The Written (10 page)

Farden reached the foot of the
Spire and made for the entrance. As he walked closer to the door a
deep vibration could be heard, like a large bell tolling under a
hill.

‘ ‘Fraid you can’t go in sire,
too many already in there,’ said a short man in uniform who stood
at the doorway. He pointed inside with his thumb. Farden peered
through the doorway into the enormous atrium of the Spire, a
cavernous hall filled with stairs and corridors running in every
imaginable direction. Hanging in the middle of the atrium was a
colossal dragon scale suspended in the air by great steel chains.
It quivered with energy and was making a deep whining sound. Too
many Written mages in the Spire at one time could send the other
men mad from the pure power of raw magick. The beaten dragon scale
was like a warning bell for the Spire, ringing whenever the magick
grew to dangerous levels. It was annoying, but necessary.

Farden nodded in reluctant
acquiescence and withdrew to a nearby rock. He watched several
people rub at brief headaches and listened to the scale slowly
become quiet again. The mage shrugged to himself: Krauslung could
wait for a little while.

Cheska was standing in her room
watching the messenger hawk flutter around her windowsill; the poor
bird was trying to find a place to land somewhere amidst the frozen
snow on the stone ledge, flapping and mewing and being altogether
unsuccessful. As soon as it came close enough she quickly untied
the wooden canister from its leg and the bird flew off, probably in
search of food. She snapped the tube and took out the scrap of
yellow parchment. Three hastily scribbled words was all she needed
to read. Cheska held the note in her hand and concentrated hard
with muttering lips. There was a brief flash of light and the paper
note became ash in her hand. She winced and sucked her singed
finger. The sound of the scale below her reached her ears and she
immediately turned to leave her modest room. The young woman
quickly checked herself in a polished bronze mirror and opened the
door.

‘Afternoon Cheska.’ Brim smiled
a toothy smile, and winked at her. It didn’t suit him, and made him
look like he had a twitch. Her only friend from the School stood in
her doorway, hand poised to knock on her door.

‘Oh, Brim, I was just leaving,’
Cheska said.

‘Well I’m going to the market,
we can walk if you want?’ He said.

She nodded, sighed inwardly,
and let him walk her to the stairs.

Farden was quickly getting
bored. Some sunlight had broken through the heavy clouds so he had
thrown his hood back to soak up the rare warmth, feeling the
mountain breeze toy with his dark hair. A few soldiers he
recognised acknowledged him in passing with silent nods. The other
Written were mostly courteous, but curious of Farden. The solitary
mage had always been quiet around most of the others, preferring
his own company, and it was no secret in the Spire that people
thought him dangerous and wild. The mage’s eyes scanned the throngs
of people milling around, looking for someone in particular. She
must have heard the scale ring, Farden thought. Then he saw
her.

She never ceased to make his
mouth hang slightly ajar. Cheska looked as stunning as ever. From
his rock he watched her weave through the crowds with all the grace
of a cat, letting her piercing blue eyes rove over the multitude of
faces, obviously looking for someone. Her long blonde hair escaped
from the edges of her hood and swayed hypnotically in the breeze.
She always seemed to be smiling too, ever since he had first seen
her wandering the halls of the Spire, nothing more than a scared
little girl. Her skin was paler than most, and like her hair it
betrayed her Skölgard ancestry. Her royal breeding was obvious in
her gait and posture. Like him, she wore a dark cloak, with a
tight-fitting black tunic that did nothing to hide the tantalising
and untouchable curvature of her body.

It was common knowledge that
Cheska was the daughter of Bane, the King of the powerful Skölgard
empire in the north east. And that made her a princess. For her to
be even living with the Arka, not to mention practising their
dangerous magick, had been a massive political step for both
countries, and a tough one. She had been supervised by a veritable
horde of Skölgard minders, every step of the way, through every
year at the School, until one by one she had shrugged them off and
immersed herself in the brutal world of magick. Farden had to
admit, she was good, better than any he had seen so far, and it had
made their little affair even more exciting and dangerous.

He let his eyes take in every
inch of her. It had been a few months since he had seen her, and a
warm, if not slightly unexpected, feeling spread itself across his
chest. He spied that friend of hers Birn, or Bridd, or whatever his
name was, following her like a loyal dog, hoping to be thrown a
treat. Farden set his jaw with an inkling of jealousy. As her deep
mountain-lake eyes caught his he got to his feet and grinned.

