Mordraud, Book One Read online

  ‘My moment, at last! Where’s Lisea? Is she admiring what I can do too?’

  When he sought out her gaze, he found her holding Denor’s arm. She was caressing it, her eyes entranced by the flame.

  What a fool he’d been to believe it possible, he thought.

  “The stench of blood, butchered flesh and amputated feet!” he yelled ferociously, continuing to shape his chanting, moving from melancholy to fury. He laced his words with ever harsher, sharper, hammering syllables. An extremely sophisticated passage.

  “The foe advancing and slaying your friends!” he issued, as his hands widened and the flame rose higher and higher.

  “There, I attack!”

  Dunwich spread his small scrawny arms and a pillar of fire blasted out, flying over the heads of the people surrounding him. Night faded for an instant, making way for the scene of a devastating blaze. The flames vanished only when his hands closed again, and only then – too late – did he see the pure terror in his new friends’ eyes. Lisea was clutching Denor and was sobbing, the young man was forcing his head high, in an attempt to hold out against the emotion that had overwhelmed him in listening to the captivating melody. Ronio had stepped back a few paces, ashen-faced, taking Silia with him, who instead was staring right at Dunwich with a strange shine in her eyes.

  ‘Why’s she looking at me like that?’ Dunwich wondered, between spasms of shame over what he’d just done. Events had slipped entirely out of hand. But at least something had come out of it.

  A morbid attraction seemed to ring out of the medicine student’s gaze.

  “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...”

  “For love of the Gods, you’re... powerful...” stammered Denor as he tried to calm Lisea at his side. “Incredibly so...”

  “I think it’s time I was off home,” said Dunwich as he stepped back, moving away from the others.

  “I’ll try and remember how you did it!” shouted Denor after him.

  Dunwich hoped he wouldn’t. He’d met some nice people for the very first time, and perhaps he’d already ruined everything. But he’d learnt something too. A new and shamefully exciting detail.

  Lisea holding that tall muscly young man’s arm had infuriated him. He’d felt hatred running in his veins.

  And that anger had suddenly made him so very much more powerful.

  ***

  Luckily for him, Lisea’s small cluster of friends didn’t seem to hold a grudge for his reckless demonstration of might. The evenings he spent with them became the rhythm marking Dunwich’s months of study, the vent for releasing the pressure he endlessly felt encumbering him. Denor improved noticeably thanks to his tips, and Ronio too. Dunwich literally devoured the years of the Arcane, excelling in technique even some of the chanting teachers. Seneo alone was able to keep pace with him, even if the boy sometimes endeavoured to push himself beyond his tutor’s technical capacity. He was able to strike up a resonance in such a brief time that it was almost imperceptible. It was as if he were chanting within himself, at a speed that lay outside the scope of listening. Rumours and comments about him circulated unbridled. Many whispered that he would soon stand alongside Raelin, Cambria’s oldest and most expert chanter, who performed his duties under the direct guidance of Emperor Loralon in that period, coordinating the Arcane’s operations in the meantime.

  Dunwich was a step away from becoming Raelin’s successor, and he hadn’t yet turned twenty. He also had unconditional approval from Seneo, who saw his teaching reputation grow to mirror that of Cambria’s time-honoured founders of chanting. Dunwich spent his time at the Arcane but didn’t join in with the choirs. He would often conduct them, moving his hands to sketch the rhythm and dictating, in chanters’ sign language, which movements to make. Or he would simply spend hours listening, to understand the mistakes.

  He saw his friends often, and he’d been granted a generous portion of Seneo’s house for this purpose. The others who’d studied with him had been ousted, merely to make room for him. Which caused him not a moment of grief. Dunwich discovered, without a tinge of remorse, that he could simply not care about the future of four or five pathetic wretches. Nobody would accuse him of heartlessness. He was centre of attention for all.

  One day, as he was leaving the Arcane building, instead of heading to the park to meet his friends, Dunwich stopped to talk to Raelin. Loralon’s personal chanter. Occasionally they’d exchange a few formal words, and they weren’t on close enough terms yet to relate to each other in a more relaxed manner. The elder chanter wasn’t particularly pleased to already have a potential replacement, and Dunwich wasn’t fond of a submissive role. They began discussing his future at the Arcane.

