Lessek's Key

THE BOWMAN INN

‘Beer.’

‘Beer.’

‘Beer.’

‘All right, three beers and two half-goblets of wine coming right up.’ Steven draped his cloak over the back of his chair. The Gore-tex coats were hidden in Garec’s saddlebag.

‘And aspirin,’ Mark said. ‘My leg is cramping again.’

‘I have aspirin. I took it from Howard’s place.’

‘I need three.’

‘They’re in the bottle in my pack. You can get them while I get the drinks.’

‘Good, I like them better with beer, anyway.’ Mark dug into Steven’s bag and opened the plastic container discreetly. Cupping the pills in his hand, he said, ‘I like Traver’s Notch.’

Garec nodded. ‘It’s a nice little town, clean and quiet. I’ll bet there’s good fishing too.’

‘Too bad we can’t stay,’ Mark said.

‘Time is running out on us.’ Gilmour traced the grain on their tabletop with a fingertip. ‘We have to get south. If you know where the spell table is, we must get there as soon as possible, before Nerak beats us there.’

‘Won’t he be looking for us?’ Garec asked, ‘knowing we have the key, won’t he be waiting for us out here somewhere?’

‘Perhaps not. If Nerak travelled back to Malakasia to take over Bellan and resume command of the occupation forces, then we may have some time before he comes back to the East.’

‘But why would he waste time doing that?’ The young Ronan checked the front room for eavesdroppers.

‘Because he can, and because the occupation forces are valuable to him. They are a formidable army – and don’t forget, as far as Nerak is concerned, we don’t know where the spell table is, and we are effectively trapped in Sandcliff Palace.’ At that, Gilmour smiled.

‘Unless he felt Steven killing the almor and wiping out those clouds,’ Mark said.

‘He can’t detect Steven’s magic. If he could, we’d have known by now. So if he returned to Welstar Palace to collect Bellan, to proclaim Prince Malagon dead and to restore order among the occupation forces, we may have a little time in which to travel un-accosted. He may be thinking he can take Bellan, return to Sandcliff in person, and finish us off, but with Steven’s cloaking spell-’

‘Yup, Mom’s old blanket,’ Mark said, appreciatively.

‘Well, with that we may be able to move south without him knowing we’ve escaped.’ Gilmour gestured south as if Meyers’ Vale were just across the street.

‘Could he somehow have had the almor reporting back to him?’ Garec asked.

‘Perhaps,’ Gilmour shrugged, ‘but that’s a risk we can’t avoid these days. Our best option is to get there as quickly as we can. He has no idea we’re closing in on the spell table; that’s to our advantage. We have Steven’s cloaking spell. And finally-’

‘We have the key.’

‘Yes.’

‘So someplace between here and the spell table, he’ll confront us in person, not long-distance threats or talking Larion skeletons,’ Mark said.

‘Unless we manage to get all the way down there without him detecting us, or without his spies getting word to him of our whereabouts. Although at this juncture I suppose I should say her spies.’

‘So Nerak is now Princess Bellan?’ Garec sat up straighter, half expecting the woman herself to step into the room.

‘I’m pretty sure – of course, she won’t be Princess Bellan in the eyes of his occupation leaders until someone produces Malagon’s body.’

‘Which is floating somewhere off Charleston, South Carolina,’ Mark said. Gilmour chuckled. ‘That’s right, and as long as that’s the case, Bellan will have a hard time convincing the generals they need to follow her.’

‘Won’t she just kill anyone who resists her?’ Garec wondered why a being as powerful as Nerak would spend time trying to convince mortal generals that they should follow him.

‘A few, yes, and after a while that will get the others’ attention. We want her distracted by that as long as possible.’

‘How long will it take us to cross Falkan?’ Mark asked.

‘Maybe fifteen days from here, riding flat-out.’

‘We should travel like we did before,’ Garec suggested. ‘That was incredible. We crossed the plains in just a few days.’

‘Nerak was still in Colorado then. If we do that now, he’ll track us all the way.’ Gilmour closed his eyes for a moment; he was not looking forward to the journey.

‘You’re right, sorry. So we travel the old-fashioned way. That’s fine; it gives us a chance to see the scenery.’

‘A mostly flat, arable plain lying fallow during winter,’ Mark quipped. ‘That will make for some picturesque vistas.’

‘No matter,’ Gilmour said. ‘We’ll travel as far and as fast as the horses can stand.’