‘Well well! Look what the
gryphon dragged in!’ Cheska smiled as the two came close in a firm
embrace. She stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms around
Farden’s neck. He dared to give her a small quick kiss on the cheek
and she stepped backwards with a coy look. A rare smile crept over
the mage’s lips, and he held her eyes a moment longer than was
necessary.

Brim coughed into his fist
politely and they came out of their little trance. ‘Oh, Farden, you
remember Brim don’t you? He was in the same class at...’

‘We’ve met a few times before.
Good to see you again,’ Farden gripped the man’s hand in an iron
grip. Brim tried and failed to return his icy gaze, and winced at
the handshake. ‘You too sir. What brings you to Manesmark?’ Like
all the others at the School Brim had heard the rumours about this
mysterious character, and was more than a little intimidated by
him.

‘Official business in
Krauslung. I have to be heading there soon.’ Farden said
dismissively, looking at Cheska as she ran a handful of her hair
through her fingers. A flash of something red caught his eye. That
warm feeling in his chest suddenly turned cold. ‘Tell me that’s not
what I think it is…’ he said stonily.

She laughed, shedding his
concern. ‘You’re right,’ She pulled back her cloak sleeves and
revealed a red band of metal wrapped around her slender wrist. It
was a
fjortla
, a bracelet that
traditionally marked a trainee for being Written. Supposedly the
rare red metal brought strength and perseverance to the wearer for
the dangerous tattooing process, a three day process that only half
of the candidates usually survived. Farden still had his old
fjortla somewhere back at the Arkabbey. ‘We both got chosen and
we’ll be Written in less than a month!’ Cheska smiled and put her
hand on Farden’s arm.

‘Both of you?’ He asked.

‘Both of us,’ Brim bared his
wrist and showed him his own bit of red metal.

Farden found himself filled
with anxiety. He couldn’t even begin to care about Brim, but
Cheska? That was a different matter. Here was one of the few people
in the world he did care about, and now she was scheduled for a
terrible, gruelling ritual that could easily kill her.

‘Cheska this is serious…’ began
Farden, but Cheska shook her head defiantly.

‘Don’t even start with that
vulnerable woman shit. You’ll start to sound like my father,’ she
cursed. Farden glared at Brim for a moment and then thought better
of arguing. ‘Fair enough, I won’t say another word.’ He held up his
hands and shrugged. ‘Walk with me for a while?’

Cheska smiled. She turned to
her friend as she left. ‘I’ll come and find you later Brim, I’ll
meet you in the market,’ she said. The young man nodded, a little
confused, and watched the two of them walk off through the throngs
of people and soldiers. ‘Great,’ he muttered, and with a wistful
sigh he turned and headed for Manesmark.

‘Are you actually serious?’
Farden asked gingerly.

‘Oh, don’t be a hypocrite
Farden. You said you couldn’t wait to go through with it when they
chose you.’ Cheska ran a hand through her long blonde hair again.
Her tunic perfectly complimented her slim curves, and Farden
couldn’t help but sneak quick sideways looks at her. ‘What did you
think would happen anyway? That I would spend all these years
training and then just turn it down?’ she huffed, and looked
away.

‘It’s just dangerous Cheska,
and you know…’ Farden trailed off, thinking of Jergan. His boots
kicked loudly at loose stones. They were walking down a quiet path
that curved away from the main thoroughfare between Manesmark and
Krauslung. Behind them the noisy bustle of the Spire could still be
heard over the sound of flags flapping and birds twittering. Cheska
stopped abruptly under a rocky outcrop that bent over the thin
path. ‘I know what?’ She asked.

‘You know.’ Farden waved a hand
dismissively but she caught it deftly and stepped closer to him, a
coy look in her glacial eyes. Cheska pulled at the red scarf around
his neck. ‘Still wearing the present I got you?’ she smiled. He
pulled her closer and they kissed, their lips locked in a
passionate embrace. Farden’s hands snaked around her back and
pulled her closer to him, until she stood on tiptoes and threw her
arms around his neck and let her fingers tangle in his dark hair.
He started to kiss her neck, letting her scent dizzy his head, and
pulled her even closer as his hands moved down her back and
legs.

