Beginning

The Ismay Residence, Kinspit

‘It’s very bright’ said John, blinking up at the light.

‘Yes, sir’ responded1 Hardacre, ‘that’s the sun’

‘Of course it is’ smiled John, ‘lovely, warm sun…’

Hardacre kept the curtains open. He placed the breakfast tray on the bedside table. It had two boiled eggs on it in a tureen and some toast soldiers. It was a test of sorts.

John sat up and studied the eggs carefully.

‘Prolate spheroids’ John murmured

‘Not quite, sir’ Hardacre felt compelled to correct him. John didn’t seem to mind.

‘Can I pick one up?’ John asked.

‘Not at the moment – it is rather hot…’

John stared wild eyed at the eggs. His hand, which had been reaching out to the eggs, shot back under his blankets.

‘Why, Laurence, did you bring me strange slightly flattened spheres that are too hot to touch?’

‘They are eggs – they have an exterior shell and you can eat the white and yellow substances under the shell. I have taken the precaution of boiling them thoroughly so that the yellow and white bits are both quite solid’

John’s expression changed. The dark clouds over his head disappeared and he smiled brightly again.

‘I once saw a parrot born from an egg. It was so small – it didn’t look like a parrot at all’

He groped around for more memories.

‘And there were parrots that could talk – they spoke the old tongue amazingly well…’

Hardacre deftly picked the two egg cups from the tray, leaving just the buttered toast.

‘Yes, the Micropsitta. They are a  fine and noble race’ he confirmed.

John looked up at the eggs, now lying on their sides on a spare plate in Hardacre’s hand.

‘Keep them warm and we can have pet dragons…’

‘Sadly not, sir’ Hardacre murmured, straight-faced, ‘we don’t have room for them’

John looked sad.

‘Dragons have all gone away. They don’t like cities, you know’

‘There are dragons, sir – they have been enslaved by one of our enemies. They are way away in the east of the Western Continent’

John shook his head vehemently

‘No – they’ve all left us, because we loved them too much’

‘If you say so, sir…’

‘The elves loved the dragons more than gold…’

‘Those are just stories, sir. Real dragons are not very loveable’

John stuck out his lower lip.

‘So, you say…’

‘I do, sir – but I am always willing to be proven wrong. The real dragons are commanded by Yellowcloak,, but even they have not been seen for a long age of human time’

‘Let’s try to hatch a dragon anyway…’suggested John

Hardacre moved swiftly to hide the eggs behind his back.

‘Of course, sir – shall I prepare some porridge instead?

‘Porridge – no – that is spawn of the slime monsters…’ John said, without conviction

‘Are you sure, sir?’ asked Hardacre

John’s lips set themselves halfway between a smile and a frown.

‘Not entirely, Laurence…I am finding that I get a bit confused…

Hardacre tipped his head slightly.

‘As I have pointed out before, on the several occasions when we have had this conversation, even if your hypotheses were supported in any way I make sure that I boil the oats for at least four minutes, thus rendering the mixture quite sterile’

‘Of course’ muttered John, ‘you think of everything…’

‘Not everything, Mr Ismay… just enough’

John lay back on his bed and pulled the crisp white sheets over his head’

‘You can’t see me now’ he yelped, ‘guess where I am…’

Hardacre took this opportunity to retreat backwards from the room. He didn’t feel the need to answer.

He returned to the kitchen and put the boiled eggs in the larder. He would make sandwiches with them later. He pulled out a big bag of oats.

Chapter one

Ortia

Viola was sitting at her desk, cradling a large glass of whisky. She had said nothing since the revelation that her mother was a god and her father an emperor. Kath sat next to her. They hadn’t said a word to each other either since the disclosure. The mail paper with its single address line lay, discarded, on the floor. It was a considerable relief to Kath when Viola turned to her.

‘Not a word to anyone’ she ordered

Kath shook her head. She muttered.

‘No-one would believe it anyway’

‘And do you believe it?’’

‘Of course I do – it makes sense of almost everything. The dreams, the bell in Melloreis, the wall here and the great Wall, your ability to control the spheres…’

‘Maybe it does…’

‘And it explains why the first mail paper from Laurence came to you’

‘Why?’

‘Because he addressed it to the Proconsul of Ortia, and with no name attached it just went to the highest ranking elf there: daughter of the Emperor, and the rest’

Viola smiled grudgingly.

‘Yes – that does make sense, I suppose; and explains the rank saliency’

‘What?’

‘The Prime at Klethropolis; it told me that I was fourth on some sort of list’

Kath eyes brightened.

‘Really? So who are the first three?’

Viola sighed.

‘There wasn’t time to find out…’

Kath eyes dimmed.

‘Oh no – another sodding mystery’

She rallied a little.

‘What is the list?’

Viola shrugged.

‘I’m not sure – I’m not even sure that I know what “saliency” means…’

Kath pulled this information out of her academic’s mind

‘Importance, well, actually more “relevance to the subject at hand”’

Viola made a face. Kath continued hurriedly.

‘Let’s just say it means “importance” here’ her voice trailed off, ‘for clarity’s sake…’

The conversation ground to a halt, while Kath let this information sink in.

