking until he found the right spot on the tree. He then took two or three big steps backwards and rubbed his hands together. He tried not to show how nervous he was. ‘Stand back gentlemen. This is an extremely precise spell, one that I’ve only done once before without a spell book. If I get it wrong it could have terrible consequences,’ he warned, doing nothing for the others’ unease. They retreated quickly and without a word.
‘Opening quickdoors, as I’ve told Farden many times, is like trying to open and close a window from a thousand miles away, with no more than a rope and a long pole. If you miscalculate by a fraction on this end, then it can equate to miles on the other end. The trick is you see,’ began Durnus, mumbling like a distracted instructor as he scratched the first words, the keys of the spell, into the loam at his feet
with his finger, ‘is to tap into the underlying magick, the natural strings of power entwined with the forest and the air and the earth, the invisible magick that surrounds everything. And that’s easier said than done. I have to manipulate the right amount of magick at just the right time, otherwise it can split the doorway and collapse in on itself, and if we’re really unlucky, there is always the danger of a few strange side-effects.’
‘Which are?’ asked Eyrum, who was particularly worried. He wasn’t used to travelling on anything that didn’t have wings.
Durnus began to push against the air as though he were fighting an invisible wall. A bead of sweat rolled down his pale forehead. His lips began to move up and down, as if he had forgotten the words to a song. His lips knew them, but his voice did not. Mechanical and silent they mouthed words learnt by rote. It was a moment before he answered. When he finally did, he did so in such a quiet whisper that they could barely hear him. ‘Well, my good Siren,’ he strained. ‘If the surrounding magick is strong enough today, then it’ll work. If not, well, we could all find ourselves transported underground and crushed to death, or a thousand feet up in the air, or worse.’
‘What could be worse than that?’ asked the big Siren, unsure if he really wanted to know.
‘If I miscalculate we could all be crushed into the smallest particle of being any of us could possibly imagine. Flesh could be ripped from bone, that manner of thing.’
‘Sounds fun,’ mumbled Farden, crossing his arms. The others looked worried, but he had seen Durnus perform his quickdoor spell enough times before to have a little faith in the old vampyre. He had been practising time and space magick since before Farden could remember. Still, he had never seen it done without a spell book, and never with a strange-looking tree, so he decided to take another step back, just in case.