The Written (34 page)

‘This is impossible!’ Helyard
shouted, his voice now high-pitched and his eyes burning. The
soldiers approached him gingerly and tried to slowly uproot him
from his throne. Fearful of touching him, they started to lead him
across the hall. Farden half-expected the tall mage to try and
fight his way out, but he just carried on shouting and protesting
at the top of his voice. Once he tried to move past the guards and
get away but the armoured men formed a ring around him and used
their shields to move him along. Condemning shouts of “traitor!”
and “snake!” came from the council. Helyard’s fists pounded the
air, and his eyes were wide with rage. He pointed at Svarta and
spat at her venomously. ‘This isn’t over Siren! I’m warning you!
Åddren!’ Helyard’s voice echoed around the hall until he
disappeared behind the gold doors with a bang.

Vice turned to Svarta and
Farfallen. ‘Are you happy now?’ he said.

‘Not in the slightest,’ the
Siren shook her head.

‘You’ve got what you came for,
Helyard has been exposed and will be punished accordingly,’ said
Vice, walking swiftly to take up his own seat near Åddren.

But Svarta wagged a finger at
him. ‘Not so fast Undermage, we came here for an answers.’

Åddren exploded with sudden
anger. ‘And what answers would they be!?’ he shouted. His face was
pale and his hands were shaking with fury or grief, Farden couldn’t
tell, and he slammed his palm down on the marble arm of his throne
with a loud slap. ‘You’ve brought this magick council to its knees
and had one of the Arkmages imprisoned for treason, what more could
you possibly want! Do you want me as well? The cloak off my back?
My throne? Here!’ Åddren tore wildly at his gold and green robe,
ripping it from his shoulders and throwing it over his head. He
threw it on the marble floor next to the bloody disk and stood with
his arms wide, half-naked and eyes wide. Svarta was silent for
once.

‘I just watched a man thrown
into prison for murder and betrayal, a man who I have known for
years, a man I trusted implicitly! And yet under my very nose he
has plotted and he has schemed against his own people! When have
you known such betrayal Svarta? Tell me how you think that would
feel!’ Åddren’s eyes glowed with fire as he waited for an answer,
but the Siren queen said nothing and just stared at him. Farden had
never seen the Arkmage like that before, and neither had the
council.

Farfallen took a deep breath.
‘I think we have argued enough for one day.’ His deep voice
appeared to calm Åddren, and he slumped wearily back into his seat.
The gold dragon continued. ‘But the question still remains whether
Helyard was working alone, or if we should still ready ourselves
for the summoning of this creature?’

Vice stood. ‘I agree. Farden
was attacked by a dark sorcerer while on his way to Nelska, so we
must assume that there are others involved.’

Brightshow piped up. ‘But
without the tearbook we have nothing, not even the
translations.’

The whole council sighed, and
felt the first icy tendrils of failure creeping over them. Farden
racked his brains, and tried to quell the anger inside him.
Cheska’s words from the night before echoed in his head.

Vice clicked his fingers
suddenly. ‘Albion,’ he said, and looked around.

Åddren seemed confused.
Farfallen narrowed his eyes at the Undermage. ‘Albion?’

‘Helyard has been travelling
there at night for the past few weeks. I thought nothing of it
until now.’

Farden remembered something,
and spoke up. ‘He went to Albion the night before I left for
Nelska. The sorcerer on the ship also had an Albion accent.’ The
pieces began to click together.

‘He said he had business with
one of the Dukes,’ said Åddren. Vice nodded. ‘He went to Kiltyrin
two nights ago, and Fidlarig before that. This has to be what we’re
looking for.’ Åddren put a hand under his chin and quietly muttered
and agreement. The council members talked amongst themselves and
wagged their chins and fingers. Everybody seemed to agree.

‘We can have dragons searching
for the well in a few hours,’ Svarta said decisively, and Farden
confidently walked forward. He resisted the urge to knock the Siren
queen with his shoulder, and stood in front of the thrones. He
looked to Vice. ‘The Written can quickdoor to the port of Dunyra,
Undermage. I can have all of us there before sunset, ready to
fight,’ he said.

Svarta looked disgusted at the
thought of an army of Written, but Vice smiled. ‘We will need all
the help we can get,’ said Åddren. Behind them the Old Dragon
settled down to sit on the floor, and rumbled thoughtfully. ‘Now
that Helyard’s been exposed, his friends are likely to spring their
trap early,’ he warned.