‘When we get to that bend in the river, assuming we can find it again, how will we get the spell table out?’ Garec checked the bar to see what was keeping Steven so long.

‘I don’t know,’ Gilmour said matter-of-factly. ‘I haven’t seen this place.’

‘Imagine ice and snow over a rushing river and an underwater moraine as big as your mother’s house. There’s nothing south of there but the Blackstones and nothing north except days and days of river, and then that cavern with those bone-collecting things.’ Mark popped one of the aspirins into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

Gilmour filled a pipe and lit it from a taper on the table. ‘I trust you, and that’s why we’re going all the way down there. Nerak thinks he has the best of us – of me, I suppose, because I was too stupid to realise he wouldn’t have left the spell table at Sandcliff. Any half-wit would guess if it isn’t at Sandcliff, then Nerak must keep it at Welstar Palace, but I think you may have stumbled onto it completely out of naked- what was it, Mark?’

‘Pastry-chef luck.’

‘Naked, pastry-chef luck.’ He puffed contentedly at the pipe. ‘Anyway, if it is Eldarn warding the spell table, and it was Eldarn that trapped you down there, then I will need some time to find the root of the spell he’s used to control the ground, the water and the rocks. It will be a slow process.’

‘Can you unweave it?’ Garec wasn’t sure how to ask what he wanted to know.

‘Probably not,’ Gilmour said, surprising them, ‘but I’ll wager he can.’ He nodded towards Steven, standing patiently at the bar.

*

Steven was waiting for the innkeeper. Gita had told him to look for a tall man, heavy around the middle, with flowing grey hair and ruddy, wrinkled skin. His name was Ranvid; he had been a member of the Falkan Resistance for almost two hundred Twinmoons. Malakasian forces regularly moved through Traver’s Notch, so Ranvid was always assimilating bits of news about the occupation which he passed through various channels to Gita and the other Resistance cell leaders. His methods were simple, and effective: the Bowman was known to welcome Malakasian soldiers: they got good service, cheap booze and plentiful meals, and officers always drank for free.

Over time, the local occupation forces had come to think of the Bowman as an establishment sympathetic to Prince Malagon and word spread as the army moved throughout the country. Ranvid gleaned a wealth of valuable information, ranging from which general loathed which down to specific troop movements. He even knew when an enormous force started mustering outside Welstar Palace.

The innkeeper had never participated in a raid, taken up arms against a local patrol or killed a Malakasian soldier, but he was invaluable to the Falkan Resistance, a hero who risked his life daily.

When he finally stepped out from the kitchen, Steven recognised him immediately from Gita’s description.

‘Yes, sir, what do you need?’ He collected an armful of dirty trenchers that had been left along the raised counter.

‘Three beers, and two half-goblets of wine, one red and one white.’

Ranvid froze, then turned to look Steven in the face. ‘You plan to mix them to make a whole pink?’

‘No,’ Steven said, ‘I don’t like to drink that much.’

He placed the trenchers in a bucket half filled with greasy water that made Steven lose his appetite and drew three beers from a wooden cask behind the bar. ‘I knew a woman once who drank pink wine,’ he said conversationally.

‘I hear she died,’ Steven continued the exchange he’d memorised.

No, she’s still around.’

‘I’d like to meet her.’

The innkeeper placed the beers in front of him, then poured out two half-goblets of wine from ceramic pitchers. Steven paid with a few copper Mareks and reached for the drinks, but almost imperceptibly, Ranvid shook his head. ‘You want food?’

‘No, thanks,’ Steven said, his stomach still recoiling from the sight of the oily bucket. ‘We have to be moving on.’

‘You want food.’ It was not a request this time.

Steven sipped the surprisingly good white wine and agreed, understanding belatedly that the man wanted him to wait beside the bar. ‘Actually, why not? What’s good?’ Anything but stew, he thought to himself.

‘The stew is tasty.’

He swallowed hard. ‘Good then. Four stews, and bread, please.’

A fine choice.’ Ranvid turned to the kitchen and shouted, ‘Four up!’

Someone called back, ‘Come get them yourself.’

Ranvid motioned for Steven to wait and disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, Steven winced at a loud slap, a shriek and the sound of a large pan full of something wet and sloppy tumbling to the floor.

