Pamun’s glare was tight with malice.
‘Oh yes, Pamun, I will deliver Sentaya at the same time — that’s what this is about, isn’t it? My victory bringing about your shame.’
Pamun stood across the table. ‘No, Ystormun, this is about your petty revenge on some southern barbarians. There is nothing else in your mind. Do not dare to claim otherwise.’
Ystormun crossed his arms over his chest before sweeping them wide open. The six fires blew out, diminishing the light.
‘And I will have no more of this heat. Your protestations are based on the worst of all weaknesses, fear. You fear I will be defeated and our cadre will be left vulnerable to the Xeteskians’ new casting. Your lack of belief will undo you. Xetesk is locked on the other side of the mountains. I will not fall. I will not even be scratched. You would deny me glory because you fear my influence will grow. Fear. I had not thought to see it in you, my brothers.’
Ystormun smiled at the blow he had struck. Arumun managed to hold his gaze.
‘Deny that you seek revenge.’
‘I do not deny it,’ said Ystormun. ‘Why should I deny myself the satisfaction even as I bring this conflict to a close? I will see the terror in Auum and Takaar’s eyes as I kill them. I want to see the knowledge of their failure as their last breaths leave their broken tortured bodies. I want them to know that I will be visiting the same pain on their homeland. I want to tell them so myself as the skin is flayed from their bodies.
‘Your proclivities bring nothing but fleeting arousal, Arumun. Mine bring joy. Indulge in hate, it is beautiful when it is released.’
‘It blinds you and will destroy us all,’ said Belphamun.
‘I am happy to be so pivotal to your survival.’
‘We are six or we are none,’ said Belphamun.
‘Then do not seek to stop me, or whether I live or die, we will be none.’
By any measure Bynaar was well protected. He was a Circle Seven mage, not a position achieved by a lack of attention to detail. Even in his temporary accommodation in Understone, with Xeteskian forces dominating every approach and comprising the garrison, he had not neglected his personal security.
His bodyguard of Protectors ringed the house he occupied. Others patrolled the ground floor, and he had guards positioned outside his rooms on the first floor. His most trusted mages watched the garrison and the lands beyond, and he was perpetually covered by a magical shield should any rival decide to disturb his sleep by attempting to murder him.
Whenever he ate he had his own cooks prepare the food, and the castings he played over it would detect any poison. And when he slept or took to the quiet of his drawing room to rest and read, his familiar was the eyes in the back of his head.
Bynaar was irritable but in the end unconcerned by the escape of some elves into the Blackthorne Mountains. He felt their survival was unlikely and, even if they did reach Wesman lands, their capacity to inflict damage could only help Xetesk’s cause.
But he could not shake off an unwelcome anxiety. His latest contact with Kerela had not gone well. The Julatsans and their cursed elven allies had been irritatingly persistent. She had accused him outright of betrayal and said some unsettling things about the Septern Manse and the movement of the most powerful of the elves. If she was right then he could cause significant problems. He could not afford to have the Wytch Lords move until he was ready.
Bynaar sat with a jug of wine in front of a dying fire as night closed in. He had much to read but had instead spent most of his time staring at the flames as they danced, rose and fell, finding comfort in their patterns.
‘What an interesting creature.’
The words startled him enough to cause him to spill his wine and send his parchments tumbling to the floor. The voice was melodious, rolling the language easily and imbuing it with a unique and compelling rhythm.
Bynaar pushed himself from his chair and turned from the fire, blinking the glamour from his eyes. At least the figure by the balcony doors wasn’t there to kill him or why had he chosen to speak? Bynaar wondered if he had fallen asleep but dismissed the notion the next instant. More pressing concerns raised themselves.
His familiar was where he had left it, curled up on the back of his chair in classic feline repose. Of course it should have transformed by now and flown to the attack, but it appeared not to have noticed the intruder. It hadn’t even raised its head. That was quite impossible.
The figure moved from the balcony towards the pair of luxuriously upholstered chairs in front of the fireplace. Bynaar did not move, letting his eyes track and watch the elf, who had an effortless grace and a presence that utterly dominated his. He had a wild look to his eyes but it clashed with an equally frightening intelligence. He radiated power of a sort Bynaar could sense but not penetrate.
‘You must be Takaar,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Takaar.
‘You do understand that one word from me and your life is over.’
Takaar muttered something to himself and smiled. ‘That I am in this room should tell you I do not fear that.’
‘What have you done to my. . pet?’
‘Nothing.’ Takaar pointed at a chair. ‘May I?’
‘Apparently I am powerless to stop you. Help yourself to wine.’
Takaar sat but ignored the wine. ‘I had no wish to disturb its sleep so I have created a silence where it may continue to rest. It is not a cat, though, and it has energies that connect with your own. Very interesting.’
Bynaar studied him. There was no way Takaar should be able to detect the bond between a mage and his familiar. He thought for a moment, realising it was unusually quiet in the house and without, even for this time of the night.
‘You’ve created silence for this whole room too, haven’t you?’
Takaar smiled. ‘Was that inference or detection?’
‘I’m not about to reveal that.’
Takaar’s smile vanished and he cocked an ear and tutted.
‘Well I think it’s clever even if you don’t.’
‘You think what is clever?’ asked Bynaar.
Takaar stared at him for a moment. ‘I wasn’t addressing you.’
Bynaar didn’t know how to take that so he ignored it. The elf was probably just thinking out loud. Bynaar clacked his tongue.
‘So, here you are. I’m assuming I am not an assassination target so what is it you want?’
Takaar’s eyes widened and a childish grin came over his face. He leaned forward, his voice barely audible.
‘I want to help you win the war.’
‘That’s not something I expected you to say.’
‘You expected me to threaten your life if you didn’t call your dogs away from Julatsa’s walls?’ said Takaar.
‘Something like that.’ Against his better judgement Bynaar was curious. ‘So how do you propose to accomplish this, and why would you?’
Takaar’s expression changed almost every time he spoke. The impishness had gone and in its place was gravitas. It was most unsettling. Bynaar wondered if Takaar was quite all there.
‘Because the elves desire the death of the Wytch Lords and because you are destroying this land in pursuit of a spell you can never recover. Knowing that, you must cancel your alliance with them and destroy the Wytch Lords now because it will be your only opportunity.’
‘But that leaves us with rivals, and we don’t want rivals,’ said Bynaar.
Takaar’s expression darkened and he stared to his right, nodding his head.
‘You must not condescend to me. I am, as always, just clinging on. Sometimes I slip.’
Bynaar frowned. ‘You’ve lost me completely. What do you mean, slip?’
‘I mean,’ said Takaar, now adopting the expression of a mother instructing a dim child, ‘that those who choose to laugh at me and undermine me are sometimes removed. Auum says I cannot control my anger. I am starting to think he is right.’