Maeve entered the Cathedral of Three Moons with two of the Hierarchs - Meredith Dillian and Donal Blaine, the same two Hierarchs that had found her on the steps of the Grand Cathedral with her knife in the guts of one of the Fallen.   Both Dillian and Blaine looked shaken - possibly even ill - by what they had seen - the mess Maeve had left of the assassin wasn’t pretty.  Maeve was still possessed by a feeling of righteous anger, which she was trying to clamp down on - it wouldn’t help her for what came next.

 

      Keep yourself calm, Maeve.  Anger won’t help - not until you know which Hierarch to focus it upon...   Maeve strode towards the Hierarchs council chambers with a practised step - she had been there many times in the past - although she let the Hierarchs lead the way.  Protocols must be followed, after all, She thought.  It wouldn’t do for two of the most powerful clergy in the country to come stumbling in on my heels like lapdogs, would it?  People might get the wrong idea.

 

      As the Hierarchs with Maeve entered the chamber, Maeve could see the other Hierarchs standing about, looking mostly curious and a little bit worried - probably about what they expected Maeve to report.  Obviously it was something serious enough to convene the council at short notice - but Maeve seriously doubted any of them, save perhaps the traitor in their midst, had even an inkling of what she was about to tell them.  It’s going be like one of those infernal Madragan fireworks going off in a nest of baby ducklings.   The next few minutes won’t be pretty; I wonder if any of them will soil themselves, or if they’ll rather call me mad, and alarmist - than believe what I have to say?  She entered the room, and stood waiting while the Hierarchs headed to their chairs.

 

      Once the Hierarchs were seated, Maeve gathered herself and made herself ready to address the council.   The page - a young priest, - whose sole duties were to assist the council in its bookkeeping and in performing the many rituals that accompanied their daily routines, addressed her.  “Maeve Varda, it is said you bear news of great import to the Council.  Are you ready to speak the truth as you know it, and bear witness to what you have seen?”   The ritual question was as old as the Council of Hierarchs itself - the traditions of which were so ancient, no one living really knew their true origin. 

 

      “I am ready to speak the truth.  I am ready to bear witness.”  Maeve said, standing at attention.  “I await the council’s pleasure.”   Please let this song and dance end, so I can go save my damned friends!  Damn these rituals!  This is going to take hours at this rate...

 

      “Approach, and be annointed.”  Kieran Stoll, the nominated head of the Hierarchs spoke.  “Be washed clean of your sins, in our service, and be blessed by our blessed Father and Mother, Isundal and Askeline.”

 

      Maeve walked forward, at a respectful pace - rushing would definitely not help here - and allowed the council’s page to anoint her with holy water from a font lined with silver leaf.  I think his name is William, thought Maeve.  He’s probably on the fast track to becoming a Clerist.  Good for him.

 

      The page intoned a prayer as he sprinkled holy water upon Maeve with an aspergillum.  “May the sins you have incurred at the behest of the Council be washed away.  Let the darkness you have seen be lifted from your heart, and let your mind be clear as you recount what has transpired.  Blessed are they who serve, in the Gods names.”   William stood back and bowed to Maeve, and motioned for her to take her usual place at the centre of the council hall.

 

      The council hall was large, as befit the status of the individuals present.  It had high vaulted ceilings, which were covered in both ornamental carvings and small icons of faith.   The floors were of fine tile, carved in a beautiful design, which was supposed to enhance ones feeling of oneness with the God and Goddess.   Maeve was never sure if that part really worked.   Surrounding the central platform, where speakers stood to address the Council, stood thirteen elaborate chairs and lecterns, where the Hierarchs could keep any notes, and rest comfortably while they contemplated affairs of the church.  The whole room was designed to radiate a feeling of power and respect, rather than wealth and ostentation.  The room was fancy, without being extravagant - but still a showcase of how much stock the Church put in the judgement and rulership of the Council of Hierarchs.   They were probably amongst the fifty richest people in the kingdom - indeed, a few of the Hierarchs had personal aides with them as well - Maeve could see three; they worked for their Graces Lissa Brentworth, Michael Lisker and Shaun Dunlop.  They probably shouldn’t be here for what I’m about to say.  Maeve thought.

 

      William, the aide to the Council spoke, disrupting Maeve’s reverie.  “You now address the Council.  Speak when you are ready.”

 

      Thank the Goddess!  Maeve thought.  About time!   She turned slowly to address the Council, meeting each of their gazes briefly - but in that time, trying to impart by look alone the seriousness of her intent.  In her years working for the Council as a problem solver, Maeve had learned a bit of showmanship - it served to not only make her appear competent and in control, but it also assisted her in getting her point across when needed.  They knew she was a professional - not some nebbish little sneak-thief who didn’t know how things got done.  I don’t like playing politics, but sometimes their stupid little tricks help out.

