Disclaimers: see part 1, chapter 1

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By Jane Fletcher

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Jemeryl shouldered the door shut behind her and deposited the tray containing potions and other equipment on the table. The bleak whitewashed walls of the quarantine room were as cheerless as the first time she had seen them. The patient, Gewyn, lay unconscious on one of the beds, deep in the coma that had held her since the night she entered the hospital. Her skin was dry and hot to the touch, and was covered with livid blotchy marks. Scabs encrusted her lips and eyes. Jemeryl bent to pull the covers straight, gently tucking one trailing arm back under the blanket.

"She's not getting any better, is she?" A dejected voice spoke from the other side of the room.

Jemeryl glanced over her shoulder. The speaker was the fair-haired man who had accompanied Gewyn on her arrival and had scarcely left her side since. His mournful face had become a familiar sight in the hospital. He got to his feet and wandered listlessly across the room to the one small window. The bright blue sky outside was yellowing to evening.

"We're doing everything we can." Jemeryl used her most reassuring tones.

"Oh, I know. I'm very grateful, ma'am." He left the window and joined Jemeryl at the bedside. His lips worked against each other. At last, he said, "I'm so frightened for her."

Vaguely sympathetic noises were all Jemeryl could offer.

The young man carried on talking. His voice lurched in a despairing monotone through unfinished sentences. "What will I say to her parents... Gewyn was so keen... If I go back without her..."

"It may not come to that."

"We've known each other two years. We met at the midsummer festival. She was with friends... drunk. They were falling over each other and singing. The first thing I noticed was her voice... She's the worst singer you've ever heard - raucous and tone-deaf and..." His rambling ground to a halt.

Jemeryl looked at him. The man's head was bowed. The heels of his hands were pressed hard against his eyes.

Jemeryl's gaze shifted back to the hapless patient. Gewyn was an ordinary, ungifted citizen - someone who would usually go unnoticed. Suddenly, the image of Tevi, also ungifted, lying near to death hit Jemeryl. She tried to push the vision away, but the image stuck in her eyes, so strongly Jemeryl felt certain it was a foretelling. In panic, she clawed at the seventh dimension but under her probes the vision faded, striking no resonance in the web of fate. Relief washed over Jemeryl with physical force - not a true oracle, just normal human anxiety.

The room settled into its standard timeframe. Jemeryl looked again at the young man. Tears of sympathy stung her eyes. Almost without intending it, she put her arms around him. At her touch, his self-control broke completely and he clung to her like a child, while sobs shook his body. When the tremors finally subsided, Jemeryl sat him on the other bunk, filled a cup with water and placed it in his hands. The cup chattered against his teeth as he sipped the water.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I'm just..." he mumbled.

"Don't apologise. I understand."

"I've made your shoulder wet." He forced a feeble smile.

"It'll dry."

The door to the room opened and Neame entered. She said nothing, but her gaze clearly absorbed the message in the man's red eyes. Parts of Neame's face softened in compassion while, at the same time, other parts hardened in resolve. It was a strange, composite expression that left no doubt of her commitment to Gewyn's health. Neame was not using magic to cast a dissembling glamour - Jemeryl was certain of that. Either the response was genuine or it was a superb piece of acting. And if she's acting, then I'm a small pink tree frog. The thought shot through Jemeryl's mind.

The covers were folded back to reveal Gewyn's plague-wracked body. Sweat marks stained the under sheet, streaked with blood from broken scabs. Neame perched on the side of the bed, leaning forward to examine the patient in silence. Her hands moved deftly over Gewyn's body: taking her pulse, pressing the swelling at neck and groin, and probing the sticky thinness of her aura.

"We need to reapply the lotion. Warm it up, while I get her to drink this elixir." Neame instructed.

It was a simple bit of juggling in the sixth dimension to heat the lotion. On the other side of the room, the young man watched with an expression of tormented misery - yet a desperate hope lay there also. Neame could probably inspire hope in the dead. Again, Jemeryl felt tears burn in her eyes.

Neame had recently platted her braid and, for once, there were no wisps of escaping hair. It would not last. Neame never paid attention to her appearance while working. The job she was doing now was a typical example. Heedless of the blood and pus, Neame had an arm around the patient's shoulders to hold her in a sitting position. It would have required slightly more effort to achieve the same thing by telekinesis, but Jemeryl knew which option she would have taken.