  “I feel there’s not much more you can learn here,” the master began, going directly to the point. “You should embark on a career in the city. This art is developed through practice... You no longer need the theory.”

  “My tutor believes there’s always something more to be offered by the theory...” Dunwich replied in surprise. He thought Raelin would be much happier to see him shut away in the Arcane, rather than find him full sail in a sea of work opportunities. He wasn’t expecting help in this direction.

  “I feel you’re over-qualified to stay here. You’ve no space for growth.”

  Since when had the maestro been concerned about his future, he asked himself. Dunwich had achieved well-deserved fame without ever actively pursuing it. Illustrating his abilities had been enough for that. ‘And the great thing is nobody’s witnessed the fruits of my private training yet...’ he reflected. Not even Seneo was aware of his progress in resonance research. He hadn’t stopped at simply manipulating reality, as was taught to the Arcane choir members. Shaping fire or water, or the wind. Dunwich had ventured beyond.

  He was just waiting for the right moment to demonstrate it. He hadn’t realised it was so close.

  Raelin had spurred him to it.

  “Do you have something specific in mind, maestro?”

  “Hmm, perhaps,” nodded Raelin. Dunwich glanced around in puzzlement. His friends had remarked on his absence and were coming along the avenue that led to the Arcane staircase. Astounding how things had changed in just a few months, he mused. He seemed like a nondescript child amongst them. Attractive and well-dressed, with thick black hair and blue eyes. But far too young to be with people of their age.

  It was hard to believe he’d become their compass point for everything. Those who managed to be accepted by Dunwich could hope for a helping hand in their career. He was a sturdy cart launched at great speed.

  Downhill.

  “I agree with Seneo. He has organised a dinner for tomorrow evening, and I will be there too, together with a potential client – your first. A very important person.”

  “A dinner? Will it be formal?” Dunwich wondered. The following day? He wouldn’t even get to conclude his study programme at the Arcane. The endless harmony lessons. The choir practice where he seemed to be the only one with a decent sense of rhythm.

  He couldn’t wait for the next day.

  “No, Seneo would like your friends to come too. It’ll be a sort of party, you’ll see. Bearing in mind the client who’s asked to speak to you, you could see it like passing an exam... One you didn’t realise you’d taken.”

  ***

  “Hey, Seneo, I think your crystal tableware needs replacing...” blurted Dunwich, red in the face, as he tapped the bottom of his goblet. “My glass has got... a hole in it!”

  What Raelin had said was true. The dinner arranged by Seneo was not the usual symposium of boring Arcane purists. There was music over in the corner: two violas and a flute, played rather well. It was staged in the main hall, the residence’s most impressive room. The long table was set simply and was laden with platters of cold meats, cheeses, soused fish and granary rolls. Dunwich was surrounded by his friends and was sitting at the head of the table. At the other end conversed Seneo, Raelin and a few other Arcane masters. Curious, he thought, dazed
by the wine. Only his tutor’s closest friends were present at the dinner. Many other teachers hadn’t been invited.

  Dunwich still hadn’t worked out the reason for that party, which was halfway between a gala event and a sort of birthday celebration.

  “Go slow on the wine, my boy! You haven’t got the build for these things!” yelled Ronio, slapping the tabletop. The cutlery and porcelain crockery tinkled, mingling with the laughter of those present. Lisea and Denor were sitting near one other, smirking. Instead Silia was placed next to Dunwich and stared at him occasionally, clapping at his every witticism. He was in good form. The wine was lending him a hand. Seneo was laughing and joking with his eminent guests, who were amused to watch that rabble of impulsive youngsters tease each other and make merry.

  “Well, you little genius... you still haven’t told us the reason behind this tableful of delights!” cried Denor, raising his half-empty goblet, which was topped up at once by an attendant.