‘That’s assuming they’ve
already found a dark elf well,’ Svarta said.

Åddren raised a hand and spoke
in a calm measured tone. ‘We cannot afford to take that chance. Who
knows what Helyard has been up to all these years, what powerful
friends he might have,’ he let out a brief sigh. ‘Vice, you will
take the army to the port of Dunyra by ship or by quickdoor, find
that well and destroy it. I will not allow these traitors to summon
this creature, it must be killed at all costs!’ The council
murmured, and a few yells could be heard.

‘I agree,’ Farfallen growled.
‘I will send my fastest dragons to Albion within the hour, and if
you are willing, the rest of us will remain here to guard Krauslung
for the time being. Our army will be ready to leave Nelska by the
morning.’

‘Please, accept my
hospitality,’ Åddren bowed his head with a friendly, and slightly
weary, gesture. Farfallen flashed his reptilian smile and Svarta
cleared her throat with some sort of icy, indifferent “thank
you”.

The Arkmage rapped his knuckles
on the side of his throne. ‘The council is now dismissed, the
dragons and their riders may stay, as can you Farden.’ Åddren
pointed to the mage. The council slowly drifted out of the door and
out into the now hushed corridor. Servants and citizens peered over
the heads of guards like eager chicks in a nest, trying to see into
the great hall. Modren made to leave, but Farden beckoned him
forward, and he joined him in front of the thrones.

Soon the hall was empty, and
the doors were locked shut from the outside. Vice sighed loudly,
still eyeing the scar on Farfallen’s chest. ‘Farden and I will go
and ready our forces. There is much to do.’ His eyes flicked to the
mage, and Farden nodded quickly.

Åddren spoke. ‘I will talk with
Farfallen for a while. I want that Weight hidden in your chambers,
Vice, keep it safe and out of sight.’

The Undermage stood up and went
to the blood-encrusted Weight on the floor. With the cloth he
picked it up and gripped it tightly. ‘I’ll meet you outside
Farden,’ said Vice before he left the hall.

After he left, Åddren beckoned
to the mage. ‘Come here mage,’ he said. Farden strode forward and
bowed in front of the throne. The Arkmage leaned forward and held
out his own Weight. It caught the light and glistening like the
sun. Åddren spoke slowly. He sounded tired. ‘It seems you have
proven you worth once more, Farden, and I am glad to have you back
in one piece. Because you have been so loyal to the Arka in the
face of such betrayal, I now want you to hold onto this, so that I
may be exempt from any blame. After tonight I will stay in my
chamber, and the council will be suspended until I say different.’
Åddren looked to Svarta and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
‘Vice has done well to chose you to lead the Written. I know you
will not disappoint.’

Farden suddenly felt honoured,
and for the first time he felt like he had escaped the shadow of
his uncle’s legacy, that his dedication had been noticed, that he
was no longer a pawn, but a player. Farden bowed once more and
thanked the Arkmage. He took the Weight, marvelling at its
lightness, and slipped it inside his cloak. As he turned he looked
to Farfallen, who blinked slowly and hinted at a smile, and then
left with Modren trailing behind. Svarta watched him go
suspiciously.

As he reached the doors, Farden
stopped and turned, an idea in his head. ‘If I might ask a favour
of the Sirens, your Mage, I would like it if Brightshow flew me to
the Arkabbey in the Forest of Durn, in Albion, if she and her rider
are willing?’ he asked. Modren looked aghast at the notion of
dragons and flying in the same sentence.

‘And what is the purpose of
this diversion?’ Åddren inquired.

‘My superior at the Arkabbey,
the vampyre Durnus,’ at this Svarta looked even more disgusted, ‘is
one of the finest historians and scholars the Arka have. He has
spent decades studying dark magick and Albion, and I think he would
be invaluable in helping to find the elven well,’ said Farden.

Åddren thought for a moment and
then nodded. ‘It makes sense, and I see no problem with it. Be
quick though Farden, we have no time to waste.’ Åddren waved for
him to go, and managed to give the mage a weak smile. The mage
could see that the day’s events had hit him hard.

‘I’ll meet you in front of the
main gates outside your city, Farden, as soon as night falls.’
Brightshow said, and her rider gave the mage a formal smile. Farden
smiled at the dragon, bowed again, and left with Modren once again
in tow.

