Chapter

15

Jelindel, Daretor and Zimak arrived at Dremari some weeks later. They paused at the very spot where Fa’red’s deadmoon warriors had viewed the capital. Jelindel and Zimak dismounted and marvelled at the view of the city from a stone wall beside the road. Daretor remained on his horse.

‘I never dreamed there could be such a wonderful city,’ said Zimak.

Jelindel had seen sketches of Dremari in books, but as usual they did no justice to the real thing. For a time they just sat there marvelling that humans like them could have built such a wonder.

‘So, there is said to be a linkrider here,’ declared Daretor at last, as always returning to his vendetta against the accursed dragonlinks and linkriders. ‘It is a big city, and links are very small.’

‘When we are closer I can do a survey from the close paraplane,’ suggested Jelindel. ‘Links show up distinctly there. Besides, the mailshirt will glow on this plane, too.’

Entry to the city was not easy. They had to pass a customs checkpoint, pay an entry fee and prove that they were carrying the equivalent of a month’s wages for their declared trade.

By now Jelindel had forged a charter from Hez’ar’s central Temple of Verity declaring her to be a Mage Auditor, and border papers for Daretor and Zimak proving them to be indentured temple guardsmen.

‘Why do I have to be indentured to you?’ asked Zimak quarrelsomely.

‘Could you pass yourself as a Mage Auditor?’ retorted Jelindel.

‘I look no less a man than you.’

‘But you talk as if you’ve never read a book.’

‘That I have!’

‘Wily Sir Fox and the Flopsicle Rabbit hardly qualifies you to be a Mage Auditor, and even then it took a week for you to read it aloud by the campfires.’

‘I thought it a rather nice story,’ began Daretor.

‘Stay out of this!’ snapped Zimak. ‘I think it would look better if Daretor and I were two wayfarer knights and you were our indentured spellcaster.’

‘No!’ said Daretor firmly. ‘The arrival of two knights would look threatening, perhaps like an attempt by some hostile kingdom to spy upon the defences of Dremari. “Mage Auditor” has the ring of a mere catcher of felons.’

Zimak laughed cynically. He confronted Jelindel by standing between her and her horse.

‘So, Mage Auditor, show me how you lead your men.’

‘I lead by others wishing to follow me. Now stand aside.’

‘Zimak,’ began Daretor, but Jelindel held her hand up to silence him.

‘Stand aside, Zimak, or I shall make you regret this idiocy.’

She made to push past him, but he stepped in front of her, locked right arm to left and swung her back the way she had come in a motion so smooth that Jelindel was not even sure how she changed direction.

She turned, straightened and faced him.

‘Insubordination against one’s Mage Auditor is a punishable offence, Zimak,’ she said, then enunciated a carefully tuned word of binding.

Zimak fell, blue coils wrapped about him and digging into his flesh. His head was free, but the coils were tightest about his ribs.

‘Quite a good one, is it not, Daretor?’ panted Jelindel, drained by the wordcast, but triumphant.

‘Wha– what have you done?’ he gasped, eyes wide. ‘He doesn’t seem to be breathing.’

‘He’s not.’

She walked up to Zimak with feet dragging, managed to step over him, then with some effort swung herself up into the saddle of her horse.

‘Do something!’ demanded Daretor.

‘The word binds for a period set by the Adept who is using it. Set it short and the victim has a very bad fright. Set it too long and he dies for lack of breath.’

‘Set it? You mean it’s fixed?’

‘Yes.’ Jelindel looked down imperiously from her horse. ‘Now, Zimak, do you think you offended me enough to warrant death, or merely a very bad fright?’

The blue bonds suddenly dissolved and shot back to Jelindel. They crackled about her lips for some moments, then faded.

Zimak lay gasping, wheezing in huge gasps of air.

‘Apologise,’ said Jelindel.

Zimak got to his knees, rubbing his ribs but glaring with surprise and anger. Moments passed.

‘I think he needs another –’ began Daretor.

