by Ben Galley
‘Modren, at least there’s one sane person amongst this mess,’ said Farden.
The man nodded. ‘Good to see you again,’ he said quietly. Farden could barely hear him over the roar and clatter of voices. The thin man seemed to sway gently, like a sapling in the breeze, and his eyes were a deep green that watched everything with the intensity of a hunting cat. He wore a long red coat, and there were two swords on either side of his belt. His whitish hair was short and waxed back, and a black ring hung from his left ear. ‘Whatever’s going on here, it’s all gone to shit, I’ll tell you that. Thialf and the others are over there. Freidd is coming soon. Word came to the Spire that we were needed here as soon as possible.’ Modren suddenly paused and gave him a strange look. ‘The order sounded like it was from you,’ he said.
Farden inwardly sighed, and tried to seem confident. He matched Modren’s look. ‘The Undermage has put me in charge of the Written for now. We have something very dangerous to deal with.’
Modren shrugged, nodded, and then grinned, showing off a set of perfect white teeth. ‘Sounds like my kind of fight,’ he said with relish. ‘And if you’re in charge, well, so be it, couldn’t think of somebody more suited to the job. Better one of us than some bureaucrat.’
Farden nodded, ‘Let’s hope the others feel the same.’
‘Doesn’t matter if they don’t, Undermage’s word is law.’
‘What’s this I see? Emaneska’s most dangerous hermit is out and about for once!’ laughed a gruff voice from behind them. They both turned to see a stocky mage with a shaven head and tribal tattoos covering half of his face. He was smiling lopsidedly at Farden. ‘It’s been a long time,’ said the man. Farden nodded silently and smiled back.
Modren held out a palm to the muscular newcomer. ‘Good to see you Ridda,’ he said. Ridda chuckled. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Farden. ‘So what brings you out of your cave then?
‘The usual,’ said the mage, ‘something needs killing.’
Ridda made a humming sound, and then laughed, clapping Farden on the arm. ‘Don’t they always.’ He rubbed his hands together and watched a servant fly past with a pile of books in his hands. ‘What’s all this about then, any ideas?
Farden looked around at the bustling hall with a slow shaking of his head, marvelling at the sheer volume of people. ‘I’ve never seen the Arkathedral this busy. How many of us are yet to arrive?’ he asked. Ridda scratched his chin. ‘At least a score or so are off in the east dealing with the wyverns, but there’s at least sixty here and and a few more in Manesmark,’ he said. The man’s voice was incredibly deep for a person of his stature. The brawny mage barely came up to Farden’s shoulder, but he was as wide as he was tall, with a constantly narrowed gaze and mischievous smile, and rippling with muscle.
‘Good,’ said Farden. ‘That will hopefully be enough. I need everyone here before nightfall, ready to march and ready to fight.’
Ridda looked at Modren, and then back at Farden, wearing a similar quizzical expression. ‘You in charge now?’ he asked.
Farden hesitated for a moment, and then cleared his throat with a hint of authority. He nodded. ‘It looks that way, according to the Undermage,’ he said, and then added his most assertive smile. Ridda looked confused, and then his face broke into a wide grin. ‘Out of his cave and already he’s causing trouble. Fine with me, better you than an old greyhair who’s never cast a spell in his life,’ he chuckled.
Modren nodded and clapped his hands together loudly. ‘That’s what I said. We’d best get to it then!’
Farden tried to hide his sigh of relief, and leaned in close to the others so they could hear him over the noise. ‘Get Neffra and a few others to the hawk-houses and send word to every Written that isn’t within a day’s march of the city, then tell the others to get their weapons and everything they need ready by tonight. We’ll meet in the great hall by sunset.’
‘I’ll go and send the hawks.’ said Ridda decisively. Without another word he slapped Farden on the shoulder and strode off into the crowds. Modren turned to Farden with a mock sigh. ‘Let’s go and see what all this madness is about,’ he said.
