Part 15 (1/2)

Selik looked up into Devun's eyes and shook his head. 'Not really. But this is our best chance to bring down the colleges and I can't afford it to go wrong. We've got to crack that mage, make sure he takes our message. Their divisions need deepening.'

'I'll see what I can do, Captain.' Devun cracked his knuckles for effect.

'You're a good man, Devun,' said Selik. 'I'm glad you're with me. The sacrifices are many on the path to righteousness. Get to it.'

Devun beamed, saluted and left.

Selik smiled at his retreating back.

Heryst, Lord Elder Mage of Lystern, slapped his riding gloves down on the table in the great hall of the college's vast tower complex and poured himself a large goblet of wine. He stared around at the tapestries of his forerunners while he calmed himself and waited for the council.

Galloping through the quiet streets of Lystern in the early hours of the morning on the last day of his ride from Dordover, Heryst had felt the anger redouble in him. This city was dragging itself back from the brink of famine. Its people had worked hard and believed in the rationing that had kept them alive. They had taken in refugees by the thousand, gone without to do so, and still there had been little disorder.

The streets were clean, the markets still bought and sold, trade was just beginning to show some recovery and he had seen real optimism in the faces of those he had pa.s.sed.

And now it was being threatened. Pointlessly threatened.

Draining his goblet, he poured more, enjoying the taste of the wine so early in the day, feeling it warming his mind and easing his frayed temper. He walked to one of the great arched windows and looked down over his college.

The great hall sat at the top of the wide low tower that was the centre of Lysternan magic. Only forty feet high, with a plain tiled conical roof, it had a diameter three times its height and an intricate beam system bound by magic that kept the roof from collapsing. Beneath the great hall, ceremonial chambers, lecture theatres and laboratories were dug deep into the earth surrounding the Heart of the college.

Like the spokes of a wheel, seven stone corridors spread from the tower to an outer circle of offices and cla.s.srooms, and between the corridors were seven stunning gardens, places of contemplation reserved for the senior mages of the college. Orchards, shrubberies, rock gardens, pools and fantastic arrays of flowers; the mood of the mage and the season dictated where one might be found walking or sitting.

Linked to the outer circle, arcs of buildings spread hundreds of yards in all directions: the library, refectories, cold room, mana bowl, long rooms and chambers of those resident. Only Heryst himself had his rooms and offices in the tower. All built to a focused design, Lysternan magic found power in the geometry of its buildings, their precise architecture and the angles of walls and roofs. Heryst didn't claim to know a great deal about the origins of the knowledge, he only knew he was not going to let it be torn apart.

He sat in his luxuriously upholstered and very high-backed chair, all deep greens and blood reds, and looked around the circular table, with its diamond-patterned marquetry and its hollows where the elbows of ages had worn its scratched but polished surface. What decisions had been taken here over the centuries, what great projects had been discussed. History hung in the air; you could all but smell it. But no subject could have been more important than the one about to be aired now.

Doors opened all along the semicircular corridor that bordered the great hall on one side and in came the council. Thirty men and women, expectant but a little anxious at being called from their beds so early. Each took his or her allotted place at the table. Not a one spoke aloud though Heryst could feel the odd surge of Communion as some tried to get a hint of what was to come from friends they thought in higher places than themselves.

'My friends, I apologise for the intrusion on your rest this morning and for my appearance,' said Heryst, when all were seated. He had no doubt the fact he was still dusty and sweaty from the road had raised a few eyebrows. 'But there are things I need to know and you need to hear.'

There was a murmur around the table. Heryst looked to his immediate left, straight into the eyes of his mentor, Kayvel. He touched the arm of the white-haired strong old man, smiled and nodded.

'It has come,' he said quietly.

Kayvel sighed, his grey eyes sparkling in the sun and lantern light. 'And in my lifetime.'

'And I thank the G.o.ds you are here to advise me.'

'Speak,' Kayvel said.

Heryst turned to the council table and spoke.

'My friends, you will know I am just returned from Dordover. I had thought to seek a.s.surances from Vuldaroq that the conflict at Arlen was at an end before riding to Xetesk to seek the same from Dystran.

'Instead, I find that we are facing our gravest crisis for hundreds of years. We have suffered animosities and skirmishes in my lifetime but all these disputes were settled by negotiation. What we are facing now, my friends, is war. War between powerful colleges at a time when the very existence of magic is being questioned on Balaia. At a time when surely we should be pulling together to repair the damage magic has done to our land, two colleges seek to rip us all to shreds. All over a dead girl and the information two dying elves can give.

'Should we have been surprised? Possibly not. After all, we have seen Xetesk and Dordover battle over Lyanna; we have seen Dordover betray Erienne, one of their own, to the witch hunters; and we have seen our own General Darrick so sickened by our liaison with Dordover that he deserted his command. And the results of what Xetesk's Protector army did to Arlen are there today for all to see.'

'But is it war?' A voice sounded from the far side of the table. 'Could this not be another flexing of muscles?'

'I rode here and probably killed my horse in the process because it is war. Both colleges want it and we will be swept up in it, whether we like it or not. I fear for us and I fear for Julatsa because I do not believe this fight will end when either Xetesk or Dordover is beaten. The balance of magic will be irrevocably altered and the victor will inevitably desire dominion.

'Vuldaroq informs me that Xetesk has cleared its refugee camps by riding the people out like animals. They have scattered, many towards the Dord to the north. Some will inevitably come here.

'Kayvel, I need you to contact our deputation in Xetesk. Make sure they are unharmed and free. Are there any questions?'

He looked around the table. No one spoke.

'Good. I am going to rest and change. You are going to stay here and begin planning. And remember, if war comes to our borders and our negotiations come to nothing, we may have to defend not just ourselves but Julatsa too.'

The doors at the end of the chamber opened with a crash.

'My Lord Heryst, council. I apologise but I must speak.'

Heryst stilled the irritated murmur with a hand and acknowledged the head of his mana spectrum monitoring team.

'Go ahead, Dunera.'

'My Lord.' She nodded. 'We've got a problem in the spectrum over Arlen.'

'What is it?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'But whatever it is, people are going to die. Lots of them.'

'And the signature?' asked Kayvel.

'The mana is in flux, density increasing. It's huge, or it will be. And it's offensive in nature, no doubt of it.'

'Who's casting it?'

'Xetesk.'

'Do we have anyone in the vicinity?' Heryst kneaded his forehead.

'Yes. We have representatives with the Dordovans,' said Dunera, head dropping to her chest. 'They have refused to leave and I have already commended their souls.'

Commander Senese ran along the back of the Dordovan lines, urging his men to greater efforts. Three days they'd repulsed comfortably the Xeteskians' attempts to push them out of the northern streets. But now this.

Dawn had seen fierce fighting on three fronts, with Protectors in every attack. His men were holding but only just, keeping key intersections secure as well as the southern edge of the Park of the Martyrs. But in the mana spectrum, something much, much worse.

They'd been following its development for hours; a cooperative spell that must be taking the combined stamina of over fifty mages. And planning defence and reaction was taking most of his magical resource, leaving this as a battle almost entirely without spell attack. Somehow, though, he had to break the enemy onslaught.