* * *
The remaining matters - an appraisal of Krusivel's supplies of provisions and weapons, and reports on recruitment and training - were soon dealt with. Volyn and Kodel were the first to leave and as Bardow went over to speak to the Abbess who was rolling up the maps, Mazaret drew Suviel off to one side.
"Prekine is a dread place," he said. "You cannot imagine the dangers you will face. Will you not reconsider this undertaking?"
By the light of the chamber's wall lamps his long thin face looked suddenly careworn, his soft brown eyes full of anxiety. Her hand sought his.
"How could I?" she said quietly. "Bardow was my mentor and now he is the leader of my order. I cannot refuse his bidding, Ikarno, any more than you could have refused the Emperor's command."
She felt his hand tighten around hers. "My heart...aches for you," he whispered. A wave of love and sorrow passed through her and she fought to stave off the tears.
"Tonight," she murmured. "I shall not leave till the morning, I promise."
He nodded, then released her hand and drew back slightly as Bardow came over. The Archmage regarded her with a raised eyebrow to which she gave a slight shake of the head, then said;
"The honoured Lord Commander was just remarking that the way to Trevada passes through very dangerous territory."
"Danger lies all about us," Bardow said evenly. "All that differs is the degree of its malice." He looked at Mazaret. "Have you decided upon who to send with young Tauric, my Lord?"
"Yes, my brother, Coireg Mazaret."
"Ah, the man who arrived with an old servant this morning."
Suviel bit her lip as Bardow went on in a voice of calm amusement.
"I understand he has something of a mixed past, but clearly you are satisfied with him."
"I trust him implicitly, Archmage," Mazaret said cooly. "Now, you must excuse me - I have arrangements for tomorrow to tend to."
He gave Bardow a polite nod, and a slower bow to Suviel who watched him turn and leave. Bardow waited till he was out of sight before crossing to close the door. When he sat at the table, Suviel did likewise and regarded him nervously for a moment before speaking.
"Weren't you understating the power of the Wellsource?" she said.
"Of course. If the others really knew how perilous our situation is, then we would truly be lost." His eyes seemed to contemplate something beyond her sight, dark eyes which now held none of the warmth others were used to seeing. Suviel shivered inwardly as he turned that hard, focussed gaze on her.
"Suviel," he said. "Your real task is far more vital than gathering information - once you reach Trevada, I want you to find a way inside what used to be the High Basilica and retrieve the Crystal Eye."
The enormity of his words struck hard. Suviel felt as if she were suddenly hanging over a vast, empty gulf instead of sitting on a solid chair with one arm on the smooth table top. There was no fear, just a hollowness in her chest where her heart should have been. Foreboding, she told herself, suppressing an odd impulse to laugh out loud. When the danger is so great and so far away, the mind cannot encompass it.
"I thought the Eye was destroyed," she said.
Bardow smiled bleakly. "The Acolytes would never allow such a glittering trophy to be damaged." He met her worried gaze with a touch of his old humour. "Suffice to say that I know it's still intact and being kept in the Basilica.
"We have to have it, Suviel. If the Lord of Twilight's agents are growing in strength mere months before our rebellion begins, we will be forced to rely more heavily on the Lesser Power than we thought."
"And the Crystal Eye magnifies it, lends force to its effects," Suviel murmured.
"Exactly," Bardow said, reaching out to take her hand. "I am sorry to have to lay this terrible burden on you but there is almost no-one else I can trust. Guldamar and Terzis are stronger in the Lesser Power, but neither is able to move among ordinary folk with your ease."
"There are no ordinary folk in Prekine," she said, remembering the white-eyed Acolyte at Wujad's Pool.
Bardow sighed. "Jeopardy and evil hazards abound where peace and harmony once held sway. If Besh-Darok and the Rootpower were the heart and soul of the Empire, Trevada was its mind, its calm, assessing regard. The Acolytes knew what they were doing when they took our towers and halls for their own. They know how to corrupt everything, even symbols."
"They cannot corrupt everything," Suviel said, "because they cannot reach everything."
The Archmage gave a rueful smile then straightened in his chair, as if putting remembrances and regret aside. "Now, go and rest, prepare for the morning. Yes, I'm not asking you to leave before then. I wish it could be longer but time is against us."
