Disclaimers: see part 1, chapter 1

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By Jane Fletcher

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The wind blew in sharp gusts over the castle walls, sending flurries of snow to swirl and chase around the battlements. Stars glittered coldly in the clear night sky between the boughs of trees growing in the enclosed courtyard. A warmer, yellow light spilled from the thin arrow slits of the great hall and lay in bars across the trampled snow covering the cobblestones. Icicles hung from lintels, but the windows, sealed by magic, allowed no cold drafts to enter the building.

Inside it was warm and still. The steady light from several small floating spheres was supplemented by the red glow from the stone-built fireplace. In front of the hearth lay a brown bear, sleeping peacefully on a rug like a huge dog. Its faint snores and the crackling of flames were the only sounds.

The hall was clearly a workroom. Charts and well-stocked bookcases lined the walls. Open shelves held collections of dried herbs, bones, stones and arcane instruments. Larger items were stacked in corners. Dozens of stoppered bottles, filled with a multicoloured assortment of liquids, reflected back the firelight from every part of the room. The flagstones of the floor, although stained and pitted in places, were swept clean.

An open wooden staircase was fixed to the wall at one end. It gave access to two doorways. The lower of these was halfway up the wall; the higher was level with the blackened timbers of the rafters. The opposite end of the room had a raised dais with an ancient table. Its scorched and battered top was bare apart from an open book, an ink bottle and a pen.

A floating sphere hung over the table, but this one was very different to the lamps. It was nearly two feet in diameter. A green sickly tincture rippled over it, while the surface quivered in the soft currents of air, like a soap bubble. The light from the fire and lamps did not appear to touch the sphere. It was semi-transparent, but the indistinct outlines seen through it did not look like the far side of the room. It did not move, but it still gave the unmistakable impression of searching - or hunting.

Some yards away sat the sphere's creator, Jemeryl, oath-bound sorcerer of the Coven at Lyremouth. She leaned back to view her handiwork. Her chin was supported by her cupped hand. Her free arm was draped along the back of the chair. One leg was hitched over the armrest. Her clothes were loose fitting and clearly chosen for comfort rather than to reflect her status. They looked not so much as if she had slept in them, but rather that it would be hard to tell if she did. Her face was composed of angles, narrow chin, pinched nose, chiselled cheekbones. Her hazel eyes studied the green sphere intently. Then, slowly, the serious expression gave way to an impish grin, that transformed her face in a display of youthful delight. Her fist punched the air in triumph. She ran a hand through her curly, auburn hair then twisted her head to view Klara, the magpie, who was perched on a nearby bookcase, busily preening her left wing.

"Well, what do you think?" Jemeryl asked.

Klara hardly glanced in the sphere's direction. "It's not exactly pretty." the bird said.

"It isn't supposed to be, but it will create a lot of interest in the Coven."

"Why? Is there a serious shortage of hideous green blobs?"

Jemeryl grinned at the magpie, before swinging her leg down and bouncing to her feet. She paced around the table, appraising the shimmering globe from all sides. "It's the theory behind it that's important. By all the accepted rules of magic it ought to be completely and utterly impossible." she said softly.

Klara flew over to the table and considered the sphere with distaste. "Well personally, I think it's a bit of a shame that it isn't."

The sphere emitted a faint high-pitched whine, that sounded like a hundred trapped mosquitoes. The air around it was unpleasantly chill.

Klara fluffed up her feathers. "I suppose I should just be grateful it doesn't smell - or is that likely to come next?"

Using the back of her hand, Jemeryl brushed the sarcastic magpie off the table, ignoring the indignant squawk. She hooked a small, three-legged stool from under the table with her foot. Klara returned to her perch on the bookshelf while Jemeryl sat down and pulled an open book towards her. For several minutes she riffled back through the preceding pages, cross-checking her notes, then she picked up the pen and began writing. All was silent except for the faint scratching of quill on paper. On the other side of the room, Klara tucked her head under her wing and fell asleep.