 

      “Your Graces, what I have to say is very serious indeed - and I believe you will not want others outside the Council to hear what I have to say.  I would ask that the room be cleared of all save ourselves.”   Maeve stood tall and firm - to look weak would not do.  These people, the Hierarchs, dealt at a level of power that most people in Valris never saw nor understood - only the High Nobles, the Kings and Queens of the Provinces - and the Muirainne and Fireannor themselves - were more powerful.  Collectively and individually they were beyond reproach.        

 

      “Is this really necessary, Serra Varda?”  Hierarch Donal Blaine asked.   The other hierarchs nodded as well, seeming like they thought perhaps Maeve was being a little too theatrical.

 

      “I believe it is, your grace.”  Maeve stood tall, and made no other comment.  If they want to command me to speak, then so be it - but I’m not spreading this further than it has to go.

 

      Hierarch Blaine looked at his brothers and sisters of the cloth, and at Maeve, and seemed to shrug.  “I suppose we might as well do so, my colleagues.  She’s a stubborn woman, as we all know - but she’s not inclined to panic unnecessarily.  Clear the room.”   With that, William, the aide to the Council, ushered the personal aides to the hierarchs out of the chamber and pulled the door closed behind him. 

 

      Hierarch Shaun Dunlop ran his fingers through his thin, silver hair and sighed.  “We’ve done as you asked, Maeve.  Now tell us - what was so important we had to all be present to hear - and at this time of night?  What was so important that it couldn’t wait?”   He didn’t look like he expected to get a satisfactory answer...

 

      “Your Graces,” Maeve began.  “You sent me north to find out about strange rumors regarding The House of Broken Dreams, north of Ogden town - how it was said that perhaps they were trying to spread the worship of Lady Delirium to Valris, which was against their charter when their temple was allowed to be built.  I have investigated the matter - and found an even more dire threat than what you supposed.   Mistress Awai, the head of the temple, was using the House of Broken Dreams to gather together and house over one hundred mageborn Dreamers.  And...” Maeve was cut off by sounds of astonishment by the Hierarchs...

 

      “Preposterous!”  Hierarch Gillian Mareth exclaimed.  “How is that even possible?”

 

      “It would be insanity to gather even a dozen Mageborn dreamers,” Hierarch Brentworth said.  “If you could even find a dozen, let alone a hundred!” 

 

      Maeve endured the Hierarchs disbelief and shock for a few moments.   These pompous airbags are going to spend all night arguing whether or not it’s feasible to gather a hundred dreamers unless I stop them now.   Maeve cleared her voice, interrupting them, which earned her several angry looks from the Hierarchs.

 

      “Whether it makes sense, or not is not the issue, your Graces - the fact is, is that it was accomplished.   I believe that Mistress Awai and her acolytes used their divine magic and the blessings of Lady Delirium to prevent the wholesale chaos collecting those huge numbers of dreamers.  And that is not the worst of it, your Graces.  Bishop Vargas Elm was working with Mistress Awai...”

 

      If Maeve thought the disruption and astonishment was significant before, it paled in comparison to what the last statement brought about.    Maeve let it wash over her, trying to not flinch before these powerful agents of her church.  One of them is a traitor.   One of them is Vargas Elm’s co-conspirator - but which one?   She watched them carefully, looking for any clue. 

 

      Eventually the hubbub subsided, and a Hierarch - Meredith Dillian - turned to Maeve, levelling an accusing stare.  “Are you saying that Vargas Elm - a priest of Isundal and well respected by this Council - would stoop to doing such a thing?  Preposterous!  To what end?”  She looked like the idea was akin to swallowing a fly - unpleasant and to be avoided.

 

      Hierarch Dunlop called out as well “I would like to know what you mean by all of this - why is this important?  You obviously mean to get to a point - so I say get to it.”  He looked tired and a bit bored, and more than a little annoyed.

 

      One Hierarch, who had not spoken, nor brought much attention to himself thus far chose to step forward and speak.  Hierarch Daniel Conner raised his voice - and made a very astute observation.  “Excuse me, Maeve.  You said Bishop Vargas Elm WAS helping Mistress Awai with these Dreamers.  What is he doing now?”  The rest of the Hierarchs paused, realizing that none of them had considered what might have happened.  

 

      “Bishop Vargas Elm is dead, as is Mistress Awai, and all but one of the hundred Dreamers.  The House of Broken Dreams is in ashes.”  

 

      The council of Hierarchs erupted into chaos - half of them screaming at each other about the absurdity of Maeve’s claims, while the other half were screaming for Maeve’s head.   Eventually Hierarch Blaine calmed the others, and turned to Maeve.   “We sent you there to investigate what was happening - not to cause wholesale destruction!   Speak quickly and plainly - what happened, and why is Bishop Vargas dead?  How did you so colossally foul up what should have been a simple assignment?”  Hierarch Blaine looked more than a bit worried and concerned - as did several of the Hierarchs; the rest just looked angry.

