MALLOS
‘…and don’t you dare offer him a cigarette. Mortals don’t have your outrageous good health.’
‘Whatever, Sperantia,’ Mallos took a drag on the cigarette as his only known son strode towards him. ‘Go and chase some poor defenceless rodent.’
There was a dangerous glimmer of slyness through their telepathic link, like the psychic equivalent of a smirk, and Mallos had a feeling that he’d regret those words when he came back and found a dead rat waiting for him. He closed the link, cast the thought from his mind and stubbed the cigarette out against the railing as Mordred approached. Mallos had little idea what to make of Mordred. Their first meeting, when the latter was just a boy, had left him with an odd feeling – nothing as strong as a suspicion, but a definite sense that there was more to the child than he appeared. After all, what little boy could perfectly execute a nervous performance, and then perfectly execute a complex feat of magic? Subsequent meetings with him had left the Spaniard none the wiser and, oddly, the last time he had seen Mordred, the latter had asked for magic lessons. That strange request aside, Mallos had received no indication from Mordred that the latter wanted to know him, so he had kept his distance. The baron’s unique upbringing was liable to be a factor in any unexplained behaviour, and in spite of his daughter’s reproaches, Mallos had no desire to complicate his life further without invitation. Mordred probably saw a lot of Gwythr while he had lived in the Shady Labyrinth. The Gwythr who had worn Mallos’ face, that was.
The Spaniard studied his son’s face as he spoke, but gave little away in return. His lips curved gently into a small, sympathetic smile, and he nodded in acknowledgement of the thanks, but otherwise his face remained unchanged and he said nothing. Mallos wasn’t entirely sure he approved of this mission. There was little that could be done about it, however, and if it was to go ahead then it was far better that he accompanied Mordred rather than someone else. He placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze, closed his eyes and focused his magic.
They teleported onto a planet which was sure to be unlike anything Mordred had ever seen before. The sky was a hazy shade of pink and, though it bore no clouds, it did house two small suns. There was no grass. Instead, rubbery blue fern plants hugged their feet and rubbed a fine powder onto the soles of their shoes. The land was mostly open all around them, except for a few copses of trees either side – enormous trees. The base of each had to be about the size of Shaman’s castle, and the first branches didn’t start appearing for several hundred feet. They were indescribably tall and easily dwarfed the only other landmark to be seen for miles around: a gleaming white palace. It did not appear to be made of stone or brick, and the textureless walls gave no indication of how it could possibly have been built. Gold had been used to decorate, particularly along the windowsills and roof edges, and there was not a single plain window: each one had a stained glass design. Circling the palace was a pale pink moat which had been iced over. There was no drawbridge or obvious way to reach the entrance of the palace across the moat.
Mallos gave Mordred a chance to take it all in, before nudging him gently on the arm and starting towards the palace. As they got closer, gold markings in a foreign language became visible over the door, and underneath them in English the letters Scipius.
“Don’t clean the dust off your shoes,” Mallos warned as they got closer. “You need it to cross the moat.”
He didn’t hesitate at the ice’s edge, but carried on walking across it as if it wasn’t there. The ice was easily thick enough to bear their weight, and as they moved across it was clear that the powder from the ferns provided excellent grip on their boots. It was as easy to walk across as grass. The glittering golden door swung open as they got close, and an odd creature poked her head out. She was vaguely anthropoid, but her entire body seemed to be made of tree bark, and where her hair should be her head erupted into leafed branches. She had vines instead of fingers, pointed ears like an elf and bright green eyes. All in all, she looked like a tree which had sprouted a face, arms and legs, and was now walking around.
“Ra Ankh,” she said reproachfully in English, pouting. Her voice clearly identified her as female. “You never come to visit me anymore.”
“Hello, Etya,” Mallos smiled at her. “Have you done something to your leaves?”
She blushed, visibly pleased that he’d noticed. “Had them polished last quart. The Keeper wants to see you while your sprout is visiting Ma’at-Inety.”
Mallos glanced sideways at his ‘sprout’, clearly trying to gauge whether Mordred wanted him with him while he was seeing Gwythr.
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