* * * * * *

The logs on the fire were burning low by the time Jemeryl put down the pen and stood up. She stretched her arms behind her and rolled her head from side to side to loosen stiffened muscles. As usual, she had lost track of time while she worked, though with her sorcerer's senses she knew it was still well short of midnight. She gave a mental shrug. One advantage of her current situation was that she could set her own schedule. There was nothing to stop her from taking a late supper and having a lie-in the next morning - especially as there was one more thing she wanted to do.

"Now what I need is..." she spoke aloud, awakening Klara,

Her staff was leaning in a nearby corner - six feet of polished oak wood, unadorned apart from the iron-caps on either end. It looked better suited for use in a street brawl than as a magical aid. From her observation point atop the bookcase, Klara watched with increasing alarm as the sorcerer grabbed the staff and returned to the sphere. After five years as Jemeryl's familiar, the magpie knew an ill omen when she saw one. She launched herself from her perch and landed on the head of the sleeping bear.

"Quick Ruff! Get up and hide. Jem is going to do something silly." Klara said.

The bear awoke with a jolt and snorted, a loud, surprised, "Wuff."

At the magpie's insistence he scrabbled to his feet and lumbered down the hall as fast as his four legs would carry him, vanishing from sight behind a heavy cupboard in a far corner. After a few seconds, his head reappeared, as he peered cautiously around the edge, with Klara still in place between his ears.

Jemeryl grinned at the sheltering animals. "Cowards! Look, they aren't frightened." she called and gestured to the row of three squirrels on a high shelf, that were peering down at the table with their bright inquisitive eyes.

"They haven't got the sense." Klara replied as she and Ruff again disappeared from view.

Jemeryl spoke to the squirrels, using tones normally reserved for babies. "Don't worry your fluffy little heads. Auntie Jemi knows what she's doing."

"Rubbish!" came the derisory squawk from behind the cupboard.

The smile faded from Jemeryl's lips as she turned her attention back to the sphere, and a look of intense concentration took its place. Her eyes stared at the shimmering green globe, however her perception was not limited to sight. Her extra-dimensional senses let her see far beyond the boundaries of the ordinary world of the ungifted. Long seconds slipped past, then she raised the staff horizontally in front of her, holding it firmly in both hands. It was time to put theory to the test.

The sphere heaved and began to slowly swell in size, accompanied by an increase in the volume of humming. From deep inside its core, a faint glow appeared, pulsing and surging like a heartbeat. The light grew stronger. Forms started to congeal inside the globe, twisting and fighting like imprisoned phantoms. Jemeryl's breath came in strained gasps and sweat beaded her forehead, while the intertwined shapes grew ever more chaotic. They had almost filled the entire sphere, touching and flowing around the inner surface, when, without warning, the green globe exploded, filling the hall with acrid yellow smoke.

The blast reverberated loudly around the stone walls of the hall. Glassware on the shelves rattled and dust rained down from the rafters. As the last of the echoes faded into silence, there was only the sound of three sets of squirrel claws, frantically scrabbling on the flagstones as the animals dashed for the exit. Hand held over her mouth and nose, Jemeryl followed as quickly as she could. She bumped into furniture in her haste and swore as she cracked her ankle on an obstacle before making it through the doorway and into the clean air of the covered porch. She leaned against the wall, coughing spasmodically. Wisps of luminous smoke trailed away from her hair and clothes on the wind.

In a blur of black and white, Klara landed on a nearby ledge. The magpie put her head on one side and peered at the sorcerer. "Did you mean to do that, Jem?" she asked innocently.

A fresh burst of coughing prevented Jemeryl answering. Once it subsided, she rested her head back on the stonework, and took in deep gulps of the icy night air. Her eyes stung, her throat would be sore tomorrow and her ears were still ringing from the blast, though she had taken no serious harm. The aegis of the staff had shielded her and the squirrels. The other animals had been at a safe distance - at least she hoped so; there was still no sign of Ruff. Even as Jemeryl realised this, the bear ambled from the door at the foot of the adjacent small tower, trailing a plume of yellow smoke behind him and carrying a thick cloak in his mouth. She took it from him gratefully and pulled it around her shoulders. The bear sneezed, and shook his head. More yellow smoke drifted away from his fur.

