The Memory of Darkness (on hold until October)

3 - Expectation of a Storm

The man studied the reflection in the polished metal mirror, and sighed.

"All things considered, you have looked worse," he whispered. This was true, but of little consolation.

The mirror showed his face to be red and blistered. It still hurt, though that was to be expected.

Things had been easier when he couldn't feel pain, but now... he supposed that everything had its price.

He would have to be careful. Yesterday had not gone as he had hoped.

Next time it would be different.

He needed to tread carefully.

He needed to wait until he was truly ready.

The metal mirror hit the wall with a clatter. He had seen enough for now.

Soon it would be different.

It would happen.

XXXXX

"Danger?" asked Arianna, feigning indifference. "What sort of danger?" She fought to remain calm, but her mind was racing. This can't be a coincidence.

"I'd rather not discuss it here," said Coren.

Arianna quickly glanced around the courtyard. Several of the Sisters stood watching the scene with interest. Branwen had remained at a tactful distance, but her eyes were wide with curiosity.

"Don't worry about them," she said. "If they were a threat I'm sure they'd have acted by now." She smiled awkwardly at her own attempt at humour.

"Even so, Your Grace," said Coren, frowning a little. "I'd still rather not."

"Very well," she sighed. "I'll show you to the guest house, just in case you've forgotten where it is, and then you can tell me all about it."

He nodded, silently, following her as she stalked away across the cobbled yard.

The convent's guest house was a hive of activity. Arianna tried the door of the small library kept for visitors' use, and was relieved to find it empty. "What's going on?" she asked, once the door was closed behind them both.

Coren grimaced. "Something awful has happened," he said flatly. "Prince Anton fears that it threatens your safety, and I'm inclined to agree."

Arianna felt the blood drain from her face. "What is it? How bad could it be?"

"Have you heard of a place called Turas Vale?" asked Coren. "It's around twenty miles south of Kyrvell."

"No," she admitted.

Coren folded his arms, his face grave. "It's almost unbelievable," he began. "Four nights ago, most of the villagers were massacred. A hundred and sixty-four people, according to the official count."

"Who would do that?" she asked, horrified.

"We don't know for sure," he said. "But we're certain it was a Mage."

"Why?" she queried, dreading the answer. "What did they do?"

He sighed deeply. "They raised the dead from the village graveyard, and had them kill any living soul that crossed their paths. The survivors' accounts are horrific."

"But why?" Arianna felt an almost painful tingling in her hands. "What possible reason would anybody have for doing such a thing?"

"It seems that the motive was revenge," said Coren.