An eerie calm embraced the city of Te’Roek. A messenger had arrived after a week of straight riding, exhausted and aching, and blurted out a terrible report to General Kaster: hundreds of ships had been sighted sailing down the Great River Divide. Scouts had been dispatched to investigate on both banks and had returned pale-faced and disbelieving. Tens of thousands of men were camped on the northern shore of the river and appeared to be making ready to leave, which could only mean one thing. The messenger feared that the border forces would already be engaged in battle.
Stunned, the general had immediately informed the queen, who had personally addressed the citizens of Te’Roek. Frightened and uncertain, people kept to their homes and savored each moment they had with their families. Soon, the Ayons would march south and, with an army that greatly outnumbered the Ronnesians’ own, it would take more than a miracle to stop them.
But there were four figures out in the cold and damp that night and they moved purposefully through the lower city from the North Gate, side by side. Their boots rustled the first of the fall leaves as they walked along the main thoroughfare. On the left, the shortest, stooped figure turned his head to look down an intersecting street, drawn by the sound of approaching footsteps. A small child darted out from the misty shadows and crossed his path, carrying a heavy bag over her shoulder. Upon seeing she was not alone, the child skidded to a halt and looked up at the figures. The stooped one paused.
“Not afraid of the dark, are you, child?”
The girl screamed, a shrill sound that pierced the night’s silence, making the figure cringe. The tallest of the four turned his head to the girl and, with a motion of his hand, silenced her scream.
“Play your games later,” Varren said harshly. “This is no time for your sport.”
“Apologies, my lord. I couldn’t sss help myself.”
“But since you have now made our presence known,” he said, watching as the girl ran from them, clutching at her throat, “we may as well do what we came here to do.” He reached up and unceremoniously removed the dark gloves from his long-fingered hands. Burying the gloves deep in his cloak pockets, he gestured to the others. “Space yourselves out and spread chaos as quickly as you can. Leave them both to me. On my signal, return to Delseroy.”
He began to run, hurtling through the mist, following the road as it sloped gently up. Breathing in the damp scent of the mist, he felt his power stir. He glanced from left to right and, flinging his arms out to the sides, released several strands of orange fire from each palm. The flames careened through the mist and exploded into the houses on each side of the street. The fire licked at the wooden frames, irrespective of the damp that had settled there, and quickly spread. Citizens who woke to find their homes aflame began to yell and shout in fear and their cries rose into the night air, breaking the silence.
The sorcerer grinned and ran on, reveling in the screams. The fires sprang from house to house, moving steadily east with the wind. Despite the chaos spreading quickly in the lower city, the residents of the higher districts were still asleep and oblivious of the attack. Varren reached the second wall, the barrier that separated the lower from the middle city and, noticing that the gates were barred tightly shut, summoned his power. With a flurry of black smoke and a sharp crack, he disappeared, only to reappear a moment later on the middle city side of the wall.
A dog nearby began to bark but it would be a long while before its owners would understand why.
*
Emil Latrett woke abruptly but was not immediately aware of what had startled him. He sat up and listened intently. As far as he could tell, the castle was quiet and calm in the early hours of morning but the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling. Being a man who always trusted his instincts, he dressed quickly, threw his cloak about his shoulders and left his quarters. The courtyard was dark and silent but there was a strange scent in the air. It did not take him long to recognize the smell of fresh magic.
At once, he gripped the balustrade in his large hands and slipped onto the soul plane. The darkness intensified before his eyes and, a moment later, bright visions of figures appeared, drifting about him as though in water, and his spirit wandered among them. He approached one of the forms lying in bed on the floor above, her mind murmuring in sleepless thought.
Kayte, he spoke to her and saw her raise her head a little from where she slept. Wake up. There is something amiss.
Without waiting to see whether she complied, he drifted away from her and sought out Markus. The aging wizard was sitting in an armchair, apparently having fallen asleep while reading. The shaman penetrated his dreaming mind and repeated the message. Then, in turn, he went to each of the members of the Circle, even Angora, and roused them from their beds. They met him by the balustrade.
“What is it?” Kayte asked.
“I sensed my double somewhere in the city,” Emil said to them, “but I doubt Lhunannon would have come alone.”
“Yes, I think I sense Tarvenna,” Markus said presently. “If those two are here, then it’s safe to assume they all are.”
“Where?” Tiderius asked.
“The sense was fairly weak, but unmistakable. I guess Lhunannon, at least, is in the lower city, perhaps the middle.”
“I smell smoke,” Aiyla added. “I fear what they might be doing to the people down there.”
Emil turned to Angora. “They are seeking their revenge.”
“You should not be surprised,” Angora said, folding her arms. “I did warn you.”
“I don’t think we need to discuss what to do,” Tiderius said.
“But have you recovered enough to fight?” Markus asked, glancing at his bandaged arm and leg with doubt. “I know Emil has been helping the process significantly, but – ”
“I’ve had a week, and I’m not going to sit in bed when the city is in danger!” Tiderius said dismissively. “Come on, Angora.”
“Wait!” Emil exclaimed, clutching Angora’s arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To protect the people,” she replied defiantly.
“And you expect us to trust you,” Emil asked angrily, “after everything you’ve said and done?”
“I do not expect nor want your trust,” Angora snapped, shaking her arm free of Emil’s grasp. “What I do expect is that you uphold the will of the Spirits and let me do my duty!”