‘Agreed.’ The two men spun smartly on their heels and strode purposefully towards the main stairs. They jostled with soldiers and servants for space, and dodged around workers and equipment that was gathering, for some reason, on the steps. They walked in silence for the most part, occasionally glaring at someone who might have barged into them. Their looks sent more than just a few people scuttling away and muttering apologies. Nobody wanted to get on the bad side of a Written.
The two mages walked side by side up the endless stairs and through the maze of corridors that would finally lead them to the great hall and hopefully to the root of all this commotion. Farden was eager to find Vice.
Once Modren broke the silence, and leaned close to whisper to Farden. ‘Rumour has it you were up in Nelska recently.’ It was a question hid within a statement, but Farden simply nodded. The blonde mage watched his friend from the corner of his eye with a knowing smile. ‘I take it I shall find out later then?’
‘You never did have much patience,’ the mage smirked.
‘Never,’ said Modren. ‘In all honesty though, Farden, I haven’t seen this sort of mayhem since the year those faeries escaped and got lost in the city. This has something to do with the murders at Arfell doesn’t it?’
Farden warily looked about them, and waited until a group of people had passed. ‘It does, but it’s something much more serious than just a few dead scholars.’
Modren fell silent and ran a hand through his bright hair. ‘It’s never that simple is it?’
It took the mages a good half hour to reach the marbled hallways at the very top of the Arkathedral. There was a massive throng of people gathered outside the gilded doors of the great hall, but a line of soldiers in gold and green armour barred the way with their tall shields. Modren began to make his way through the yelling crowd. ‘Move aside there, let us through!’ he barked, and mercilessly pushed people aside. One haughty scribe in particular prodded him as he passed, referring a little too loudly to the blonde mage as a bumbling oaf. Modren rounded on him and fixed him with a stare that could have frozen the sun. ‘If I were you, scribe, I’d keep your mouth shut and your fingers to yourself, otherwise you might lose one of them.’ Modren punctuated his threat by clicking his fingers. Sparks flashed over his nails. The scribe and his party fell deadly silent and tried to back away further into the massed crowd. Modren huffed and pulled his long coat around him to avoid it getting trampled.
‘Good work,’ chuckled Farden.
Modren nodded. ‘I thought so too... Let us through, gods damn it!’
Farden reached the armoured soldiers and found the man in charge. He looked the mage up and down with a wrinkle of his nose and an imperious sniff. ‘State your business,’ he shouted over the noise.
Farden glared at him. ‘We’re here on direct orders from the Undermage, I need to speak with him immediately!’
The soldier shook his head and pointed to somewhere beneath his feet, as if the answers lay on the floor. ‘He ain’t in here sir, and I’ll doubt you’ll find him with the Arkmages. Try his rooms one level down!’
‘What are all these people here for?’ Modren called to the soldier.
‘Everyone and their brother want to see the Arkmages today, but we can’t let ‘em in until the council meeting has finished,’ he shrugged and his polished armour clanked noisily.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Farden asked as he looked around at the chaotic crowd.
‘Haven’t you ‘eard?’ The soldier looked confused, a serious expression hovering over his face. The two mages shook their heads as one.
‘The dragons are comin’ to Krauslung!’ the man said, wide-eyed.
Farden’s eyes went wide, and he turned to Modren, who looked completely baffled. ‘Did he say...?’ he began but Farden cut him off.
‘Yes he did, no
w come on, we have to find Vice!’ They started to barge their way back through the crowd and out into the relative space of the white marble hallway. They quickly broke into a run and Farden led them left and down a wide curving staircase. He narrowly avoided knocking down a frightened-looking man carrying a big bundle of arrows, but the mages dodged around him and seconds later they both skidded to a halt outside the tall oak doors of Vice’s rooms.
Farden banged loudly on the door and waited, breathing lightly. Modren was adjusting and tidying his clothes and smoothing his ruffled blonde hair. Farden crossed his arms and drummed his fingers with impatience.
