Lorimal's Chalice

Part Three - The Traitor

by Jane Fletcher


Disclaimers: see Chapter 1

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Chapter 3: Trouble from the Past
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        Heavy thunderclouds hung low in the sky. The sixth dimension was rippling and snapping, energised by the impending storm. Jemeryl stared vacantly through the study window, then held out a hand. Charged ions leapt between her fingertips. The sparks dropped to the desktop in a dazzling snow. It was all quite fun, but made it hard to concentrate on the text.
        After several more wasted minutes, the fruitless attempt to read was abandoned. Jemeryl closed the book with a sigh, then sat drumming her fingers on the cover. It was the third time she had gone through Lorimal's thesis and she still could find nothing significant - certainly no clues to why someone had stolen the original. The theory was straightforward, if not completely orthodox. Lorimal had been an unconventional thinker of the first order.
        "But nothing like as unconventional as she was after taking the plant empathy potion." Jemeryl spoke aloud to the empty room.
        She stretched back in her chair and frowned at the book. Perhaps when the storm broke she would be able to think more clearly. A distant boom rumbled over the cliff-tops; the deep bass note shook the ground under the school. In the following silence came the sound of footsteps outside the study. The door opened and closed with a faint squeak from its hinges, and then there was nothing. Jemeryl twisted in her seat to see Vine holding the door ajar and peering out through the narrow crack.
        "You know, I think I'm right. There is something going on between those two." Vine said as she finally pushed the door shut. She plonked herself down in the free chair, and propped her feet on the desk. "I wonder what Beck will say when he finds out - we could be in for fireworks. Though, on the other hand..."
        A flash of sheet lightning interrupted Vine's musing. The entire sky lit up from deep within the clouds. The following crack of thunder crashed over the school. Within seconds, the first hard belt of rain splattered against the window. The staccato rhythm combined with the shrieks from a group of apprentices, caught in the open.
        Vine rolled her head to one side, and looked at Jemeryl. "You know, this is bad timing from your point of view. If the storm had hit tomorrow morning, you'd miss your session with Tapley."
        "I don't mind. I'm actually quite looking forward to it."
        "You're what!" Vine said in utter disbelief.
        "It's my first chance to work with the ravens. It has to be more fun than the hospital."
        "Now there we hear the voice of inexperience. Working with Tapley is as much fun as trapping your fingers in the door and far less exciting."
        "It can't be that bad."
        "It is, oh, it is. Do you know the word 'boredom'? I can guarantee that by lunchtime you'll have discovered whole new meanings for the word."
        "At least I've got the afternoon free. Hopefully, the thought will keep me going."
        "Especially if you're going into town to meet your young mercenary." Vine said, with feigned nonchalance.
        Jemeryl's smile faded. Their extended perceptions meant a community of sorcerers could not maintain the same standards of privacy as the ungifted. Jemeryl still felt justifiably annoyed; deliberate prying was a breach of etiquette.
        "Go on then, ask me how I found out." Vine was clearly delighted with herself.
        "I assume you've been indulging in some unofficial scrying." Jemeryl said, coldly.
        Vine shook her head vigorously. "One of the kitchen-staff at the Inn of Singing Birds has a sister who works in the fish market. She told our cook's son that a junior sorcerer spent a night at the inn with a mercenary. He told me. I worked out who was free that night and came up with your name."
        Jemeryl sighed in resignation. Vine was incorrigible but it was impossible to stay angry with her, especially since no worse intrusion was involved.
        "Okay, I confess."
        "So what's she like?"
        "You mean your sources haven't given a graphic description?"
        "Yes - I'd still like some of the details confirmed." The grin on Vine's face faded. "Actually you're wise to play it quiet. Bramell won't approve if he finds out. Not that he can do anything to stop you, but you'll be in for the lecture entitled 'Suitable relationships with the ungifted'. I know; I had it myself last year."
        "Someone nice?"
        "A relative of one of the patients in the hospital. It wasn't a big thing, but Bramell stuck his nose in. It's alright for him; he's been hitched to Levannue for years. The rest of us appreciate the occasional change of scenery."
        "What's Levannue like? I've only seen her from a distance." Jemeryl asked - partly to divert attention from Tevi, and partly looking for information on a suspect.
        "She's okay, I suppose." Vine did not sound convinced. "Competent. Takes herself too seriously."
        "Most seniors do."
        "Except she's turned it into an art-form. Very cold and remote, which can easily rub people up the wrong way." Vine glanced at the closed door and swung her feet down. She leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion, pitching her voice just loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain. "There are rumours about her as head of psychology. She started treating Orrago's dementia before Orrago retired. When Bramell became principal, it was suggested Levannue had used undue influence, prompting Orrago to endorse him rather than Neame. Not only is she Bramell's partner, but she and Neame hate each other and have done for years."
