‘A master,’ said Richmond drily.
‘Spell it out then,’ said Hirad. ‘No pun intended.’
‘Right,’ the Julatsan began. He glanced at Denser, who motioned him to continue. ‘Septern, as we keep saying, was very clever. When he constructed the spell and worked out how powerful it actually was, he wrote three catalysts into its lore without which it would not work. Catalysts can be any number and anything the mage chooses; Septern could have chosen a mug of beer if he’d wanted. The point is that once the lore is written, it can’t be changed, and Septern chose three catalysts he knew it would be all but impossible to bring together in one place.
‘This parchment is the complete spell, and while it doesn’t tell how the catalysts underpin Dawnthief, it gives their names and locations as he knew them.’ He paused. The room was silent. ‘You ready for this?’
Richmond shrugged. ‘I doubt it,’ he said.
‘So do I,’ said Ilkar grimly. He referred to the parchment. ‘The first is a Dordovan Ring of Authority. Now, all four Colleges have these. They are worn by Lore Masters and are signs of rank and seniority. All Rings of Authority are individually designed and cast and are only ever worn by the one Master. When he or she dies, the ring is buried with them. The particular ring Septern names belonged to the Lore Master Arteche, and so will be in his tomb in Dordover.’
Talan shifted. ‘So we have to go into a College City, break into their Masters’ mausoleum and take this ring, right?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’ Ilkar had the grace to appear apologetic at least.
‘Can’t we just ask them to hand it over?’ asked Richmond.
‘Come on, man, think!’ snapped Denser. ‘We’d be asking a College to desecrate its tombs and we couldn’t tell them why because they’d try to control the spell. It has to be a theft and they mustn’t know until afterwards.’
‘Going to give the ring back later on, are you?’ Talan’s laugh was dismissive.
‘I expect I will be forced to, Talan, yes.’
‘Too bloody right you will,’ muttered Hirad.
‘Can we discuss this later, do you think?’ Ilkar waved the parchment. ‘There’s more, and it doesn’t get any better.’
‘I can’t wait.’ Talan stretched out his legs.
‘The second catalyst is the Death’s Eye Stone.’
‘I’ve heard of that, haven’t I?’ Richmond aimed the question at Denser, who nodded.
‘I expect you have,’ replied the mage. ‘It’s the centrepiece of the Wrethsires’ religion.’
‘That’s right. Death worshippers, aren’t they?’ His brow furrowed. ‘Don’t they have some magic?’ He ground his teeth, thinking hard.
‘Oh, yeah, “the fifth College”.’ Denser glanced across at Ilkar, his face all but dripping contempt. Ilkar huffed. ‘They have no lore, no history and no mana ability. That they presume to liken themselves to the four Colleges is not only outrageous but a slur against magic itself.’
‘But you’re right, Richmond,’ said Ilkar. ‘They do worship Death in the belief it’ll free them from eternal damnation, or something like that, and they do have some form of altered magic which they don’t fully understand. It makes them dangerous.’
‘They’re going to love us, aren’t they?’ grumbled Hirad. ‘Stealing their most important artefact.’
Ilkar shrugged. ‘Denser never said we could pick the sodding things up from the market, did he?’
‘No, he didn’t,’ said Hirad. ‘He never wanted to tell us anything at all. I didn’t choose to get involved in this and have my life totally screwed up, so if I want to moan about things I have to do that seem beyond my control; or about how he—’ he stabbed a finger at Denser, ‘has been responsible for the deaths of my friends, I will bloody well do so.’
Denser sighed. Hirad tensed but made no move.
‘Have you got a problem with that, Xetesk man?’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ said Ilkar quickly. ‘Now then, the third catalyst.’ He scanned The Raven, daring anyone to speak further. ‘Right. Now this one poses a problem of location, because it’s the Badge of Office of the Understone Pass Guard Commander.’ There was a contemplative silence.
‘But the Korina Trade Alliance lost Understone Pass nine years ago. There isn’t a commander any more,’ said Talan at length. He took the parchment from Ilkar, frowning at the lore script it contained.
‘Exactly,’ said Ilkar. ‘So where is the Badge?’
Another silence. Hirad tried hard to suppress a smile but failed. He gave a short laugh and stood up.
‘And you buggers are always accusing me of not knowing my history!’ he said.
Ilkar frowned at him. ‘Explain.’
‘When the pass was opened, the Badge of Office was given to Baranck, the first Commander, by the Baron Council, which, as I’m sure you’re all aware, was the forerunner of the Korina Trade Alliance. That must have been over five hundred years ago - before the Wytch Lords came to power the first time.
‘It was a purely ceremonial pendant but the regulation stated that it was not to be removed from the pass unless it was lost. In that event, the Badge was to be taken by the defeated Commander and kept as a standard for the forces who would eventually retake the pass.’ He stared around a row of blank faces.
‘Must I spell it out?’
‘I think so, Hirad, yes,’ said Ilkar.
‘Gods above, Ilkar, we were talking about him on the road the other day.’
‘Were we?’
‘Yes. And it looks as if I’ll be getting my wish sooner than I thought.’ Hirad bared his teeth. ‘The last commander was Captain Travers.’
The loss of their Destranas would normally have led to harsh discipline, even death, but this time their information bought their lives. A day’s ride from their encounter with The Raven near Septern’s long barn, the Wesmen scouts stood in the centre of a clearing in dense woodland, speaking to their Shaman, who sat under canvas, drinking a colourless strength-giving spirit.
‘It is as the Masters expected,’ said the leader of the party. ‘Easterners are searching the old house.’
The Shaman nodded and placed his cup on the ground. ‘I must relate the news immediately. Prepare to leave. I think war may be very close.’
There was no argument. It wasn’t just that the Black Wings’ castle was the nearest of the three catalyst locations. That wouldn’t have figured as an issue. The fact was that Hirad was not interested in going anywhere else until Travers and all the Black Wings were dead. With the day not far past its mid-point, The Raven ate a leisurely meal in the ruins of Septern’s house before taking the horses back to the long barn. Hirad eventually agreed that they should not move on any further until the next morning; Ilkar’s insistence that they give themselves the maximum daylight to escape the boundaries of the rip’s influence was unshakeable. And the barbarian had to concede that a night spent in the total security afforded by Septern’s sealed workshop, where no one had to stand guard, no one had to keep a fire tended and no one had to react to every sound, was a very attractive prospect.
The smoke from the camp fire continued to spiral calmly into the sky as the afternoon waned towards dusk. Richmond snapped a branch into three and added it to the small blaze, dry leaves crackling as they caught in the heat. Denser, having lost the toss earlier in the afternoon, was leaning against a wall, reading Septern’s journal now that Ilkar had finished with it. His pipe was, as ever, clamped between his teeth, and his head never wavered, rapt in the information he was assimilating.
Faint sounds from the workshop below told that Denser’s Familiar was still rooting around in Septern’s other equipment and papers. The Dark Mage had cautioned them not to go down there. With Talan outside somewhere trying to make sense of the immediate area to give them some semblance of a route the following morning, Ilkar and Hirad were left to sit together in the wan sunlight.