Chapter 9: Chapter 8: In which Iwy uncovers a secret and so do the wizards

Several floors up in the high central tower every elder of the order residing in the sanctum had been summoned to the Archmage’s study. Some hadn’t changed out of their nightclothes. One in particular was only wearing underwear and sock suspenders. It was an odd-looking assembly of the most powerful wizards this side of the mountains.

Archmage Ambeus’ fingers drummed absently on a pile of volumes of forgotten lore. The young wizard in front of his desk shook with equal parts excitement and nerves. “The girl had flames around her, you said?”

“Yes, like a circle. A ring. Actually, more like a ball.”

Another wizard, grey-robed and not yet a hundred years old, leaned down. “You don’t think it could be ...”

“Hm. Young Elzar, fetch me the scroll.”

“Which one, Archmage?”

“Prophecy section, number 5b67. It’s over there, boy.”

“Yes, Archmage.”

Young Elzar, eager to be part of the Inner Circle himself one day, almost tripped over his nightgown as he dug around the Archmage’s private shelves. He handed the desired scroll over with a sort of religious reverence.

“You may go now. I will let your teachers know you have been most helpful.”

“Thank you, Archmage!”

All eyes were on the scroll as soon as the young wizard had left.

“Well?”, one of the Inner Circle broke the silence. “Which one is it?”

“The last prophecy of Kinitor the Seer.”

The silence returned, only this time it was uncomfortable as three quarters of the room were racking their brains for a trace of memory without making it too obvious while the rest remembered the contents much too well.

“It is a prophecy of the end times,” Ambeus said sourly at the lack of reaction. “He sees a great war between ... between, uh ... Jutigast, you speak Ancient Enuin, come here.”

The wizard in question hurried over and pulled a magnifying glass out of his sleeve. “Yes, but this is a very rare dialect. It, uh ... might mean ‘those who would have been brothers’ or ‘those who build a grand monastery together’. See, because ‘brother’ in Ancient Enuin used to mean ...”

“Well, we’re a brotherhood of sorts and our order built this whole thing, that’s close enough for me,” another wizard cut in.

“The point is, this can only mean Acarald,” Ambeus continued. “And this text describes a, uh ... ‘girl in flames’ who ... what’s this mean?”

“Well, generally ‘darkness’, but in the Northern dialect ...”

“You think this girl might be able to defeat him?”

“Possibly,” Ambeus nodded.

Archmage Jutigast was anxious to educate. “This might very well be a piece of mythology surrounding the goddess Aldari, very popular in the Six Kingdoms during the era of Ufnan the Second, which is when Kinitor ...”

The wizard in sock suspenders waved Jutigast’s ever more detailed explanations away. “Yes, yes. A man of Kinitor’s talent wouldn’t compose a simple treatise about some deity, popular or not. And he wouldn’t lump it in with his other prophesies.”

“Thank you, Urun, that’s what I’m thinking,” Ambeus said.

“... her element was said to be flame, which is why every fire in the temple had to be kept burning at all times, until one time they did go out which was due to the hero Sienuri failing to keep his promise to ...”

Archmage Ambeus massaged his temples. “Someone give him some brandy or he’ll never shut up.”

A wizard in unbuttoned green robes obliged and dragged the man over to the corner where a row of decanters stood on a small, finely spun table.

“Thank you. Wretched historians.” Ambeus turned back to the others. “We should talk to the girl first.”

The wizard in sock suspenders scratched his chin absently. “Who is she anyway?” He bit back a laugh. “Triand’s ... latest flame?”

A colleague in a nightcap hit him with a candle stub. “I told you a thousand times: no puns!”

“Maybe she’s her apprentice,” another one ventured.

The suspenders-wizard guffawed. “Triand with an apprentice! Can you imagine? What is she going to teach her? ‘Flying is easy, just jump up and stay there’?”

“‘Magic is easy, you only need to convince reality that it’s all different’,” someone else joined in.

Ambeus raised a hand and the silence was instant. “We had better get that girl on our side.”

“What about Triand?”

“Let her fester a bit longer. If we can convince her young friend to help us, we won’t need her.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to flee yet.”