The innkeeper returned and grinned. ‘Your food’ll be right out.’ He waved away Steven’s thanks and busied himself at the bar, clearing goblets, scraping trenchers and tossing half-eaten loaves into a woven straw basket at his feet.

Steven stayed where he was, content to watch and wait.

Without making eye contact, Ranvid said softly, ‘You wield the staff, yes?’

Steven examined an etched pattern on the side of his wine goblet. ‘That’s right.’

‘The woman is here. Many of her men are in the Notch; there’s a camp on the north side of the wall.’

‘The wall?’

‘The northernmost hill behind Traver’s Notch. There’s a pass; we keep it open through the winter. Any horse can cross with no trouble.’ He waved to three locals sitting near a window, raised his eyebrows, and nodded. ‘Three more, right away,’ he called.

Steven finished the white wine and started in on the red. ‘How do I find her?’ he asked as Ranvid finished drawing the men’s drinks.

Across the western bridge and up the hill road. Near the top there’s a dirt path leading back into the trees. Follow that to the cottage at the end behind the birch trees.’

He disappeared back in to the kitchen and reappeared with four trenchers. ‘Enjoy, sir,’ he said heartily.

‘Thank you.’ Steven left a silver coin on the bar and loaded up the trenchers.

‘She’s a great leader, and a great fighter.’ Ranvid’s voice was barely there. ‘She has great hopes for you.’

‘I won’t let her down,’ he replied.

‘Steven Taylor!’ Gita Kamrec met them outside the cottage, running to him and throwing her arms around him. ‘Gods, but I am glad to see you’re still alive.’

‘Me too,’ Steven replied, returning her embrace one-handed, the hickory staff in the other.

Gita released him and stepped back. ‘Gods! Be careful where you point that thing. It makes me nervous.’ She hugged Garec and Mark in turn. ‘Garec the bowman, and Jenkins, the horseman from the South Coast, welcome to Traver’s Notch.’

Mark smiled. ‘Nice to see you again, Gita.’

‘What happened to your leg?’

‘We met a border patrol in Gorsk.’

‘Gorsk? How long have you been up here? I thought you were going to Praga to find Kantu. What were you doing in Gorsk?’

Mark said, ‘We’ve a lot to tell you.’

‘And where’s Brynne? My earlobes have healed, and I think the scars just about match; I don’t think I’m lopsided.’ When no one answered, Gita’s countenance fell. She looked back and forth between them. ‘Brynne, too?’

‘We lost her in Orindale,’ Garec said. ‘We’re hoping she’s alive, but we don’t know.’

The Falkan leader pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘And Sallax?’

‘In Orindale, we hope,’ Garec said. ‘We heard nothing from him, nor could we find him while we were there.’

‘Gilmour, Sallax, Brynne, Timmon – not to mention my soldiers: this is a costly a business, boys. I hope we’ll all be around when it ends.’

‘I’ll buy the drinks.’ Garec said, anxious to move on to something more pleasant.

‘The rutting blazes you will,’ Gita quipped, smiling again. ‘I’m an old lady, and it’s an old lady’s prerogative to decide who picks up the tavern bill. I’ll have no arguing about it. The drinks will be on me.’

‘Done,’ Gilmour said, approaching warily.

‘And who’s this? Are you Kantu? I’ve heard of you.’

‘It’s me, Gita.’

‘Which me?’ She looked askance at him. ‘Do I know you?’

‘You have known me for a long time,’ Gilmour said, looking into her eyes. ‘When days in Rona grow balmy-’

‘Drink Falkan wine after Twinmoon,’ she said in a whisper. She turned to Garec. ‘Did you teach him that?’

Garec shook his head. ‘It really is him, Gita. It’s a long story.’

She leaned in, squinted as if, blurry, he might somehow become familiar to her. Then, inhaling sharply, she said, ‘They told me you were dead.’

Gilmour said, ‘I suppose part of me has been for some Twinmoons now, but as you can see, the parts that count are still doing quite well.’

‘I always knew there was something about you, you old… is it really you?’

He nodded.

Now she was awestruck. ‘What kind of magic is this?’

‘Larion.’

She laughed. ‘That’s funny, but no, I mean, what kind-’ Gita waited for Gilmour’s expression to change, and when it didn’t, her eyes grew wide. ‘Then you would have to be-’

‘Yes.’

‘And that would make you like – gods! I can’t even figure it without a piece of paper.’

‘Two thousand, probably more.’

