The Written (12 page)

The austere Helyard sighed
theatrically. ‘Tell us of your findings then Farden. If this news
is as urgent as I’m told, you’d best be out with it,’ he said with
a dismissive wave.

‘Yes Lord Helyard.’ Farden
nodded once more and took a breath. He spoke slowly and with a
measured tone, striving to remember every detail, like Durnus had
told him. He was unusually nervous in front of these old men. ‘The
book that was stolen from Arfell is an old dark elf manual, a spell
book for summoning daemons and beasts from the dark places. A few
days ago I travelled further south into Albion to find a Siren
hermit named Jergan. He had been part of the team of wizards and
scholars that first discovered the book, in an ancient elf fortress
in the mountains, the same team that went on to decipher and cast
some of the spells. Jergan spoke of the worst and most powerful of
them all, something he said they had called
the
mouth
or
mouths of darkness
. They
tried, and failed, to summon it, and before they got any further
the Old Dragon had the book banished to a secret location in
southern Nelska, and never spoke of it again.’

The Arkmages thought in silence
for a moment, and several of the council members murmured between
each other conspiratorially, like gossiping maids, and then Åddren
asked a question. ‘What of this Jergan, could he be the one
responsible?’

‘No your Mage, Jergan has
become a pathetic hermit, nothing but a slave to his curse,’ he
paused as the others threw quizzical looks at him. ‘He was bitten
years ago by a lycan on the ice fields, and since then has lived in
hiding, a broken and pitiful man under the spell of the bite. He
hasn’t left Albion in years and is still hiding on the moors in a
wooden cabin. He’s innocent.’

‘And you’re sure about that,’
asked Helyard pointedly.

‘The murders at Arfell were
committed by more than just your average magick-user, we know
that,’ said Vice. Åddren nodded.

Helyard licked his thin lips
with a lizard tongue and tried on a hint of a white smile. ‘I hear
a rumour that you might be one of the finest Written we have,
Farden, where were you when the book was stolen?’ There was a burst
of outrage in the hall, mingled with a few accusing shouts. Åddren
banged his fist on his marble throne for quiet.

Farden was shocked, and
momentarily speechless, standing there with his mouth open. He
tried to think of a careful answer. Silence was slowly restored,
and then it hung like lead in the hall. ‘Your Mage, I agree that
everyone is under scrutiny for this terrible crime, even our own
Arka, but as for me,’ he looked the Arkmage squarely in the eye, ‘I
was in the north of Albion, on a mission given to me by my
superior.’ Farden paused, and then something kindled a little
rebellious streak in his heart. ‘But perhaps, if I might be so bold
in saying, that if that’s the case, then even the magick council
should be considered in this investigation.’ A few more shouts from
behind him and a low rumble of discontent came from the gathered
council members. Arrogant bureaucrats, Farden thought, and made an
effort to stand straighter.

Åddren held up his hands for
silence. ‘No one here is being accused. Farden is a loyal servant
and has served us well through the years, Arkmage Helyard is merely
being wary.’ Vice agreed with a murmur, and Åddren changed the
subject. ‘I’m curious, why did they fail in summoning this
creature?’

Farden took the hint. ‘Jergan
said that this spell would need one of the dark elven wells to
bring the creature from the other side, and he also seems to think
there may be one in Emaneska that we have yet to find.’

Helyard scoffed, and a ripple
of laughter ran through the council. ‘Did he draw you a map?’
shouted a mocking voice from somewhere in the crowd. Farden stood
even straighter. ‘He knew something, and I believe him.’ he said
confidently, looking to Vice for help.

‘If what Farden says is true,
then I thank the gods that the Sirens didn’t ever find one, while
they had this book in their possession. Such a force would have
made them unstoppable.’ Vice mulled over his friend’s words.

Åddren held up a solitary
finger. ‘If the murderers need a dark magick well to summon the
creature, then we have no choice but to believe this lycan, and try
and find this well. Only then can we catch the ones
responsible.’

‘Yes your Mage,’ agreed
Farden.

‘Åddren, the wells have been
lost to us for years! You cannot seriously believe that one still
survives,’ Helyard chuckled in mock humour. ‘Believe me, I have led
many expeditions to find one...’