“She’s getting on in years. Not half the gumption she had when she was young. Tell the guard to fetch the girl. And you lot ... everyone out except the Inner Circle. We don’t want to overwhelm her. And for goodness’ sake, Urun, put some robes on!”

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While the bickering went on (and Archmage Urun was sent to hunt for a decent set of robes), downstairs, Iwy had almost dozed off. A sudden triumphant sound brought her up again with a snort.

“Aha!”

“What’s aha?”

“Finally found what I’ve been looking for for months. Look at that.” A book was shoved into Iwy’s field of vision. She could hardly decipher the tiny script. “The Crucible of Atrius – no idea who Atrius is – needs to be heated by nine powerful fire mages. They used it as punishment during the Second War, basically melted down everyone’s gadgets.”

Iwy sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What do you need that for?”

Triand clapped the book shut. “Reasons.”

“Why are you being so mysterious about this?”

“The less I tell you, the less you can say under torture.”

“They’re not going to torture us. There’s laws.”

“There’s also laws that say you can hang witches.”

Iwy’s eyes finally focused. “Wait, you’re actually serious.”

Triand had sat back down and buried herself in the book.

“So, why do you need this crucible thing?”

No answer from behind the book except continuous mumbling.

“And what’s this business about your staff? Why did the masked guy know your name?”

More mumbling.

“And what in the gods’ names is a Faceless? That can’t be just some fashion. Right?”

Fumbling for a pencil in another pocket, scratching around the page, more mumbling.

“Why would you even tell me about this crucible if you don’t want to tell me anything else?”

Triand lifted her forefinger. “That was an accident, I got excited.”

Iwy threw her hands up exasperated. “Look, I can’t help you and I can’t ... I can’t trust you if you don’t tell me anything. I can’t do anything if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Alright. Fair point.” Triand lowered the book and pinched the bridge of her long nose. She seemed to reach a decision. “If I told you there’s a war going to come because one extremely powerful wizard decided non-magic people shouldn’t live, what would you say?”

Iwy shifted uncomfortably on her cot. “I’d say that sounds insane.” And it couldn’t be true. Things like that didn’t happen. Or at least they didn’t happen here, in a country that held places like Riansfield.

“Yes, that’s why it’s true. And if I told you he needs some sort of magical artefact to do that and I may or may not have exactly that?”

“He’s not going to come to the Midlands, right?” Iwy said, ignoring the question.

“Dunno. Maybe not right away, unless of course he’s got something to settle with the tossers upstairs, but ...”

“But he would? Pretty much no-one’s a mage around here, this is basically the granary for half the country ...”

“Might put it further down the list.”

“But the wizards could stop him, right? They’d have a duty to protect my ... the people here.”

“Did you get that in writing?”

Iwy quickly looked down on her hands to check that the sudden heat she felt wasn’t leaking out of her skin. And to think she’d seen the witch hunters as her biggest problem ... “D’you know what I’d say? I’d say my mother’s not a witch! My dad would use one of those staffs for stirring porridge! My entire family are non-mages and why in the name of any god are you only telling me this now? You could have said, hey, Iwy your entire region is in danger, and I would have carried you here within a day!”

Triand shrugged. “Yeah, I thought that might come on too strong. And not too believable. You don’t go up to people and say, Hey, help me stop some wizard you’ve never heard of. S’not polite.” She thought about it. “Within one day, really?”

Iwy wasn’t about to let her change the subject. The wizard had wanted her staff. Was it the staff? Or something about it? “So, this wizard with the light things” – she felt significantly less terrible about hurling him out the window – “he’s that wizard?”

“That guy? Nah. Barely made it to the upper ranks, that one. Don’t know why he sent him.”

“Ranks of what?”

“His order.”

“There’s more of them?” For a second, she was sure she smelled smouldering wood and took her hand off the cot. What had she gotten herself into here?

This couldn’t be happening. There had never been a wizard war in her lifetime. Until a few days ago, she hadn’t even known they happened often. The only one she’d ever heard about happened hundreds of years ago, and only if you could trust what a travelling salesman told the pub crowd.

And Triand was only one person. If this was true, more people would be panicking, surely? And she hadn’t even known her for a week.