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ exclaimed Zimak in poorly restrained terror.

‘Now get on your horse and stop behaving like a loon,’ ordered Jelindel. ‘Do you want to come with us or go your own way?’

Zimak stood against his horse, clinging to the saddle for support. The blood had drained from his face and his eyes were unfocused.

‘With you,’ said Zimak. ‘I was … just testing … how you handle … trouble.’

‘Did I pass?’

He nodded sullenly.

When they arrived at the customs post’s outer gates, Jelindel presented a written demand for an audience with the Supreme Marshall. None of the guards could read, so the demand was taken to the presiding accountant. He laughed, but gave her the name of an official within the city and told her not to bother seeking an audience for another two days. Jelindel asked that he write the date when they should present themselves across the bottom of her demand.

When they had declared their assets and trades, and paid the prescribed fees, tips and bribes, they were allowed to proceed. They rode up into the extended terraceworks and patches of housing that were the outer city.

Jelindel pointed out the huge aqueduct that supplied water to the city’s artificial lake. It was a long, curving stone canal on elevated arches of red granite.

The castle towered above the haze of the city in the distance, and as they got above the terraces they saw the lake on the left. Small sailboats and oared water sedans were gliding across the calm surface.

‘Begging your pardon, Mage Auditor, sir,’ said Zimak with exaggerated servility.

‘Yes?’

‘Wasn’t that a bit stupid making all that fuss back there? We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.’

‘Of course not.’

‘So?’

‘The surest way to turn an official’s attention from oneself is to demand his attention. We now have two full days to explore and make contacts. For now we shall find a hostelry of middling quality and I shall sign us into two rooms.’

‘I can do my own signing,’ said Zimak sulkily.

‘A warrior who can read and write is an unusual warrior, and we do not want to attract the wrong sort of attention,’ Daretor chided. ‘I’m sure that was the intent of our master, the Mage Auditor.’

‘Quite so, it was,’ agreed Jelindel.

The hostelry that they chose was close to the inner city walls. Within view was the Grand Promenade Road that led over the moat, through the gates and up to the walls of the palace itself.

While the two warriors brushed down the horses Jelindel went to her own room and barred the door. She spread her reed mat on the floor and lay down to say the word that would take her eyesight and touch onto the paraplane of magical auras.

All at once she was within a field of rainbow glows and sparkles. Door spells, charmed amulets, and the green pinpoints that were Adept 1 and 2 charmvendors glittered all about her, while the enchanted beasts that guarded the moat swam like carnival streamers in the wind through boundaries of permissions rather than water.

An Adept 14’s aura stirred like long fronds of water-cord as she passed, disturbed by her passage yet not quite certain of the disturbance. Other shimmering bands of coloured light were unknown to her, while some centres seemed like pits of blackness far deeper than the backdrop of black that occasionally sucked in a sparkle of light that drifted by.

This was no village, it was a huge and complex metropolis of enchantments and Jelindel quickly became aware of how very little she knew. She knew that hours were probably passing as she explored, yet there was no sign of fatigue. That would come later, when she returned.

There were Adepts by the hundred in Dremari, and dozens of them were at level 8 or above. She also encountered other presences that she did not recognise. The most sinister of them appeared as seven grey globes led by a black globe that was irregular at its edges, almost like a cloud. From a distance Jelindel studied them for some time. If they were aware of her they did not show it.

Suddenly the black globe faded to grey and assumed a regular shape. They began to move, the disguised globe in the lead, almost as if it was bait. All of them extended and uncoiled thin, spiked streamers.

Jelindel trailed after them, staying sufficiently far away not to cause alarm. She soon saw that they were stalking an irregular green shape that was also armed with thin, spiked streamers. The strange hunt did not look deadly, but Jelindel could see the grey globes making their way stealthily through the protective layers of permissions. Suddenly the green shape became aware of the attack and lashed at the elastic grey surface of the disguised globe. Tendrils of force, influence and permissions entangled, then the formation of seven grey globes burst through into that permission domain. They swirled in closer, then coalesced around the glowing green body that was locked in battle with the lone globe. The layer of grey began to contract, but green streamers slashed through the grey surface time and time again.