Suviel stood, laid a hand on his shoulder and said: "I shall not fail."
Bardow looked up at her. "I hope so, Suviel, I hope so. For all our sakes."
* * *
In another part of the Temple, a man in a brown cloak came to a door at the end of a corridor and was about to knock when a voice came from within. "Enter!"
With a shrug he entered, closed the door behind him and leaned against it, weariness making him feel suddenly weak. The room was small with two low cots, a crude trunk and a plain square table at which a short, grey-haired elderly man sat, wrinkled hands cupping a small bowl of water glinting with pinpoints from the candles placed around the walls. The elderly man turned in his seat and fixed him with a frowning look.
"Well?"
Coireg Mazaret gave a shaky laugh. "The boy is being sent to one of Volyn's refuges, and I am to go with him."
"And I will accompany you?"
"I insisted."
The older man's frown relaxed. "Excellent. Events are moving in our favour. Lord Ystregul will be greatly pleased."
At that name, Coireg felt nausea ripple through his innards and he had to grit his teeth to subdue a wave of dizzyness. Ystregul, the Black Priest of the Fiery Tree. A face came to mind, a man with pronounced cheekbones, long black hair hanging in braids, and eyes like daggers. Then he remembered his own hands and arms and chest covered in blood all those months ago, the blood of his father. He shuddered.
The man pushed the other chair away from the table with his foot. "Sit," he said.
Gratefully, Coireg went over and sat down heavily. "Seftal, I'm sorry, I - "
Seftal silenced him with an upraised hand. "The weaving of the Wellsource brings burdens to all its servants, and It takes time to find the strength to bear it. You will be strong soon."
Coireg almost felt like weeping. The memory of waking to discover that he had murdered his own father was a collar of thorns that choked his every waking hour. It was Seftal, friend and fellow smuggler, who had spirited him away from Casall and, in an abandoned farmhouse, revealed his allegiance to the Wellsource and promised him redemption. Their later meeting with Ystregul had filled him with terror: the Black Priest had also promised him deliverance, but it was Seftal he listened to.
"Tell me what you know," Seftal said.
Coireg related all had taken place, both between himself and his brother, and during the brief meeting they had after the War Council.
"The boy will be guarded by three score of the Hunter's Children, as well as the advisors. An ambush would have to be planned carefully."
"It will," Seftal said. "We shall be in the enemy's camp and able to seize the boy at the right moment." He smiled. "You have done well, Coireg. Your place in the realm to come is assured."
"And my dreams?"
"They will become calm and untroubled," Seftal said soothingly. "All things will be new and sweet, and great power shall be yours to command."
Coireg breathed in deep as tears welled in his eyes. He covered them with a trembling hand. "When I spoke to him the first time...when he said what he would do, I almost ran. But I faced him, I really did." He shook his head. "Without the clawseed draught you gave me, I don't think I could have gone through with it. I can feel it starting to wane now. Perhaps I could have another draught, just for the rest of the day."
Seftal was silent a moment as he stared down at the bowl of water, and Coireg's heart seemed to beat in his chest like a slow, heavy hammer. Then he felt a wave of relief as the older man nodded.
"Yes," Seftal said thoughtfully, without raising his gaze. "Later."
No sanctuary in the house of pain,
No life on a tree of fire.
—Avalti,
Foreseeings
Half a day's ride and seven leagues north of Krusivel, Suviel reined in her horse under a tree near the brow of a hill, and waited for the others to catch up.
It was in the early morning, as she was dressing, that Ikarno had revealed how the previous night he had pressured Bardow into allowing him to send two companions with her. She had kept any dismay from showing till she was outside the Temple and on her way to the Mage Order's lodge where Bardow had met her on the steps.
"It changes nothing," he had said in a low voice, drawing her aside.
"But when we reach Trevada - "
"Then you tell them." He had spread his hands. "What will they do? Try to stop you? No, they'll offer to help and you will have to decide if they can."
