‘Welcome back, little brother,’ she said, and smiled.
*
Far to the south, in the Forsaken Lands of Beltane the Marchio Dolor scorched the earth with the force of his displeasure. Not only had another demon been slain but now the Slayer had been forced to retreat. The Marchio could almost sense its fury and shame, shame that would drive it deep into the flames of hell where its flesh and its weapons would be further tempered until they rivalled the Marchio’s own. For a moment he considered leaving Beltane to journey north, but then he smiled for he could feel the Slayer’s eagerness to return, its hunger for revenge.
Besides... the Serthian Wolf was still proving troublesome. No. First he would destroy Vercincallidus and then he would go north to visit the same slaughter on the people of Clemoncé. Till then let the Slayer suffer the agony of its disgrace and pity the Defiant that meets it when it is finally reborn into the world.
70
On a Late Spring Evening
In the mage tower of Le Matres Meredith Saker had finally finished teaching the resident magi how to transfer the live link of communication. Earlier in the day a dispatch rider had arrived in the city with news of the Fourth Army’s victory and Meredith found it ironic that the first time the link was used was to inform Galen Thrall of the mage army’s collapse on the battlefield.
With his experiment successfully concluded he was free to begin his search for the book he had come here to find. However, the archives of Le Matres were not catalogued with the same rigour as those in Wrath and after several hours searching he was beginning to realise that finding ‘The Last Surviving Witness’ might not be as easy as he had hoped. He looked for someone to help him, but it was getting late and the only person remaining in the archives was an old mage who was clearly ready for his bed.
‘If you could wait until morning,’ said the aging archivist. ‘Brother Ignatius will be able to tell you if we have it or not. He knows every book and scroll down to the last scrap of faded parchment.’
Meredith gave a sigh of frustration.
‘And what time will Brother Ignatius be here?’
‘Early,’ said the old man, stifling a yawn. ‘Unless he’s transcribing documents. In which case he’ll be working in one of the tower’s south facing rooms. He needs the light for that kind of work.’
‘Very well,’ said Meredith. ‘In the meantime could you tell me if you have a section on dragonkind?’
‘We most certainly do!’ said the old mage with an affronted air. ‘End of the north aisle on the left hand wall.’
‘Thank you,’ said Meredith and the old man gave him a curt nod before turning to leave.
Now alone in the archives, Meredith went to the end of the north aisle where he found a small section dedicated to the study of dragons. Most were copies or variations of works he had already seen in Wrath, but a few were new to him and he removed two that looked intriguing. Moving back to the main chamber he sat down at a table and began to read. The first work was an interesting study on the anatomy of dragons, while the second supported the notion that dragons possessed a racial memory which grew more extensive with age, allowing them to remember things that happened many years before they were born.
Meredith knew that battle mages experienced some form of mental link with their dragons and a dreadful thought occurred to him. If a dragon could be affected by the memory of Possession then perhaps a battle mage could be too. Was it possible that Falco’s father had not gone mad, but had in fact become Possessed through the mental bond he shared with his dragon?
After weeks of intense concentration Meredith was not prepared for a long night of study. Still reading about dragons he fell asleep and his dreams were all of fire and black scales and a dark haired man crying out in murderous rage.
He woke to feel himself being gently shaken by the old archivist that he had spoken to the previous night. The man’s face took on a look of disgust and Meredith realised he had been drooling in his sleep. He drew the sleeve of his robe across his mouth and tried to blink the tiredness from his eyes.
‘I see you’ve been reading about dragons,’ said a slightly younger man with stark white hair and disturbingly dark eyebrows.
‘Er, yes,’ said Meredith, his mouth dry and his head feeling thick and fuzzy.
‘A fascinating topic but I understand there’s another book you are looking for.’
Meredith realised that this must be Brother Ignatius, the only mage who seemed to know how the archives of Le Matres were arranged.
‘Yes,’ said Meredith getting to his feet. ‘It’s a book called ‘The Last Surviving Witness’ by a mage called Sennicio Verde. Do you know it?’
‘I should do,’ said Brother Ignatius. ‘Brother Verde was after all a member of this tower.’
Meredith’s heart leapt at this news. Finally he might learn something new about the Great Possession.
‘Do you have a copy?’ he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. ‘The records list two copies but the one in Wrath no longer exists.’
‘I believe we do,’ said Brother Ignatius.
Now fully awake Meredith followed him as he walked off down the aisles.
‘As I recall it was placed under ‘afflictions of the mind’ and not with the chronicles of the time as one might expect.’
‘You’ve read it?’ asked Meredith his hopes rising still further.
‘No,’ said Brother Ignatius. ‘I prefer my history a little more believable.’
They stopped in a small alcove stacked to the ceiling with books and scrolls.
‘Let me see,’ said the archivist, bending down to trace the books in the bottom right hand corner. ‘Vanier... Vaughn... Veilleux... hmm!’ The tone of his ‘hmm’ was not encouraging. With a groan he straightened up and stared at the shelf as if he could not understand why it was not there. ‘Strange,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember anyone taking it out.’
Meredith’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. He bowed his head and rubbed his tired eyes.