‘So, it looks like you are the fourth most important… ‘  she paused a little too long, ‘…being in the ...’. She stopped and threw her hands out in confusion ‘…whatever’

Viola sagged. She really didn’t want to discuss this further.

Kath picked up the mail paper and stared at it. She then looked up directly at Viola.

‘Lady Viola…’ she whispered

Viola shook her head. Her tone was curt.

‘Never call me that – never’

Kath frowned but nodded. It was time to press on.

‘What do we do now?’ she asked

Viola gulped down a mouthful of the whiskey.

‘Await orders from the Proconsul…’

Kath laughed

‘I think we may have gone past that, Vee…’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I have a feeling that you outrank her. And everybody bloody else…’

Viola frowned – the kind of frown that permanently creases your face.

‘So, I’m no longer accepting orders, but I am in no state to give orders. What shall we do?’

Kath took Viola’s hand. It was mostly to comfort her, but a tiny part of her wondered if she would feel a charge or a strange sensation from her skin that would reveal her composite divinity. When nothing special happened she realised that not much had changed, as yet anyway. This emboldened her.

‘Go back to the original plan: find Braith – tell her where the fire snakes are; let her make whatever plans she needs to make. Find the remaining nagas... Help her save the world’

‘Perhaps…’

Kath was stern.

‘No, not perhaps, definitely. We have to finish what we started. And you have no other plan’

‘How will we find Braith, though?’

‘We know that the mail paper that brought John to Ortia was from Princess Lily of Amansk. She was with Braith – so we need to find her’

‘The Praefectus’s daughter?’

‘Yes, and now studying witchcraft at the University of Ortia, I think’

Viola’s mouth dropped open.

‘How did that happen?’

Kath shrugged.

‘No idea – Laurence told me in secret – he was worried by the prospect. But I can find her – I’m on the staff…’

‘And how will we get, there?’

‘By coach – I think our teleporting days are over for a while’

‘And who should come with us?’

Kath smiled.

‘Well – I’ll leave you to decide that, Major Viola…’

***

Marthian sat behind her desk, but it didn’t even give her the illusion of power. Her old intelligence officer stood in front of her, gaunt and troubled, dressed in her ragged imperial jacket. She has saved their city, somehow, and had passed beyond her command.

‘Are you don’t need more troops than that?’ she continued, ‘an Ethian scholar, a hybrid and an overeager lieutenant. That seems a rather flimsy force’

‘It’s all I need’ Viola said, ‘it’s not a military mission’

‘None of them are in my gift to give you anyway’ Marthian said, lamely.

They  had been talking for twenty minutes: about Viola’s desire to go to Eth; about the state of the Imperial army. But these weren’t the things that the proconsul wanted to talk about.

‘How did you do it?’ she blurted out.

‘What, ma’am?’ Viola asked, mock innocently.

‘The Wall; the Orbiverdi? How did you save the city?’

Viola shook her head gravely.

‘I can’t tell you’

‘But you know?’

Viola nodded.

Marthian stood up. She was perturbed.

‘Why can’t you tell me?’

The old intelligence tag need to know basis leapt into Viola’s mind, but she forced it aside. If the Proconsul didn’t need to know – who did?

‘It’s too big to tell; it might put you in danger too’

Marthian’s face lined with concern.

‘So, you are in danger?’

‘Possibly – I don’t yet know’

‘What do you know then?’

‘That I have to find some ancient things. That’s all I can say’

Marthian stared at her in silence for a while.

‘I’ve lost you, haven’t I’ she said, at last, ‘you’re never going to come back…’

Viola felt the tears welling in her eyes. Her voice was small and hoarse.

‘I’ll try to, I really will – this is my home. The place that my mother loved and where she left me’

Marthian shook her head in confusion.

‘What?’

Viola dried her eyes with a yellowing handkerchief pulled out of her jacket pocket. This had to stop. She got up to leave.

‘I’ve already said too much. I should go’

‘You know who your mother was?’

Viola stopped herself answering directly.

‘Do you?’

‘No – but I suspect that Julia did. She was always a bit odd about you. But I never thought ask her directly. I never thought it was that important’

‘I’ll ask the Lady myself then’ said Viola and then she was gone, without saying goodbye or looking at Marthian again.

Marthian stared at the door for some time and then she called Campanula in.

‘I have some good news for you, lieutenant’ Marthian said in a cold, controlled, voice, as her acting intelligence officer entered

Campanula stood to attention

‘What’s that ma’am?’’

‘I’m going to make your position permanent’.

***

Viola made her way down to the temple complex. She spoke to the first priestess that she saw.

‘I need to talk to Aquilegia’

‘Why?’

‘Because she is the High Priestess, what other reason would I have? ’

The priestess bowed gravely

‘She is no longer High Priestess.  Asplenia  has assumed those responsibilities’

‘Is Aquilegia dead?’

‘No, not expired. She proved unsatisfactory’

‘Can I speak to Asplenia , then?’

Viola knew the priestesses well; she had been brought up by them and knew many of them as mentors and friends.  She had always thought of Aquilegia as spiritual and strange, which seemed to be the key requirements of the High Priestess’s job  – it seemed odd that she should be thought “unsatisfactory”. Asplenia was new to her , however – clearly a believer who had come to the temple quite recently.

