‘Let’s find Kutch, shall we?’
The Covenant sorcerers had been given a wing in the redoubt. On the way there, Serrah and Reeth ran into Goyter, who was looking for them.
After welcoming Caldason back, she said, ‘Phoenix wants you. Apparently there’s been some kind of breakthrough.’
They hurried to the wizards’ quarters and were quickly admitted. In a large hall, full of tables stacked with the paraphernalia of magic, makeshift beds and a scattering of chairs, Phoenix greeted them. Then Kutch emerged from the jumble, beamed widely, and joined them. Wendah, always his shadow these days, was close behind.
‘So what’s happened?’ Caldason wondered.
‘The hypnosis and infusions and…well, the several techniques we were able to apply to Praltor, have paid a small dividend,’ Phoenix explained. ‘But as he’s had the burden to carry I think it only right that he be the one to tell you about it.’
‘A small dividend,’ Serrah repeated. ‘Not greatly significant then?’
‘A small part of the wealth of knowledge the Source undoubtedly contains,’ the elderly magician made clear, ‘but a revelation in the normal course of things. Come, hear about it.’
They followed, intrigued. Phoenix took them to a bedchamber, one of several lining a corridor off the hall, and Kutch and Wendah crowded in behind him.
Praltor Mahaganis looked tiny in the vastness of an imposing four-poster bed, but his complexion was ruddier, thanks to some nourishment and certain restorative herbs he’d been given. His sightless eyes had a vigour that was close to unnerving.
Wendah moved to sit on the bed beside him, their hands meeting.
‘We have, you understand, come practically nowhere in terms of extracting any substantial material from Praltor’s brain,’ Phoenix said. ‘I’m not sure we ever shall, particularly given the time restraints we’re all labouring under now. But we have managed to unlock one segment, quite possibly as much by happenstance as intent, and released certain information into his conscious mind. Praltor?’
‘It was as though a whole slew of memories appeared in my head.’ There was a note of something like astonishment in the old man’s voice. ‘Which is absurd, because I couldn’t possibly have been present at the events depicted. Yet I…see what I see, in my mind’s eye, and it’s wondrous and terrible, and I don’t know if a mortal should be privy to such things.’
‘Go on,’ Wendah gently urged.
‘I was wrong,’ the old man confessed. ‘I thought that Founder descendants survived as some secret cult, hidden away from the world. I could hope for so comfortable a truth.’ He paused, massaging the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger. ‘The Founders were once something like us,’ he resumed. ‘That was an unimaginably long time ago, when even the stars in the sky held different patterns to the ones now. Theirs was a magical civilisation, like ours, except that they constantly originated and refined the sorcery, and didn’t just consume it. Over an ocean of time these beings developed an ever greater expertise in the noble art. And through its use they evolved into…something else. Somehow they conquered material existence, or rather transcended it, and cast aside flesh and blood to exist in a non-corporeal state. They created a realm that was infinitely malleable, where their hearts’ desires could be fashioned at will. This is what we call the Dreamtime, and it would have been utterly alien to us in every way. It’s the place that you, Reeth, have visited in the visions that plague you; one of the heritages of your Founder blood.’
‘I saw it too,’ Kutch reminded them. ‘I shared Reeth’s dreams.’
‘You did,’ Mahaganis granted, ‘briefly, because of your inherent spotting talent, and the training you undertook to bring it out. Magic draws magic, they say, and what Reeth carries intermingled with your gift, Kutch. I would expect the same thing to happen to Wendah if she spent appreciable amounts of time in Reeth’s company, though your talents are different.’
‘Are you telling us anything we didn’t already know or hadn’t guessed?’ Caldason asked.
‘Hear me out and decide. The Founders moulded existence to their own design. They even defied death, gaining immortality or something very much like it. You Reeth, and Phoenix and myself, have all had a taste of that, just from touching the hem of the Founders’ gown, so to speak. You could say they created a kind of heaven. They certainly seemed to think so. But there was just enough of the beast in them still, a trace of the savage from the days when they were like us. And they did as savages will do and fell into dispute. They had two basic philosophies, opposing ways of reckoning with life, and a schism opened up. There was war in heaven. The upshot of all the destruction they wrought wasn’t extinction, as you might expect, but a fall from grace.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Serrah confessed.
‘Simply that. They fell. The heights they’d attained were lost to them. Their towering triumphs slipped from their grasp. They were relegated to flesh again, which they found loathsome. But they still had power, and they survived, and their quarrel carried on. For ages the two groups have been locked in a death struggle like a pair of scorpions. They’ve battled each other with humans as their pawns, perpetuating their ancient war. Only now, fearing a tangible threat, have they finally reunited to preserve themselves.’
‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’ Serrah said.
‘The Founders didn’t die. Nor do they survive as a line of mere offspring with watered-down blood in their veins. Aided by what was left of their magic, they founded the empires. And now they’re coming to get us.’
30
The weather in most of Bhealfa was abysmal, and particularly along its eastern coast. High winds, driven snow and freezing sleet. No one should have been travelling, and sensible people weren’t, particularly at night, but Prince Melyobar’s court never stopped under any circumstances. Movement was its rationale, its reason for being. And in theory at least, it was better protected than other forms of transportation and more able to withstand bad weather.
None of that stopped Andar Talgorian cursing the Prince. Gaining entrance to the palace was difficult enough at the best of times. Getting aboard when the elements raged, in the dark, was nightmarish.
The envoy was accompanied by a detachment of hand-picked empire troopers. He had agonised about its size, but in the end decided that Melyobar’s arrest would best be achieved by twenty experienced men. He also brought an approved sorcerer along, naturally. A larger company would have aroused suspicions and possible hostility. This more modest number could be passed off as a bodyguard for troubled times.
In any event, he intended the task to be carried out quickly and efficiently. He even dared to hope that many in the Prince’s court would be relieved to see him removed, and support the empire’s edict. However, despite sending a message beforehand requesting an audience as a matter of urgency, citing major affairs of state, he was kept waiting. The Ambassador chided himself for thinking Melyobar would have responded rationally. He should have insisted on an immediate audience, or even had his men force their way in. Instead he clung to his diplomatic instincts. He had the foolish idea that his mission could be realised civilly, with the Prince giving way to the higher authority Talgorian represented.
Now Talgorian was ensconced in an anteroom bordering the royal quarters while, at his hosts’ insistence, his troopers loitered in the humbler surroundings of a nearby guardroom. He paced the opulent chamber, on the verge of acting. Then something caught his eye and he stopped.
A previously hidden door in a far corner was edging open. Fearing some kind of treachery, Talgorian tensed.
A young man furtively entered. He wore the distinctive robes of a sorcerer, specifically a version that identified him as being in the service of the sovereign. He looked young for a ranking sorcerer, and unlike most of his brethren, he was clean-shaven.
‘It’s all right,’ he whispered, holding up his hands placatingly, ‘I’m not here to harm you.’
‘Who are you? What do you want?’
‘My name is Okrael. I’m a one of the palace’s sorcerers. In fact, we’ve met before. I think we even exchanged a few words.’
