OKSA SPONTANEOUSLY DRAGGED HER LUNATRIX BEHIND one of the columns. She hadn’t forgotten the enormous advantage afforded by the Invisibuls, but finding herself face to face with a group of her worst enemies made her a bundle of nerves. Two Felons brushed past without suspecting she was there—a woman with thick brown hair and an authoritarian air, and a man Oksa recognized: Agafon, the former Memorarian. She flattened herself against the cold stone of the column. Given the particular location of the giant troglodytic cave, being this close to the Felons made her heart race and her breath come in short gasps, but it did nothing to shake her resolve. Gus’s life was at stake! The Lunatrix looked up at her with large, frightened eyes.
“My Gracious must take delivery of the information that her domestic staff knows the experiencing of a situation laden with terror,” he murmured, his voice shaking badly. “Her steward presents the suggestion of immediate flight.”
Oksa stroked his downy head as the Tumble-Bawler landed on her shoulder, like a lookout.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “We’re bound to learn a lot if we stay.”
With her hands pressed against the column, she tilted her head to observe the scene unfolding a few yards away.
Ocious still looked superior, his head held high and his gaze fixed on Orthon. He had all the arrogance and strength of an old lion, even though the last few weeks had left their mark on his face, now furrowed by two deep creases between his eyes. Despite his father’s disdainful expression, Orthon looked just as haughty as he’d always done, his eyes burning with unhinged hostility. “Nothing gets to him,” thought Oksa, “absolutely nothing.”
His hair shone with the strange aluminium sheen that had been the colour of his eyes, until they’d turned inky black. He certainly cut a fine figure, having lost none of the stark, impeccable elegance that had become his trademark. Even in battle he was stylish. Oksa couldn’t help thinking of Tugdual, who also shared this characteristic. His resemblance to the Felon stopped there, though, she thought, immediately ashamed of making such a comparison.
“Father’s right!”
Oksa had no trouble recognizing Andreas’s dangerous, hypnotic voice. Despite their differences of opinion and deep animosity, Ocious’s two sons had many similarities—the same air of refinement, the same lean build and the same merciless, chilly demeanour. Watching them face off, Oksa was more aware than ever of Orthon’s eagle-like incisiveness and Andreas’s snake-like cunning.
“No, Father isn’t always right!” Orthon retorted, giving his hated half-brother a look of insufferable exasperation. “It would be foolish to attack Thousandeye City now.”
“Spare us your strategy lessons, please,” broke in Ocious. “You’re the last person in this room who can teach us anything about strategy.”
Oksa shivered, which made her covering of Invisibuls tremble. There was complete silence for the next few moments and she took this opportunity to examine the people attending this extraordinary meeting.
Agafon and the woman with the grim face were standing slightly to one side. They were staring straight ahead with a neutral expression, motivated, Oksa assumed, by extreme caution. At the back of the room Lukas, the famous mineralogist, was standing beside two perfectly identical women. The twins, who had the same long, delicate nose and a crown of grey hair, clicked their tongues, although it wasn’t clear whom this sign of disapproval was aimed at.
Stiff as a poker, Orthon looked immovable with his hands behind his back. His son, Gregor, was standing resolutely by his side, showing his unequivocal solidarity. Although thin, his whole body radiated an impression of ruthless strength, from the nasty smile playing over his thin lips to the palms of his hands, which seemed poised to unleash lightning bolts.
Mortimer didn’t look so aggressive. His attempt to put some distance between himself and his father and Gregor had failed miserably when Orthon had unceremoniously pulled him close. Mortimer was deathly pale. His eyes were darting back and forth, unable to focus on anything. Unintentionally his gaze met Oksa’s, betraying the deep desolation and overwhelming panic he was doing his best to hide. “Mortimer wants to join us,” Tugdual had said. The confidence he had in the Felon’s son had been convincing, but it was Mortimer’s visible unhappiness that really swayed her. He clearly no longer belonged with his family.
And Oksa would never—never!—forget that Mortimer had braved the dangerous and hostile territory of the Distant Reaches to bring her some Lasonillia.
That couldn’t be a trick.
That couldn’t be a trap.
“I trusted you,” continued Ocious, “I gave you a free hand and the unprecedented opportunity to show me—to show us all—that your theories were better than mine.”
Orthon’s composure was exceptional. He didn’t bat an eyelid and the expression in his eyes was unfathomable.
“We put so much faith in you,” added Andreas, ramming the point home.
“And your mistakes caused me to suffer a stinging defeat,” continued Ocious curtly. “A bitter failure.”
Orthon took a long breath.
“I’m sorry, Father,” he began, then stopped. Everyone looked at him in surprise. Orthon wasn’t the kind of man to ask forgiveness from anyone.
“I’m sorry,” he continued, “but I don’t think you needed me to suffer defeat and failure.”
This time no one was surprised by Orthon’s insolent, and somewhat predictable, retort. They all held their breath. This skirmish was only just beginning.
“You said Green Mantle would be easy,” counter-attacked the ageing leader.
“It was a fiasco,” remarked Andreas.
Orthon greeted his half-brother’s remark with a dismissive wave.
“Your strategy was faulty,” continued Ocious.