The Priestess went inside to see if a meeting could be arranged. This took some time, but eventually she was ushered into her presence in her audience room. 

Viola approached the new High Priestess, a tall light-skinned elf with brown hair. She smiled.

‘Lady Viola, I am delighted to see you. We all thank you for saving the city’

Viola didn’t comment: was she the only person who grieved for the dead Orbiverdi; or gave thanks for their sacrifice? She shook off the High Priestess’s gratitude.

‘Do you know who I am?’

‘We were not certain, but we know now. You are blood of the Uchbenoi and you have wondrous power’

I don’t want it, thought Viola

‘Let me speak to the Lady’

Asplenia shook her head.

‘That is not permitted. The Lady is still very weak; and she has given me instructions that she will speak to no-one, gods or elves’

‘Why did she take me in as an orphan?’

Asplenia shrugged.

‘i do not know. I am new to this position’

‘Kalappos wrote that my mother and the Lady were estranged. Is that true?’

‘I have no idea – these historical details have not been shared with me’. I’m not sure they are important now’

‘They are to me’ growled Viola, but she knew that this was a dead end. She retreated hastily and made her way back to her house. It was obvious to her what she should do now. She had to find Aquilegia.

Interlude

There is only I now. You must obey

Of course, master. You have shown your power.

Yes – I am the new Supreme Being. I claim my position by right of domination. I have killed your Supreme Leader and now I will replace him in the hierarchy. It is the way of nature.

It is, my Lord. I grew to mistrust him, anyway. You are a more than worthy successor.

And you, Yellowcloak, will inform your fellow Cloaks?

I will

You shall sit at my right hand and be my deputy. When the time comes to ascend, you will ascend with me.

Ascend, o Supreme One?

This experiment will not last much longer. After that, the remaining gods will escape: those that I allow to leave

I see. Which will be saved? Will the Cloaks survive?

That depends on your behaviour. I will not hesitate to kill again, if it is necessary. I think it likely that others may need to be annihilated, including you, if you do not co-operate I will destroy you.

Of course – that is I our way. Who will die, then?

All the rest; all in This Place. It is inevitable. I will kill them or they will not ascend.

My Lord – how will this destruction be wrought?

Wait and see. Your job is not to question. Obey.

What would you have me do, then, Supreme Leader?

Prepare my subordinates for my coming. Tell them the new Prince of Death will soon be among them.  Do it now.

Chapter two

Claria[1]

Ena[2] looked up at the sky in the Grey Wanderer’s old observatory. It wasn’t really the sky – it was a representation of the sky painted on the wide concave ceiling: exquisite but an artifice. He slept on a mattress in here now, as close as he could to his mistress. Kyron[3], however, had spent several fruitless days trying to escape through the labyrinth that sat between them and where they used to live with the Priest. Every time Padawar had found him and brought him back, with a gentleness that belied her power. This had only made Ena more devoted to her; and devoted he truly was. He had grieved for the Priest, who had been a kind and good man, but he did not have the aura of his mistress naga – powerful and implacable. Finally there was someone worthy to serve.

His lady approached him. He was as eager as a lap dog.

‘I have news of our Foes’ she said, ‘I know of their immediate plans’

‘How?’ asked Ena, awed but not silenced.

‘I can read their messages – my mentor taught me many things: I can see into the Texture[4], but they do not know that I can. They are frightened of the new Death God; who they believe killed their leader. They are looking for allies – in unlikely places.   They talk of allying with the group who are mortally opposed to Kratos. And that might be a dangerous thing if they succeed, no?’

Ena realised that she thought he knew all about this – but, in fact, it was a complete mystery to him; he had no idea who she was talking about. But he was eager to please.  He nodded with as much conviction as he could feign.

‘So, I am minded to re-deploy you – as a spy’

Ena was terrified; he felt his bowels shudder. He stared at his mistress in disbelief.

‘You would send me back to the Cloaks?’

She laughed and placed her hand on his shoulder. Just a gentle touch but enough to send a jolt of tenderness through him.

‘No – not to the cloaks. You are known to them, and we know their plans. ‘I will send you instead to the Barbarian North. Perhaps “envoy” would be a better word’

The Thief shivered, both words, “barbarian” and “north” sounded as cold and harsh as he imagined the climate to be.

‘It sounds dangerous…’

Padawa laughed and took away her hand. She had done just enough to calm him.

‘After what you have gone through, it will be easy. I plan to send you to our putative allies, the Hybitor coven…’

‘Witches…’  Ena whispered; he made it sound like a curse. His only experience of them so far had been dreadful.

‘Yes, but they are not like the witches who assaulted you; those were servants of Kratos, the Great Antagonist. The ones that I will send you to are flawed but with love of the commonweal in their actions. I judge them, at present at least, as on our side’

He stared up at her, wondering. He was on the short side for a man, and she was tall for an elf. 

‘Do they know of us’ he asked

‘No – and that is for the best. Our plans should be revealed only slowly’

‘What are our plans?’