‘As have I, Arkmage,’
interrupted Vice. ‘I agree with Farden. We need to make sure that
this creature, this
mouth of darkness
, is
never released. The only way we can do that is by getting to a well
before they do.’ The Undermage looked Helyard squarely in the eye
while he spoke, and the stern man snorted and looked away. Farden
could have sworn, that for a mere moment, Vice flashed him a
triumphant wink.

Åddren cocked his head to one
side, as if waiting for the answers to come to him. ‘How then, can
we find a lost well now when we have been searching for decades? No
clues have been found at Arfell, nor at any of our other libraries.
Our records do not simply go far back enough!’

The others in the hall were
silent in thought. A few still sniggered amongst themselves, and
Farden contemplated changing their minds with a quick firebolt, but
he kept his hands clasped behind him and stayed where he was. And
then it came to him, something Jergan had said. ‘Some of the
dragons could have memories of the dark elves,’ he said. A strange
silence came over the hall, a mixture of horror and deep
thought.

Vice, eyes locked on Farden,
spoke up again. ‘We would need a tearbook,’ he said.

Farden’s interest was aroused.
He had only seen a tearbook once during his skirmishes in Nelska
years before. He remembered them as large tomes filled with lines
and lines of dragon-script, hieroglyphs that held a dragon’s
memories like a sponge could hold a lake. When a dragon’s tear was
dropped onto a blank page of an empty tearbook, the memories would
write themselves over the pages, and the dragon could store his
past in one single book to be read as a history of their lives. The
older the dragon, the longer the tearbook, and some spanned
millennia.

‘The dragon-riders have been
silent for years now, and not a single messenger from Nelska has
passed our gates since we agreed on the ceasefire.’ Helyard said,
‘and that was fifteen years ago.’

Farden was starting to notice
that these council sessions seemed to consist of a lot of shouting
and of a lot of silence.

‘Vice?’ All eyes turned on the
Undermage. Years ago, in one of the final battles of the war, Vice
had bravely led a small group soldiers through a secret tunnel into
the siege-locked fortress of Ragjarak, home of the Old Dragon
Farfallen, ruler of the Sirens. After a long battle through the
ice-tunnels, Vice had killed Farfallen and took his tearbook as a
trophy. It was one of the few great victories of the war, and the
blow had been heavy on the Sirens. Songs were still being sung in
the taverns of the great Undermage and his fight with the gold
dragon.

‘The tearbook is empty, and has
been for years.’ Vice shrugged, and a susurrus of disappointment
echoed through the cavernous hall. Unfortunately for the late men
of Arfell, tearbooks fade when they aren’t in the presence of their
dragon, and their pages go blank.

Farden thought for a moment,
and then dared to speak up again. They were not going to like this.
Not one bit.

‘Your Mages,’ he began,
trepidation building inside him. ‘What if we took the tearbook back
to the Sirens, as a peace offering and a gesture of good will
to...’ But he didn’t get any further: the hall exploded into
outraged chaos. Shouts ricocheted around the hall.

‘Madness!’

‘To suggest such a thing is
treason!’

‘Get him out of here!’

Åddren held up his hands once
again, but nothing happened. The noise was deafening. Helyard was
incredulous. He leaned far out of his chair and gaped wide-eyed at
Farden as if the mage had just squatted down and laid a golden egg
on the marble floor. ‘How dare you! That is an outrage!’ bellowed
the Arkmage. His face turned a crimson shade of purple. Åddren
banged his fist on his throne and waved his other hand for silence,
but none came. Helyard was still shouting. ‘How do we know the
Sirens weren’t responsible in the first place?!’

Farden looked to Vice for help,
but he was busy shouting down another council member. The mage
yelled over the pandemonium. ‘The dragon-riders were the ones who
originally banished the book your Mage, and if they see how
dangerous the situation is they may help us in finding the
well!’

Helyard slapped his thigh
angrily and pointed at the mage with an accusing finger. ‘Of course
they will, and once we do they’ll stab us in the back and summon
the creature for themselves! You could start another war with your
foolish actions!’ He boomed.

‘And you could start one with
your
inaction!’ snapped Farden. He could
feel the magick bubbling up in his chest. He wanted to slam his
fist into the Arkmage’s nose and teach him a lesson.