        "Orrago would have guarded herself." Jemeryl protested.
        "Orrago was already one-third senile and you have to drop all your defences when you become a psychiatric patient."
        There was some validity to the point, but Jemeryl was still sceptical. She might have argued it further had her interest not been caught by something else Vine had said. "Why do Levannue and Neame hate each other? I'd have thought anyone would get on with Neame."
        "It's a old argument, going back to when they were students together." Vine said, uneasily.
        "What about? Does anyone know?"
        "It wasn't really... I guess they were both partly in the wrong..." Vine shrugged her shoulders and ground to a halt.
        Jemeryl looked at her study partner with astonishment. There was a topic the school gossip did not want to discuss! It was probably of no relevance to the search for the traitor, but it might give an insight into the two senior sorcerers. Jemeryl was still trying to think of a way of probing tactfully when the door was flung open. One, slightly damp, young witch burst into the room.
        "Hey, Vine! Have you heard about what's just happened between Beck and Jona?"
        Vine spun to face the excited speaker. "No, what?"
        Despite a twinge of irritation at the interruption, Jemeryl could not help grinning. Vine's network of sources was so very efficient - it was a pity she and Tevi couldn't recruit them in the search for the traitor.

* * * * * *

        Jemeryl crossed the yard immediately inside the school gates. A small globe lit her way. The ground was drying, but numerous puddles still dotted the cobbles. Only ragged bands of cloud remained above the school, scraps of toned grey against the black sky. Stars shone, bright and hard, as if scrubbed clean by the day's storms. A slight breeze, blowing through the archway, stirred the clammy air.
        "Excuse me, ma'am. Please, can you help us." A deferential voice hailed her.
        Jemeryl faced the speaker in the shadow of the gates. It was a young man, tall and fair-haired. His face showed pale in the light of the globe. Behind him, two others were supporting another, who hung motionless in their grasp.
        "What do you want?" Jemeryl asked.
        "It's Gewyn. We've just come back across the eastern ocean. We docked this afternoon. Gewyn's picked up something nasty. Please ma'am, we're worried about her."
        It did not take a close inspection for Jemeryl to know their fears were justified. The woman was almost unconscious in her friends' arms. Her breath came in strained gasps. Her skin had a blotched yellow sheen that matched her aura. The gates should have been manned with someone to direct visitors. No doubt, the gatekeeper would return shortly, but the sick woman was in no state to, literally, hang around.
        "Follow me." Jemeryl said, leading the way back towards the hospital.
        This was definitely one for Neame. However, there was no saying where the deputy might be and Jemeryl did not wish to go traipsing through the wards with her sorry retinue. She brought the group to a halt in the lobby of one of the larger buildings and was looking around, wondering what best to do, when a nearby door opened.
        To Jemeryl's relief, it was Erlam who appeared. He was a skilled healer with a well-deserved reputation for calmness and competence, although his caring nature was sometimes undermined by a cynical sense of humour. He was not yet thirty but was already being tipped as Neame's successor.
        "Erlam. This woman's just arrived. I think Neame should see her." Jemeryl called out.
        Erlam grasped the situation immediately and came to join them. "How long as she been like this?"
        "She's been complaining about aches for the last two days. It was only last night she really got bad." one of the friends replied.
        Erlam nodded. "I'll go and get Neame. I was talking to her only a few minutes ago."
        Before he left, Erlam beckoned Jemeryl to one side. "Take her straight to the quarantine quarters, and keep her friends with her. Try not to worry them but don't let any of them leave the hospital, or wander around the wards. The less people they meet the better."
        "What's wrong with the woman?"
        "I'm fairly sure it's a form of marsh-plague." Erlam's voice kept low.
        "It's serious?"
        "Of course. Neame needs to be here." Erlam hurried away.
        The quarantine section was on the upper floor in an adjacent block. The room was austere, empty apart from two beds, a narrow table and wooden chair. The floors and furniture showed the effects of frequent scrubbing. Jemeryl was grateful that the bars on the one small window were not as conspicuous as they would have been in daylight. There was also a solid lock on the door, more to keep out the unwary than to confine the patient, although that option was available if necessary.
        The cell-like room depressed the spirits of the small group even further, if that were possible. After laying the sick woman down, two of her friends slumped despondently on the other bed, holding hands for mutual support. The third friend, the tall man who had first hailed Jemeryl, came to stand by her side.
        "Will Gewyn be all right?" His strained tone made it clear he feared the worst
        Fortunately, Jemeryl was spared the need to answer by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She rushed to the door and peered out, hoping to see Neame. However, Erlam was alone when he appeared at the end of the corridor. If he had seemed concerned before, his expression now looked positively grim.
        Jemeryl stepped forward to meet him, pulling the door closed behind her. "What's wrong? Couldn't you find Neame?" she asked in a tense whisper.