Once Gewyn had been induced to swallow the elixir and was lying back on the bed, the two sorcerers daubed the heated lotion on the raw sores. The patient showed no sign of stirring. Her breathing was quick and shallow, but the elixir was easing the dry rasping in her throat.

"Right, nearly finished." Neame glanced at Jemeryl. "We must change the bottom sheet. Will you be able to lift her on your own, or shall I call another sorcerer to help?"

Jemeryl spotted a suitable drift current in the sixth dimension. "I think I should be able to manage."

Even with the help of the current, it took immense concentration for Jemeryl to float Gewyn two feet clear of the mattress, partly due the risk of harming her by unbalancing the elemental forces. At least Neame wasted no time in yanking the old sheet away and replacing it with a fresh one. In less than a minute, Jemeryl was able to lower the patient gently, ready to be tucked up in her bed.

While Neame went to exchange a few comforting words with Gewyn's companion, Jemeryl gathered the items on the table, aware of feeling slightly irked. She supposed she should be flattered that Neame had trusted her to lift the patient on her own, but it would have been much easier if the senior sorcerer had played her part. Then Jemeryl froze. It had just registered that Neame had offered to call someone else. Why call a third sorcerer when there were already two present?

Jemeryl realised she had never seen Neame make any use of the sixth dimension. At the time of the accident in the dispensary, she had been in no condition to think, but Neame had physically pulled her from the room, risking her own life with the poisonous fumes. The iron stove made telekinesis difficult, But it didn't stop me from throwing Vine back, Jemeryl thought.

The demarcation between superior witch and sorcerer was blurred - the Coven never bound itself with inflexible rules. An awareness of all seven dimensions was the customary minimum criteria for becoming a sorcerer, yet suddenly Neame's abilities seemed suspect.

Jemeryl picked up the tray and went to stand by the door. For the first time, she considered Neame's persona using the full range of her senses. Now that Jemeryl was alerted, it was impossible to miss the ridged and unbalanced stance and the way Neame followed rather than flowed with the currents - two classic traits of those blind to the sixth dimension.

Jemeryl jerked a small power-tensor, trying to make it seem like an involuntary twitch. To a sorcerer the effect was rather like a loud cough. Neame did not react. Again, Jemeryl disturbed the sixth dimension; this time a more blatant upheaval that should have had any senior sorcerer looking at her in disapproval. However, Neame appeared no more aware than the young man she was speaking to.

Jemeryl's eyes fixed unseeing on the washed yellow sky outside the window while her thoughts raced. The discovery turned their hunt for the renegade sorcerer on its head. Jemeryl frowned as she considered the implication - Neame was off the list of suspects.

* * * * * *

Night had fallen by the time Jemeryl returned to her quarters. Darkness lay thick between the buildings of the school. Her thoughts were absorbed with Neame as she climbed the stairway and walked along the veranda, past the rooms belonging to other junior sorcerers. She pushed open the door to her shared study.

Vine was already there, sitting at a desk overloaded with assorted academic clutter. Encroaching piles had been elbowed aside to clear a small workspace. At the edge of the desk, several displaced books were threatening to tip off. Another book was propped open a few inches from Vine's nose, illuminated by a light globe floating above her head. Vine sighed loudly, scrunched up the paper she had been writing on, and tossed it over her shoulder. It landed on the floor with a faint rustle. Vine was not noted as the tidiest of workers.

Jemeryl dropped into the other chair and rested her elbows on her desk. She looked at where the rubbish from Vine had spilled onto her workspace. It was a long running but minor source of irritation. Normally, it would have drawn a comment, however tonight Jemeryl was too preoccupied to bother. Her eyes stared blankly at the window. All that could be seen was the reflection of her own narrow face, with chin resting on cupped hand, and forehead knotted in thought.

Vine looked up from her hurried scribbling. "What's up?"

"Neame's blind to the sixth dimension, isn't she?"

There was a long silence. "And the seventh." Vine conceded eventually.

"But she ranks as a sorcerer rather than a witch." Jemeryl spoke her thoughts aloud. She was unprepared for the violence of Vine's response.