‘How dare you lecture me!’
barked Helyard, his face red and full of indignant veins, jaw
pointing and condemning. ‘Guards! Remove F...’

‘ENOUGH!’ Åddren roared, in a
voice quite unnatural for his small figure, and everyone froze, and
the echoes of angry words hung awkwardly in the hall. With a snort
Helyard sat back in his throne and drummed his fingers on the
marble.

‘This is a place of reason and
discussion, not petty squabbling and shouting, if you want that
then go find it in the streets. I will not have it hear. Now does
anyone have any sense to offer?’

After a moment Vice raised a
hand and spoke in a measured tone to the hall. ‘I suggest, that
Farden should go as an emissary to Nelska, and speak with the Siren
elders.’ Farden fixed Vice with a shocked look. Vice held his gaze
and continued. ‘I would rather gain their help, than try and face
this threat alone. This concerns all of Emaneska now, not just the
Arka.’ Farden fidgeted with his hands behind his back, almost
excited.

Åddren sighed. ‘Then it is down
to a vote. Helyard?’ he looked at his counterpart, who still hadn’t
taken his stormy eyes off of Farden. ‘Choose your side,’ said
Åddren.

Helyard was the picture of
rage. Arms folded, he languished in his chair like a spiteful
lizard, still boring into the mage’s skull with his wooden eyes. ‘I
say that the dragon-riders are the ones to blame, and we’d be
foolishly throwing everything, and I mean everything, into their
claws. I say no,’ the tall man shrugged, slouched shoulders
scraping against the polished marble throne.

‘Vice?’

‘I say yes,’ the Undermage said
firmly, without even missing a beat. ‘Farden should take back the
tearbook to Nelska.’

Victorious drums started to
play in Farden’s head. A surreptitious smile started to creep into
the corner of his cheek.

Åddren paused for a moment, and
everybody seemed to hold their breath. The suspense verged on
painful. He looked up from the marble floor. ‘I say yes.’

And here entered the proud
trumpets. The council rumbled with mixed opinions and a scatter of
applause from about half of them. Farden saw some of them nodding
and smiling to eachother, while others shook their heads and
crossed their arms. He looked back to the thrones, and to Vice and
Åddren ‘Thank you, Arkmages, I will not fail you,’ Farden bowed his
head with a quick nod and put a clenched fist to his breastplate,
where his heart was.

‘Vice will show you out, and
find you accommodation in the Arkathedral. We will meet at the west
pier of Rós at dawn. May Evernia bring you a restful sleep tonight,
mage,’ Åddren said warmly, and gestured to the doors at the back of
the hall. Vice stood up quickly and went to put a friendly arm
around Farden. They bowed again and turned to leave. They walked
through the crowded council, who stared like hawks at the two
men.

‘Thank you,’ hissed Farden,
once they were out of earshot.

‘Don’t even mention it.’

The gold doors slammed shut
behind them and their steps echoed loudly in the stone hallway, and
somehow the narrow corridor was a relief after the claustrophobic
hall. They talked and walked.

‘I’ve never seen Helyard like
that.’ said the mage.

Vice nodded. ‘Mhm, he’s very,
what’s the word,
passionate
, about his
views.’

‘And in other words...?’ Farden
grinned, not convinced by his friend’s tactful words.

‘He’s a stubborn fuck,’ said
Vice, and he looked at Farden with a serious look. ‘He should have
been a tyrant or a warlord rather than an Arkmage, it would suit
him better. There’s no place in the council for people like him.
It’s time to compromise and open our doors, not to lock them even
tighter.’

‘It’s been a while since I
heard you speak your mind Vice, and I have to say, I prefer it to
all that delicate democratic shit,’ said Farden, still in a low
voice. The corridor seemed empty. He looked over his shoulder to
make sure.

Vice nodded. ‘And so do I.’

‘Åddren seems to know how to
handle him.’

‘After twenty-five years I
would expect him to. He knows things are changing, and he’s willing
to change with them. The problem is Helyard has many a supporter in
the council, and so Åddren has to be delicate, and democratic, and
find a middle ground.’

‘I could never do what you do,
sit there and let all the politics wash over you,’ said Farden.