There was a clanking noise and the door was opened by a thin servant with a kind face. He looked them up and down slowly. ‘How may I help you, mages?’
‘We need to find the Undermage, right away,’ Farden said hurriedly.
‘He is with the council, sire, in the great hall.’ The servant shook his head slowly as if it were in danger of falling off. Farden snorted with frustration.
‘My lord is due to return soon, if you would like to wait?’ The servant opened the door a little wider and gestured for them to enter the huge room. As he did so a big spider crept from behind the door frame and sidled around the wall. Farden watched the black spindly beast slip into the hallway and disappear under another door. The man seemed not to have noticed the insect, and he looked back and forth between the two mages.
Farden shook his head. ‘No, thank you, when you see the Undermage, tell him Farden is looking for him.’
‘Of course, sir.’ The thin man bowed and quietly closed the heavy door with no more than a little click. Modren walked to a nearby window and looked down at the crowds in the streets. The noise from the people bellowing and shouting could be heard on the chilling breeze. The sky was crystal clear once again, and the clouds had been banished behind the pale blue of the mountain sky. ‘This is madness,’ he said quietly, and leaned forward to watch the guards at the gate below.
Farden put a hand against the marble wall and stared at the floor. He chewed at the inside of his lip. If the dragons were coming to Krauslung then it meant that they had found the dark elf well, but if that was so, then why was the city so full of fear and panic? Something was niggling at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t grasp it. Just as things were starting to go right for a change too, he thought.
A booming voice suddenly echoed around the corridor. ‘Farden!’ The mages spun around to see Vice standing further down the hallway, arms spread questioningly and one foot on the bottom step of the staircase. He was wearing the long formal robe of his position: black cloth trimmed with green. A long curved sword was slung at his side, hanging from a golden belt. ‘Where have you been?’ he bellowed. He wore a stern expression.
The two mages jogged to meet him and bowed quickly. Farden pointed behind him at Vice’s door. ‘Trying to find you, sire,’ he said. Modren nodded furiously behind him. The tall Undermage snorted and stormed up the stairs with loud heavy steps. ‘You did a fine job of that, didn’t you?Follow me,’ he said. The mages leapt after him.
Farden moved to his side. ‘The guard at the great hall said the Sirens were coming here...?’
‘And you heard right,’ Vice seemed furious. There was a bubbling anger simmering underneath his pale skin. He took the steps two at a time and his fists were clenched white by his sides. Farden hadn’t seen him like this in a long time. ‘Those bloody Sirens are up in arms about something, and they won’t tell us what until they get here, which is any minute now. They’ve threatened war, Farden.’ Vice threw him a serious look. The mage’s eyes went wide. He lowered his voice and moved closer to the Undermage, struggling to keep up with Vice’s long strides. ‘War? So this has nothing to do with the well or the tearbook?’
‘All I know is they’re on their way, and whatever it is that Siren queen of yours is not at all happy. Somehow the news of their arrival got out early this morning and everyone started to panic.’
‘Gods’ sake,’ Farden shook his head. They emerged into the long white corridor outside the great hall.
‘The Arkmages are furious,’ said Vice. ‘And am I, Farden, with you.’ Vice abruptly stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and fixed him with an icy stare.
‘With me?’ the mage spluttered. Modren stayed quiet and tried not to get involved, staring at the marble decor.
Vice narrowed his gaze. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the Old Dragon?’
Farden mentally reeled. In all the confusion he had forgotten about the matter completely, and was completely at a loss for an answer. ‘I thought it would be best to tell you in private...’ Farden groped for an explanation.
‘Well, it would have been Farden, but imagine my surprise when I was told by the Arkmages this morning that the old fiend is still alive. Helyard accused me of being in league with them!’ Vice was fuming and his hazel eyes were aflame.
