Not bristling with magick as I was, no. I stood there as his (temporary) equal, a natural part of all that lovely magickal flow. ‘It’s complicated,’ I said.
His lips curved in a faint smile. ‘I am the seventeenth Earl Evemer,’ he said. ‘But you may call me Luan.’
I made him my best Milady-curtsey, which prompted another smile. Then I ruined it by saying, ‘Call me Ves.’
Quarter of an hour later, I sat in a quiet parlour some floors below with Earl Evemer, being plied with good things. Always my favourite part of any mission.
‘You are not, then, here alone?’ I enquired, somewhere in the midst of my third scone.
‘Oh, no. We are not so numerous as once we were, of course, but twenty-one wardens remain, along with our families.’
‘Wardens?’
‘Our lineages were tasked with the care and protection of the tower and its contents, before His Majesty died. Some few of us have died out in the intervening centuries, but enough remain.’
Seventy or eighty people, perhaps, in a building the size of a small town. No wonder it felt deserted, or some parts of it did. Here on the lower floors, I’d seen signs enough of habitation, though we had not yet encountered anyone else.
‘You never bring in anyone from outside?’
‘Outside?’ he echoed, aghast. ‘Never.’
I thought about everything I had seen beyond this serene enclave forgotten by time, and couldn’t wonder at it. Twenty-one wardens and their families could never be enough to protect the tower from the likes of Wyr, and his trade-partners of Vale. Hungry for profit, morally moribund, and devoid of respect for either history or consequence, they’d decimate the place.
But, how isolated an existence. And the ultimate fate of everyone who lived here must be a final and irrevocable decline.
I was growing tired of that general theme.
Earl Evemer — Luan — munched his way slowly through a sweet roll, his gaze fixed somewhere on the middle distance. I didn’t rush him. Having just given him the speedy low-down on everything that had led me to his tower, my next duty was to leave him a moment to think it over.
And devour a couple more delicacies in the process. Gods, but I was hungry.
By the time he again spoke, I was happily replete and dozing off in my dangerously comfortable armchair. A fire burned in the grate, around which we and our tea-table were arranged. Watching the flames, I’d been close to gliding off to sleep.
‘One or two points do not perfectly make sense,’ said Luan at length, startling me awake.
I sat up quickly, trying to look alert. ‘Mm,’ I said intelligently. ‘Um. Yes.’ I tapped the compass on the arm of my chair.
‘Yes,’ said Luan. ‘That is the salient point.’
‘You don’t know how this came to be at Farringale?’
‘I did not know that any had been left there.’
‘Plus the key to the door, tucked inside a scroll-case. And on the inside of that case was a map of the mountains within which this enclave is hidden. Either Torvaston himself returned once to Farringale and left these things there, or he sent someone else to do it. So, if he did not want his work to be unearthed by his descendants, why did he leave us the means to follow him?’
Luan stared at the compass. ‘I cannot answer that. But, Ves, you should know…’
I waited, but he did not finish the sentence. ‘What should I know?’ I prompted.
He looked at me, and I read unease and something like guilt in his eyes. ‘His Majesty’s… project,’ he said.
‘The, er, regulator?’
‘If you would like to call it that, yes. It… well, it no longer exists.’
I almost dropped my tea cup. ‘Tell me I heard that wrong.’
Luan shook his head. ‘The records state that His Majesty came to regret the project,’ he said, and fell silent again.
Much as I could sympathise with his predicament, I did not really have a lot of time to waste while he wrestled with himself. ‘Because it never worked?’ I prompted.
He blinked. ‘Oh, no. It wasn’t that it did not work.’
I reminded myself to breathe. ‘You mean… do you mean that it did work, or the fact that it didn’t was not the source of Torvaston’s regret?’
‘It worked,’ he said. ‘This enclave was built partly with the assistance of— it is referred to as the Heart of Hyndorin. Because, we must conclude, that is precisely what it was. Coming as you do from a diminished Britain, you might not suppose that this place is a pale shadow of its former glory. Yet, it is much faded, because the Heart is gone.’
