Chapter seventeen

East of the Great Wall

 

After the Wall gate closed Kath sat for several hours staring at it. She knew rationally that no-one would come, but she still half hoped that a miracle would happen. Eventually, as night fell, she had to find somewhere to rest and so she lay down at the base of the Wall and tried to keep warm.  The hours passed slowly, she was very cold, and the problems that lay ahead of her crowded around.  She pushed to the back of her mind the grim reality that she might well die out there.

 

In the morning she got up and conducted an external and internal inventory. She had the clothing she was wearing, a sturdy cloak, her tools, her travelling clothes, a few coins in her pocket, the gate key and some parchment. Things like food and bedding, however, were back with the main party.  Without those things she couldn’t imagine how she would be able to get much further – and there was no way of going back through the Wall now that Potentilla had the rod. In turn, any forward progress required food, shelter and directions. However, she was on the right side of the Wall and was determined to find a way.

Kath had no map and so no real idea where she was. The landscape east of the Wall was much as on the other side: open bramble scrub, with very little cover, studded with stones.  She realised that she was now wandering through a huge plain, trying to pick out the remnant of the old imperial road. This was difficult because the path was now criss-crossed with animal tracks, or had been erased by the action of the wind, rain and vegetation. She had no idea if this way led anywhere, but if it did, then she needed to get there soon.

 She plodded on until about midday and then stopped to look for food. There were some small streams with fish in them, and although the water was easy to drink it proved a lot more difficult than she had expected to catch the little shimmering trout and dace. Eventually she found a pool with small fish and an even smaller crayfish and she wrapped them up in her cloak – hoping eventually to find a way to cook them and somewhere to shelter. 

The day dragged on and hunger and tiredness began to play tricks on her. She became convinced that she was being followed, even though when she stopped to look she was never able to see anyone. The old track seemed a bit more distinct as she travelled east – not exactly clear, but at least the only path that could be easily followed. It also began to slope gently downwards as it fell off the plateau to the north and west. The walking was easier here and she made good progress throughout the afternoon.  Just as the light was failing it seemed that she could see a smudge of something, poorly defined, on the horizon, but then the sun set and she was left with her cold, wet, fishy dinner.  

She scouted around in the twilight, collecting any plants that looked vaguely edible. Then she placed all the food that she had collected, including the fish and crayfish, onto her cloak, which she had laid out onto the ground. She went looking for anything that might burn; there were fragments of dry bramble everywhere but they were painful to pick up. Eventually she found a small group of birch trees and was able to gather kindling and some logs. She took these back to her little pile of food and pondered fire-making.

She’d seen it done a thousand times or more, with a tinderbox, or in the case of certain show-off elves, pyromancy (she recalled how irritating Lucius had been, clicking his fingers expertly and rolling a small ball of fire on to the kindling).   Without tools, however, she was at a loss. She tried rubbing the smaller sticks together, but they refused even to produce some smoke. After half-an-hour of this she began to face the prospect of raw fish, and wondered how crunchy an uncooked crayfish would be.

There was a rustle in the darkness. She suddenly felt very vulnerable and alone. 

She looked up. It was now pitch dark, but she could see a small light bobbling, a stone’s throw away. She tensed and wondered what she could use as a weapon. She grasped for a stone, found one, and froze.

The light, now clearly recognisable as a torch, came inexorably closer and closer. The torch bearer slowly solidified into a small humanoid figure. Kath was tensing herself to either run or strike.

‘Have you not know how make fire? Alone in darkness, no fire at all, you see in dark?’ growled the figure in bad Ethian.

Kath dropped her stone.

‘What that?’ said the figure, holding up its torch. The light revealed both Kath’s and the figure’s face. Hers must have seemed milky pale and ethereal in the half light, while the figure’s was dark, with a huge bulging jaw and a large flat nose.  Kath also realised that he was about four foot tall, and about as round. He wore a ragged grey tunic, re-stitched at least a dozen times, and over that an equally shabby short grey cloak. She’d never seen anything like him before in her life.

‘Who are you?’ she spluttered.