  “Seneo!” Dunwich got up, struggling to free himself from the flap of white tablecloth. “Here they’re all demanding to know what it is we’re celebrating! And, you know, I’m curious too!”

  “One guest hasn’t arrived yet. Make yourself comfortable and you’ll see,” replied Raelin for the other man. Their exchanged wink escaped Dunwich’s interpretation. They seemed to be doing what they could to make him drink. It was a most surreal evening, he considered. He was behaving like an absolute twit in front of the man who’d put a roof over his head, and in the company of the Empire’s most respected chanter. Not to mention several others he couldn’t care less about.

  “Do they all leave the Arcane like this?!” Dunwich asked Ronio. His friend had been at the academy longer than him, but had never shown signs of being fed up with it.

  “No, the best are normally selected and go to serve prominent noblemen,” Ronio replied, in a quieter tone. He was on his best behaviour, probably because he was hoping to be noticed by the Arcane’s dean. Dunwich let him carry on. However he might try, actions spoke for themselves. Ronio was much less gifted than he was. Like all the others, he mused, steeped in a liquid pride.

  “And you, Denor?! What’ve you got to say for yourself? Are you going to get a move on?! The years go by and you get older...” Dunwich teased. Denor leant forward as if to punch him in the mouth, he missed by a hair’s breadth and then hugged him, laughing. A surreal scene. A giant careful not to mangle an impudent brat.

  “When I’m a Lance, I swear I’ll use all my salary to buy your services... and I’m make you sing while I crap in the lav! You know, your voice is the best spark in the world.”

  “When I’m a Lance, when I’m a Lance,” mumbled Dunwich, chuckling coarsely. “You talk a lot but you’re still not one! Fancy seeing a real beauty of a resonance flame?!”

  Denor laughed in reply but when he saw Dunwich really was about to chant, his smile vanished and he caught his hand. “Forget it. This isn’t the time...” he insisted, concerned what the illustrious men at the other end of the table might think. He didn’t want to make a bad impression either. And Dunwich was being a git, never mind how drunk he was.

  Dunwich managed to free his hand, downed his glass of wine and pushed himself back on his chair. He was balancing on two of its legs, his fingers laced between them, and his forehead wrinkled as if pressing his palms together with superhuman force.

  “Where are you, you sodding little flame?” he growled, huffing ridiculously. “Where are you, you filthy little whore...”

  Seneo laughed and clapped another master on the back. A tutor who’d never taught Dunwich. They all seemed extremely happy and carefree. Even too much so. Instead, Raelin’s mood had darkened. Maybe his tutor and the dean had exchanged unpleasant words, thought Dunwich. He could see too many people sitting around the table. Or rather the tables. There were two of them. Two separate ones. Seneo tapped his glass with his knife to call everyone’s attention. Dunwich remained motionless and balanced on the chair, his hands joined as if in prayer, his lips slightly parted as if he were a bit slow.

  “Lads, please, behave yourselves now!” exclaimed the tutor. “The other guests are here.”

  “And who might they be?! You’re here. My friends... are here... So who’s missing?” brayed Dunwich, wobbling on the chair. Silia stretched out a hand to tidy his black hair that had tumbled over his eyes. Very kind of her, he observed. He weighed her up in an instant. She wasn’t stunning. But he could see four or five of her at that precise moment, so he decided he liked her all the same.

  “The captain of the Imperial Lances... Asaeld.”

  Denor broke straight into a cough, smoothing out the soft velvet purple shirt he’d put on for the evening. Dunwich looked around, disorientated. They’d all stiffened. He’d entirely missed the visitor’s importance.

  “WHO?!”

  Two men came into the dining room, both wearing the Lance armour. Black and gleaming, with gold details. Beings spawned from an alcohol nightmare. Stunning and fearsome, the impression made on Dunwich.

  Stunning and fearsome.

  “Don’t worry, Seneo... He’s enjoying his evening. Why shouldn’t he?”

