***
The Council Chamber appeared vastly different at night.
During the day, its arched windows let in the light; softening the chamber’s austere lines. Outside, night now shrouded the land and only rows of flickering torches, which hung on chains from the damp walls, illuminated the shadowy space.
The members of the council, Belythna among them, sat at the great oval table, awaiting Riadamor’s messenger. Lady Serina sat at the head of the table, her stern expression discouraging any of those present from commenting.
The doors to the Council Chamber creaked open and a small figure wearing a hooded green cloak, stepped into the room. All eyes tracked her across the floor as she approached the table. The female was only a few feet back when she halted and pushed the hood back. She was young and pretty, although her thick dark hair was tied back into a tight braid, giving her a harder look that belied her years.
“You are the Esquill messenger?” Serina finally asked, when she had completed her silent assessment of the individual before her.
The girl inclined her head, studying the older woman for a moment before a smile lifted the ends of her mouth. “I am. My name is Marin.”
“Speak your piece then, Marin.”
“Riadamor sends a message,” the girl replied, with a supreme confidence that bordered on arrogance. “The time of the Sentorân is at an end. We will meet you in battle, before the gates of Deep-Spire, on the dawn of this mid-winter’s day.”
A rumble of outrage followed her missive. Yet, Serina remained silent. She sat, leaning back in her chair, her face expressionless. Eventually, when the outrage had died, the leader of the Sentorân replied.
“And what if we refuse?”
“If you refuse, we will drench you in the blood of the innocent,” the young woman replied. “We will arrive here on the appointed day, and if you do not meet us, we will take retribution by destroying each of the surrounding villages, one by one. You know what we are capable of. We will torture and slay all we find – and we will make sure that you are blamed.”
“That is quite a threat,” Serina acknowledged, ignoring the fury that continued to vibrate around the chamber. “However, you cannot force us into battle.”
“No, we can’t,” Marin agreed. “The choice is yours.”
Lady Serina regarded the girl calmly for a few moments before speaking once more. “Why is Riadamor doing this?”
Marin smiled. “She told me you would ask me that, and wanted me to inform you that you are to blame, Lady Serina. Had you taken a firmer hand with the realmlords, as The Pact of the Realms dictates, Riadamor would never have questioned your authority. You made a mistake in not killing her when you had the chance. She is dangerous, far more so than you realise.”
“Enough of this folly,” Serina replied, the cracks finally showing in her composed façade. “Tell me what she wants.”
Marin’s smile widened. “She wants Deep-Spire. She wants to rule. She wants to make you – all of you – pay for not listening to her. She wants to give Palâdnith the sorcerers it deserves, not a council of fools and cowards.” Marin’s gaze coolly swept the assembly as she said those last words.
Watching Marin closely, Belythna was stupefied by the young woman’s audacity.
You’re either very brave, or a little simple, she thought, her gaze shifting to their leader’s face.
“Go from here,” Serina said finally, her voice raspy from the effort it was taking to control her simmering temper, “and take this message back to your leader: it is not up to Riadamor to decide who rules and who does not. Till now, I have been merciful. I do not wish to repeat the mistakes of the warlocks of old – but if Riadamor continues on this course, my mercy will be at an end. Stop this now and we shall show you clemency, but continue and it will lead to your ruin.”
“What answer is that?” Marin’s smile faded.
“The only one you will receive. Take my response back to your mistress – may she choke on it.”
Marin stared back at Lady Serina. Her arrogance had dissolved and her eyes now glittered with anger.
“Get out,” Serina rose to her feet. “Do not test me girl. I will not repeat myself.”
Marin pulled up her hood and turned her back on the leader of the Sentorân. The gathered council watched as she made her way from the Council Chamber without another word.
“Are you letting her go?” Marvin spoke up. He sat at Lady Serina’s right; his face was creased in deep lines of disapproval.
Their leader did not respond. No one else spoke while the young Esquill left the Council Chamber. It was only when the doors had whispered shut behind the girl that Lady Serina finally turned to Marvin.
“She must leave,” she told him. “Riadamor must receive my message.”
Chapter Eleven
Lady Serina’s Gift
Deep-Spire, Central Omagen