'Well, that's just bloody great!' Hirad hurled his sword to the ground at his feet, fury bringing heat to his cheeks. His hands clenched. 'He threatens to kill Talan because of some imaginary risk to his precious quest and now he's off to commit suicide in Dordover all because someone's stolen his pet bloody cat!' He flapped a hand in the direction Denser had taken, breathing out loudly through his nose. 'I mean, just what does he expect us to do now?'
'Nothing.' Sol flicked the badge and chain to Ilkar, who caught it effortlessly. 'Stay.'
'Talking to me or to your dog, maskman?' Hirad squared up, his blade still lying in the fallen leaves.
'Hirad . . .' began Ilkar.
Sol considered the situation briefly, Hirad half believing he could see the Protector frowning.
'Stay, please,' he said, then turned and sprinted for his horse. Hirad made to follow him, stooping for his sword on the way.
'Don't, Hirad.'
'What?'
'I think he's right. We should stay.'
'You're agreeing with a Xeteskian?'
Ilkar grinned. 'Unusual, I know, but yes.'
'Why? Their recent record for decision-making is very poor.' Another gesture in the direction of Dordover and the departed Denser.
'Because if they all die, someone has to go on who knows the whole story.'
'But without that flying prat no one can cast the spell, isn't that right?' Hirad pushed his sword back into its scabbard.
'He's the only chance right now, admittedly, but without any of us to report back to Xetesk, there's no chance at all.' Ilkar shrugged.
'So we just sit and wait?' Hirad was unused to being unwanted in what looked a certain fight.
'No. We clear the camp and get ready for a quick exit. One way or another, we won't be here long, I think.'
'How will we know if he dies?'
'We'll know. Believe me, we'll know.'
The library door opening shocked Erienne into dropping the book like a guilty child. Her heart hammered then missed a beat in relief as Will and Thraun stepped in and closed it behind them.
'Gods, you scared me! How did you . . .' She pointed vaguely to the outside.
'By looking as if we owned the place,' said Will. 'You'd be surprised how often that works.'
'Yes, but here?' Erienne was dumbfounded.
'I have to admit the College was pushing the point, but seeing is believing.' Thraun smiled. 'Our only bit of luck was avoiding your friend the Tower Master. I thought we'd have to deck him.'
'I beat you to it.' Erienne reprised the events of the past hour or so.
'One thing,' said Will. 'Someone here's got Denser's cat.'
'Fool!' spat Erienne, slapping the table next to her. 'I told him they would detect a Familiar. That man's arrogance knows no end.' She breathed in deeply but her eyes betrayed her thoughts. 'The pain he'll be suffering . . . poor man, it'll be terrible.' She paused. 'Come on, we can't stop to worry about that now. All in all, I'd say we've been luckier than we deserve. I've already lost my reputation pursuing this ridiculous folly, I don't want to lose my life too.'
'Reckon we can take the ring?' asked Will.
'I'm not sure,' admitted Erienne. 'There's a ward down there I don't know.'
'So . . . ?'
'So until I can plot the mana shape, I don't know what it does or whether I can move it. To do that I need to get near it.' She walked to the door. 'Let's get moving.'
Thraun gave the all clear and they padded quietly to the crypt entrance.
'Will?' asked Erienne.
'It's a standard through-bolt operating a latch on the other side. Heavy but crude,' he whispered. 'I need to know if it's spell-guarded or conventionally trapped.'
'Neither,' said Erienne.
'Good.' Will bent to his task, inserting a metal rod the size of his little finger into the lock. He probed briefly for the latch assembly. 'Very crude.' He withdrew the rod and fished in a belt pouch, taking out a flat piece of metal about one and a half inches wide, welded to a cylinder which slipped over the rod and clicked into place. He pushed the makeshift key into the lock, angling it slightly and manoeuvring it back and forth. Presently he smiled, turned the key and heard the latch slide up on the other side of the door.
'Want to go first?' he asked Erienne.
'I think I'd better.' She stepped past Will as he stowed his tools and opened the door. Inside, the weight of mana was heavier than ever, causing her to pause for breath. It was also pitch dark.
'There's a lot of static mana here, keeping the wards sound. I can navigate by the trails. What about you two?'
'I'll follow him, don't you worry,' I said Will.
'No light?' queried Thraun.
'Not until we're down the first steps. There's a light-sensitive ward about halfway down the flight which activates at dusk. It's an alarm.' She began to move carefully down the stairs, Thraun and Will behind her, the latter closing and rebolting the door behind them.
