A Crown Imperiled (16 page)

As founder of the Academy on Stardock Island, land once ceded him by the Crown of the Kingdom of the Isles, Pug was viewed with veneration but since he had renounced his loyalty to the Kingdom and given Stardock and the Academy autonomy, he was also viewed with some suspicion, an unspoken concern he might some day choose to attempt to reclaim the school of magicians and the town of Stardock.

Pug appeared ageless, looking much as he had for the last century and more, with his dark hair and beard. He was slender and short, but had a wiry strength, an aura of toughness and resilience. He might be the single most powerful magician on this world – though he considered his son Magnus might soon surpass him, if he had not already – but he had begun life as an orphan kitchen-boy in far-off Crydee Keep and had endured four years as a slave on the Tsurani home world of Kelewan. He was no lifelong academic.

Pug had seen death and destruction on a scale unimaginable to nearly every other magic-user in attendance and considered this current debate trivial, pointless, and a waste of time. Yet he endured it, because he honoured his pledge and would let events take their natural course.

The Wand of Watoom was one of the two Keshian-dominated factions in the Academy, the other being the Hands of Korsh. Watoom had been a Keshian, but not a Trueblood, like Korsh had been. The difference between those friends had evolved two groups, who were both conservative by nature. The Wand was by far the more cautious and reactive of the two, keeping themselves focused on internal matters almost to the exclusion of the outside world. The Hands of Korsh was still conservative in its outlook, but was more inclined to take active part in events beyond the Island of Stardock.

The third faction called themselves the Blue Riders in honour of one of Nakor’s more colourful affectations: a grand blue robe that had been a gift to him from the Empress of Kesh. That and a beautiful black stallion he had ridden like a madman until it died. The Blue Riders believed there was no magic, and that anyone could learn ‘tricks’, so they were constantly at odds with the other two factions. They were far more progressive and believed in an active, ongoing engagement with the outside world.

As usual the Hands were the swing faction, standing between the Riders and the Wand, with the uncommitted members likely to bring matters to a resolution. The topic being debated was the warning Pug had just delivered to the Council regarding the demon incursion into Midkemia and the possible threat posed from them and the forces behind the demons, the Dread.

The debate had been taking the better part of a day, and for Pug it had been tedium piled upon pointlessness. He had arrived the night before and conferred with the senior members of the Council, called the Administration: five members, one from each of the three named factions and a further two selected from the undecided members. Pug did not like the idea of any faction having automatic placement on such a body, it reeked too much of the party politics that had plagued much of the Empire of Tsuranuanni for centuries, but he forced himself to remain silent on all matters of governance over the Academy. For it to be truly independent, he must merely be seen as another magician.

Natiba finished his remarks, like many of those before merely a rehash of positions already argued, as if some members felt the need to speak even if only to reiterate what had already been said, in case they somehow might lose position or prestige in this council by staying silent.

Another magician rose and was given the floor. Pug was pleased to see this one was dressed in a plain brown robe, making him look like a mendicant friar of one of the temple orders rather than a magician. Too many of the magicians here, especially those in the conservative orders, affected the black robes similar to those worn by the Tsurani Great Ones. Pug absently wondered how much of that was due to his own choice to wear those garments, to constantly remind him of how he had come to be ‘the Black Sorcerer’.

The magician in brown said, ‘I am distressed that so many of our brothers and sisters are determined to continually revisit the same points without any apparent progress in reaching a conclusion we can, at least, debate. So, I will make this proposal and ask the Administration to put it before the membership and call for a vote.

‘I ask that we agree that Pug would not have come to us save in the face of the most dire threat and that time must be counted as a critical issue. Moreover, without a clear purpose as to where we can best lend our talents to protect our world from the demon threat and the Dread—,’ the young magician glanced at Pug with an expression that suggested he wasn’t willing quite yet to believe that such a horror could exist, let alone threaten this world, ‘—we should consider making a plan to answer any call Pug might make and how best to do that.’

