He nodded his thanks as one of the assistants handed him the breastplate from the first of the Kardakae dummies. He held it up so that they could all see the impressive dent from Malaki’s sword.
‘This was an attack that was going to do some damage no matter where it struck. It demands a response from your opponent. When you defend you must defend against such as this, an attack that is intended to kill.’
He looked at the young man who had given a fine display of accuracy.
‘I’m not suggesting you abandon finesse but you need to understand that it is not enough. You will need both skill and brutality to defeat the Possessed.’
The point was made and the training continued. The assistants attached armoured pads to the training posts so that the cadets could see just how much force it took to penetrate different types of armour. It soon became clear that their fast flicks and clever cuts were nowhere near enough to damage an armoured opponent. All of a sudden the training that most of them had done so far seemed like little more than playing.
As the morning progressed Falco could see that the instructors were slowly assessing them, watching the way they fought and moved but also the way they responded to instruction and how they behaved towards each other. But it was too much for him. Even though the training session was fairly light his arms felt so pumped with blood that he could barely hold his sword and his chest ached with exertion. The instructors did not berate him, they simply focussed their attention on others until Falco was ready to try again. He was extremely relieved when they finally returned to the benches to watch groups of cadets sparring in pairs. He nodded his thanks as one of the assistants handed him a steaming cup of broth.
It was still cold but it was almost midday and the early mist had lifted from the mountains. Feeling more than a little disheartened, Falco shook his head as he looked down at his weak arms and thin wrists.
‘They fight well.’
He turned to see the emissary sitting beside him.
‘Yes, they do,’ he said, lowering his hands and sipping his drink to hide the self-pity he had been indulging in.
‘What about Owen?’ said the emissary. ‘He’s fast...’
‘Yes, said Falco, realising that the emissary expected him to comment. ‘But he reacts too quickly. It makes him vulnerable to a feint.’
‘And the Acheronian fighting Quirren?’
Falco looked at the dark-skinned youth. He moved like a natural fighter with the powerful build for which Acheron was famous.
‘Predictable,’ said Falco. ‘He always retreats to the left and he signals an attack with his foot.’
The emissary pursed his lips, nodding.
‘And what about your friend, the blacksmith?’
Falco glanced at him as if he were joking. Surely there was little to criticise about the way Malaki fought. But there was no jest in the emissary’s eyes and so, frowning slightly, he turned his attention to Malaki. At first he just saw plain fluid ability but as he watched he became aware of small things he had never noticed before.
‘He carries too much weight in his shoulders and he over commits on the attack,’ said Falco. ‘If he wasn’t so good it could leave him open.’
‘He isn’t so good and it does leave him open,’ said the emissary with a laugh.
He was silent for moment.
‘Strength is just time and effort,’ he said and Falco bowed his head, embarrassed by the transparency of his thoughts. ‘But what’s in here.’ The emissary touched his temple. ‘And here,’ he tapped his fingers against his chest. ‘This cannot be taught.’
‘So am I to be trained?’
The emissary paused and it was clear that he had something difficult to say. Falco waited to hear his fate.
‘There’s to be a court martial,’ said the emissary at last. ‘The Queen has granted permission for your training but her consent is being challenged.’
‘By whom?’
‘The Lords Snidesson and Saker. They are citing a charge of treason for what happened on the dragon stone.’
Falco closed his eyes.
‘When?’ said Falco
‘Soon,’ said the emissary. ‘I’ve just heard that the constables are on their way.
‘And who will judge me?’ asked Falco, his pulse suddenly quickening.
‘Normally it would be the Queen. But it’s her decision that’s being challenged so Prince Ludovico will take the chair. Snidesson will be there to represent Darius while Galen Thrall will sit on behalf of the magi who fell.’
‘Will you represent me?’ asked Falco.
The emissary shook his head.
‘I’ve been called as a witness along with Lord Saker and his son Meredith. Don’t worry,’ he went on when he saw the despair on Falco’s face. ‘Prince Ludovico will not uphold a charge of treason. They seek only to block your training with the magi.’
‘Then they have succeeded,’ said Falco. ‘There’s no way Galen Thrall will agree. Not if Saker has anything to do with it.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ said the emissary. ‘It might not be down to Thrall.’
Falco looked at him sharply. Galen Thrall was the Worshipful Master of the Clemoncéan magi, surely everything was down to him.
‘Besides... There’s someone else who might be able to help.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes,’ said the Emissary, rising to his feet as a line of riders came into view. ‘Assuming he likes you, that is.’
‘And what if he doesn’t?’
‘Then he might just kill you,’ said the emissary and Falco was hard pushed to tell if he was joking or not. Feeling suddenly sick he stood beside the emissary as the four constables skirted the training field before coming to a stop beside Lanista Magnus. He noticed that they had brought a spare horse.
The cadets ceased their sparring and gathered round to watch
‘What’s going on?’ asked Malaki but there was no time to answer.
The constables had finished speaking to the trainers. Wearing an expression that suggested he did not appreciate anyone interrupting his training sessions, Lanista Magnus led the constables over to where Falco and the emissary were now standing.
