A map of Western Skiophos

East Visneoria

The places in "The Elephant in the Room"

Prologue

It was long before; and he had left with no certain destination. There was nothing to detain him in his temple in Tlaxapec. He had outgrown it. It had been a cream city of pyramids, acolytes and slaves, but now it was all but empty. He put aside his great grey mantle and changed into in a simple grey toga and cloak.  Then he quit his old life forever.

He wandered west and north, up into the mountains that split the western continent. They were a relief from the torrid plains, where the sun and rain fought inconclusively. He went high enough up to have a day or two of snow and then he made his way down again, slowly. He was in no hurry. After that he travelled due south, through the old land of the elves, making sure to avoid the lonely white city stranded in the wilderness. He knew that he might have to go there eventually, but not just yet. He drifted into the desert and just kept walking, unconcerned by heat and unburdened by thirst. He only stopped at the sea – but that was an arbitrary decision, he could go everywhere, and in his mind he already had. None of this was new to him, he had just never seen it before with approximately human eyes.

   The long yellow sands of Nupharia were unpeopled. His only companions were the avocets at the water’s edge and the great grey whales that breached, just offshore, in the deeply shelving waters of the Surmare Sea.   He had wondered whether any boats visited those shores. Then he thought long and hard about fashioning a raft himself, from the empty air, and floating on it further down to the distant, unexplored, lands to the south. But finally he turned away from the ocean. Maybe one day, but first he had something to seek out. Something rotten was in the air.

He turned away from the sea and plunged back into the desert. He made his way to the old ruined city of Duhn T’Sien, for he knew that the Archwitch enemies had been there, but he did not yet know why. But all that he found there was sand covering everything, and below the sand just the ruins of an old city, abandoned by the elves thousands of years before. In one chamber, however, there was a strangeness of a kind he had not experienced before: a taste like death in the air. Something had been disrupted there, something vital; something that ensured the fabric of the world. He did what he could to patch it up, but he knew that would not be enough. In the same chamber, incongruous but familiar, he found a long hazel spring, like a green staff. He knew what this was, even though the nearest hazel tree was more than a thousand miles away. This was what was left of a guardian who had failed. What she had been guarding was destroyed or taken. This was an unanticipated blow; it was clear that he had underestimated his foes. Something would have to be done, but he was not yet sure what.

He left the ancient city and climbed up into the desert highlands: no-one had lived there for thousands of years. It was cold up there at night and the early morning was perfect for mind walking. He didn’t care how long it would take – he would find out what was going on. 

Chapter one

John Ismay’s House in Kinspit

There was a sharp rap on the door. Hardacre looked up from his washing. Three shirts in the sink, arms covered in suds and now this. He paused, wondering where his assistant was.

‘Simkins?’

There was no reply.  Looking out through the side window in the scullery he could see two figures at the front door, one tall and one short and squat.  He could also hear grumbling.

Hardacre considered calling out again, but, on reflection, decided that it would sound unprofessional. So, with a measured sigh, he returned the shirts to the sink with great care, and picked up a towel. ‘I’m coming’ he called, drying his arms and rolling down his sleeves. By now he was annoyed with himself – he should have remembered that Simkins was in town and that Mr Ismay was expecting the Consul. There was no excuse for sloppiness, there really wasn’t.

Fortunately there were no more raps, and he felt reasonably composed by the time he got to the door. Now he just had to hope that Mr Ismay had remembered that he’d made the appointment. In fact, where was he? Hardacre took three deep breaths, and finally answered the door.

Standing on the threshold were two men – they both wore Ethian clothes, but in every other way they could not have been more different. The shorter man had olive skin and dark hair, was approximately pear-shaped and had a red boozy face. The taller one was more, well, celery-shaped and dressed as an Ethian military officer. He had shoulder length blonde hair and, to be honest, a rather beautiful face. He could have been one of Hardacre’s nephews – there were many of these willowy lads working on farms and in warehouses across the marcher lands of his home county. 