Through the open doorway of the great hall the light spheres were lost in the sickly yellow haze. There was no point trying to clear up; it could all wait until morning. Jemeryl sighed and stepped from the shelter of the porch into the snow-covered courtyard. All the buildings of the castle opened onto this enclosed space, surrounded by the battlements. There were the kitchens where she could find supper, and the small tower where she had her bedroom and study. She considered them both, but her stomach was queasy from the smoke, and to reach her bedroom she would have to use the stairs at the rear of the hall - better to wait a while for the air to clear. So instead she headed for the keep. The tall stone tower that dominated the site served no purpose in her work. She needn't have bothered putting it back into the reconstruction - except it completed the aesthetic feel of the castle and provided a wonderful lookout point.

Jemeryl climbed the stairs to the small drawbridge and entered under the old portcullis. The spiral staircase led her up past the old armoury and the barrack room, and onto the roof. She emerged under stars. The morning's freezing mists had covered the stonework in a coat of sparkling rime that had not melted during the short winter's day. It crunched faintly under her hand as she leaned against the battlement and looked down.

The castle courtyard was laid out below, with its circle of buildings. Five beech trees grew in the enclosure. They did not truly belong in the reconstruction, having sprouted after the garrison left, but the squirrels liked them so Jemeryl had let the trees stay. Ruff had remained in the courtyard and was padding around the trunks, sniffing at anything that caught his notice. While Jemeryl watched the other bear, Tumble, came out of the kitchens to join him. The two began to play, skidding on the icy cobbles and sending up plumes of powdery snow as they chased each other between the trees. Squirrels scattered in front of them, chattering in indignation - or maybe it was excitement. Sometimes even a sorcerer could be hard put to know exactly what a squirrel was feeling.

Jemeryl wandered to the other side of the tower and looked down on a winter landscape of bare fields, deserted pathways and the snaking line of the river. White snow, brilliant in the light of the rising moon, was cut by inky black shadows under the fir trees. Small silhouettes of cattle and sheep clustered near their barns. The houses of the village were grouped in picturesque disorder around the sheering shed. The wind had dropped and the far side of the valley was lost in blue-grey mist, through which twinkled the lights from distant farmsteads. It was starkly beautiful but, as Jemeryl looked out, she was aware of having mixed feelings. Klara landed on the parapet beside her.

From the village came the faint sound of music and voices, the noise carrying cleanly on the cold air. There seemed to be some sort of a party going on, presumably to entertain the small group of travellers who had passed under the castle walls earlier that day, leading a train of mules. Visitors from the outside world were rare at any time of year. It was unsurprising if the local folk were making an event of their arrival. Jemeryl looked thoughtfully at the high mountains beyond the head of the valley. Even with her magic she wouldn't fancy crossing Whitfell Spur in midwinter. She wondered what desperate circumstances had prompted the travellers to risk the journey - perhaps she should go and find out.

Jemeryl's eyes returned to the village. She was drawn by a sudden desire to go down and join the party, to meet people and talk. She stared at the village hall bleakly, imagining the kind of reception she would get. Jemeryl couldn't remember the last cheerful face she had seen, but she certainly wouldn't find any if she entered the village.

"They don't like you, you know." Klara volunteered.

"I know." Jemeryl sighed deeply. "I just wish I knew why."

As a child, in the village of her birth, Jemeryl had inspired fear and resentment. The other children would not have her as a playmate, although they soon learnt it was unwise to throw stones at her. When she was four her family had persuaded the local witch to adopt her, more to rid their house of Jemeryl's disturbing presence than to benefit her career. She had felt no regret to go. It had been a home without love. At the age of eleven she had left the village to study at Lyremouth, still holding a child's contempt for the ungifted. The education she had received from the Coven had done much to increase her tolerance and understanding - for all the good it had done with the villagers.

True, she had not really wanted to come to the valley, had not wanted to leave Lyremouth. She loved the esoteric study of magic and would happily devote her life to it. However, the Coven rules insisted new sorcerers spend time out in the world, to learn at first hand the needs of the ungifted. Her application for assignment to the valley had been a long shot; she was ridiculously overqualified. To her astonishment, the authorities had agreed.