‘I need to sit down. I need a drink, a lot of drinks.’ She reached for Garec and he slipped an arm around her waist. ‘Let’s go inside.’

Three men, bodyguards, Steven guessed, materialised from the woods beside the cottage when Gita reached up and signed all clear. He remembered the covert communication the Falkan Resistance forces had used in the underground cavern. Two remained outside watching for any indication that their hideaway had been discovered. The third, a young man wearing an eye-patch, joined them inside.

Steven tried not to look at the soldier’s face, but couldn’t help wondering if the man was one of those he had injured when he had used magic to hurl a cloud of stones into the Falkan ranks; he toyed with the idea of asking and apologising, but every time he geared himself up to do so, someone interrupted, derailing his good intentions.

Another of Gita’s commanders joined them for the discussion. As Brand Krug walked in, Steven noticed that he still wore a brace of throwing knives at his belt. As he had in the underground cavern, Brand immediately asked for news of Sallax; he looked angry and disappointed when Garec told him they had not located their friend.

Gita paced back and forth before the fireplace, thinking through their story, and their intention to move south towards the Blackstones. Steven watched her, hoping she wouldn’t try to accompany them into Meyers’ Vale; he didn’t want a military escort. If their group got any larger, it would slow them down and make them an obvious target for the army.

Gita said finally, ‘We’ve received information that the forces around Orindale have broken up and battalions are moving to take up their regular patrols. The prince’s generals argued for almost a Moon after Malagon disappeared and they have finally decided there is nothing to protect; that the prince must have left the city incognito.’

Garec said, ‘They’ll be scattered all over the countryside. It’ll be difficult to avoid them.’

‘You won’t avoid them,’ Gita said. ‘You need to take some of us along. Brand’s company can escort you.’

‘How many men do you have?’ Garec asked.

‘Ninety-seven here now with more on the way.’

Steven shook his head. ‘That’s foolish, Gita. We’ll succeed in nothing but getting them hacked to pieces. Gilmour and I can see us into the Vale.’

‘A stray arrow, Steven, one single arrow will silence you or Gilmour. We can’t afford it. You have to be escorted. Brand’s soldiers are tough, solid fighters. They’ve lived a long time, and through hundreds of raids. They know what they’re doing, and they can travel fast. If you’re attacked, the orders will be clear. Brand and a squad will ride with you, while the lieutenants engage and retreat, engage and retreat, pulling them off your back. Afterward, if they can get past the Malakasian forces, they’ll meet with you along the road further south.’ She stared down at a map of the flatlands in central Falkan. ‘They will see you through the first skirmish, anyway.’

Steven didn’t like the idea, but he waited to hear what the others thought.

Mark spoke up first. ‘I think it’s a good idea.’ He looked to Brand. ‘Chances are you’ll lose some of your soldiers, but this trip is critical to Falkan’s freedom and Prince Malagon’s defeat. If we can’t avoid encountering soldiers, then we need help.’

‘Gilmour, what do you think?’ Gita asked.

‘I understand Steven’s point. Alone, we are powerful and very fast. But you’re right as well: one lucky shot, and we lose Steven-’

Steven interrupted, ‘But that could happen anyway. It’s a risk we have to take.’

‘That is a risk we have to mitigate as much as possible and then take,’ Gilmour corrected. ‘I agree. We should accept Gita’s offer and move south with Brand’s escort.’

‘A hundred people? We’ll be ringing the clarion all the way down there. Every Malakasian soldier and informer in the midlands will be on our tail.’ Steven tried not to get too emotional, but Hannah was alive and possibly on her way to Orindale right now, and he was not about to take unnecessary risks. The odds of a stray arrow taking him would go up severalfold if he were travelling with an armed Falkan escort. If the Malakasian forces were dispersing, the only way to reach Meyers’ Vale would be to move in the shadows, off the main roads, hiding at every sight of black and gold uniforms, otherwise it would be suicide. ‘Think about what comes next.’

What do you mean?’ Brand asked.

‘If we get to Meyers’ Vale and find the table, Falkan and the Eastlands will need a solid fighting force to move across the plain, dividing the occupation army in half, and trying to turn either north or south, to establish a foothold over here. That’s going to be a back-breaking task as it is and there’s no way you could attempt it without Brand’s company.’