I stared. ‘The thing worked! Giddy gods, this changes everything.’
‘Yes,’ said Luan heavily. ‘It did, change everything. It was too much of a success, you see. It was His Majesty’s greatest pride, and as you have surmised, he did hope to return to Farringale with it, and reverse that enclave’s destruction.
‘But, others among his courtiers had different ideas. Where there is powerful magick, there will always be— avarice, and ambition. In this instance, there was not only powerful magick but the means to generate more and more of it. You may imagine, I suppose, what that represented to some of the members of His Majesty’s Court.’
I could not suppress a sigh. What a tired old story. ‘And this is why we can’t have nice things,’ I said.
Luan blinked at me, and I reminded himself that he came from a society worlds away from mine. ‘The Court divided into two factions,’ he said. ‘Torvaston’s closest allies, and those who came to oppose his ideas. The Heart became a dangerous bone of contention between them, and— matters soon grew out of hand. Much damage was done. His Majesty came to doubt his own plans, in the wake of this disaster, and wondered whether the very descendants upon whom he had expected to bestow his work might not prove unworthy of it. Placed into the wrong hands, it would do far more harm to your Britain than good. And he had been in such a position before.’
Of course, he had. He was the king whose efforts to save his kingdom had ultimately hastened its demise. He would be the last person to sail blindly into another such mistake. My heart ached at the tragedy of it, and the waste. I’d fairly castigated Wyr and his ilk for insufficient interest in the consequences of their actions; had the opposite attitude led Torvaston to destroy his irreplaceable work?
‘The Heart was destroyed in 1741,’ said Luan. ‘At the very end of Torvaston’s life. It broke his heart to do it, so they say, for he did not long survive its destruction. Those whose actions had led to his decision were expelled forever from Hyndorin. Those who remained were appointed tower wardens, to guard what was left for as long as we could.’
‘Against the return of Torvaston’s enemies?’ I guessed.
‘Yes. And everyone else.’
‘Has no one else ever got in? Ever?’
Luan shifted in his chair. ‘Once in a great while. We are not quite self-sufficient here; occasionally it is necessary for some of us to leave, to procure necessities, or to conduct research. Carelessness or ill luck are inevitable in time, of course, and it has sometimes happened that someone has followed one of us back inside.’
‘And… what came of that?’
‘We dealt with it,’ he said, in a harder voice. ‘And took greater care in future. It hasn’t happened in a long time.’
I wanted to ask how they had dealt with it, exactly. No reports of successful infiltration of this Enclave had made it beyond the walls, apparently. But Luan was looking, grimly and with some sadness, at an unusual standard lamp in one corner. I’d noticed it before, for it was oddly twisted in shape, and its green silk shade tilted, almost like a bowed head.
I thought of what I had done to Wyr, and decided I did not need to know the details.
‘So you see,’ said Luan, returning his attention to me. ‘I cannot help you fulfil your mission, for it is beyond my power.’
‘Even if it was ultimately Torvaston’s wish?’ I said. ‘Maybe he thought differently
, before he died. Maybe he had a little faith in us after all.’
‘Even if he did, the Heart is gone forever. There is nothing for you to take back to his successors.’
I saw that he did not much regret having to give me such a negative for an answer. Despite the evidence of the scroll-case and the compass and the key, as far as he was concerned, his ancestral king had decided the Heart was not to be entrusted to anyone ever again. He and his ancestors had dedicated their lives to protecting what was left of Torvaston’s legacy. They were used to doing as he was thought to have wanted.
Also, in fairness, even the compass and scroll-case did not absolutely mean that Torvaston had changed his mind. It could have been someone else who’d taken them to Farringale, after his death. It wasn’t a likely explanation, but nor was it impossible.
‘I understand,’ I said graciously, even as my mind was busy working on a way around the problem.
An idea occurred to me, and I sat up. ‘Luan,’ I said. ‘One question.’