And why her, of all people? “How come you have the thing? If you have it.”

“Of course I have it, I’m not making this up for laughs.”

Iwy crossed her arms. “Show it to me, then.”

“Can’t.”

“Is it your staff?”

“No.”

“But it has to do with your staff.”

“Maybe.”

The girl gave up. “How come you have that thing?”

“‘cause I thought, that’s a bit rubbish, those people have done us no harm, so I stole the artefact and ran.”

Those were good intentions, alright, but Triand didn’t seem uniquely qualified, seeing as she stuck out like a sore thumb in a library in the middle of the night. This seemed more like a job for someone more experienced, more controlled, more, well ... wizardy. “Why don’t you just give it to someone else?”

“You can’t trust people.”

“You’re a people.”

“Damn, you got me.”

“But you could ...”

“Foist an unjust burden on the unsuspecting?” Triand reached inside her robes. “Here, hold this.”

“No!” Iwy looked from the toothy grin to the mage’s empty hand. “That’s not funny. How did they find you, anyway?”

“Dunno. Guess by now they checked everyone’s pockets and figured out I have it.” Triand looked serious for a moment. Iwy would remember it well later on because it was so rare. “It’s kinda why I wanted you to come along.”

“Me, why?”

“I think you might just be powerful enough to help me destroy this thing.”

“The book says nine mages, I can’t even light a pipe!”

“Yes, you can. That day in the barn? You were angry, so angry, but you were still holding back. I could feel it. I was at the harbour at Roosford when I felt this shift, like someone had unleashed a giant ball of energy. That was you. Trying not to kill anyone.”

Iwy ignored that last point. She definitely hadn’t felt as if she was holding back. “Roosford’s miles from ...”

“Exactly. You got more power than you think. I want you to wield it.”

“So you’re just going to use me?” Well, this was what it came down to. The mage hadn’t been looking for an apprentice so much as for a weapon. And when it came to that, Iwy was barely a slingshot.

Triand gave a half-shrug. “But it’s for a good cause. Fate of all humankind and all that. Well, maybe not all, possibly only a few towns, ‘cause I always say the best way to win a war is to make sure it don’t happen, but you get the picture.”

“But why destroy it? Why can’t you use it against him?”

“Won’t work. This is an old bit of magic. There seems to be some weird blood ritual involved and I don’t feel like killing a bunch of people. Wouldn’t even know how to keep the blood fresh enough until I got done. Anyway, this is why I can’t tell these bloody twits with staves any of that, because they would use it. So, are you gonna help me or not?”

Iwy got no chance to answer as the guard’s keys clinked outside. Triand shoved the book into her shirt a moment before the spell lock chimed and the door opened. The guard went straight for Iwy, dragged her up and out.

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The way to the Archmage’s study took a long while. At least Triand would have enough time to finish her books.

Iwy sincerely hoped she was wrong about the torture part.

The study was a round, overstuffed room, drowning in mahogany bookshelves filled with tattered scrolls and leather-bound books that looked older than the citadel itself. The three narrow windows didn’t manage to break up the space even a little. Every flat surface was covered in strange instruments, crystals, old wax, parchment, and a not unsubstantial amount of magnifying glasses. Iwy decided they really didn’t have a tidy-up-spell.

Someone had tried to make the room as comfortable as it was cluttered. The large marble fireplace had been lit. All the furniture was cushioned, owing perhaps to the fact that the four smiling wizards present were old enough to be her great-grandfathers.

The Archmage looked up from a scroll on his desk when she was brought in. He nodded to the guard, who left and closed the door. “There you are, my girl. Please, sit down.”

Another wizard drew out the mahogany chair in front of the desk for her.

Iwy sat down, fighting her gut instinct to run.

“What’s your name, dear?”

Her mother had always told her to never give out her full name to strangers. She was beginning to see why. “You can call me Iwy.”

The wizard in the blue robes smiled benevolently. “Is that short for Iwona? My mother was called that.”

“That’s ... nice?”

“You’re a local, aren’t you? The accent ...”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The tall, portly mage behind the desk raised his hand and his colleague fell silent. “I am Archmage Ambeus, current leader of the Order of Ebonmight. These are Archmage Urun, Archmage Jutigast and Archmage Aslius.”