The room erupted in comments and chatter. Several members voiced the opinion that it was too soon to be coming to any sort of vote on any issue, while others suggested the young magician overstepped his bounds. The Chairman stood and held up his hands for silence. He was a portly magician from one of the Eastern Kingdoms, by the name of Eslon Makov; he possessed a sense of gravitas well suited to moments like these. He said, ‘A question has been put to the vote of the members. To restate the question—’

Pug let the restatement fade into the background as he saw the young, brown-robed magician move in his direction, climbing the steps of the circular hall to where he sat. ‘A moment, if you don’t mind,’ he said.

Pug nodded and rose to follow the young magician up a few steps to the top tier of the Academy’s main hall, then out of the door to the antechamber.

The young magician said, ‘I am called Ruffio, Pug. I’ve not had the honour of meeting you before.’

Pug smiled. ‘I appreciate your support in there.’

The young man shrugged and smiled hesitantly and Pug was suddenly struck by Ruffio’s resemblance to himself at a much younger age. He had a thick shock of dark hair and a similar build and carriage. ‘It was an obvious point to make, I thought. And if dire events do transpire as you fear, it might make it easier for this august body to reach a conclusion and act before we all die of old age.’

Pug laughed as they walked past a pair of older magicians who cast them a quick glance and continued on their own way.

Pug and Ruffio exited the antechamber and walked down a wide set of steps to a walled garden. When they were alone, Ruffio said, ‘I think if there are members of some unknown agency embedded here, they’ve blended in successfully. For a week now I’ve reviewed every discussion I’ve been involved in, overheard, heard of, and I’m forced to admit . . . nothing.’ He looked Pug in the eye. ‘It may be that the very nature of this society of magicians is exactly what our opponents desire: a tendency to wish to do nothing.’

Pug nodded. ‘We have traitors in the Conclave, Ruffio. Otherwise how could so many things have gone so dreadfully wrong in the last few years?’

The younger magician nodded, remembering the assaults on Sorcerer’s Isle that should never have succeeded, the worst of which had cost Pug the lives of many, including his wife and son. ‘Still, that doesn’t mean they’ve infiltrated here.’ He looked unhappy. ‘We should return. The vote on the motion should begin soon.’

‘Thank you for putting it forward.’

‘A necessary step.’ The young magician was thoughtful as they reached the entrance to the meeting hall. ‘The Academy lacks the exceptional talents of the Conclave, but we have many powerful men and women in our ranks. If the need arises there are enough of us in the uncommitted faction to force through a vote to help.’ He smiled. ‘Even the most conservative member of the Hands won’t oppose preventing the world from ending.’ His smile broadened. ‘At least I don’t think they would.’

Pug stood alone for a moment and said quietly, ‘I hope you’re right, but sometimes I wonder.’

Considering what Ruffio had said about the talent in the Academy, Pug wondered if he had been too strict in keeping those in the Academy ignorant of the Conclave’s existence, save his own agents of course. He stood hesitant. He needed to return to Amirantha and Sandreena soon, but thought before he returned he would do well to spend a few days informing a few key members of the Academy of some of what might be a threat in the days to come. He turned and began moving towards his old quarters, always kept ready for him, and decided he’d send word to Magnus to work with Amirantha and Sandreena on what they found on the Isle of the Snake Men, and then join them later. He once more felt he had too much to do and not enough time to do it in.

•  CHAPTER SEVEN  •

Alarm

T
HE WARNING BELLS SOUNDED.

Martin was already out of his bed and dressed and on his way to the kitchen for breakfast. Buckling his sword belt around his waist, he met his brother coming out of the kitchen.

‘Damn,’ said the commander of the city. ‘I’m famished.’

Brendan smiled. ‘Just ate! If you don’t get yourself killed, have them fetch you something.’ Playfully smacking his brother’s stomach with the back of his left hand, he added, ‘Besides, the last week’s quiet is making you fat.’ Before Martin could respond, Brendan was off at a run towards the wall.

Martin indulged in a momentary expression of exasperation that went unnoticed by anyone, then set off after his brother. Brendan was at the top of the wall by the time Martin got there. He pointed out into the harbour.

