and I didn’t trust my contact. In any case, the bribes they demanded at every stage were enormous, and I’d already spent most of my funds on the smugglers. As for the vyes, from what I could gather, they’re not content in the new order—they feel they’ve been cheated and supplanted by the demons. But they’re too wary to discuss anything openly. They’re afraid that everyone is a demon in disguise, probing for potential traitors. We’ll have to keep trying.”
Ms. Richter flicked her eyes to David, who had been listening intently. “What do you make of Max’s report?”
“It’s good information,” he commented, “and we should certainly acquire as much of the iron as we can. But I can’t help but focus on Prusias. Something’s wrong … something’s
Bram raised his head at this and gazed at his grandson.
“Grandfather,” said David, “you have summoned Prusias before. Have you ever summoned the other monarchs?”
“Aamon,” replied Bram, touching his fingertips together and searching his memory. “Aamon knows many old secrets, but I’ve not called the others. What troubles you?”
“Prusias’s confidence,” replied David. “He knows you are here. He knows Max has reforged the Morrigan’s blade, and he knows the other monarchs are likely to unite against him. But despite this, he gloats like he’s already won.”
“Prusias always bullies,” grunted Max, recalling his own unpleasant history with the demon.
“Yes,” said David. “But this seems different. I think Prusias has a trick up his sleeve.”
“The cane?” inquired Miss Boon. The magic that created Gravenmuir had come from Prusias’s cane, and David had long suspected that it contained a page from the Book of Thoth.
“I don’t think so,” replied David, rubbing the stump where his right hand had once been. “He’s had that for some time. His latest tone sounds like there’s been a new development, something that will ensure victory.…”
“The Workshop,” breathed Max. “Prusias has been protecting and sponsoring them even after Astaroth banished modern technologies. I rode pod tubes up to the Arena.”
“That’s precisely my worry,” David confessed. “We no longer have modern technologies, but the Workshop does. And Prusias has the Workshop.…”
Max’s hopes dwindled. What use were iron-tipped arrows against guns or tanks? The others seemed to share his apprehensions.
At length, Bram spoke. “It is a long time since I had dealings with the Workshop,” he reflected. “But when last I did, they broke their neutrality and helped me safeguard the Book of Thoth. Their first love was always their machines, but perhaps we can convince them to aid us again.”
“The Workshop did nothing to resist Astaroth,” observed Miss Boon bitterly. “As long as Prusias is the one ensuring that their technologies do not fade, I can’t imagine that they’ll join us. Why would they risk their machines or their lives on such a risky prospect?”
“That’s probably true,” said David. “But we should at least reestablish contact through all possible channels. If nothing else, we might gain insight into what they’re doing. At this stage, information and intelligence is everything. Rowan has to win the war of spies before it can win a war of weapons.…”
As David continued to discuss spy networks, sabotage, and civil defense, Max found that Elias Bram was staring at him. The appraisal was trancelike and unblinking, reminding Max of when another had gazed at him years earlier on a train bound for Chicago. Of course, trains and Chicago no longer existed; Astaroth had used the Book of Thoth to refashion the world and strip away much that mankind had built or invented. Among the humans who survived Astaroth’s rise to power, few could even recall their former way of life—their memories of such things had faded. But some who’d been gifted with magic could recall the past with varying degrees of clarity. Max remembered everything, including that fateful day when a stranger’s dead white eye had locked on to him.
“Stop looking at me,” he growled, stalking back over to the window. The rain had ceased and the walkways shone slick and wet, their puddles reflecting the gray skies. The others ceased their conversation and turned to see what was the disturbance.
“I must have a word with Max,” Bram announced, rising abruptly from his chair. “I’ll leave you three to your discussions while the boy accompanies me to the Sanctuary. It’s time Emer came home and Mina has her lessons.”
“We’ll go with you,” offered Miss Boon, her unease and suspicion evident.
“I don’t intend to spirit away your Hound, Hazel Boon,” Bram chuckled. “I just need a private word with him, assuming the lad can forgive my manners.”
Max nodded, his irritation giving way to curiosity.
“Whatever you have to say to Max you can say in front of us,” said Ms. Richter.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” replied the Archmage curtly. “Good day to you both. David will see you out.” Taking up a heavy mantle from a stand by the door, Bram swept it over his shoulders and held the door open for Max.
The famous pair took a shortcut across Bacon Library, ignoring the curious stares from a score of students hunched over their books and manuscripts. Exiting the Manse through a pair of French doors, they braced themselves as the November gales whipped past them. Max envied the Archmage’s heavy cloak.
It was ten minutes of brisk, silent walking until they’d traversed the orchards and wound around the stables and Smithy to reach the stone wall that separated Old College (as the original campus was now known) from Rowan’s Sanctuary. A stout oaken door was set into the wall, some twelve feet tall and six feet wide and traced with fine golden runes. It was propped open to reveal an arching canopy of interlacing trunks and twisting branches, a shadowy green tunnel through the dense sea of trees beyond.
Once inside the tunnel, the Archmage removed his mantle and stamped the mud and water from his boots. The air within the hedge was always distinctive—the earthy smell of foliage and an eddying of warm and cool currents akin to where a river meets the sea. Peering far ahead, Max glimpsed bright sunlight at the tunnel’s end. There was not always much difference between the weather in the Old College and the Sanctuary, but today it was pronounced. Max was happy to leave the oppressive damp behind.
“So what is it that you need to tell me?” asked Max.
“When we’re through,” said Bram, gesturing ahead.
The path was no longer paved and their footsteps made little noise. As they walked, Max became increasingly aware of how intensely alive the surrounding forest really was. The overhanging branches and surrounding trees was a symphony of chirrups and squawks and the patter of little feet scurrying through the underbrush. As they walked, he listened to these sounds and thought of Ms. Richter and the many difficult choices before her.
“How is Mina doing?” he wondered, just as they emerged into the clearing. “I didn’t know you were giving her lessons yourself. Is she really so special?”
“She is,” Bram replied, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. “I had foreseen three children of the Old Magic, but I hardly suspected that you would coexist. And yet here you are.”
“And it’s a wonder we’re here and not with the witches,” Max remarked sharply. He recalled all too well the bargain Elias Bram had once struck to acquire the Book of Thoth. In return for the artifact, the Archmage had promised the witches three children of the Old Magic. Centuries later, when the witches had learned of Max and David, they had tried to collect a portion of their rightful prize. Rowan denied their claim and ultimately triggered the very curse that helped enable Astaroth’s victory. In the aftermath, Rowan and the witches had reached an unsteady truce, but great hostility and mistrust remained.
“That was a hard bargain,” Bram reflected solemnly. “But I’d strike it again.”
“Even now?” asked Max. “Even knowing that your own grandson is one of the three?”
“Yes,” he replied firmly. “Better that my family, my blood, should bear these burdens.”
“And why is that?” snapped Max.
The Archmage stopped and turned to stare Max squarely in the eye. His voice was deadly quiet. “Because we can.”
“David’s already sacrificed plenty.”
“He has more to give,” remarked Bram stoically. “And so do I. And so do
Placing a hand on Max’s shoulder, Bram guided him through the large settlement that had sprouted up just inside the Sanctuary. Even since Max had last seen it, the township had grown considerably. Hundreds of buildings now rose in shingled clusters around cobblestone lanes crowded with wagons and carts and a host of people and
