by Jen Williams
‘How long has this Lan-Hellis been here?’ asked Frith. Selsye tipped her head to one side, giving him a considering look.
‘Centuries, of course. Lan-Hellis is legendary. The mages built it on the foundations of a much older building. It has likely always been a place of ancient magic, which is one of the reasons we study here. We are all drawn here, eventually.’ She sounded wistful, gazing out across the rocks and mist with genuine affection. Frith kept thinking of the time he had stumbled into a pool and been bitten by a lizard. He had hoped never to return to the miserable place. ‘And of course, Lan-Hellis already had such an extensive collection of artefacts, it made sense to start gathering together what we would need for the Citadel within its hallowed halls.’
‘And there she is,’ said Xinian, a wry note in her voice, and then in a lower tone, ‘Give me Creos any day. This place is too damn damp.’
Frith looked up and felt his breath catch in his throat. Next to him Wydrin sat up a little straighter. The mists parted and Lan-Hellis loomed out of the fog like a ghost suddenly made solid. His first thought was of the Spinner, and the brief glances of the creature’s true face – Lan-Hellis seemed to crouch on the black rock like some great, blind insect. Five huge white domes dominated the building, shining dimly with their own inner glow, while all around it were twisted spires of black rock, reaching up towards the shrouded sky almost as though they had caught it in some moment of terrible cataclysm and frozen it there. There was a huge arched gate, which they were heading towards, lit with brightly glowing white orbs, and there he could see a small group of men and women in black robes. As they approached, the light within one of the giant white globes fluttered strangely – Frith was reminded of a moth at a lamp, sending shadows of its wings all around the room – and most of the mages who had been standing at the gate suddenly went inside. He could tell by their hunched shoulders and rapid footsteps that whatever the dimming of the light meant, it was not good news. Next to them, Selsye pursed her lips.
‘More attacks,’ she murmured. ‘Y’Gria must be talking them round.’
‘What are the big white things, then?’ asked Wydrin. The cart had stopped, and at Xinian’s signal they climbed out. ‘Other than a way to make your fancy mage building look like it has eyes.’
Selsye half smiled. ‘In a way, they are eyes, of a sort. Think of them as … magical lenses. Within the globes are teams of mages, casting spells to monitor the gods and their movements. They are very difficult to track, and can shield themselves easily, but it is possible to pick up traces of Edenier from their actions. Those traces increase significantly when they target us, or a city, or a village. Sometimes it can reverberate back towards us, and then the lights go out.’ She pulled her robes closer around her. ‘There will be a lot of mages up there tonight with nasty headaches.’
‘All right, Selsye,’ said Xinian smoothly. ‘These unbound don’t need to know all our secrets.’
‘Just the secrets that might save our arses, if you don’t mind,’ said Wydrin. They were led towards the gate, where the guards on duty gave them curious looks but said nothing. Inside was a huge shadowy hallway, cold and damp, with various odds and ends piled up against the walls. Frith saw more paintings and tapestries on the walls like the ones in the mage stronghold in Krete, but these all looked darker, older.
‘Right, then, let’s get this over with,’ said Xinian briskly. ‘We will go to the chamber now where the Red Echo is kept. You will see we are in no danger of losing it, and then we will lie in wait for this Estenn of yours, and take her prisoner if she arrives. Once that is done I will personally cart you both back to Krete and get on with the work I’m supposed to be doing.’
Selsye cleared her throat. ‘If Lord Frith here is an Edeian crafter, then I would really like to spend some time with him. There is much he can learn here, and judging from his instincts repairing the ’pacer, we may even learn something from him.’
Wydrin raised an eyebrow at Frith and spoke in a low voice. ‘Like I said before, this could be a good place for you to get some answers. Me and Xinian can check on the Red Echo together.’
Xinian groaned. ‘Fine. Selsye, show him your toys, if you must. Wydrin of Crosshaven, you’re with me.’