At the time, Jemeryl had assumed they saw things the same way she did - the rule was a waste of talent. All her local responsibilities in the valley would take no more than a few days each month, leaving her free to concentrate on her studies. When the necessary period in the community was completed, she would be able to return to Lyremouth with a substantial body of work behind her. Jemeryl had a high opinion of her own talents and would not have been in the least surprised to learn that many of her teachers secretly agreed with her.

Two years had passed since she had arrived in the valley. The research had gone well, but she had to admit that her relationship with the villagers had not proceeded totally to plan. Over the months, her contact with them had dwindled to the point of non-existence. On the rare occasions they crossed paths with her, many displayed blatant hostility or fear.

"I've tried to be nice to them." she said defensively.

"That was a waste of effort." Klara retorted.

"I know. I just couldn't seem to talk to any of them."

Klara's head swivelled towards her. "If you want my opinion, the lessons about getting on with the ungifted took totally the wrong approach. Instead of stressing the ideals of citizenship and equality, they should have taught you a few amusing anecdotes about sheep. That would have helped you fit in - it's all the locals ever seem to talk about."

"I think they now talk about me quite a lot." Jemeryl said with bitter honesty.

"In a year's time you can apply to return to Lyremouth; then they'll have to find something new to talk about - or go back to the sheep."

The dream of returning to Lyremouth was what sustained Jemeryl through the setbacks, the hard work and the isolation, but, standing on the battlements, she was hit by unusual self-doubts. "Am I deluding myself, thinking my research is important? That they'll want me back? Perhaps the Coven let me take this assignment because it's all they think I'm fit for."

"Nonsense. The office is trivial. It wouldn't strain the powers of a third-rate witch." Klara answered.

"Even so, I'm not fulfilling its requirements."

"Only because the locals don't want you to. It's not your fault, Jem. You can't force them to come to you for help." Klara spoke reasonably.

Jemeryl was not convinced. "I'm supposed to be in control. It shouldn't come down to what they will or won't let me do. I'm supposed to be looking after them."

"You've done your best. You've set up so many charms to keep out enemies and illness, a belligerent hamster couldn't enter the valley, especially if it were feeling a bit under the weather."

Jemeryl pursed her lips and sighed. "I'm not sure. I might have overstepped the mark a bit."

"In what way?"

"Over-protecting people is bad for them. It has side effects. They can lose all common-sense and start acting like children."

"In which case it might be nasty. Some of them didn't have a long way to go to start with." the magpie said with heavy irony.

"Perhaps I should go and talk to Sergo again."

"You are in a dismal mood. Look, if I say I'm sorry your sphere blew up will it make you happy? You can invoke another one tomorrow." Klara hopped onto Jemeryl's hand.

"There's a strange emanation in the air tonight." Jemeryl said slowly.

"A premonition, or are we downwind of village dung-heap?"

"Probably just me worrying." Jemeryl studied the distant village for a long time before asking softly, "If something was seriously wrong they'd come to me, wouldn't they?"

"Of course they would. They'd race up here like scared rabbits." Klara asserted.

Jemeryl stroked the magpie's head and dismissed all thought of going down to the village. If she admitted the truth to herself, she was nervous of the villagers, and unwilling to face their hostility - it brought back too many painful memories from her childhood. She forced a smile to her lips. "Perhaps things aren't so bad. I've got plenty of time to study and if the villagers aren't happy and healthy, they've only got themselves to blame. Still, I wouldn't object to someone to talk to."

"Don't I count?" Klara sounded indignant.

"You know you don't."

Music from the village drifted up on the wind. Jemeryl turned her back on the sound and retraced her steps down the tall tower, through the courtyard and into the kitchens, in search of supper and then bed. She waited at the doorway, holding it open until the bears galloped into the building after her, then pushed it shut, leaving the courtyard once more deserted under the stars.

* * * * * *

Two mornings later, Jemeryl sat at the desk in her study. A large book lay open before her, but her attempts to read were not going well. Her concentration kept drifting, teased by something that was pricking the edges of her mind. It was even more irritating since she did not have a clue as to what that something was. For the third time she started at the beginning of a long paragraph. Before she got half way through, her attention slipped again and she lost the thread of the argument.

"I don't know what's wrong with me today."

"You mean in addition to what's wrong with you generally?" Klara asked.