           

      Maeve scowled herself.  That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you fools, yet I keep being interrupted, she thought.  “Your Graces, Bishop Vargas was an agent of the Hserinyar.  He was attempting to...”

 

      “Lies!”  Hierarch Blaine yelled.  “I’ve known Vargas for years!  I demand you provide proof this instant, or I’ll have you in chains for this!”   The other hierarchs were in shock at her accusations - and Donal Blaine’s vehement defence of Bishop Vargas.

 

      Aha!  Maeve thought.  We have a winner.

 

      “Now wait one minute, Donal!”  Hierarch Lisker said.  “He may have been a protégé of yours, Donald - but He’s been away from Arathel and your guidance for several years.  It could be possible He’s fallen from the path...”   The hierarch turned to Maeve and spoke.  “I sincerely hope you have adequate proof of his guilt in this matter?”   Lisker looked as if he sincerely hoped she did.  

 

       She calmly opened her belt pouch, and withdrew Vargas’ black ring, and a parchment letter, stamped with Sir Andred’s seal.   “I have here in my hand proof of Vargas Elm’s perfidy - and a written statement from Sir Andred of Ogden town - a Vigilant of the Third circle, and a Hand of Hathor, corroborating my claims as to what happened at the House of Broken Dreams.”

 

      “And just what is it you hold, Maeve?”  Donal Blaine’s voice dripped with contempt.

 

      “Bishop Vargas’s Black Ring.”   She placed the enchanted ring on the lectern before Hierarch Lisker, who stared at it in shock.  The other Hierarchs recoiled, stunned that such an evil thing should be brought before them.   “Bishop Vargas was a bearer of the Black Ring.  He was a Hserinyar agent on a deadly mission of great import - he was attempting to find the location of Hrask’s mate, Tiamat.”

 

      This time, the silence was deafening.   The Hierarchs, shocked - for once - into silence, looked pale.  Finally Hierarch Brentworth spoke.  “Go on, Serra Varda.” 

 

      At last, Maeve thought.  They’re listening and not bickering.  Thank the Goddess!  It’s like leading children to chores or school, I swear!   “I learned several things in my investigation, some of which I find difficult to understand - but please be aware I can prove what I say.   Bishop Vargas and Mistress Awai had discovered that the Mageborn Dreamers were linked to living, breathing people on other worlds in the Void.”  She paused a moment - but no one interrupted her.  Good, she thought.  “They were using the link between the Dreamers and the people they were linked to, to search, after a fashion, for the location of Tiamat, Hrasks’ mate.   The day I discovered the true nature of their plot, they summoned a demon - an Utukku - to track down and bring the person linked to one particular dreamer on another world in the Void, and bring him or her here, to Mercia - so they could be questioned.”

 

      Maeve paused a moment, shuddering at the memory of her trip in the demon’s claws through the Void.  “I was seen, and captured - Vargas held me with a spell, and gave me to the demon as food.  The demon carried me through the Void to the other world, where I met the person linked to the mageborn dreamer on our world.  He was a young man named Eric, who was also Mageborn.  He helped me escape from the Utukku - and in our escape, we found one of his friends - a woman called Christine.   He was trying to explain what had happened to her, to prevent her from calling their city guards - when the Utukku came upon us again.  I don’t know how he did it, but he was able to use magic without any training whatsoever, and carry not only himself, but Christine and myself into the Void, and back to Mercia.”

 

      There were a few murmurs of shock, but none of the Hierarchs interjected.   Maeve continued.  “When we arrived, I needed to reconnoitre with an ally I’ve worked with before - a tracker named Kai.  I took Eric and Christine to our camp, where I learned that in their oldest legends of pre-history, one of their gods slew Tiamat and used her body to make their world.  I realized that if Bishop Vargas got his hands on Eric, all could be lost - but I also realized it would do no good to save Eric, if all he had to do was find Tiamat through the sleep of another of his hundred dreamers.   Kai and I decided we had to slay the other mageborn dreamers to prevent Vargas and Awai from finding Tiamat.   It was while we were performing that task that Awai and Vargas came upon us.”

 

      “In the ensuing battle, Kai and I were wounded, Awai was killed with aid from Sir Carmichael and Sir Andred, and I overcame Vargas with aid from the others.  Eric was killed by a blast of dire magic hurled by Vargas - but he did not remain dead.”   Maeve waited to see what reaction that recieved.  

 

      Hierarch Connor, the quiet one who first noticed Maeve’s statement of Vargas’ passing stepped forward.  “What do you mean, Maeve?  Was he killed, or not?”