‘Yes?’
‘I suppose there isn’t any chance that Torvaston lied?’
‘Lied?’ he repeated, with strong disapproval.
‘About destroying the Heart. You don’t suppose he might have made everyone believe that he’d wrecked it, while he’d actually hidden it instead?’
‘No,’ said Luan, crushing my hopes. ‘Its destruction was witnessed by his most loyal courtiers. The materials that went into making it were redistributed, and crafted into other artefacts, many of which are still here. There can be no doubt that the Heart is gone.’
I sagged back in my chair again, disappointed.
But. The Heart itself might be gone, but someone had built the thing in the first place, and someone had possibly kept records of the process. And guess who had a friend in the library/workshop upstairs, cheerfully soaking up every word the trolls of Hyndorin had written?
‘I do believe we are about to have company,’ said Luan, his eyes going faraway. ‘Someone of your acquaintance, I hope.’
In other words, someone unfamiliar to him. I had only an instant to think of Jay before the door swung open, and someone charged into the room, stopping just short of colliding with Luan’s chair.
The newcomer was about Jay’s height and had his colouring, but otherwise the resemblances were few. This man was sprouting feathers, and a pair of incorporeal wings hovered behind him. His long fingers curled under like claws, and they were tipped with talons.
I did not want to look too closely at his face, because I was fairly sure he had more beak than mouth and good heavens.
He was wearing a familiar jacket.
‘Jay,’ I said. ‘I don’t wish to alarm you, but you appear to be turning into a griffin.’
11
‘Hippogriff, I think,’ said Luan calmly, and pointed to Jay’s feet.
Hooves. Dead giveaway.
Jay said something beaky.
‘Oh, dear,’ I sighed.
‘Your associate?’ said Luan.
‘Yes. And I would love to know where he’s been this past hour or so, but I think I’ll have to get him out of here to find out. He was okay outside.’
‘Magickal dissonance,’ said Luan, nodding. ‘It has been harder to maintain a balance since the Heart was lost.’ His eyes narrowed, fixed upon me. ‘How is it that your companion is so much affected, while you are not?’
I had not yet got around to telling him that part of my increasingly complicated story. ‘It all started in Vale,’ I said, trying unsuccessfully to soothe a visibly alarmed Jay.
‘Vale?’ echoed Luan sharply. ‘What were you doing up there?’
‘Looking for this place. Torvaston’s map depicted both the valley of the Vales of Wonder, and the Hyndorin Mountains, and we went to the other one first. It’s… interesting up there.’
Luan gave a faint snort, but did not offer any further comment.
‘Well, and we were all losing our collective… er, marbles in Vale. It’s way too intensely magickal for a feeble crowd from a magickal backwater. We were given these disgusting unicorn potions to drink, and that helped. For a while.’
‘And then what?’ said Luan, when I fell silent.
How to explain the rest?
All in a giant rush, and hope for unusual mental acuity in my auditor. Go.
‘We went to the top of Mount Vale and there’s major griffin and unicorn activity up there by the way, not without a certain amount of forced labour, and we were kind of in trouble and we wanted to release all the shiny beasts. So I took out my mother’s magickal lyre of fabulousness and it sort of adopted me and I came out of that experience soaked in magick up to my eyeballs.’
Luan looked at me in silence.
‘That part has yet to go away,’ I finished. ‘Hence, I am okay in here but Jay is not. Which is rather the reverse of the way things were back in Scarborough, when everyone else was okay and I existed on the point of imminent explosion.’
Luan nodded slowly. ‘It is many years since any of us were in Vale,’ he mused. ‘You have guessed, I suppose, the connection?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t—’ I paused, and thought. Jay had taken a seat beside me, and I realised I was absently stroking his arm. He had soft feathers. I have no idea if it was more soothing to him or to me.