‘Me, Rem – I have fire!’ he shouted, jumping to where Kath had laid her twigs and logs. He was laughing.

‘You make bad fire, very crap’

Kath took a step backwards and wished she’d kept hold of the stone. At the same time she felt ashamed of her fire.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

Rem pointed at the fire.

‘Help light fire. Eat!’

He knelt down and took a large match out of his pocket. Then he carefully lit it with his torch. After a few seconds fiddling with the tinder the fire was burning.

‘More wood – get!’ he said, ‘these bad herbs. Stupid human in dark’

Kath ran away, back towards the birch stand that she had collected firewood from earlier. From there she watched the squat creature conjure up a blazing fire, throw the plants that she had collected away, and begin to gut the fish, expertly with a small knife. A thought struck her.

‘Hey, you’re stealing my food!’ she yelled

Rem looked up and chuckled. It sounded like a big cat purring very loudly

‘Your food, not my food…’

‘…Where you go?’ he shouted, standing up.

‘Leave my food alone’ she muttered.

‘What you say?’ he asked loudly, staring into the darkness, ‘…This food not worth eating for Rem. Your food. Back you come…’

Kath waited.

‘Please’ he said.

Kath was astonished.

‘What?’

Rem beckoned to her, laughing.

‘Rem polite very.  Rem good person’

Kath found a stick that was as pointy as possible and stepped out of the birch stand.

‘Where did you learn that?’ she asked, approaching him slowly.

 ‘Rem learn human way from friends. Rem like human. Rem hate elf’

Kath held the stick up in front of herself and walked back towards Rem.

‘Put that knife down’ she said

Rem hesitated.

‘Please’ she added

Rem smiled a rather twisted smile.

‘See. Good human. Say proper thing. Get what want’

He wiped his knife on a cloth and put it back into his rough bag. His arms were as long as his legs and he did everything at a distance, leaning over to shift the position of his bag so that he was between it and Kath.  He looked rather like a crane fly – he had spindly appendages and a fat little body.

They sat in silence for a little while. Then Rem handed Kath a barbecued fish. Kath took it and bit it experimentally.

‘Fish poor, but will not kill’ he reflected, nodding.

‘I’m pleased to hear that’ said Kath, chewing on a mouthful of small bones.

Rem watched Kath eating. He seemed to be assessing something.

‘Why you eat things you hate?’ he finally asked.

‘It’s all I could find’

He shook his head quizzically. This answer didn’t seem to satisfy him.

‘I’m lost’ she explained.

He looked around the circle of light thrown out by the fire. The shadows seemed to hem him in and for a second he looked very small.

‘Very stupid place get lost… very stupid’

Kath felt even more anxious.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Elves near’. He pointed down the long sloping hill.

Kath tried to look out through the night. She could see nothing but the circle of light, the shadows, and beyond that the pitch darkness.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘Big town, bad elves, not go near. Elves kill human, kill Rem. Elves hate everything.’

He pointed at himself and then her. She shivered in the warmth of the fire.

‘No they don’t’ she suggested, cautiously.

‘These elves do. They really do!’ he said, ‘these Elves of the White Devil. We watch them’

‘Of the White Devil?’, she asked.

‘Yes – he control elves. He baddest.  Spill so much blood’ Rem whispered.

Kath couldn’t resist asking the question that she had wanted to ask from the moment she had seen him.

‘What are you then, Rem?’

‘I am a Rem, not Rem. I have not name like that in your words.’

He thought for a moment.

‘But you call me Rem. Name good.’

Kath nodded.

‘We live that way’ he explained, pointing to the south, ‘in plains beyond great road’

‘So why are you here?’

‘I go long way fast. I watch.’

‘You’re a scout?’

Rem looked puzzled.

‘What that word? I not know it’

‘You look for things? Keep an eye on everything?’

‘Yes, that ‘scout’ is it?

Kath nodded again.

‘Word good’ he said, and to Kath’s astonishment he took out a small badly bound book overflowing with greying papers, sorted quickly through them, picked one and placed it on a rock. Then he fished out a black stone, sharpened to a point, and wrote the word ‘scout’ down in Ethian with a flourish and then added some lines down in a hieroglyphic script that she didn’t recognise.