  Asaeld was the most formidable man Dunwich had ever seen. Tall, well-built, and with a jaw that seemed cast in lead. His eyes were shrewd and questioning. He instilled unnatural apprehension, as if an invisible yet dense mist of authority hung around him. But the way he spoke and looked about left Dunwich disoriented. That was a true man of power, he told himself. But he was also a fellow soldier and knew how to ensure he was loved and, above all, respected by his men. He must have been about fifty, but seemed younger. The other Lances at his side looked like undernourished boys by comparison.

  “I’m sorry... I didn’t realise...” stammered Dunwich. He made to sit back down but completely lost his sense of balance. And plunged awkwardly backwards, experiencing an eternal moment of feeling like a total fool.

  ‘No.’

  The chair hit the terracotta floor.

  All those present watched as Dunwich merged with and disappeared into the ground.

  He’d chanted instinctively, striking the resonance with lightning speed and precision. Just the time it took to fall. A few syllables murmured through clenched teeth. His body had blended with the chair, had passed through it and had sunk into the floor. An image leaving the entire table speechless. Seneo and Raelin were staring at his empty place in alarm. His friends had gone ashen and jumped to their feet in terror.

  Asaeld was the only one with an involuntary smile brightening his face.

  Dunwich re-emerged a few paces from the overturned chair. He hoisted himself up onto the terracotta tiles as if struggling to climb several steps. He pulled his foot free and the floor surface rippled. The solid matter around his body reacted as if it were a liquid he could wade in at leisure. He rose to his feet unsteadily, let out a subdued belch and ran his hands through his messy hair.

  “For love of all the blessed Gods...” exclaimed a shocked Seneo. “What did you do?!”

  “It was a surprise I was saving for... well, a more appropriate moment,” Dunwich answered simply. Even the musicians were staring at him, astounded. The room was shrouded in still silence. Seneo motioned to them to take up playing again at once. Everybody returned to their places around the table. Asaeld sat down next to Raelin. Dunwich’s friends were watching the masters in expectation of a burst of rage, a scolding that failed to usher forth.

  “I didn’t even hear the chant... How did he manage the resonance?” Denor mumbled. Lisea shook her head in disbelief. Silia glared at him and shifted closer to Dunwich.

  Her hand slipped onto his leg.

  Dunwich welcomed the initiative with a pleased chortle. His drunken stupor seemed to have evaporated at the instant. They were all observing him in awe, unable to go back to chatting relaxedly. Raelin was busy in quiet confab with Seneo. The other tutors were asking each other how it was possible to strike up a resonance between one’s own body
and the ground, especially on the brief timescale that smooth-faced boy had done it in.

  Unexpectedly, Asaeld raised his goblet and made a toast. “I’d intended to propose this earlier, in honour of what’s said about you in the city, my dear Dunwich... But now I know it’s not a myth. A toast is not enough!”

  “You flatter me,” Dunwich replied in a composed voice. He was staring at Asaeld from the bottom upwards, in a contorted blend of reverential trepidation and the desire to triumph over him. He wanted to show that man everything he was capable of. And he didn’t want to fear him, as all the others in the room did, he noticed. No, he wished to be his equal.

  Silia’s hand was a remarkable incentive. One of the countless advantages of power.

  Asaeld responded by artfully modelling his voice into a very low and solid boom, a vibrating rumble. A splendid tone. A call that had incited hordes of men to hurl themselves at the enemy.

  “I have a proposal to make.”

  An attendant cleared the commander’s place immediately. It became obvious that Asaeld was the client who’d organised the dinner. Seneo proffered a silver and walnut pipe, plus a pouch of pale tobacco. Asaeld thanked him and accepted the offer, carefully packing the pipe’s bowl. Dunwich’s stomach was knotted from curiosity but he maintained a self-possessed expression. He wasn’t on edge or frightened, he was just eager to push ahead. The musicians played more quietly to avoid intruding on the silence of those present. Denor was so tense he could have been snapped in two. Lisea was holding his arm and was gently stroking his neck. Dunwich could feel Silia’s fingers quivering on his thigh. Not at all unpleasant, he thought.

  “I propose you join the Imperial Lances. For you to become a captain, naturally,” finished Asaeld, after his first satisfying intake of dense smoke.