The conflict ended with a bright flash, then the dimmer grey globes separated and sailed unsteadily away as green sparkles began to appear and grow into globes in the permission domain behind the massive gate spell where the death had happened.

Jelindel guessed that this strongest of gate spells was that of the palace. Within its domain were lesser sparkles that played like butterflies above meadow flowers. In the permissions domain that encircled them were bright red starpoints with sharply defined rays that seemed as sharp and hard as surgeons’ scalpels. They were guard entities that Jelindel did not heretofore know existed.

‘Jaelin!’

She felt the word, rather than heard it. The word cracked out like a thunderclap and grey streamers slashed past her like hair-thin serpents. Though startled, Jelindel was untouched.

Somebody knew her name. Someone was trying to use her name against her – yet Jaelin was not her name, it was the name that she went by, her calling name. The streamers slid back through the blackness to a grey globe suspended between two triangles of similar globes. There was something logical and powerful about the arrangement. They were in a very different domain now.

‘Jelindel!’

This time Jelindel retreated from the speeding, questing streamers as they came radiating out of the cluster of globes.

She felt for the solidity of the mailshirt as pinpoints of pain blazed across her sense of touch like a bath of cold needles.

Suddenly there was a sense of pain that was not hers: of terror, falling, despair, horror – and something losing its form like a snowflake falling into a pan of boiling water. Jelindel opened her eyes and sat up. She was alive and unharmed.

The mailshirt was glowing faintly orange in the cool darkness of her shuttered hostelry room, but even as she watched, it faded back to its usual silvery sheen. No light was seeping past the shutters, for it was now night.

She got up stiffly, drank a mug of water and splashed some on her face. The fatigue of her hours exploring the paraplane weighed on her limbs like robes woven from lead. This was the time to rest and take stock, yet …

Taking a deep breath and gritting her teeth, she lay down again, closed her eyes and spoke the appropriate word.

Within the paraplane there were only seven grey globes now, and they were drifting randomly, bouncing softly off the walls of their permissions domain as if they were drunk. Even as she watched, twelve green sparkles appeared among them and began to grow in size and sprout fanged streamers. The grey globes began to shrink, but two were caught by the barbs of writhing green ribbons of light.

The pair were quickly surrounded, while the others sacrificed part of their grey substance to the grasping barbs and winked into a subtly different permissions domain. Suddenly the luminescent barbs bit right through one globe’s shrinking body. It collapsed, and there was a bright flash as the trapped globe died.

The other suddenly turned black and slashed two green globes with black tendrils that carried blue star-points at their tips. Both detonated in a single dazzling flash. As the light died away Jelindel saw that the black globe was gone too. Did it die with its green victims, or did it escape, she wondered? It was impossible to tell.

Now Jelindel returned to combing the paraplane view of the city for the link. Her reach was much further than the distance that would make it glow in her world, but there was such a clutter of light and movement in the place that she was unsure where to extend her sense of touch. At length she gave up when Zimak began banging on the door and calling out: ‘Jaelin? Mage Auditor? You’ve been in there a long time.’

Jelindel flowed back to the solidity of the mailshirt. She was surprised that daylight was still leaking past the window shutters.

‘Well, learn anything?’ Zimak asked as she unbarred the door.

‘Mage Auditor,’ prompted Daretor behind him.

‘Well, aye,’ she said wearily. ‘The dragonlink is indeed here, and someone has tried to kill me.’

‘What? In here?’ exclaimed Zimak. ‘We were close by, we heard nothing. Who –’

‘It was in a paraplane, but I would have died here too. There were eight Adepts involved, one very powerful, the rest strong enough to be dangerous. They knew my true-name and one of them called it, yet when the boundary of his influence touched the mailshirt … it was as if he was melted and sucked away. Another died in a fight with some local Adepts.’