‘I learn person language’ he explained proudly.

‘How, though?’ she wondered aloud.

‘From people from Amansk. Speak they people language together’

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Traders, Amansk – they people going down north south road’

Kath knew all about Amansk, but she had no idea that there were human merchants this far south.

‘What are they doing here?’

‘They trade with Algharians and my tribe, a small bit’

‘So, you learned Ethian from them?’

‘Yes – they tell me this language speak everywhere by human’

Kath nodded.

‘And me not learn Elf language. Elf language stinks’ he said

‘What is the name of this town that scares you so much?’ asked Kath

‘It is Portalis’ – he waved in its general direction again.

‘Do you know a way past it?’

He nodded vigorously.

‘I know all ways’

‘So,’ Kath said, speculatively, ‘do you know how to get to Melloreis?’ 

Rem glared at

‘Why go there? It bad white magic’ he spat, for a moment lapsing back into what was presumably his own language ‘hlexctl ackar – taint’

Kath wondered what that was, but didn’t like to ask.

‘I need to look at something there’ she said, ‘in Melloreis’

Rem shifted uncomfortably.

‘I not go there, but can show way. Show way close, then go I.’

He hesitated.

‘But Rem need thing. Rem help you, not help others self’

‘I have a few coins’ said Kath, emptying her pocket.

Rem examined them carefully, and then threw them back to her.

‘No good. Not gold, only copper. Not use with Amansk merchant’

Rem thought for a long time and then picked up his paper again.

‘You know human speech good’ he paused, significantly. This was clearly important to him, ‘I take you – you teach me’

Kath examined her possibilities and then realised that there was only this.

‘I agree, it’s a deal’ she said quietly, ‘and now put out your hand’

Rem lifted his long arm up.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘In Eth, we shake on it.’

Chapter eighteen

Kinspit – John Ismay’s House

 

At midnight Hardacre locked the front door and began to put out the main house lights. Outside the city was dripping from the first thunderstorm of the season – it had been a sweltering few days and Hardacre was glad of the sudden break in the weather.  The smell of damp earth filled the paths and gardens, and he had enjoyed his evening walk very much. The clematis on a neighbour’s wall had delicate flowers of the deepest pink and he had briefly considered knocking on the door and asking for a cutting, but he didn’t have the time.  There was so little time to do anything in the garden these days.

He was pleased to be able to put the house to sleep so early. For once John was in his rooms and, if he wasn’t asleep, then at least he wasn’t out on the tiles somewhere. Hardacre was satisfied by nights like this, when all was quiet by midnight and there was no fuss. In the morning he would have to pack again and make his way back to Ortia, a prospect that he really didn’t relish; beautiful and interesting though that city was.  And this time he would be away for longer, with all that entailed in accumulated chaos at home. If this pattern continued then they might have to advertise for another pair of hands to assist Simkins. He really didn’t want to have to manage any more staff: a general help, a cleaner and a part-time gardener were enough.

He walked into the kitchen and began to boil some milk in a saucepan. The little domestic tasks always soothed him, particularly cooking, which was why he had persuaded John not to employ a permanent cook. However, if he was never going to be there then maybe they’d have to have one. He considered this and concluded that, in fact, if there was no cook there then John would simply eat all of his meals out. This slightly saddened him, so he returned to coaxing the milk to the boil.

He was reaching up into the cupboard for his special supply of Babalian cocoa when he heard a sharp knock on the door. His heart sank.

He removed the saucepan from the heat and made his way back to the front door, shouting ‘I’m on my way’. Then he unlocked the door and opened it far enough to see who the visitor was. It was Ridgeway. 

‘Good evening, your honour’

Ridgeway stood at the door looking slightly damp and very hot. He’d clearly been running. 

‘Is John here?’ he asked.

Hardacre wondered what was wrong – he’d never seen the consul quite this out of breath, and it surprised him to find that he could apparently move faster than an amble. Hardacre knew, however,  that it was his duty to protect his master from unwanted intrusions.