‘Consul Ridgeway, your honour, you are very welcome’

Hardacre’s bow was judged carefully, not too shallow and definitely not too deep. He opened the door wide and stepped sideways, gesturing the visitors in. The plumper man started talking immediately.

‘Hardacre, delighted to be here! Delighted! I love visiting such old and valued friends’

Hardacre nodded very slightly.

‘Sir…’

Ridgeway turned to his companion as they walked through the door.

‘See, just like I said – home from home’

There was just the slightest flicker on Hardacre’s face.

‘Of course, your honour, please treat it so’

Where was Mr Ismay? And what state would he be in? Hardacre slowly took their coats from them, and there were some more formal pleasantries, but the moments began to hang awkwardly. He’d need to sit them down somewhere. He couldn’t have them wait in the drawing room – Mr Ismay had laid out a huge number of maps in there, which he was sure he would like to keep secret. Clearing space to sit for them to sit on was one thing, keeping the maps away from Ridgeway’s inquisitive eyes was another. Where else would it be acceptable to make them wait?

‘Ah – William! There you are’

John[1] had appeared on the stairs behind them. His clothes and hair had leaves on them. There was a small tear in his blue cotton shirt. He shook himself - he was depressingly poorly turned out. Ridgeway moved forward to shake his hands. Ridegway’s hand grasped John’s from above and exerted considerable pressure. Hardacre had noticed this before; it was obviously something that one learned at the Eth City diplomatic school.  

‘John, I’m very pleased to see you. How’s trade?’

John smiled but didn’t reply. By now he’d noticed the other visitor.

‘And this is…?’

‘Oh yes, sorry – this is Captain Glynn Eistedd – he’s my new liaison officer. I thought I’d bring him round to meet you’

John nodded at Glynn, who grinned back at him.  Hardacre had to admit – it was an excellent grin, and he had worried about what effect it would have on his master. He didn’t much like Ridgeway, but he had reluctantly to admit that the consul knew his stuff. One of Hardacre’s most important, although self-appointed, jobs was to protect his master from unwanted attention, but there was nothing much he could do about this young man, an official envoy of the Federation of Eth (and so theoretically on “their team”) who would have as much access as he wanted.

Hardacre sighed without sound, which was the only kind of sigh he allowed himself. This visit meant that something must be going on. He could see storm clouds on the distant horizon and he began to wonder what size they would be. 

---

[1] President of the Hybitor Council

Chapter two

The Temple Complex in Ortia

 

Marthian always valued her meetings with the High Priestess, even though she found her cousin extraordinarily daunting. Marthian would walk down into the temple complex in the early morning and sit beside one of the network of pools and artificial streams that covered the area. There was one spot that the slender elf particularly liked, by a fig tree that was usually laden with fat fruits and visited frequently by huge white butterflies. She would wait there, feeling the presence of the Lady, calming and reassuring, until the Priestess came. They never agreed a time to meet – Marthian would sit and in time Julia would come.

On this morning she had waited alone for only a few minutes before Julia swept down out of the temple to greet her.  Marthian stood up, the Priestess towering over her, and they embraced. Their first few exchanges were a ritual. 

‘Good morning proconsul, how is the City?’

‘The City stands but we are still alone. But, by the Lady’s grace we will endure’

 ‘And what news of the Emperor?’

‘We still wait; but he will surely come’

Julia drew away from their embrace. Her fingers brushed the char symbol that hung round her neck. Then she stepped back to inspect her cousin. She smiled gently.  

As always, Marthian hoped that she looked smart enough – was she wearing the same tunic that she’d been wearing the last time that they met? She was annoyed at herself for such petty thoughts. Julia always had this effect on her. Without thinking, she looked down at her nails.

‘I have news, Marthian’ said Julia.

‘You have? Then, I am grateful for it’ said Marthian, smiling weakly back, ‘yours is always the only news; all I can provide for you is details of crop yields and well capacities’

Julia’s look hardened.