‘I am sorry, young master,’ said Brother Ignatius. ‘It seems the book you are looking for is no longer present in the archives of Le Matres.’
‘Could it have been removed for study?’ asked Meredith. ‘Is there any way you could trace it?’
‘I do not believe so. There is no record of it being removed and so no one to approach about its whereabouts.’
Meredith’s disappointment was painfully apparent and Brother Ignatius seemed embarrassed by his inability to produce the book. He began to offer another apology but Meredith just turned away, muttering some dejected thanks.
‘You could always ask Brother Verde himself.’
Meredith stopped in his tracks.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said you could always ask Brother Verde himself, although you might not get much by way of an answer.’
‘He’s still alive?’ asked Meredith. ‘I thought this was supposed to be a firsthand account from a survivor of the Great Possession.’
Brother Ignatius raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘I understand that is the book’s claim, yes.’
‘But the Great Possession took place more than four hundred years ago. How can anyone alive have spoken to someone who survived it?’
‘As I say,’ said Brother Ignatius. ‘I prefer my history a little more believable.’
Meredith did not know how it could be possible, but if the author was still alive then maybe he could talk to him. That would be even better than reading the book itself.
‘Is he still in the tower?’ he asked but Brother Ignatius shook his head.
‘Alas, no. Brother Verde’s mind began to fail more than a year since. He was removed to the tower of Solace, a retreat in the north where the elderly and infirm can be properly cared for.’
‘Is he still there? At the retreat, I mean?’
‘I believe so. At least, I don’t remember hearing any news of his demise.’
Meredith’s eyes we
re suddenly burning with renewed purpose, all trace of weariness gone.
‘How far is it to this retreat?’
‘About a week,’ said Brother Ignatius. ‘There’s a small road that leads into the mountains.’
Meredith muttered his thanks but he was already making plans. He would wait for the Fourth Army to return but then he would go. He could not miss the opportunity to speak to someone who knew so much about the Great Possession, even if they were four hundred years old.
*
It was another two days before the Fourth Army arrived back in Le Matres, battered and bloodied but ultimately victorious. The city was already overcrowded with refugees but the people did their best to accommodate the exhausted army. An estate on the outskirts was made available to them and it was here that many of the wounded were also housed, including Falco who was given a room in the villa overlooking the river. The healers of Le Matres seemed to think that Falco would recover more quickly if he were left alone, a view not shared by Fossetta who, along with Heçamede and Tobias, had arrived in the city the previous day.
‘He has been through a great ordeal,’ said the senior healer. ‘He needs rest and recuperation.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Fosetta. ‘What he needs is his friends.’
The healer was clearly not accustomed to having his decisions challenged but finally he gave way.
‘Just be certain not to overtax him.’
And so, rather than being a quiet haven of convalescence, Falco’s room began to resemble the cadet barracks back at the academy. Over the next couple of days Fossetta could often be seen sitting in the corner, quietly embroidering a pearl coloured garment, while the youngsters sat around talking. And Tobias would also spend time with them, just sitting and listening to what was being said.
Falco still bore the marks of numerous injuries but the cuts and grazes were healing and the bruises had faded from an ugly purple to a less alarming shade of green. He remained quieter and more pensive than normal, but he was recovering well and he laughed now as Alex commented on the state of his helm, which the people of Le Matres had laid out with the rest of his armour, as if it were something other than damaged and useless scrap.
‘I mean look at it!’ said Alex, holding up the helm so that everyone could see the sharp dent where the Slayer’s blade had finally struck Falco down. ‘How the hell does anyone survive a blow like that? It’s ridiculous!’ His tone of irritation made everyone in the room smile.
‘I always said Falco had a thick head,’ said Bryna and people laughed again, even Fossetta who seemed delighted by the way Bryna now joined in with the boys’ banter.
It was a relief to hear some of the old joviality coming back into the conversation. After the battle even Alex had been quiet and withdrawn. They had lost eight of their fellow cadets, including Kurt Vogler, Bryna’s frequent sparring partner.
However, they all knew that Alex’s humour was an attempt to distract them from the trauma of what had happened and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Many of the cadets had voiced a desire to remain at the front rather than returning to the academy. However, the emissary had spoken of a special task he wanted them to perform and later that evening he revealed his plans as they sat in Falco’s room.
‘I need you to return to Wrath,’ he told them. ‘We’re redeploying our forces along the front but we are now more stretched than ever. We need more troops.’
‘What is it you want us to do?’ asked Quirren.
‘I want you to return to Wrath and get the Queen’s Irregulars ready for battle.’
‘I thought you said they weren’t very good,’ said Malaki.
‘Excuse me!’ said Bryna indignantly. ‘The Dalwhinnies are from the Irregulars, don’t forget!’
‘Precisely,’ said the emissary. ‘They just need the proper leadership.’
‘You want us to train the Irregulars?’ said Malaki.
‘I do,’ said the emissary. ‘But Lanista Magnus and the other instructors will help. I don’t know how long you will have, but I want you to turn the Irregulars into a fighting force that can make a contribution to the war.’ He paused, looking at Malaki, Quirren and Huthgarl. ‘And I would like you three to relieve the current leaders of their command.’ His expression suggested that this might prove easier said than done.