"Of course she does. Only a bigoted idiot would think otherwise. You've seen her work. She's the most inspired healer in Ekranos. No one's ever been able to manipulate the fifth dimension in the way she does. Anyone who says Neame doesn't..."

Jemeryl held up her hands to halt the flow. "It's alright. I'm not..."

Vine showed no sign of hearing. She stormed on. "They had no doubts in declaring Neame a sorcerer - none at all. From the day she came here, people knew she was the sort of talent you tear up the rule book for."

"I wasn't trying..."

"Of course pompous blockheads like Bramell find it hard to cope with. It's the reason she was passed over for principal, though it leaves her free to concentrate on the thing she can do better than anyone else - saving people's lives. It's what you do with your gift that counts. There are hundreds of people walking around out there who'd be dead without Neame."

"I don't..."

"She's as much right to her rank as any other sorcerer in the Protectorate. When I..."

"I'M NOT DISPUTING IT!" Jemeryl shouted, getting heated herself.

"Oh." Vine sagged back in her chair, deflated once her flow of rhetoric had been disrupted. Her eyes dropped, breaking from the combative glare.

Jemeryl took her chance. "You know I respect Neame. I've learned more from her in the past few weeks than I did from some of the fully gifted teachers after years at Lyremouth. You don't need to argue the point. I was surprised; that's all."

Vine lifted her eyes from the table. One corner of her mouth twitched in a faintly apologetic grimace. "I got a bit steamed-up."

"Yes. You did."

"Sorry. All of us in the hospital are devoted to Neame. And when some pig-headed fool who hasn't been here five minutes thinks they're better than her..."

Jemeryl cut in. "I wasn't..." She was interrupted in turn.

"I know. I wasn't referring to you. There have been others in the past."

"I shouldn't think it was possible work in the hospital and not admire her."

"Some have managed it." Vine said, with a hint of old anger.

"That would say more about their own lack of ability than Neame's."

"True." Vine agreed. "It also shows a great lack of wisdom - it's not a clever stand to take. Making an issue about her rank is just about the only thing, other than deliberate cruelty, that'll get Neame screaming for blood."

"I suppose she feels vulnerable about her disability."

"Maybe." Vine shrugged. "It's caused real trouble in the past."

"It was the start of her feud with Levannue?" Jemeryl was struck by the sudden insight.

"Yes - with a couple of added ingredients."

"Such as?"

Vine hesitated for a second, but discretion never stood a chance. She leaned forward and lowered her voice, although there was no one around to hear. "What I've heard is Levannue came here as a junior when Neame was still finishing her apprenticeship. They were lovers for a while. It was very intense and steamy by all accounts. Then Neame chucked her for someone else. Levannue was utterly heartbroken - she went around crying for weeks. I know it's hard to imagine when you look at her now. Anyway, when she realised she wasn't going to get Neame back she embarked on the spiteful stage of a break-up. She started saying loudly, to anyone who'd listen, that Neame was too handicapped to ever be ranked as a sorcerer and KABOOM..." Vine made an explosive gesture, throwing her hands up into the air.

"They're still arguing about it?"

"Oh, things have moved on since then. I mean, Levannue has been with Bramell for decades. Presumably, she's got over the broken heart. But Neame... she doesn't develop a grudge easily, but once she has she'll nurse it - I never said she was perfect. And there's been enough sniping between the pair of them down the years to keep things boiling nicely."

It was all information, but it didn't seem to get anywhere, except that eliminating Neame allowed more focus on the other suspects. Jemeryl tried unsuccessfully to imagine Levannue as a heartbroken young woman - perhaps the prickly aloofness had been cultivated as a defence. It must be a strain, to share the same small site with an ex-lover who would not drop a grudge.

"It sounds as if they could have done with putting some space between themselves." Jemeryl suggested.

"They couldn't leave Ekranos without sacrificing their careers. Neame had to stay at the hospital, and Levannue was training under old Thirese - he was the Protectorate's leading authority on charms back then."

"I guess it's one reason to avoid having affairs with other sorcerers."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't recommend using them as an example, when Bramell calls you in for a talk about your mercenary." Vine said with a grin.

The reminder of the predicted confrontation made Jemeryl groan. "Do you think anyone's told him about it yet?"

"Probably not. He's usually the last person on site to hear things. You should be okay for at least another ten days."

"It's none of his business."

