'I'll bear your warning in mind,' said Selik.
'I sincerely hope not,' said Anders. 'Now, I don't expect to see you at my gates ever again. Only two of your men will collect water at a time, and they will ask permission at the gates before entering. And should any of my men or mages be abused verbally or physically by any of your men, I will seek you out and kill you myself. How do those rules sound to you?'
'Whatever makes you happy, Commander. Good day. We will not speak again.'
Selik walked on, not sparing Anders another glance. He picked up his pace as he strode down into the town, noting the temporary picketing of horses and the boards levered off wrecked buildings to fuel fires. He snapped his fingers at a nearby Black Wing whose name escaped him. No more than a thug, the man, with thick neck and bald head covered in tattoos, ambled across, a stalk of grass hanging from his mouth.
'Where is Devun?'
The man shrugged and pointed. 'In the old inn, I think.'
'See that Edman and Callom join us there immediately. And then start ferrying water, two men at a time, from the compound. And keep your mouth shut. They may be college scum but we need them until we get back, understand?'
The man looked at him with sullen eyes but nodded. 'Yes, Captain.'
'Then get on with it.'
Selik marched to the inn, identifiable only because of the brace on which the sign had once hung. Inside, he found Devun and Edman talking with another two. They were among a litter of splintered timbers but had found a serviceable table and bench.
'You two, get out of here. See to your horses and wait for orders,' said Selik, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. 'And if you see Callom, get him in here quickly.'
He watched them until they disappeared through the door out to the street.
'Right. Where's the mage?'
'Callom's got him. We're still working on him,' said Devun. 'Gods, but he's a tough bastard.'
'Keep going. I want him cracked by the morning or his corpse in the ground.'
'Yes, Captain,' said Edman, a Black Wing veteran; tall, well built with dark brown hair and a bushy beard flecked with grey.
'Right, I've learned two things. First, the garrison here is small but has reasonable mage strength. However, it is isolated. Second, Blackthorne is definitely harbouring mages.
'Things need to move fast now. It's eight days' ride to Blackthorne and I'll be leaving before dawn tomorrow. Give it half a day to talk to the Baron and scout the area and another eight days back and you have your timescale.'
'Is it worth visiting Blackthorne, sir? After all, he won't join us,' said Edman.
'I have to know the threat he poses to us, and I have to canvass opinion of our crusade in the outlying villages. Yes, it's worth it. And I have to try to convert him before declaring him an enemy. Think if I could persuade him against his beliefs.'
'And the rest of the plan still holds?' asked Edman.
'Yes. You and Callom each pick five good men. Mobilise support. Bring supply. Bring it here. I want the first true Balaians here by the time the garrison is cleared. I can give you a maximum of twenty days. Think you can do that?'
'Yes, sir.' Edman nodded. 'And what about the garrison?'
'Leave it to me. Don't worry. By the time you get back, we'll be in charge of Understone. Now pick your men, brief Callom when you see him, since he's obviously otherwise engaged now, and get some rest. You're leaving before me.'
Edman nodded and trotted out of the inn. Selik turned to Devun and breathed out long.
'Any alcohol in here?'
'No, sir.' Devun smiled. 'We've looked.'
'Cellars?'
'Empty.'
'Dammit.' Selik sat down heavily on the bench, which creaked alarmingly.
'Are you worried, Captain?'
Selik looked up into Devun's eyes and shook his head. 'Not really. But this is our best chance to bring down the colleges and I can't afford it to go wrong. We've got to crack that mage, make sure he takes our message. Their divisions need deepening.'
'I'll see what I can do, Captain.' Devun cracked his knuckles for effect.
'You're a good man, Devun,' said Selik. 'I'm glad you're with me. The sacrifices are many on the path to righteousness. Get to it.'
Devun beamed, saluted and left.
Selik smiled at his retreating back. Heryst, Lord Elder Mage of Lystern, slapped his riding gloves down on the table in the great hall of the college's vast tower complex and poured himself a large goblet of wine. He stared around at the tapestries of his forerunners while he calmed himself and waited for the council.
Galloping through the quiet streets of Lystern in the early hours of the morning on the last day of his ride from Dordover, Heryst had felt the anger redouble in him. This city was dragging itself back from the brink of famine. Its people had worked hard and believed in the rationing that had kept them alive. They had taken in refugees by the thousand, gone without to do so, and still there had been little disorder.
The streets were clean, the markets still bought and sold, trade was just beginning to show some recovery and he had seen real optimism in the faces of those he had passed.
And now it was being threatened. Pointlessly threatened.
Draining his goblet, he poured more, enjoying the taste of the wine so early in the day, feeling it warming his mind and easing his frayed temper. He walked to one of the great arched windows and looked down over his college.
The great hall sat at the top of the wide low tower that was the centre of Lysternan magic. Only forty feet high, with a plain tiled conical roof, it had a diameter three times its height and an intricate beam system bound by magic that kept the roof from collapsing. Beneath the great hall, ceremonial chambers, lecture theatres and laboratories were dug deep into the earth surrounding the Heart of the college.
Like the spokes of a wheel, seven stone corridors spread from the tower to an outer circle of offices and classrooms, and between the corridors were seven stunning gardens, places of contemplation reserved for the senior mages of the college. Orchards, shrubberies, rock gardens, pools and fantastic arrays of flowers; the mood of the mage and the season dictated where one might be found walking or sitting.
Linked to the outer circle, arcs of buildings spread hundreds of yards in all directions: the library, refectories, cold room, mana bowl, long rooms and chambers of those resident. Only Heryst himself had his rooms and offices in the tower. All built to a focused design, Lysternan magic found power in the geometry of its buildings, their precise architecture and the angles of walls and roofs. Heryst didn't claim to know a great deal about the origins of the knowledge, he only knew he was not going to let it be torn apart.
He sat in his luxuriously upholstered and very high-backed chair, all deep greens and blood reds, and looked around the circular table, with its diamond-patterned marquetry and its hollows where the elbows of ages had worn its scratched but polished surface. What decisions had been taken here over the centuries, what great projects had been discussed. History hung in the air; you could all but smell it. But no subject could have been more important than the one about to be aired now.
Doors opened all along the semicircular corridor that bordered the great hall on one side and in came the council. Thirty men and women, expectant but a little anxious at being called from their beds so early. Each took his or her allotted place at the table. Not a one spoke aloud though Heryst could feel the odd surge of Communion as some tried to get a hint of what was to come from friends they thought in higher places than themselves.
'My friends, I apologise for the intrusion on your rest this morning and for my appearance,' said Heryst, when all were seated. He had no doubt the fact he was still dusty and sweaty from the road had raised a few eyebrows. 'But there are things I need to know and you need to hear.'