'You speak whereof you know nothing.'

'I know enough. I know that the thing seated across the fire from me is not Bardolin of Carreirida, and the succubus which hides silent in the shadows behind you was not conjured up for his comfort.'

'And yet she is a comfort, nonetheless.'

'Then why are you here? To sit and wax nostalgic about the old days?'

'Is that so inexplicable, so hard to believe?' Golophin dropped his eyes. 'I don't know. Ten, twelve years ago I thought there was a part of my apprentice which could still be saved. I am no longer so sure. I am consorting with the enemy now.'

'It does not have to be that way. I am still the Bardolin you knew. Because of me, Hawkwood is alive.'

'That was your master's whim.'

'Partly. The survival of the other had nothing to do with me though, you may be sure.' 'What other?'

'The Presbyter of Hebrion's right hand.' I don't understand, Bard.'

‘I can tell you no more. I, also, am consorting with the enemy do not forget.'

The two wizards stared at each other without animosity, only a gentle kind of sadness.

'It is not as though Hebrion has been destroyed, Golophin,' Bardolin said softly. 'It has merely suffered a change in ownership.'

'That sounds like the self-justification of the thief.'

'You are so damned wilful - and wilfully blind.' Here Bardolin leaned forward so that the firelight carved a crannied mask out of his bluff features.

"The fleet did not make landfall in Hebrion out of a mere whim, Golophin. Your - our - homeland is vital to Aruan's plans. It so happens that Hebrion, and the Hebros Mountains, were once part of the Western Continent.'

'How can you—'

'Let me finish. At some time in the unimaginable past Normannia and the west were one great land mass, but they split apart aons ago, drifting like great lilypads and letting the ocean flood in between them. Aruan and his chief mages have been conducting research into the matter for many years.'

'So?'

'So, there is something, some element or mineral in the very bowels of the Western Continent which is in effect the essence of the energy we know as magic. Pure theurgy, running like a vein of precious ore through the very bedrock of the earth. It is that which has made Aruan what he is.'

'And you what you have become, I take it.'

'This energy runs through the Hebros also, for the Hebros and the mountains of the Western Continent were once part of the same chain. That is why Hebrion has always been home to more of the Dweomer-folk than any other of the Five King­doms. That is why Hebrion had to fall. Golophin, you have no conception of the great researches that are underway, in the west, at Charibon, even in Perigraine. Aruan is close to solving an ancient and paramount riddle. What are the Dweomer-folk, and how were they created? Is it in fact possible to imbue an ordinary man with the Dweomer, and make of him a mage?'

Golophin found his bitter reply dying in his mouth. Despite himself, he was fascinated. Bardolin smiled.

'Think of the progress this army of mages can make in the pursuit of pure knowledge, given all the materials they need, allowed to proceed in peace with their studies. Golophin, for the first time in history, the bowels of the Library of St Garaso in Charibon have been opened up and laid bare. There are treatises and grimoires down there that predate the First Empire. They have been sealed away by the Church for centuries, and now they are finally being studied by those who can understand them. I have seen a first edition of Ardinac's Bestiary—'

'No! They were all destroyed by Willardius.'

Bardolin laughed, and threw his hands up in the air. 'I've seen it, I tell you! Golophin, listen to me, think about this. Imagine what a mind like yours, allied to that of Aruan, could mean for the progress of learning, both theurgical and other­wise. An eighth Discipline is only the beginning. This is a precious opportunity, a crux of history right here and now, with the bats squeaking round our ears in the hills north of Torunn. It may be there are things about our regime that you find distasteful - no man is perfect, not even Aruan. But damn it all, our motives are pure enough. To lead mankind down a different path.

'At this time, there is a fork in the road. Man can either follow what he terms as science, and develop ever more efficient means of killing, and build a world where there is no place for the Dweomer, and which will eventually see its death. Or he can embrace his true heritage, and become something entirely different. A society can be created in which theurgy is part of daily commerce, and learning is treasured above the soot-stained tinkering of the artisan. At this point in history, mankind must choose between these two destinies, and that choice will be made in a tide of blood, because that is the way of revolutions. But that, regrettable though it may be, does not make the choice invalid.

'Join us, Golophin, in the name of God. Perhaps we can spare the world some of that bloodletting.'

The two men stared intently across the fire at one another. Golophin could not speak. For the first time in his long life he did not know what to say.

'I'm not asking you to decide now. But at least think about it.' Bardolin rose. 'Aruan has been away from Normannia a long time. It is a foreign country to him. But that is not true for us. Learned though he is, we possess a familiarity with this world of today that he lacks. He respects you, Golophin. And if your conscience still niggles, think on this: I am convinced you would have more influence over his deeds as a counsellor and friend rather than as an antagonist.

'As for me, my friend you have always been, and yet remain - whatever you might choose to believe.'

Bardolin rose to his feet with the smooth alacrity of a much younger man. 'Think about it, Golophin. At least do that. Farewell.'

And he was gone, only a slight stirring in the air, a faint whiff of ozone to mark his passing. Golophin did not move, but stared into the firelight like a blind man.

Ten

The Bladehall was crowded, bubbling with talk that rose to the tall roof beams in a babble of surmise. Virtually every senior officer in the country was present with the exception of Aras of Gaderion, but he had sent a staff officer-cum-courier to represent him and to inform the High Command of recent events at the gap.

The King entered without ceremony, limping a little as he always did when he was tired. It was common knowledge about the palace that most nights lately he slept in a chair by the Queen's bed. She was very low now, and would not last more than a few more days. Only the day before, a formal embassy had been sent out to Aurungabar on her express orders, and the court was still in a feverish frenzy of specu­lation as to what it might signify. It was as well to steer clear of the King, though. His temper, never particularly equable, had become truly savage of late.

The hall hushed as he entered, flanked by General Formio and a tall, horribly scarred old man in travel-stained robes who bore a haversack on one shoulder. Corfe's personal body­guard, Felorin, brought up the rear, watching the stranger's back warily. The little group came to a halt in front of the map-table and Corfe scanned the faces of the assembled officers. They were staring at his aged companion with avid curiosity.

'Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to the mage Golophin of Hebrion, one-time chief advisor to King Abeleyn. He is here with tidings from the west which take precedence over all other matters for the moment. Golophin, if you please.'

The old wizard thanked Corfe and then stared at the hungry faces which surrounded him much as the King had done. His mellifluous voice was without its customary music as he spoke.