        "I found Neame okay. She'll be here in a few minutes. But I've just met Levannue, who's also looking for her. She's lying in wait downstairs. I think she wants to have part two of an argument they started earlier today." Erlam sounded angry.
        "Are you sure it isn't part 400 of an argument they started a couple of decades ago?"
        Erlam glanced sideways at Jemeryl. "Of course - you share a study with the Grapevine, don't you?"
        "Just something she mentioned in passing."
        "What hasn't she mentioned in passing?"
        In place of an answer, Jemeryl shrugged her shoulders. An attempt at wit would be misplaced in the circumstances.
        The uneasy silence did not last long. Almost immediately, they heard the door below open and close.
        "Neame. I want to talk to you." It was Levannue's officious voice.
        "Tough. It will have to wait." Neame snapped back.
        "It's important."
        "You might think so."
        Neame's deliberate footsteps began to climb the stairs.
        It occurred to Jemeryl that she was about to be caught in the middle of a quarrel between two senior sorcerers. Despite the chance that one of the suspects might, in anger, let their guard slip and drop a clue, Jemeryl would still far rather have been somewhere else. Giving any impression of taking sides would be extremely unwise. At her side, Erlam rolled his eyes despairingly towards the ceiling.
        "I'd expected better manners from you." Levannue's voice hissed and her lighter tread began to pursue Neame up.
        "You can expect what you like." Neame's tone was aggressively patronising.
        "This will only take five minutes..." Levannue's voice was cut off.
        "I don't have five minutes to waste swapping insults with you."
        Neame reached the top of the stairs. Her lips were compressed in a tight line, and her eyes glared. Jemeryl had never seen the deputy look so unapproachable. Wordlessly Erlam pointed to the room containing the patient. Just as Neame was opening the door, Levannue also rose into view in the stairwell.
        The head of psychic studies was obviously furious, although her appearance was as neat and precise as ever. Her short iron-grey hair was moulded to her head like a helmet. The tendency of her face to appear hawk-like was not improved by her temper. Her frame was light, with prominent, finely formed bones. Jemeryl could imagine them rattling with anger.
        The sight of two junior sorcerers, watching and listening to the argument, brought Levannue to a halt. She was noted for maintaining the dignity of her status, though not to the same extent as her partner Bramell.
        "Neame. What is so important that it can't wait?" Levannue made one last bid for attention.
        The deputy acted as if she hadn't heard, and disappeared into the quarantine room without a backward glance. Levannue, after a long moment of hesitation, made as if to follow.
        Erlam managed to interpose himself. "Excuse me ma'am. There's a quarantine patient in there, who's just arrived with some friends. Neame will be examining them."
        Erlam spoke tactfully, his tone pitched somewhere between explanation and entreaty, but his point was not lost. It was bad enough that junior sorcerer had overheard the quarrel; Levannue would certainly not continue her bickering with an audience of the ungifted.
        "Neame should have said." she snapped.
        Erlam tried to be diplomatic. "I'm sure if she hadn't been so concerned..."
        "And I'm sure she enjoyed the chance to be unpleasant." Levannue interrupted. She turned sharply on her heel and marched off down the stairs, leaving the two younger sorcerers alone in the corridor.
        Jemeryl found that she had been holding her breath. She let it out in a rush. To her surprise, she felt some sympathy for Levannue. If was as if Neame had been deliberately provoking her adversary by refusing to provide any explanation. Yet, the behaviour was so untypical of the deputy that Jemeryl was sure there had to be more to it.
        "Squabbling like children." Erlam's voice carried surprising vehemence.
        "Neame wasn't helpful." Jemeryl said, trying to be fair.
        "She never is where Levannue is involved."
        Jemeryl paused for a second. "Vine didn't tell me what the origin of the argument was."
        "Didn't she?" Erlam sounded a little surprised, but then shrugged. "Anyway, the origin is irrelevant by now, there's too much history in-between. To be honest they aren't usually quite this bad. I think Neame was genuinely worried by the news of marsh-plague."
        Jemeryl noticed Erlam also had avoided telling her of the root of the argument. She was going to have to try and pump Vine for some answers. The school gossip would be an easier target than Erlam. She contented herself with asking, "Is the disease really serious enough to upset Neame that much?"
        "Yes."
        "How far could it spread?"
        "It could cause a lot of trouble in Ekranos, but it won't infect the rest of the Protectorate. It is linked to the life cycle of a type of gnat, so it is very seasonal and restricted to hot climates. It also requires pools of still water to breed - unfortunately there are several spots around the estuary of the Dhaliki that suit it perfectly."
        "You sound very certain, have you seen it before?" Jemeryl asked.
        "I'm pretty sure I have. The dates line up. It was a month or so later in the year when it arrived last time, but there was a very late spring that year."
        "Was that three years back?" Jemeryl asked.
        "Yes."
        "At the time your sorcerer died?"