‘Falco Danté,’ said the constable in charge. ‘You have been charged with treason in relation to the death of the battle mage Darius Voltario. You will come with us to the Chamber of Council to hear your fate.’
Malaki gaped in disbelief just as Bryna came over to join them. The other cadets looked on with a mixture of interest and suspicion. Alex and Quirren appeared concerned while Jarek Snidesson smiled as if he had just thrashed Falco in a fencing match.
‘Go with them,’ said the emissary softly. ‘I will join you shortly.’
Trying to calm the turbulence that swirled in his belly Falco walked forward and mounted the horse that Lanista Deloix was now holding for him. The constables gave the emissary a stiff nod then, with two in front and two behind, Falco was led away.
34
Defiance
The Chamber of Council was an oval shaped building in the northern part of the city, a large covered amphitheatre used for lectures, court rulings and public strategy meetings. Built of pale brown stone the impressive walls were decorated with reliefs of great debates and orators of the past and crowned by a low domed roof, a tribute to the skill of Clemoncé’s stone masons and engineers.
There were four main entranceways to the chamber but the constables escorted Falco to a small archway and a stone staircase that led down into a tunnel. They emerged from the tunnel onto the floor of the amphitheatre, a large area of polished marble that was covered by an enormous carpet portraying some kind of map. This central area was surrounded on all sides by tiers of stone seats rising up to the roof and providing all parts of the building with a clear view of whatever was taking place on the floor. It reminded Falco of the crucible and like the crucible it was more than a little intimidating.
The constables directed Falco to a wooden chair at one end of
the floor. Two of them stood guard beside him while the others went to stand at the far end where two tables had been set out, one directly facing Falco with a smaller one to the side. As the constables took up their positions one of them nodded to the main entrance and Falco watched as two men emerged. The first was clearly a scribe while the other appeared to be some kind of magistrate. They seated themselves at the smaller table to one side of the floor.
Next came the witnesses: Morgan Saker, with his son Meredith, and the emissary. The two magi crossed the floor before settling themselves on the lowest tier of seats to Falco’s right. The emissary took a seat opposite them on the left. He did not look at him but still Falco found his presence deeply comforting.
Finally the three men who would sit on the panel emerged. The first was Bellius Snidesson; the second could only be Galen Thrall. And, judging by the splendour of his clothes, the third was Prince Ludovico of King Michael’s Mount, a tall and noble looking man of middle forty years with an axe-blade of a nose and long black hair which was heavily etched with grey. Like Bellius, he wore a neatly trimmed beard and moustache but unlike Bellius, he did not look upon Falco with naked hatred. Instead the expression in his clear brown eyes was serious and thoughtful.
The three men took their seats behind the main table with Bellius on one side, Thrall on the other and the prince in the middle. Galen Thrall swept his gaze round the chamber before fixing Falco with a jade green stare that made him feel naked. Prince Ludovico, on the other hand, looked at Falco as if he found it hard to believe that so slight a figure could be the source of so much ire.
To one side the scribe took up his quill, the prince gave a nod and the magistrate called the court martial to order.
The hearing did not take long but to Falco it seemed to go on for an age. He gave his own testimony in something of a daze and for the rest of it he felt numb and detached as if he were watching the proceedings from a high vantage point somewhere near the ceiling. Finally the various accounts and arguments were heard and Falco watched as the three members of the panel leaned in close to decide his fate. He felt light-headed and the sounds of their muted conversation echoed strangely in his ears.
‘Don’t worry,’ said a quiet voice and Falco turned to see the emissary standing beside him. He looked to the constables before handing Falco a cup of water. ‘You spoke well and the prince is a fair man. He will not be swayed by Snidesson’s bile.’
The emissary spoke in a lowered tone so as not to be overheard by Bellius Snidesson who kept shooting venomous looks in Falco’s direction. Galen Thrall, on the other hand, focussed all his attention on the prince who sat at the centre of the table wearing a frown of concentration. The emissary had assured Falco that he would not support a charge of treason but it seemed unthinkable that he would go against the will of Galen Thrall.
Looking away from his gaze Falco took a drink, his hands shaking so badly that some of the water spilled down his chin.
As they continued their discussion Falco took the opportunity to glance around the room. To his right Morgan Saker was watching the panel’s discussion while Meredith continued to stare straight ahead. Along with the emissary they had each given vivid accounts of what had happened on the dragon stone.
Falco was just looking back towards the panel when he realised that what he had taken for a shadow, on the uppermost tier of seats, was in fact the figure of a man. Vaguely he remembered seeing the shadow on entering the chamber. Silent and swathed in darkness the mysterious figure had been present during the entire proceedings. Before he had a chance to look any closer his attention was brought back to the floor. Finally Prince Ludovico had heard enough. Bellius and Thrall sat back in their seats as the prince raised a gloved hand.
‘The court wishes to thank the witnesses for their honest testimony of this terrible event.’ His voice was deep with a heavy Clemoncéan accent.
With a nod to Falco the emissary returned to his seat and the prince went on. ‘There can be no doubt that Master Danté alerted the dragon and broke the concealment that would have ensured its death.’
