‘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 strands. 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.
Chapter 5
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 ev
en 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 towards 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 the 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.’
‘Except Lyanna.’
Denser shrugged. ‘Yeah, except Lyanna. Possibly. Look, Ilkar, Vuldaroq is not interested in any multidisciplined mage being nurtured by anyone. He told me Balaia didn’t want another Septern. That’s why, if he can’t control her, he’ll kill her.’
‘So you want to find them?’ said Ilkar.
‘No, I want to offer them up to Dordover, chained to sacrificial altars,’ replied Denser.
‘Just checking you hadn’t completely lost your sense of humour.’
‘Of course I want to find them.’
‘And do what, exactly?’ asked Ilkar. ‘And that’s a serious question. ’
Denser regarded him as if he were an imbecile.
‘Ilkar, they are my family. I have to protect them.’
‘I think we both understand that,’ said The Unknown. He put down the sandwich he had made but not eaten while he’d listened, and leant forward. Ilkar had to smile; he’d lost none of his instant authority. ‘But you have been depicting the might of Dordovan magic lined up against us. What do you hope to achieve?’
‘A warning, if it’s needed. Organisation too. Erienne and Lyanna are already well protected, I know it. But we can help. We even the odds.’
‘Who?’ asked Ilkar.
‘The Raven.’
Ilkar took a long draw on his coffee, feeling the strong bitter taste flood down his throat. He’d known his fate the moment he’d seen The Unknown and Denser come through his gate together. Whatever The Raven could do, he had to help. Futile, possibly. Deadly, probably, if Lyanna and Erienne were in the hands of the power Denser thought they were. But whatever, he had to make sure they understood what they were up against.
‘Denser, there’s something you need to know.’
‘Go on. I feel sure it won’t be to my advantage.’
‘We’ve been seeing random mana activity in the sky. Lightning, flaring, showers, that sort of thing. Not a lot but definitely odd. We got talking about it a few days ago. Have you heard of the Tinjata Prophecy?’
Denser shook his head.
‘Didn’t think so. Neither had I, though perhaps you should have done. Haven’t you researched the Sundering at all?’
‘Not really,’ said Denser. ‘Beyond conditions for producing a child with the correct potential and those are well enough documented in Xetesk, I don’t think Erienne even disturbed the dust in the open vaults. Who was this Tinjata, then?’
‘Well Erienne should certainly have heard of him. He was the first High Elder mage of Dordover.’
‘She probably has,’ said Denser. ‘But she hasn’t told me about him.’
‘Never mind. We’ll ask her when we find her. The point is that Tinjata was instrumental in the Sundering and culpable in a number of horrific actions against mages of the One, the Al-Drechar. He formulated a prophecy based on some kind of extrapolation of mana theory and dimensional connectivity - the roots are long gone - and he posted it as a warning to all who believed in the continuation of the four-College structure.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Denser was frowning.
‘I asked around. Do you remember Therus? He helped you in the library during the siege? Well, he survived. He’s an ancient writings archivist and the time around the Sundering is an area of particular specialisation for him. And that includes the Tinjata Prophecy.’
‘And?’ Denser beckoned Ilkar to speak it.
‘Right. Well, Therus’ knowledge is incomplete because the Dordovans w
ould never let him into their library but the summary is enough. “When the Innocent rides the elements, and the land lies flat and riven; the Sundering shall be undone and from the chaos shall rise the One, never again to fall.” Pretty clear, don’t you think?’ Ilkar felt his heart beating as he spoke the words, finding it impossible to imagine Lyanna, a child he had never seen, presiding over the destruction of Balaia. The idea was frankly ludicrous.
Denser and The Unknown were quiet. The big man finished his sandwich while he thought, the Xeteskian’s brows arrowed in as he digested Ilkar’s words.
‘And that’s what Therus thinks your lightning flashes are all about, does he?’ asked Denser. ‘My child being this “Innocent”? One flash of lightning and the end of the world is coming?’
‘Denser, you know what you hoped Lyanna would be. And perhaps she will be the first of a new race of mages, but there are wider implications,’ said Ilkar.
‘Well, what’s certainly clear is that if the Dordovan Quorum believe the prophecy, they’ll be desperate to recapture Lyanna,’ said The Unknown. ‘Or do something to stop her.’
‘So what you’re saying is that Lyanna is some form of destructive power, according to Tinjata,’ said Denser.
‘Or maybe the catalyst for something. We’ve seen lightning in a cloudless sky already and that is a clear elemental anomaly. And you know as well as I do the stories that have been going round. Tidal waves, hurricanes, thunderstorms lasting for days . . . hardly one bolt of lightning, Denser. Therus says they’re all mentioned in the prophecy.
‘And who are these people you think Erienne has gone to? What if they don’t want to train Lyanna but to use her as a focus? We have to consider the possibility.’
‘But don’t forget on the other hand that, whatever the evidence, Tinjata would have had a vested interest in painting his findings as black as he could,’ said Denser.
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