 

      “What I mean, your Grace, is that Eric died from the fire hurled by Bishop Vargas, but even as his body from across the Void expired, one of the dreamers - a Valdan girl - awoke, and claimed she was Eric.  She claimed a kind woman bearing keys of glass and a green bow named Seleni” told him he would wake without pain - and he apparently did, in the body of the dreamer.    It was easy to verify his identity - his friend from their homeworld recognized him, even with his change.  I believed him because he had no prior knowledge of our gods - he would have had no way to know how to fabricate a lie of that clarity.   I believe he may have been the recipient of a divine miracle - but as to why, the goddess seems to have saved him - for whatever purpose, I do not know.”

 

      Here it comes.  Maeve thought.  A Dreamer will wake - the first of the great signs of the End Times.   How can they not panic?   I’ll be lucky if I get out of here by dawn.  Hell, I’m lucky they’re not planning on having me hanged! 

 

      The tumult that followed was pure chaos.  

 

*          *          *

 

      Maeve groaned with exhaustion as her carriage rattled its way through the streets of Arathel.   After she had let the news of the miracle out of the bag, the council had argued for hours - and many of those hours had been spent grilling Maeve over what happened to her over the last week in exacting detail.  I was hard pressed to keep some details out, too!  Maeve thought.  They didn’t need to know about Vargas having a co-conspirator on the council.  Not yet anyway.

 

      The carriage rattled through the streets at a good clip, horses hooves clip-clopping in a quick, relaxing rhythm, which nearly put her to sleep, despite the noon-day sun.  I have to get some sleep, or I’ll be useless to Kai and anyone else for that matter.   Just a few hours.   As she dozed from exhaustion in the carriage, her mind replayed the last several hours.

 

      Maeve had explained herself time and again - and more than once the Hierarchs were shocked and appalled at the sheer magnitude and audacity of the Hserinyar’s plan.   The revelation that the mageborn dreamers could be linked to other, living people or creatures was shocking enough... The fact they could be used to search other worlds in the Void for things better left unfound, was another.   And the dire threat that Eric might be used to discover the resting place of Tiamat was very frightening to many of them.

 

 

      Surprisingly, only four Hierarchs had suggested Eric, or Erica as she was calling herself now, be put to death - and equally surprising was that of the three Hierarchs that came to her defence against such an action being taken, one of them was Donal Blaine.    Of course, he can’t find Tiamat if he kills her.  Maeve mused, still half awake.  He needs her.  

 

      In the end, cooler heads had prevailed and Erica’s life was to be spared - but Maeve was to bring her to Arathel, along with Erica’s friend from the other world, so that they could be placed in protective custody.   At Donal’s urging, along with Hierarchs’ Dillian and Connor, it was suggested that she be placed in a protected religious retreat, where she could be questioned about the nature of her world, and of the miracle bestowed upon her - safe from the possibility of interference from the Hserinyar.   Hierarch Donal had even suggested the perfect place: a small priory named after Saint Jillian of the Meadow.  It lay a few miles outside Arathel, in the hills surrounding the city, in Arathel’s wine country.  He had argued it gave the entire council close access to the girl - yet would keep her and her friend safe from the dangers of the city and any other Hserinyar agents that might be hidden within.  The rest of the council agreed - and Maeve had been free to go get some much needed rest.  By that time, she was practically asleep on her feet.

 

      Maeve was rudely awakened by a voice, and someone shaking her hand gently. 

 

      “Serra... Serra, we have reached your home.  You have fallen asleep.”   It was the coachman, trying to wake her.  It was a testament to how tired she was that she didn’t have a hand on a knife or the thought of a spell in her mind as he woke her - all she could think about was sleep.

 

      How long has it been since I last slept?   Three days?  Two?  I can’t remember.  Maeve thought.  “Thank you Ser.  I’ll see myself in.”   She pulled herself from the padded coach cab’s seat and exited the coach with the coachman’s assistance.   “Thank you, again.”

 

      “No problem at all, Serra.  Gods bless you, this fine day!”  The coachman watched as Maeve made her way inside her dwelling.

 

      Maeve stepped inside the apartment complex, and climbed the wooden steps as quickly as she was able, nearly bumping into Tamara Jurani- a friendly young woman who lived above her apartment.  Tamara was a dusky skinned Anorian woman, who had emigrated with her family a generation ago.  She had long black hair, and the lithe build of a dancer. 

 

      Somehow, Maeve was able to get from there, to outside her apartment door.   I’m starting to black out.  She thought.  I can’t remember how I got here.  Gotta get inside, get some sleep.   She fumbled with the key, and was barely was able to put the key in the lock of her door and make her way inside her apartment.   She lived in one of four apartments on the second floor of a three story building.  It was spacious, well appointed - and private.  She had picked the place specifically because the locals had said her neighbours were assiduously not nosy.   Maeve had been living there off and on for six years, and never had a problem, and she didn’t expect to have one now - and didn’t.   She locked the door behind her, and staggered through the front hall and then the living room, heading towards her bedroom.   Everything went black - and Maeve knew no more.