‘Things stir in both east and west – things that may well converge here, like two tides meeting. ’

‘You mean to warn me of danger? Do I need to act?’ asked Marthian, her hands meeting without conscious thought and her left hand rubbing her right palm, betraying her nerves.

‘It is not clear. Forces move now and in the past. Hidden things stir. Events quicken,’

Marthian looked out beyond Julia at the green and white expanse of the city. People were waking up and shutters were being opened everywhere.

‘That will be new’ she said attempting to make the tone a little lighter, ‘no event that happens here is ever “quick”!’

Julia kept her gaze on her younger cousin. It was a look that Marthian knew very well, she always gave it when she felt that not enough attention was being paid to her pronouncements.

‘Well, that is because you are still very young, cousin; as I have often said, you have come to your position too soon. You are not at all prepared’

Marthian’s father had died unexpectedly two hundred years before, and she had assumed his role, as was traditional. She was an only child and to most citizens a male heir would have been preferable. 

‘Is that the Lady’s view, High Priestess? Or yours?’

‘Those are one and the same, as you know’

‘Yes, of course. What then, should I do to make myself prepared?’

Julia shook her head. Like so many times before Marthian felt that she had just failed another test.

‘Perhaps your preparation should not be to do anything, but simply to endure’

‘Well, yes… but there must be some actions that I could take that would be helpful…’ Marthian’s voice trailed off.

Julia appeared to be listening to somebody else. Her voice was full of portent.  

 ‘This is a very small city, far from the centre.  Remember, most of the time it is your fate to be powerless. That is everyone’s fate, proconsul. ’

‘I suppose so, High Priestess, but we’re not completely without resources, are we?’

Julia smiled. Again she seemed to be tracing the course of some other conversation.

‘The Emperor is a long way away, both in space and time. History has passed us by.’

Marthian shivered, as if a cold gust of wind had blown across this warm spring day.

‘Is Whitecloak moving? Is that it?’

Julia shook her head noncommittally.

‘I cannot tell’ she murmured, ‘but it is only a matter of time. You know that. And when he comes from the east it will be with much greater power, of that I am certain’

Marthian shivered, remembering the stories of the cruelty of the army of the White Devil, when it had besieged Ortia in her father’s time.

‘We have the walls, though and the Lady’

‘Yes, we do. But we best not rely on them this time alone, I fear. We will try our best, but all things must pass’

Marthian could see another priestess approaching from inside the temple complex. Julia heard the sound of her footsteps and turned to greet her.

‘Ah, Rosa, is it time?’

Rosa gave a little bow and nodded. She seemed very tense.  

Everyone’s scared of her thought Marthian, preparing to say her farewells.

‘I must go, anyway, High Priestess. I have a council meeting’

Julia smiled, but this time there was no judgment in it, it was just a bland smile of dismissal that she had given to thousands of elves thousands of times before.   She took Marthian’s hand and bent to embrace her.

 ‘Take care Marthian’ she whispered as she kissed her cheek, ‘remember, the Lady is with you, here, now and forever’

 ‘I will do what I can, cousin’ insisted Marthian, ‘I hope that you know that I will try my best’

‘Of course’ murmured Julia, ‘and you know where I am if you need me’

Marthian took a step back, bowed and started to leave, irritated with Rosa that she had interrupted the conversation and irritated with herself for her diffidence. Perhaps Julia was right, perhaps she was too young and too inexperienced for this job. Her only source of comfort was that she was all that they had.

 

As she walked back to the palace, Marthian considered her resources. She had a small army, skilled in the defensive arts, but not a regular fighting force. There were also the city walls, still as strong as when they were fashioned, and the ancient warehouses were intact; they held enough grain for a six month siege. The main problem was – if they were besieged who would ever relieve them? This wasn’t the first time that Julia had reminded her of what movement in the east meant, that if it happened, all they could ever do would be to delay the inevitable by a brave last stand.  No help would come from the west; no one had come for a very long time.