Iwy nodded politely at the round but wondered if these were the names their mothers had chosen for them. She couldn’t picture anyone being born a Jutigast.

“We merely want to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t know much,” Iwy said quickly. “About anything.”

“Now, now, don’t be hasty. How would you like to become a student?”

“What?”

“A student,” Ambeus repeated. “Here. How long have you studied with Triand?”

“Three days?”

Good-natured chuckling filled the room.

Archmage Urun, the one whose mother was named like her, composed himself first. “I take it you are, uh ... new to your powers?”

“Yes.”

Archmage Aslius, who could be summed up as short, thin, and twitchy, smiled down on her. “From what we have heard and seen your power seems to concentrate around the element of flame. Fire magic is one of the most dangerous types. Many mages have burned themselves out. You need to be taught.”

Iwy knew that kind of smile; it was a tactic her older relatives used, a smile that said ‘I want something, so I’ll try to be nice, but I can only keep this up for five minutes’. “I don’t think you got me out of a cell to ask me if I want to study with you.”

Avoiding confrontations had never been Iwy’s strong suit. Like with older relatives, it was better to get to the point immediately. The wizards shuffled uncomfortably.

Archmage Ambeus shook his head. “My girl, there is much you don’t know about our world ... your world. There is a storm coming.”

“I guess you don’t mean the weather.”

“No. No, my dear, there will be war.”

Triand had said the same thing. Iwy tried to keep her face straight. “Why?”

“Many years ago, one of our brothers, Archmage Acarald, split from us. He rallied many powerful wizards and sorcerers, some even from our own order. He is the single largest threat we had to face in over a hundred years.”

“Yes, but why?”

“His goal is to subjugate all mages. All of them. This of course includes us. And you, in the long term.”

This was decidedly different from the version Triand had told her, which left the question which one of them was lying. Or whether both stories could be true. “That’s it?”

The Archmage stared at her bewildered. “What do you mean, that’s it? Do you know what subjugate means?”

“Sure.”

“Really? I hadn’t expected you to sound so learned.”

It would be wrong to think of Iwy as unlearned. She could list all the signs of good wheat growing earth in her sleep and recognise pest infestations by looking at a single stalk. She could predict a change of weather by cloud formations and the smell of the air. The ins and outs of seasons and the three-field system presented no problem to her. When it came to agriculture, she was practically a genius.

Other people would have been more impressed if she could compute the square root of 39 or provide an in-depth analysis of the economic politics of late King Geras II. Knowing how to grow everyone’s food wasn’t high up on that list. And wizards tended to be even more judgemental than normal people, which showed a lot of nerve considering they were the world’s leading target market for sequins.

“We had a dictionary at home. I got to read a few pages before we had to eat it during this one harsh winter,” Iwy deadpanned. “I mean, what’s his plan once he has subjugated everyone?”

“Child, we don’t know that. He has gone mad with power.”

That was a sentence Iwy had heard often about mages, usually in the pub stories, always some old wizard going mad with power and kidnapping a princess or the like. Now she wondered if these stories had some truth to them. Still, the wizards in the room seemed to know more than they let on. Triand had wanted to find out what they knew; Iwy decided she wanted to know for herself. “Is he going to kill anyone?”

“Possible, entirely possible.”

“So, you don’t know for sure.”

Ambeus gestured impatiently. “As I said, we don’t know his plans, my girl.”

“You could hazard a guess,” Iwy said levelly. Behind Ambeus’ back, two wizards exchanged a glance, but they hadn’t told her to shut up yet. “What about Triand?”

The wizards took a sudden interest in the interior decorating of the study, as no one looked directly at her.

“Triand is not the best person to trust in this matter,” Archmage Aslius said finally with only the slightest twitching in his eye.

“Really? Why?”

“She has made some ... questionable decisions.”

Since they remained tight-lipped as a bunch of burglars, she had to throw them a bait. “She told me there’s an artefact. A powerful one.”

Archmage Aslius flinched, then nodded. “Yes. It is the only thing that can stop ...” He broke off and glanced at Ambeus.