        Erlam flinched and went pale. "Vine told you about that as well?" His tone was icy.
        The severity of his reaction caught Jemeryl by surprise; Vine had said nothing to predict it. In confusion she said, "Druse, your librarian. Vine said he died of plague."
        Erlam's shoulders sagged. "Oh yes, him."
        "Did another sorcerer die at the school as well?"
        "No." Erlam spoke brusquely.
        "Oh." Jemeryl was confused. "Do you think we'll be all right now?"
        "The main risk is to the other patients who are already sick and vulnerable. But Neame was able to develop a full cure - and I'd better see if she wants my help. You can go." It was a curt dismissal. Then Erlam rubbed a hand across his face, as if sweeping a bad memory away. His strained expression softened and he gave Jemeryl a sad but genuine smile. "Go on. You've done your work for today. If you hang around someone will only give you more."
        It was good advice. As Jemeryl walked back to her room, she considered what she had learned. Erlam's reaction to the death of Druse was unexpected, as was Neame's behaviour with Levannue. In all likelihood, neither was relevant to Lorimal's chalice, but one fact had registered firmly. From the dates given by Tevi, plague had been raging in Ekranos at exactly the same time as the theft of the chalice. Exactly how it tied in was not clear, but Jemeryl had the sure sense, born of her sorcerer's training, that it was no mere coincidence.

* * * * * *

        At the rear of the school was an open field. The turf rolled away in a gentle slope, dotted with small white flowers, until abruptly cut short at the cliff's edge. The early morning sun was warming the air, although the ground was still squelchy underfoot from the previous day's rain. The risk of slipping on the mud forced Jemeryl to move cautiously across the grass, placing each footstep. Fortunately, her destination was not far, and she reached the small shack where the ravens were kept without mishap.
        The roost was built from rough timber, open along one side, with a low sloping thatch roof. The ground inside was covered in loose straw; mud soaked through in places. Running along the back wall was a rail, set at shoulder height. Jemeryl ducked under the eaves.
        Four ravens were perched on the rail, huddled at one end as if engaged in a private debate. They were bigger than she had expected, stocky box-like shapes, easily three times the length of Klara. They fixed her with beady eyes. Not a feather was out of place in their black plumage, yet they gave the impression of being untidy. There was no sign of the keeper. A sound made Jemeryl look down. Two further ravens were on the ground. One of them hopped over the straw towards her, bounding in an ungainly, sideways fashion.
        It was hard to tell if the approaching raven was friendly, and unwise to use magic until she knew what other spells controlled the birds. Jemeryl was considering a strategic retreat when she heard the sound of someone coming across the grass, muttering cheerfully. The ravens recognised the voice and replied with throaty chirps that rose to full volume caws as Tapley stepped though the open side of the roost, carrying a large wooden bucket.
        The raven-keeper was roughly the same height as Jemeryl, but his build could only be described as scrawny. Deeply lined skin was drawn tight to the outline of his skull. His pale hair was cropped short. He moved with jerky, exaggerated gestures, as if in imitation of the ravens, although his looks were more reminiscent of a newly hatched, featherless chick. He could have been anywhere between forty and seventy in age.
        At the sight of his visitor, Tapley came to a standstill and stared at her wordlessly.
        "If you please sir, I have been detailed to work with you this morning. My name's Jemeryl." She introduced herself meekly, uncertain of Tapley's status. The keeper was too old to count as a junior, but nobody spoke of him with the respect a senior position usually received.
        "You're new here."
        Jemeryl was unsure whether it was a statement or a question, so nodded an agreement that would meet either case.
        "And you've got to learn about the ravens."
        "Yes sir."
        Tapley looked confused but then his face lit up with a smile. "Yes. We can start with food - because we loves our din-dins." His last words were spoken in a sibilant baby talk, addressed to the ravens, who responded enthusiastically.
        Tapley reached into the bucket, and scattered a fistful of chopped meat on the ground. The ravens descended on the scraps in an explosion of black feathers, squabbling unnecessarily among themselves; there was plenty of food for all. The racket almost drowned out the broken monologue that Tapley launched into, interspersed with affectionate asides to the ravens.
        "We get leftovers from the kitchen. The cook's okay, but you have to watch the rest. They'd give the ravens any old muck, carrot tops and stale bread. - and we don't like that - They eat the odd bit of fruit, but meat is what they want. They aren't that finicky, except Sniper who won't eat pork. - you're an old fuss-pot - Sniper likes to sleep on the post by the door. He's Pollo's youngest son. His sister Spludge is the bird on your right. She's seven years old now. Toggle and Dork are her babies - you're big babies now - Whomper is the oldest one, Pollo's father. He keeps the rest in order, but you must make sure that Toggle doesn't take anyone else's share of the food. - who's a greedy guts?"