‘I believe that Mr Ismay is sleeping, sir’ Hardacre said, enunciating his words very clearly and carefully,‘It is very late’, he added.          

Ridgeway held his sides while he got his breath back. Hardacre observed him with a faint hint of distaste.

‘Would you like me to give him a message, or perhaps you would care to leave him a note?’

‘Well, Laurence’ Ridgeway said, puffing, the red slowly draining from his cheeks, ‘maybe you can help me’

Ridgeway smiled, his normal affable composure returned.

‘I’m looking for Captain Eistedd’ he said, ‘he’s not here is he?’

Hardacre detected a hint of worry in Ridgeway’s voice, which intrigued him. Should he go and get Mr Ismay?  On the one hand something interesting was going on, while on the other, here was an opportunity to discombobulate this rather pompous and scheming man.

‘I don’t think so sir, although if he’s been here from before seven pm Simpkins might have let him in’ he answered, after a longish pause of pretending to think about the answer.

‘No,’ said Ridgeway, ‘I’ve seen him since then, but only in passing’.

The two men stood facing each other in the doorway. Ridgeway apparently didn’t know how to proceed. It was clear to Hardacre that Ridgeway really wanted to speak to John. It was also clear that if the consul pressed the point he would have to reveal why he was looking so enthusiastically for the Captain. Hardacre was enjoying this, although, of course, he was keeping his professional duties uppermost in his mind. He also calculated that whatever was happening would reveal itself soon enough.

Hardacre let the conversation die and ostentatiously waited, with a look of great patience on his face.

‘Well, Laurence… if John’s in bed…’

Hardacre smiled slightly, nodded, and was still silent. Ridgeway hesitated and then retreated.

  ‘…I’ll leave you to it. Filthy night, eh?’

A light drizzle was now falling from the sky, cooling the air to a pleasant warmth. Hardacre could smell blossom everywhere.

‘Yes, sir, most discomfiting’ he murmured.

‘Goodnight Laurence’ said Ridgeway, taking a slow step back from the threshold.

‘Goodnight your honour, I’ll let Mr Ismay know that you called when I wake him in the morning’

Hardacre shut the door, ensuring that it didn’t make too much noise.

He made his way back into the kitchen and added a little more milk to the saucepan. Then he returned it to the heat. He reached up for the cocoa and then found two medium sized mugs. After another few minutes the mugs were full of cocoa, sugar and warmed milk. He placed them on the kitchen table and stirred them absentmindedly for a few seconds.

There was another sharp rap on the door.

Hardacre went back to the door and swung it open, welcomingly.

‘Come in Captain, I’ll get Mr Ismay for you’, he said without looking up.

Glynn looked astonished.

‘How did you..?’ he started to say.

‘Come in and hang up your coat,’ said Hardacre, interrupting him.

Glynn smiled and walked in. He began to take off his coat.

‘Oh… and there’s a mug of cocoa for you in the kitchen, if you’d like it’

Hardacre shut the door and went to alert his master.

 

John hadn’t been asleep, of course, and Hardacre was able to usher Glynn through to his study, grasping his drink.

‘Why has he got a mug of cocoa?’ asked John

‘Just circumstance, sir’ explained Hardacre. He turned and left them. John wondered whether he detected a slight flourish in Hardacre’s step.

‘How are you, Glynn?’ asked John, settling down into his armchair

‘I’m fine’ replied Glynn, ‘and I have some news’.

He smiled, inviting praise, ‘look how useful I am’

John peered at him.

‘And decorative. An excellent combination’

‘Flatterer’ said Glynn, grinning.

Glynn walked over to the table. He gestured towards a wine bottle.

‘May I?’

John nodded. Glynn poured two glasses of wine. He carried the wine glasses back to the armchairs and then returned for the cocoa. Then he sat, alternatively sipping the cocoa and gulping the wine.

‘Back to you being useful…’ said John after a rather long delay.