The gibe from her familiar softened the frown on Jemeryl's face. With a yawn, the sorcerer flipped the covers shut and stretched back in her chair. The book could wait.

"Maybe I've been overdoing things. A break might help. I could take the bears for a walk."

The suggestion found favour with Tumble, who had been sitting in a corner of the room. The bear lumbered to her feet and trotted to the sorcerer's side, stubby tail wagging. The big, hopeful eyes made Jemeryl's smile broaden. She reached out to scratch Tumble's head, causing the bear to growl softly with pleasure. However, now that she had abandoned all attempts to read, Jemeryl's sense of foreboding shuffled to the front of her mind. Something was about to go very seriously wrong.

Jemeryl left the chair and went to a nearby window, one that afforded good views over the valley. Everything seemed much as usual. Snow lay on the ground, though less thick than of late. Sheep dawdled across the fields tended by shepherds wrapped in layers of clothes. In the distance smoke rose from chimneys. Jemeryl leaned her head against the stonework of the window recess, and tried to call on all her training and talents to identify the threat.

"What do you think it is, Jem?" For once Klara was devoid of sarcasm.

"I don't know."

"Are you going to see Sergo?"

"She might know nothing. Perhaps an oracle would..." Jemeryl's words trailed away.

"You hate oracles." the magpie pointed out.

"True."

"You've said it yourself. They never give anything other than ambiguous hints that only make sense with hindsight."

Jemeryl stood, biting her lip and trying to pinpoint the centre of her anxiety. The harder she concentrated the less substantial her fears seemed, until there was nothing but a vague feeling of unease. She sighed and shook her head. "Perhaps I'm mistaken. I might just be picking up leakage from one of the crystal reservoirs in the hall."

"So what are you going to do?" Klara asked.

Jemeryl took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "I'm going to pay Sergo a visit. Even if I'm imagining things it's about time I had a word with her."

Jemeryl hoped that making the decision would ease her tension, but, if anything, her agitation intensified as she left her study and stepped onto the high platform at the top of the stairs in the great hall.

Her living quarters occupied the small tower. They were rooms that had belonged to the captain, in the days when a garrison of soldiers had been stationed at the castle. The top floor was now divided equally between her study and her bedroom. The floor below held a larger room that had been the captain's audience chamber. Jemeryl had initially intended to use it for the same purpose. However, since nobody ever came to see her, it had become her private parlour, and was now cluttered with her personal belongings, including the outdoor clothes she would need for the ride to the village.

Jemeryl reached the lower landing and was about to open the door, when a noise made her spin around. Echoing around the great hall was the sound of a gong, beating softly from a long way away - a summons, and one Jemeryl recognised instantly. It set her leaping down the remaining steps and skidding to a stop in the centre of the hall. An image was intensifying before her, accompanied by faint hissings and rumblings. The figure was just identifiable as Iralin, Jemeryl's mentor in Lyremouth.

Klara landed on Jemeryl's shoulder. "A sending, from the Coven."

Jemeryl nodded her agreement.

While waiting for the figure to clarify, Jemeryl's mind worked furiously. A full sending of sound and vision over the many miles between them was an enormous undertaking, undoubtedly requiring the energies of several sorcerers. In practice, it would require less effort for Iralin to walk the entire distance on foot. It implied a desperate urgency that confirmed the morning's sense of grim foreboding.

Iralin's image was becoming firmer by the second. She was sitting in familiar surroundings, her study in the Coven, with Lyremouth harbour visible through the window behind. The books and charts lining the walls were unchanged since Jemeryl had last seen them, two years before.

Apparently, Iralin's view of Jemeryl was also improving. The senior sorcerer glared sternly in her direction. "What have you been doing?"

The last thing Jemeryl had expected was for the conversation to start with her own activities. The angry tone also threw her off balance. "Ma'am?"

"I said, what have you been doing?"

Jemeryl floundered for a suitable reply. "With regard to anything in particular?"

"Don't try being flippant. We've had reports about you, passed on by sorcerer Chenoweth in Rizen. They haven't been amusing."

"Are you sure there hasn't been some mistake, ma'am?"

The total bewilderment in Jemeryl's voice was evidently enough to prompt Iralin to try another approach. In slightly less accusatory tones she asked, "What have the villagers said to you recently?"

