Modern Magick

The Road to Farringale: 17

Rob sighed and said no more, but he trudged on beside me with a weary air that I did not like. He was not as young as he used to be, I supposed, though I had not considered that fact. When I had first joined the Society, Rob had been about the age I was now: somewhere between thirty and thirty-five. He had been all power and energy and a grim kind of competence that seemed immune to fatigue, or pain, or anything we lesser beings suffered from.

But rather more than ten years had passed. Rob looked almost the same as he had on my very first day at Home: tall, muscled, his sleek dark skin unlined, his curling black hair as thick as ever. But for all his ageless looks, he must be nearing fifty. I shouldn't be hurling him around with such abandon. Not anymore.

'I am sorry, Rob,' I said, with more sincerity.

He side-eyed me, still unmoved. But then he sighed, and gave me a rueful smile. 'You're always an experience, Ves,' he said, which did not quite strike me as a vote of confidence. 'Nobody does things the way you do.'

'It's why I am good at my job,' I said hopefully.

'True. Nobody else would come out of this adventure with the local population of deadly griffins fully intact.'

I beamed.

'Let's just hope we can come out of it with our local population of Society employees fully intact as well.'

Yes. True. 'And our Troll Court representative,' I added.

'Him, too.'

Alban went back to his map. He walked off with the purposeful air of a man who knows exactly where he is going, calling, 'This way! Quickly.'

We followed, and with all due haste. The griffins might be gone for now, but they could certainly come back. Even I could not have said with any certainty how long my charm would hold.

'Do you suppose those griffins are the reason Farringale was abandoned?' said Jay.

'That would make sense,' Rob replied.

I did not want to agree. If Jay's speculation was correct, what did that do to my theory, and Alban's? There were no griffins at Glenfinnan or Baile Monaidh or South Moors, and Darrowdale was underground. If griffins had driven away the residents of Farringale, then its demise had nothing whatsoever to do with the other Enclaves, and we were wasting our time in coming here at all.

Nonetheless, it was impossible to dismiss the theory. Griffins were known to be touchy, territorial creatures, as we had just seen. If a large colony of them had claimed Farringale Dell as their home, the trolls who lived there might well have concluded that moving on was simpler (and safer) than trying to stand their ground.

Even to the extent of abandoning their Court, though? Would they really? I frowned, unable to make any sense of it. It was all guesswork, whatever we concluded. We needed the library.

'Aha,' said Alban, stopping at that moment before one of the largest buildings we had yet seen. Wrought from snowy stone in great, square blocks, it towered four tall storeys high, and boasted a crowning roof of magnificent proportions. The walls were lit with long, wide windows fitted with tiny diamond-shaped panes of glass. Massive double doors guarded the entrance, set beneath an ornate lintel.

Alban walked up the three wide steps and rapped upon the door.

'I don't think—' I began. I was going to add "that anyone's home", but the doors moved of their own accord and slowly swung open.

Baron Alban gave me a dazzling smile. 'We trolls are known for our hospitality,' he said as he led the way inside. This did not quite fit with my experience of the Enclaves, but I let the comment pass.