Vice was waiting outside the
door. The people had been ushered downstairs and swiftly out of the
citadel at the behest of the Undermage’s sharp tongue. His soldiers
now stood at every door and corner in the fortress, green and black
armour clanking loudly as they patrolled around in pairs.

‘There you are,’ Vice scowled
at them. The door banged shut and he whispered to Farden. ‘What did
the Arkmage say?’

‘He said you did well to choose
me as leader of the Written, and he thanked me for all I did in
Nelska,’ said Farden. They walked as they whispered, meandering
through the corridors and down into the fortress below. Modren
remained a few steps behind, feeling altogether overwhelmed and
left out.

Vice mused, rubbing his chin
with a thoughtful hum. He smoothed his hair as he spoke. ‘Helyard
all along,’ he said.

Farden shook his head and
clenched his fists. ‘He’s been against our every move since the
start of this whole debacle. I should have realised earlier when he
tried to pin it on me.’

‘None of us could have ever
predicted that the traitor would be an Arkmage. Even in my wildest
dreams.’

‘I always knew there was
something strange about him. He always was the more powerful of the
two. I half expected him to try and fight his way out of there,’
said Farden.

Vice agreed. ‘Well he’s locked
away now, and I’d like to see him try to break his way out. The
prison walls are bound with spells for a reason. Even air couldn’t
escape those cells,’ he said. Farden and Modren nodded. The prisons
were legendary, and every criminal’s nightmare. Vice looked at the
two mages. ‘Are the Written going to be ready in time? As much as I
distrust that golden lizard, Farfallen is right: whoever Helyard
was working with could potentially release the creature at any
time.’

Farden lifted his chin proudly.
‘I’ll assemble them now and get them through the quickdoor to
Dunyra as soon as possible. We’ll be at Fidlarig by nightfall.’

‘Good. You’re in charge now,’
he paused. ‘So don’t let me down,’ Vice threw him a sideways look
and disguised the warning with a smile. Farden retorted with his
own arrogant smirk. ‘Never been a problem before,‘ he said. They
jogged down a flight of steps two at a time, boots clattering on
the stone. The noise from below was getting louder. ‘I almost
forgot, I’m collecting Durnus from the Arkabbey before I go to
Dunyra.’

Vice looked confused, a little
annoyed. ‘Why?’

‘That old vampyre has sat in
his study for the last two hundred years studying the dark elf
wells and their history. If we want to get to this well as quickly
as possible then he’s our best bet.’

‘Fine, bring him,’ said the
Undermage reluctantly. ‘I’m staying in Krauslung. Someone needs to
be here to stop it falling apart. Åddren is shaken, and I don’t
think he’ll be thinking clearly, so I want to be here in case
anything goes wrong. And those dragons need watching too,’ said
Vice, and leaned closer to whisper in Farden’s ear. ‘I see what you
mean about that Siren bitch,’ he hissed. Farden nodded and said no
more.

The three of them descended
into the depths of the Arkathedral fortress, their steps gradually
getting faster and faster with each flight of stairs and every
corridor they came across, as if success depended on their haste,
and in no time at all they reached where the crowds were at their
busiest. Vice paused on the steps. The noise was deafening, echoing
and bouncing off the marble walls and floors, and he had to shout
to be heard. ‘I will join you in a few days, don’t let me down
Farden! Remember, you’re in charge now.’

‘If there’re any problems I’ll
be back here instantly, so keep the quickdoors open!’ Farden shook
Vice’s hand, and Modren bowed low. The Undermage gripped the
Farden’s shoulder tightly and then turned to go back the way they
had come. ‘May the gods be with you!’ he called over his
shoulder.

Once he had left Farden sighed
and shrugged at Modren. His blonde friend shook his head and
breathed an exasperated and somewhat tired sigh. ‘You’ve got a lot
of explaining to do.’

Farden rolled his eyes
‘Tonight, when I get back from the Arkabbey, then I’ll tell you
everything,’ he said. ‘This day has been fucked up,’

‘This whole situation is fucked
up! Moral’s going to be terrible when word gets out about Helyard,’
Modren cursed.

‘I know, but we’ve got more
dangerous things to think about now, and places to be, so get a
move on. I’m going to get my things and get ready, and then we’ll
meet back here at sunset like I said.’