        The keeper rambled away, completely losing Jemeryl within seconds. She looked at the six identical birds and, with a smothered smile, abandoned all attempt to identify them by name. Unaware of Jemeryl's lapse in concentration, Tapley had jumped on to describing at length the eating habits of birds from years gone by. His remarks lurched on from topic to topic in an apparently random sequence.
        Once the food was gone, the ravens scattered to various parts of the roost. They directed unblinking stares at the two sorcerers, their small black eyes similar to Klara's, but seeming both more critical and less intelligent. Under their gaze, Jemeryl felt small tremors running through the higher dimensions, carrying the taste of magic. She had the growing impression that the object of the morning's work was for the ravens to learn about her, rather than the other way around. It was just as well, since she was unlikely to gain much meaningful information from Tapley's babbling. However, it would be better to act as if paying attention. She turned back to Tapley and composed her expression into one of polite interest.

* * * * * *

        Three hours later Jemeryl had reached the end of her endurance and given up any pretence of listening. Tapley seemed not to notice, oblivious of any audience other than the ravens. Vine's warnings had fallen pitifully short of the truth. The past ten minutes Jemeryl spent staring at her feet, scuffing dry straw into a small patch of mud and watching the pattern as the wet soaked through.
        In her growing cerebral numbness, Jemeryl's attention to her surroundings was minimal. The trance-like state broke suddenly when she realised Tapley had stopped speaking and was leaving the shed with a raven on his wrist.
        In vain, Jemeryl tried to recall his last words. Was she supposed to follow? Bring something? Wait behind? The keeper was out in the sunshine, walking across the grass without a backward glance. Making a quick decision, Jemeryl hurried after him.
        By the time she caught up, Tapley had stopped in the open field, well clear of the school buildings and beyond the perimeter of the school's guarding shields. His face was lifted towards the sky and showed no awareness of Jemeryl's presence. Then he asked abruptly, "Have you done this before?"
        "Er... maybe not exactly." Jemeryl hedged.
        "When you're a raven, flying is so easy."
        "Oh, mind-riding a bird?" Jemeryl realised what Tapley meant. "Yes, sir."
        "Don't be heavy handed, ravens aren't machines - yes my precious, we don't care what Neame thinks, do we?"
        Tapley's conversation degenerated into mumbled half-sentences while he stroked the raven.
        "Is there anything in particular you want me to do, sir?" Jemeryl reminded him of her presence,
        "Fly with Whomper, if you know how. Fly... up, up over everything, on the wind." His voice was a dreamy sing-song. "I've done that."
        "Yes, sir." Jemeryl said, adding mentally, It's obvious you have.
        Tapley showed the classic symptoms of having spent far too much time outside his own skull, a victim of the accumulated effects that turned brain to mush. Many sorcerers had fallen into the same trap before. Consequently, the dangers of prolonged mind-riding were so well known it was surprising no one had intervened with Tapley before he had reached his current pitiful state. Surely someone must have seen the risks he was taking?
        Tapley thrust the raven in her direction, although with obvious misgivings on his face. Jemeryl braced her arm to take the weight of the bird.
        "Whomper will know what he's doing even if you don't" Tapley's tone implied that he thought this a likely proposition. "Now take the raven. Look into his eyes, and..."
        "I know how to do it, sir. What's the core binding spell?"
        At first, it seemed that Tapley would ignore Jemeryl's question and carry on with his rambling, but then something in the keeper seemed to mesh together. His eyes focused on Jemeryl.
        "It's the Three Calling Circles."
        "Three Calling Circles?" Jemeryl was surprised. It was not one of the spells she had expected.
        Tapley had backed away and was watching, waiting for her to begin. Jemeryl did not have the time to think the implications through. She did not want him to think she needed instructions after all.
        Jemeryl lifted the raven, so its shrewd eyes bored into hers. Latching onto the core spell, she started interlinking the circles of calling through the higher dimensions. All unnecessary thoughts were swept away, leaving awareness only of herself and the raven. Jemeryl sunk deeper into the lacework of thoughts. As always, childhood memories of playing cat's cradle wove themselves into her spell as she caught the links that spun through their joint minds. There was a moment of pulling the lines taut and then, with the gentlest of shifts, she made the transition.
        The sky was wide and tempting; Jemeryl launched herself towards it. The buildings of the school fell away, comically unfamiliar from the new viewpoint. Earth and sky hung around her. The wind was moulded by the beat of her wings. As a human, air is noticed only in its absence, as a bird it is a tool to be used. Jemeryl climbed through the sky. The body was strange, like ill-fitting clothing, but it was wonderful in its power. She played with the air currents, looping and dancing on the wind. The tedium of the morning was forgotten in the joy of flight.
        "Enough. You can come back now." Tapley's faint cry drifted up on the wind.