"True, but I wouldn't recommend telling him that either."

"I was intending to phrase it a bit more tactfully." Jemeryl said dryly.

Vine laughed, her normal good humour restored, until her eyes fixed on her overloaded desk. She glared at the mess as if considering hurling a small fireball. "I don't suppose you fancy finishing off this report for me so I can go to bed?"

The tone of despair made Jemeryl smile as she got to her feet. "No. Because that's where I'm headed."

Vine sighed. "You know, just once in a while, do you ever ask yourself what we're doing here in the Coven, writing frigging reports? We could be off ruling mighty empires, with thousands of slaves to obey our every whim."

Jemeryl stopped in the doorway to her bedroom and looked back, shaking her head slowly. "I can't see you in the role."

"Why not?"

"Imagine the scene. You, an all-powerful empress, stride into your imperial audience chamber. Ranks of black-clad warriors fall silent. You summon your most trusted warlord to your side and say," Jemeryl's voice switched to an eager undertone, typical of Vine, "Hey, have you heard the latest about..." Jemeryl got no further. She dodged the small missile Vine tossed in her direction and ducked through the doorway.

In the privacy of her own tidy room, Jemeryl peeled off her outer layer of clothing and slipped into bed. She lay on her back, hands clasped behind her head, and considered the implications of the evening's discovery. One thing was certain - Neame, blind to the sixth dimension, would neither be able to mind-ride a raven nor read a chalice.

Jemeryl rolled over and pulled the blanket up. As she drifted off to sleep, Vine's last reflection echoed in her head. It had been said in jest, but the question it raised was serious. So far her attention had been given to the 'who', not the 'why'. It was not comforting to speculate about the traitor's motives. Iralin had known the purpose of the spell - and Iralin had been frightened.

* * * * * *

The small cellar tavern was crowded and very noisy. The air was thick with smoke from lanterns mixed with the smell of sweat and spilt beer. The atmosphere was friendly - extremely friendly in places, since whores and their customers formed a large section of the clientele.

In one of the rowdier corners of the tavern Tevi sat with Klara perched on her shoulder, surrounded by a group of comrades from the guildhall. A member of the bar-staff appeared between the press of bodies. He had three tankards of beer clasped in either hand, which he deposited on the table before the young mercenaries, the contents miraculously unspilt.

"I'll pay for these." Tevi volunteered. Her offer was greeted by loud cheers.

She stood up, fumbling with the purse at her belt. As she shook out a few coins a brass key slipped through her fingers and clattered to the table. One of the other mercenaries picked it up.

"What's this?" he asked, once the waiter had departed with the money.

Someone else suggested jokingly, "Back door of a... ahem... friend's house, for use when their partner is away?"

"No. It's the key to the customs office. I helped lock up and was supposed to hand it in at the harbour-master's room. I must have dropped it into my purse instead." The words themselves were not technically untrue, although Tevi's tone was misleading in implying an oversight. She reclaimed the key and twirled it thoughtfully between thumb and finger. "I think I'd better take it back."

"You can drop it in first thing tomorrow."

Tevi shrugged. "It's not far, and I don't want to get into trouble."

"I doubt anyone will notice it's missing."

"Hopefully not, but I'll do it now anyway. Keep an eye on my beer. I won't be long and I expect to see a full tankard when I return."

"There's an optimist for you." The speaker was teasing. There was no doubt that Tevi's drink would be safe and untouched on her return. Stealing from your comrades - no matter how trivial the circumstances - was unthinkable.

Tevi squeezed her way to the door, edging between the crowds and stepping over drunks collapsed on the floor. Once outside the tavern, she leapt up the short flight of steps to street level and expelled the thick barroom air from her lungs with a deep breath. The tavern was in the run-down section of town, backing onto the docks. Given the lateness of the hour, close on midnight, there were a surprising number of people about. The hubbub from the tavern echoed down the street.

A brisk pace took her quickly through the maze of alleys to the customs office. Before opening the door she hesitated and looked up and down the street. Three drunken sailors were staggering along on their way back to the harbour. They were attempting to have a very disjointed and repetitive conversation, although from what Tevi could hear they were not even discussing the same thing. In the other direction, two merchants were talking far more purposefully in the doorway to a warehouse. No one paid much attention to her.