Xinian marched away down the hall and Wydrin had to scurry to keep up with her. She cast a quick look over her shoulder to see Frith disappear through a doorway, and then Xinian took a sharp right down a narrow corridor. They passed men and women in long dark robes, their face preoccupied, nervous even. These are a people at war, Wydrin reminded herself. People who have been at war for years. No wonder they look jumpy.
‘So you keep your most valuable artefacts here?’ she asked to fill the silence.
‘Some of them,’ replied Xinian. ‘They will stay here until the Citadel is complete and ready to receive the items. To bring them all together too soon would be dangerous. So many magical artefacts in one place can cause a certain … bending of reality.’ She shook her head slightly. ‘Selsye is better at explaining these things.’
‘No, that makes sense,’ said Wydrin, half to herself. She remembered the strange atmosphere under the Citadel; the odd sense of foreboding, the feeling that you were being watched. And that was after the artefacts had had centuries to change the world around them.
‘And, of course, the gods can sense that much magic together in one place. Which is what we’re banking on.’
They came to a door with two mage guards, a pair of skinny young men. Xinian must have caught the sceptical look that passed over Wydrin’s face.
‘Believe me, Yohan and Rafe here are two of our strongest mages. They could kill you with the merest eye blink.’
The two young men looked faintly perplexed, but they bowed slightly as they passed through the door. Wydrin tipped them a lazy salute.
Beyond the door was a large circular chamber made of smooth white stone and lit with bright lamps. The floor was covered in pale dust. There were high windows in the room and Wydrin could just make out shadowy figures standing beyond them, watching.
‘This is the Moon Room,’ said Xinian. ‘It’s the only way in and out of our artefact room. As you can see, anyone walking across here is very visible to the people in the galleries. And there are always people in the galleries.’
Wydrin nodded, impressed despite herself. As they walked across the room, she noticed that her boots left big obvious prints in the dust. On the far side they came to a circular panel in the wall made of black wood. Xinian reached into her shirt and pulled out a silver object on a long golden chain. It looked to Wydrin a little like a snake with a bird’s head, and when Xinian pressed it to an impression in the door, the shape of it twisted and changed to fill the shapes there. Wydrin heard a soft hiss, and then a metallic series of clicks before the round door swung open. Xinian stepped to one side.
‘I would remind you at this point, Wydrin Threefellows, that as formidable as the guards are on the Moon Room, I am a hundred times more powerful. Touch anything in here without my say so, and I will be handing you back to your Lord Frith in a small wet bag.’
Wydrin held her hands up, unable to keep from smiling. ‘Are you suggesting I’m a thief, Commander?’
Xinian’s mouth twitched at one corner. ‘I’ve seen your type before, usually sneaking around the edges of battlefields, looking for what they can steal. Get in the room.’
Wydrin stepped through the circular opening. The room beyond was gloomy and crowded. She got an impression of many figures and shapes looming in the dark, and then Xinian stepped through. She gestured and a number of small lamps fluttered into life in the ceiling. Wydrin was reminded of her father’s warehouse back in Crosshaven – there were dozens of boxes and crates, some of them sealed up, some of them open and spilling sawdust onto the floor. There were other items, glass boxes on top of pedestals, containing strange objects she could hardly guess at the purpose of, and other, larger things leaning against the walls and shrouded in cloth. The place smelle
d of dust, and old things, and another, stranger scent that made her think of Euriale. After a moment she realised that the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end – there was magic here. A lot of it.
‘Selsye has been cataloguing.’ Xinian gestured at the general chaos as if this explained the mess. ‘Some of it has been packed away ready for travel, but Selsye cannot help but examine it as she goes. This represents an extraordinary collection, gathered from all over Ede. It is the wealth of the mages.’ She paused, frowning slightly. ‘All to be sacrificed, to end this war.’
‘It’s like when you’re clearing out your cupboards,’ said Wydrin, walking down a strip of floor space that had yet to be taken up with boxes. She ran her fingers over a crate. ‘You find all this stuff you haven’t thought about in years, letters and keepsakes from another part of your life, and you can’t help picking them up and thinking about all the time that has gone by.’ She looked up as they passed a huge glass case. Inside it was a very old sword made of a strange, dark red metal. It glittered oddly, as though something inside it flowed like water. ‘I imagine it’s like that, only much more so. What is this?’