        Jemeryl circled on outstretched wings, looking down at the two small figures on the grass below, earthbound. One of them was herself, strange and unlikely though it seemed. Again, she heard the call to return and, tempting though it was to disobey, she knew her time was up. A last sweep through the heavens, feeling the wind rippling over feathers and then she glided back down, breaking through the confusion of sensation as an arm under her claws matched the claws clasping her arm. The links snapped and she was back, standing on the ground with a raven on her wrist.
        Tapley trotted to her side and took the raven back. A huge beam spread across his face. "You love the ravens."
        "I enjoy the work." Jemeryl said, a little more cautiously.
        "No. You need to love the ravens to work with them. Aris loved the ravens - and you loved her too, we miss her, don't we - Neame doesn't like the ravens - no she doesn't, nasty woman - She wanted to get rid of the ravens, replace them with her pretend bird. Real ravens are best. Neame thought she could make a better one, except she couldn't. She needed other people to help her, and it didn't work. She hoped a third rate witch could use it - she'd like that wouldn't she - A good job Bramell stopped her. She's no sorcerer."
        Jemeryl's attention was immediately hooked by what Tapley was saying - or by what she thought he was saying. "A pretend bird? You mean a sort of golem?"
        "Nasty thing." Tapley spat.
        "What happened to this bird?"
        "Whomper's here."
        Jemeryl sighed. Tapley was lost again. "Neame's pretend bird, what happened to it?"
        "You can't have a pretend bird, it won't work; I told you that." Tapley scowled. "You need to love the ravens, like Aris did - even though she lost your sister, she didn't mean it. You know she didn't mean it."
        It was hopeless. Was the pretend bird an artificial golem, or just something that wasn't a raven? The only thing Jemeryl could be certain of was Tapley's outrage, directed mainly at Neame. Who was Aris, anyway? It was a name Jemeryl had not heard before. She was certain the person was no longer at the school.
        "What happened to Aris? Where is she now?"
        "Poor Aris." Tapley mumbled.
        "Why poor?"
        "Aris died."
        Jemeryl's sorcerer senses prickled, making her ask, "When?"
        "At the time of the plague, and we didn't know. We lost Whomper's sister as well." Tapley's face twisted in grief, though it was hard to say whether it was due more to the death of the raven or the sorcerer.
        Jemeryl frowned in confusion. Vine had said only Druse died of the plague, but Erlam's reaction the night before had certainly implied otherwise, and now Tapley had given a name.
        Jemeryl looked at the raven-keeper thoughtfully. "She caught the plague?"
        "Ravens don't get plague."
        Before Jemeryl could rephrase her question, the refectory bell rang out. Tapley nodded as he heard it. "We're finished for this morning. You can go. It's lunchtime."
        Jemeryl was about to leave when her memory prompted her. "Why do you use the Three Calling Circles, surely something like Treascal's Binding would be better?"
        "Treascal's Binding?" Tapley nodded. "It's a good spell, but the sixth dimension... some people..." A sweep of his arm took in the school. "can't manage it. We used to use the Long Ties of Anima, but Orrago forbade it."
        "I'm not surprised." It was an extremely risky binding spell, normally a last resort.
        "Orrago said we couldn't after... after what happened to me. I was flying and... the tie broke." Tapley turned watery eyes on Jemeryl. "I've not been very well since."
        "No sir, I guess you haven't."
        Jemeryl wanted more details about Aris, the ravens and Neame's artificial bird, but Tapley had started to walk back to the roost, muttering to himself. Anyway, there were other, better sources of information - such as Vine. Jemeryl headed for the refectory, her mind whirling as she considered the implications of the binding spell. It was something she would have to discuss with Tevi.

* * * * * *

        Shouts and laughter rang out in the warm spring evening. It was just after sunset. To the west, the last touches of pink and purple smudged the underside of wispy clouds. The square outside the Inn of Singing Birds was busy. The activity centred on the tables set in front of several taverns, where lanterns marked the traditional boundaries to what the innkeepers considered their own territory.
        The clientele outside the Inn of Singing Birds were noticeably older and quieter than the others, although there was little to chose in the flow of wine and beer. Tevi and Jemeryl sat well towards the back, obscured in shadow beneath the scraggly row of trees lining the edge of the square. None of the milling groups of people paid them any attention or showed the inclination to sit at their table, but Tevi had noticed there was always a discrete waiter, circulating like a guard-dog, ready to head off the unwary. She found it mildly irritating, but at least it guaranteed them the privacy to discuss what they had learned so far.
        Jemeryl was musing aloud. "I just wasn't expecting Three Calling Circles. It's got me rethinking my assumptions about the ravens. It's such a limiting spell - but, from what I think Tapley said, some of the sorcerers have trouble with the sixth dimension."
        Tevi frowned. "How does that affect it?"