“And give you back your weapon so you can release your husband? No!”
“Then lock me up as well!” Angora cried. “If you do not trust me to help your citizens, why did you go to so much effort to bring me back here?”
“We didn’t want you fighting for the other side,” Emil growled. “You know that!”
“If you think I would ever harm a civilian, then you are horribly mistaken. Nor would I stand by and watch them get beaten into the dust by Vrór or anyone else! I did not give up my duty when I married King Samian, I simply stopped taking your orders! Now, will you accept my help in getting your people to safety or are you going to turn me aside and face the consequences?”
Emil opened his mouth to argue further but stopped himself. There was very little time to waste and, though he was doubtful, he saw a glimpse of the same quiet determination in her eyes that had driven her through her three years of service to Queen Sorcha. His mind screamed at him to object, for what was to stop her from taking her weapon and making a quick escape with King Samian while the city burned? However, the fact remained that Tiderius was not yet back to full strength and they did need someone to keep Vrór at bay.
“There’s four men guarding your husband,” Markus informed Angora, looking at her sternly. “They have been ordered to stop you should you attempt to see him. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said bitterly.
Markus turned to Emil. “I could remain behind to watch him, if you think it best.”
Emil’s brow furrowed as he thought. Though he did not doubt Angora would wish to retrieve her husband, he suspected she would not risk hurting a single guard, let alone four, in the process.
“Do I have your word that you will not aid the Ayons in attacking the castle?” Emil asked.
“Would you truly accept my word if I gave it?”
“It is up to you whether you think your word is worthy!” Markus interjected. “While we stand here arguing, civilians may well be dying! We must trust in her good judgment, Emil, and pray we are not wrong!”
The shaman grunted and ran his hand through his long braids.
“I give you my word,” Angora said through gritted teeth, “that I will not aid anyone in their attempt to attack this castle, nor will I hurt any of your guards should I find myself in the dungeons.”
“But – ”
“That will have to do,” Markus said. “Angora, you’ll find your staff in the meeting room in the chest by the door.” He glanced at Emil and shook his head. “Use it well.”
Emil glowered at Angora, then turned away. “I hope your word is worth something.”
*
The mist swirled before the castle gates, obscuring the far end of the forecourt. The silence seemed impenetrable, even the wind had stilled. The wardens behind the doors talked quietly together to pass the time until they were relieved. They had long since sat down on the marble floor of the entrance hall to give their legs some respite.
“Hope that mist doesn’t confuse the next shift,” one of them grumbled. “Don’t want to stay here a moment longer than’s necessary.”
“Yeah,” another agreed dismally. “Oh, smell that? I think they’ve burned something in the kitchens.”
“I hope it’s not our breakfast.”
Their laughter died with the sound of approaching hurried footsteps from the other side of the castle doors. The first warden stood and moved to open the hatch, but no sooner had his hand touched the iron bar, than the gates trembled.
“Fire!” a man shouted, pounding his fists upon the doors. “Open the gates! The city is on fire!”
The second warden clambered to his feet and stared apprehensively at his colleague. The first opened the hatch in the door and peered out. A man’s face appeared on the other side, his hair disheveled, his cheeks smudged with soot and dirt. He desperately pointed back the way he had come. The warden peered through the hatch at the misty barrier and his eyes widened. There was a slight orange tint to it now.
“The city is being attacked!” the man continued frantically. “The Ayons have come! Let me in!”
“The town bell has not been rung,” the second warden said, frowning. “If the city was under attack – ”
“The tower is in flames!” the man cried, pressing his face close to the hatch, his eyes wide in terror. “Please, you must send help!”
The first warden nodded, shut the hatch and moved over to the heavy bolts that kept the doors secure. The other hurried over to join him. As one, they pulled at the metal bolt and slid it back with a great clang. They heaved the wooden beam up from its stays and propped it against the wall.
“Stop!”
The two wardens spun around. Emil was hurrying across the courtyard toward the entrance hall, his arms raised in warning.
“Don’t open that door!”
But it was too late. The heavy gates creaked open and a tall, dark figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the orange-tinted mist behind him. Both wardens were blown off their feet with a loud bang, and sent careening into opposite walls of the entrance hall, fire flickering on their surcoats. The heavy mist from the forecourt drifted through the open gates and lingered about the ankles of the dark figure, whose eyes were flickering with white fire.
“So good to see you all again.”
Emil glanced behind him. Kayte and Markus were standing behind him, ready for the attack, all traces of weariness now gone.
“Varren…” Emil muttered. “Leave me to deal with him – search the rest of the city for the others.”
“You can’t take him by yourself!” Kayte whispered harshly. “None of us can. But we can take him together.”
“No, you must search for the others. There’s no knowing what damage they’re doing!”
“I will find them, however many there are,” Markus said. “If any sort of military force has come with them, I’ll see what I can do about raising a defense and blocking their way to the castle.”
The wizard hurried back the way he had come and was soon gone from sight. Emil and Kayte looked at each other and turned as one to face Varren. He was barely visible within the mist but both saw him raise his arms above his head and breathe in deeply. The air quivered about them as the sorcerer began to draw energy from the mist. Emil did not give Varren time enough to conjure his first spell. With a cry, he summoned his bright blue fire and sent it hurtling across the entrance hall.