“Stop what?”

Archmage Ambeus regarded Iwy as if making a difficult decision. “She might as well know everything. Acarald’s order. The Faceless. The Circle of Manisum.”

“And what’s that when it’s at home?”

“It is a group of mages bent on finding a powerful ancient artefact named the Eye of Manisum.”

“Is it… actually an eye?” Though stranger things probably happened, she couldn’t imagine wizards fighting over a literal eyeball.

Archmage Jutigast leaned forward on his staff, swaying slightly. “It is said to be the right eye of an Old God who was defeated in battle and his body strewn across the world ...”

“Never heard of that.”

“It’s not a very well-known legend,” Ambeus said and shooed his colleague away before he could delve into the thirteen different versions of the tale, including the unofficial one where the god sported an impressive thousand eyes, not to mention an unreasonable amount of arms. “But that is not important. We need to have the Eye, and we suspect that Triand has gotten hold of it somehow. She was close to Acarald when she was young. Did she tell you how she hid it in the staff?”

“No. But what do you want with it, anyway?”

“Use it to destroy the Circle before they can destroy us,” Archmage Aslius said in a tone of voice that was supposed to sound noble and hinted that the topic should be dropped.

Iwy wasn’t about to give it a rest. “But how?”

Archmage Ambeus fidgeted impatiently behind the big desk. “Well, see, the Eye will ... well, it will make them powerless. Absorb their power. Do you know what absorb means?”

Iwy gritted her teeth and hoped it looked like a smile. Triand at least didn’t treat her like an imbecile. “Sure, it’s like when you clean up spilled water.”

“This is why we need the Eye,” Archmage Ambeus reiterated.

“But I don’t know where it is.”

“This is not all. We believe, well ... we as good as know that you will help us.”

Under the chair, Iwy’s leg muscles tensed in preparation for a sprint. “Will I, now?”

“There is an ancient prophecy that mentions a girl with powers like yours.”

“A ... prophecy?”

The wizards apparently mistook her disbelieving tone for awe. “Yes. You are meant to help us in this crisis. And I am sure you will. Listen ...”

Iwy barely listened as the head wizard read from his scroll, elbowing his swaying colleague every now and again for a translation. It was like with the fortune tellers you met at every fair. If you weren’t too particular about the details, some of their predictions actually did come true. That was all the experience she had with prophecies, apart from her great-uncle, who almost definitely ran a scam with his psychic business after the scam with the self-cleaning pitchforks had failed, and Old Woman Marni who could foresee the weather by her bad knee. A proper ancient prophecy written in a dead language ... was dubious. Also, bonkers.

She had to get out of here. Maybe Triand wasn’t trustworthy, but neither was this lot.

“Do you see now?” Ambeus finished, smiling his benevolent grandfather smile. “You were meant to do this.”

There was an exorbitantly high chance they thought she was only some farm girl who could barely tell her arse from her elbows. She could use that just as easily against them.

“Really? But” – Iwy put on her best country-bumpkin smile – “I mean, I don’t know anything about magic, but if you want to use the Eye, don’t you need a ritual of some sort? Aren’t there always rituals? I’d love to see a ritual one day.”

The mood in the room switched from slightly uncomfortable to very uncomfortable. “There is one,” Archmage Aslius said, with only a mild shake in his voice. “Complicated. Very ... complicated, uncomfortable ... I mean complicated. But we can handle it.”

“Some of the students might not enjoy it,” Archmage Urun added.

“Yes, but we need their help.”

Iwy kept her smile straight. “Can I come too? There’s not going to be blood or anything, is there? I simply can’t stand blood.”

Archmage Aslius wiped sweat from his brow with an embroidered sleeve. A few rogue sequins got stuck to his forehead. “No! No, no. Of course not, no blood necessary.”

“Maybe a little, just a few hundred drops,” Jutigast mumbled in the background before one of the others stepped on his foot.

So Triand might have been right about this part.

"Now tell us, is the artefact in her staff?"

"She didn't tell me anything."

"Loyal to the last," Ambeus sighed. "Child, please..."