‘Right’, slurred Glynn, his mouth half-full of liquid ‘I’ve found some things out.  And I’ve avoided telling Ridgeway anything’

‘Well, that’s very pleasing, indeed’ 

‘He’s been chasing after me all evening, trying to find out what I know’

 ‘Even better… so, what have you found out?’

‘The rod was in Eth City. I found that out from the military attaché there.’

John listened intently. He didn’t believe that for a minute.

‘It was there until about four months ago, and then it was taken by one of the Eth City scholars, a young woman named Dr Katherine Fielding. She took it, along with some other lesser artefacts, with her on her expedition.’

‘Right, of course, she’s one of the Melloreis scholars’

‘Yes. She went with another scholar, Dr Fred Eccles – he’s some sort of architecture nut’

‘Yes, he’s a scholar, Glynn, they’re all a little bit nuts’

‘Anyway, this Fielding woman is meant to be very sharp, and seems to know an awful lot about Dwarven Magic’

John sipped his wine. Glynn had already drunk both of his drinks, ‘greedy boy’ he thought.  

‘So, does anyone know where they are?’ he asked

‘They left Visnea about two weeks ago,’ replied Glynn, ‘No-one really knows their position now’

John wondered whether anyone else except the Hybitor really cared where they were.  Maybe that was for the best – neither Eth nor Visnea had a particularly uncomplicated attitude to East Visneoria.

‘Did you find out anything else?’ asked John

‘I did find out one other thing. It’s said that the rod is useful on its own, that it has its own intrinsic power, but there was a scroll too, apparently’

‘A scroll?’ responded John, blandly.

‘Yes. It’s said that the scroll and the rod can act together and trigger powerful Dwarven Magic effects’

John considered this.

‘Sounds unlikely,’ he mused, ‘scrolls tend to have one off magic effects. Also, the rod obviously works independently of any scroll.’

‘Oh right’ said Glynn, seeming slightly disappointed.

‘I can’t see any justification for a scroll-rod hybrid system. Not without serious HFP’

Glynn looked blank.

‘HFP?’

‘Hypercritical failure problems’ John smoothly replied, deadpan, but grinning broadly inside.

‘I don’t know…’

‘Putting it more simply – I just don’t think that it would work’

‘I see’

John nodded very wisely as if debating with the most sagacious council member.

‘I thought you would’

Glynn looked bewildered but also rather pleased with himself.

John allowed his intense nodding to die away.

‘But if you do hear anything about the scroll – let me know. We should keep half and eye on it, I guess’

‘I will’ promised Glynn eagerly.

Glynn finished his second glass of wine.

‘I must go’ he announced, standing up

‘You’ll have to talk to Ridgeway at some point’ indicated John

Glynn nodded.

‘But not quite yet’

‘What will you tell him?’ asked John

‘What he wants to hear – just like I do with everyone’. He flashed his beautiful smile, and made his way out of the room.

‘I’ll get Hardacre to see me out’ he said

John didn’t move - he just waved as Glynn passed through the door

 

A minute or two later John rose slowly from the chair and made his way towards the hall. He met Hardacre coming the other way.

‘Perhaps I can shut up the house now, sir?’

‘Not quite yet, Laurence’

Hardacre paused, and sighed imperceptibly.

‘Very well, sir’

‘You know what so useful about beautiful people, Laurence?’

‘No, sir’

‘They spend so much time being lovely that they don’t have much time left over to be clever’

‘Sorry sir, you’ve lost me. Are you talking about the Captain?’

John tried to ignore this, but then a sudden burst of irritation made him blurt out.

‘I haven’t told him anything, you know. In fact, he’s been a lot of help’

‘I’m sure sir, that you have everything under control. As always’

John had another internal struggle. He knew that he shouldn’t respond to this, but was so tempted. This time common sense won. He returned to his original purpose.

‘Anyway… I need you to go down into the deep vault’ 

‘Of course, sir. What do you need from there?’

‘I need the Quiena Scroll’

Hardacre nodded his approval.

‘That seems very sensible, sir, given the sudden interest in Dwarven Magic’

Hardacre thought for a moment.