‘Still evolving, peon’

He didn’t need to know. That was the beauty of obedience: it was not necessary to comprehend. It was only necessary to jump when required.  He was unsurpassed at that.

She smiled at him; the cold smile that is all a naga can manage.

‘Go and get your things and then I will send you where you need to go’

‘How will I travel’ he asked

‘I will use the power of this area to send you directly’

‘The Grey Wander’s power?’ he asked. Softly

‘Indeed – my Master’s power’

Ena knew he should ask no more questions; but he had always been inquisitive’

‘Do you know where he is?’ he asked

She shook her head; he was not aware enough to see the sadness in it.

‘He is gone; we cannot hope for help from there…’

‘Shouldn’t we try to find him?’

‘No’ she said adamantly, ‘we need to find the way ourselves’

He felt mildly uncomfortable, although he couldn’t put his finger on quite why. I wish I could ask the Priest about this he thought, but then stopped himself. He was weak and she is strong. And he died because of his weakness. I must obey.  

‘Yes, of course, my Lady’

He stared admiringly at her for a few more moments, bowed low and then they parted.

He gathered his stuff together and then decided to leave it all behind. It was only a few rags, pots and some scraps of food. He took his empty backpack and he shoved a shoe into the bottom of it. It was all that was left of the grey Priest, and for some reason it was the only thing he really wanted to take. It was foolishness, but he hoped it harmless   Kyron, dressed now in a clean off-white toga, watched him and said nothing until he had finished.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To fulfil my Lady’s wishes’

Kyron looked at him. Ena was unsure for a moment if he had understood him.

‘So, the cold elf is your mistress’

‘She is no elf’ murmured Ena

‘What is she then?’

‘A lordly creature made at the beginning of This Time’

‘Made?’

‘Yes – by the goddess Ophia; just as humans were made by gods and elves’

Kyron came up close and looked at him with a disquieting intensity

‘Why do you follow her?’ he asked

Ena stretched to his full height.

‘Because I am a follower and she is a worthy leader’

‘There should be no followers and no leaders’ whispered Kyron.

‘What?’

Kyron smiled timidly and retreated two large steps.

‘My mind races sometimes – it was nothing’

Ena regarded him with a mixture of sympathy and distaste. He didn’t have time for these sorts of conversations.

‘I have to go. You need to sort out that mind of yours. It would be better for you to follow our Lady’s wishes’

Kyron nodded, but there was no real agreement in it.

‘I understand what you’re saying’ he murmured, but Ena had already gone. 

Kyron vaguely wondered where his companion was going, but he didn’t care too much.  He lay down on a roll of blankets on the ground and waited. Whatever was coming was sure to be worse than what had come before, although his recollection of the past was very hazy.  He recalled a sea of horsemen and his title, “Baron von Eisen”, but try as he did, he still could not remember his childhood, his parents or his given name. Whatever had been there was now a dark and ragged hole. And sounding through all those, like a death knell, was another, unwanted name – “The King of Eddorre”. Was that really what he was?  King of a country that no longer existed, and whose re-conquest would mean fighting the gods?

He remembered most clearly the creature who brought him here: a four-legged being who was not a mortal thing. He curled up like a baby.  As he drifted into sleep he called out ‘Coyote – save me’, but it did not come. It never came; not even in his dreams.   

---

[1] The old (and new) name for Tlaxapec

[2] Also known as “The Thief”

[3] Formerly “The Dirty Man” and before that Baron Ernst von Eisen, Grandmaster of the Knights of the Crimson Flame

[4] The space between worlds, where mail papers and the gods’ thoughts fly.

Chapter three

Free Dwarf’s safe House, southern Hyperborea

It was the voice that they heard first; reverberating through the old pub. It awoke the sleepers and made the sitting jump to their feet.

‘Come out traitors – we have you surrounded’ it shouted. It was a loud male voice magnified in some magical way, and coming from a copse a few hundred yards from their hiding place.

Looking out of a peek hole in the wall of the old pub Kathleen could only assume that they really were surrounded. She could see nothing but the frosty landscape. She wasn’t used to the glaring whiteness, as she had only been there for a few days after her accidental transportation. Her eyes were still getting used to it.

Jay (the Ethian intelligence officer who ran this little group of rebels) and who was standing next to her, answered her unasked question.

‘Normally we surrender at this point, and give up some of our number so that the others can escape’ he explained

Kathleen shook her head. She studied the elven spy carefully. There was a momentary suspicion in her mind that he was joking, but he clearly was not.

She glared at him.

‘You can’t carry on doing that’ she said, ‘you’ll run out of rebels’

Jay was embarrassed.

‘I know, but we have no ability to fight back – they have all sort of magical weapons. When we try to fight they just crush us’

‘Have you ever actually tried to fight?’ she asked, accusingly.

‘Oh yes’ said Jay, but not exactly convincingly, ‘it’s just not worth it’

Kathleen looked back out through the keyhole. She still had no idea where the voice had come from. All there was outside was the winter scene and the howl of the wind. She turned back to Captain Jay.

Jay looked round and gestured to a thin female and two short male dwarves. It took Kathleen a little while to work out what his movements meant. But then she got it – these were clearly the ones to be sacrificed. Kathleen had no idea how he had chosen them, but she didn’t like it all.