Would anyone actually sack the city though? Over the years some had tried, but all seemed to have been cowed by the Lady’s presence and the ancient walls. Perhaps an enemy would breach the gates but would be thrown back. Perhaps the city really was uniquely blessed by her presence. Although it amounted to a sort of heresy, she somehow doubted it.   

She was dreading the Council meeting. She’d already decided not to say anything about the Priestess’s prophecy. It seemed too vague for anyone to act on it, and it would only cause disquiet. Disquiet was the last thing that she wanted to bring to that essentially timorous group of elves. It was a sad thought that out of all of them, she was clearly the bravest. And she didn’t feel brave at all. 

When General Aurelian returned she’d ask him to do a tour of the city defences – she might even join him. A walk around the city might be reassuring. Or it might not. Things were very unclear. Maybe she could send the general to talk to Julia – perhaps he’d persuade her of the strength of the defences. She sighed – he’d never do it, it wasn’t part of his jurisdiction.

Delaying the inevitable for as long as she could, Marthian walked up on to the battlements opposite the proconsular residence, just for five minutes air before the long dull meeting began.  No soldiers were up there, but she could still imagine the landscape through soldiers’ eyes. Ortia was in a wide, almost flat, plain, and all she could see was the green lowlands and the river snaking through it. Far off, in the pale distance, she could see a few scattered farmers moving around their fields, or tending their cattle.  She tried to imagine those dots multiplied a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand times with the enemy– filling the space up to the horizon. Her mind rebelled. It seemed inconceivable, but she knew very well that it had happened in her father’s time, and that her grandfather had died in that siege. Perhaps, now, however young she might be, it was her turn. Her turn to do what, she wondered? Die in fear or with courage? Flee? Prevail? At that moment she couldn’t face any of those possibilities. The council meeting was starting to look more and more enticing. It was time to go.

Chapter three

Kinspit – John Ismay’s House

 

Hardacre’s internal clock was very well tuned, and by now he knew that they had been in the hallway for a little too long. His response was well honed and automatic – he led the group through the house to John’s study: a large oak-panelled room, filled with books and rugs. There were three old armchairs, and an oak desk piled with papers. John dropped into one of the chairs and gestured to the others to sit down. They began to talk, and no-one realised that Hardacre had gone, without a sound. He had returned to his washing.

John lolled back on his seat and observed his visitors carefully. He spent a lot more time scanning Captain Eistedd’s face than the older man’s.

‘How can I help you, consul? I’m sure this wasn’t just a courtesy call’.

Ridgeway looked uncomfortable – John knew that he didn’t find these (almost-but-not-quite) informal conversations easy. John stole a glance the Captain’s face, to judge his reactions and catch his eye.  Glynn seemed preoccupied with something else. John was mildly disappointed.

‘You’re right’ admitted Ridgeway,  I’m looking for some information, information that only your group are likely to have’

John smiled.

‘We know lots of things, William. Where do you want to start?’ 

John had noticed that the consul’s eyes had lingered over a bottle of Lemos wine. He always had Hardacre place one on the table when the Consul was visiting.

‘Oh, right – with a glass of red wine, perhaps?’ suggested John.

Ridgeway’s eyes lit up.

John got up and poured the wine. He chose the largest glasses, filled them to the brim, and gave them to his guests, first to the Captain and then to Ridgeway.

‘The wool trade must be very profitable at the moment, John’.

‘Oh yes, it’s booming’

There was a pause. John waited a beat.

‘Sorry, have I distracted you, William?’

Ridgeway was cupping the wine tenderly.

‘uhhh – sorry?’

‘You were asking me something’

‘Yes, of course – Melloreis….’ muttered Ridgeway.

John was puzzled. It took him a moment to recognise the word.

‘The abandoned city in East Visneoria?’ 

‘Yes, that’s the one’

‘What about it?’

‘Well, what do you know about it?’

