The Written (32 page)

Farden looked around at the
bustling hall with a slow shaking of his head, marvelling at the
sheer volume of people. ‘I’ve never seen the Arkathedral this busy.
How many of us are yet to arrive?’ he asked. Ridda scratched his
chin. ‘At least a score or so are off in the east dealing with the
wyverns, but there’s at least sixty here and and a few more in
Manesmark,’ he said. The man’s voice was incredibly deep for a
person of his stature. The brawny mage barely came up to Farden’s
shoulder, but he was as wide as he was tall, with a constantly
narrowed gaze and mischievous smile, and rippling with muscle.

‘Good,’ said Farden. ‘That will
hopefully be enough. I need everyone here before nightfall, ready
to march and ready to fight.’

Ridda looked at Modren, and
then back at Farden, wearing a similar quizzical expression. ‘You
in charge now?’ he asked.

Farden hesitated for a moment,
and then cleared his throat with a hint of authority. He nodded.
‘It looks that way, according to the Undermage,’ he said, and then
added his most assertive smile. Ridda looked confused, and then his
face broke into a wide grin. ‘Out of his cave and already he’s
causing trouble. Fine with me, better you than an old greyhair
who’s never cast a spell in his life,’ he chuckled.

Modren nodded and clapped his
hands together loudly. ‘That’s what I said. We’d best get to it
then!’

Farden tried to hide his sigh
of relief, and leaned in close to the others so they could hear him
over the noise. ‘Get Neffra and a few others to the hawk-houses and
send word to every Written that isn’t within a day’s march of the
city, then tell the others to get their weapons and everything they
need ready by tonight. We’ll meet in the great hall by sunset.’

‘I’ll go and send the hawks.’
said Ridda decisively. Without another word he slapped Farden on
the shoulder and strode off into the crowds. Modren turned to
Farden with a mock sigh. ‘Let’s go and see what all this madness is
about,’ he said.

‘Agreed.’ The two men spun
smartly on their heels and strode purposefully towards the main
stairs. They jostled with soldiers and servants for space, and
dodged around workers and equipment that was gathering, for some
reason, on the steps. They walked in silence for the most part,
occasionally glaring at someone who might have barged into them.
Their looks sent more than just a few people scuttling away and
muttering apologies. Nobody wanted to get on the bad side of a
Written.

The two mages walked side by
side up the endless stairs and through the maze of corridors that
would finally lead them to the great hall and hopefully to the root
of all this commotion. Farden was eager to find Vice.

Once Modren broke the silence,
and leaned close to whisper to Farden. ‘Rumour has it you were up
in Nelska recently.’ It was a question hid within a statement, but
Farden simply nodded. The blonde mage watched his friend from the
corner of his eye with a knowing smile. ‘I take it I shall find out
later then?’

‘You never did have much
patience,’ the mage smirked.

‘Never,’ said Modren. ‘In all
honesty though, Farden, I haven’t seen this sort of mayhem since
the year those faeries escaped and got lost in the city. This has
something to do with the murders at Arfell doesn’t it?’

Farden warily looked about
them, and waited until a group of people had passed. ‘It does, but
it’s something much more serious than just a few dead
scholars.’

Modren fell silent and ran a
hand through his bright hair. ‘It’s never that simple is it?’

It took the mages a good half
hour to reach the marbled hallways at the very top of the
Arkathedral. There was a massive throng of people gathered outside
the gilded doors of the great hall, but a line of soldiers in gold
and green armour barred the way with their tall shields. Modren
began to make his way through the yelling crowd. ‘Move aside there,
let us through!’ he barked, and mercilessly pushed people aside.
One haughty scribe in particular prodded him as he passed,
referring a little too loudly to the blonde mage as a bumbling oaf.
Modren rounded on him and fixed him with a stare that could have
frozen the sun. ‘If I were you, scribe, I’d keep your mouth shut
and your fingers to yourself, otherwise you might lose one of
them.’ Modren punctuated his threat by clicking his fingers. Sparks
flashed over his nails. The scribe and his party fell deadly silent
and tried to back away further into the massed crowd. Modren huffed
and pulled his long coat around him to avoid it getting
trampled.

‘Good work,’ chuckled
Farden.