‘The singing sword of Breem. They say it absorbed the souls of everyone it killed, and the wailing noise it makes as you swing it is the sound of them crying out.’ Xinian raised an eyebrow. ‘Selsye has been leaving that one until last, I think. She says it feels dirty, no matter how much they clean it.’
‘And this?’ Wydrin had stopped by another glass case. This one held a pair of gauntlets, made from steel and a shining white metal Wydrin didn’t recognise. They were beautiful, the links and joints crafted with a grace that spoke of jewellery rather than armour. Wydrin patted the glass, her fingers itching. The gauntlets looked priceless.
‘Those? We know very little of them. Selsye calls them the Hands of the Tower because they were found in some ancient ruins in Pathania. They confer on the wearer great strength, apparently.’
‘Were there any matching pieces? Any armour that went with them?’
‘No, nothing else was ever found.’
‘They’re beautiful—’
‘Yes. Shall we move on?’ Xinian laid a hand on her shoulder and, none too gently, steered her away from the glass case. Wydrin cleared her throat.
‘So where is this Red Echo, then? What does it look like exactly? Is it already crated up?’
Xinian took her to the back of the room, and stopped. She sighed, and then knelt on the floor and knocked sharply on a wooden hatch concealed there.
‘Everything all right in there?’
Wydrin stood still, blinking and wondering if perhaps Xinian had lost her mind, when a piping voice floated up from the floor.
‘Hello? Is light?’
Xinian straightened up. ‘There you go. As you can hear, the Red Echo is fine. And I think you’ll agree that our security measures are sufficient. Shall we go?’
‘Hold on a minute.’ Wydrin peered down at the hatch in the floor. It was made of plain wood, with a simple bolt across it, and it was half hidden by the swatches of cloth covering the boxes and crates. ‘Are you telling me the Red Echo is a person?’
‘I am not telling you that, no,’ said Xinian. The impatience in her voice was clear. ‘It is complicated. And that is only half of the Red Echo.’
Wydrin knelt down and placed her hands on the wood. ‘Hello? Are you all right? Are you alone down there?’
‘Dark, no lights!’ The voice sounded very young, and confused. ‘Who? Commander?’
Wydrin stood up. ‘What is that? Are you keeping a child down there?’
Xinian shook her head, frustrated. ‘No. It’s complicated, ancient magic. It is difficult to explain. Perhaps Selsye—’
‘Show me,’ said Wydrin. She lifted her chin slightly. ‘I’ve come all this way. I want to see it.’
They stood for a few seconds in silence, Wydrin with her arms crossed over her chest, Xinian with arms straight by her sides. Eventually, Xinian gave a great theatrical sigh.
‘Fine. We will go down there briefly, but don’t get it all excited.’ She crouched down and pulled the bolt across before lifting up the heavy hatch. From below came a strong waft of a dusty, papery scent. There were plain wooden steps descending into darkness. Xinian gestured to the hatch. ‘If you’re so curious, you can go first.’
Keeping one hand on her dagger, Wydrin descended into the gloom. Xinian followed, summoning a ball of light above her fingers. The glow revealed a small, bare room with a dusty floor. At first Wydrin could see no one at all in the room, and then she spotted a tiny figure, almost like a doll, sitting in a corner with its knees up to its chin.
‘This is your terrible weapon?’
The figure stood up, tiny limbs working. It had a smooth bald head, narrow arms and legs, and even minuscule fingers and toes, but it looked as though it were made of faded, yellowed parchment. There was writing all over it, densely packed words written in black ink covering every inch of its papery skin, and its face was a collection of bumps and shadows hinting at a human shape. Wydrin felt a shiver of recognition; this creature was a cousin to the culoss, the small folk they had met inside the Citadel, left behind by the mages to maintain the magical wards.
‘Light? Is there?’ The voice was surprisingly loud for such a small figure.
‘How long have you been down here?’ Wydrin took a step forward. ‘What are you?’
