“Jonn, please listen patiently to what I’m about to tell you. If you don’t react until I’m finished it would help greatly.”
Jonn nodded, though he didn’t like the sound of whatever Hephistole was going to tell him.
“After the Thirty Year War, the Arcane Accords were signed by the heads of the magical order, agreeing that we would never again take a direct hand in the ruling of any city, town or principality in Antropel. We are barred from interfering in any matter of politics or law enforcement, save where the crime is magical in nature or is perpetrated against magicians.”
Jonn opened his mouth to object to what sounded like a refusal to help him, but he restrained himself, remembering his promise to hear Hephistole out.
“It may seem unreasonable to someone who has not studied history, but believe me, the abuse of power by those already gifted with the immense advantages that magic bestows is too great a temptation for the unscrupulous. When they reach adulthood, all magicians are voluntarily bound by bonds of service that we cannot overrule without inflicting great pain on our own persons.”
“I am not saying we won’t help you Jonn. You are our friend, and Gaspi’s guardian, and we will do everything within our power to help you, but what we can’t do is take it into our own hands to rip the city apart looking for Adela.”
“What can you do then?” Jonn asked, pleading.
“Everything we can save taking the law into our own hands. We will submit ourselves to the highest civil authority in Helioport and take our orders from him. If he gives us permission to do so, we will support the search for Adela. We will scry her out if possible, and aid in her recovery, but it must be done under the strict orders of the civil authority, and the rescue itself must be carried out by the city and not by ourselves.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, Jonn stood up to leave. “What use is that?” he asked. Voltan walked over and placed his hands on Jonn’s shoulders.
“Jonn,” he said, looking directly into his eyes. “You know me well enough to trust my word, yes?”
“Yes,” Jonn grunted after a moment’s hesitation.
“Then trust me in this. There is much we can do that will not break our vow of service. We will just have to be clever about it. So how about it? Do you trust me?”
Jonn’s shoulders dropped and he let out a noisy sigh as he sat back down.
“I trust you.”
…
Hephistole sat up in bed long into the night weighing up their options. In the very darkest hours, he reached a decision, and immediately sent a mental summons to Voltan. If it were anyone else he’d wait until morning, but Voltan wouldn’t mind being woken for something so important.
It wasn’t long before the warrior mage stepped into his bedroom. He hadn’t stopped to dress, and was robed in a dressing gown, cut from the finest black velvet.
“Thank you for coming so swiftly,” Hephistole said, taking a sip from the glass of sherry he was nursing.
“What is it Hephistole?” Voltan asked.
“I believe I have the way forward.”
“And that is?”
“We are under pressure, possibly even outmatched. With the added strength of several focii, Sestin’s pupil was able to stand against Gaspi, despite Gaspi’s enormous power. Even the elementals have proven themselves to be vulnerable, and we have suffered all of this without even facing Shirukai Sestin himself, who could have accumulated any amount of dark knowledge and power in the last few decades. We already know Sestin has summoned a Darkman, and as soon as he has conquered it, we will be facing a formidable foe that none of us have ever fought. In short, we need another weapon in our arsenal, and a powerful one.”
“What do you have in mind?” Voltan asked.
“We must find help at the Temple of Pell,” Hephistole said simply.
“Pell!” Voltan repeated, sitting straight up. “How do you know it still stan
ds?”
“I cannot answer that question, but the knowledge came to me with such suddenness and certainty I am inclined to trust it. We know that
a single fragment from the altar saved you from a Bale-beast.”
“
I would have been dead without it,” Voltan responded gravely, “but if the temple still stands, it is well within the boundaries of the ogre nation. It would take an army to get there.”
“I was thinking more of a stealth expedition,” Hephistole answered.
Voltan absorbed the idea in silence. “Do you want me to lead it?” he asked at last.
Hephistole laughed with relief, tension leaking from his shoulders as they sagged forwards. “I would go myself but I cannot leave the college while a Darkman may yet attack.”
“I understand,” Voltan answered. “It’s extremely risky, but I agree - the artefacts themselves may give us a fighting chance against Sestin. Who will go with me?”
“Gaspi, Taurnil, Lydia, Emea, Rimulth, Talmo, Baard, Sabu, Zlekic and Zaric.”
“You can’t be serious!” Voltan said. “Gaspi and Taurnil, fine, but the girls and the fledgling shaman? They’ll be a liability. And why not Jonn?”