        "For mind-riding you bond with the aura on the fifth dimension, via the tensors of the sixth. The various binding spells use different methods to achieve this. By definition, a sorcerer can work in all three paranormal dimensions, but usually you're better in one than the others. The sorcerers at the school are primarily herbalists - so you'd expect them to the strongest in the fifth. The Three Calling Circles is notable for being very undemanding on sixth dimensional ability. The Long Ties of Anima is another easy spell in the sixth, except it's very risky. Tapley implied they used to use it, but Orrago made them stop after he had an accident - which explains the state he's in."
        Tevi held up her hands. "I'll take your word on it. What does it mean to our hunt for the traitor?"
        "I'd assumed the culprit had taken a raven off for a week or two, saying they were going for samples. The raven was dispatched to Storenseg, and the culprit collected the plants in a conventional manner while the raven was away. A spell like Treascal's Binding would allow this, however the Three Calling Circles is a close binding spell. You have to physically touch the bird to make the initial bond, and all the time you're linked to it you're in a trance - you can't eat or drink or even sleep properly."
        Tevi's face cleared; at last she thought she could see where Jemeryl was going. "I think I understand. You mean a sorcerer can only link to the raven for..." She paused, thinking. "two days at most. Which limits how far you can send it."
        "Exactly. And, having been a raven I know they aren't..."
        Tevi's frown returned. "When were you a raven?"
        "This morning."
        "You..." Tevi banged the side of her head with her open palm. "Okay... forget the rest." She sighed and gave up the attempt to understand. "What would be the limit to send a raven to collect something?"
        Jemeryl pursed her lips thoughtfully. "400 miles, maybe 500 if you were very lucky with the winds."
        "So a sorcerer on the mainland could have got the chalice?"
        "Only if they were in southern Walderim."
        "Could someone have taken a raven and changed the spell to treacle binding?"
        Jemeryl laughed. "It's Treascal's Binding and they couldn't change the spell without killing the raven."
        Klara joined in. "Which would have a negative impact on its flying ability - speaking as the expert on this."
        "You're supposed to be quiet." Tevi hissed.
        "I'm incorrigible."
        Tevi tapped the magpie's beak as an affectionate rebuke. She was not too concerned. The waiter made sure there was no one within earshot. Moreover, with a sorcerer present, no one would be surprised even if the table started talking. Her attention returned to Jemeryl.
        "So what you're saying is that either the traitor was in Walderim, or it wasn't one of the school ravens?"
        "That sums it up."
        Tevi chewed her lip. "People who saw the bird take the chalice described it as a huge black crow."
        "That sounds like a raven." Jemeryl confirmed.
        "Could the culprit have got another raven from somewhere else?"
        "It's not that easy. Binding spells take a long time to prepare, at least a couple of months, and the work is rather conspicuous. It would certainly be noticed if someone tried casting one on the school grounds, so all the work of binding the bird would have to be done after leaving Ekranos. Whichever way you look at it, whoever it was had to be off on a very lengthy trip when they took the chalice. It certainly ought to help narrow down the suspects."
        While she considered the idea, Tevi leaned back and stared up at the trees. A breeze rustled overhead, twisting the leaves to produce a flickering effect as the pale undersides caught the light from the lamps.
        "How about this artificial bird you said Tapley was so upset about? Could that have been used instead, without the traitor needing to leave Ekranos?"
        "It might be a possibility. I've got to find out more about it - how much work was done on it and what its capabilities were."
        "It would point to Neame, since she initiated the thing."
        "Yes." Jemeryl drummed her fingers on the table. "Assuming I understood Tapley correctly."
        "You're not happy with the idea of Neame as the guilty one, are you?"
        "No."
        "Because you think she's a kind, loveable person?"
        "I respect her."
        "Both Levannue and Tapley dislike her. Perhaps they're right. Perhaps there's a less than pleasant side to Neame that she keeps hidden from most."
        "Perhaps." Jemeryl sighed. "There are too many questions and loose ends. Things don't tie up. And there's something odd going on at the school. Both Moragar and Erlam were keeping secrets. Even Vine has clammed up once or twice - to call that out of character is like saying the sea is a bit damp on occasion."
        The analogy made Tevi laugh. She took a deep draft of her beer. Not far away, the innkeeper was passing on her rounds. The stout elderly woman smiled deferentially in their direction. Tevi acknowledged the smile and then put her tankard down as another idea occurred to her.
        "Could one of the seniors have persuaded a younger sorcerer to get the chalice?" Magic might be outside her understanding, but the abuse of power wasn't.
        "Not impossible, but it would mean letting someone else in on the crime. You know the saying - two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. It's hard enough to keep anything private from other sorcerers, even without Vine's services. I'd have thought involving another person would be an unacceptable risk."
        "Would they have to let them in on the secret? I know you weren't impressed by Vine's gossip about Levannue abusing her post of responsibility. But couldn't she have made a junior sorcerer get the chalice for her, and then forget what they'd done?"
        Jemeryl shook her head. "Not a sorcerer. She'd have no trouble enslaving the ungifted or a low grade witch - but someone like that wouldn't be able to control the ravens."
