City of Snakes - Book 2 The Council of the Light

-Three-

Grendal pulled the curtains of Clarence's bed with so much force that they came loose from their runners. "Get up now."

"Light," Clarence muttered shielding his eyes from the strong sunlight. His head was heavy and he hadn't slept well.

"Light," the Steward mimicked as he snapped his fingers at the servants who were holding robes ready to dress Clarence. "It's past ten bells."

"It's Sunday," Clarence protested. "There are no functions on a Sunday."

Grendal leant forward, grabbed Clarence's bedsheets and pulled them off of him. "We've been summoned."

Clarence turned to look at him, "By whom?"

"Wake up," Grendal sneered. "The Eight. Would I bother personally getting you up for anybody else?"

Now Clarence saw the reason for the urgency and he too hurried the servants, "Make me look like I know what I'm doing," he commanded.

Grendal laughed at him and retreated to the chair by the fire. "We really don't have enough time for that," he said.

Grendal was dressed in black velvet and fur, his sword and knife matched his outfit. He never seemed hurried, but today was the closest he had come in a while. Clarence noticed that the clothes that had been picked for him were of a very similar design.

"What do they want?" he asked as his servant buttoned him up and tied a belt on to his waist.

"The High Priest has called an extraordinary meeting of the Eight to talk about the assassinations."

"Why is it so rushed?" Clarence grumbled as the servant slipped his coat over his shoulders and arranged the seal of his office around his neck.

"To reduce the likelihood of an attack. We have to go to the life flame chamber," he turned to the servant, "Are you done?"

"Yes, sir."

Grendal stood and crossed to the door, which was opened for him by two guards and Clarence fell into step next to him as they swept from the bedroom. He noticed that the Stewards face was set with heavy determination and Clarence realised with satisfaction why he was so grim. Grendal was happy as a de facto supreme ruler of the Leprechauns but he would face the real thing today, and in doing so be reminded that he was nothing more than a caretaker. To the other ruling empires, Grendal was a pimple. He was an upstart crow, pecking around where he had no right. Clarence had the O'Leary blood and so Clarence was the only one of importance, regardless of any piece of paper or law that bound him. Far from giving him a sense of relief it made Clarence feel sick. Today Grendal would be reminded that should it come to it- the Eight would not back him. It didn't give Clarence any new power, but it made it far more dangerous for Beatrix. He feared what Grendal would do because of it.

They walked to the very centre of the citadel where the stone circle portal sat on a grassy mound. To his right he saw the great canal that led from the river through Salisbury, under the Druid Complex and ended, abruptly, under one of the great stone arches of the stone circle. It was a flat grey in the morning light, listless and depressed. His eyes cast up at the tidal wave of twisted archaic masonry, it made the stones look like they were the centre of a vortex, dragging everything into oblivion.

In the very centre of the stones a white oak tree twisted into the sky, but instead of leaves, it's branches burned with seven colours. The eighth section of the tree was withered black and would be until the Dragons rejoined the Eight. If Clarence hadn't felt so sick from worry he might have found it beautiful.

"Do you know what to do?" Grendal asked.

"It's a blood ritual?"

Grendal nodded and motioned for Clarence to move towards the tree. He gave Clarence his knife and Clarence slit the palm of his hand then waited for the shock to his skin to relax and the blood to start flowing. Once it was, he pressed it into the bark. his blood glistened deep red on the wood, then it was absorbed by the tree which burned for an intense moment in green flame only. A door opened in the bark, and wooden steps led down into darkness.