‘It was the political capital of the East, and it was destroyed in one of the Tlaxacan wars. The last one, I assume. No-one’s been there for many human generations’  

Ridegway looked impatient.

‘Yes, I obviously know that!’

‘You may know more than I do then, William, which would be, well… unusual’

‘Well, John, did you know, for example, that there’s an official archaeological expedition to Melloreis?’

‘Official? Eh? Which particular officials?’

‘Eth City University, official – sanctioned by the High Lord, that sort of official’

‘Why would he sanction that? It sounds a bit mad. ’

‘I’m just passing on information. Isn’t that what we’re meant to do, share information’?

‘Well, in fact, you pass on information that I already know and I give you information that is essentially useless’

Ridegway glared at him. John grinned back.

‘That was a joke…’  

‘And this isn’t’. Ridgeway was not impressed. He tried again.

‘There are potential consequences’

‘Which are?’

‘The High Lord’s advisors are worried that the whole thing is… ill conceived’

‘The whole thing, if it’s really happening, is a massive waste of time and gold – that’s what the whole thing is. Anyway – who’s in the party? Anyone I would know?’

‘Two scholars – an elven architecture specialist, Dr Fred Eccles and a dwarf magic expert, Dr Katherine Fielding ’

John laughed

‘”Dwarven Magic”, you mean; it’s not the magic of very small things, it’s magic created by dwarves...’

Ridgeway frowned – he hated to get things wrong.   

‘Do you know either of them?’

John continued smoothly. He had heard of Kath Fielding, but mostly because Dwarven Magic was something that it was usually better not to meddle with and he kept his eye on any potential meddlers.

‘No, I haven’t heard of them. They must be fairly obscure’

Ridgeway looked disappointed but he ploughed on anyway.  

‘Anyway – the High Lord’s advisors have asked me for your opinion on Melloreis. They worry that there may be things hidden in the city that might be better left undisturbed’

‘Advisors…’ John said, ‘You mean advisor, singular and female…’

John enjoyed this recurring thread in their conversations. He paused to let the barb sink in.   

‘By the way, how is Lady Anne?’

Ridgeway ignored this. He hated direct questions about his real boss, the High Lord’s elder sister. John, realising that politics demanded a little more tact, tried to reassure him.

‘Well, as far as I know the city of Melloreis was razed to the ground – there’s nothing to explore there at all. I’ll ask the twins and, maybe, Stephen, but I’m not convinced that they’ll have anything. I think you can tell the High Lord’s advisor that she has nothing to worry about’

‘Advisors’ Ridgeway repeated weakly.

‘My advice is not to worry – anyway, how on earth will they ever get there. They’d have to go via Visnea, and the Emperor will never agree to that’

‘The Emperor has agreed. He has sent them off with an Imperial guard and Mage Lucius Chryensis: a scholar from Vyrnia University’

‘Well… that’s odd. Why would he do that?’

‘We don’t know, and that’s one of the reasons why the advisors are so worried’

John considered this.

‘I’ll consult my colleagues. Meanwhile, perhaps the High Lord can be persuaded to rescind his permission. Where’s the expedition now?’

‘Somewhere in the Western Empire, going east’

John frowned and turned to Glynn.

‘That’s not good, is it…?’

Glynn was surprised to be included in the conversation at this late stage. 

‘No, it’s not good’ he agreed, acting on instinct. He hadn’t been paying complete attention.

The conversation began to dwindle away, as both sides of it began to take stock. Sitting here, there was not much that they could do, but there were things that could be set in motion, either now or over time. It was in both parties’ interests to finish this conversation swiftly, but that would be hard to do without straining political etiquette.

John turned to Glynn. 

‘So, what do you make of all of this, captain?’

 Glynn looked up at him, with his eyes of clearest blue. It was an entirely disarming look and John was duly disarmed. 