‘Could it wait until I return, sir? I’m back in Ortia tomorrow morning’.

John paused to consider this.

‘Yes, of course – it’s really not fair that I always expect you to do everything!  It’s fine; I’ll get it myself tomorrow.’

Hardacre was relieved. He had too many things to do as it was. 

‘Can I ask you, sir – why exactly do you need the scroll?’

‘I need to examine it – it may have some power over the Dwarven Magic rod. I need to study it again’

‘What did you conclude last time you examined it, sir?’

‘It’s powerful and it seems to have been fashioned by Quiena. And it has a very fine illustration of an elephant on it’

‘Not so much then, sir’ said Hardacre, will a faint smile.

‘Almost nothing. But that was then…’

‘And now you have a lead, sir. I’m sure that will help’

‘I need to make sense of that scroll quickly, before the scholars get to Melloreis. And, as importantly, I need you to find the scholars – before they do anything stupid’

 ‘I’ll do my best, sir – although it may take some time’

‘Take whatever time it takes. You know how important it might be. We don’t want anyone messing with Melloreis – it’s potentially a very dangerous place…’

Hardacre nodded.

‘First, though, I’ll have to work on the proconsul. Without her support, we’ll not get very far.’

John’s mind was already on the scroll. He was about to go off to bed when Hardacre insisted on starting a new topic.

‘Sir, I’ll communicate by mail paper while I’m away’

‘That sounds sensible. How much do you have?’

‘Only a few sheets. Perhaps six: Five white and one grey’

John laughed.

‘Why bother with the grey paper? It’s experimental and I can see no use for it’

Hardacre blinked, usually a sign of irritation.

‘It has been shown to have a much greater range than white paper, and has the potential to work across dimensional barriers’

John shook his head. They had had this rather odd conversation before. How could he bring it to a conclusion as quickly as possible?

‘Dimensional barriers? Which particular ones do you think we need to communicate across?’

Hardacre didn’t hesitate.

‘Well, in particular, the one you’ll enter tomorrow when you step inside the Deep Vault. I believe that that is set up specifically to provide a dimensional barrier’

John was infuriated that he’d walked straight into the trap. He tried to wriggle his way out.

‘Well, I suppose so’ he said, ‘but that’s a safe space that we’re never inside for more than a few hours. It’s a waste of resources to use grey paper in there just because we can. If I need to communicate with you then I’ll step outside and use some white paper’

Hardacre’s eyes widened very slightly.

 ‘You won’t take a sheet then, sir? I have a spare one in my desk’

John sighed and began to retreat.  He really needed to sleep.

‘No, Laurence, I really don’t think it’s necessary. You really are the most cautious person I have ever met’

‘Thank you, sir. I am very grateful for the compliment’

John was completely exasperated, but knew from long experience that this conversation was best abandoned.

‘I hope that your trip goes well, Laurence’ he said, with a note of finality.

‘I’m sure it will, sir’

They nodded politely at each other and then John went upstairs to bed.    

Chapter nineteen

Ortia – the Proconsul’s Palace

 

Viola sat and waited for Marthian until she came in from the garden. The proconsul was wearing gloves, and she carried a purple rose in her left hand.

‘What do you think’ she asked, before any greeting, ‘Is purple a good colour for a rose?’

Viola thought for a moment.

‘Not really. I think they look rather artificial’

Marthian smiled.

‘Sad, then, that some Imperial plant breeder spent half her life trying to perfect this particular shade’

‘Yes, I suppose, so…’ Viola’s voice trailed off.

Marthian took her gloves off and carefully placed the purple rose into a vase. She stared at it intently for a few seconds.

‘Don’t tell anyone that I was in the garden when you arrived. The gardeners don’t like me interfering’

She sat down and turned her attention to Viola.

‘Right, captain, where were we?’

‘How to deal with the Hybitor – that’s what we were discussing’

‘Oh yes, Mr Hardacre’

Sometimes Viola wished that her leader would concentrate a little harder.

‘What do you think of him?’ asked Marthian.