‘Truename?’ said Zimak.

‘Who were they?’ asked Daretor.

Jelindel ignored Zimak’s question. ‘I could not tell, but there are six of them left now. When they were all alive one always kept aside, and the rest travelled in a tight arrangement. One was at the centre, totally open yet completely covered. “Hof aloos, hik aloos”, is the motto of the lindraks in Old Skeltian. “All open, all closed”. Seven is also the lindrak number of power.’

‘Why would the lindraks be interested in you?’ asked Zimak, as if she were not worthy of their attention.

She patted the mailshirt beneath the sheepskin coat.

‘This thing is important enough to hold the attention of kings, and I am wearing it. Does that seem like a good enough reason?’ She shrugged dismissively, but the night of the fire that killed her family was suddenly fresh in her memory.

‘Well, we should get to bed and prepare to explore the outer city tomorrow,’ she concluded. ‘I’m feeling a bit ragged.’

‘This is tomorrow,’ said Daretor. ‘You were in your trance for a full night and day. A scroll has arrived and four flunkeys dressed in brass and velvet are downstairs, awaiting your reply.’

Jelindel froze with shock in the middle of a yawn. Zimak handed her the scroll, and she noted that the seal had been broken.

‘What does it say?’ she asked.

‘I don’t speak this language,’ he replied sheepishly.

Jelindel unrolled the scroll and read. What colour remained in her face quickly drained away.

‘This is from the King,’ she said when she looked up. ‘A royal summoning. We are commanded to present ourselves as guests of His Majesty’s favour.’

Zimak suddenly seemed as feral as a cornered fox.

‘This is a trap. Last time I was His Majesty’s guest I spent three days in the stocks,’ he said urgently.

‘And I was accommodated in a dungeon when last I did time as His Majesty’s guest,’ added Daretor grimly, his hand reflexively resting on the handle of his axe.

‘His Majesty’s favour means wine, spiced pastries and dancing girls,’ Jelindel explained. ‘His Majesty’s pleasure means bread, water and rats.’

‘He might want the reward that’s on our heads in Skelt.’

‘The King of Passendof, scrambling for a mere three thousand silver argents?’ laughed Jelindel. ‘Zimak, he’d spend more than that on gold beard curlers.’

‘He would?’

‘Yes he would!’ she shouted, growing exasperated rapidly.

‘Now what?’ asked Daretor.

‘We should dress in parade rig … and we should keep our escort waiting about twenty minutes to show we’re not overawed. That’s what my father used to say.’

‘What’s parade rig?’ asked Zimak.

‘Explain to him, Daretor. I’ll be in here having a quick wash.’

Twenty-five minutes later they were riding towards the gates of the palace, accompanied by the ornately dressed footmen on mackrell point geldings. People cleared out of the way as they approached, then pointed and talked as they passed. Parade rig in their case meant clean tunics, clean nails, oiled boots and belts, hair tied back and their horses’ manes and tails brushed.

‘What do I do in front of a king?’ asked Zimak softly, his voice pitched high with fright.

‘Don’t pick your nose or scratch your bum,’ said Jelindel.

‘Or they’ll cut it off,’ added Daretor.

‘Cut what off?’

‘You can find out the hard way if you really want to know,’ snapped Jelindel. ‘Sit up straight in the saddle and stop looking like a rabbit being held over a stew pot! You’re meant to be escorting me because you’re a brave, elite warrior.’

‘So what do I say? “Good day, my liege – ”?’

‘No! He’s not your king, idiot; liege is only for subjects. Just say, “Yes, Your Majesty”, “No, Your Majesty”, “Thank you, Your Majesty”. Also, try to remember the court mage is to be addressed as “Lord Mage”.’

‘Ah, aye, I think I have it. Now, if a princess falls madly in love with me and offers her hand in marriage –’

‘Say, “Thank you, Your Royal Highness”, if she’s the crown princess, and leave out the “Royal” if she’s not. However, Zimak, remember that if you so much as wink at anything female inside the palace walls you’ll be frog-marched off to the headman’s block, and I’ll volunteer to wield the axe.’

