Chapter 6

Teleportation was a much more discreet way for a wizard to travel than using portals. Even in this age, wizards did it all the time. Certainly, nobody paid Dreya any heed when she appeared outside the Council building, which she took to be a positive sign.

In this period in history, the Council building was brand new, although nobody called it that yet because there was no Council. It was the Wizards’ Forum. A place where wizards could gather to exchange views, air grievances, share ideas or just socialise. There was no formal organisation.

Before heading inside, Dreya decided to levitate up high, to try and see beyond the confines of the city. She noticed that the void storms seemed somewhat faded compared to how they looked in her time, but that observation was quickly swept away as she sent out her magical vision to see distant places as if they were right in front of her. What she saw was shocking in the extreme. Villages and towns were burning, having displeased Ulvarius in some unfathomable way, while his undead servants ruled others in his name. They weren’t anything like as sophisticated as Dreya’s usual elite guards, but they didn’t need to be. They might appear to be acting as wardens, but Dreya thought they were more like jailers. Sometimes they brutalised innocent people, seemingly enjoying it, though the sorceress knew there was no way those creatures were capable of enjoying anything. It was just their master occupying them and using them as puppets. No-one was allowed in or out of these towns without Ulvarius’ say so, which had disrupted trade, stemming the flow of food and vital supplies, costing more lives. Then there were the countless people who were enslaved and forced to walk perhaps hundreds of miles, under undead escort, to the Black Tower itself. There to be used for all manner of cruel and pointless magical experiments.

“And still people compare me to him!” Dreya grumbled to herself in disgust.

She didn’t blame Mandalee for wanting to take matters into her own hands – Dreya was sorely tempted herself – but no, there was too much at stake for that. They had to stick to the plan to preserve the world they knew.

Dreya found it alarming that Ulvarius’ influence in Elvaria should be as extensive as it was. According to the history she knew, that was wrong. That told her Ulvarius had found a way to use the unstable power of the control device fragment. He had been an intelligent and capable wizard in his day. That’s what made him so dangerous. Dreya knew he wouldn’t have hesitated to tap into that power when it presented itself.

*****

Aunt Dreya’s assessment, gentle reader, was only partially correct. What she didn’t yet realise, was that her Temporal co-ordinates were slightly out. It was understandable: At the Fall of Kullos, in a state of utter exhaustion, she had been forced to try and analyse and record the details of six portals at the same time, while still keeping a close eye on the battle to save Tempestria. Plus, she was new to this Guardian business, and there were many things she didn’t yet understand about Temporal magic. Knowledge, skill and technique don’t appear overnight. She had done her best to interpret the sympathic sense of the co-ordinates of Kullos’ portals and done a far better job than anyone else could have in her age of magic. She didn’t yet know that portals caused a kind of Temporal lensing that make past events seem closer than they really are. Learning these things takes time, and this was practically the Guardians’ first day on the job. A job that no-one had ever done before. The first Intervention that took place significantly in their past. Frankly, getting as close as she did was nothing short of genius.

When she found out, Aunt Dreya wished she and the others could just go back in time and try again, but she knew from the Chronicles that the Guardians’ Temporal magic doesn’t work like that.

For one thing, by the time she realised, it was too late because she had already interacted with people in that time. Besides, every time the Guardians opened a Temporal portal, there was a risk of being noticed, which could create ripples in history. Doing so more than necessary, created problems that were best avoided.

Even had they interacted with no-one and they could guarantee no-one had noticed their portal, the Guardians had arrived where they were thanks to specific co-ordinates. Those co-ordinates acted like a sympathic lighthouse, shining through Time, guiding them. Just as teleportation requires a clear image of one’s destination, choosing to go off the beacon to assumed co-ordinates was asking for trouble. They’d done it before, of course, but that was just a matter of a few hours back in Time to a destination they knew would be completely empty. Weighed against the certainty of the end of the world if they didn’t, it had been a risk worth taking. But they couldn’t risk going back significantly into the past without specific co-ordinates.

*****

Landing once more, Dreya entered the Forum. Once inside, she took a moment to get a sense of the system they used in this century. Unlike in her time, there were no seats. Mages just stood around, talking among themselves, perhaps or perhaps not listening to the main speaker. That main speaker was identified simply by standing on a box. When that spokesperson was finished, people were free to discuss what had been said – or not – and then the box was passed freely to someone else who might address the previous speaker, or move on to another topic entirely, as they chose.