“Jonn would not go,” Hephistole answered. “I’d send him if I could but he only one thing on his mind right now, and we have given our word that we will help him. As for Emea, Lydia and Rimulth, I have already tried to split them from Gaspi, and they put me to shame with wisdom beyond their years. Destiny has called them Voltan, and if I’d not let them attend the Measure, the water spirit could not have saved Gaspi’s life when he fought the Skelkans, nor Taurnil when he fought Ferast. I understand your concerns Voltan, but I will not argue with destiny twice. They will all go with you to Pell.”
Voltan’s brow furrowed as he weighed up Hephistole’s response. “Very well,” he said. “But if any of these young magicians are harmed on the journey, we will have much to regret.”
“You don’t need to tell me that,” Hephistole responded qu
ietly, finishing off his sherry in a single mouthful.
Several days later, Gaspi picked up two pieces of post from his pigeon hole in the Warren. The first was one of hundreds of identical envelopes sticking from every pigeon hole on the wall. It was embossed on college notepaper, and he picked it up with a heavy heart, suspecting that he knew what it contained. The second item was a large, thick envelope edged with gold and written in fancy, flowing script. Picking it up, Gaspi turned it over and read the words:
“
From the Borough of Arkright, Mayor’s Office”
Returning to his room, he shut the door behind him and sat down heavily on his bed. He opened the college letter first, and as expected, it was a formal announcement of Everand’s death, sent out by Hephistole to the whole magical community. He read it slowly, his eyes sliding over the words without really taking them in. He’d always had this idea that everything would work out alright, that there was some kind of justice in the world, but Everand hadn’t deserved to die. In fact, his death had come at a time when he had humbled himself and made peace with those he’d wronged. It had happened just when he’d started to become a great magician in his own right. It was so unfair, and in the wake of such a tragedy, Gaspi felt hollow inside. It was as if some core part of him had been emptied of what had once been a warm spot of hope and faith.
Sighing heavily, he placed the letter on one side and reached for the other. He looked at the flowing script and the heavily decorated envelope suspiciously. The Mayor of Arkright’s last words to them had hardly been positive, and he wondered what unwanted message the letter might contain. Sliding his finger under the fold, he broke the wax seal and pulled out the parchment within. Unfolding the single sheet, he read the florid script with growing disgust. It was a formal announcement that due to the disruption of the tournament, no-one would be crowned Champion of the Measure that year. It went on to say that, due to his part in that disruption, Gaspi would not be welcome to compete in future stagings of their ancient and noble tradition.
He tossed the letter to one side in disgust. It wasn’t that he cared about winning the
Measure anymore. Who cared about a stupid tournament when Everand had died? It was just the pettiness and injustice of the mayor’s response. He wasn’t responsible for what happened – Ferast was! And as for announcing a winner, they could have given the title to Everand. It would have been a good way to honour him. The mayor’s decision was cowardly and unfair, but on reflection, perhaps that was all you could expect from life anyway. Ferast was alive and Everand was dead, and if that wasn’t unfair, then nothing was. Falling back on his bed, he stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d ever feel like he used to, or if some of the colour had been leeched out of his world for good.
…
Shirukai Sestin stood at the door to the Darkman’s cell, scrutinising the demon for any last vestige of rebellion. It had stopped resisting his dominion over a week previously, but Sestin was cautious and had taken his time testing if it was a ruse on the demon’s part. Over the last seven days, he’d removed layers of binding enchantments, tempting the Darkman to break free of its bonds and attack him, but it had not done so. Only one enchantment remained to remove and, once it was done, he would be at risk if it chose to attack him. He could bind it up again if he had to, but he’d have to be quick. Very quick. He’d have preferred to take longer testing the demon, but the boy had failed him and was serving his punishment even now in his own cell. Sestin needed to act quickly if he was to seize the advantage.
Feeling the thrill of adrenaline, he reached out with his senses and called the Darkman to attend him. The demon’s head lifted, its blazing eyes staring at him balefully, but Sestin could tell the difference between murderous hate and grudging servility. It was time. He delicately severed the last binding enchantment, tensing in readiness in case the demon attacked, but the Darkman just stood there, awaiting his instructions.
Awash with satisfaction that could only came from the utter domination of another being, Sestin implanted the knowledge of Helioport’s location into its mind, along with an image of the Nature Mage. The Darkman’s eyes focussed, hatred distorting its feral features once again. But not hatred of Sestin - hatred of the Nature Mage.
“Destroy him and no-one else,” he whispered to its receptive mind. “Return to me when you have done it, and I will release you back to the underworld.” The demon growled its assent and Sestin stepped to one side, gesturing towards the open doorway.
“Go,” he said, and in a burst of frantic motion, the Darkman sped from the room.
THE END