Illgram had hidden himself on the edge of the wood, at a safe distance from The Climbing Clawerd. The cursed moonlight had transformed the gardens into a brightly lit stage, so that even a blind horse could see Pardoc sneaking up to the inn. The sorcerer's breathing faltered as he saw a shadow between the trees. A silver gray shape slid into the moonlight. A mountain lion? In this part of the country? The beast must have made some sound, because Pardoc turned. His hands went up and Illgram thought he saw the flicker of a dagger. Nevertheless, the routewatcher was too slow. The mountain lion sprang as a silver fury to Pardoc's throat. The man fell backward, his arms clamped around the neck of the feline. The struggle lasted two, three heartbeats, no more. Then Pardoc stopped moving. His head lay at an impossible angle and even from his hiding place, Illgram could see a pool of blood spreading on the lawn. The mountain lion raised its head and seemed to sniff the air. Illgram stiffened. Would it smell me? Panic overmastered the sorcerer. He always kept himself far from physical danger. As a practicus he was the one who gave the orders; the lower ranks existed to carry them out and brave the dangers. He stumbled away. O Anti, Mother of us all, why do you desert your servant? Now Pardoc lay ripped to death in his own blood, the whole murder plan foiled. The only neophyte left to him was Urkais, with his six miserable golems. What could he do with them? For more than a simple fight, those damn golems had proved themselves unsuitable. It must be an ambush; surprise could help compensate their ineptness. He hurried through the woods to where the golemaster and his last creatures were hiding.
From somewhere came the song of an early blackbird, rising in melancholia above the silence. Olle did not hear the bird; he sat on his knees in the dewy grass and looked questioningly at Bo. 'Who are they?'
The young mage pulled his flaming robe closer. 'Cursed heretics!'
Niella glanced at her cousin and said unruffled, 'Bo means the wikken of the Gray Temple. They follow Arikal.'
Olle slapped his thigh with his hand. 'I know of only seven Orders. There are more?'
The girl nodded. 'The Gray Order exists,' she said. 'They are a gathering for anyone who doesn't feel at home with any of the regular orders. That's why they are more or less ignored by the other temples.'
'They're rebels.' Bo's voice was filled with scorn and something akin to loathing.
'Dissidents,' Niella corrected. 'They don't follow the official rules and use the magic of the various Orders as it suits them. Such an amulet as this serves to strengthen their power.'
'Those Grays are forbidden, then.' Olle was an irregular temple-goer, but he found the idea of a group of people turning away from the official teachings shocking.
Niella shook her head. 'No. Both the Convocation of Mages and the Council of Temples recognize the Grays as an official Order, though they don't want to have much to do with them. Arikal is a true God.'
In the background, Bo growled something unintelligible.
Niella glanced at the young mage and nodded. 'Personally, I feel the Grays have some good points, but not everyone agrees.'
'I'd never heard of them,' Olle said. 'Is there a Black Order, too?'
Bo made a choking sound. He gaped at Olle and his hands moved in a warding gesture.
Niella turned her head away. 'Why do you ask?' she said, with a slight tremble in her voice.
Olle looked from one to the other, warned by the fear in their voices. Was there something that Ghyll and he needed to know about? He rose from the wet grass and folded his arms. 'Magister Hemplock, the alchemist in Gromarthen, mentioned them. According to him, the golems that destroyed Tinnurad and attacked Haspen had been made with falmagic, whatever that may be.'
In three steps, Bo was with him. 'Falmagic? You mean the attack on your castle? That wasn't pirates?'
Olle shook his head, surprised by the young mage's reaction. It occurred to him he had told them more about that idiotic boar hunt than about Tinnurad's destruction. The fall of the castle and his mother were both dangerous grounds, things he didn't want to talk about. 'Golems, and a flock of birds that set everything on fire. Phoenixes, Hemplock called them. In Haspen, we found two golems and a dead man in a black robe. One just like you are wearing, Bo, only less... grand. He wore a gold necklace with a black crystal pendant. A control for the golems, Hemplock said. If you want to see it, Ghyll has the thing in his luggage upstairs.'
Bo looked ill, his languid pose gone. 'We must go home! Semelda will know what to do.'
