Ringwall's Doom. Wolf Awert
hazard a guess that he is on the way back from the Sanctuary to these, ahem, caves. He will probably choose to take the portal to the Battlefield, and from there to the portal that leads from the Metal quarter to the kitchens. Once there he’ll pass through the mucklings’ work rooms to get into the entrance hall. That’s only a few steps from the stairs down into the catacombs. The best place to catch him is in the kitchens.”
“I am astonished that you still know so much about the habits of old friends you have not seen in a long time,” Morlane teased.
“Habits make us humans, my dear. Habits! And, now and again, a watchful eye to see whether they don’t change. Now, if you please, time is fleeting.” The mummer’s act was dropped. Ambrosimas was once again the archmage, and he left no doubt as to what he wanted.
“I will see what I can do.” Morlane had not abandoned her smile, but her lips seemed to have frozen.
Nill squeezed past the empty tables and benches in the mages’ dining hall, stepped sideways and entered Growarth’s realm. Growarth, according to none other than himself, was the highest-ranking warlock in all of Ringwall, and had complete command of the kitchens. Nill did not doubt the truth of his claim – he was the only warlock in Ringwall.
Occasionally Nill visited his old friend, but today he was in a hurry to get back to the safety of the catacombs. From the back, where meats were smoked and pickled, vegetables were washed and fruits were sorted, he heard the busy sounds of the mucklings. Plates clattered, water sploshed and now and again a knife sang as it felt the whetstone. The only thing he did not hear were voices. The mucklings knew that silence was safest.
Nill slipped through the chambers like a shadow until something plucked at his sleeve. He turned about and saw a girl with a face as white as chalk, her lips pressed together resolutely.
“I have an invitation for you.”
Nill was not in the mood for being invited anywhere. One could never know what the other’s intention was, so he remained silent and waited with a blank look on his face. The young girl had used up all her courage and had to take another deep breath before forcing out another sentence.
“My mistress, High Lady Morlane, begs the pleasure of your company. Will you come, your Excellency?”
Nill had to laugh. The girl turned, if possible, even paler.
This is how far it’s come, Nill thought, for my laugh to scare young girls. Out loud he said: “Very well, you may go. Tell her I will be happy to follow her invitation soon.”
The girl looked close to tears. “Now!” she choked.
“Is it so urgent?” Nill wondered. “Tell her I’ll come. Ask only a few moments patience.”
Nill remembered all too well how Ambrosimas had demanded he learn courtly manners from Morlane. He had obeyed, albeit with the purpose never to bend. But he had underestimated the High Lady’s ingenuity. With only a few words, she had gained a devoted student.
The girl still seemed rooted to the spot, her chest heaving with uneven breaths.
“Go, your path is not mine,” Nill said and waited until the girl had gone. With only a few steps he had left the kitchens. Together with his old friend Brolok he had found hidden passages and gateways that not even the archmages used any more. He chose them now for a long detour before knocking on Morlane’s door.
“You are certain this is the right way to approach him?” the High Lady asked into the room, where Ambrosimas sat, immobile as an armchair.
He saw Nill pull back the hood of his robe with a quick movement. Morlane offered her delicate hand, and Nill took it courteously by the fingertips. But as he bent the knee he trod on the hem of his robe, and both of them began to laugh. Ambrosimas, watching in silence, smiled.
He is still half a boy, Ambrosimas thought. He is endearing on one side, yet the other – well, one of the dangerous kind. I enjoy dangerous people. They are the only ones who truly move things in life. You just have to discover who they’re dangerous for in time.
The boy before him was evidently the innocent side of his former charge. That was the side that interested him least. He had sensed a change. A change in Nill, in Ringwall, and in the magical patterns of Pentamuria. He had to find out what was behind it.
When Nill saw Ambrosimas, the smile that had lit up his features vanished like game from a clearing that had heard a twig crack. A cautious, almost wary expression replaced it.
“A greeting like that will be welcome at any court in the land, but I’d advise keeping it for truly important ladies. For a queen or queen mother, perhaps even for a first-born princess,” Ambrosimas joked as he stretched on his mountain of fluffy pillows.
“Or for the woman he wants to take home when he has had enough of magic,” Morlane added with a glance towards Ambrosimas before turning back to Nill. “You should pay no heed to his japes, your Excellency. I am glad you could come,” she said, pausing for a beat after addressing him as such. It gave it a very special meaning.
“Now that not just one but two archmages have come to visit my home, I feel a little superfluous at the moment. I will leave you alone for a while and make sure you suffer no disturbance. But do not leave! I will be back soon, and I hope to find both of you still here.” And with a smile she slipped through the door – it barely seemed to have opened. Nill made a gesture of helplessness towards her, as if he meant to hold her and keep her there, but she had already gone.
“And now it’s just us two, Nill. And even though I’m not your host, I’d like to suggest you sit down. It is so much more comfortable to have a chat while sitting, wouldn’t you agree?”
The magic Ambrosimas put into these words was a spell of insignificance. He had spent some time considering how best to begin the conversation; he knew that the first sentence is always the most dangerous, especially if when it comes after a long period of silence. Nill the archmage is no longer Nill the boy, he mused. Or is he? We shall see. Ambrosimas also knew that Nill still longed to find his missing father, so he put some amount of fatherly affection into it.
Ambrosimas eyed the slender figure before him appraisingly. Nill had visibly changed over the past few winters. He had grown taller, and looked even thinner for it. His hair had been ruffled by the cowl; it was the only thing that made his face still look youthful.
“What would you ask of me, brother in spirit?” Nill enquired politely.
“Brother in spirit, pah! Nill! My boy, are we in the High Council? I was simply in the area and looked in on Morlane – as you know, a very special friend of mine. That is all. She asked about you and I was not even able to tell her how you’re doing. It was shameful.”
Ambrosimas increased the geniality in his voice to disguise his indignation; he awoke wistful memories at the mention of Morlane, and crowned his artwork with just a touch of reproach – enough to stimulate a slight regret, but keeping some distance from the dangerous game of guilt. That was his gift as the Archmage of Thoughts: to arouse emotions to always get what he wanted. Well, nearly always, he admitted to himself. It did not work on the council. They had known him for too long, and influencing an archmage required something completely different than a bit of wordplay. Alas, Nill had always been a difficult target too, and would be no less difficult today. Ambrosimas could see how cautious Nill was; Nill’s focus was not just on him, but also on keeping his own feelings at bay.
“Thank you, I’m very well,” Nill replied slowly. He had not missed Ambrosimas’ unusual warmth. He slowly sat down on a small stool, his feet close together, his back straight. It was no more comfortable than standing, but kept a safe distance between them nonetheless.
“I must admit I have difficulty believing you arranged our meeting to ask me how I feel,” he added.
“Oh, you do me so wrong, dear boy. The question of how you feel is the one that surrounds me day and night. Ever since