‘Well, I think this wine is particularly excellent and that your home and hospitality are first rate. I also think that Kinspit is a fascinating place. However, until I know it, and you, much better, I don’t think I’ll be answering any difficult questions…’

Ridgeway leant over and patted Glynn on the back.

‘Now, that, young man, was a good answer’ 

John looked away, concealing the fact that his guard had been down for a few seconds.

‘And it deserves a refill. Drink up gentlemen. William – let’s tell our new arrival a little about this town’

 

***

 

Hardacre caught up with John just before dinner – as usual his master was about to go out.

‘You’ll not be having supper here then, sir?’

‘Supper, possibly… Oh. By supper you mean dinner. Odd… No – I’ll eat at the club’

‘I’ve been calling it ‘supper’ for twelve years, sir…’

‘Have you? I hadn’t noticed’

‘Does the Ethian club really have better food than we can prepare here?’

‘Of course it doesn’t. Your food is a marvel, Laurence’

‘What about The Pink Cicada, sir? How would you rate the food there?’

John gave him a look.

‘Don’t wait up’

‘I won’t sir. I have things to do in the morning’

John grimaced.

‘Very funny’

John made his way to the door and had begun to open it when a thought occurred to him.

‘Laurence’ he said ‘what do you know about Melloreis?’

Hardacre looked puzzled.

‘I’m sorry, sir – what do you mean? The old Imperial city?’

‘Yes, that Melloreis’

‘Why would I know anything about Melloreis?’

‘Because, as you very well aware – you know many things, quite a number of them completely unexpected’

‘Well, sir. I’d say that it has a bad reputation’

‘And so – would it be sensible to mount an expedition there?’ asked John in all seriousness.

‘Well, I wouldn’t, under any circumstances. However, I have found that brave but unwise people often do foolish things’

Hardacre paused for a split second.

‘Are you planning one then, sir?’

John looked concerned. His mind had raced ahead.

‘Good grief – I hope not’

‘Is there a problem, sir?’

John shook his head and made his way to the front door.

‘No – only the faintest hint of a bit of inconvenience’

‘In which case, sir, I will reluctantly abandon this conversation and go and make myself my own meagre supper’

John was already halfway out of the door.

‘And I shall have a heavy dinner with some dull minor aristocrats’

‘I’m sure, then, that at least you will brighten their evening, sir’

John pulled the door to, gently.  He strolled out into the balmy night.

Chapter four

The Great West Road                                                

 

Fred had the map and Kath was annoyed about it. It would be so much better, she thought, if they just handed it over to her. Unfortunately the reason why Fred had the map now was because of a small scuffle between the two Ethian scholars, during which it had got very slightly torn. Almost unnoticeably so, but Fred and Lucius (their Imperial scholar ‘counterpart’) had got quite cross about it; perhaps because the Imperial Cartographer had only relinquished it to them after a great deal of persuasion. Anyway, now Fred walked on the right hand side of the group, with the map, and Kath walked on the left hand side of the group, empty handed, and with the Imperial guards between them. She wasn’t happy.

It was a tiny consolation for her that the map was turning out to be less useful than they had hoped. For the first few hours out of Visnea the road was clear, metalled, and they were able to hire carts to take them and their supplies. After that it was walking and backpacks and the road became more and more approximate. Then it became a track, and after that, a poor excuse for a footpath. They knew that eventually it would bump up against the ruins of the old east-west wall, but they had lost track of when that would happen. Inevitably, as the route became less clear people’s opinions became more vehement – that was how the map had become a little foxed.

Kath was pleased to have the Visneorian guards with them. They were all young-looking and most of them were fit and attractive, in that small boned boyish way that characterised so many elves, both male and female. Their leader was Maxilius, who was slightly older than the others and a little more experienced, but he mostly deferred to Lucius, as they all did. The Vyrnian was far too scary to disobey – he could freeze you with a stare.