‘Does the Queen not command them?’ asked Bryna.
‘In name,’ said the emissary. ‘But in reality they languish under the authority of two thugs that make Patrick Feckler look like a pillar of the community.’ His tone held a contempt they had not heard in his voice before. ‘General Connard Forbier and Major Viktor Gazon are the official commanders, although the authenticity of their ranks is dubious to say the least. They’ve created a cosy life for themselves and getting them to give it up will not be easy, but I will write to Master Cyrano. If you need money to persuade them he will make sure you have what you need.’
The expressions on their faces made it clear what they thought of bribing soldiers who were supposed to be loyal to the Queen.
‘Be careful,’ said the emissary. ‘They are not nice men and they surround themselves with equally unpleasant followers.’
They assured the emissary that they would not let him down and the conversation turned to other things, including the matter of escorting the refugees back to the capital.
‘I can’t wait for the refugees,’ said Falco.
‘I understand,’ said the emissary. ‘Why don’t you ride ahead with Malaki, Quirren and Huthgarl? The others can follow in their own time. But none of you can tarry. We need the Irregulars as soon as possible. So return to Wrath and wait for orders from Marshal Breton. If you are lucky you might have a few weeks to prepare them for war.’
And so it was settled. Falco and the three knights would ride quickly back to Wrath, while Bryna, Alex and the other cadets would follow with the refugees from Le Matres. With this decided they talked quietly for a while and the emissary explained that the battle mages had been redistributed along the front to account for the deaths of Jürgen and Wildegraf. It would be some time before Ciel could fly again but Nathalie had assured Falco that she would be all right.
‘Never underestimate the resilience of dragons,’ she had said.
Finally the emissary stood up to take his leave and the others took this as their cue to do the same. There was a murmur of goodbyes and the emissary was about to leave when Falco nudged Malaki.
‘Have you asked him yet?’
‘Asked me what?’ said the emissary as Huthgarl, Alex and Quirren left the room. However, on hearing the question, Alex’s head reappeared round the door, grinning widely until Quirren pulled him away, bumping his head on the door frame as he went.
The emissary hovered and Malaki looked tongue tied while Bryna stood behind him and Falco shook his head in despair at their bashfulness.
‘They want to know if you’ll marry them,’ said Falco and the smile that came over the emissary’s face was more complex and poignant than any they had seen before.
‘It would be my honour and my pleasure,’ said the emissary his grey eyes shining.
Malaki gave him a nod of thanks while Bryna came forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Falco smiled and from outside the door they heard Alex Klingemann’s voice.
‘Finally!’ he exclaimed, his voice fading away into the villa. ‘I was beginning to think I’d die of old age before you two tied the knot.’
They all smiled and then Bryna spoke.
‘We came so close to losing each other.’
‘There’s no need to explain,’ said the emissary. ‘Have you someone to give you away?’
Malaki shook his head as if he could not believe who she had chosen. Patrick Feckler had not cried since he was a grubby and ill-treated child. But this simple request from Bryna had found a chink in his calloused heart and brought a tear to his deep set eyes.
The emissary smiled as he guessed who Bryna had chosen.
‘Tomorrow evening
?’ he suggested. ‘Before we go our separate ways.’
Bryna and Malaki nodded and with a shallow bow the emissary left the room. The others followed shortly after and Falco was just turning back his bed when there was a knock on his door. It was Meredith Saker and it was clear that he had something on his mind.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Falco, gesturing him into the room.
Meredith declined the invitation to enter and hovered outside the door shifting uncomfortably.
‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to return with you to Wrath.’
Falco just stared at him. He had been hoping that Meredith would help him prepare for the Rite of Assay.
‘But I thought you’d finished your experiment,’ he said, unable to conceal his disappointment.
‘I have,’ said Meredith. ‘But I’ve just learned of something that means I cannot return just yet.’
‘Is it really that important?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Then you must attend to it,’ said Falco making an effort to keep his disappointment in check.
‘I am sorry,’ said Meredith. ‘I will try to get back in time, if I can.’
‘It’s all right. Aurelian and Dusaule will be there to help me.’
‘Thank you,’ said Meredith. He turned to leave then paused. ‘If my father is on the Torquery he will try to stop you with fire.’
For a second Falco’s eyes narrowed, but then a dark smile spread across his face.
‘I know how to deal with fire,’ he said and now it was Meredith’s turn to smile.
As Meredith disappeared from view Falco found himself wondering how it was that a man could turn out so different to his father. He wondered if it might be the same for him, but somehow he knew that it was not. Somewhere deep inside he could feel the heat of his father’s legacy, a heat that had the potential to devour him and deliver his soul into the hands of the Possessed. Maybe his subconscious was right to keep such power entombed.
The following day saw the cadets busily preparing for the return to Wrath, while Meredith Saker set out on a new journey, heading north to the mage retreat of Solace. Falco wondered what could possibly be so important, but as the day wore on he found his thoughts converging on the event that was planned for the evening.
Battle Mage Page 57