"Good gods, the only place an eye-shaped thing would fit is the knob!", Iwy burst out before clamping her jaw shut.

“The knob! Of course, of course ...”

“She’s not going to just shove it in there. We need to prepare an extraction ritual.”

While the other wizards began a heated discussion about the advantages of Aweras’ circle of binding versus Wolronin’s rite of partition, Archmage Ambeus beamed at her. “See? You helped us already. Exactly as the prophecy foretold.” He leaned forward. “Stay here. Become a student. You can start tomorrow, if you want. You could be a great help to us and we to you.”

Iwy nodded vaguely. “I feel terrible about this. You know, she really is nice. She was nice to me.”

“Well, even nice people can do dangerous things.”

“I’m sure she only had the best intentions. Do you think I can say goodbye?”

“Of course, dear. The guard will escort you. Wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

The guard must have been listening to signals no one else could hear, because he entered the door at just this moment. “Ah, Reginald. Take the young lady to Triand’s cell. She’d like to say her farewells. Then please talk to the porter and find a room for her.”

The guard nodded. Iwy followed him out of the room. She closed the door quietly behind her. “Oh no, my boot’s untied, will you wait a moment?”

“Of course, miss”, Reginald said in the voice of a man who knew he’d be working overtime today no matter what.

Iwy dropped to one knee and started messing with her bootlaces. She tried not to breathe too loudly. The sounds behind the door were faint, but the wizards weren’t trying to keep their voices down.

“... can’t do this, so many wizards ...”

“... die for a good cause ... Acarald will do the same, we have to stop him before he ...”

“You done, miss?”

“Sure.”

She followed him down the many flights of stairs to the prison area. Reginald gestured for her to step in front of Triand’s cell and opened the door for her. Triand looked up from her scroll. “Hey there. How’d it go with the fossils?”

“Spectacular. Come on.”

Triand shoved the scroll into her robes and stood up. Reginald filled the doorway. “Miss? There was no order to let either of you leave.”

“Yeah, but we have an appointment somewhere else, so ...”

“I can’t let you leave, miss.”

She turned to Triand. “You still got any money?”

“I don’t take bribes, miss. I’d better take you upstairs again.”

Iwy regretted what she was about to do next.

“Hey, uh, Reginald?”

“Yes, miss?”

“I’m really sorry.”

She caught him around the middle and pushed him out the doorway like she used to wrestle her brother before he had a chance to do anything fancy with his halberd.

“I’ll take it from here,” she heard the mage say and a zapping sound later, Reginald lay peacefully snoring on the ground.

Triand looked down at the unconscious man and then wide-eyed at her apprentice. “Whoa. What’s going on?”

“We’re getting out of here, these idiots are driving me up the wall. If I ever again have to act like I was kicked in the head by a horse I will punch someone.”

“Told ya. Let’s go.”

The mage turned and immediately Iwy was beset by doubts. “One thing.”

“What?”

“Do you know someone named Acarald?”

Triand sighed. “They told you, didn’t they? Alright, yes, I knew him, and yes, we were close.”

“Are you gonna take the artefact to him?”

“What? No! I’ve spent over a year dodging him and his lot.”

“I don’t know who to believe.”

“That’s fine. That’s understandable. But I don’t have time for this.” And with this, the mage ducked under her arm and broke into a run.

Iwy sprinted up the stairs after her. “I thought you needed me.”

“I do, but I can also come up with a different plan, I’m sure. I’m great at improvising!”

Triand’s escape was probably still a secret, as there were no guards around the hallways. It wouldn’t stay this way for long; she was heading directly to the Archmage’s study.

“What are you doing?” Iwy whispered when she finally caught up with her in the corridor.

“Getting my staff back.”

“It wasn’t in the study.”

“Figures. It’s probably in the ritual room.”

“They have an extra room for that?”

“Rituals need space. Over there.”

Against her instincts Iwy followed quietly. The ritual room was only three doors down from the study, its thick carved door firmly locked.

Iwy had expected Triand to use some sort of spell or other magic. As it were, she grabbed her flask from inside her robes, took a long gulp, and said, “Open up, I forgot my keys inside.”

The door snapped open.

“Seriously?”