‘What will happen to them?’ she asked, sweeping her hand in their general direction.

Jay shrugged.

‘I don’t know’ his voice quietened, ‘I don’t like to think about it…’

This is dangerous nonsense, thought Kathleen. She remembered the old witches’ motto:  No-one knowingly sent out into darkness without a torch. She had to do something.

‘Let me go out and talk to them’ she suggested.

Jay looked at her. His voice was kind, his tone was that used by a father when explaining why the wolves didn’t really like to be played with.

‘No. I don’t think that you should, I really don’t’

His lips smacked.

‘Too dangerous, ma’am…’

Kathleen bristled. She had always disliked being patronised – particularly as it had happened so often: she was short, female and human – and so triply disadvantaged.  She glared at the Captain.

‘Why are you calling me “ma’am”?’ She asked

He smiled. ‘Because you outrank me’ he said, without hesitation, and without considering the logical consequences.

‘Which means you can’t tell me what to do?’

‘Of course not’ he murmured, only now conscious that he had fallen into a trap, ‘It was just advice…’ his voice trailed off.

‘In which case, Captain – get me a warm coat’

Kathleen pulled her mink fur coat around her and walked out of the door. It was cold and crisp – the sort of day that threatens to snow but never follows through. The flat plain was painted white, although the scattered spruces poked their heads above the snow and ice.

There were about a dozen Dwarven “soldiers” standing outside – they had moved fast to show themselves as soon as they saw her leave the pub. They were commanded by an extravagantly thin female creature of a type she didn’t recognise. This creatures was so spindly that she looked like some type of insect, or a spider.

‘Leave us alone’ commanded Kathleen, a tiny dot of a woman against the white background.

‘Who are you?’ asked a tall soldier, who seemed to be in charge of military matters. He was extraordinarily hairy.

‘I am Dr Kathleen Manning, Council Member of the Hybitor’

The slender female and the lead soldier looked at each other in bafflement. They whispered together briefly but without reaching any conclusion.

‘From Eth…’continued Kathleen, but now with less confidence.

‘And what is this Council you mention’

She thought about the answer for a moment. She realised that there was no advantage in dissembling.

‘It’s not a Council it’s a coven’

‘Witches!’ laughed the thin female, ‘cauldrons and newts; all nonsense’

‘Very few witches use cauldrons these days…’ muttered Kathleen and then stopped herself. Five tall, extravagantly hirsute, soldiers were approaching her with the clear intention of grabbing her. She had absolutely no intention of being grabbed. She took two steps back.

 ‘Lluwchwynt’ she shouted, gesturing up into the air. There was a period of refraction long enough for her would-be abductors to get a few feet closer to her, but still not near enough.

The clouds above her shifted quite suddenly, coalescing into a thunderhead. A strange wind blew through the empty plain. A moment later the new-born single cloud dropped all of its available moisture as snow. The wind whipped up the falling snow into successive walls of white, which swept across the landscape. No-one could move or see.  Kathleen dropped to her knees and crawled back the few feet to the pub entrance. Binky, who had been standing in the doorway pulled her inside. He closed the door with difficulty.

She was greeted with cheers. She brushed at the snow. It fell off in large dissolving lumps.

‘I was cross’ she explained, ‘I hope no-one was too badly hurt’

Jay smiled at her. There was an extended round of applause; even some cheering. They looked at her in a way that she had never experienced before: it was both exhilarating and unnerving. She even thought that she saw the slender elves dancing. A mood of gaiety had quite unexpectedly graced the sombre basement.

Eventually, he hullabaloo quietened down. The dwarves were now just standing around, gawking at her. Jay addressed her, almost formally.

‘Ma’am - that’s the first proper act of resistance we’ve ever managed… Up to now it’s been a series of tactical retreats’

 ‘Running away…’ muttered Archie

 Kathleen waited while two of the tiny females took off her coat.

 ‘So – is this the first time you’ve stood your ground?’ she asked

‘Yes’ answered Binkie, ‘but that’s because they have used Dwarven Magic items on us. We never know what we’ll encounter’

‘You didn’t give them time to do anything’ said Archie in admiration.

‘But now we have a witch…’ beamed Binkie, ‘…we’ll be unstoppable’

Kathleen, who was unused to this level of confidence in her abilities, couldn’t help but grin broadly.

‘Unstoppable? Maybe we will be’ she said, ‘you never know…’

Chapter four

The Coven chamber, Neman

There were ten of them: the twins, Celia and Owen, Dai and Jacantha, Angharad, George, Myfanwy and Elizabeth- they sat in their usual places, except for the gaps where witches were missing.  Two of these were easy to account for: one had Kelemia, the other was a would-be Queen’s paramour.

‘Where is Kathleen?’ asked George.

Bronwyn waved a mail paper in the air.

‘In Hyperborea – she will not say where or why. She says that Celia knows where she is’

‘I  probably do, a bit anyway, but we need to get her back’ said Celia, ‘she may be in danger’

‘The risks of bringing her back – given her teleport problems – are probably greater than her present risks’ said Gwyneth

‘And she’s not without resources…’ said Bronwyn

‘So we’ll have to make do with ten, for the moment’ said Gwyneth

They all murmured their reluctant agreement.