‘He seems like an upstanding person; very honest’ replied Viola cautiously.

Marthian considered this, her looks hardened.

‘And can we work with him?’

‘We may have to. At the moment his group seems like the only one that’s really interested in us. Nine hundred years is a long time to wait for an envoy. Well, a human one, anyway’

‘Yes’ Marthian frowned and hesitated, ‘but we know nothing at all about his group. They might be Tlaxacan spies for all we know…’

‘Of course, but that seems unlikely to me’ said Viola, ‘he’s obviously a career diplomat. It’s hard to see how the Cloaks could easily train one of those’

‘…or they could be witches’

They grinned at each other; those old fairy stories filled their heads again.

‘That I can’t deny, ma’am, but not all witches are bad’

‘But aren’t they white witches, the good ones?’

They both shivered, thinking of the white devil in the east.

‘Hopefully not…’ 

Marthian tried to put all these thoughts out of her head and to concentrate on practicalities.

‘We’ll run with this a bit longer, and see what we can find out’

Viola stood up, preparing to leave.

‘I entirely support your decision, proconsul’

‘And, Viola. I’m assigning you to Hardacre, as my liaison officer.’

Viola looked a little surprised by this but not unhappy.

‘Understood, ma’am’

‘Keep close to him. I need to know what’s going on’

 

***

This time Hardacre teleported to just outside the proconsul’s palace (he had been allowed to create a temporary teleport beacon there) and was greeted promptly by Viola, who was well primed to show him proper Elven hospitality. They exchanged polite pleasantries and then she took him to his quarters, a small but comfortably furnished apartment just across the road from the palace.  Viola gave him time to settle in and then they met for lunch, which she arranged to have in the palace meeting room, away from prying eyes. The food was simple, by no means a banquet, as if to indicate to Hardacre how poor supplies were.  

Over lunch Viola was able to get, in sketch form, a history of Eth and Visneoria over the last 900 years. All of that was useful, but she was unable to get anything more concrete from him. He was waiting for his afternoon audience with the proconsul, and Viola knew this. She enjoyed his company, though. He was gracious and polite, and answered her questions clearly and fully.

Marthian had chosen to meet Hardacre up on the battlements, in a tower where they could look out towards Melloreis.  Marthian greeted him.

‘I hope you don’t mind meeting here’

He bowed deeply.

‘Of course not, my lady’

She moved to the edge of the crenulations.

‘Come over here – the view is very fine,’

Hardacre walked over to Marthian, while Viola stood still in the background, trying to blend into the scenery. Marthian noticed this and beckoned to her.

‘And you too, captain, I want to talk to both of you’

Down below them were the rolling shallow hills of the Verdant Plain, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Dotted between the hills were occasional farmsteads, with cattle or arable crops. None of the farms were very big, and they petered out before the horizon – beyond that was just green and brown, with the blue ribbon of the river running through it.

‘This is all we have’ explained Marthian, ‘just a few farms and ranches, along with what we can grow inside the city walls’

She swept her hands round in a full circle, turning slowly on the spot, gesturing across the whole city.

‘And it is the same in all directions – a rather dull landscape to build a city on’ 

Hardacre looked out across the plain, screwing his eyes up to see if he could see anything of the old city. Viola read his mind.

‘There’s no point in looking: there’s nothing to see from here. Melloreis is about sixty miles away and all that’s left is rubble’

Marthian smiled - 'Viola has the most extraordinary vision - it she can't see something then no-one can...'

Hardacre nodded slightly at Viola to acknowledge this skill, and then turned from the battlement edge to address the proconsul.

 ‘So, have you sent any patrols out?’

‘Yes, we always send out patrols a few times a year, just to check our outer defences. We have very few horses though, and replacing them is very expensive’

‘So, you’ve looked recently, have you?’ pressed Hardacre.

‘Yes’ Marthian repeated.

Hardacre drew on his deep reserves of patience.

‘Can I ask you what you found, my lady?’

Marthian continued to stare out across the broad vista.

‘Nothing, we found nothing, just rubble.  A vast city reduced to bits of stone and iron’

‘Did your patrols actually go into the city?’ asked Hardacre.