‘Aye, all right, just a joke. I know when to stay quiet, Jaelin. You know me better than that.’

‘Sorry, it’s a bad time – for all of us. The, ah, the moons are not in auspicious positions and I have a lot on my mind.’

‘Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness,’ Daretor said gravely on Jelindel’s right.

‘That’s good. Speak only when spoken to, bow whenever you begin a reply, and never turn your back on anyone wearing a crown or anything purple trimmed with gold. Oh – damn! Why am I telling you all this?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t speak their language.’

Zimak scowled, but gave a sigh that sounded suspiciously like relief.

‘I’d be happier if I knew why the King wants to see the likes of us,’ said Daretor.

‘If we were out of favour he’d have sent guards, not footmen. Try to look alert, lads, not fearful.’

The interior of the palace was meant to overawe visitors, and all three were certainly stunned by the soaring stone arches of red marble, the tapestries as big as all the floors of a rich peasant’s house, and guards in gilded plate armour with winged panthers on their helmets.

Footmen wearing yellow tail-coats took their horses, and they were escorted up a stairway wider than the greatest of the streets of D’loom.

Jelindel noted that Daretor and Zimak were striding slightly behind her, and in the many mirrors they passed she saw that they were both blank of face and rigidly alert. Obviously they were too awestruck by the sheer scale and opulence to deliberately do anything stupid. That was a relief.

The Passendof King received them in a walled garden, where he sat playing chess with a girl younger than Daretor but older than Zimak. She wore blue and orange robes over a red tunic strapped hard against her torso with leather lacings, and was bold and direct in her gaze. When the monarch turned to speak with his guests she lounged back, drawing one leg up on the bench with a rather wanton movement. Jelindel at first assumed that she was one of the King’s courtesans until she saw the gold and purple collar of her gown. A princess.

The King had a flaring black beard and he dressed to impose with padded shoulders and pectoral-quilt breasting, but he was not a big man. His face was sad, and there were crescent smudges under his eyes.

‘Your men must stay by the door, Mage Auditor,’ the court warden explained.

‘Wait here,’ Jelindel translated. ‘The only armed guards allowed near the King are those on his pay register.’

She walked across the green flagstones to the stone furniture where the King sat. Now she noticed a figure standing back among the carved stone tubs and carefully manicured shrubberies. There was something familiar about the man, even though she had never set eyes on him before.

The King was in the process of moving a pawn when he turned and waved the piece at his visitor.

‘Chess is the perfect distraction, do you not agree?’ the monarch asked.

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Jelindel replied after the correct bow.

The monarch turned back to the board, but had forgotten where the piece had come from and to where it was destined. He tossed the pawn to the Princess and again faced Jelindel.

‘Mage Auditor Jaelin, I am pleased to meet the youth behind the legend,’ the King began wearily. ‘Word of what you did in the Valley of Clouds has reached Dremari. Is it true that you slew a master Adept and destroyed a path to hell itself?’

Jelindel bowed and looked up. ‘Your Majesty flatters me unduly. I merely discovered and exposed a dabbler in thaumaturgy who conjured daemons and controlled them. That man was slain by one of his own daemons. I then banished the daemon back to its own paraworld and destroyed the path.’

‘Modestly put, young man. So, now you are in Dremari and you want to see my Supreme Marshall.’

Jelindel’s presumption had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she was not so sure. The King was not obviously angry, but seemed very stressed and distracted. Perhaps it’s some other matter more important than myself, she thought hopefully.

‘Yes, I made that request, Your Majesty.’

‘Why?’

‘A dangerous enchantment is said to have made its way here, to the capital of your own fair kingdom. It is related to that one which afflicted the Valley of Clouds.’

‘Now what of the real reason?’ His tone was soft and bland, but the question nevertheless dripped with distrust.