Triand waved the remark away. “They were already old twenty years ago, happened all the time.”

The chamber was larger than the study, and entirely dark. A faintly glowing circle had been drawn on the floor where the staff hovered seemingly unguarded behind a light blue mist.

“Oh, sure, put a shield around my staff, why not?” Triand mumbled, wiping whisky drops from her chin. She reached out with her right arm. Her fingers hovered before the shield, not quite touching the mist. Something seemed to please her. She stretched her left arm out as well and at the same time jerked her right arm back.

The staff was in her hand. Iwy looked up. The staff was also still hovering behind the shield. “What did you do?”

“Little illusion. It won’t last long.”

And to hammer the point home, she turned and ran.

Iwy stood alone in the hallway. Her insides gnawed at her with insecurity. On the one hand, there was this shabby weirdo with a drinking problem, on the other a group of bearded buggers with homicidal tendencies, and on a possible third hand some mad wizard she had never seen. She wished she was home tending to the family fields. Wheat didn’t give you this kind of trouble.

She hadn’t even seen this artefact, whatever it was. Then again, the wizards wouldn’t make such a fuss over nothing, surely? Or talk about people dying for a good cause behind closed doors.

And Triand ... If she was going to take the artefact to this Acarald, why hadn’t she already? She had only known her for a few days, but was Triand the type to have a boss? Did she ever do a single solitary thing she was ordered to do? And if she had plans to use the Eye herself ... if you truly needed a lot of blood for it, that was sort of hard to hide from an apprentice who stuck around all day.

Also, when had she morphed into Rianfield’s champion overthinker?

Iwy made a decision just before the sound of footsteps echoed from the other end of the corridor. She sprinted after the mage.

“Hey, wait!”

“Changed your mind?” Triand panted as the girl caught up with her.

“Can’t say no thanks to keeping people safe. If that’s what we’re doing.”

“I thought you didn’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust them, either. They’re just gonna do the same thing as the other one.”

“Wait, really?” Triand’s face contorted to allow room for sixteen different emotions.

“Yeah?” Iwy faltered. “I’m pretty sure that’s what they meant when they said something about wizards dying ...”

Triand turned the corridor to the library. Her face had decided on resolution. “In my defence, I didn’t always know he was bonkers.”

“This Acarald? They told me he’s mad with power or something.”

“With power, without power, maybe he was born that way. Either way, I’m gonna fix this.”

“If you lie to me, I will fry you.”

“You got a long way to go, kid.”

Triand skidded to a halt when she saw there were still two guards in the library. They drew their weapons as soon as they saw the women.

Triand raised her staff. “Question, boys: They take care of your magical injuries here, right?”

“Yeah, actually, the insurance is pretty good ...”

His colleague cut him off. “Stop babbling, we’re supposed to arrest them!”

“Right.”

They got as far as three steps before two books flew out of the nearest shelves and fastened themselves over their faces. Triand performed a roundabout gesture with her free hand that shoved them into the far wall. The trapdoor to the secret passage flew open as she approached. Iwy followed hastily.

The street was empty when they burst through the delivery entrance. Triand turned, looked up at the building. Her face split into a grin. “Want some more practice?”

“What?”

“Last time, I blew up the sanctum. This time, you blow it up!”

“No! Let’s just go.”

Iwy grabbed hold of a robe sleeve and dragged her would-be master across the cobbled streets. So far, no one was coming after them, and it was likely no one knew where they were staying. Iwy could hardly believe their bit of luck as they reached the Odd Parsnip without anyone shouting “Hey, you!”.

It didn’t last long as the nightgown-clad innkeeper met them in the tap room.

“I’m sorry, I tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen, they’re searching your room ...”

“That’s alright, fill this up, please,” Triand panted and pushed her flask into the woman’s hands before she stormed upstairs. Iwy could already feel power radiating off her.

The door to their room had been broken open. The room itself was in disarray, the beds stripped off their linens, and their bags had been turned out all over the floor. Inside, two men were inspecting such questionable items as Triand’s chequered blanket. They were decidedly not wizards.

Triand sighed as she leaned heavily against the doorframe. “You lot again? Really? You give back my stuff right now, I’m in a hurry.”