‘You are right, Steven,’ Gita said, ‘you’re really not bad as a military tactician. However, I have others gathering every able-bodied soldier up here to join us. At first, I thought we would come together here, see you into Gorsk, and then turn back towards Orindale for our final stand. But knowing how disorganised the Eastern Army has become in the wake of Prince Malagon’s disappearance, we might be able to take a corner of the Eastlands, a stretch of Falkan with a port, perhaps Capehill, if we can capitalise on a momentary lapse in their command hierarchy.’

Mark finished her thought, And taking leadership from Welstar Palace out of the equation, we create exactly that opportunity.’

‘Does that mean we won’t have to face Seron, those ground demons, or any more of the cloud creatures?’

‘If my speculations about Prince Malagon are even close to correct, Gita, that’s exactly right – although I’m not sure about the Seron. They may be here for good,’ Mark said.

‘But the almor, and the cloud creatures?’

‘And the wraiths,’ Mark added, ‘all of them, they’ll still be in Eldarn, but I’m betting they won’t be following orders any longer. I have a strong belief that Prince Malagon has a weakness, maybe something to do with Steven and his stick. All the creatures he has sent against us have a few things in common and if we deal with Prince Malagon in Meyers’ Vale, I believe it will take care of those creatures as well.’

‘Steven has already proven himself against the clouds and the almor,’ Garec added.

Gita laughed. ‘When you put it that way, I think we have the easier task taking over the Eastlands.’

‘When will the rest of the Resistance arrive?’ Gilmour asked.

‘It’s hard to say. We weren’t expecting you fellows for a while, so I would guess another Twinmoon.’ Gita looked again at the maps spread across the table. ‘I’d like to give them that long, anyway.’

‘That should give us time to get there, but we don’t know how long it’ll take to excavate the table – if we find the table.’ Garec joined Gita near the fire.

‘It will be enough time,’ Gilmour said. ‘Do you have anyone under your command who can work magic, even simple festival tricks? Anyone at all?’

Gita glanced at Brand; something passed between them.

‘I don’t know where he is,’ Brand finally said.

‘Can we get him here in the next Twinmoon?’

‘I can send a rider, but Gita, he’s a mess. He can’t-’

Gilmour interrupted. ‘He won’t need to work any spells. He’ll simply need to receive a message from me.’

‘You’ll talk to him?’ Brand asked sceptically, ‘from the Blackstones?’ Gilmour laughed, ‘No; it’ll seem like he’s been belted by an invisible fist – unless he’s very talented, he won’t know what hit him, but it will at least confirm that we’ve been successful.’

‘So we bring him here and watch him until you clobber him senseless from somewhere south of Orindale?’

‘Exactly.’

And all he has to do is…’

‘Have a thimbleful of magic in his bones and take a solid, unexpected punch to the head.’

Now Brand laughed. ‘That, I would like to see.’

‘Send the rider,’ Gita directed.

‘Very well.’

‘Who is this man?’ Gilmour asked.

‘His name is Stalwick,’ Gita said. ‘He rode with us for a time but then he…’ She searched for the right description.

He’s a blazing idiot,’ Brand finished for her. ‘But if all you need him to do is be around here until you kick his head in, he can handle that.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Capehill.’

‘Good,’ Gita clapped her hands together. ‘It’s decided then. Brand’s company will ride south with you. We’ll bring Stalwick here and continue to build up our forces. We have many friends and supporters in the Notch, and the local mining industry provides us with an excellent cover. When Stalwick collapses, I will assume that you have done whatever it is you plan to do with this table you seek and that we should begin our march to Capehill.’

‘And we’ll meet you there,’ Gilmour finished.

‘After we go to Orindale,’ Steven interjected.

‘Orindale?’

‘Hannah and Kantu,’ he reminded.

Gilmour nodded, ‘That’s right – unless, of course, they join us along the way.’

They stayed in the cottage that night. Mark woke in the pre-dawn aven and slipped out to pile logs onto the fire. He was not surprised to find Gilmour awake and pouring over Gita’s maps.

‘Looking for an overland route to the West Indies?’ Mark asked.

‘How’d you know?’ Gilmour said.

‘I’ll give you a hint. They’re islands; you need a boat.’

‘How’s your leg?’

‘Getting better.’

‘You need more querlis?’

‘No. That stuff just makes me sleep.’

‘Come and sit down.’

Mark did. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘Nothing particularly; I just don’t sleep all that often.’

‘You’d do well in corporate America.’