'As soon as Ghyll is back on his feet and fit to travel, you can leave,' Niella said. She looked at Olle. 'The temple authorities teach us that the Hamorth, what you called the Black Order, no longer exists. All sorcerers died in the Fall of Abarran and in the purges that followed. Still, we have all heard rumors about a new organization, one that calls itself the Dar'khamorth.'
Her cousin nodded. 'I know these stories. The Dar'khamorth, the new Order of the Revenaunt Emperor. I thought they were just tales, and now you tell me it's all true!'
Niella looked troubled. 'I don't think it's a good idea to discuss these things out in the open. You never know who is listening.' With a gesture of finality, she slipped the Gray amulet into a pouch from her belt and handed it to Olle. 'Keep it safe. I am sure the owner will come to reclaim it soon. It emanates so much power that he will feel lame and blind without it. As for the Dar'khamorth, Aunt Semelda will know.' She gave Bo back his athame and then handed the dagger to Olle. 'I am sorry; it needs regrinding. I noticed too late what I was digging up. The magic of the amulet eats away iron, that's why I used Bo's silver knife.'
Olle saw the tip of the blade had melted like candle wax. 'No matter,' he said. 'I can do that myself. I hung around Tinnurad's smithy long enough. Now you must come and look at what I found.'
A little further on, in the mud of the path that led into the woods, they saw tracks.
'Look at that,' Bo whispered. 'Surely they're not cat paws?'
Olle nodded. 'Mountain lion. You can see the imprint of the heel and four toes. At least we know what animal slaughtered the man under the bushes.'
Bo swallowed hard. 'Those paws... how large would that animal be?'
'Much larger than usual, three to four feet high, I guess.' Olle had his hand at waist level.
'By the Magma, what a monster. You live exciting lives!' The young mage still looked pale.
Olle nodded. 'It wasn't our idea,' he said. 'Do you want to pull out?'
Bo gave him an indignant look. 'Of course not! I said that I'm coming along and I will.'
Olle looked at him. The fine fellow sounded brave enough, but it remained to be seen how he held himself when things got rough. Then he looked around. 'Where's Damion?'
'Over there, against that tree, with his eyes closed.' Niella nodded toward a large copper beech. 'Is he asleep?'
Olle raised his eyebrows, unsure what to think. 'I'll have a look.'
When he got close, Damion opened his eyes. 'I can still hear them,' he said.
'Hear who?'
'The animals,' he said as he closed his eyes again.
'What animals?' Olle looked skeptical; his no-nonsense mentality made it difficult for him to accept Damion's newfound ability.
'All the animals.' The other winced. 'And they all babble together.'
'What do you hear then?'
'Nothing special. Hunger! My nest, this is my nest! Flee, flee! That sort of thing. But I discovered something.' Stiff from his long sit, he rose. 'Walk with me, I'll show you.'
Caught by a mixture of doubt and curiosity, Olle followed his companion to the edge of the woods.
'Here is a quiet spot.' Damion pointed to a mossy patch. 'Sit down and keep very still. No sudden movements or you'll scare them away.' He closed his eyes. It was silent, as if the whole forest waited. Olle suppressed an impatient gesture - was the boy trying to make a fool of him? Something ran down the tree and a grayish squirrel jumped on Damion's shoulder, looking around with its forepaws to its nose, as if in prayer. Two rabbits hopped from the undergrowth and sat at Damion's feet. Silent as a spirit of the night, an eagle owl landed on a low branch, his bright yellow eyes staring at Olle, without paying attention to the prey beneath him. A hedgehog came and a handful of bats, flying in circles above their heads. Then, from the darkness a bigger creature appeared, a clumsy beast with a sharp black and white striped snout.
A badger! Olle recognized him from a picture in a book Tinnurad's hunt master had shown him once. He saw how the animals sat around Damion, without a trace of fear or hostility. The boy looked at Olle and winked. Then, in the same order they had come, the animals disappeared back into the forest. Last, the badger on his short legs waddled back to his castle. Shaking his head, Olle watched it go.
'How is it possible?' he said.
Damion smiled. 'Fortunately, master badger was still awake, I called him when he was about to enter his lair.'
