‘Of course,’ said Hirad.
Ilkar chuckled and patted Hirad on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. Look, here’s a very brief lesson. College lore is something that is passed down through the College over generations. It’s not something you can learn like you can the words of a spell. You have to, I don’t know, assimilate it over years, I suppose. That’s why Xetesk couldn’t read this. It’s Julatsan lore code.’ He stopped.
‘Go on. I think I’m there,’ said Hirad. ‘What does this lore do, then?’
‘Well, it doesn’t do much in the sense you mean. It’s a way of storing College memories. In simple terms, the lore I know teaches me how to shape mana for the spells I use, although it’s actually much more complex than that. And if I can work out the code on this amulet, it’ll tell me how to divine what it is that operates the entrance to Septern’s workshop. Or at least, that’s the theory.’
Hirad studied Ilkar’s earnest face, the elf’s sharply tapering eyebrows angled down between his eyes so that they almost met at his nose. He smiled.
‘Thank you for that, Ilkar. I suppose you’d best get on with it.’
Ilkar nodded and walked to the centre of the room, sitting where Denser indicated he thought the entrance to be. Hirad moved to sit in the rubble, where he could watch Ilkar’s face. It struck him again that for all the years they’d known each other, he’d never taken any interest in magic at all. How it worked, who was who, what you had to do. Nothing. Hardly surprising really, he reflected. Magic was Ilkar’s job. Hirad could never perform it, so he’d never bothered to look into it.
Sitting cross-legged, Ilkar held the amulet on his open palms, examining it intently, occasionally mouthing words. He was breathing slowly and deeply, and when he closed his eyes, his chest continued to move, somewhat to Hirad’s surprise.
Hirad glanced at Denser, who was also studying Ilkar, right hand absently scratching the cat’s chin, unlit pipe clamped between his teeth. There was a half-smile on his face and fascination in his eyes.
Ilkar was searching for something, that much was apparent. His head was sweeping the area immediately in front of him, his eyes roving behind closed lids. Hirad frowned and shifted, his mouth turning up at one corner, dimpling his cheek. He found the sight unnerving.
Ilkar licked his lips and started probing the floor with his fingers, amulet now in his lap. Suddenly, his sightless eyes shifted to his right to where Denser was standing. The Dark Mage flinched reflexively. Ilkar kept staring, unmoving, for fully half a minute.
He opened his eyes. ‘Got it,’ he said.
‘Excellent.’ Denser’s smile broadened.
Ilkar got to slightly unsteady feet and walked over to the Dark Mage. Hirad stepped over to examine the floor where Ilkar had been probing. To him it was just hard and cold.
‘It’s a control spell. Dordovan, I think. I’ll try it, it should be simple enough.’ Ilkar looked again at the amulet, turned it over and mouthed a few words. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Hirad, I would advise you to move a couple of paces backwards.’ The barbarian shrugged and did so.
Ilkar placed a palm on either side of the amulet, closed his eyes and muttered a brief incantation. There was a momentary hiss of escaping air from a seal, and an entire slab of stone disappeared from where Hirad had been standing.
‘All right, Ilkar, I’m impressed,’ said Hirad.
‘Thank you, Hirad.’
‘Me too,’ said Denser, moving to the hole Ilkar had made. ‘Dimensional transference. No wonder the Wytch Lords never found the way in.’
He was joined by Hirad. ‘They don’t make doors like that nowadays, eh?’
‘Hirad, nobody ever made them like that. Except Septern, it seems.’
They could see nothing down the hole. The first few steps of a flight led into the darkness, and there was an impression of size, but that was it. Hirad called to Talan to bring in two lanterns, and with them lit, he moved cautiously down the stairs, unsheathed sword in one hand, lantern in the other.
The air was musty and smelt of age, and Hirad could see he was descending into a chamber almost the same size as the room above it. All but covering the wall directly opposite him was a moving dark. Swirls of deep greys, flecked with brown, green and the odd flash of white, poured over each other, going nowhere. The dark roiled and swam within its frame, alien and menacing, its silence adding to its threat. The room held an air of expectancy and Hirad couldn’t shift the sensation that the swirls would snatch out to grab him and pull him into nowhere. The thought made him shudder. He stopped and felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘It’s the dimensional rip. Nothing to worry about,’ said Denser.
‘Can’t things come through, you know, from the other side?’ Hirad wafted his sword in the direction of the rip.
‘No. Septern stabilised it using his magic and lore. You have to start this side to get back to this side.’
Hirad nodded and moved on down, only half convinced by Denser’s reply. The rip was compelling. It gave an aura of impenetrable depth but Hirad could see its edge and it seemed to hang on the wall like a picture, less than a hand’s width thick.
All around was the debris of a life. To his left as he descended was a table covered in papers, and near it, another scattered with implements, flasks and powders. A chest was lodged against the right wall. A layer of dust faded sharp outlines and at the bottom of the stairs was the answer to a riddle.
‘Septern,’ said Hirad.
‘Undoubtedly.’ Denser moved past the barbarian to examine the body. ‘Three hundred years and he could have died yesterday.’
The body, head forward, eyes closed, dark hair thinning and close-cropped, was crumpled against a wall in a half-slouch, hands partially covering a bloodied tear in an otherwise white shirt. As the lantern-light swept away the shadows, it revealed a large, dark and dusty stain on the flagstones.
Denser looked up at Hirad. ‘Think how close they came to ultimate victory. Septern escaping down here saved everyone. I wonder if he knew that?’ He moved to the paper-strewn table, sat in a chair and began to leaf through the mass of documents.
Hirad moved off the stairs and was followed into the workshop by Ilkar, Talan and Richmond. The elf repeated his earlier spell and the hole closed above them.
‘Ilkar?’
‘Yes, Hirad?’
‘If you’ve got the amulet there and you need it to open and close the door, how did he do it?’
The mage straightened. ‘Good question. Any ideas, Denser?’
Denser, who had just uncovered a leather-bound book, turned. ‘I don’t know, what did you do?’
‘It’s similar to a FlamePalm but you have to be holding the amulet so that the flame is directed straight into it.’
‘Whatever the amulet’s made of will be the catalyst, then. Have you checked his neck?’
‘His neck?’ Ilkar’s scowl was momentary. ‘Oh, I see.’ He bent to Septern and put his hand inside the dead man’s collar. Hirad could see the shudder from where he was standing.
‘Feel good, Ilkar?’
‘Clammy and cold, Hirad. Waxy too. Really, really unpleasant. He is wearing a chain, though.’ Ilkar took the chain over Septern’s head and nodded as he looked at the blood-stained copy amulet hanging from it. ‘The faces are largely blank, it’s just the edging that has the same design.’
‘Good,’ said Denser. ‘I wouldn’t like to think he’d made several copies of the way in here.’ He went back to his reading.
Hirad turned his attention to Talan and Richmond who had been poking idly at the glassware on one of the tables but had now begun to examine the chest. Ilkar came to his side, wiping his hands down his armour.
‘What do you think of this?’ He pointed at the rip, its gentle swirling still slow and rhythmic.