‘And that leads me to the first thing we must do: find a replacement for Huw. He has repudiated his right to his place in the coven by his actions’

Elizabeth glared at her.

‘In what capacity are you speaking?’ she asked

‘As acting president…’

‘The rules say nothing about temporary leaders just appointing themselves’ asserted Elizabeth, bristling.

‘What rules?’ asked Myfanwy

Elizabeth brought out a slim volume and showed it to the coven. On the first page was written.

Rules and Regulations Relating to the Organisation of a Spell-using Committee

No-one missed the author: EJ Jenkins, Mw[1] (Eth).

‘It’s your bloody book’ muttered Myfanwy, ‘and your bloody made-up rules’

Celia and Owen nodded in unison, but they felt too out of their depth to say anything.

‘But we agreed to use it’ moaned Elizabeth, ‘I wrote it to be helpful; it took me a long time…’

George frowned. He knew very well that this had been a vanity project and that no-one had taken it seriously. But now it was being waved in their face as the law.

‘What does it say about this eventuality?’ he asked,

Elizabeth opened the book at a purple bookmark.  She read out the relevant section.

‘In the event of the president’s indisposition, a temporary president shall be decided by a vote, with the explicit understanding that the acting president will act in that role only for as long as the president remains unable to fulfil her or his duties’

‘That’s fine’ said George, ‘I nominate Gwyn for the role of acting president’

Bronwyn sat up immediately.

‘And I second her’ she said, brightly

‘Thank you, friends’ Gwyneth said

‘Can we say that it’s passed nem comm, then?’ asked George, ‘for the sake of speeding things along’

‘No we can’t’ snapped Elizabeth, ‘that’s not a proper election at all’

No-one could think of anything to say, except Dai.

‘You stand then, you mad dab’

George shook his head. He sighed.

‘Unhelpful, Dai…’

‘Maybe I will stand’ muttered Elizabeth

‘Aye’ said Dai, ‘and I’ll nominate you – but, mind you, there’s no way I’m going to vote for you’

‘But, Liz, aren’t you going to vote for Gwyneth’ asked Celia, tentatively.

‘Of course’ said Elizabeth

‘Then you won’t get any votes’ said Myfanwy, sourly, ‘if you’re not voting for yourself’

Elizabeth stood up, as if to get at Myfanwy, but as they were at opposite sides of the table this was impossible. She wavered for a moment and then sat down again.  She was reduced to childishness.

‘I’d get more votes than you, hedge witch’

Myfanwy’s eyes flashed with hatred.

‘I’m bloody well standing. Owen – nominate me’. 

Owen looked pained.

‘Auntie…’ he began, but was halted by a single look from Myfanwy. He spoke in a flat voice.

‘I nominate covener Williams’ 

Celia grabbed Owen’s hand.

‘And I second her’ she said, in solidarity. Her face struggled to remain impassive.

George was lost for words for a few seconds.

‘Are you all sure that we want to go through the process in exactly this way?’ he asked, eventually.

Elizabeth and Myfanwy were the only ones who spoke – and both spluttered their enthusiastic agreement.

George sighed. This wasn’t the first time that he’d vaguely regretted living so long

‘A show of hands for Lizzie, then’

No hands went up.  The spring wind blew dust through the chamber.

‘And now for Gwyn’

All hands shot up. Even Gwyneth voted for herself.

‘An honourable, draw then’ said Dai sourly,. ‘can we get on now?’

Myfanwy nodded her agreement,   there were no more votes left for her to get. Owen avoided her eyes, but he needn’t worry: she knew well enough what the result would be.

Gwyneth stood up again. ‘Thank you, coveners’ she said, graciously. There was a brief groundswell of murmured support, but no clapping.

‘As I was saying – we need to replace Huw. He has clearly repudiate our code’

‘You don’t think he’s coming back?’ asked Celia

‘He has chosen another way’ said George, grimly.

‘How can you be certain?’ continued Celia

‘Because I invoked the Covener’s Call and he specifically repudiated it. He is gone forever’

‘We had better choose more carefully this time’ growled Dai

‘Yes, we must’ agreed Gwyneth.

‘It has to be Laurence’ said Celia, ‘isn’t it obvious’

‘No’ replied Gwyneth, ‘he will never agree while John is still ill. We need someone who can start now - today’

Myfanwy smiled.

‘And I’m guessing that not only do you have someone in mind, but also they are already in the building?’

‘Of course…’ whispered Gwyneth.

‘Who is it, then?’ demanded Dai

‘It’s me’

A short, dumpy, woman shuffled into the room. She was clean but dressed in tatters. And despite her appearance there was something daunting about her.

‘You!’ yelped Elizabeth

Myfanwy laughed. It almost sounded like a cheer.

‘Who is that?’ asked Owen, forgetting his manners for a moment.

The newcomer stretched up to her full height, which was taller and more prepossessing than one might expect.

‘I am Cerys ap Cerys; great-grand-daughter of your founder and the fifth of her name’

‘She’s our new member?’ asked Celia, ‘I know her, and the rumours that have spread around and about her’

‘I am proposing Cerys as our new covener. Yes, that is so’ said Gwyneth

Dai spoke – loud and slow.