The key turned easily in the lock and the door swung open. A lamp and flint stood ready on a shelf. It was the work of seconds to find the right book and carefully count out the pages. Tevi propped the import records open on the desk and lifted Klara down from her shoulder.

"Read Klara. Go on, read for Jem." Tevi spoke softly.

The magpie's beady eyes glittered in the lamplight. Her head bobbed twice, then she stepped close, so her beak almost touched the paper. Hopefully it would not take her long to memorise the page.

Tevi wandered over to the front of the office and peered out through a window. It had not been possible to sneak Klara in to view the customs records during the day. Pets were not allowed on duty and the small office was rarely left unoccupied. She had eagerly seized the chance to hang onto the key. The scene in the tavern had been staged to provide witnesses to her 'accidental' discovery of the key in her purse. When she handed it in at the harbour-master's room, she would announce she had popped into the office on the way, to check that nothing else had been left undone. If any telltale signs of her visit were discovered in the morning it should not arouse suspicions - folk tended to be less distrustful if they are told things in advance.

There was a soft squawk from Klara. She had finished studying the page. Quickly, Tevi returned the book to the shelf and blew out the lamp. Only a couple of minutes after entering, she was again outside, locking the door and fighting hard to keep a self-satisfied smile from her face.

The two merchants were still in the nearby doorway. It almost certainly would not be necessary but they could confirm that she had entered and left the building alone - but surely nobody would suspect her of hidden motives in taking the keys to a room containing nothing but books, when she couldn't read.

* * * * * *

The school bell was just striking an hour past noon as Jemeryl swung the small bag over her shoulder and closed the door of the study behind her. She hurried along the open veranda and leapt down the staircase at the end, eager to be gone. She was missing Tevi even more than she had expected. Instructions had been left at the stables and one of the riding horses was saddled and waiting. Within minutes, she was outside the school perimeter and trotting along the dusty track leading into town.

There was a sprinkling of traffic on the road, mainly farm carts. The midday sun bleached the colour from the landscape. Spring was turning to summer and the transient green was fading to parched brown. The horse's hooves crunched on the road, sending small pieces of gravel bouncing ahead through the dry dust.

Before Jemeryl had covered a quarter of the distance sweat was starting to fleck the horse's flanks. Despite her impatience to see Tevi, she was going to have to slow her pace. She was just about to rein back her horse when she overtook Erlam, who was travelling on official business, judging by his formal clothing.

Jemeryl hailed him and brought her horse to a walk. "You heading into Ekranos?"

"Yes. A meeting with the town council."

"Anything exciting?"

"Have you met the town council?" The ironic edge to Erlam's voice answered the question.

"Nearly as much fun as working with Tapley?" Jemeryl suggested.

"Exactly. Although I hear you made quite an impression on him."

"I did?" Jemeryl was surprised the raven keeper could even remember her.

"You mean Vine hasn't told you?"

"No. What did Tapley say?"

"Apparently you've got real talent for mind-riding, which is rare in the school, apart from those in Levannue's section. Most of us aren't that happy linking to the ravens."

"It's nice to think I'm good at something - shame it's not more useful." Jemeryl was silent while they rode around a large ox-cart. Once they were passed she asked, "How important are the ravens really?"

Erlam laughed. "They're absolutely critical - about once every ten years. The rest of the time they're just for show."

"So why do all the sorcerers have to train with them? Why not just one or two who have the talent?"

"Sorcerer's pride. You know what we're like. None of us want to lose face in front of the witches by having to ask another sorcerer to do something for us."

"I'm sure that..." Jemeryl started, but then stopped. Erlam was not so far from the truth. It made her think of Neame's sensitivity over her limitations. "I suppose that's why Neame wanted to make an artificial bird?"

"You've heard about it?"

"Tapley told me. He was outraged at the idea."

Erlam gave an amused snort. "I can imagine."

"He didn't think it could ever work."

"It should have - in theory."

"But not so easy in practice?" Jemeryl surmised.

"Exactly."

"Were you one of the people working on it?" It seemed a likely bet for Neame's assistant.

"I helped."

"Was it a true golem, with a pseudo-life of it's own?"

"That was the intention."

"So as long as you told it where to go and what to get it could have gone to the ends of the earth and back?" Jemeryl had to work to make sure her voice didn't sound too eager.

