the tapers that flickered and guttered in the candelabra high above them.
Silus was about to turn and ask the servant a question when the door was closed and locked from the other side.
“Wow. Talk about hospitality,” Dunsany said.
“At least we’re safe,” Illiun said. “Even this is preferable to what we have been used to over the past few days.”
“True,” Silus said. “I’m sure that they will give us our own rooms once they’ve had a chance to talk to us properly.”
The faces of his companions told him they weren’t quite as sure as he.
Sixteen of them had made it through the time rift. Besides Illiun, only five of his people had survived the attack of the dragons: Rosalind, Hannah, Shalim and two harrowed-looking men. None of the silver-eyed men had made it, though Illiun was still in possession of one of their translation staffs. Ignacio and his company of Swords had been similarly decimated, with only three Final Faith warriors now amongst their number. Emuel, Katya, Zac, Dunsany, Kelos and Bestion all looked ravaged by the trials they had been through, and their desire to return home and be done with all this was written plainly on their faces. But here they were: a hundred miles or more and thousands of years from their homes. Silus realised that they would probably never return, and there was nothing he could do; he could certainly no longer turn to his god for help.
He settled himself on one of the cots and looked up at the wavering darkness above them.
“Well, we may as well get some rest while we can,” he said. “I’ve a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
Some time later — Silus wasn’t sure how much later, though he noticed that only one of the candles above him was still lit — there was the sound of the door being unlocked and a female elf entered, dressed in plain clothes and carrying a sheaf of papers. These she consulted before looking out across the room.
“Kelos.”
“Yes?” the mage said.
“Will you come with me, please?”
Kelos looked at his companions, as though unsure as to whether he should resist or not.
“Go on,” Dunsany said. “What harm can they do? They’re elves. History talks of them as a genteel race.”
“Yes, quite right. Please, lead on.”
Kelos watched the woman lock the door before following her along a wide corridor, up several flights of precipitous stairs and to a light airy room that looked out over a view of the city.
“Impressive,” Kelos said, standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows. A gull rose beyond the edge of the cliff, riding a thermal in front of him, before turning to catch the wind.
“Please,” the woman said, “be seated.”
She gestured to a chair in front of a desk and then sat herself on the opposite side.
“I understand that you used sorcery to” — she paused to look at her papers — “create a rift in space and time, which brought you here. What were you trying to escape?”
“A god.”
“A god?”
“Yes, Kerberos.”
“Interesting. I understand that some do indeed believe Kerberos to be a deity. The worship of Kerberos has become particularly prevalent amongst the humans. Do all worship Kerberos in your time?”
“Most people don’t have a choice.”
“And why were you trying to escape the god?”
“We angered Kerberos by harbouring fugitives that He had been seeking to destroy.”
Seeing the expression of confusion on the woman’s face, Kelos explained about Illiun and his people; how Kerberos had consumed the god that once looked down on their planet and how Illiun had lead a group of exiles into the void, hoping to escape the anger of the usurper god, only to be pursued across the millennia.
“I can’t claim to fully understand you,” said the woman, “but I do know someone who will want to talk to you.”
The elf walked over to the wall, where an extendible brass tube sat in its housing. This she raised to her lips.
“Keldren, please. Yes, I do mean Keldren. Thank you.” There was a long pause, during which the woman looked at Kelos, her gaze unwavering. The mage felt like he was being stripped bare by her scrutiny. “What? Yes, it is she. I have someone I believe you are going to want to talk to. It concerns Kerberos, amongst other things. Yes, we’ll wait.”
The woman slid the tube back into its housing before re-taking her seat. She didn’t say anything, but instead resumed her study of Kelos. He began to squirm under her gaze, before looking out of the window and humming a tune to himself.
Eventually the door opened and an elderly elf male entered. He blinked and shielded his eyes against the light flooding the room. “You wanted to see me?”
“Keldren. Your studies take in Kerberos, and related religious belief within human culture?”
“I thought that no one cared. I must admit, I’m somewhat flattered.”
“I make sure I know of all our academics and their studies, Keldren. At any rate, I believe that you will want to speak to our guest, Kelos. It sounds like he’s had rather an interesting experience concerning Kerberos.”
The elderly man shuffled over and brought his face close to Kelos’s own. “What an unusual example of his race.”
“Kelos is something of a special case. He claims to come from the future, having been displaced in time due to sorcery.”
“Really? How extraordinary.”
“Indeed. I believe that you two have much to discuss. Keldren, if you wouldn’t mind?”
The woman bent to her papers again, making it clear that they were both dismissed.
“A human sorcerer, ” Keldren muttered to himself as he led Kelos through the palace. “How extraordinary.”
“Then the humans amongst you aren’t magic users?” Kelos said.
“No. Nor would they be allowed access to magic even if they had the ability to wield the threads. I must say that you are most eloquent for a human.”
“Thank you, I think.”
They had descended so far through the palace that Kelos reckoned they must now be deep within the cliffs upon which the city was built, perhaps even below sea level. Indeed, there was a distinct briny odour to the air and, in places, the stone walls were covered with barnacles.
“I know,” Keldren said, noting Kelos taking in their surroundings. “It’s not ideal. The atmosphere plays havoc with my texts, and these tunnels are often flooded. If it weren’t for the protective wards I commissioned — at my own expense, I must add — my library, and I along with it, would have been washed away long ago. My area of expertise is rather obscure, so, alas, I find myself relegated to the sub-levels. I suppose I should be grateful that I have a room in the palace at all.”
The room was hardly in the palace, Kelos considered, but he didn’t say anything as the silver-haired man unlocked a door slimed by gelatinous moulds and ushered him into the damp room beyond.
Despite the less than ideal surroundings, Kelos had to admit that Keldren was in possession of a most impressive library. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled every wall, and he couldn’t help but examine the wealth of literature with avarice. With an academic thrill, he recognised some of the titles on the spines; works that would, in his own time, be some of the most sought-after magical texts. And here they were, in pristine condition.
“My gods,” Kelos said. “You have Treatises on Dwarven Stone Magic and… and is that Calma Theology and Related Aquatic Magical Thinking and Practice? I’d heard, but never, ever thought I’d see…”
He was momentarily struck dumb by wonder as he fingered the binding of the legendary work, noticing, as he did so, that the gold foiling appeared to be brand new.
