futures will do that. Terrible combination. I could barely stop them from griping at me. I got twice the number of names you wanted. I should be asking for double.’
‘In that case, I shall count myself lucky.’
‘That you should.’
‘Careful, Colonel. Only a hot forge lies between a pile of coins and a blade. They are of the same stuff, after all.’
There was a rustle. A knife was reached for. ‘You threatening me?’
The subtle squelch of lips sliding over teeth. ‘Of course I am. Remember, that coin at your feet is not a bribe. It is compensation.’
‘Compensation? For what?’
‘For living the rest of your life knowing the Copse could have you excommunicated and executed for treachery, at any moment. You have friends in high places, Colonel. High, and very dangerous places. Dangerous friends.’
There was a silence. The sort reserved for when cheeks drain, mouths hang agape, and hearts sink into places where only other organs tarry. The sound of realisation. ‘You couldn’t.’
‘Could I not? Think of where I will be in a few hours.’
The colonel bit his tongue for a moment. Then, with the creaking of leather, he bent down and picked up the bag of coins. It was heavy indeed. He tucked it firmly under his jerkin before he lifted up his shield. He nodded in the direction of the sea. ‘Where have they gone?’
The hooded man hummed. ‘North, so my ears tell me. After that girl, and her daemons too. Fool’s errand and a one-way voyage, if we are lucky.’
‘Hmph. And what, may I ask, happens if it’s not?’
‘Then you, Colonel Jarvins,’ said the man, ‘will be leading the army that greets them.’
The man called Jarvins swore he heard a chuckle. ‘And what of Arkmage Durnus?’
There was another silence. ‘Will you be… er, removing him?’
Silence again. ‘Hello?’
But no reply came. Colonel Jarvins peeked around the corner and found that his employer had faded into the fog. He spat, cursed, and promptly faded himself.
Durnus gently let the book fall to a close with a thud and thumbed at his tired eyes. Strange, how his eyes were bereft of the luxury of sight, yet still managed to ache as if they had spent the whole day hard at work. Strange it was, and irritating.
Durnus waved his hand to the servant standing by his side and dismissed him. The man bowed and scuttled away. He hadn’t understood a thing of what he had just witnessed, but no doubt it had been very odd. Ghostly books and vanishing inks. Probably wasn’t natural in his eyes. No wonder he left as quickly as he could.
As the door clicked softly shut behind him, Durnus got to his feet and began to feel his way to a cabinet. It wasn’t often he felt the need for wine, but tonight he did. With a sigh, he uncorked a bottle with square edges and felt for a glass. He listened to the wine gurgling. One. Two. Three . That will do. He tiled the wine back and set it on the side.
Old habits die the hardest, and even despite fifteen years of being blind, Durnus’ was to wander to the windows and stare out at his city, imagining the slope of its countless roofs, its cobbled capillaries and veins. Occasionally he would even wander onto his balcony and lean over as if he were watching his people.
As the old Arkmage pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window, he mentally churned his distant counterpart’s words over in his head. One stuck out like a thorn, snagging at him: No. Of all the words they had traded, that, and its punching stubbornness, was what made Durnus sad.
Time, for immortals, can only be measured in what others lack of it. Disease and age held no sway over Durnus. The sun could set and rise again and it meant nothing. Another day in a sea of thousands. These days, time was only apparent to him when others were running out of it. Modren and Elessi, for example. The shortest of marriages, and now she lay in bed, swiftly running out of time. Tyrfing too, and his unwillingness to tell Farden
‘In that case, I shall count myself lucky.’
‘That you should.’
‘Careful, Colonel. Only a hot forge lies between a pile of coins and a blade. They are of the same stuff, after all.’
There was a rustle. A knife was reached for. ‘You threatening me?’
The subtle squelch of lips sliding over teeth. ‘Of course I am. Remember, that coin at your feet is not a bribe. It is compensation.’
‘Compensation? For what?’
‘For living the rest of your life knowing the Copse could have you excommunicated and executed for treachery, at any moment. You have friends in high places, Colonel. High, and very dangerous places. Dangerous friends.’
There was a silence. The sort reserved for when cheeks drain, mouths hang agape, and hearts sink into places where only other organs tarry. The sound of realisation. ‘You couldn’t.’
‘Could I not? Think of where I will be in a few hours.’
The colonel bit his tongue for a moment. Then, with the creaking of leather, he bent down and picked up the bag of coins. It was heavy indeed. He tucked it firmly under his jerkin before he lifted up his shield. He nodded in the direction of the sea. ‘Where have they gone?’
The hooded man hummed. ‘North, so my ears tell me. After that girl, and her daemons too. Fool’s errand and a one-way voyage, if we are lucky.’
‘Hmph. And what, may I ask, happens if it’s not?’
‘Then you, Colonel Jarvins,’ said the man, ‘will be leading the army that greets them.’
The man called Jarvins swore he heard a chuckle. ‘And what of Arkmage Durnus?’
There was another silence. ‘Will you be… er, removing him?’
Silence again. ‘Hello?’
But no reply came. Colonel Jarvins peeked around the corner and found that his employer had faded into the fog. He spat, cursed, and promptly faded himself.
Durnus gently let the book fall to a close with a thud and thumbed at his tired eyes. Strange, how his eyes were bereft of the luxury of sight, yet still managed to ache as if they had spent the whole day hard at work. Strange it was, and irritating.
Durnus waved his hand to the servant standing by his side and dismissed him. The man bowed and scuttled away. He hadn’t understood a thing of what he had just witnessed, but no doubt it had been very odd. Ghostly books and vanishing inks. Probably wasn’t natural in his eyes. No wonder he left as quickly as he could.
As the door clicked softly shut behind him, Durnus got to his feet and began to feel his way to a cabinet. It wasn’t often he felt the need for wine, but tonight he did. With a sigh, he uncorked a bottle with square edges and felt for a glass. He listened to the wine gurgling. One. Two. Three . That will do. He tiled the wine back and set it on the side.
Old habits die the hardest, and even despite fifteen years of being blind, Durnus’ was to wander to the windows and stare out at his city, imagining the slope of its countless roofs, its cobbled capillaries and veins. Occasionally he would even wander onto his balcony and lean over as if he were watching his people.
As the old Arkmage pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window, he mentally churned his distant counterpart’s words over in his head. One stuck out like a thorn, snagging at him: No. Of all the words they had traded, that, and its punching stubbornness, was what made Durnus sad.
Time, for immortals, can only be measured in what others lack of it. Disease and age held no sway over Durnus. The sun could set and rise again and it meant nothing. Another day in a sea of thousands. These days, time was only apparent to him when others were running out of it. Modren and Elessi, for example. The shortest of marriages, and now she lay in bed, swiftly running out of time. Tyrfing too, and his unwillingness to tell Farden
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