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at him
outside. Her hands were cold and so was the water but it felt good
on the burning skin, dry and dusty from the long walk south. He
felt her hands stray to his back and the silence became a little
too awkward. The mage spun around and deftly caught her wrist. ‘How
many times do I have to tell you?’ asked Farden in a low voice,
with more than a hint of severity. He stared into her chestnut
eyes, and slowly and gently let go of her arms.
    Elessi looked upset. ‘I’m
sorry, I just wanted to s…’ she began, but Farden held up a hand.
He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes again.
    ‘Enough,’ he said, and the maid
backed away. She picked up his cloak and some other clothes and
turned to leave. ‘Durnus is waiting for you upstairs,’ she
said.
    Farden nodded and heard the
wooden door click shut. With a sigh he held the wet cloth to his
side. Elessi was a kind soul and she looked after him well, but her
curiosity was dangerous. It might have seemed harsh keeping her at
arm’s length but it had to be done, and her feelings had to be
sacrificed in the process for her safety. There were rules, and
even though she was his friend, rules and the Arka came first. It
was refreshing though, to be treated with respect, as opposed to
the usual uncertainty and fear he received from most of the
population of Albion. Farden was usually treated with a mild
neglect here, as more of a dark omen than a blessing, stared at
with wary melancholy eyes, at a lone foreign soldier passing
through. Farden didn’t really like people. People were rude, people
were ignorant, oblivious to how the real world worked and moved,
like ants.
    He grunted and scratched at his
back and bloodied side. His vambraces felt heavy and he could feel
weariness slowly creeping over him, but with resolve he made for
the door. Time to see Durnus.
     
    A thin old man sat with his
back to the door, watching the flames crackle and pop in the
fireplace. Drapes hung thick and heavy over the windows, making the
huge room dim and full of flickering shadows. Candles dotted the
floors and walls, ensconced in holders and perching on tall piles
of books. A massive map of Albion hung on the far wall, showing the
distant shores of Nelska, and the cliff cities of Halôrn to the
south east. Farden quietly closed the door behind him, completely
silent. His bare feet slowly crept across the cold stone floor
towards the old man in his comfy chair.
    ‘You’re late,’ said the old man
in a raspy voice. The noise made Farden flinch. The travel-weary
mage laughed and moved forward to an empty chair by the fire. ‘For
gods’ sake, Durnus how do you do that?’ The man laughed a
whispering cackle, and grinned widely, baring sharp fangs. Farden
slumped into the comfy armchair and sighed, wincing as his wound
scraped against his tunic.
    ‘You never remember that I have
the hearing to rival that of a bat Farden, whereas you have the
footfall of a work-horse.’ Durnus chuckled again and poked at the
fire with a long metal rod. ‘The sun is still up then I take
it?’
    Farden nodded, and stared into
the fire in silence. The old figure in the chair next to him was
one of his oldest friends, and one of Emaneska’s sharpest
historical minds. Durnus’s eyes were a blue so pale that they
almost bordered on white, and his skin was like white paper
stretched over a thin frame. His features were sharp and bony and
his greying hair was swept back and slicked down, neatly curled
behind his tall ears and stopping just short of his shoulders. His
fangs peeked from behind pale lips when he laughed. Farden had
often wondered how old he truly was.
    ‘Good,’ he said. The vampyre
settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. ‘Report,’ he
whispered.
    Farden went to it with a will,
recalling every detail of his journey to Carn Breagh, telling
Durnus of the strange corridor inside the bowels of the castle and
his fight with the wild wyrm. The vampyre merely nodded