The papery figure held out its papery hands, displaying the words written there. ‘I am spell. No words, in the dark. No time. I am Echo.’
Belatedly, Wydrin realised that the walls were scratched all over with writing. She turned to Xinian. ‘How can you keep it down here like this?’
‘It’s not alive, Wydrin.’
‘But it can talk! It can think, it can miss the light. Why not at least keep it up with the boxes and crates?’
‘It was made centuries ago, pieced together by mages much wiser and more skilled than us,’ said Xinian. She looked angry now. ‘The Red Echo is an incredibly dangerous spell, and it is best kept out of sight. I thought you knew this.’
‘If it’s so dangerous, why haven’t you destroyed it?’ Wydrin advanced on Xinian, squaring her shoulders. She was thinking of Mendrick, and the quiet certainty of his voice. ‘Better to keep it around in case you need it? Or is it that you suspect it is alive, and you do not want the guilt of ending its life?’
‘Enough!’ Xinian held up her arm, the one that ended in a stump, and a small ball of fire popped into existence above it. Behind them, Wydrin heard the Echo take a few hurried steps backwards, its paper feet rustling. ‘You are a guest here, Wydrin Threefellows, and we have been more than accommodating. I think you will agree that the Red Echo is sufficiently protected. It is time for you to leave.’
Wydrin took a slow, deep breath. She had to remember why they were here. ‘I want to come back,’ she said shortly. ‘I want to talk to it for a bit longer.’ She swallowed down her own anger with some difficulty. ‘Please, Xinian. You can watch me down here, or get someone else to do it. But I need to know more about this. It might help us catch Estenn.’
Xinian’s eyes blazed, but with a gesture the ball of fire vanished. ‘You and Selsye will drive me to the grave. Too bloody curious by half. Fine, I will give you some time with the spell. The gods know that Selsye keeps coming down here to talk to it – she thinks I don’t know about that, of course, but she isn’t the best liar.’ She gestured with her head towards the wooden steps. ‘Come on. For now, I want to increase our security and make sure everything is locked down. Your thief isn’t getting in here.’
Half defiant, Wydrin turned back to the small papery figure, and forced herself to give it a smile. ‘I’ll come back, Echo. I’ll bring some light, if I can.’
54
‘I fear we must talk honestly about your magic, Lord Frith.’
Frith looked up to see Selsye smiling at him. She was leading him down a damp and draughty corridor lit by guttering candles.
Her hair was dishevelled from the journey, although she didn’t seem to have noticed. Looking at her, he couldn’t help but remember the memory Xinian had given him; a brave woman throwing balls of green fire over the side of a tomb, the stone lid flying back and striking her in the face. The blood, the sound of her bones breaking. He swallowed and looked away.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Xinian described to me what happened when the dragon’s spawn attacked you, how you shrivelled them into dust. This is not a magic I am aware of, Lord Frith, and I don’t mind saying that I know pretty much all there is to know about Edenier and Edeian.’ She cleared her throat. ‘That’s not as grand as it sounds. Basically, I read a lot. I have always read a lot. And I’ve spent much of my life here at Lan-Hellis, furthering the study of magic.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘There isn’t an awful lot else to do on this island, as you can imagine. No, the magic Xinian described is something entirely new. Do you know how I’ve longed to find something new, Lord Frith?’ He opened his mouth to reply, but she carried on. ‘Besides which, you feel strange to me.’
They walked up a flight of steps, and Frith shivered. It was growing colder the further up they travelled, and the black walls seemed to radiate damp. He thought of the miserable weeks spent training under O’rin. At least there was a roof over his head now.
‘I feel strange to you?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not being terribly clear. It’s not easy to explain, even to those who have been trained. I can sense Edeian, you see. I have spent years sharpening my sense to it. I can even sense Edenier, to an extent. Most trained mages can do that.’ She turned to look at Frith as they made their way up another long corridor. This one was lined with doors, all shut. ‘I can sense a residue of both in you, which is unusual in itself. And something else too, something I’ve never felt before. Where did you learn to do it? What you did to the dragon’s creatures?’