He is a very sharp monarch and I am a girl pretending to be who knows what, Jelindel reminded herself. Always have a spare story, her father had often told his family over dinner, and now that advice was proving its worth. She took a deep breath, hesitated too long, and had to exhale. She took another breath.

‘The Valley of Clouds supplies the border forts of Passendof as well as Baltoria,’ she began. ‘When the daemons disrupted its services some years ago, your forts and outlying towns fell victim to rebel attacks. Should daemons now appear to prowl your own fair capital, it could be seen as an omen against your rule. Passendof is strong, central and prosperous. It is the key to peace throughout the entire north of this continent. A secure Passendof is considered to be desirable by my masters.’

‘And who are your masters?’

Jelindel bowed yet again. ‘Ultimately, the Temple of Verity and the Verital priests and priestesses. I am charged not to reveal more.’

At that moment there was a deep, rumbling growl to Jelindel’s right, and a huge, spotted cat rose from behind the stone bench and walked into view. It was at once familiar but unfamiliar: massively built like a lion, yet with a finely boned head and a beautiful coat of black spots on gleaming golden fur. It regarded Jelindel with suspicion and growled again.

‘Kasmor, stop that,’ the Princess called. The cat sauntered over and lay at her feet.

‘It’s a lepon,’ the King explained. ‘Half leopard, half lion.’ He made a flourish with his hand. ‘Longrical, come forward.’

The figure who emerged from behind the stone garden tiers near Daretor and Zimak was tall and commanding in stature, yet had the slightly eccentric grooming often seen in those at the top of their profession. His robes were emblazoned with the symbols of a royal court’s master Adept, and all were embroidered in gold. The black cloak that he wore was trimmed with raven down.

The King’s court mage walked forward and stood before Jelindel. The prickly feel of being scanned for her Adept aura swept over her skin. Her recent experiments in the magical arts had built up a weak but adequate aura about her by now, so she did have the touch of a competent Adept.

‘Longrical, this is the Mage Auditor who arrived in the city yesterday,’ the monarch explained. ‘Longrical has been keen to meet you,’ he said as he turned back to Jelindel. ‘He is an Adept 14.’

Longrical looked Jelindel up and down, and something about his manner told her that the man was definitely not friendly. She decided that it would be a good idea to let someone else break the lengthening silence. Longrical obliged.

‘Someone has murdered my prime Adept since you arrived in the city,’ the mage declared ominously. ‘Enchantment was used, even though the attack had all the markings of a lindrak’s work.’

‘I hope you do not think that I was involved, Lord Longrical.’

‘Your reputation preceded you from the Valley of Clouds: a high Adept of few years, escorted by two very capable warriors. Might it not be that those two are lindraks and you are their tame Adept? Where have you been for the day and night past?’

Jelindel’s heart sank. Her aura had brushed him in her searchings, so that he probably recognised her. Worse, she had been locked away alone while Daretor and Zimak were doing … what? She had not asked them – small talk was not one of her strong points.

‘We are here on a dangerous mission. Such is its importance that we are sworn to secrecy.’

‘Answer my question! Where were you?’

‘I was in my room at the Road’s Haven hostelry for the whole time; it’s half a mile from here. Yet … I was elsewhere too. I brushed against your aura once.’

‘That much is true,’ the mage said calculatingly. ‘I recognised yours as soon as I walked in. Note that I am an Adept 14, I can project my senses just over a thousand feet, yet you claim to have projected to half a mile. Are you better than an Adept 14, boy, or did you brush my aura because you were stalking close by the very palace itself?’

‘I was nowhere near the palace, Lord Longrical. I was in my room. As for my abilities, I would not be a Mage Auditor if I did not have exceptional abilities.’

‘Demonstrate them,’ he said shrewdly.

‘I already have.’

‘Demonstrate them here and now!’ he thundered.

Jelindel took several breaths to calm herself. She hoped that her wide-eyed terror came across as outrage.