"I, um... haven't spoken to any of them for months."

"Why not?" Iralin snapped.

Jemeryl could think of no suitable words to say aloud, although dozens of unsuitable ones came to mind. She cursed herself for not paying more attention to the locals. Somewhere, something had got completely out of hand.

"You're supposed to be in charge of the valley, and look after its inhabitants. How do you do that without talking to them?" Iralin persisted.

"I assumed they'd come to me if they had any problems."

"You don't consider it your job to go to them?"

"They said they didn't want me to." Only as the words left her mouth did Jemeryl consider how they might sound.

There was a long silence, during which Jemeryl could hear her heart pounding and feel Klara's claws digging into her shoulder as the magpie mirrored her own tension.

At last, Iralin leaned back and steepled her fingers. "Why don't you tell me, in your own words, and starting at the beginning, how this situation has arisen between you and the people entrusted to your care?"

The emphasis on the last four words made Jemeryl flinch. "I'm not quite sure."

"Make some intelligent guesses." It was an order.

Jemeryl took a couple of deep breaths, trying to clear her thoughts before starting the account - not that it helped much. "Um... when I first came to the valley, they offered me a cottage in the village. I think it belonged to the previous witch. But it wasn't suitable and there was this abandoned castle, so I moved here instead... I explained to the reeve that I wanted to work on my research, and that it wouldn't be safe with lots of people around but I don't think she really understood. And then there was Dorin..."

Jemeryl's face brightened as an idea occurred to her. "Yes of course - Dorin. He'd be the source of anything you've heard. The villagers insisted I had someone to wait on me. I told them it wasn't necessary, but I think Dorin was the village simpleton and they just wanted an excuse to get him off their hands for a while. It was ridiculous. He couldn't cope here. The mere sound of Klara talking would terrify him. He only stayed a month, and I was better off without him. He spread some daft rumours back in the village. It's understandable. For the first time in his life people wanted to listen to what he had to say. I know he made up things - stories about me calling up the dead, turning people into frogs, even sacrificing babies to the full moon, for all I know."

"Do you think we'd pay any attention to stories like that?" Iralin said curtly.

I can't imagine what else you've got the arse-ache about. The words nearly escaped Jemeryl's lips. Fortunately, she managed to restrain herself and phrase it a bit more diplomatically. "Then I'm afraid I don't know what stories you have heard, ma'am."

"How about the stories concerning two children lured to your castle. The lucky one was in a coma when she left, the other was dead."

"They weren't my fault, ma'am - neither of them." Jemeryl said quickly.

"So why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jemeryl frowned - what had people been saying? And what version of events had got back to Lyremouth? But at least she now knew what Iralin was after. "The coma... that would be a teenage girl called Shiral. She came here after Dorin left, and I think she had some of his stupid stories stuck in her head. One day when I was out, she went poking through my things. I'd told her not to - perhaps that was the attraction. I kept everything really dangerous locked away, but she found an old shadow-mirror. I'm not sure what she saw in it, but we both know the visions can be nasty. The fright sent her into shock - it wasn't a real coma. I took Shiral back to her parents. I thought a home atmosphere would do her good while I helped her recover, but her parents wouldn't let me near her again. There was nothing else I could do for her."

"And the child who died?"

There was no way of avoiding the question, although it was an incident Jemeryl would rather not recall. It had caused her anguish at the time and still intruded into her nightmares. "About a year ago a man brought his daughter to the castle; she was only a toddler. She'd been hurt in an accident. I tried everything I knew but it was too late. Gangrene had set in and they'd left it too long before coming to me. I fought to save her life, I really did - a day earlier and I might have done it. I know her parents were upset and blamed me, but it was their fault. They should have brought her here sooner."

"Has it occurred to you, that if you'd performed your duties properly and gone out to talk to your citizens, you might have heard about the child's injury in time?" There was no compromise in Iralin's voice.

"They wouldn't talk to me. Even when I made the effort to see them, they hid things from me."

"They were frightened of you."

"I suppose so." Jemeryl conceded.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"So - if you haven't been performing your duties, what have you been doing?" Iralin's voice could have cut through stone.

"I've been researching into overcharged ether currents, using them to induce force-fields as containers for elemental auras."