Modren nodded. ‘I thought so
too... Let us through, gods damn it!’

Farden reached the armoured
soldiers and found the man in charge. He looked the mage up and
down with a wrinkle of his nose and an imperious sniff. ‘State your
business,’ he shouted over the noise.

Farden glared at him. ‘We’re
here on direct orders from the Undermage, I need to speak with him
immediately!’

The soldier shook his head and
pointed to somewhere beneath his feet, as if the answers lay on the
floor. ‘He ain’t in here sir, and I’ll doubt you’ll find him with
the Arkmages. Try his rooms one level down!’

‘What are all these people here
for?’ Modren called to the soldier.

‘Everyone and their brother
want to see the Arkmages today, but we can’t let ‘em in until the
council meeting has finished,’ he shrugged and his polished armour
clanked noisily.

‘What the hell is going on?’
Farden asked as he looked around at the chaotic crowd.

‘Haven’t you ‘eard?’ The
soldier looked confused, a serious expression hovering over his
face. The two mages shook their heads as one.

‘The dragons are comin’ to
Krauslung!’ the man said, wide-eyed.

Farden’s eyes went wide, and he
turned to Modren, who looked completely baffled. ‘Did he say...?’
he began but Farden cut him off.

‘Yes he did, now come on, we
have to find Vice!’ They started to barge their way back through
the crowd and out into the relative space of the white marble
hallway. They quickly broke into a run and Farden led them left and
down a wide curving staircase. He narrowly avoided knocking down a
frightened-looking man carrying a big bundle of arrows, but the
mages dodged around him and seconds later they both skidded to a
halt outside the tall oak doors of Vice’s rooms.

Farden banged loudly on the
door and waited, breathing lightly. Modren was adjusting and
tidying his clothes and smoothing his ruffled blonde hair. Farden
crossed his arms and drummed his fingers with impatience.

There was a clanking noise and
the door was opened by a thin servant with a kind face. He looked
them up and down slowly. ‘How may I help you, mages?’

‘We need to find the Undermage,
right away,’ Farden said hurriedly.

‘He is with the council, sire,
in the great hall.’ The servant shook his head slowly as if it were
in danger of falling off. Farden snorted with frustration.

‘My lord is due to return soon,
if you would like to wait?’ The servant opened the door a little
wider and gestured for them to enter the huge room. As he did so a
big spider crept from behind the door frame and sidled around the
wall. Farden watched the black spindly beast slip into the hallway
and disappear under another door. The man seemed not to have
noticed the insect, and he looked back and forth between the two
mages.

Farden shook his head. ‘No,
thank you, when you see the Undermage, tell him Farden is looking
for him.’

‘Of course, sir.’ The thin man
bowed and quietly closed the heavy door with no more than a little
click. Modren walked to a nearby window and looked down at the
crowds in the streets. The noise from the people bellowing and
shouting could be heard on the chilling breeze. The sky was crystal
clear once again, and the clouds had been banished behind the pale
blue of the mountain sky. ‘This is madness,’ he said quietly, and
leaned forward to watch the guards at the gate below.

Farden put a hand against the
marble wall and stared at the floor. He chewed at the inside of his
lip. If the dragons were coming to Krauslung then it meant that
they had found the dark elf well, but if that was so, then why was
the city so full of fear and panic? Something was niggling at the
back of his brain, but he couldn’t grasp it. Just as things were
starting to go right for a change too, he thought.

A booming voice suddenly echoed
around the corridor. ‘Farden!’ The mages spun around to see Vice
standing further down the hallway, arms spread questioningly and
one foot on the bottom step of the staircase. He was wearing the
long formal robe of his position: black cloth trimmed with green. A
long curved sword was slung at his side, hanging from a golden
belt. ‘Where have you been?’ he bellowed. He wore a stern
expression.

The two mages jogged to meet
him and bowed quickly. Farden pointed behind him at Vice’s door.
‘Trying to find you, sire,’ he said. Modren nodded furiously behind
him. The tall Undermage snorted and stormed up the stairs with loud
heavy steps. ‘You did a fine job of that, didn’t you?Follow me,’ he
said. The mages leapt after him.

Farden moved to his side. ‘The
guard at the great hall said the Sirens were coming here...?’