 

*          *          *

 

 

      Hierarch Donal Blaine left the council chambers late that morning, exhausted and angry.  Damn that woman!  He thought.  How does Maeve keep surviving?   How did she survive Vargas?   He should have been able to deal with damn near anything that came his way... and Awai dead too?   I swear, Maeve Varda is like a natural disaster - once you unleash her, there’s no telling what she’ll destroy.  I should have finished her years ago.   Donal knew why he didn’t have her killed, though.  After the failed attempt on her life, which instead took the life of her young brother, the Hierarch felt it would draw too much attention to try again.  Her death might have led to too many questions - and it was possible that too much attention would have been drawn to him - and the great plan to find Hrasks mate might have been put in jeopardy.   So, she had lived.

 

      The question is what do I do with her now?  Have her killed?   That worked so well the last time I tried.  I don’t even know where she’s got this awoken dreamer stashed!   Maybe it would be best to allow her to leave, and bring the dreamer here to Saint Jillian’s - and then deal with all of them at once?   The Hierarch’s musings were cut short as he crossed the parade ground separating the Cathedral of Three Moons from the rather luxurious housing provided for the Hierarchs when they were in residence.  

 

      I need to nip this in the bud - I have to find out if what Maeve said was true...  If so, then perhaps all is not lost.  I can continue the Great Work where Vargas failed; it’s riskier than I had hoped - but the reward will be well worth it.  Then I will have to bend my knee to no one save Hrask himself!   Donal reached his apartment, and was hailed by the two guards who watched the courtyard where the Hierarchs had their residences.  

 

      “Your Grace,” one of the guards said.  “A messenger from the north arrived while you were in council.  “He was dirty from travel, but he said his news was urgent.  He carried your seal, so we allowed him inside.” 

 

      “You did well - thank you.”  Donal said to the pair of guards.  “See that the Sergeant gives you each a gold knight for your trouble - and your discretion - at the end of your shift.”   News!  It had better be good!   His face brightened a bit.  It could hardly be much worse.

 

      The guards smiled at the compliment and the reward - a gold knight was worth a week’s pay!  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

     

      The Hierarch waved a dismissal at them, and entered his residence.  As he entered, a page came and took his coat, and within a few moments he was headed to his private chambers where his messenger’s guest awaited.  The hall he walked through was decorated in fine woods - costly burnished bronze wood from Laeron, polished so smooth it reflected his image as he walked down the passage.  The stone floor was tiled in beautiful ceramic tiles from Iranor, glazed and painted each by hand.   Crystal lamps hung from the rafters, lending both light and a sense of opulence to the decor.   Everywhere he looked, there were small cabinets or end tables, each bearing small decorations - statues, religious icons, fresh flowers, or censers of incense and fine perfumes.

 

      He passed all this opulence with little more than passing notice - it was something he had become used to, at the height of power he had reached.  The wealth and the ornaments were mere trappings of power - a pleasant side effect, rather than the main point of having said power.  No, he thought.  The reason I wanted power was to gain control.  To make all these mewling weaklings realize that they need to bend their knee to me, and not the other way around.   It will be sweet to see the Muireanne and Fireannor kneel before me - before their heads are hewn from their bodies.

 

      As Donal entered his office, he saw a hooded and cloaked man across the room.  His back was to the Hierarch, but he seemed unarmed save for a dagger.   Donal recognized one of Lucas’s men, and turned to seal the door.   It must be important for one of Lucas’ brethren to come here, in daylight.  He must have worn a magical disguise - the guards would never have let him in otherwise.

 

      Donal turned and spoke a Word of binding, to seal the door shut - now they would not be disturbed.   “What did you find?  What news from the north?”   The Hierarch aimed his question at the guest across the room.  “The door is sealed - you may speak.”

 

      The Fallen turned, and bowed deeply before Donal.  “Master, I bring news of a disaster.  The House of Broken Dreams lies in ashes - and Mistress Awai, and all of the Dreamers are slain.   My brother and I watched from afar, as you directed us to.   When we saw the House go up in flames, we knew disaster had struck.  Once the fires died down, we were able to retrieve Vargas, who was seriously injured, and brought him immediately back here to you...  He awaits you outside the city, should you have further need to speak with him.”

 

      “Thank you...  What was your human name, before you turned?  Lucas spoke of you, yet never named you to me.”

 

      “I was Flavius, your Grace.  My brother was Gaius.  We hailed from Madragoor.” 

 

      “I see.  Before you left for Ogden-town, did Lucas give you a way to contact his other operatives?  They might be doing something that jeopardizes the Great Work, and I need to stop them.”

 

      “Gaius has a powerful talent for the Sight, your Grace.  He can contact them.  What would you have him tell the others?”   The Fallen looked eager to please.