"That's a waste of time. It's been proved it can't work."

I've done it. Jemeryl was proud of her achievements, but now was not the time to boast.

Iralin's gaze shifted slightly as she caught sight of something moving in the hall. "Is that a bear behind you?"

Jemeryl glanced over her shoulder. Tumble had followed her down to the hall, but the bear had enough sense to hang well back. "Er... yes."

"You have bears in the castle?"

"Only two."

"Only!" Iralin said sarcastically.

"They are both fully entranced and safe. I've been alone up here - they're company." Jemeryl was completely on the defensive.

"You have bears roaming the castle and then wonder why the villagers are scared to come and see you - why the girl's parents left it too late before asking your help."

"The bears are quite harmless. To be more frightened of them than of gangrene is stupid."

"Looking after stupid people is part of the job you asked to do - the job you begged to be allowed to do."

"But..." Jemeryl began.

Iralin did not let her finish. "I was totally against you taking this appointment from the start. My objections were overruled, but I find I've been proved right. I doubted your motives in taking this post. I felt you lacked the necessary maturity and sensitivity to other people. In dealing with ungifted folk, you have always been arrogant and inconsiderate. You see the villagers as an interruption from your real interests. To you, they are just a distraction, but it is their lives we are talking about. They are simple, unimaginative, honest men and women, who are also loyal citizens of the Protectorate. If you were unable to feel responsible for them, you shouldn't have taken the job in the first place. You have disgraced the Coven. You have totally failed to perform the duties of your post, and failed due to lack of effort rather than inability."

Jemeryl was stunned by the accusation. Wilful failure to fulfil an appointment was the second worst offence a sorcerer could commit. Only breaking her oath of allegiance to the Coven would be judged worse. She attempted to defend herself. "I've tried my best to perform all my duties."

"Your duties consist of caring for these people. You have not cared for them. Instead, you have ignored them and frightened them away. You made no attempt to overcome your problems with them, you were happy to simply give up. When you realised you no longer enjoyed the confidence of the locals, you could have asked the Coven for assistance. We have considerable experience of young sorcerers alienating their charges. Apart from that, you could have monitored them without their knowledge. You have the ability to aid the villagers without being asked. But you didn't care. You have not shown a single trace of concern for their well-being."

Here at last was a charge she could refute. "I haven't just forgotten them. I set wards all around. I would have detected disease or anything dangerous entering the valley. Nothing serious could harm the villagers without my knowledge."

Iralin regarded her solemnly. "Then I take it you would be quite surprised to learn a basilisk had come to the valley?"

Jemeryl was speechless. At last, she said, "It can't have. There must be a mistake."

"There is no mistake."

"I'll go and..."

Again, Iralin interrupted. "You needn't bother, the basilisk has been taken care of. Even as we speak, a passing warrior has done your job for you and killed the creature."

Silence hung heavy in the room. Eventually, Jemeryl found her voice. "I am indebted to him."

"Her." Iralin corrected. "However she has paid for her bravery. She removed the head of the basilisk, but neglected to treat it with due caution. The beast was able to transmute her eyes to a crystal bridge. I take it you are willing and able to rectify that."

"Yes, of course. I'll go and find her at once." Jemeryl spoke in a half-daze.

"There's no need for that. She will come to you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"There is only one more thing."

"Ma'am?" What more could there be? Jemeryl fought to keep some semblance of composure. As a young student, she had been hauled up for her share of misdemeanours - juvenile pranks that had gone wrong and the like, but never had she been in trouble like this.

"The judgement of the Coven upon you." If Iralin's voice had been harsh before, now it was as cold as the grave. "Sorcerer Jemeryl, the Coven hereby imposes the following sentence upon you. You are removed from your post and a new task is allotted to you. It will be recorded that you failed to perform the appointment you accepted and the mark will stand against you until you prove yourself fit for some other work. Your new assignment is this. The aforementioned warrior is currently on a quest of great importance. You will accompany and assist her until the quest is completed or you die in the attempt."

Jemeryl was aghast "But my research? I have been achieving so much."

