Kellanved's Reach

They passed through numerous guarded entryways and doors, and were directed towards a small side room, a private meeting chamber. Two of Surly’s Claws guarded this door, and when they opened it Cartheron saw Surly at a table flanked by two more Claw bodyguards, the boyish-looking cadre mage Calot, and their ‘High Mage’ Tayschrenn.

The table held some sort of glowing object, not unlike a lantern, except that the pale light was constant, not flickering.

‘Hairlock,’ Tayschrenn called, ‘if you would please …’

Grunting, the burly mage went to the table and raised his hands to the globe.

‘Been working on this for a while,’ the High Mage explained to Cartheron. ‘This is our first trial.’ He raised a questioning brow to Surly, who nodded her assent.

‘Ap-Athlan,’ Tayschrenn called to the table. ‘I would speak with you.’

Everyone waited in silence. Cartheron couldn’t help cocking a sceptical eye to Surly; her attention, however, was steady upon the single bluish light in the darkened room.

Something flickered in the glow, a blurry shape, and a voice whispered faintly, wavering in and out, ‘Who would speak?’

‘I am Tayschrenn. I speak for the ruler of Malaz and the Napan Isles.’

A long silence followed this, until the weak voice answered, ‘Very well. Speak.’

‘I wish to propose an agreement to our mutual benefit.’

Silence again, until a whispered, ‘I see … I shall take your request to my mistress.’

‘Agreed. We shall speak again – one day hence.’

‘Agreed.’

A collective gasp of relief burst from the mages as the glow snapped out, plunging the room into darkness. Light blossomed from a lantern Surly now held, its sliding panel raised. Cartheron saw other shielded lanterns and opened them as well. The light revealed the three mages clinging to the table like shipwreck survivors. Their faces gleamed with sweat and they were gasping for breath.

‘One day?’ Calot complained to Tayschrenn, when he could speak. ‘You’re optimistic.’

*   *   *

Orjin cleaned his nicked and gouged two-handed blade as best he could, then eased himself down on a rock to rest. He was exhausted, famished to his core, and hadn’t had a proper drink since a mouthful of muddy rainwater someone had kept too long in a goatskin gerber.

At least the numerous bruises and cuts up and down his body weren’t serious enough to slow him down – yet. He was lucky in that. Many were down one good arm, or had leg wounds that meant they were barely able to keep up when the troop was on the move.

He gathered up a handful of dirt and rubbed his hands together to scrape off the dried blood.

Soon. It would have to be soon now. The decision he’d been putting off.

If it wasn’t already too late.

One by one the other principals of the troop came limping up to sit with him at his fire in the traditional dusk gathering. Not that there was anything to discuss these days. They were surrounded, and the ground was disappearing beneath their feet. At some point ahead – not so far off at all – things would settle into an informal siege, with Renquill starving them out.

At least, that’s what he’d do.

He nodded to Orhan, Terath, Yune and Prevost Jeral as they either sat or squatted down, inviting any ideas. This night the Wickan Arkady was with them too, back in camp between his contacts with the hill tribes.

Orjin looked from one haggard and drawn face to another, Terath and Jeral with eyes downcast as if unable, or unwilling, to meet his gaze, and decided then that now would be the time. He drew breath to speak, just as Prevost Jeral raised her hand. He lifted a brow. ‘Yes?’

She extended a sealed scroll. ‘Another message from Renquill.’

Orjin took it, commenting, ‘Downright chatty, our pursuer.’ This raised a few half-smiles.

He broke the seals and read the message, then tossed the vellum roll into the fire. ‘As expected – my head for the lives of the troop.’

‘As I said before,’ Terath cut in, ‘he

may mean it, but we cannot trust Quon and Tali. They want everyone’s head.’

Orjin pulled a hand down his face, as if he could draw the exhaustion from his spirit and flesh; how hard it was to concentrate when just standing was an effort! ‘An exchange could be arranged,’ he mused. ‘Perhaps right at the Seti border. You could all make a run for it there.’

‘No more talk of that,’ Jeral growled.

‘But that pretty much is my proposal,’ Orjin explained. ‘We break out to the north, then east along the Purge border – that may slow Renquill down – then part into small companies and spread out. Some of us will make it.’ He didn’t say that if it came to it he would offer himself as a diversion to allow as many as possible to get away.

Orhan and Terath were shaking their heads. ‘Not good enough,’ Terath answered. ‘It’s all or none.’

‘There’s nothing else.’ Orjin eyed everyone in turn. ‘Unless anyone else has a better idea?’

Heads turned as the group looked at one another; but no one spoke.

Orjin nodded. ‘Very well then. Tomorrow at dawn. We strike north, then dash east.’