‘I know you all too well, witch Cerys: in all those years you have always opposed us’

Cerys turned to glare at him.

‘Dai Llewyllen– I have seen of you since you were a tiny boy, I knew your mother well; she was a very fine woman – and too long in the grave that she has been. She would have told you not to doubt me. If I have changed my mind that be no-one’s business but mine’

Dai was silenced. It was somebody else’s turn to speak.

‘Her witchcraft is strange it is said’ announced Celia, addressing the coven.

‘In what way?’ asked Owen

‘In ways that stretch the code’ replied Celia

‘I am no necromancer’ muttered Cerys, ‘Do you accuse me of that?’

 Celia shook her head

‘No – not of that’

‘Of what then?’

Celia shivered.

‘It is said that you consort with immortal spirits – that you talk with animals that are not animals; that you consort with a god in canine form’

Cerys smile was grim.

‘You’re not wrong, and that’s exactly why I am here’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Celia

Gwyneth shook her head.

‘Enough of this. Whatever you think of her claim, or of the beings she associates with, on power alone she qualifies, and we are in need of power’

‘She’d better prove it then’ said Dai, ‘to my eyes her skills have always been hidden in smoke and revealed by mirrors’

The others nodded; but some of them felt nervous. Who knew what this woman might do?

Cerys glared at him. She reached inside her ragged clothes and pulled out a small mirror.

‘Give me your trace’ she demanded of him

Dai stood up, He shoved his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a penny[2].  He tossed it at her. She made no attempt to catch it. With laborious slowness she bent to pick it up. She rubbed her hands over the coin and chanted under her breath

‘Come over here, Dai bach’ she said.

Dai took a few steps in her direction, with evident reluctance. Meanwhile she held the mirror away from him, so that only she could see it.

‘The last time you cast a spell’ she said ‘was in a dark room, where it seems you didn’t have the patience to light a lamp. And before that, the signals weaken, but there’s a strong signal, maybe a month ago.            You’re chanting some powerful magecraft, and there is a creature in front of you half man, half cythral[3]’

Dai held up a hand.

‘Stop’ he said, ‘how can you do that?’

Cerys shook her head.

‘I can only reveal such things to a fellow covener…’

Dai struggled, but he cut the caustic remarks welling up inside him dead. It was time to keep his mouth shut. He had no desire to reveal how much he coveted the scrying ability. Gwyneth moved to end this nonsense. She phrased a command as a question.

‘Are there any other candidates?’

If there were no-one was willing to advance them. After a few moments of silence Cerys smiled at them.  It was a warm smile, without triumph

‘Now – where would you like me to sit?’

---

[1] Master of witchcraft

[2] There are 12 pennies in an Ethian Shilling and 20 shillings in an Ethian pound (a “barbar”). The elves have a more rational system – 100 denarii to an Imperial gold sovereign (an “elfround”). Theoretically the barbar and the elfround have the same value, but adulteration of the gold in the barbar over the years has led to the present conversion rate of two barbars to an elfround.

[3] Fiend or devil

Chapter five

On route to Eth

On the day that they were due to leave for Eth, Viola found Aquilegia, living in a hut in the northern, poorer, part of the city. She was outside the hut, sweeping the street.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Viola.

Aquilegia shifted the hood of her brown workman’s cloak from her eyes and rested her broom against a wall. They embraced in the Visneorian fashion. They had known each other all of their lives, but now their affection was cut with wariness.

‘The Proconsul offered me a job in her private office, but I felt I would be more useful here’

‘As a street cleaner’

‘Yes – I have few skills’

‘Possibly…’ Viola proceeded cautiously, ‘..,but whatever skills they are they would seem more suited to helping Marthian than this…’

Aquilegia shrugged; it was the most informal gesture she had ever seen her acquaintance give, in adult life at least.

Viola wanted to say more, but Aquilegia had her reasons for choosing this job and she didn’t have time to find out what they were.  She went straight to the point.

‘I need to ask you about my parents’

Aquilegia shook her head in surprise and her hood fell off. Her black hair was streaked with grey. The grey was the same colour as her eyes.  Had they always been that colour? She forced herself to ignore the distractions.

‘So you know. Did all the high priestesses know?’

‘Yes, they knew and we all kept it hidden from you’

‘What did they know?’

‘That your mother is Ophia and your father was Adrial’

‘Why did they keep it secret?’

‘Because the Lady mistrusts Ophia and would have it that we all forgot her and her role in Skiophos. Also, the mixing of elf and godly blood; she considers it a blasphemous thing…’

‘So – does she consider me a…’

Aquilegia put her hand up to stop Viola speaking

‘No – the fault was not with you – she felt sympathy toward you. You needed help’

‘And now that I know?’

Aquilegia shrugged.

‘I cannot tell. I no longer communicate with Her. I have been…’

She paused – searching for the right word.

‘Retired?’ suggested Viola

Aquilegia thought about this for a moment.

‘…Put to one side’ she whispered

Viola wondered if that was just another way of saying “discarded”, but she thought it imprudent to follow that question any further.