"Again - in theory."

"How far had the project got?"

"Hard to say. It seemed as if it was almost done, then there were a couple of minor accidents. They might have been teething problems or they might have been serious flaws in the design. We never got to the chance to find out." Erlam sounded annoyed. "Bramell took fright and ordered Neame to stop. It was unpleasant. He marched in, confiscated everything and locked it up in his office. Neame was furious."

"And she took herself off to Walderim for a while to calm down?" Jemeryl guessed.

"That was about it." Erlam's voice was clipped.

Too late Jemeryl remembered that mentioning the expedition to Walderim was not diplomatic. A quick glance confirmed that Erlam's expression was strained, the pain manifest. As Aris's lover he had even more reason to be upset at her death than Levannue. By mutual consent, the subject was dropped. For a while, they limited their discussion to general school matters. As they reached the outskirts of Ekranos, Erlam prompted another change in topic.

"I hear you've got yourself a lover in town."

"I guess there was no chance me keeping it a secret, when I share a study with Vine."

"None whatsoever." Erlam agreed, laughing.

"I've been warned I'll be in for a lecture when the news gets as far as Bramell. I know they prefer for us to stick to other sorcerers, but there's limited choice at the school and it's not as if affairs between sorcerers haven't caused problems in the past." Jemeryl said, thinking of Neame and Levannue, however Erlam took her statement more personally.

"You've heard about me and Aris." His voice held a bitter edge.

Again, Jemeryl cursed her own tactlessness. "Um... yes... it was mentioned."

"It's all right. I can talk about her. It's supposed to be good for me."

"Oh..." Jemeryl was at a loss. The grief in Erlam's voice was overwhelming. She could not bring herself to probe at the old wound, but Erlam himself seemed suddenly eager to talk.

"The relationship was trouble from the start, but if I had my time again I'd..." He broke off then restarted. "She used to say she needed me, but often it seemed as if I only made her worse. She was unstable. Anything could send her into a depression, crying, brooding - and then other times... I never knew how she'd be from one day to the next. She was impossible to live with, but I miss her."

"Could nothing be done?" Jemeryl asked gently.

"Not without going back in time and blasting her parents to ashes. It was all their fault. I know our families have a hard time, but my parents still loved me, even when they realised I was going to be a sorcerer. Hers were vicious. They were frightened of her. From the time she was a baby, they used every cruel, spiteful trick they could think of to keep her under their thumb. They made her an emotional wreck." His voice dropped so it was barely audible over the sound of the horses' hooves. "She killed herself - climbed to the top of a tower and jumped off. I keep telling myself it wasn't my fault, but knowing she did that. She needed me and I wasn't there."

"Couldn't Neame stop..." Jemeryl began, although she wasn't sure what anyone could have done.

"Aris was on her own. The party was just her, Neame and two witches. The other three went off for a few days to get samples. They left Aris behind to do the processing. When they got back she was..." Erlam did not finish the sentence. "I know Neame curses herself for leaving her alone. But Aris had been getting so much calmer - that was why she was allowed to go with the party to start with. They thought a break from the school would help her - the relapse was unexpected."

By now, they were riding through the streets of Ekranos. The bustle of people was all around them, but Erlam was unaware. His eyes were fixed on the distance. "I was sitting here waiting for her to come back, counting the days and watching the boats sail into harbour, and all the time she was already dead and gone."

Jemeryl searched desperately for something to say. There was nothing that was neither trite nor hopelessly inadequate, yet silence was the worst response of all. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dredge this up for you."

"It's all right. I'm starting to get over losing her, maybe another few years..." Erlam's bitter smile looked more like a grimace. "Perhaps the talking will help."

The junction where their paths separated was drawing close. After a few parting words, Jemeryl turned onto the side street. She was ashamed of her relief - Erlam's misery was infectious, but the feeling did not last long. With rising spirits, she headed for her rendezvous with Tevi at the 'Inn of Singing Birds'.

* * * * * *

The windows of the upstairs room were flung wide open. Tevi sat on the deep wooden sill with her feet up, enjoying the sun on her face and the gentle breeze carrying the sounds and smells of the city to her. In the square below people, moved about their business, but the pace was slow, lazy in the late afternoon heat.