‘No, not here Farden.’ She put
a hand on his chest and leaned back, and he released her
reluctantly. ‘If we get caught they’ll throw you in the stocks. And
who knows what my father would do.’

‘They wouldn’t dare,’ he said
with a sly grin. ‘You’re not a Written yet, why should it
matter?’

‘Not here,’ Cheska smiled and
kissed him again softly. ‘I think I’ll head back to the Spire,’ she
held a finger to her lips as he began to talk. ‘I know you’re
worried, but I can do this Farden. I’ve spent the last twelve years
training for this, and the gods know I’ve struggled with my father
every step of the way. I’m not going to let another stubborn man
get in my way. Just be here for me, Farden.’

She was right, and annoyingly
she had a point, he thought. Farden nodded and sneaked another kiss
on her cheek, making her laugh and leap away from his grasp. Her
sparkling eyes flicked to the city in the distance. ‘Be careful in
Krauslung,’ she said. Farden took her hand and looked at her with a
rare and mischievous smirk. ‘Me? Be careful? What are a bunch of
bureaucrats and their politics going to do with me?’ He laughed and
winked. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

‘I hope so,’ said Cheska, and
with that she turned to walk back up the path. ‘Tonight?’ Farden
hissed, and she looked back over her shoulder. ‘I’ll find you,’ she
said, and he allowed himself a small smile. The mage watched her
until she had disappeared behind a little ridge. ‘Politics…’ he
muttered with a shake of his head. ‘Politics and rules.’ He kicked
a pebble for good measure and watched it sail down the mountainside
before he left.

A few hours’ walk from
Manesmark, nestled in a deep valley between the twin peaks of
Ursufel and Hardja, lay the immense citadel of Krauslung, capital
city of the Arka, home of the Arkathedral and to the ruling powers
of the magick council.

Farden reached the huge city
just as the afternoon was starting to give way to the dark winter
evening. The sky was still bright even through the clouds, but the
cold darkness of night lingered on the horizon, ready to sneak
through the mountains. The hooded mage strode over the frozen grass
of the valley, staring up at the two steep mountains either side of
him. Their sheer rocky faces were dark grey, sprinkled with a few
hardy shrubs and pines, and they towered over the city walls. The
immense ramparts of Krauslung filled the gap between the two peaks,
using their cliffs as a solid foundation for their thick stone
defences. Acres and acres of fields stretched out in front of the
city. Houses and shacks that were home to hundreds of peasants
squatted in the shadow of the soaring walls. A stream of travellers
and city folk flowed through the massive main gate, its huge
archway dominated by the gatehouse above it that almost rivalled
the Spire at Manesmark in height. Stone battlements crested the
walls, and from there a small army of guards watched over the
arriving visitors and peered down from their reclusive arrow slits.
The long and uneasy ceasefire with the Sirens had made the Arka
guards wary and suspicious over the years, ever fearing the shadow
of a dragon or a Siren spy. Even after fifteen years nobody was
willing to forget.

Farden joined the slow moving
throngs of people heading towards the city, boots crunching on the
gravel on the wide road. He pulled his cloak around him to ward off
the approaching cold. Merchants at the roadside called out to the
passers-by hoping to make a few more sales before night finally
fell. Pigs and goats were being herded in small groups by young
children covered in mud. A few dark-skinned men from the south were
sat around a campfire beside the road, curved swords at their side
and muttering to each other in a low foreign tongue. The smell of
exotic spices and meat tickled Farden’s nose. A fat man riding a
sorry-looking black bear meandered between the people, occasionally
whacking it with a thin stick to make it move faster. The beast
just grumbled and kept moving.

After a short time spent
weaving through the ever-increasing crowds Farden reached the huge
archway of the main gates. The thickness of the stone and the
massive iron doors never ceased to amaze him, even for one as
far-travelled as he, and the mage stared up at the murder holes and
gigantic stone blocks suspended above his head in awe. The guards
eyed him warily for a moment as he passed beneath them, and then,
recognising what he was, they looked away quickly to glare at the
next person. Farden pulled his hood down even further.