The men turned, their hands flying to their swords.

Harold Jenks, witch hunter, had recently sustained a bit of a knee problem when a witch – and he began to wonder if this was the same – had made his horse bolt. Now he saw an opportunity to get revenge. As prescribed by the handbook, of course. “Stand down, witch!”

“Have it your way.” Triand made a dismissive gesture and the world turned, at least for Harold Jenks and his colleague who suddenly found themselves upside down. Their weapons buried themselves into the walls. She lifted them high enough for their boots to touch the ceiling, so they were more or less on eye level with her. “Stuff. Back. Now.”

“You won’t get away ...”

“Have it your way.” The mage waved her right hand up and down as if she was playing ball, her bangles jingling menacingly. The screaming hunters bounced in time with her movements, items falling from their pockets and scattering across the floor. Iwy reached down automatically to retrieve everything.

“Did they take anything of yours?”

“Yeah, took a fancy to my breadknife.” Sort of bold of them to run around a wizard city, Iwy thought. What was that about accidentally arresting a wizard? They couldn’t have followed them. It was a big city, how would they ...

She put the knife back into her bag carefully when she stopped dead. Paper was strewn all over one corner of the room. She picked up a piece and forgot to breathe for a second before grabbing the sheets by the fistful and stuffing them in her bag haphazardly.

“Any coin pouches?”

“What? Yeah, here.”

Triand pocketed them immediately. “Do me a favour, pack up everything. And you” – she faced Harold ­– “did you bring anything out of this room? Maybe to your friends? I’d like you to think about your answer.”

“No!”

“We were here a mere few minutes, I promise!”

“I hope you do. Because if I find anything missing, no matter where I am or where you are, I will turn your skin inside out. Kinda like this!”

Jenks yelped; his breeches slid down to his ankles and fastened themselves to the ceiling. “You too! Oh, and ...” The witch hunters’ buckled hats flew back to their heads and plunked down over their eyes. “Enjoy your stay, they make excellent stew here.”

Iwy checked under the beds and in every corner. “That should be everything.” She handed a staggering Triand her bundle and slung her own bag over her shoulder.

The innkeeper was waiting at the end of the stairs with Triand’s flask, which seemed significantly heavier than before. “Thank you, gorgeous. And this is for your trouble.” She pressed one of the hunters’ coin pouches into her hand. “If anyone asks about us, please tell them we’re going southeast to the shore. Oh, and don’t worry about the gentlemen upstairs, the spell should wear off sometime tomorrow.”

The innkeeper opened the pouch. “No questions asked, I suppose?”

Triand was already sipping at her flask again. “No questions answered. Bye!”

“Wait!” The innkeeper ducked under the bar and retrieved two large paper parcels. “You’ll need food for the road.”

Triand grinned as if her birthday had come early. “You are wonderful.”

The innkeeper blushed deep red and let them out the back door.

The sky at the far edge of the city had turned grey when they headed towards the northern city gates. Iwy looked back to the wizards’ sanctum. She couldn’t see the entire building from here, only the high towers, but she noticed there was light behind every window.

“How about the old men disguise?”

“Yeah. Minute.”

Triand swayed and leaned against a wall to catch her breath. She rubbed her eyes like someone who could go for a fifteen-hour-nap right about now.

“You don’t look so good.”

“I know. Slap me.”

“What?”

“You need to slap me, or I’ll pass out.”

On the one hand, it was a direct order. On the other, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea with her being her master and all. On the other other hand, Iwy had wanted to do this for days.

The slap echoed through the dark street.

“Ouch! Great Mother, my jaw! Was chopping wood one of your chores back home?”

“Actually, yeah, it was.”

Triand massaged some life back into her cheek. “Damn.”

“Awake?”

“Definitely.” She pulled herself up on her staff and dragged a circle around them on the cobblestones. Iwy felt the shift in the air again.

They resumed their walk back towards the gates.

“Where are we going?”

“As far away as possible for now, then follow the three R procedure.”

“And that would be ...”

“Regroup, redrink, rethink. Maybe take a really long nap.”

The sun was up by the time some heavily underpaid guards were combing the city for them.