It was easy to fall into the unhurried rhythm of Ekranos, to sit and watch the world go by. Tevi yawned and turned her head, looking back into the dimness of the room. The solid furniture had seen better days; time had left the surfaces pitted and stained. A fresh coat of paint would have improved the walls. The greenish glass in the windowpanes was of poor quality. However, the room was clean and comfortable and more than adequate for their needs.

Just inside the window was a small table where Jemeryl sat writing. Her face was serious in concentration as her hand flew across the page. The sun caught on the sharp lines of her cheekbone and jaw, emphasising the texture of her skin and making a soft shadow where her shirt hung open at the neck. Tevi sat for a while, studying her lover. She tried once again to evaluate the changes to her life since she had left Storenseg. It was barely over a year, but seemed a lifetime, as if it had been some other woman who had been entrapped, betrayed and exiled that evening in the hay-barn.

Tevi slipped her legs down from the windowsill and moved to stand behind Jemeryl. She leaned against the back of the chair and watched the lines of writing appear under the sharp movements of the pen. Four columns were being formed; one wide and three narrow, marching steadily down the page. The numbers were familiar thanks to the lessons with Marith. Tevi also thought she recognised some of the letters as she studied the page, trying to pick out blocks of repeated patterns - someone had told her that this was the key to reading.

At the back of the table Klara stood, frozen in a trance. The only movement to show she was not a painted statue was the ruffling of her downy breast feathers in the faint breeze through the window. Where the bright sunlight fell across her plumage it shimmered with a metallic blue-black sheen, set against the crisp white. Abruptly, Klara started to stir. A twitch of the head and neck spread down her back, growing into several full beats of her wings.

Jemeryl sighed and put down the pen. She leaned back to rest her head against Tevi. "Well, that's the information I needed."

"I got the right page?" Tevi asked.

"Spot-on." Jemeryl reached up and pulled Tevi's head down for a quick kiss. "All I have to do now is find out how much nectar can be accounted for in the school."

"Anything else you want me to do?"

"See if you can pick up any gossip in the town."

Tevi looked dubious. "There's not much chance of that. Most ordinary people don't concern themselves with the doings of sorcerers."

"I suppose I should be pleased you're not that ordinary."

"Even I'm not very interested in sorcerers in general, just two in particular."

"Two?" Jemeryl said, raising her eyebrows.

"You and our traitor."

"Oh."

Tevi returned to sit on the windowsill. "You're sure Neame is in the clear?"

"Yes." Jemeryl swivelled to face Tevi, hanging an arm over the back of her chair. "The fifth dimension holds the spirits of life, they're called auras. Neame is able to manipulate them like no one else in the Coven. But to mind-ride you have to control both auras and power tensors, and that needs access to the sixth dimension. She couldn't have been the one to send the raven to your island."

"Maybe she coerced Aris into doing it for her." Tevi suggested.

"Even if she had, Neame would be incapable of reading the information from the chalice."

"Where does that leave us?"

Jemeryl stared though the window, frowning. When she spoke her voice was measured and thoughtful. "Nobody outside Walderim could have got the raven to the island and back. Aris was the only person in Walderim capable of mind-riding, but obviously she couldn't be the one to bring the chalice to Ekranos."

"So, you seem to be saying that the party in Walderim weren't able to take the chalice, and that no one else could have either." Tevi summarised.

"Yes, if using the ravens, but there's another possibility - Neame's golem-bird. Erlam claims it was almost functional, but Bramell had it under lock and key."

"Why?"

"Safety, so he claimed. He was very keen to take it off Neame and get his own hands on it." There was no need for Jemeryl to spell out the implications.

Tevi mulled over the information. "Could anyone else have got to the... what did you call it, golem-bird?"

"Unfortunately, yes. At the time the chalice was taken, the entire school was in chaos due to plague. Moragar was virtually in charge and was free to do anything he wanted. Levannue also recovered quickly and since she shares Bramell's quarters, she'd have no trouble helping herself to his property. However, given the state of anarchy, probably anyone capable of standing could have done the same. The only two we can eliminate are Orrago - by all accounts she was at death's door, and Neame, who was out in Walderim."

"So you think it was Bramell, Levannue or Moragar?"

Jemeryl pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I suppose there's a couple of weaker bets."

"Such as?"