'You did it!' The evidence of his eyes forced Olle to put aside his prejudices. 'Can you do that trick with large animals, too?'
'I don't know. Once you've figured how it works, it's not that hard.'
'You don't happen to hear a mountain lion?'
'A mountain lion? No, there isn't even a hint of a cat in the area. Why?'
Olle told him of the dead man and the large tracks.
'So that's what the horses were afraid of,' Damion said as he stood up. 'Show me.'
When they were at the prints, he knelt in the wet earth. 'Funny tracks, Olle. They feel very weird. Confusing, as if two different beings had made them. Do you understand?'
'No,' Olle said.
'I see the prints of a mountain lion, overlapped by human footprints. I don't believe those cat tracks; they're false.'
With both hands, Olle gripped his hair. 'They're there; how can they be false?'
'I don't know. But the one who made them wasn't a real cat.'
Olle looked aside at his friend. 'How do you know all this? I mean, you haven't always been gossiping with animals, have you?'
Damion thought for a moment. 'No.' He sighed. 'I've had something with beasts all my life. When I was little I had a favorite...' A shadow passed over his face. 'Forget it, I was very young then. No, I think the blow that swine gave me woke something within me I didn't know I had. I just wish I could silence the voices.' He sighed. 'It always seemed so quiet in the woods.'
Without speaking, they walked back to the inn, while the sun's first rays shot from the horizon and an early bird, touched by the light, shouted the new day from the treetops.
Ghyll was still asleep, but Olle saw to his relief that his foster brother's face had regained its normal color. Niella sat with him, while Bo paced back and forth, his face strained.
'Bo, please sit down,' Niella said. 'That pacing of yours makes me extremely nervous.'
'Excuse me,' the young mage muttered and dropped into a chair.
His cousin gave him a quizzical look. 'Does it trouble you that much?'
'What do you expect?' Bo burst out. 'Falmagic! You know how I feel about it, I...' He pushed his chair back. 'I'm going for a walk, before I burst.' The door slammed close behind him.
'This is difficult for him,' Niella said apologetic. 'Ever since his father...' She stopped and stared at the tabletop.
'What?' Olle said.
The witch hesitated. 'It is personal, but...' She looked at Olle and Damion. 'Don't talk about it, will you? My uncle Ludo, Bo's father, was a great mage. He was a man of many talents and for a while, his name was mentioned for the Order's high magistrate. We don't know why, but at the last minute, the appointment went to Taindragon. Uncle Ludo withdrew more and more into his studies. Eight years ago, my Aunt Semelda found him dead in his laboratory. She never spoke of what had happened. Bo was there when three mages of the Convocation came with an armed escort to collect his father's grimoires and his body, enclosed in a silver casket. Falmagic, people whispered. True or not, Bo hates all sorcery like the plague.'
Olle said nothing. He thought of the man who had begot him and of Damion's father. It could've been worse, after all. At least they didn't have to live with the idea that they were a traitor's son.
Ghyll lay on his back, motionless, his world no bigger than his own body. His ears heard but did not register. A cool wind touched his chest, but he did not recognize the opening and closing of the door. He heard voices murmur, without understanding how Olle retold all that had happened since they'd left home, or that a young mage interrupted his foster brother whenever something was unclear. He needed all his energy for the muscles of his eyelids. They refused to open and he needed to see. A girl's voice said something. 'He's coming round,' he heard, without understanding. Someone leaned over him; he felt the warmth of another body. Soft hands stroked his face with a wet cloth and his muscles worked again. His eyes obeyed and he looked into the face of a girl. Her fingers on his forehead broke off the thought. His mouth wanted to say something, but a piercing headache chained his tongue and he moaned. The strange girl held a bowl to his lips and he drank. It worked fast; he felt the headache lessen to an acceptable level, and his brain rearranged itself. 'Olle?' his lips formed.
'I'm here.' The familiar face of his foster brother appeared beside the girl. 'How are you?'
'I've been better. Where are we?'
'Still at the inn. You're ill.'
Ghyll closed his eyes, but to no avail. The world around him kept turning and turning... Then a strange smell wiped everything out.
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