Free Leximandra Reports, and other tales by Charlotte E. English Page B

lit,
except by the gentle glow of the realm map that was traced through
the air near the floor. Tren stepped up to it, casting his eye over
the familiar contours of the realm of Glour’s borders. He glanced
up. The dome and most of the walls were clear, allowing him an
unimpeded view of the night skies. The moon hovered close to the
horizon, and the sky was turning paler.
    Time,
then.
    Pausing to
collect his thoughts, he took a few deep, slow breaths. When he
felt properly centred and in control of himself, he began. He
walked around the perimeter of the insubstantial map, his steps
unerring though his eyes were closed: he saw the construct in his
mind’s eye. He conjured shadows, dismissing all hints of light.
Working fast and skilfully, he wove the darkness into a shroud,
pulling it into place over the map. He felt the pull of energy as
the wider enchantments mimicked his localised efforts, building a
vast Night Cloak over the realm. It might be one of the most
complex workings ever designed, but it was the work of a mere few
minutes to put it into place.
    He paused,
gasping for breath, as the Night Cloak crept over Glour, blocking
out all hint of light from moon and sun alike. He waited, willing
it to move faster. It was imperative that the Cloak was in place
before the sun rose; Glour was a Darklands province whose society
and economy relied on the nocturnal plants and beasts imported from
the ever-shadowed Lower Realms. An influx of strong sunlight would
burn all that away - not to mention blinding the eyes of its
night-loving citizens.
    Serves me
right for being distracted , he thought ruefully as the Cloak
continued its agonisingly slow descent. He watched anxiously as the
skies continued to lighten outside. It was Karan Reed that was the
trouble; she was too absorbing to watch.
    A small internal
voice interrupted that train of thought. Was it fair to blame it
all on the game? Had he not stopped again on his way out of the
sports field, arrested by a mere bulletin board image?
    That red gown...
it was the red that had attracted his eye, definitely. A strong
colour, difficult to overlook. Not really his fault. He laughed
silently at his own attempts to excuse himself, relief flooding him
as the Cloak’s activation sequence concluded and full darkness
covered the realm.
    Then he frowned,
suffering a twinge of alarm. The darkness wasn’t as complete as it
should have been; something pulsed oddly in his mind’s eye, some
anomaly in the Cloak’s weave. He withdrew from his mind’s view,
opening his eyes.
    The Chamber was
red. Dark red light stained the walls and floor, stained the white
hands he raised in panic.
    Looking up, he
saw a dark red sky. Not the red of cherries or even of lip paint,
but the sinister dark red of blood.
    His heart sank
as he realised. Red like Lady Glostrum’s gown. He’d allowed
his thoughts to wander while he summoned the Cloak, and that was
the image that his absurd mind had conjured for him. Dark red
velvet.
    He swore,
letting several precious seconds pass by in blind panic. He’d
turned the damned Night Cloak red ! The whole bloody realm
was swimming in blood-red light; not bright enough to damage
anything, he hoped and prayed, but certainly wrong enough to
be seriously alarming.
    Crap, crap. He
couldn’t strip the Cloak and start again; the sun was already
shining through the red veil he’d drawn across the realm. Its light
would only be thin yet, but he couldn’t risk it. Maybe he could
darken the veil, work it steadily down into properly dark,
colourless shadow. It would take a little time; he’d better get on
with it before Lord Angstrun made it here and-
    ‘ WARVEL! What in the bloody tarnation have you done to
the Cloak?’
    Tren shuddered.
The Chief Sorcerer’s voice really did carry
impressively.
    ‘ Er,’
he stuttered. ‘Not quite sure, m’Lord.’ He tried not to look up as
the imposingly tall figure of Lord Angstrun strode into the room,
not caring to experience -