The Written (37 page)

‘Thought you could get rid of
me quietly, did you?’ shouted the Arkmage. ‘Thought you could come
in and murder the old mage in his sleep, hmm? Who are you? Answer
me!’ He wiped stone dust from his eyes and grabbed at the man on
the floor, kicking him roughly before he could move. The old mage
pulled at his cloak and seizing his opportunity he tugged his hood
back and cast a light spell to reveal his assailant’s face.

The knife was nothing but a
long silver flash in the dusty air as it buried itself deep inside
the Arkmage’s chest. Blood appeared uninvited at the corner of
Helyard’s mouth and he blinked and gasped with a somewhat confused
expression. The stranger fixed him with a burning stare, watching
every emotion that crossed his opponent’s face, every twitch and
movement he made in his last few moments.

‘You?’ Helyard croaked,
squinting his eyes.

‘Since the beginning,’
whispered the stranger in a low voice. He slowly released his grip
on the knife and the Arkmage fell to his knees. He leaned back on
his heels and kept his eyes on the man’s face. Blood was running
down his chest and across his lap, but he couldn’t move or wrench
his eyes away, all he could do was watch a smile curl at the corner
of Vice’s lips, an arrogant smirk that slowly lifted his cheek to
meet the victoriously evil look in his eyes.

‘Since the...’ Helyard gasped
weakly. He rocked back and forth on his knees and swayed like a
plume of pale smoke in the breeze.

‘The beginning. Yes. I have
been planning this since before you were Arkmage, Helyard, since
before the war,’ said Vice, the once-kind gaze of his brown eyes
now hard like volcanic glass and just as sharp.

Helyard took a sharp breath.
‘Wh...why?’

‘Why what?’ Vice chuckled. He
watching the old mage’s life gradually slipping away and pooling on
the stone floor. ‘Why you?’ he pointed a finger. ‘You were just a
diversion, Helyard, a simple parlour trick of sleight of hand to
keep all eyes on you while I went about my business. You were just
too easy to imitate old man, ridiculous for someone of my skills,
and stealing the precious Weight from your rooms was nothing but
child’s play. The scholars and the Sirens had no idea,’ he snorted
sardonically.

Helyard swallowed blood and
tried to glare at him. ‘You’ll never win, Vice, that creature will
be thwarted by our army...’

‘Our army will be several
hundred miles south of where they need to be, you fool. You forget
that with you gone, I alone command our men, and once I’m finished
with them the Arka and their new Siren friends will be nothing more
than a forgotten song on the lips of the new Emaneska,’ Vice
sneered and crouched opposite the dying Arkmage. ‘There’s not a
single person who can stop me now, old man, and by the time they
find you in here I’ll have disappeared and my plan will be
unstoppable.’

Helyard shook his head and
tried to raise a hand but his eyes were slowly inexorably closing.
‘You’ve betrayed your people...’ he wheezed, half-laughing,
half-coughing. Bright blood spattered his chin. ‘The so-called
Undermage is nothing more than traitorous scum after all. I
always... knew you were a snake. Just look at you.’ Helyard leered,
a grin filled with bloodstained teeth. ‘May the gods curse you
Vice...’ he chuckled.

Vice’s eyes blazed with
murderous fire. He grabbed the Arkmage’s head with both hands and
brought his face close to the old man’s ear. The hilt of the knife
was pressing against his own chest and he could feel Helyard writhe
in his grasp as he pressed harder against him. ‘The sad thing is,
old friend...’ he paused, leaning harder and harder still on the
knife. ‘They’re not my people!’ Vice viciously wrenched the old man
sideways and threw him to the floor. A loud snap came from his neck
and Helyard did not speak nor move again. He simply stared into
nothing, and became still.

Vice stood up and watched the
lifeless body at his feet for a moment with his head on one side.
‘Let the gods curse all they want,’ he muttered.

Outside, over the city, drop by
drop, the rain came to a halt.

Jarrick had slept through the
banging and the muffled sounds of commotion from down the hall, and
he snored gently while a dust-covered figure slipped past him and
silently opened the door. Vice left without a sound, and the
soldier slumbered on, dreaming of nothing in particular.