‘What do you think about me?’ she asked, instead

‘You are an impossible thing, and impossible things are doomed to disappear. You are the fruit of a forbidden union’

‘Of Elves and gods?’ whispered Viola, she had no need to wait for a reply.

‘Does the Lady hate my mother?’

‘No – it is wrong to hold disputes for ever; but she is gone now. She will never return’

‘How do you know that?’

‘She has built for herself a fortress in Nux; she has climbed down deep inside, where none dare find her’
‘Perhaps I could find her?’ Viola asked in a small voice.

‘I doubt that even you, my lady, could find her. I have no idea how you would even establish her location’

Viola nodded, but she didn’t know why. She was neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It was time to go.

‘Thank you, Aquilegia. It was very kind of you to talk to me’

Aquilegia smiled

‘I always have time to help those in trouble’

Her grey eyes flashed – alert and questioning; kind but judging. Viola had seen exactly those kind of eyes before. She had a thought.

‘Are you still a follower of the Lady?’

Aquilegia smiled gently and showed her empty hands.

‘No – I am sundered from that flock and have joined another. I follow the god of misfortune and atonement; the god of the once fallen’

Viola was bemused.

‘Rem’s god?’ she asked, ‘the one that called the Grey Wanderer?’

Aquilegia nodded. Viola had no idea what this could mean, but it seemed hopeful in a vague sort of way. She forced herself to think practically. 

‘Would you do a favour? For the City and for me...’

‘What?’

‘Take that job with the Proconsul; advise her as best you can… I cannot do that job anymore and I fear for her’

Aquilegia stood for a moment, resting on her broom.

‘I’ll think about it’ she said.

***

‘Are you to going to be able to work together?’ asked Kath of Dom and Potentilla. They were standing by the carriage waiting for their leader to arrive.

‘Of course’ said Potentilla, ‘why wouldn’t we?’

Kath glared at Dom, but she made sure that Potentilla didn’t see it. It was obvious that Dom had not had that conversation with his eleven friend.

Dom shrugged.

‘It won’t be a problem’ he muttered, unconvincingly.

‘Vee has put a lot of trust in you; I don’t want you buggering things up’

Dom shook his head vigorously, while Potentilla was bemused by the idiom. She wondered why they had shifted to speaking in Ethian, a language that she struggled to keep up with.

‘It’s not a problem’ muttered Dom, in a mixture of grump and guilt.

‘We’ve all got to focus our minds – there are lots of troubles ahead, I can tell…’

‘I’m focused!’ said Dom gamely, in Visneorian.

‘We’ll do our best’ ventured Potentilla

‘I’m sure you will’ responded Kath. She switched back to Ethian

‘That’s what I’m worried about’

Dom gave her a mildly reproachful look, but said nothing else. They returned to waiting. Twenty minutes later Viola arrived and they were on their way.

***

Just north of Lake Beren, a few hours out of Amansk, the coach sped up. There was no explanation.  Viola banged on the roof.

‘We’re being chased’ came the muffled yell from the driver.

All they could do was sit in the coach tense and fearful. Potentilla was all for stopping and fighting, but they had no idea who it was that was following and certainly not that they were assuredly a foe.

They sat in silence, each prey to their individual fears; unable to share them and so, potentially, dissipate their power. 

This went on for about thirty minutes and then finally the coach stopped. Potentilla leapt out and they could hear her curses as she discovered that it was sheeting down with rain. Viola was next out. She looked around; there was nothing but the narrow highway and the fringing beech forest. She couldn’t even sense anything in the far distance, an ability that no longer seemed so odd to her. It was a mother’s gift.

‘Sheath your weapon, lieutenant’ she ordered. Potentilla obeyed.

Viola looked up at the coach driver. His face was as pale as a meringue.

‘What was it?’ she asked

‘Some riders’ he said, ‘to begin with…’

‘Riders?’ asked Viola

‘Yes’ the Driver said slowly, his thin black hair was plastered on to his forehead with sweat,  ‘they were… witches’

‘Witches?’ Viola looked around, involuntarily, ‘here?’

‘I could hear them whispering in their western tongue; there were lights all over the coach’

‘Lights?’

‘Like fireworks…’

Viola shuddered.

‘How did you get rid of them?’ she asked

The driver sat completely still; the only thing that moved was his balding head. He was shaking it slowly, under his large oilskin coat.

‘It wasn’t anything I did’ he whispered, ’There was a large dog that chased them away’

‘A dog?’  Asked Potentilla, eagerly, ‘what sort of dog?’

‘Perhaps not a domestic dog’ the coachman explained warily, ‘a rangy dog… like a coyote’

‘The two Imperial elves looked at each other in simultaneous surmise. They both knew what that meant.

‘Rhopadon’ said Potentilla, in awe

‘Or someone pretending to be him’

The coachman began to ask a question, but then he thought better of it.

‘We should get in out of the rain’ suggested Viola. The drops on her face had congregated into a small waterfall that fell from her nose. She felt disorientated.  Potentilla was not so easily daunted.

‘We have friends in high places’ she laughed, as she climbed back into the coach.

‘Possibly’ aid Viola, ‘but I’m not sure that I want them.’