The other soldiers were scarcely even names to her, except for Potentilla, one of the two female guards, who was friendly and enthusiastic. She seemed to be the only one who was excited by the journey: the others hung nervously round the fire at night, while she would stride out into darkness with a torch held high ‘to scare off big cats’. So, they formed an unlikely friendship, and Kath learned a lot of useful things about Visnea, while Potentilla learned even more about Eth, which probably wasn’t much use to her at all.

They were managing to travel about ten miles a day, which wasn’t as fast as they had hoped, but the terrain was difficult, a grassy plain covered with olive scrub and copses of oak. The edge of civilisation was surprisingly sharp to the east of Visneoria, and everywhere they could see the remains of isolated buildings strangled by briar and honeysuckle. It was as if the empire had just given up the land one day, almost with a shrug, and allowed it to fall back into its natural state. The white flowers of the hawthorn bushes were like clouds floating at ground level, there were small birds everywhere, and the countryside seemed serene and welcoming. It was just that they were feeling more and more like they were getting lost.

It was time for Lucius to assert himself.

‘It is clear to me that we must strike north – to one of the lesser portals. The gates will be easiest to force open there and there may be more breaches’ he declaimed to the scholars one evening.

Fred flattened the opened map on a stone, and peered at it by the glow of the fire.

‘The nearest secondary portal is miles north’ he said, ‘that might take us a week walking on this stuff ’

Lucius looked scornfully at him.

‘However, we may never get through using the main road route that we’re following at present’ he said

‘How do you know?’ asked Kath, ‘You’ve got no more knowledge than we have. I assume…’

‘The main gate opens only to the Emperor’ Lucius proclaimed

‘Now you tell us’ moaned Fred.

‘Need to know, basis’ said Lucius.

Lucius walked over to the map and stared at, striking a rather dramatic pose as he ran his fingers along the lines of roads and rivers.

‘Look – the Quenimon Portal, here…’ His forefinger jabbed at the map ‘is no more than forty miles away. We could reach that in about two days’

‘Using wings?’ asked Kath.  

Maxilius shrugged.

‘We’re carrying heavy packs – I don’t think my team can make those sorts of speeds’

Fred pulled the map away.

‘Bloody stupid idea’, he said, in Ethian, and stalked off.

 ‘Well… I don’t think we can find our way there very easily…’ said Kath.

 ‘Well, maybe you can’t. But I think I can’ said Lucius. He stepped into the centre of the group. ‘And I am the highest ranking person here’

Kath and Fred exchanged an astonished glance.  

‘Well, I wonder what Maxilius thinks about that?’ muttered Kath.

Maxilius shrugged again. Kath turned to him in surprise.

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’m just here to protect the group, I’m not in charge’ responded Maxilius. He took a measured step back.

‘Well, someone should decide something’ suggested Kath.

‘Fat chance’ muttered Fred from the edge of the circle.

Kath looked up at Lucius. She was struck by just how much he wanted to be in control. Everyone else was silent.

‘So, Lucius, it looks like it’s your call’ she said.

‘Every group needs a clear command structure’ explained Lucius, talking very slowly and clearly. It sounded like a lecture. ‘In this case the command must come from a high ranking Imperial citizen, and so clearly only I can provide it.’

He paused to inspect his students’ reactions. They weren’t overwhelming. He issued his command anyway.

‘We will go north as fast as we can and make for the Quenimon entrance.’

No one opposed. But no one supported. They sat round the fire wondering what on earth they were doing.

 

After a generally bad night’s sleep they packed their bags, had a little dry food for breakfast and headed due north. The days that followed were wet and cold, the awakening greens of spring becoming temporarily dark and grey. The going was difficult, but they just continued to follow a bearing towards where they assumed the wall bulged out to the east. The soldiers hacked their way through occasional overgrowths of vegetation, while the scholars trudged behind them.