 

      “Tell them to kill the woodsman, but to leave any women with him alive.  Alive - do you understand?  They are more important than anything.  They are to be unharmed.   Maeve needs to be stripped of some of her allies.”  

 

      “At your command, your Grace.  I will see to it immediately!”

 

      “Thank you, Flavius.  Await further orders outside the city with your brother.  I believe I will need your services quite soon.”

 

      “Yes, your Grace.”   Flavius bowed again, then cast a spell - and the scaled reptilian visage of a Fallen was replaced with what appeared to be a normal adult human man in his thirties.   “We will await your orders.  This world is Hrask’s!”   With that, Flavius left the chamber.

 

      Resealing the door, Hierarch Blaine studied the seeing-stone.  It’s pretty badly damaged... it might not have anything to reveal.  I guess I’ll have to see.   First things first, though, he said, shedding his religious outer garments for a more comfortable and relaxing robe left in here for just this purpose.  

 

       Then Donal headed to the desk, and activated a cunning combination lock from underneath one of the drawers, and a secret panel opened on the side of the desk.   The hierarch reached down and opened it, withdrawing a small velvet pouch, then closed the secret panel.  It was so well hidden, there was not a single trace of it to be seen.   Emptying the pouch into his hand, he deposited a duplicate of the ring that had made such a stir in the council chambers several hours ago.  If they only knew.  He thought.  That I’ve been under their noses all this time - and they’ve been so blind they don’t even suspect it.   It makes our eventual triumph all the sweeter, the fact that they’re unawares.

 

      Donning the Black Ring always made him feel in control - safe.  The wards and spells on the ring itself protected it from common detection spells - but the wards it projected about its wearer had saved his life more than once in the last two and a half decades.  He concentrated and entered his Nairya, and allowed the Sight to overcome his normal vision.  As the silvery sheen of his magesight fell across his field of vision, he noticed the lingering auras of magical energy clinging to the seeing stone.  One signature was obviously Maeve’s - but the other was unfamiliar... It had the taint of demonic energy.  Could the fool have tried to summon a second demon?   Blaine thought.   He knows how hard demons are to control - he must have felt it worth the risk.  

 

      Ignoring the lingering aura’s for now, Hierarch Blaine settled down at his desk to probe the crystal of the seeing-stone.  What secrets do you hold?  He mused.  Show me.   His mental probe slid deeper into the crystal - he could feel where the memories and images it had captured lay stored...  Within a few seconds, he had reached them - and all that Vargas Elm had seen or been present for, for the last three days, washed over him.

 

      It washed over him like a torrent of water - a montage of sights and images that threatened to drown out his waking thoughts.  It was a confusing jumble at first - but slowly he was able to make out scenes, images - and see what had happened.  There was sound at times, but both the image and the sound provided by the speaking-stone were distorted - perhaps by the damage the stone had suffered in the fire that destroyed the House of Broken Dreams.   Still, there was enough to verify everything that Maeve had said about what had happened - and more.

 

      The fool!  Blaine thought.  Promising what he did to avenge Awai was the act of an idiot!   Blaine had warned Vargas of the dangers of becoming emotional, too attached to other people.  It was a failing Donal did not suffer from, himself.   And now he has sold himself to the demons for what?  Good riddance, if that’s all he could think about.  We’re better off without him.

 

      Maeve was right.  This Dreamer - Eric, or Erica - whatever she calls herself, could be the key to everything.  I need her here, soon.   How in the seven hells can I get her here faster than the two weeks minimum it would take Maeve to go fetch her?   He thought about it for a while, then realized there was a much easier way.   Maeve likes to flaunt tradition.  She likes to take risks.  Let’s tell her to use the Moongate in Arathel to speed her travels.  She might even like that.   I can always explain my allowing her to use them as being necessary to reduce the time the Dreamer was at risk of being captured or misused.  Yes... that sounds appropriate.    Donal took a parchment from his writing desk and began to pen orders to Maeve - official orders to use the Moongate to bring Erica the dreamer back to Arathel as quickly as possible.   And if her henchman Kai is already dead, then so much the better!  

 

      By the time he was finished penning the orders for Maeve, Hierarch Donal Blaine was in a much better mood; by the time he hid his ring and gave the letter to his page, he was humming.  This should work out everything.

 

*          *          *

 

      The next thing Maeve was aware of was knocking on her apartment door.  Groaning, she pushed herself upright, and looked about.   She was in her bedroom, partially undressed and partially covered by a thick feather duvet given to her years ago by her mother.  She could feel the grit of sleep in her eyes, and her hair was hanging mussed in her face.  A quick glance at the window showed it was dark - but Maeve couldn’t tell if night had just recently fallen, or if she had slept for hours into the night.   “Just a minute!”  She called.   “Give me a moment!”  