“
...There are
many faces of Evernia, many facets to her magick, and in her
kindness the goddess provided the world a multitude of powers,
schools of fire, light, and wind. It is these legacies of the
goddess that we Arka strive to protect. But after the daemons were
brought from the other side, they perverted her gifts and tainted
them, soiling her magick for the elves’ use. Their despicable
children, the giants of old, the half-breeds, did no better. They
were the ones who forced the gods to leave, not us. And now we pray
and wait for their return, we wait for the day that the old ones
walk our shores again and rid the world of its evil leftovers for
good.”

From the ‘Matters of Magick’ by
Arkmage Legrar

Seven hundred miles away a
white and gold dragon crashed to the leafy floor of a dark forest
clearing, sending stones and earth flying in all directions and
crushing a small sapling. Her wings slumped to the ground with
tiredness and the mage on her back rubbed his head where it had
collided with the dragon’s scaly neck.

‘Sorry about the landing
Farden, my legs have cramped up after that flight,’ she apologised
with a weary smile.

Farden rubbed the graze on his
forehead and frowned. ‘That’s fine,’ he said and managed a smile.
Trying to see if there was a blood on his fingers in the dark
wasn’t really working, so he clenched his other fist and a light
spell tore through the clearing. Their distorted shadows mingled
and danced with the gloom under the low trees.

Brightshow’s huge yellow eyes
shrank in the light and she looked around them. ‘How are you
feeling?’ she asked.

‘Well, my hands are permanently
fixed to the saddle, and my face feels like its frozen solid, but
apart from that I’m good!’ Farden smiled wryly. His face felt like
ice and so did his fingertips.

‘It’s a shame Lakkin didn’t
have any spare riding clothes, it would have helped,’ said
Brightshow with a shrug.

‘Mm,’ Farden mumbled. He busied
himself with the tangled leather straps around his thighs. He
hopped down from the saddle but he got his foot trapped in the
leather stirrup and fell to the leafy ground awkwardly. He freed
himself and brushed the twigs and leaves from his black leather
cloak. He jiggled the sword strapped across his shoulder, checked
it was still safe and sound, and then massaged his legs to try and
get the feeling back in them. Brightshow hid a polite laugh, and
then took stock of their surroundings while she caught her
breath.

The Forest of Durn swayed
gently in the calm breezes. Leafless brown trees whispered and
shook at the edges of the clearing, their thick skeleton branches
knocking together gently, tangling with bushes and bowing over
winding goatpaths and little trails through the foliage. The sounds
of the trees in the soft wind were like the gnawing and creaking of
some great animal as it rustled and scratched against the the
murmuring firs. Farden’s light spell filled the clearing with clean
white light and it fell in speckled patterns and narrow shafts
amongst the woods, holding back the shadows. An almost
indiscernible path disappeared into the dense black undergrowth to
their left, to the west.

The dragon sniffed the air and
looked up. The cold sky above them was empty of clouds. Tiny stars
sparkled above them, distant and lonely, and tried to piercing the
night with their weak lights. A sliver of white moon lingered on
the treetops, dangling quietly and unassuming. The air felt icy in
her nostrils. Brightshow dug at the mouldy loam beneath her with
razor claws, searching for nothing in particular except something
to fill the silence. Farden adjusting his tunic again and sighed
loudly. ‘Right, I’m ready,’ he said, patting his belt. ‘I’ll see
you at Kiltyrin later tonight, hopefully before sunrise.’

Brightshow turned to face him.
‘Hopefully your vampyre will be able to help us.’

Farden chuckled and shook his
head. ‘Durnus knows more about Albion than the Dukes do, have no
fear,’

‘Well then,’ she said, rattling
her scales and stretching her wings out once more. ‘I’d better be
going. Good luck Farden, and be as quick as you can.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ he replied,
and they said no more. He watched the dragon circle the clearing
before she took off, and then with a toothy smile and a blast of
air she was away again, flapping through the darkness and leaving
the mage standing alone in the clearing. Farden listened to the
sound of her wings fading into the distance as he disappeared into
the thick forest.