To Will, the darkness was impenetrable, the mana-laden atmosphere cloaked him in anxiety and the air was musty and stale. He hooked the fingers of his right hand into Thraun's belt and traced the near wall with his left, relying on his friend's directions for his every footstep.
He was concentrating so intently, he hardly heard Erienne as she advised them they were passing the first ward, but it registered and he was sure he could feel it: a deeper quality to the level of mana all around and a spike that sent fear into his heart and sent his sightless eyes probing desperately for something to anchor him. He stumbled.
'Easy, Will,' said Thraun, his own voice hushed by the power all around them. 'There are maybe a dozen more steps and then we're down.'
'I'm not enjoying this.'
'Nor me. Just take it steady. Step down now.'
The descent of the thirty steps ended with a right-hand bend in a narrow passage and another door through which Erienne ushered them before closing it and beginning an incantation. Will leant against the door, finding comfort in the wood and iron at his back while somewhere to his left, Erienne murmured on.
'Illuminate,' she said eventually, and light grew steadily. It came from a globe that expanded to a size approaching that of Will's head, and at that moment it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
He noticed the chamber next. It was long, narrow and cold, stretching away into the darkness beyond the throw of Erienne's LightGlobe. And stacked three high to left and right, separated by shelves, were stone sarcophagi. Here as nowhere else, the mana beat down upon him. The moment's relief he felt as the light flooded the chamber was extinguished by the reality of his position, which forced him back against the door. He gasped, looking vainly for help from Thraun, but he too was suffering, the bow of his shoulders telling a clear story.
'Erienne . . .' Will began. He could feel his face flushing. His legs were trembling with the exertion of keeping his body vertical.
The Dordovan mage nodded. 'I'm sorry, Will, I had no idea it would be so strong. Take a few moments and it will ease enough for you to carry on. We've got a way to go yet.'
Will grimaced and levered himself from the door, forcing himself to concentrate on the darkness that enveloped the chamber a dozen paces ahead.
'It's all in the mind,' he assured himself.
'No, it isn't,' said Erienne. 'Mana is a force that controls and adapts nature. It is physical and, as you are discovering, is tangible in concentration. Some people attract it and the ones who can welcome and harness it are mages, like me.'
'Thanks for your help and support,' muttered Will.
'Just remember that in this state, it is harmless. It's mages who shape it and make it unstable and dangerous. Let's keep it going.' She strode off along the lines of tombs, Lore Masters and Mage Lords, some centuries dead. The LightGlobe followed her, marking a smooth course slightly above and to the right of her head.
Will and Thraun followed as best they could, heads down and slogging as though labouring under heavy packs.
Jandyr thundered into the stables of the inn and slid off his horse. A quick word and a few coins exchanged with the stable lad gave him the information he needed, and a bag of feed for his horse.
Snatching his bow and quiver from their saddle straps, he jogged out into the Dordovan evening, following the directions given him and not having a clue what he'd do when he arrived. Something would suggest itself; it normally did.
To Denser, the mana flowing around the Dordovan College was a beacon of soft orange that swamped the lights of the City. The ShadowWings beat lazily, propelling him at good speed towards his goal. One hand was pressed on his skull cap, the other kept his sword from flapping against his leg, and he squinted through eyes half closed against the wind of his passage.
All thoughts of Dawnthief and the salvation of Balaia had vanished from his mind. Somewhere in the College was his Familiar, an integral part of his mind and consciousness. No one could be allowed to take that away. He pulsed a thought of calm and relief in the hope it might penetrate the mana cage the Familiar had to be in.
He dived towards the College and its centrepiece, the Tower - an ugly squat house not worthy of the name given to the greatest of mage structures. But then, Dordover misunderstood the focusing power that a tower conferred upon its incumbent, just as it misunderstood many things. Like the reaction from the master of a stolen Xetesk Familiar.
Circling the Tower at a height of fifty feet above its highest point, Denser knew that whoever held his Familiar would be waiting, that they could feel his presence but would not know where he was. Experience dictated that man will rarely look up to find other men. Denser had an edge.
He dropped silently towards the roof of the Tower, hovering scant feet from its slates, pulsing the same search message all the time. He moved slowly to all corners of the roof, hoping for some signal, some clue as to the direction he should take. He was close, he could feel it, but a wrong move now would mean disaster.
In its mana cage, the Familiar abruptly stopped struggling and cocked its head. It grasped the bars with its hands and strained forwards, a grin cracking its hairless face.
The mage flinched involuntarily from the sight but managed to smile through his revulsion.
'Excellent. I take it he has arrived,' he said.
'Yes,' said the demon, in a voice like footsteps on wet gravel. 'And you are mine.'