Shaking her head she stroked her horse's neck as it cropped contentedly at a clump of grass. It was all because of Ikarno worrying about her safety. Yet she was the one who had travelled far and wide while he had stayed in Krusivel. Her expression softened as she remembered last night. Neither of them were youthful anymore, but there had been an intensity to their lovemaking that recalled the beginnings of their relationship five years ago. By the way Ikarno had delighted and aroused every part of her, she knew that he feared for her and wanted to have a perfect memory of her, just as she felt about him. Last night she had been all that he wanted, as he had been for her.
There was the thud of trotting hooves and she looked up to see Keren approach on a dappled grey. From her face Suviel noticed that she was in a black mood just as the trader Gilly Cordale came into view further back along the bushy defile. The stocky trader was smiling ruefully, his gaze fixed on Keren, and Suviel frowned.
"Is there a problem?" she said to Keren as she drew up beside her.
The swordswoman glanced back at the trader and sighed. "Nothing I can't deal with," she said evenly.
"Ride on ahead," Suviel said. "Stay within sight, though."
Keren nodded and urged her mount on down the other side of the rise. Suviel waited till Gilly arrived and continued along beside him.
"I don't think she's interested, Gilly."
"I think you're right," he said. "For now."
She gave him an ironic look. "You anticipate a change in her attitude?"
The trader rocked his head judiciously. "The opening stages of a negotiation do usually seem unproductive. At the moment, she thinks that I'm an ill-mannered boor but as the days pass I shall inadvertently reveal my more sensitive qualities - courage, understanding, warm-heartedness and a loving nature. Gradually, she will become intrigued by these glimpses and eventually..." He grinned. "...the negotiations will be concluded."
She stared at him. Since first meeting him nearly two years ago, Gilly Cordale had never failed to appall her. "I think you underestimate her ability to see through your little performance."
Theatrically, he put a hand to his chest. "Truly, I am wounded. How do you know that beneath this crass exterior does not lie a noble soul?"
"Oh, you mean there really
is
more to you than meets the eye?"
He laughed quietly and wagged an admonishing finger. "Lady, be careful. You might be taken in by my little performance, too." And he moved ahead a short distance, leaving her to stare after him in bemusement.
With the jagged heights of the Rukang Mountains at their backs and the foothills becoming thick with woods, they rode the main wagon track till it dipped towards a narrow gorge. Instead of continuing that way, though, Suviel led them along an overgrown side trail heading northeast, parallel with Gronanvel, the great valley which lay beyond the gorge. After several hours slow progress they emerged at the bank of the Errain, one of the rivers that linked together the lakes which ran the length of Gronanvel. The waters there were shallow and easily forded and by the time they were across and safely under cover, the day was almost done. Suviel proposed finding a place to camp and the others wearily agreed.
It was dusk when they came to a small clearing in a grove of tassel trees, their hanging
litrilu
blooms filling the air with a light fragrance. Unseen creatures scurried away at their approach and when Gilly dismounted and lit a torch a pair of tiny bull-lizards abandoned their meal of moss atop a large boulder and vanished into the undergrowth. Suviel and Keren were about to dismount too when a small figure jumped up from behind the boulder and darted across the clearing, past Gilly. But the trader was quick on his feet and caught the stranger by the arm. It was a child, a young boy. He cried out and clawed for release, then turned and tried to bite his captor. Gilly uttered an oath, dropped the torch and wrapped his other arm round the boy's chest, holding him immobile.
"You little brat! - "
"...let me...let me go..."
Suviel hurried across while Keren picked up the torch. The boy froze, his eyes wide with fear, as Suviel went down on one knee, facing him.
"Ease your grip, Gilly. You're hurting him. Now, it's all right, you're safe..." She raised her hands in a calming manner but the boy averted his eyes and began to tremble. He wore rough shirt and trews, both torn and grubby. The shirt had a wet-looking patch of blood on one of arms but she was sure that it wasn't his. Frowning, Suviel lowered her hands. "What's your name, boy?" she said softly.
Without meeting her gaze he muttered, "Gevran."
"Gevran - you've seen sorcery tonight, haven't you? What village are you from? Is that where it happened?"
Suviel ignored Gilly's look of surprise as the boy moved his lips. For a moment there was no sound. Then;