A short while later, Farden
emerged from the scraping branches and twigs and stepped onto the
neat lawn in front of the Arkabbey. The silvery light from the moon
and the pale stars had turned everything a different shade of grey,
a bleached monochrome version of the night. The wind rustled across
the lawn and through the trees and a small pillar of smoke rose
from a chimney at a slanted angle. The Arkabbey slept on
peacefully, so far untouched by the day’s problems, slumbering and
ignorant of the danger that waited in the south. The dark woods
rustled softly behind him and Farden walked silently across the
grass towards the abbey. There was no guard at the door and it was
unlocked, so the mage went straight in and headed for the
belltower.

When he reached Durnus’s room
there was light creeping out from under the his door, so Farden
knocked loudly on the oak and waited. There was a little pause, and
then some rustling and a bang. ‘Just a minute,’ came a muffled
cry.

After a few more noises the
door was unlatched and it swung open. Firelight spilled out into
the dark corridor and framed the vampyre in an orange silhouette.
The mage blinked in the bright light.

‘Farden!’ cried Durnus. His
face creased into a wide smile and the vampyre moved forward to
embrace his old friend. ‘By the gods, you are alive!’

The mage clapped him on the
back and grinned. ‘Apparently so,’ he replied.

‘Come in, come in!’ Durnus
beckoned for Farden to enter and he followed the vampyre into the
warm room. Candles flickered lazily in their holders and a weird
smell hung in the room, maybe of flesh or uncooked meat. Durnus was
wearing a long robe of blue and green that touched the floor. It
rustled against the stone as he moved the chairs around the fire.
He rubbed his hands together and turned to the mage. ‘You must
excuse me, Farden, you caught me in the middle of my evening meal,’
he said quietly.

‘Anyone I know?’

‘As always, no, but you can
rest assured that bothersome Duke in Leath will be most confused as
to where his butler has disappeared to,’ chuckled Durnus. With a
great sigh he lowered himself into his comfortable armchair and a
faint smile hovered on his pale lips. The vampyre seemed tired.
Farden nodded and followed suit, taking his own chair in front of
the crackling fire. The subject of Durnus’s dinner had always made
him slightly uncomfortable. But there were other things on his
mind. ‘There is much to discuss, old friend,’ Farden started, ‘and
we don’t have much time at all.

‘In your own words, apparently
so. I just received word from a hawk that Helyard has just been
thrown into prison for treason. Tell me this is some sort of sick
joke.’ The vampyre’s face was grave.

‘Sadly it’s not. Helyard went
to Nelska last night and murdered a dozen Siren guards and stole
Farfallen’s tearbook...’

‘Wait, I thought that Vice
had...’

‘There’s so much to tell you,
Durnus, but we don’t have time to talk,’ urged Farden.

But Durnus waved his hand.
‘Report.’

Farden sighed. ‘I went to
Nelska on a peace treaty, and to enlist the help of the dragons.
The Arkmages sent the tearbook with me as a gift in the hope that
they could find the whereabouts of a dark elf well in Farfallen’s
memories. I know what you’re thinking, but somehow Farfallen
survived and now he’s somewhere in Krauslung,’ he said. Durnus
looked shocked and appalled, but Farden continued. ‘Last night
Helyard went to Nelska to steal the tearbook and in the process he
killed half the palace guard. The Sirens threatened war but Åddren
and Vice managed to calm them down and forge a treaty.
Unfortunately for Helyard he dropped his Weight in Nelska, and now
he’s locked up.’

‘And how is Åddren dealing with
all of this?’

‘He’s a broken man. He trusted
Helyard implicitly for years so I think he’s taking his betrayal
harder than any of us. And now that Helyard’s traitorous nature is
public news, the city is at breaking point. You can feel it just
walking down the streets. Like an awkward silence,’ Farden
explained.

Durnus rubbed his forehead with
both hands and took a long breath. ‘With Helyard gone, Åddren will
stand alone, and he’ll be hard pressed to keep some of the more
radical and dangerous members of the council in check, even with
your friend Vice there to help. There are some I am sure that will
not be too keen on this peace with the Sirens, some who want to see
nine more years of war,’ Durnus wagged a cautionary finger.

‘You said it yourself, Vice is
there too, and I trust him to stand up for Åddren. Luckily he has
control of the army and right now they’re gathering at Dunyra,
ready to face this creature.’ Farden paused. ‘If it should come to
that.’

Durnus looked confused. ‘I
don’t understand,’