It was a bit disordered for Dreya’s tastes. In her time, the day’s agenda was pre-determined, although there was always time allocated for any other business that might arise. Besides, in Dreya’s experience, many things were determined outside the main Council chamber, and the formal proceedings were a way to confirm what had already been decided. Some might call this corruption. Dreya called it ‘making sure things get done.’ The Faery sorceress had learned to wield political power with the same control and precision as her magic. The key difference was that she had no desire to become the ‘Greatest Politician Who Ever Lived’. In fact, she could scarcely imagine anything worse. That’s why she had rejected the Triumvirate post even though it could be hers at any time. Far better to have the Black robe leader firmly under her control. It was a long leash – most of the time she didn’t care what Laethyn did – but when she needed his support on something, she would grab that leash and pull him close to heel.

Three hundred years in the future, it was a system that worked well. Here and now, Dreya would need to learn to play the game differently. She didn’t know anything about the mages here, beyond the obvious that their power could be no match for hers. In a way, she supposed this was how Daelen must have felt when he was surrounded by mortals. Dreya couldn’t afford the shadow warrior’s attitude, though. The fact was she needed them, and they needed each other. She couldn’t let them need her. Not overtly. When the time came to confront Ulvarius, she could help in subtle ways, but she couldn’t stand out too much, or she would rob these people of their victory, and through that, their belief in themselves and an ordered system that worked so well for her in the future.

There seemed to be a lull in the parade of speakers. The box currently lay with a group of about thirty wizards and sorceresses in the middle of the high-domed, horseshoe-shaped chamber. At the centre of this group was a large man who appeared to be in his early forties. He was over six feet tall, with a muscular frame that spoke of either a rugged lifestyle or a healthy fitness regime. Breaking with convention, this gregarious individual stood with only one foot on the box, an elbow resting comfortably on his knee as he regaled his audience with a tale of how he had stood up to a group of Ulvarius’ undead puppets that had trespassed on his land.

Standing there in a loose-fitting white shirt, black trousers tucked into tall boots, a red cloak fluttering due to magic, as if in his own personal breeze, and a sword hanging from his belt, he fitted the image of a swashbuckling buccaneer more than that of a wizard. Still, Dreya could sense the magic in him, and his power level was not to be underestimated. The tale he was telling of using both steel and sorcery against his enemies was flamboyant, but Dreya didn’t doubt that at its core, it was the truth. If he were living in her time, she suspected that his magic would be a match for Laethyn. While that might be a far cry from her own power levels, there was a reason why Laethyn had risen to Black robe leader in a system that involved so much infighting.

The man before her had a look about him that impressed Dreya – and she didn’t impress easily. His style wasn’t an act, but it was a cover. The look in his eyes reminded her of Mandalee. They were the eyes of an assassin. As far as Dreya could tell, he had no quarrel with anyone in that room, and yet she suspected that, should it prove necessary to protect his life, he would deal with that threat quickly and efficiently.

This was a man she could do business with, she felt, so she wandered over to join him and his group, hopeful that he might be open to discussing the Ulvarius problem.

She supposed she ought to start by introducing herself. It was no conceit to say that she hadn’t needed to do that for a long time – her reputation always preceded her. But that reputation wouldn’t exist for another three centuries. On the back of that thought, she decided she’d better avoid creating that reputation too soon, by shrouding her real power levels and using a false name.

“Good day,” she began, stepping up to the group before her. “I’m Darla,” she lied. “I’ve just arrived from Sylfrania, and I was hoping to use your speaking box for a moment, to talk about our tyrant problem.”

They all ignored her like she was nobody.

‘This century is a bit humbling,’ she thought. Just as she was about to try again, one wizard shook hands with the fellow with the sword and walked away, giving Dreya a shock in the process.

The wizard was wearing brown robes. Dreya knew enough history to realise that the Triumvirate system wasn’t in place yet, and allegiances beyond the Three were commonplace, whereas, in her time, non-aligned wizards were rare. Druids were a different story, as they often saw the Council as nothing to do with them – a view that had been reflected and perpetuated by the wizard-centric system that was in place. Dreya hoped that the reforms she had brought about, along with the increasing fame and popularity of Catriona Redfletching, would change that.

Still, what shocked her about this man wasn’t his clothes, it was the fact that he walked right through her.

Shock aside, it did explain why everyone had so far ignored her: they couldn’t see or hear her. She was like a ghost. How were the Guardians supposed to affect anything in the past, if they couldn’t interact with it?

Then she remembered seeing something in the Chronicles about this. Interactive versus observational time travel.

“Of course!” she cried aloud – she might as well say it aloud – after all, nobody could hear her. “The Guardians’ Timeless state protects them from Timeline changes,” she quoted, “and conversely, protects the Timeline from their inadvertent interference.”

*****

In other words, gentle reader, when the Guardians are out of their native time zone, their Timeless state renders them invisible and incorporeal, so they can observe freely and plan their actions with precision. To implement any measures, however, they must close their link to Catriona’s Meadow and enter the native Timestream.

*****

Dreya used her enhanced sympathic link with Catriona to communicate the concept before cutting off her Timeless connection.