Connections between the enclaves of Hyndorin and Vale. Torvaston had clearly had an interest in the latter, even if he had not chosen it for his headquarters. His scroll-case told us that much. But if he hadn’t settled there, and his successors at Hyndorin never went there anymore, what possible link could there be?
Jay said something, his beak clattering, and gesticulated.
‘How long has there been a settlement in Vale?’ I said. ‘In Torvaston’s day, it appears to have been known as the Vales of Wonder, which is suggestive of an area of natural magickal intensity. We were surprised to find a town, when we went there.’
Jay said something else, and I even caught a word or two. ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Some parts of the town did appear to be very old.’
Luan smiled faintly. ‘Very good. Yes, the settlement there is not so old as this one, but nearly so. It dates from the mid eighteenth century.’
Or, around the same time that the Heart of Hyndorin was destroyed. ‘That is where Torvaston’s disgraced courtiers went,’ I guessed. ‘The ones who opposed him, and were kicked out.’
Luan inclined his head. ‘It has been built according to very different values. I am disappointed to hear that little has improved since those days.’
Jay rolled his eyes, and slumped back into the cushions in an attitude of despair.
I patted his hand. ‘Hippogriffs are noble creatures.’
Whatever Jay said next sounded suspiciously like a curse.
‘I may be able to help,’ said Luan. ‘But first, I would like to hear more about that lyre.’
‘It’s an Yllanfalen artefact. Its primary purpose is to select a king or queen for Ygranyllon, the kingdom of its origin, and it’s been doing that for centuries. Supposedly it was created by one of their early kings, who the Yllanfalen revere almost as some kind of god, and it’s made out of skysilver or moonsilver or some such fancifully-named thing.’ I paused for effect, and added: ‘Or, what His Majesty Torvaston seems to have referred to, slightly less imaginatively, as “magickal silver”.’
That got his lordship’s attention. ‘Magickal silver?’ he repeated, and sat up in his chair. ‘That is— remarkable.’
‘Just like the Heart, am I right?’
His expression became guarded. ‘I cannot say.’
‘I get it. You can neither confirm nor deny.’ I held up the compass. ‘And am I much mistaken in thinking this thing has a few moonsilver parts to it, too?’
Luan’s lips twitched. ‘I cannot say.’
‘Mm.’
Jay held out the snuff-box, in the palm of one clawed hand. ‘That, too?’ I said, looking at him.
He nodded furiously. I gathered
that his possession of the box had taken him somewhere quite interesting indeed. We really needed to get that beak off his face.
‘The key, too,’ I said. ‘So it appears that this substance, by whatever name it is known, is capable of serious business when it comes to magick.’
‘Because of which, it is almost impossible to find any longer,’ said Luan. ‘There was a seam of it in the environs of Vale, long ago, which is perhaps a partial explanation of Torvaston’s interest in it. Most likely that particular source was exhausted before the town was settled.’
‘Are there any more known?’
‘Not at this time. Nor is it possible, any longer, to acquire unworked examples of the metal. Therefore,’ and he looked seriously at me, ‘I need hardly tell you how incredibly valuable is that lyre. Its properties do not surprise me, if it is made entirely from magickal silver. There are people who would kill you in a heartbeat for possession of so much of it.’
I thanked my lucky stars for my odd obsession with the lyre. If it were not for that, Jay would not have had reason to hide it, and we might have been waltzing all over the fifth Britain carrying more magickal goodness than our collective lives were worth.
‘Question,’ I said. ‘Have you heard before of the silver’s having a… mesmerising effect, on some people?
‘Is this what you meant when you referred to its having “adopted” you?’ asked Luan.
‘Sort of. That didn’t happen until I picked it up and played it. Before that, I had trouble resisting the temptation to do so. I practically had to be restrained.’
‘Hmm.’ Luan looked me over thoughtfully. ‘Would it interest you to know that His Majesty was said to have a similar fascination with the stuff?’
‘Why yes, it would.’
‘History does not say why, however. I am unsure whether the reason for it was ever known.’
Modern Magick 8 Page 7