‘It is undignified to trade tricks like a couple of fair-ground jugglers,’ she managed through a constricting throat. The man’s anger was probably justified, but that did her little good.

‘Oh, but you’re too modest. Come, let us see you escape a simple binding word!’

Jelindel knew that she could do nothing of the sort. She teetered on the verge of panic.

‘No, no, this is dangerous beyond imagining,’ she warned, but the mage shook his head.

‘A little word of binding is quite harmless, except to false pride.’

The royal Adept spoke a strong word of binding, but instead of cutting off as they bound Jelindel, the blue coils kept pouring from his mouth and vanishing into the sheepskin jacket.

It was the mailshirt, she realised. It was somehow absorbing everything, then drawing even more out of the stricken mage. Longrical tottered and struggled, but the vast energies within him kept draining away in writhing, jagged blue traceries that played all about Jelindel without touching her.

He fell to his knees, his face drained white and his mouth still jammed open as weakening coils of blue drained his life away into the fabric of the mailshirt.

By now guards had stormed across the garden to protect the King and Princess, and the lepon was confronting Jelindel with bared fangs and a yowling roar.

Daretor and Zimak were seized and held, yet Jelindel paid them no attention at all. She was being enveloped by a fierce tingling that touched every nerve ending.

‘Stop it!’ commanded the King.

‘I can’t!’ cried Jelindel above the crackling energies and the roar of the alarmed lepon. ‘I warned him but he wouldn’t listen.’

The court mage was finally reduced to a kneeling husk, and he toppled forward to fall on his face. He was dead before he had even begun to fall.

Six silvery globes emerged from his mouth, one by one. They hung in the air before Jelindel’s face, just as had happened when Thull died. They spoke together, and their voices were soft and whispery, like the scuttling of rats’ feet that she had heard from the globes in the D’loom smithy.

‘We are thine to command, as you have vanquished our master,’ whispered the voices. ‘Give thy word and we shall enter thee.’

Jelindel felt distinctly squeamish about the idea. She did not even know what they were.

‘And if I give no command, if I set you free?’

‘In two thousand years nobody has ever set us free. We have great worth, we are passed from Adept to Adept.’

‘Answer my question.’

‘Profound apologies, Lord Adept. If set free we would return to our paraworld, and there would be rejoicing within our flocks.’

‘They would know you still? Even after two thousand years?’

‘Time is different in our paraworld, Lord Adept.’

‘Then I command you to be free and return home.’

The globes began to move, darting about the centre of the group, throwing out coloured tendrils and sparks, and playing textured rainbow lights all over Jelindel. Gradually they faded, and then were gone with a whispered ‘Fare thee well, and retain our thanks.’

Total silence followed. Even the lepon was crouched quietly in front of the Princess, unmoving.

The King, who was by now surrounded by nervous guards, stood up and took several paces towards Jelindel.

‘Did you have to slay him?’ the King asked evenly, gesturing to the dead royal Adept.

‘I did not kill him,’ she replied. ‘He became entangled in one of my defences. He demanded that contest. As you are my witness, Your Majesty. I really did try to caution him.’

‘That you did,’ the King conceded, his eyes still wide with shock. ‘That alone cannot be denied.’

The King looked to where Daretor and Zimak were being held, then glanced down at his dead mage. He locked eyes with the Mage Auditor. The youth was unsure of himself, but far more dangerous than appearances betrayed. He was certainly more dangerous than the King had been led to believe.

‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill an Adept 14, Mage Auditor?’

Jelindel guessed that it was probably difficult. ‘Yes, Sire, but an Adept’s path is a dangerous one. His death was more his fault than mine.’

The King rubbed his hand over his eyes for a moment. Jelindel stood still and silent, guessing that something well beyond her comprehension had just taken place.