 

 

      Maeve stood and swept the hair from her eyes, and quickly made herself presentable, then went to the door.  Her apartment was dusty and smelled a bit stale.  Which I suppose, is as it should be, considering no one has been here in about a month.  A few strides took her to the door to her apartment, and a quick motion palmed her dagger in her left hand.   She fell into her Nairya out of habit, and spoke a Word of Sight.  No spells, nor magic waiting.  Not much chance of an ambush.  Good.   “Who is it?”  Maeve asked.  “You woke me... what do you want?”

 

      The familiar voice of her neighbor Tamara echoed back.  “It’s me, Maeve - Tamara.  Your neighbor...  You asked me to wake you around dusk.  Do you not remember?”   Tamara seemed a bit cautious - but perhaps that was because she knew how paranoid and dangerous Maeve could be.  Maeve had once saved her from two street thugs - she knew how dangerous Maeve could be.

 

      Maeve thought for a moment, and realized she did dimly remember thrusting a gold coin into Tamara’s hands, and telling her there would be another if she would wake her at dusk...  Goddess, I must have been half asleep on my feet.   Still, I feel much better now.  A few more hours might be good, but Kai might not be able to wait that long.   She let the Sight drop, and opened the door a bit, but didn’t put the knife away just yet.  Just in case...  

 

      “Yeah, I remember now that you mention it.  Sorry - I must have been really out of it.”  Maeve said, seeing relief wash across Tamara’s face.  “My last job was a real killer.   Thanks for waking me.”

                                               

      “You’re welcome.”  Tamara said.  “Oh, while you were asleep, a messenger came from the Cathedral.  He had a message but he couldn’t wake you - he pounded and pounded - I thought he was going to break the door down...   I told him I was supposed to wake you, and he gave me a letter, and demanded I give it to you as soon as I saw you.”   Tamara looked very impressed as she handed Maeve the letter, which bore the seal of the Council of Hierarchs. 

 

      What in the seven hells do they want now?  Maeve thought.  Probably more questions.  Another go around at the We don’t believe Maeve parade?  How about the Lets ask a question Maeve’s answered eleven times already discussion?    Maeve groaned and cracked the seal, and unfolded the parchment in one easy motion.   Scanning the document was quick and simple - the orders sent to her were concise and to the point.  And confusing as hell.  Maeve thought.  Hierarch Blaine wants me to take a Moongate to fetch Erica, Christine and Kai?   What kind of game is he playing?

 

      “Thanks for bringing me this, Tamara.  Let me get you that gold coin, okay?”  Maeve’s mind was whirling as she sheathed her knife and fished for the promised coin.   The only reason I can think of is that he wants them here as soon as possible - to be closer, so it’s easier to control who has access to Erica and Christine.   But if that’s the case, why send assassins after them?    Maeve thought about the timeline of events, and realized she already had the answer.  The assassins were sent before he knew he needed Erica... he wants me to save her from the assassins he sent!

 

      Maeve found the coin, and held it out to Tamara.  “Thanks again, Tamara.”

 

      “You’re welcome, Maeve.  I was glad to help - and you know I can use the money.  Little Suri is always hungry, after all.”  

 

      “I know.  Go, be with Suri.  I have to get ready to leave again anyway.  When the Hierarchs call, the commonfolk can do naught but scurry - am I right?”  Suri was Tamara’s young year and a half old daughter; Tamara taught dance lessons to pay the bills, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.  Things had been hard for her and Suri after her boyfriend, Fionn had left her, left town, and left a large number of creditors in his wake.   Maeve had spent several nights talking with Tamara about Fionn and how Tamara was better off without him.   He was a deadbeat - and he was on Maeve’s ‘list’ - for another day. 

 

      Tamara laughed.  “Mayhap, Maeve... but you are far from common-folk, even if you are of common birth.  Do not put yourself down.  And thank you.”

 

      Maeve shut the door, and finished making herself presentable, then gathered her gear to travel as quickly as she could.   The Moongate was in the temple complex housing the Cathedral of Three Moons, but not within the Cathedral itself - and the nearest Moongate to Wethom was in the wilds perhaps a day or so west of Kai’s cabin, on the Rillian border.   Well, it’s not like the Elves and I don’t have a history... like everyone else I’ve ever dealt with.  Maybe I should get better at making friends? 

 

      As Maeve scurried about her apartment gathering her gear, which she had apparently scattered all over the place in a rough path from the front door to her bedroom, she took a look around.  Her apartment was pretty nice, all things considered.  It was clean and in good repair, with modest but good furnishings.  She had a few trophies of her adventures on cabinets and shelves - in one bookcase she had a collection of rare books from Iranor, while on another shelf she had a Erinori, a rare treasure given to her by the Travellers - a gypsy people who used to sail the oceans, but who now roamed Mercia on wagons drawn by horses.  The Erinori were created to remind them of the sea, for when their  homesickness became too great.  It was a rare gift.   On another wall was a plaque holding two black powder pistols from Madragoor - weapons she had taken from a bandit chieftain in the wild borderlands between Valris and Madragoor.  She smiled at the memory of those times.  I should spend more time at home - reconnect with my Mother, and friends.  Maybe I spend too much time on the road, working.  I can’t spend all my days nearly dying in dangerous places. Goddess!  How far did I scatter my things?