"Erlam. He's not a senior sorcerer, but since Neame is blind to the sixth dimension, she can't be able to supervise him as tightly as I had assumed. He might have used the golem-bird to get the chalice himself, or he might have been working with Aris... or not." Jemeryl corrected herself. "She couldn't have returned it to him."

Tevi's head shot up, an idea had just occurred to her. "Perhaps Aris did take the chalice. The only thing we know for certain is that it went from Storenseg. There's no evidence it ever got to Ekranos. It might be buried with Aris for all we know."

"It's possible." Jemeryl conceded the point. "But I've got this gut feeling it's here. We need proof, which is where cross-referencing the import list will be useful."

The sounds from the square were rising; voices and laughter getting louder as the sun dropped towards the horizon and a breeze stirred the warm air. Jemeryl left her chair and went to stand by the window, putting her arm around Tevi's waist. The oblique sunlight of early evening dusted the square with yellow. The first small groups were starting to congregate on the benches set in front of the tavern. Distant flocks of seagulls circled above returning fishing boats in the harbour.

Jemeryl rested her head against Tevi's. "It's going to be difficult getting the access I need to the dispensary. The trouble is I'm not senior enough. I wish Iralin had been sent to investigate here."

"She couldn't be allowed to."

"Why not?"

"Iralin must be under suspicion herself."

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not. Surely, you must have realised that since Iralin knew all about Lorimal to start with, she's right up with the rest of the suspects. The Guardian said the three seniors were going to investigate in Lyremouth. I bet they started by investigating each other. The last thing any two would want is to let the third one out of their sight."

"You may be right." Jemeryl gave a sigh. She pulled Tevi down from her seat on the window ledge and hugged her tightly. "Come on, it's cooling down outside. Let's go for a walk before dinner."

Arm in arm the pair of them left the room.

* * * * * *

Jemeryl awoke in the middle of the night. In deference to the heat, the shutters and windows were open, but the weather had changed. She could hear a light rain falling, the rustle of drizzle hitting the leaves of trees, a rare occurrence in the Ekranos summer. The soft sound was carried on a current of fresh, sweet air.

The light was just sufficient for Jemeryl to see the woman lying beside her. Tevi's face was relaxed and artless in sleep. Strands of dark hair fell across her cheek. One arm was flung over the covers. Her soft even breathing made an undertone to the rainfall. Jemeryl felt as if her insides melting at the sight of her lover, into a soft gooey mess with a small hot fire at the core.

Jemeryl resisted the temptation to wake Tevi and instead rolled onto her back, listening to the pattering of water. Restless thoughts pushed sleep away. Tevi's comment about the seniors in Lyremouth not trusting each other was an obvious point that had not occurred to her before. In her mind, Iralin personified the integrity of the Coven, but of course, Tevi was right. The world Jemeryl knew was out of kilter. She shook her head at her own naiveté; maybe if she were a bit more cynical she might make better progress.

Despite all she had learned, she still had no evidence, let alone proof, implicating anyone. Jemeryl knew she was pinning a lot on the dispensary records. Not that she thought the renegade sorcerer would have boldly booked out large amounts of the drug in their own name. An unaccountable shortfall was all she hoped for, but it would confirm her belief that the traitor she sought was in Ekranos and working on the forbidden spell.

It wasn't going to be easy. Jemeryl stared into the darkness, contemplating her chances. Although sorcerers scrupulously booked out drugs from the dispensary, it was not wise to rely on data collated by Orrago. And, even if the records were in immaculate order, there was no hope she'd be allowed to peruse them at her leisure. Sneaking in after dark would be risky, but possibly the only option.

A harder belt of rain hit the window. The rhythm of Tevi's breathing faltered for a second, then resumed with a sound halfway between a cough and a snore. Jemeryl sighed and adjusted her pillow. She was about to attempt a return to sleep when a flash of inspiration struck her. It was the beginnings of a plan - one that would take a degree of luck but might just work.

A grin crossed Jemeryl's face. Her scheme contained no serious risk, and even a degree of entertainment - she was sure Bramell's face would be a picture. Jemeryl rolled onto her side once more and snuggled against Tevi, pulling the trailing arm around her tightly. The fine detail could wait until morning. She had the basic plan.

Continued in chapter 6.

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