'I don't think so,' said the mage. He turned his chair to face the door, the smug expression on his face hiding the huge effort he was making to ignore the taunts of the beast in the cage behind him.
'Stay back around the corner, I'm at the next ward.'
Erienne's voice brought Will back to himself. He'd been staring at the floor, filling his mind with thoughts of freedom as his body fought the constant pressure of the mana.
He looked up, past Thraun's back, to where Erienne stood at the centre of a cross-passage, the globe bright over her head. Behind her, the passage led on into darkness, and to Will's left and right, the shelves of caskets had given way to blank walls as the passage narrowed.
'Where are we?' he asked.
'Arteche's vault,' said Erienne, indicating to her right. 'The door down here is the entrance. It's guarded. No one is allowed in there bar the present Council of Lore Masters. They are excluded from the ward.'
'But you can get round it?'
'Sort of. It would be more accurate to say I can move it.'
'Then why-' began Will.
'They're just a deterrent to Dordovan mages and moving them's not without risk even if you know the structure. People like you, though, ordinary people, you wouldn't stand a chance. What was left of you I could scrape into the palm of my hand.'
'Nice,' muttered Thraun. 'So what is it, exactly?'
'Essentially, it's a bubble of mana which covers the door and inside it is the trap spell. If you're careful, you can make the bubble slide; if not, it will burst . . . I'll call you when I'm ready, but tread slowly.'
'Good luck,' said Thraun.
'Thanks,' she said, and walked away around the corner.
At the ward, she refocused her eyes, tuning in tight to the mana spectrum. It was exactly as she had described, a bubble of mana which bulged out some five feet from the door and was anchored flush with all four edges. It was a gentle orange - the static mana which kept it active didn't have the bright force of focused mana - and inside, the trap spell pulsed blue, cold and deadly.
She reached out her hands to the bubble and pushed very gently against it. The surface gave like a full water skin. It was a good sign. The give afforded her some margin of error which a taut ward did not. It had clearly not been maintained for some considerable time.
Erienne dropped her hands and concentrated, beginning the process of creating a mana shape to completely isolate the ward. She built out from the centre, drawing on the reserves of her body only slightly as the crypts supplied almost all she needed. The shell grew, expanded and reshaped. A circle at first, it soon took on the outline of the target ward, matching its shape utterly in every detail. In form, though, it was entirely rigid.
It took perhaps five minutes, leaving Erienne nervous about possible discovery. She moved her shell over the ward, forcing it home and feeling a satisfying mental thud as the ward accepted and bonded with her creation. She probed for weak points and there were none. Now, she unlocked the rigidity of the shell and used her mind to press against the whole left-hand side. The ward-shell slid gently back into itself, freeing first the handle of the door, then more, until half of it was out of the ward's influence. Satisfied, she stood with her back to the shell and called Will and Thraun.
'Will, there's the lock, it needs picking,' she said as they appeared. 'On no account attempt to move behind me. Only walk in front of me. Do you understand?'
'Yes,' said both men.
The lock was so easy that Will felt vaguely insulted. At Erienne's nod, he turned the handle and pushed the door ajar.
'Go inside and move to the left. Lean against the wall, you'll be safe enough. You too, Thraun, I've got to let the ward back.'
The two men moved inside. By the partial light cast by Erienne's globe, they could make out a dim shape in the centre of the room, long and low. The light brightened as Erienne stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The globe illuminated a simple chamber, panelled in stone with its ceiling at around eight feet.
The shape in the centre was a single stone sarcophagus. It was flat, wide and featureless but for an inscription at one end. On top of it lay a sword, a deep blue and orange robe in a glass case, and an ornamental ring. The atmosphere was easier in the chamber, and Will breathed in deeply, gratefully. He looked around again. The walls were plain and they'd entered by the only door.
'Is this it?' Will was singularly unimpressed.
'What did you expect?' asked Erienne, walking to the sarcophagus, her eyes fixed on the ring, frowning.
'Something a little grander, frankly.'
'A Lore Master may be ostentatious in life, but in death he needs nothing but mana to cloak him. Oh, dear.' She made a slow circuit of the casket, hands deep in her robes.
'What is it?' asked Will.
'The ward surrounding the ring. I . . . hold on.' She breathed deep and looked again at the extraordinary mana shape. It was small, perhaps the size of a human skull, but two factors set it apart. It had three bands of rotating colour - orange, blue and a deep green - and the shape itself was spiked, giving the whole the appearance of an oversized mace.
Erienne had never heard or read of anything like it before, and when she moved her mana-shielded hands towards it, the ward's colours shifted and darkened, threatening to break the shield. She withdrew, arms tingling in the aftermath of the encounter.