'It is difficult to be certain. The effect was only faintly visible in the spectrum though even that was strong enough to wake us all,' explained the middle-aged mage, a man whom Dystran had never come across before.
'But it came from Lystern,' said Dystran.
'Undoubtedly, my Lord.'
'Humour me now,' said Dystran. 'And take your best guess. I understand your desire for exactitude but I have to plan. I, after all, am in charge. What do you think caused this ripple or polarisation, whatever the term you prefer to use?'
'It felt familiar, my Lord,' said the analyst. 'Unpleasantly so. If you pressed me, I would say, and I must beg leave to verify, but I would say we had experienced a casting of the One magic. All the signs that we learned so well from the Nightchild's devastation were there but this was ordered. Under control.'
'Yes!' Dystran clapped his hands together. 'Correct answer. Verify away. Don't sleep until you have the proof you need and don't fear being wrong. I need the truth more than I need lies dressed up as good news.'
Dystran called his advisers to him and strode from the room.
'Get me whoever it is that's in charge on Herendeneth. I need to know why the hell the Al-Drechar haven't revealed there was another practitioner. And get me Chandyr and Myx from whatever front they're defending. The march on Julatsa might have to be postponed.
'Oh, and get me an update on our dimensional experiments based on the information those two women supplied us. Gods, there's so much to do.'
He turned a corner and took a spiral staircase, going up two steps at a time.
'Ranyl,' he said to himself. 'You'll have to postpone dying. I need you more than the darkness does.'
In Dordover, the night's rest was over for every mage capable of reading the signs in the spectrum. Vuldaroq had received powerful and urgent Communion from Lystern shortly after midnight. The news had sent him surging from his bed, his overweight body sweating as he ran, wiping a cloth at his puffy red face.
Even in his dreams he had felt the unease that had whispered through the mana spectrum and on hearing the report from his delegation and his experts, knew his feelings were grounded in truth.
'Be absolutely sure,' he instructed the research team. 'But be quick about it. I want to know how this is possible. And at first light, I want to see the Lystern delegation. In the meantime, I want every spare man hunting The Raven. I think it's safe to assume, as our delegation suspects, that Erienne carries the One, if indeed we are facing that power again. I want her here, where she belongs, as a child of this college.'
He sat back in his chair. 'Dear Gods falling, The Raven. Praise the day when they stop making my life so bloody difficult.' He sighed and looked around him. 'Come on, we've got work to do.'
Chapter 7
In contrast to the dawn weather, the mood was distinctly cool in the Al-Drechar's reception room on Herendeneth. Myriell joined Cleress as usual in their preferred location by the kitchen, their elven helpers shadowing every uncertain, arthritic step. No one would dare disturb their sleep but a trio of tired-looking Xeteskian mages was waiting for them as they awoke. She recognised them all; Nyam, Leryn and Krystaj.
'To what do we owe this pleasure?' asked Myriell, having spent an inordinate amount of time having her cushions and blankets precisely arranged by her Guild elf attendant, Nerane.
She could feel their irritation growing but ignored it and the increasingly frequent 'tuts' coming from Cleress. But then Cleress had spent so much more time defending Erienne's mind of late, including her rather rash use of a creation she wasn't quite ready to use. Understandably, she was tired.
Myriell, on the other hand, had enjoyed her best night's rest for ages and felt energetic enough to indulge in mischief-making.
'You have not been straight with us,' said Leryn. He was their leader and a fool. All slimy smiles and political intent.
'I think you'll find we have answered all your questions to the best of our ability,' said Myriell evenly.
'You did not tell us there was another practitioner of the One.'
'You didn't ask.'
'So there is.' Krystaj this time, a bored and ineffectual student. A poor mage.
'That is your assumption,' said Cleress, finally connecting with Myriell's train of thought.
'And we wouldn't dream of questioning the assumptions of Xetesk,' added Myriell. Looking Leryn square in the eye.
'So tell us,' said Nyam, the only smart one among them. 'Is there another practitioner?'
Myrieil smiled. 'We were a widespread order at one time. There is a chance that others have survived like we have.'
'That is surely untrue,' said Nyam. 'You two are over four hundred years old and have survived this long only because you've been here and have had daily care. We have detected the One magic on Balaia. We suspect a student and you are the only teachers.'
Myrieil and Cleress were silent.
'Tell us,' said Nyam. 'Is there a student with whom you have contact?'
We cannot tell them, pulsed Cleress.
They know already. All we can do is divert them.
They will guess.
This was always inevitable.
‘Iwould remind you that we are not under your control, merely your protection, such as it is,' said Myrieil. 'And we are happy to help with your researches. The state of our order is, and will remain, our own business.'
'Your evasion confirms our suspicions,' said Leryn.
'And your assumptions. Is the knowledge useful?' Cleress employed her best patronising smile.
'You will tell us the name of the practitioner,' said Leryn.
'Ah,' said Myrieil, holding up a finger in admonishment and beginning to really enjoy herself. 'Definitely a mistaken assumption. No we will not, even assuming we know.'
Leryn snatched up the neck of her dress beneath the blankets, dragging her almost upright.
'You are testing my patience, Myrieil. Tell us what we need to know or we will extract it.'
Myrieil felt no fear and displayed nothing but calm. 'Fascinating. Don't you agree, Cleress?'
'Fascinating,' she agreed.
'We were wondering how you propose to do that,' said Myrieil.
'Pain is a great loosener of tongues,' said Leryn.
Myrieil nodded. 'How original.'
She gripped Leryn's wrist with her right hand, her meditation quick and sure. Erienne's chosen construct would be admirable. Short, sharp and very, very hot.
Leryn cried out in sudden pain, leaping backwards and dropping Myriell who released his wrist and settled back into her chair. Leryn looked at his blackened arm, the smell of his toasted skin in the air, die thin tendrils of smoke mesmerising.
'Do not make the mistake of thinking you can threaten us, Xeteskian,' said Myriell, all traces of humour gone from her voice and face. 'We have power you can only guess at and while our bodies may be frail, the One sustains us and guides us until our last breaths. We are in charge here and you will not demand anything of us. Now, the audience is over. Cleress and I wish to talk. Leave at once.'
Myriell signalled Nerane to rearrange her blankets. Nyam opened his mouth but Cleress stayed his words.
'We will not repeat ourselves,' she said.
Nyam looked at Leryn who nodded, his pained expression a picture of shock and humiliation. The three mages left the room in silence.
It is dangerous to stoke their anger, said Cleress, still choosing to speak mind to mind.
It is time they knew their place, countered Myriell. When we were protecting poor Lyanna we had no strength to protect ourselves. Now it is different, if only by a small degree but they will not know that. We are the Al-Drechar. I will not have them think we are helpless.