“My strategy was flawless,” retorted Orthon. “But when men are commanded by leaders with so little talent for waging war or governing a country, it’s hardly surprising that even the simplest mission would end in fiasco, as my dear half-brother put it.”
Everyone heard Andreas’s gasp of indignation.
“May I remind you that you were in command of the entire operation?” roared Ocious.
“True,” admitted Orthon, “with a second-in-command who was always getting in my way and blocking my decisions,” he added, glaring scornfully at Andreas.
Ocious sighed. The two creases between his eyes deepened further. The elderly ruler raised his head, but his face and body were sagging with weariness.
“Anyway, one thing’s for certain: we’re now paying for mistakes made by everyone,” he announced. “This has to stop and we have to regain control.”
“We haven’t lost control,” remarked Orthon.
Andreas raised his eyes to heaven.
“Then I don’t understand why you’re trying to put off the moment of truth,” continued Ocious. “Do we have the wherewithal to breach the Aegis, Lukas? Yes or no?”
The venerable mineralogist nodded.
“We’ve stabilized the composition of the acid bombs,” he said solemnly.
Oksa felt a surge of panic beneath her layer of Invisibuls. Her allies were ready to fight the Felons, but would they be proof against their powerful weapons?
“Can the bombs destroy that blasted protective membrane and allow us to enter Thousandeye City?” asked Ocious.
“We’ve tested them,” replied Lukas. “The result was conclusive. The acid burned a hole and one of our number even managed to get into Thousandeye City.”
Oksa’s heart dropped. She immediately glanced at Mortimer. What if Lukas was talking about him? What if he was really working for his father? Mortimer kept looking at the floor with a tormented expression, his back bowed, weighed down by treachery—towards his family or those who wouldn’t hesitate to welcome him among them?
“We closed the hole to avoid attracting suspicion, so that we wouldn’t lose the element of surprise,” explained Lukas. “But I’m positive that the acid works and we now have enough to melt the Aegis in its entirety.”
Oksa groaned and her Lunatrix staggered.
“So we’re ready!” cried Ocious. “We’ll attack tomorrow.”
His triumphant expression gave Oksa the impression of being face to face with a barbaric and predatory monster.
“It’s too soon,” objected Orthon.
At these words Ocious bounded from his seat and, in a flash, was standing in front of the man who’d just questioned his decision again.
“Believe me, Father,” insisted Orthon.
His dilated pupils lent him an even greater air of inscrutability than ever.
“Why is it too soon?” bellowed Ocious. “What remarkable strategy are you going to extract from your exceptional brain this time?”
Andreas gave a nasty snigger. Orthon paid no attention, his eyes fixed on his father.
“The opening of the Portal is imminent, it will only be a few days at most. Entering Thousandeye City too soon would be a foolish risk.”
Looking perplexed, the elderly leader smoothed his hand over his bald head.
“When the Portal opens, we’ll need to take advantage of the general confusion if we’re going to pass through as well. If we attack tomorrow as you suggest, we could ruin everything.”
“How do you know this?” hissed Andreas.
“As a leading strategist from the Outside once said: ‘An army without spies is like a man without ears and eyes.’”
The Felons looked at each other in silence. As for Oksa, she was besieged by a flurry of new questions which felt like a volley of poisoned arrows. Who was Orthon’s spy? Someone close enough to her to know about the imminent opening of the Portal—one of the members of the High Enclave? They’d all been screened by the Squoracles: none of them had evil intentions. Had one of them leaked information? It was highly unlikely, but not impossible.
Tormented by her questions, she gradually turned her thoughts back to Mortimer. No. He’d entered through the doorway in the Aegis, not through a hole created by the Felons. And if he’d managed to enter Thousandeye City, it was because he didn’t have the heart of a Felon. Otherwise the Squoracles would have spotted it.
What about Annikki, Agafon’s daughter? Pavel had never been able to trust her completely. Perhaps he was right, despite the Squoracles’ opinion?
Or Tugdual? She couldn’t help picturing him again in the top-floor corridor of the Column. Oksa shook her head, as if to prevent herself from recalling the brief look she’d glimpsed, which had upset her more than she cared to admit. Although it had only lasted for a fraction of a second, she remembered perfectly the intense suffering she’d seen in his eyes. As if it had been very painful for Tugdual to be there then. “Stop imagining things, Oksa,” she scolded herself with a shake of her head. “You’re becoming completely paranoid!”
“You have a spy, do you?” continued Ocious, torn between amusement and irritation. “Who is it?”
Orthon smiled sarcastically.
“We all have our little secrets… what’s important is that our loyal friend—let’s call him or her that—will alert us as soon as there’s no doubt that the Portal is about to open. Then we can act.”
Facing him, a few paces away, Ocious didn’t look overly enthusiastic about this decisive information.
“Andreas will lead the attack on Thousandeye City when I decide, which is, as I said, tomorrow at dawn!” he declared, his head held high and his chest puffed out.
“You’re making a big mistake,” retorted Orthon with a grimace.
Suddenly, looking very serious, he said quietly:
“Trust me, Father. Let me take you to the Portal. I’m the only one who can.”
Ocious studied him searchingly. Then his face hardened, his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a nasty sneer as he snapped:
“What have you ever done to make you think you deserve my trust?”