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need
arise.”
    “ May I see your edict?”
    Adept
Lanuille produced the document from an inside pocket and Kettna
read it over. This was all too embarrassing to believe, yet there
it was, complete with signatures of the elders and the seal of the
Order. Freedom had a tight leash and her mother had a deeper agenda
than ‘protection’. It was pointless to struggle against guild
edicts, as much as she wanted to. She would let them play out and
the connections would become apparent, as they did with all things.
For now, she would follow the thread of her own edict and find Rix
along the way.
    The
ferryman leaned on the rudder and sang a song about wind and waves
and buckets and knaves. Kettna put aside the politics of her
journey and emptied her mind of frustration, practising her focus
on the patterns of the weave, manifesting as the forces of nature.
Gulls patrolled a fisher-boat, gliding on the breeze. The sail on
the skiff billowed and the lake blew white pointed kisses to the
sky. Here at the conjunction of air and water, Kettna attuned her
thoughts. She pictured the elements interacting and nurtured an
idea, repeating the words of the ferryman’s song like a colourful
thread woven into a tapestry. To her surprise the weave yielded to
her mind and a wild spell took hold, following the path of the
ferryman’s ditty.
    “… The sails filled and the waters stilled, the boat
up and flew on the water,” sang the ferryman, until he realised
that very thing was happening. The bow lifted and the boat skimmed
across the lake, as though the gods drove it with their own hand.
The ferryman gripped the rudder, his eyes wide and laughter jumping
from his chest. “Look at that Mistress! I’m a mage now!”
    “ I think the Order missed an opportunity with you, Ferryman!”
laughed Kettna.
    Adept
Lanuille glared at Kettna, as if the compliment had stained her
immaculate blue robes.
    The
ferryman’s innate mana dissipated. The spellsong was lost in his
excitement and Kettna’s focus on Lanuille’s sudden irritation. It
was a good thing too, for they were close to the docks of Calimska,
where scores of small boats ducked in and out between ships big
enough to crush the ferryman’s skiff. The docks bustled with
sailors and labourers, travellers and hawkers. Treadwheel cranes
lifted heavy cargo and draft horses hauled wagons loaded with all
manner of goods. A waft of fish, tar and manure assaulted her nose.
A battalion of warehouses lined along the lakeside like troops
laying siege to the city. Calimska looked down from upon the hill,
ringed by a stone curtain wall that proclaimed ultimate power, as a
crown did for a monarch. Inside the city fortifications,
golden-yellow brick houses with tiled roofs climbed the hill, just
as the first settlers did, flocking to witness Calim’s miracles on
the summit. And there, at the very top, was the seat of power, the
epicentre of politics and trade: the Grand Hall and Castle
Roost.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
    Locked
Out
     
    The ferryman brought
the skiff up to the pier and secured the mooring lines. Wielding
magic through song had given him a giddy grin and he proffered a
kind hand to assist the two men first to disembark. The cowled
adepts ignored the ferryman’s hand and stepped ashore without so
much as a nod of thanks, or a pause in their intelectual
conversation. They were rude, even for mages. Undeterred by the
snub, the ferryman assisted Adept Lanuille, who took his hand with
brief courtesy. Kettna accepted his hand with warm regard and he
helped her onto the dock. Together they had made magic, ever so
fleeting, yet the joy of the ferryman’s song had stitched a
connection between them. Would it be so if she had not used his
song as the catalyst? He bowed to Kettna and placed his forehead
upon the back of her hand in the old custom of gratitude.
“Mistress, you did that miraculous thing, no?”
    “ I helped, but the power was all