 

      Soon the task was complete, and Maeve was ready to go.  As she locked up the apartment tight, she gave it one last look.   I think I might need some time off.  I need to pray - I need to seek forgiveness, for Nile.  For myself.   With the door locked up tight, Maeve turned away, and headed out into the city. 

     

      Being in Arathel always made her feel better.  The lights and sounds, the bustle and the controlled confusion always had suited her better than Kai’s favorite places.  He preferred the majestic and serene grace of the wilds, where a person could go for days without speaking - just taking in the grandeur of nature.   It drove Maeve to distraction.   But hey, she thought.  If I didn’t keep up a conversation with him when we travel, he might have his language skills atrophy.   I wonder how we became such good friends, with us being so different.

 

      Maeve walked through the streets of Arathel quickly - she was quite refreshed, and didn’t feel fatigued enough to need to hire a coach, nor was she so distant from the religious quarter that she felt it was warranted.   A brisk twenty minute walk brought her to the temple complex housing the cathedral - the guards knew her well, and knew whom she served.  They let her pass without even a word of challenge.  One even nodded his head in greeting to her.

 

 

      The Moongate in Arathel took the form of a great portal, over fifteen feet in height, and about ten feet in width.  Its frame and arches were carved from a rare white stone whose name escaped Maeve at the moment - she knew it was used in magical constructions, but couldn’t remember its actual name.   Its surface was carved with stylized designs that looked like art to the untrained eye - but to someone who knew some of the moongate’s secrets, was actually a guide on how to use the gate, and target its point of arrival.   There were eleven moongates in Valris - Maeve didn’t know of any others in other lands, but supposed there could be a possibility.

 

      Hierarch Lisker had taught Maeve to use the moongates about five years ago, but warned her against using them except in dire need.  The Hierarch said his forbears had warned him that the fey had learned how to infiltrate the moongates, and were making travel with them precarious at best.  It seemed the nature of their alien magic allowed them some influence over the moongates, which made them unreliable at best, and dangerous at worst.  

 

      Maeve studied the gate, and its carvings.  I’m in luck, she thought.  The gate is already powered and active.   Once I choose a destination, I can be on my way.  At last, some good fortune!   The reason for her good cheer was easily explained...  A moongate is only active for a short time each month, at night when the moons above are in conjunction with the phase of the particular moongate, all of which were believed to be keyed to different moon-phases.  The fact that the gate was already active would save Maeve the exhausting task of activating it with her magic - a slow and tiring task at the best of times.  

 

      Now all I have to do is make sure I pick the right destination - or I may find myself in the Valorin Halls of the Dead, or Donathi’s Temple quarter, instead of the wilds of northern Valris where I want to be.   Maeve stepped up to the moongate, and opened her mind to the Sight.  The frame of the door, which at first appeared to be mundane carved white stone, looked totally different to her vision when enhanced by the Sight.  The carvings of icons and symbols - which represented places that existed at the time the Moongates were first crafted - seemed linked by spiderweb-thin traceries of lines and glowing auras.   The trick is to address the gate properly, Maeve thought.   Tell it where you are, which is easy - and where you want to go, which is considerably harder.   Maeve had only done this once before - and that time had luckily gone without much hassle.  She hoped it would do so again.

 

      Maeve concentrated, and forced her mind into the web-like matrix of the moongate.  At first, the matrix fought back, pushing and shoving her mental fingers away from its symbols and glyphs - but slowly Maeve was able to force her mental fingers into the symbol for Arathel, and set the gate’s source point.  The glyph for Arathel was a little gold and white feather, that spun around on its axis at a slight angle... while the glyph for the moongate nearest Wethom was a trio of teardrop shaped blue gemstones.   Maeve slowly tried to connect the two symbols with the traceries of energy from the gate, effectively making a channel - a connection - between the two points.   It was difficult - the energy seemed ephemeral even to her mental senses and fingers, and it took her several minutes to establish the connection - a task that left her sweating and fatigued.

 

      As she finished drawing the connection, the archway of the moongate filled with a cool, misty white light which spread from the base of the arch, slowly spreading until it reached the apex of the arch.  When the misty white glow reached the apex, a burst of silvery light washed over the surrounding area, lighting it almost as bright as day, if but for a moment.  Maeve could hear cries of surprise and alarm from people in nearby buildings.  Looks like it’s time to go...  I’m coming Kai!   Maeve stepped into the arch, and light flashed, sending a beam of silver light high into the night sky.  When the light cleared, Maeve was gone.