The group before her gave a collective start when Dreya materialised in front of them.

“Where in the world did you come from?” asked the man with the sword, stepping back off the box in surprise.

She could see that look in his eyes grow in intensity as his mind tried to think how he might deal with her if she proved to be a threat. She vaguely wondered what he might come up with but put that thought to one side in favour of taking control of the situation in front of her.

“Sorry,” Dreya apologised. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just teleported in.”

“Didn’t look like any teleportation spell I’ve ever seen,” a Black robe sorceress remarked.

Dreya hadn’t considered that – she had assumed that dropping her Timeless state would make her materialise in much the same way as teleportation, but she couldn’t know for sure, because she’d obviously never seen it for herself.

Trying to cover it, she replied, “Just a bit of a flourish – a personal touch. I’m always telling a…” she hesitated, “…good friend that she has a flair for the dramatic. I guess it’s starting to rub off.”

She decided not to say ‘girlfriend’ or ‘fiancée’ because she knew attitudes towards same-sex relationships were not what they were in her time. Three centuries of progress meant that almost nobody ever batted an eyelid about it. (As Mandalee could attest – prejudice relating to gender identity, on the other hand – was taking somewhat longer to extinguish than sexuality issues.) However, Dreya was here to stop Ulvarius doing damage to history, not strike a blow for diversity. She had to choose her battles. Hopefully, if they could restore Time to its former course, the rest of history would attend to itself.

“I’m Darla,” she offered once more. “Just came over from Sylfrania.” She held out a hand to the sword-wielding wizard.

He stepped forward and grasped her hand in both of his, shaking it vigorously. “Dagamir’s the name!” he boomed, enthusiastically. “Dagamir the Third.”

Dagamir. Dreya had a feeling she had heard that name before, somewhere, but she wasn’t sure where or even if he was the same Dagamir that she was thinking of. Being where she was, she could hardly look him up in the history books – they hadn’t been written, yet.

“Good to see one of the Faery over here,” he rumbled. “Need more of your kind. Always saying so,” he stepped back to his casual stance, one leg perched on the box, and called out, “aren’t I, my friends?”

His group all eagerly backed up his claim, but Dreya suspected they would probably do that whether his words were true or not. Dreya could see how he used his outgoing personality to gather these mages around him.

Definitely a man she could do business with.

In fact, he made her job easier. To bring these wizards into line against Ulvarius, she needed only to win over this Dagamir. The rest would follow him. She could already tell that threatening him as she did Laethyn was not the way, here. She needed him to like her, not fear her, and the best way to do that was to give him what he desired most: attention. He was a man who craved the spotlight. That suited Dreya just fine. She was content to remain in the shadows next to him.

“Well, Dagamir, sir,” Dreya began, “I was hoping to discuss the Ulvarius problem. Two friends and I were just in a fearsome battle with some of his forces.”

She knew some of her Black Tower’s defences had left a few marks, which would help to sell this. The state of her robes was predominantly the result of redecorating, not battle, but these people didn’t need to know that. Let them assume what they would. Lying went against the grain for her, but here and now it made strategic sense. Already, she could see some of the wizards nodding, accepting her story.

“We fought them as long as we could, took out many of them, but then Ulvarius himself showed up, and we had to make our escape, abandoning our home in the process.”

That much was true, at least.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Darla,” Dagamir sympathised. “Just before you appeared, I was telling my friends about a similar encounter I had defending my home against his minions.”

“Were you really?” Dreya remarked, maintaining the illusion that she’d only just arrived.

“Indeed I was, wasn’t I, my friends?”

Dagamir’s thunderous voice was answered by an even louder cheer. Dreya wondered if he was going to do that all the time.

“Fortunately, my story had a happier ending,” he allowed, “because I got my home back. For now.”

“I’m glad for you,” Dreya told him. “I came here intending to borrow that box under your foot, to try and rally support, but I fear the Speaking Box is not tall enough for a small Faery to be noticed. What I need is someone who knows how things work around here. A familiar voice that people listen to, and above all, someone who knows how to get things done. A natural leader.”

“What for?” asked a wizard in White robes.

“To stand against Ulvarius, of course,” Dreya replied.

“That’s suicide – he’s invincible!”

“No-one’s invincible. You just have to know how to fight back.”

“Nobody has that kind of power,” a Black robe wizard insisted, “unless you want to go and ask Daelen StormTiger for help!”

The others laughed at that idea. Dreya noticed Dagamir did not. He was doing what Red robes – or Red capes, in his case – did best: gathering knowledge. He wanted to know what ‘Darla’ knew about Ulvarius that made her so sure he could be fought, and he was sussing her out at the same time.

As soon as her response entered her mind, Dreya had to hide a smile. She could well imagine Catriona’s reaction if she could hear her.

“Power isn’t everything.”