The Written by Ben Galley Page B

pages, preparing the next spell.
    ‘You know I don’t understand
this time and space magick my old friend, that’s your area of
expertise not mine.’ Farden smiled warmly.
    ‘It’s all about patience my
good mage.’ Durnus squinted at the hazy surface of the quickdoor
and ran his hand over the archway, careful not to stray too close
to the buzzing threshold. The obsidian surface of the stone blocks
felt alarmingly hot to the touch. ‘Think of it as trying to open
and close a window a thousand miles away, with no more than a rope
and a long pole.’
    ‘That doesn’t really help.’
    Durnus thought for a moment,
looking at the ceiling. ‘No it doesn’t does it? Well, all seems
like it’s in order Farden, time to go through. Now, remember hold
your breath before you step in, and watch your feet. It looks like
it’s snowing on the other side,’ Durnus pointed.
    Farden watched as little flecks
of snow tumbled through the portal, settling in a little patch on
the top step of the quickdoor. ‘Great.’ He grinned. The snow in
Krauslung was the best way to see the busy city. He had always felt
a little more at home when he was there in the winter.
    ‘See you soon old friend.’
Farden shook the vampyre’s hand and stepped closer to the portal.
Durnus flipped through pages of his book.
    ‘Try and remember every single
detail and be sure in your opinions before you voice them to the
Arkmages. You have a meeting with them this evening in the great
hall,’ Durnus looked at the sword on the mage’s back and sniffed.
‘And Farden?’
    The mage turned.
    The vampyre narrowed his pale
eyes. ‘I can smell the blood on your sword… who else did you fight
besides Jergan?’
    Farden lingered for a moment on
the best excuse. ‘Some people just don’t listen,’ he said abruptly,
with a shrug, eyes searching the wooden floor for an escape from
the reprimand he knew was coming.
    But the vampyre merely sighed.
‘Don’t get sloppy Farden, there are rules and there are
consequences. Bear them in mind next time you draw your sword. I
watched your uncle go down this violent path a long time ago, and
look where it got him. This is the last time I’ll tell you.’
Durnus’ gaze was grave, and more disappointed that angry, and it
stung the mage all the more. There was no need to bring up his
uncle, he thought. ‘I will,’ he muttered in low voice, and stepped
up to the doorway. Farden felt the icy blast of the quickdoor on
his skin and ran his hands over the tingling threshold. As he
lifted his foot the door suddenly grabbed him in a vice-like grip
and dragged him forwards into a blinding white tunnel of light and
noise. Wind tried to rip the breath from his lungs and freezing
gales attacked his watering eyes as he plummeted through the
doorway. And in a second, it was over.
    Farden stumbled onto the wet
frozen grass of the Manesmark hillside and put a hand in a patch of
snow to steady himself. Behind him the quickdoor fizzled shut and
the mage shook his head free from the stomach-churning dizziness.
He rose shakily to find a soldier standing guard beside him. The
early afternoon sunlight glinted off his steel breastplate and made
the emblem of the Arka, a gold set of scales, shine and glitter.
Farden nodded to the man, who dipped his helmet in response, and
quickly wiped the amused smirk from his face. The mage threw him a
narrowed look as he wiped himself down. ‘I’d like to see you try
and land more gracefully,’ he said, and the soldier made an effort
to stand a little straighter, clearing his throat timidly.
    The dizzy mage said no more and
walked forward to look out across the stunning countryside that he
had known as a boy. The landscape was still as breathtaking as he
remembered. The tall Össfen mountains stretched out for miles and
miles in all directions, as far as the eye could see, puncturing
the wintry sky with their snow-capped summits and scraping at the
heavy grey clouds with their rocky teeth. Beneath the