‘And you heard right,’ Vice
seemed furious. There was a bubbling anger simmering underneath his
pale skin. He took the steps two at a time and his fists were
clenched white by his sides. Farden hadn’t seen him like this in a
long time. ‘Those bloody Sirens are up in arms about something, and
they won’t tell us what until they get here, which is any minute
now. They’ve threatened war, Farden.’ Vice threw him a serious
look. The mage’s eyes went wide. He lowered his voice and moved
closer to the Undermage, struggling to keep up with Vice’s long
strides. ‘War? So this has nothing to do with the well or the
tearbook?’

‘All I know is they’re on their
way, and whatever it is that Siren queen of yours is not at all
happy. Somehow the news of their arrival got out early this morning
and everyone started to panic.’

‘Gods’ sake,’ Farden shook his
head. They emerged into the long white corridor outside the great
hall.

‘The Arkmages are furious,’
said Vice. ‘And am I, Farden, with you.’ Vice abruptly stopped dead
in the middle of the hallway and fixed him with an icy stare.

‘With me?’ the mage spluttered.
Modren stayed quiet and tried not to get involved, staring at the
marble decor.

Vice narrowed his gaze. ‘Why
didn’t you tell me about the Old Dragon?’

Farden mentally reeled. In all
the confusion he had forgotten about the matter completely, and was
completely at a loss for an answer. ‘I thought it would be best to
tell you in private...’ Farden groped for an explanation.

‘Well, it would have been
Farden, but imagine my surprise when I was told by the Arkmages
this morning that the old fiend is still alive. Helyard accused me
of being in league with them!’ Vice was fuming and his hazel eyes
were aflame.

Farden held up his hands. ‘He
knows that’s not true, I can explain it all.’

‘And so you will, right now!’
Vice spun around so fast that his long robe billowed out like a
sail. Farden was left standing shocked. Modren put a thin hand on
his friends shoulder and sighed.

‘Better you than me mate,’ he
said.

Farden was about to launch into
a sarcastic retort but then Vice flashed a frosty glare to see if
they were following. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he muttered, and quickly ran to
catch up. He chided and cursed himself mentally for his
laxness.

When they reached the great
hall the Undermage pushed his way into the crowd as if he were
tackling a troll. One of the guards spotted him and immediately
began laying about with the butt of his spear. ‘Let the Undermage
through! Move out of the way!’

Farden and Modren followed in
Vice’s wake and elbowed their way through the noisy ranks of people
until they were standing up against the gilded doors. Holding their
shields with both hands, the soldiers braced themselves against the
crowd and held them back while behind them the doors were opened
just enough to let the three men through. The door slammed behind
them, and they were away from the noisy masses, but they paled in
comparison to the uproar of the great hall.

All around them council members
argued and bellowed at the top of their voices, throwing their
opinions back and forth while the Arkmages sat in their tall white
thrones and talked agitatedly between themselves. Colourful
patterns from the stained glass windows played on the walls and
floors, painting faces all sorts of hues as they yelled at
eachother. It was absolute chaos. With loud sighs the three men
walked into the middle of the room and stood beside the tall gold
statue of the goddess Evernia, her feet still surrounded by a score
of candles despite the bright daylight. As soon as Åddren noticed
them he held his hands in the air authoritatively. His normally
kind eyes pierced the room like blue icicles. Nothing happened, and
the roar continued unabated.

‘SILENCE!’ Åddren’s voice was
like thunder. Loud words and arguments froze on the lips of the
people, and an awkward stillness fell on the hall. The men and
women of the council quietly shuffled to their places in between
the tall tree-like pillars.

Helyard scowled about the room.
‘I hope to the gods you bear some sort of explanation for this
chaos Farden. Your meddling ways have caused us enough trouble
already, and now you’ve brought those despicable dragon-riders down
upon us.’ The tall Arkmage looked down his nose at the mage with
his usual supercilious air.

Farden walked forward across
the marble floor to stand closer to the thrones. The council
whispered like autumn leaves around him. ‘Your Mages, I have no
idea why the Sirens are on their way to Krauslung, or why they are
threatening war.’ The whispering increased, ‘When I left Nelska,
they assured me that our two people were at peace.’