Farden held up his hands. ‘He knows that’s not true, I can explain it all.’
‘And so you will, right now!’ Vice spun around so fast that his long robe billowed out like a sail. Farden was left standing shocked. Modren put a thin hand on his friends shoulder and sighed.
‘Better you than me mate,’ he said.
Farden was about to launch into a sarcastic retort but then Vice flashed a frosty glare to see if they were following. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he muttered, and quickly ran to catch up. He chided and cursed himself mentally for his laxness.
When they reached the great hall the Undermage pushed his way into the crowd as if he were tackling a troll. One of the guards spotted him and immediately began laying about with the butt of his spear. ‘Let the Undermage through! Move out of the way!’
Farden and Modren followed in Vice’s wake and elbowed their way through the noisy ranks of people until they were standing up against the gilded doors. Holding their shields with both hands, the soldiers braced themselves against the crowd and held them back while behind them the doors were opened just enough to let the three men through. The door slammed behind them, and they were away from the noisy masses, but they paled in comparison to the uproar of the great hall.
All around them council members argued and bellowed at the top of their voices, throwing their opinions back and forth while the Arkmages sat in their tall white thrones and talked agitatedly between themselves. Colourful patterns from the stained glass windows played on the walls and floors, painting faces all sorts of hues as they yelled at eachother. It was absolute chaos. With loud sighs the three men walked into the middle of the room and stood beside the tall gold statue of the goddess Evernia, her feet still surrounded by a score of candles despite the bright daylight. As soon as Åddren noticed them he held his hands in the air authoritatively. His normally kind eyes pierced the room like blue icicles. Nothing happened, and the roar continued unabated.
‘SILENCE!’ Åddren’s voice was like thunder. Loud words and arguments froze on the lips of the people, and an awkward stillness fell on the hall. The men and women of the council quietly shuffled to their places in between the tall tree-like pillars.
Helyard scowled about the room. ‘I hope to the gods you bear some sort of explanation for this chaos Farden. Your meddling ways have caused us enough trouble already, and now you’ve brought those despicable dragon-riders down upon us.’ The tall Arkmage looked down his nose at the mage with his usual supercilious air.
Farden walked forward across the marble floor to stand closer to the thrones. The council whispered like autumn leaves around him. ‘Your Mages, I have no idea why the Sirens are on their way to Krauslung, or why they are threatening war.’ The whispering increased, ‘When I left Nelska, they assured me that our two people were at peace.’
‘So we heard from Lord Vice this morning, when he gave us your report...’ Åddren started, but the stern Helyard leaned forward in his seat and held up a bony finger.
‘Which we might add, left out the important fact that Farfallen is still alive. I’m assu
ming that neither you nor the Undermage can explain this?’ he said.
Farden looked to Vice, and then back to Åddren and Helyard. He nodded slowly. ‘The Undermage is no traitor, your Mage, and it is no fault of his that Farfallen still lives. I admit that I was reticent, but I thought it best that I tell the Undermage in private, and haven’t yet had the chance to do so.’ Farden eyed Helyard defiantly as he spoke, but the Arkmage snorted and looked away. Åddren opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by the wailing cry of distant horns ringing out along the walls of Krauslung. The magick council murmured nervously.
The dragons had arrived.
Every eye turned inexorably to the huge diamond-shaped skylight in the roof and Farden slowly retreated to stand with Vice and Modren, who had now moved further back towards the doors, necks bent backwards and scanning the blue skies. A nervous hush filled the hall. Soldiers slowly took their places in the recesses of the hall.
The pale blue sky hung above them, crisp and empty, and nothing disturbed them. The cold breeze was the only sound. But soon, from the ramparts and the tall towers of the fortress beneath them, came the long warning moans of the horns. The twin bells of Hardja and Ursufel tolled warily. A few shouts rang out, and then a huge shadow scattered over the stained glass windows. A faraway roar echoed through the valley.