        "You're sure of it?"
        "Yes. Snaring someone's mind is like tying their hands using cotton thread." Jemeryl held her wrists together to illustrate. "It's easy if the person obligingly holds their hands like this for five minutes so you can make several dozen loops, but if they see what you're doing and move..." She pulled her hands apart. "Equally, to ensorcel someone who can't see what you're doing is straightforward. But anyone who is aware of the fifth dimension can only be taken over with their consent. You have to do the magical equivalent of standing very still."
        Tevi's forehead furrowed as an unrelated problem occurred to her. "If it's so hard to overpower a sorcerer... supposing we find our traitor; how do we take them prisoner and get them back to Lyremouth?"
        "We use an enslaving ward. Levannue probably has one lying about we could borrow. They exploit the elemental powers of the sixth dimension to bind someone's mind - and before you ask, I'm quite sure nobody at the school is trapped by one. The person would have to wear the device all the time and they tend to be quite bulky. On top of that, enslaving wards are very crude in their effect. The victim would be expressionless, sluggish and probably unable to speak."
        "I suppose that would be noticed."
        "It wouldn't take Vine to spot it. Mind you, I could probably muster a fair amount of support in the school for having one snapped on her."
        "Supposing Levannue doesn't have one of these wards?"
        "We could revert to a simple iron collar. Iron is funny stuff; it distorts magical forces even more than water. For a sorcerer, wearing an iron collar is like having fireworks continuously going off in your face. Iralin had me wear one briefly as a demonstration." Jemeryl shuddered at the memory. "The combined forces of the school would be enough to restrain the culprit while the collar was put on. After that, I think we can leave it to you to take care of them."
        "That simple?" Tevi said in surprise.
        "Providing we don't take too long getting back to Lyremouth."
        "How long before the collar stops working?"
        "It doesn't exactly stop, but I've been told that, given time, you can get used to the effects. There's a story of a group of bandits who managed to take a sorcerer prisoner using one, and treated him rather badly. After a year, he was able to overcome the iron sufficiently to teleport a metal file into his hand one night."
        "That must have surprised the bandits the next day."
        "Oh, I don't think many of them even got to see dawn."
        "If iron is so distracting, why do you have iron caps on the end of your staff?"
        "The caps reflect energy waves, forming a resonating cavity you can use as an amplifier. The wooden staff in the middle is irrelevant. It's simply there to hold the iron reflectors a precise distance apart. We use oak since it has the right thermal coefficients."
        Tevi frowned. What was a thermal coefficient? Before she could ask, noise from the square caught her attention. Several young people were splashing water from a drinking trough at each other and shrieks rang out as someone got drenched. The horseplay was comprehensibly human. Magic left Tevi uneasy - there was so much she couldn't understand. She didn't want her lover's abilities to be a barrier between them. I just need to learn to accept it. she told herself. As long as it makes sense to Jemeryl I won't worry.
        Tevi focused on a part of Jemeryl's report that she could grasp the significance of. "You think Lorimal's manuscript was stolen from the library?"
        "It's a bit much of a coincidence otherwise."
        "Does this mean we can be totally sure the person who took the chalice is in Ekranos?"
        "I've been certain from the start - call it a sorcerer's hunch." Jemeryl gave a lopsided grin. "Not that it means much. Like most people's hunches they work better with hindsight."
        "I've managed to find out where the customs records for the nectar is. If we know the traitor is here, do you still want me to have Klara read it?"
        Jemeryl nodded. "If you can. There may be some useful information - not the least the dates. I'd like to know if the traitor is still working on the spell..."
        "Or if they've completed the work and are ready to wage war on the Protectorate, starting tomorrow." Tevi suggested, not entirely joking.
        "There's a cheering thought."
        "It's no problem for me to look at the records. It might be a bit harder to explain why I want Klara with me."
        "Tell them you're trying to broaden my education." The magpie's voice was a soft croak.
        Tevi looked at Jemeryl in exasperation. "It's a good job she doesn't speak down on the dockside. She already attracts more attention than I like."
        The night air was growing cooler. Jemeryl slid along the bench and put her arm around Tevi. "I like to think she's keeping an eye on you. Making sure you don't get into trouble."
        "You're running more risks than me." As she spoke, Tevi felt Jemeryl shiver. "Are you cold?"
        "No, it was..." Jemeryl's word trailed away.
        "Was what?"
        "Oh... nothing."
        Tevi looked at the woman beside her. "It wasn't a premonition or anything like that?"
        "No. Don't be silly." Jemeryl squeezed Tevi's hand, but her voice lacked reassurance.
        Tevi did not push the issue, but neither could she dismiss it from her mind. Her eyes fixed, over the rooftops, on the cliff-top school. The sooner the traitor was identified and captured the better.

Continued in Chapter 4.


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