‘What is it?’ asked Martin.

‘I have no idea.’

In the centre of the harbour the water was roiling, bubbling and capped with foam, as if the water below was beginning to boil.

Martin shouted up to the northern tower, ‘What do you see?’

From above the reply came, ‘Just a lot of dirty water bubbling, sir. It’s been that way for a good five or more minutes.’

‘What could it be?’ asked Martin quietly, turning back to watch.

After another few minutes Lady Bethany and Lily appeared, both sporting what Martin had come to think of as their ‘fighting togs’: leather breeches, woollen shirts, and leather vests and boots. Both carried bows, though Bethany was the only true archer. She had been giving Lily lessons with the bow and the girl was now able to draw and loose a shaft, though Brendan – who’d watched closely since he’d taken an interest in the girl – didn’t think she stood much chance of hitting anything save by chance, as he had confided in his brother. And since Brendan was probably the only archer who exceeded Bethany’s skills in the city, Martin took his judgment at face value.

Brendan’s close attention of Bethany had caused a great deal of agitation in young Captain George Bolton, now third-in-command of the city, who obviously had a deep infatuation with the mayor’s daughter. Brendan’s interest was more passing, given the lack of attractive young women in the city to compete with Lily; almost all the rest had been sent north to Zün for safety. She had refused to travel north and stayed in the city with her father, as he felt obliged to stay and defend his city.

Bethany looked excited as she asked, ‘What is it, Martin?’

‘I’ll tell you when I know,’ he snapped.

Her eyes widened; then she realized the strain was finally taking its toll on him.

Martin called up to the lookout above, ‘What do you see?’

‘The same, sir. Just bubbles and silt.’

‘Should we send someone out to investigate?’ asked Brendan.

Martin was silent for a moment, then said, ‘No, we wait.’

‘Wait for what?’ asked his brother.

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Martin replied.

The four figures at the corner table were quiet, and while the room had cycled from an almost-sullen silence to a near riot of noise and back again over the previous day, these four were unnaturally silent.

Arkan had found little to divert his attention since reaching Ylith, so he spent his time studying the customers in the inn, jammed cheek-by-jowl as they were before him. It was a little like hunting, thought the moredhel chieftain, sitting in a hide observing the game through the swaying trees.

There were no rooms for rent, and every available floor space from the basement to the attic was occupied by exhausted workers and stranded travellers. So Miranda, Nakor, Calis, and Arkan had been content to stay at their table, occasionally leaving to use the public jakes out back.

Arkan and Calis were of elf stock, so silence was not difficult for either. The two demons in human form reflected the nature of their human identities, Miranda’s moods being manifold. Nakor was by nature ebullient, but he could also embrace solitude and quietude, so idle conversation had withered hours before.

Now all four of them sat and covertly studied the other four men. They were rather ordinary looking, apart from the unnatural silence they observed. Had they been monks of some contemplative order, they couldn’t have been less talkative. Still, that wasn’t the only thing about them that caught the attention of Calis and the others.

The Prince of Elvandar had lived among humans more than the other three, even though the two demons possessed Miranda and Nakor’s memories. All questions about how the two supposedly dead friends had reappeared in Ylith had been deflected, and Calis had dropped his enquiry, assuming he would learn the truth in good time. Like his mother’s people, he had greater patience than humans.

It had been Arkan who had first noticed the four quiet men. He had simply said, ‘There’s something off about those four.’ He indicated the four men at the table in the corner on the other side of the rear door.

‘Off odd, or off dangerous?’ asked Calis, taking an interest.

‘I’m not sure, which probably means dangerous,’ said the moredhel chieftain. ‘They are trying to appear to be strangers, sitting at the same table by happenstance, yet despite the differences in their attire, each sports the same fashion of hair, as if they are members of the same clan.’

Nakor grinned. ‘Monks, perhaps?’

‘Not likely,’ said Miranda.

‘No visible weapons, so they are either harmless or have other means to protect themselves,’ continued Arkan. ‘Magic would be my best guess, as there are no obvious guards nearby.’