Maggie Furey - Sword of Flames

Eliseth had lost all faith in Miathan’s effectiveness as an Archmage. More than once, he’d had a perfect chance to end Aurian’s life, but had always refused. And look what had happened. The accursed renegade and her half-blooded abomination of a paramour were practically knocking on the very door of the Mages’ Tower!

If only I possessed the Caldron, Eliseth thought desperately. After his dreadful error that had resulted in the Night of the Wraiths, Miathan had always seemed afraid to use the Artifact again… If he had only learned to control it, as she would have done had the Caldron been hers… If only he had taken the trouble to spend as many hours in the dusty, freezing archives as she had done, poring over ancient, half-decipherable scrolls to research the Caldron’s powers… Abruptly, the Weather-Mage stopped pacing. Well, why not? she thought. Why shouldn’t I possess it? Have I not earned it? Would I not make better use of it? It’s wasted on that doddering old fool!

But here common sense asserted itself. That fool was not so old and feeble that he couldn’t snuff out her life like a candle, if he caught her crossing him. Eliseth resumed her pacing. After a time, her eye lit on the pile of scrolls on the table, that she had taken from the library to continue her researches in comfort. The glimmerings of a plan began to form in her mind…

Miathan looked up in surprise and annoyance as the Weather-Mage entered his chambers without knocking. What in the world was she thinking of? It was still a disgustingly early hour of the morning—in fact he had not been to bed yet, for as was his wont these days, he’d spent the night in contemplation, in the restful solitude of his garden. He had just been thinking about going to bed now—and here she was, interrupting him.

“Yes?” he demanded testily. “What the blazes do you want at this hour, Eliseth?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Archmage…” Smoldering beneath her civility, he could sense a blaze of suppressed excitement. “It’s this document,” she went on, holding out a scroll. “I found it last evening in the library—I’ve been up all night trying to decipher it. It relates to the Caldron—it should help you to control its powers, and use it in safety.”

“What?” Suddenly Miathan was wide-awake. “Let me look at that!”

“Certainly.” The Weather-Mage handed the scroll to him, but when he unrolled it, he found that it was written in a language so ancient—and with an ink so faded—that he could barely decipher a word of it. Little did he guess that Eliseth had made certain he could not.

“Don’t worry.” She slipped the document from his fingers. “I can only understand it myself because I’ve been studying Finbarr’s notes over the last months, hoping to find a way to help you.”

Very likely! Miathan thought to himself. Trying to help herself, if he knew anything about it. Yet she had brought the scroll to him…

“It says that there’s writing hidden on the side of the grail,” Eliseth was saying, “that describes the Spells of Power to control the Caldron—”

“Sounds like a lot of nonsense to me!” Miathan snorted.

“If you fetch the grail,” Eliseth prompted, “I can try to use the scroll to bring out the secret writing. Surely it’s worth a try,” she cajoled.

“Now, just a minute.” At this point, Miathan’s suspicions definitely were stirring. “Why don’t you make a translation for me,” he temporized, “and then I’ll see how well it works?”

“That’s just like you!” Eliseth flared, losing her temper completely. “You never trust me—you want to keep me out of everything! It was my hard work that found the scroll; my eyes that got strained translating the accursed thing. And now you want me just to hand it over to you without so much as a please or thank-you? Well, you can go to perdition, Miathan. If you won’t let me be a part of this, you can whistle for your scroll—and the priceless knowledge it contains.” Taking the brittle parchment in both hands, she made as if to tear it across.

“Wait—wait!” Miathan shouted hastily. What if the temperamental Weather-Mage should prove to be right after all? “All right,” he sighed. “Have it your own way.”

As the Archmage went off into the adjoining chamber, Eliseth, relieved to be out of his sight for a moment, allowed herself the luxury of a sigh of relief. Then she heard the grate of shifting furniture, followed by a soft but distinctive click, and raised her eyebrows. So the Archmage had a hidden panel in there, did he? Well, she’d investigate that later. Who knew what other secrets it might hold? Then the thought flew out of her mind as Miathan came back into the room carrying the blackened, tarnished grail.

As he placed the Artifact on the table between them, Eliseth could feel the power that thrummed through it, belying its sorry condition. Without touching it, she examined it closely. “Couldn’t you have cleaned it up a little?” she complained.

“I tried,” Miathan said with a sigh. “I’ve tried many times, but since that night it stays as black as ever.”

“Well, there’s no trace of secret writing that I can see—but, then, there wouldn’t be. Let’s see what our document says…” Eliseth turned away, as if looking for the scroll—and suddenly whirled back, her fingers extended and pointing at Miathan as she threw all her powers behind the spell that would take him out of time.

Miathan, if he’d had suspicions, had been expecting an attack on the Caldron, not on himself, and had prepared his defenses accordingly—as Eliseth had hoped. As the Archmage froze in position, taken out of time by her spell, the grail flared with a brief white light and then went dark again. She extended a cautious hand toward the Artifact, with all her senses attuned to the slightest hint of more defensive magic—but there was nothing there now, save its own thrumming power.

As the realization of what she had done truly came home to her, Eliseth laughed aloud in triumph. “As for you,” she told the frozen Archmage, “you can go down into the catacombs and keep Finbarr company, until I decide how to dispose of you.” She knew, with a chilling certainty, that Miathan must never be unbound from the spell. Her life depended on it.

But now there was other work to be done. These next few days would be busy, for she must keep an eye out with her crystal for any sign of her enemy’s movements, while also working with the grail, to wrest its powers to her will. Eliseth smiled to herself. There might be challenges ahead of her, but she was looking forward to the next few days immensely.

Though evening had long since shadowed the ocean outside, the great cavern of the Nightrunner hideout knew neither day nor night. As always, it remained shrouded in its perennial darkness, which was only alleviated by the many lamps that glimmered at intervals around the curve of the sea-smoothed walls, or twinkled high on their poles set into the shingle. Vannor paced the beach, alone, anxious, and impatient for the ships’ return. Over the preceding hours his surliness had chased his companions away one by one, until only the stalwart and stubborn Parric had remained. Eventually, even the cavalrymaster had been deterred by his friend’s dour and un-forthcoming attitude, and had gone grumbling off in search of bottle and bed, leaving the merchant to the solitude he had been craving.

On this particular night, Vannor’s hopes and fears were more than enough company for one man. Though he had been endlessly grateful for Parric’s companionship and support over the last few days, the little man’s notions of assisting is friend had involved shadowing the former rebel leader everywhere he went, talking incessantly—and, by his own example, encouraging Vannor to drink more than was good for either of them.