At this, Bellius smiled in satisfaction while Galen Thrall simply nodded sagely, the hint of a smile in his lipid green eyes.
‘However, the matter of treason must come down to intent.’
Bellius shifted in his seat while the pupils in Thrall’s eyes suddenly narrowed.
‘There is no evidence to suggest that Master Danté intended to cause the death of Darius Voltario. Testimony suggests it was an involuntary outburst. Foolish and tragic but lacking in malice.’ He paused before delivering his verdict. ‘On the count of treason I find the defendant, not guilty.’
Falco let out the breath he had been holding, surprised that the prince would take such a reasonable view. He had judged the man on the company he kept, namely the magi and nobles like Bellius who supported them. He realised now, that he had done the prince a disservice.
‘As for the matter of his training,’ the prince went on. ‘I am not qualified to judge. I have listened to the reports of his father’s tragic downfall, which in my opinion is reason enough for caution.’ He paused and Bellius’s chin came up once more. ‘In this matter I must defer to the Grand Veneratu. It is my understanding that battle mages require a mage to guide them through their training. I leave it to Galen Thrall to decide whether such a guide will be forthcoming.’
The prince had passed judgement and all eyes turned to Galen Thrall.
‘Compassionate and wise as ever, your Highness,’ said Thrall in a suspiciously gracious tone. ‘We have been considering the matter of Master Danté’s training since we first learned of his desire to become a battle mage. The role of a guide is no easy task and therefore I took the liberty of putting the matter to the members of the tower. Despite his family history I have no personal objection to his being trained.’
‘A likely story,’ thought Falco.
‘Unfortunately, however, there is not a single member of the tower who is willing to take on the role of guide to Master Danté. In the absence of a mage to train him, therefore, I suggest he be removed from the Academy of War, where his physical shortcomings would surely be a distraction to the Lanistas and a hindrance to the training of the other cadets.’
He looked at Falco with an air of apology as if the matter was out of his hands. Bellius wore a smug smile of victory and Falco could almost feel the satisfaction radiating from Morgan Saker. Despite being cleared of treason he felt a gut wrenching disappointment. He turned to his left but the emissary did not look at him. His gaze was downcast but Falco could see the tension in his clasped hands as if he were waiting for something.
‘Very well then,’ said Prince Ludovico. ‘Master Danté remains a free man but he will leave the academy forthwith and return...’
‘I will train him.’
The words were spoken softly and Falco saw the emissary raise his head, the faint light of satisfaction in his eyes. But he was not looking at Falco. He was staring at Meredith Saker. Still dressed in the robes of a novice, Meredith walked forward to stand before the court.
‘I will act as Falco’s guide.’
Bellius looked like someone had just punched him in the stomach. Galen Thrall’s pale green eyes had taken on the frosty edge of flint. While to Falco’s right the fury of Morgan Saker burned like a tangible fire.
Once again Falco felt that strange sense of detachment, as if he were watching the proceedings from far away. Somehow Meredith Saker had found the courage to defy the most powerful mage in all of Wrath. But more than this... he had defied his father.
He met Falco’s disbelieving gaze without wavering and the enormity of what he was doing shone in his deep brown eyes.
‘He saved my life,’ was all he said and Falco felt a sudden tightening in his throat.
Prince Ludovico looked from father to son, an eyebrow raised and an unreadable expression on his face then he leaned back in his chair and turned to Galen Thrall who paused before responding.
‘Of course it is only natural that Master Saker might feel a sense of debt, honourable even.’
Falco was amazed by Thrall’s self control, the way he maintained his composure even in the face of such blatant defiance.
‘But in this instance I must forbid it.’
‘You cannot.’
The sudden harsh voice filled the chamber and Falco looked up to see the shrouded figure at the back of the hall getting to its feet.
‘The matter of guiding a battle mage is a free and personal choice. He does not need the tower’s permission.’
The figure started down the stairs and Falco could see that it was limping and hunched over one side where its left arm was clearly missing. The shadowed figure was Aurelian Cruz.
Thrall’s brow lowered and for the first time there was unmistakeable anger in his eyes.
‘You dare to interfere in the affairs of the tower?’
‘Not interfering,’ said Cruz as he hobbled onto the floor. ‘Just reminding people of the laws put in place by greater mages than you.’
The words were intended to sting and Falco saw Thrall make a visible effort to restrain himself.
Aurelian’s gaze swept around the room. He paused at Falco and gave the emissary a small nod of acknowledgement. He must once have been a tall man, and handsome too perhaps, but that was before the years and trials of battle had marked him. Now his weathered face was notched and scarred like the wooden posts on the training field. Several of his teeth were broken and the skin on the left-hand side of his face was taut with burns. His hair was long, unruly and grey, and yet there was an indefinable dignity about him as if he had faced the very worst of life and had nothing left to prove.
‘So,’ he continued. ‘If this young novice wants to lead the runt to his doom then there’s nothing you can do about it. No matter how it might chaff your balls,’ he added with obvious glee.
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