‘Not me,’ Gilmour said. ‘I never had a head for business.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I heard what you said before.’ The Larion sorcerer changed the subject.

‘About what?’

‘About Nerak and his minions.’

‘Oh, that.’ Mark examined a map of Estrad and southern Rona. ‘I’ve been thinking about him, and all the creatures he’s sent to find us. They all fall along the same continuum, from real to unreal, or whole to less-than-whole, so they might have common weaknesses as well.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Gilmour admitted.

‘If Nerak only creates or summons creatures that fit a certain profile, it may tell us something about his weaknesses. He has sent ravenous beasts, wild animals, half-humans and wraiths, and all of them are similar in certain respects: they hunt, use some mystical energy either to search or to exist and they all fall beneath the power of the staff. It makes me think that might be the place to look for weak spots in his armour.’

‘That’s quite an array of nasty creatures, Mark; I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ Gilmour said.

‘Why didn’t he create a plague? Why didn’t he open the earth and swallow Sandcliff Palace with us in it? Why didn’t he have the water in Orindale Harbour swell up and drown us that night? I’m betting it’s because he can’t. There are tremendously powerful things he can do, and all of Eldarn has been living in fear of him for almost a thousand Twinmoons, but let’s think about the things he can’t do.’

Gilmour nodded, beginning to understand. ‘He can’t sense the hickory staff.’

‘Nope, and he can’t open the Fold and allow his evil master to just step outside – if he could have opened the Fold without the spell table, he would have done it by now and all of us would have been obliterated, or enslaved for an eternity.’

‘But he crossed the Fold when I opened the spell book.’

‘Sure, crossed it, but he can’t open the Fold with that book. There is nothing in there to allow his master to emerge into Eldarn.’

‘Fine, I agree – but what’s the point of what Nerak might or might not be able to do with his power?’ Gilmour rolled up the map and placed it to one side.

‘We have seen real evidence of things that can be done that Nerak has not been able to do.’ Mark was speaking quickly in his excitement.

‘Such as-’

‘Such as keeping you and Kantu alive for two thousand Twinmoons, such as sending visions of things we need to understand, such as intercepting Regona and sending her through the portal to raise Eldarn’s heir in my world.’

‘Lessek?’

‘Lessek.’

‘And you truly believe you are somehow related to Regona? I know Nerak called you prince, but I don’t know how he would have known Regona at all.’

‘Doctor Tenner.’ Mark reached for a flagon of wine and uncorked it. He poured two goblets.

Gilmour stood and walked towards the fireplace. Crouching before it, he reached out to warm his hands. ‘Tenner’s letter.’

‘Or Tenner himself. Suppose Nerak took Tenner the night he burned Riverend Palace. He would have known all that Tenner knew at the time.’

‘But all Nerak would have known was that Regona went to Randel to live with Weslox.’

‘Sure, so Nerak goes to Randel – he had all the time in the world – and learns-’

‘That Regona never arrived,’ Gilmour finished.

‘Lessek took her through the far portal, or at least he showed her the way through.’

The Larion Senator rubbed his palms together. ‘She wouldn’t have been able to touch him, but he would have looked real enough.’

Mark sipped the wine. ‘It’s evidence of yet another skill Lessek perfected that Nerak did not. If the evil minion that took Nerak only inherited Nerak’s power, then it doesn’t know the extent of what’s possible; what a great sorcerer can accomplish. Eldarn has been measuring sorcery by Nerak’s benchmark for a thousand Twinmoons when you should have been measuring Nerak against Lessek, the true master.’

‘But how could Nerak have hidden his weaknesses from the evil minion? Nerak knew his own weaknesses; we all do – he wouldn’t have been able to mask them inside his own mind. What came through the Fold hit him like a rogue wave; he had no time to cry out for his own mother, let alone hide any thoughts in his head.’

‘And thus we come to the place where all my best deductions fall apart: I just can’t get past that. But I am confident there are plenty of magical possibilities to defeat Nerak, and I bet you a case of beer the place to start is with Steven’s staff. There’s something he just doesn’t understand, and it will be his weakness; I know it.’

‘“Nerak’s weakness lies elsewhere”,’ Gilmour quoted.

‘Could that be the place?’

‘I don’t know, but you give me hope, and gods know I need plenty of that these days.’ His knees creaked as he stood up from the fire and swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp.

Two days later, rested and well provisioned, they left Traver’s Notch with Brand’s company.