‘Adept 14 mages keep the peace in a very real sense,’ the monarch stated, almost as if he were trying to explain something to himself. ‘The kingdoms and empires of this continent have been at peace for two thousand years, apart from minor border squabbles and a bit of piracy. That peace is based on five Adept 14s: one of them was the court Adept in Hamaria until his death last year, another guards a shrine in the far south and has not been heard of for some time. Two others have not been heard of in centuries, and are rumoured to have become lost in other paraworlds. That leaves the man at your feet.’

Jelindel bowed and retained a grave, calm expression, although she was sweating with fear beneath her robes and concealed mailshirt.

‘Your Majesty is well informed and gifted with understanding,’ she replied blandly.

‘There are difficult times ahead of us. I always told Longrical that we should have more Adept 14s, but he insisted that only a very special kind of person could wield such responsibility wisely. Sometimes I think that he and his peers were merely selfish, and jealous of young rivals.’

The monarch looked up from the corpse of the mage and past Jelindel to the door. ‘Unhand the Mage Auditor’s men,’ he ordered.

Daretor and Zimak shrugged off their guards.

‘Stay by the door,’ Jelindel commanded firmly in Hamarian.

Both Daretor and Zimak exchanged angry glances, then Daretor whispered Jelindel’s order in Skeltian for Zimak’s benefit.

A physician finally arrived, and was ushered into the room by two footmen who were wide-eyed with terror. He promptly pronounced the royal Adept dead.

‘Accept my apologies for my Adept’s behaviour,’ said the King, who now seemed resigned and distant.

‘Of course,’ said Jelindel, bowing yet again.

‘I shall order that every assistance be given you in your work. I am convinced of your power, and I must trust that your motives do not run counter to my own interests – for now, at least.’

My next royal audience will surely be easier, thought Jelindel as she watched him leave. Nothing could go worse than what’s just happened.

‘This leaves the royal household in a difficult position,’ the physician explained to Jelindel. ‘Over a single day the palace has lost an Adept 14 mage and his Adept 10 deputy. Only an Adept 9 now survives to oversee the palace defences, and that Adept 9 is me.’

‘I did not kill your court Adept deliberately.’

‘But you did anyway,’ interjected the Princess, who was still lounging on the stone bench, her feet resting on the glaring lepon. ‘You have an obligation to us to guard the palace until Longrical’s Adept 11 brother returns from his pilgrimage to Sunwell Temple.’

‘But Your Highness, I have a search to make.’

‘The palace guard can help with that. You might even find it faster than with just your two assistants.’

‘Your Highness is generous,’ Jelindel replied, unsure of whether this was going to be a help or a hindrance.

‘Royal Highness, as of last night. My older brother was the Adept 10 who was murdered.’

Jelindel gasped. ‘I am deeply sorry to hear that.’

‘There will be a public announcement soon, and I shall be declared heir to the throne.’ She inclined her head a little. ‘You don’t like me, do you?’

‘Your Royal Highness, it is not my business to like or dislike anybody. That would interfere with the sort of work that I do.’

The Princess snapped her fingers and the lepon rose to its feet and climbed up onto the bench beside her. She stroked its glossy fur and caressed its ears, but it always kept a wary eye on Jelindel.

‘My brother was like you, always cold and calm, very serious about his spells, words of power and enchantments,’ the Princess continued. ‘He even kept celibate to maintain his life-force at a higher pitch. It was very hard for anyone to be close to him. In fact even I have much trouble raising an appropriate level of sorrow now that he is dead.’

‘It is the way of the Adept calling,’ Jelindel said.

The Princess did not reply. Instead she looked past Jelindel to Daretor and Zimak.

‘That little guard of yours with the wavy blond hair, sulky face and brown tunic,’ she said, pointing languidly at Zimak.

‘Yes, Your Royal Highness?’

‘He’s cute.’

I have a bad feeling about this, thought Jelindel. ‘He is not of noble birth,’ she said tentatively.

‘That’s all right, I like them witless and pretty.’

The physician came to Jelindel’s rescue.

‘Your Royal Highness, we have need to arrange lodgings in the palace for the Mage Auditor.’

‘Of course.’ She waved her hand airily. ‘You may all go.’