The only positive thing that had come out of these proceedings was that Fred and Kath now felt united against the common enemy. They walked as a pair, loudly singing the praises of Ethian architecture, culture and military might, with Potentilla walking beside them, apparently just happy to listen and be close to her new friend. Kath liked Potentilla, but there was a slightly mad air about her; she was impetuous and apparently without fear. The other soldiers kept in fairly good marching order, and seemed sanguine but bored, while Lucius weaved between them, constantly bothering Maxilius with pettifogging little points – half questions and half orders. Every few hundred yards numerous pairs of eyes would strain for the horizon, hoping to see some sign of the Wall. 

After three days of this the countryside cleared slightly, and a dark line began to crystallise on the horizon. It was a massive curving wall. By the time they had struggled alongside it, it had assumed a dauntingly solid shape – it was at least fifty foot high and built of a slate-grey stone. It was also, apparently, completely intact. It stretched off to their north and south, unyielding and undefiled. There were no fissures, cracks or openings in any surface. It looked like it had been built half-an-hour ago.

Kath leant against the wall, feeling its smooth surface admiringly. She had been waiting for this moment for a long time. 

‘Well, this is a good piece of work…’ she said, with a definite catch in her voice.

Kath nodded up at her colleague, who was standing, craning his neck to examine the wall. ‘What do you make of it, Fred?’

‘It isn’t architecture, it’s bloody engineering’, he said, and that was all.

Lucius came and stood next to Kath.

‘Extraordinary…’ she whispered. Lucius smiled.

‘Of course:  it’s an Imperial construction, what did you expect?’

‘Well, I’ve seen the buildings in Visnea, all very well-built, but none of them without a scratch after twelve hundred years ‘ said Kath, her eyes burning like a torch,  ‘this is something even more special’.

Kath took her tool box out of her backpack and removed a tiny silver hammer.

‘What’s that?’ asked Lucius, his interest marginally piqued.

‘It’s a very special thing – it’s not intended for elves, though. Let me show you’  

Kath took the hammer and gently tapped it against the wall. There was an audible ‘ping’, a little like a spoon struck against a tall wine glass. Kath put her ear to the stone and waited. After about three seconds she moved away from the wall and smiled. She repeated this process three times, and then she was satisfied.

 ‘This wall is powered by Dwarven Magic’, she said, ‘and it is a wonderful thing ’ 

Fred looked at the wall.

‘Well, I’m glad you’re happy, Kath’ he said, ‘Now, how the gods are we going to get through it?’

A silence that spread through the party as each of them realised how dauntingly solid the Wall was.

‘I don’t think we can get through it,’ muttered Kath, the fire in her eyes reluctantly dying, ‘not without going round or over it. To go through it, though, would require a key. Well, that’s my guess’

She stared at Lucius again. He looked flushed and uncomfortable. Kath stabbed a finger at him.

‘If you know something, please tell us. If you don’t know anything, then we’re probably stuck’

‘Okay, okay’ admitted Lucius, flinching, ‘I know something’

‘Tell us, then’ said Fred.

‘Yes’, said Kath – ‘tell us now what you know’

Lucius glared at the two humans and then pulled a small cloth-wrapped item out of his pocket. He held it so that they could see it but he made no move to unwrap it.

‘I’m guessing that’s the key’ said Kath, folding her arms.

Lucius nodded.

‘Yes, it the Quenimon Key – it should let us through that gate, when we get there’

Kath and Fred started to talk at once. The guards remained uninterested.

‘I don’t understand’ spluttered Kath, ‘why did you allow us to use the main road for so long? Why didn’t you tell us this before?’

‘I have my reasons. Just be happy that I can get us through the wall’

Fred turned to Maxilius.

‘Did you know about this too, Lieutenant?’ he asked.

Maxilius gestured noncommittally but didn’t speak.

‘If you don’t mind’ said Fred, ‘I’d like to speak to my colleague in private’

And so, as the sun slid behind the great wall, the party split into two factions: the soldiers huddled by the steady growing fire, and Lucius standing by them, smiling and giving orders; and the two Ethian scholars, crouching together some distance from the others, in intense conversation.  They were beginning to realise how far from home they had come and how much they now had in common.