‘Not all the way in, no. Patrols have done so in the past, and not all of them have ever come back’

‘They have Tlaxacan taints, I think’ interjected Viola

‘Some kind of booby trap?’ asked Hardacre, ‘I know very little about Tlaxacan war craft’

‘It’s not war craft’ Viola retorted vehemently, ‘it’s necromancy. They enchant the remains of the dead to protect themselves. Blood is their religion.’

Hardacre wrinkled his brow.

‘They have undead warriors? Is that it?’

‘No’ replied Viola, her voice rising in tone, ‘they use the dead as repositories of evil magic, like receptacles full of death, or madness. No-one will dare go near’

‘We treat the ruins with some care’ Marthian explained, more calmly, ‘I won’t order any of my patrols within the old city walls’

Hardacre choose his words exceptionally carefully.

‘I wonder whether you should consider more patrols to intercept the scholars, if they come...’  

Marthian gave him a mildly withering look.

‘If you haven’t already…’  Hardacre continued smoothly.

He pressed on, carefully.

‘Obviously we don’t want a party to blunder into Melloreis and get themselves killed.’

‘Although,’ commented Marthian brusquely, ‘it would arguably be their own fault’

Viola found herself nodding, but stopped almost immediately – this really wasn’t a good direction for the conversation to be heading.

‘However, proconsul, you have ordered those patrols, haven’t you’ she said

Marthian looked up sharply at Viola, and then realised what she’d just been saying. Being diplomatic was sometimes rather hard.

‘Yes, well I have. I see no point in wasting innocent lives, however foolish their owners might be,’

‘Thank you, madam’, said Hardacre, ‘that seems eminently sensible’

‘So, that’s our contribution to the problem’ commented Marthian, ‘what’s yours, Mr Hardacre?’

‘We’ll try to find them and dissuade them from coming here. We think that it may well be even more dangerous to tamper with Melloreis than you might think’

‘Why?’ asked Viola.

‘Because there are ancient records of something inside the city, something that we can’t trace at the moment. Whatever it is it’s probably something of great power, which may be better left as it is’

Marthian looked directly at him. He really didn’t look like an evil witch.

‘We have old stories that are very similar, but we have no idea whether they are true’ she said

‘The stories about Quiena?’ murmured Viola.

‘Yes,’ indicated Hardacre, ‘those ones’

‘Which particular story are you thinking of, Mr Hardacre?’ asked Marthian.

‘One concerning the siege of Melloreis. It is said that she helped the dwarves who worked there to build a terrible machine of war. And that that machine may or may not have been completed and may or may not have been destroyed. Either way, it did not prove decisive, and Melloreis fell anyway. If it is still there then it could well be corrupted, tainted or just malfunctioning’

‘But, if it is there, we owe a duty to the Empire to find it and disarm it, or to find a use for it’ said Marthian, ‘we have only not done that because we have had no capacity to deal with it. I assume that you believe that your group has that capacity; is that so?’

‘Again, not alone, but between us, perhaps. A joint expedition might succeed; particularly if we can enlist the help of the scholars. However, all of this theoretical, and will have to be approved by my organisation…’

Viola shuffled on the spot. She couldn’t resist making a contribution.

‘Ma’am, if I may venture, this all sounds exceptionally risky’.

Marthian nodded.

‘Yes it does, but I won’t entirely rule it out, yet’

Hardacre bowed. 

‘Thank you, proconsul’

‘Don’t thank me yet. You don’t know what I’ll decided to do’

Marthian stood for a moment looking out over the landscape. The other two waited for her orders.

‘Let’s bring these mad academics here and find out what they intend to do. As the local Imperial representative I reserve the right to control movement into and through Imperial land. As far as I am concerned Melloreis is still part of the Empire, and they need my permission to explore it’

‘I’m sure that that decision will be acceptable to the Hybitor’ murmured Hardacre.

‘Good’ said Marthian, ‘now – let’s go down and make some more detailed plans’

They descended the steps and went on down into the city.