"Your so-called research is unendorsed and unapproved. There is nothing more to say. You will heal the warrior and leave the valley with her. You have twelve days to quit the castle. Is that clear? I would suggest you use the next few hours to get ready for your guest. This conversation is hereby terminated. Next time we speak, I trust the circumstances will be more favourable."

With that, the image slowly imploded on itself and vanished, leaving Jemeryl standing alone in the hall. She stared in horror at the point where the figure of her mentor had been. Her head was in turmoil, as she fought to absorb the implications of what had just happened to her life. The least of her worries was the curtailment of her current studies. The reprimand meant her reputation might be permanently sullied, destroying the hope of a research post in Lyremouth forever. As the full impact hit home, tears stung the backs of her eyes. Her mood shifted from shock to shame to anger. Jemeryl's hands clenched into fists, and she was overwhelmed by bitterness, at Iralin, at the villagers, and at the unknown fool of a warrior she was now bound to follow.

* * * * * *

Many miles away, Iralin slumped back in her chair, exhausted by the effort of maintaining the link. She raised one hand to her face and pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefingers. After a couple of deep breaths her arm dropped back to her lap and she looked at the other two sorcerers, a man and a woman, who had silently monitored the conversation from the other side of the room. Her eyebrows raised in a silent query.

"That was a bit heavy." The younger of the two said, but his tone implied a statement of fact rather than criticism.

Iralin took another breath and then snorted. "Conceited young puppy. She needed something to shake her. Everything I said was quite true and I wanted to be certain in my own mind that her behaviour was simply due to thoughtlessness."

"You surely didn't think Jemeryl had become a murderer?" the man exclaimed.

"Oh no, but she can be arrogant enough sometimes to think the rules don't apply to her. I wanted to know how far over the line she'd been stepping, and there wasn't the time for gently wheedling out the truth."

"I guess you know Jemeryl best, but I don't think I'd have been that hard on her. My own record at dealing with the ungifted isn't too good."

Iralin spoke firmly. "Jemeryl has to accompany this warrior and it's vital she applies herself to the task wholeheartedly. Given her low opinion of prophecy, I doubt she'd do that if I gave her the candid truth on the matter."

The third sorcerer had been staring out through the open window, her thoughts clearly pursuing some other line. She was older than the other two; sunlight etched deep shadows on her lined face. Yet, despite her frailty, she had an aura of authority that even Iralin could not match - a power that made it unnecessary to see the white amulet on her wrist to know she was the Guardian, the leader of the Coven.

At Iralin's words, the Guardian's lips twisted in an ironic pout. She spoke for the first time. "In Jemeryl's place I wouldn't take it very well either. She has to drop everything to go, gods know where, with some muscle-bound oaf, just because an extremely vague oracle said the future of the Coven probably depends on it."

There was a long silence as the three sorcerers sat in grim reflection. Iralin shook her head slowly, as if she was combating her disbelief at the situation. "I guess we're just incredibly lucky to have got the warning at all. When I received the report from Chenoweth, I was torn between ignoring it completely and writing to Jemeryl for an explanation. I only put it to the oracle on a whim, and that was the answer I got."

"The whims of sorcerers can be serious things." the Guardian said.

"Don't I know it." Iralin sighed. "Have we still got no better idea of what's involved? I know you were working on it all night."

"No. Poking around with fate is always asking for trouble. We've caused as much temporal disruption as we dared, probably more than was wise, and got virtually nothing from it. Our best attempts have produced no more information than you gave Jemeryl just now - a blind warrior, a basilisk and a quest." She shrugged. "Make what you will of it. We've had to give up and weave the neatest patch we could. Even so, Jemeryl will pick up the after-waves when she hits the critical moment."

"Jemeryl won't be pleased if she thinks we've been tampering with her fate." the male sorcerer said.

"That's one more reason why I wanted to give her a good kick in the right direction." Iralin answered him.

The expression on the Guardian's face hardened. "It's not just her fate, the whole Protectorate is at risk. It is my sworn responsibility, and I'm helpless. We just don't know enough. The oracle was the next best thing to useless."

Iralin nodded her agreement, and said dryly, "In fact a quote from Jemeryl herself comes to mind - Foretelling is great as a party trick, but you can't rely on it to tell you tomorrow's date."

Continued in chapter 2.