‘What is it?’ demanded Azrek.
‘You will wish me to mark the Six with the soul of the Morningstar,’ came a soft voice that seemed all too familiar. Yet I could not place it.
‘Yes. Imprint the smell of it upon their senses.’There is no smell, sir, merely an aura that is his alone.’Spare me your pedantry. I pay you well, magicker, and what do you offer me in return? You promised me the Morningstar. Well, where is he?’Surely you do not blame me, sir. My light shone over him. It was then left to your soldiers to apprehend him. They failed, not I.’You all failed,’ snarled Azrek, ‘and I will not tolerate it. The soldiers who fell back before his blade are now hanging by their heels, their skin flayed from their bodies. Be warned, magicker, I do not like to lose. And this task should be simplicity itself. One man in a forest. One creature of flesh and bone and sinew. Is that too much for you?’Not at all, sir. But using the Six will prove costly. They will not return, they will stay in the forest, hunting and killing until they themselves are slain.’What is that to me?’It cost many lives, more than forty if memory serves, to create them.’They were only lives,’ answered Azrek. The world is full of lives.As you say, sir. The Lord of Lualis has sent out Criers to announce a larger reward of 2,000 sovereigns for information leading to the apprehension of the Morningstar, and twenty gold pieces for his companions – the hunchback, the giant and the bard, Odell.’Ah yes, Odell … I would like to hear him sing. There are notes I shall teach him that he would not believe he could reach.’
‘I am sure of that, my lord,’ said the other smoothly, ‘but there are two other matters to which I must draw your attention. Firstly, the woman Megan. I had the ashes raked but there were no bones evident. She did not die in the flames.’How could that be? We saw her tied to the stake.’Indeed we did. I believe Odell, hidden by the smoke, climbed the pyre and freed her as the soldiers pursued the Morningstar.’So where is she now, magicker?’Why, sir, she is watching us,’ he answered, his voice remaining even. The window in the wall appeared to tremble and the castle hall beyond spun and rose. Down, down swept the image. Azrek seemed to swell and grow.
‘Get back!’ shouted Megan, but my limbs seemed frozen and I was unable to tear my eyes from the scene. Azrek looked at me -saw me, as if from across a room. A second figure moved into view.
‘How are you, Owen?’ said Cataplas amiably.
He seemed unchanged from the master I had known, a long purple velvet robe hanging from his lean frame, his grey wispy, trident beard clinging like mist to his chin. His hand came up with fingers spread. A small ball of flames flickered on his palm, swelling and growing.
Megan grabbed my arm, pulling me back. ‘Run, Owen!’ she screamed.
Idly Cataplas tossed the flaming globe towards us.
We were at the cave entrance when it sailed through the window. Megan hurled herself at me, spinning me from my feet, just as a great explosion sounded and a tongue of flame seared out from the mouth of the cave, scorching the grass for twenty feet.
I rolled to my back. Megan was lying some way from me, her white robe smouldering.
‘No!’ I shouted, scrambling to my feet and running to her. In taking the time to push me clear she had suffered terrible bums to her left side. Her arm was blackened and split and bloody, and most of her hair had been scorched away. Her eyes opened and she groaned.
I was no healer, but like all magickers I knew the simple spells of Warming and Cooling, both of which are used by those whose skills are directed towards healing the sick. Swiftly I covered her burns with cool air and she sighed and sank back to the grass.
‘I am sorry, Megan,’ I told her. ‘I am so sorry.’ ‘I can heal myself,’ she whispered, ‘given time, that is. But it is taking all my power and I can be of no use to you for a while. Mace is on his way here -I reached him last night. When he arrives I will be sleeping deeply. Take me to the town of Ocrey. It is north of here – perhaps a day’s travel. Do not seek to wake me but carry me to the house of Osian. It is built beside a stream to the west of Ocrey. There is an old man living there; he will. . . care for me. You understand?’Yes. I will do as you say.’And warn Mace of the Six. He must be prepared.’ ‘Who are they?’ But she was sinking fast and I had to lower my ear to her mouth to hear the softest of whispers. ‘The Satan Hounds,’ she murmured.