Archmage Ambeus’ fingers drummed on his staff as he surveyed the carnage that once had been the sanctum library. The students had been enlisted in the clean-up. It was wonderful practice for their repair spells. In the back, someone was administering strong spirits to the librarians.

  Whoever the Circle of Manisum had sent, he had been powerful. You could practically feel the residue in the air. Photonic manipulation by the taste of it.

  “That’s where one of the light rings hit,” young wizard Elzar said, the picture of eagerness in hastily pulled on robes. “And over there.”

  “What happened to the pillar?”

  “Er ... the girl dragged me behind it.” Archmage Ambeus noticed the young man blushing. “I mean, one of the rings hit overhead, I think.”

  You think, Ambeus thought. Of course you were too distracted to pay proper attention. Youths ...

  Aloud he said: “Have they gotten the books off the guards yet?”

  “Only of one, Archmage. But Archmage Aslius said they found a way to feed the other through a straw until they can get it to unstick, so ...”

  “Well, you keep an eye on things here.”

  “Yes, Archmage!”

  Ambeus strutted off towards his study, pulling a glass orb out of his sleeve. “Inner Circle, report to my office immediately!”

  They were already in when he opened the door and hastily moved away from the bar cart.

  “Well,” Ambeus boomed. “I want suggestions on how to deal with this unpleasantness, and I want them now. Urun!”

  Archmage Urun swallowed his drink and nearly choked. “Definitely, yes, we should do something, uh, something that will get results, uh ... Aslius had a plan!”

  “Did not!” But Ambeus’ expectant gaze fell on him and Aslius began to sweat. “Er, well, we can’t let them get away with it ...”

  “Also on account of the Eye,” Jutigast added. “Can’t forget about the Eye.”

  “Right, we really should take it off Triand’s hands, like we planned to ...”

  “Before we found out her staff was a bunch of air,” Urun mumbled.

  “So I suggest we send someone to follow after her ...”

  “Not that we have an idea where she’s headed.”

  “To Acarald, of course.”

  “Then why didn’t she teleport?”

  Ambeus huffed. He stomped over to a shelf and spent some time digging. “Not this ... not in here ... Aslius, hold this ... and this ... not in here ... take this, thank you ... ah, here we are.” He blew dust off a box and placed it on his desk.

  “Oh, that old thing,” Urun said as he opened it. “One of the prototypes, was it?”

  “I thought you’d gotten rid of that,” Aslius said, squinting over the pile of equipment in his arms. “Didn’t it have a loose connection or something?”

  Ambeus dislodged the head-sized orb and knocked on it. Orange dots appeared on the surface, growing and shrinking in the lazy ballet of magical residue.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “That has never worked,” Jutigast said. “You know it only picks up big spells. Not her style.”

  “No,” Ambeus agreed. “But her girl can’t control her fire. If she actually tries to teach her, we’ll know. Little adjustment on the dial ... Jutigast, run down to the lodge and tell the custodian to dust off those recruitment posters, we’ll need them. And in the meantime, you lot get some of the older students together and try your luck on the roads.”

  “What, we?”

  “What, us?”

  “Leave the house?”

  “I don’t believe I stuttered,” Ambeus said.

  “But my bad knee,” Urun began to protest.

  “If Acarald gets hold of the Eye you’ll have worse problems than your knee!”

  It was a thankless job, being the witch hunter general. Oh, the prestige was alright, but the reaction of the common people ... you’d think you had committed a crime. General Jacob Krammer said as much to the seven emissaries who currently populated his freezing office.

  “Right you are, sir,” one of the more eager ones said. “That’s why we’re trying a new approach, sir.”

  The general lifted white eyebrows. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, sir. We call it public relations, sir.”

  “My uncle got arrested for that once,” a witch hunter in the back mused.

  “No, not like that ...”

  “Public ... relations?” General Krammer moved away from the rain-splattered window that presented a grey and unimaginative cityscape and sat down at the vast desk. The young man who spoke stood somewhere off the coast of tax returns. “Would you care to explain?”

  “It’s a great concept, sir. See, we figured if we rip people from their beds in the dead of night it don’t go over too well. They don’t like it if you give their grandma a fright, see? So what we’re doing is we tell them what we’re going to do, sir.”

  “You tell them you’re going to bother their grandma?”

  “Oh no, sir, we tell them we’re on the hunt for witches on account of the conspiracy and how to recognise witches for themselves ...”

  “Tell them about the conspiracy?” another hunter chimed in. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Well, we figure it’s their king too, they might want to know if witches are plotting to dispose of him.”

  The general gave him a curious blue-eyed stare. Most people found themselves staring at his eyes. They were the only colour in the room. “And that works?”

  “Works like magic, sir, pardon the expression. They’ve denunciated quite a few witches, sir, in the places we tried this.”

  “I always think it’s odd how many witches there are in one village,” another one said. “Doesn’t anyone find that odd?”

  There was a chorus of No.

  “Witches are everywhere, my good man,” General Krammer said. He stroked his long white beard thoughtfully. “I don’t think we ever capture them all. Some of the more powerful ones might still escape. But still we feel their evil everywhere. Just think of the changeable weather.”

  “See, that’s where public relations come in, sir. We don’t have to figure out who’s a witch, the villagers tell us themselves once we convinced them we’re here to keep them all safe from the terrible menace. They notice everything. We doubled our output, sir.”

  “Well, well. The rest of you might try this public relations, too.”

  A murmur went through the black-clad congregation.

  The witch hunter general leaned back. “If there are no other reports, we can end this meeting, gentlemen.”

  The hunters shuffled from the room. In the front, a discussion broke out about the pros and cons of just giving people information. It didn’t seem legal.

  The public relations hunter lingered.

  “Yes?”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, I’m sure there’s a very good reason, sir, what do we need all that ... stuff for?”

  “What stuff, my good man?”

  The witch hunter fidgeted, squeamishness printed on his young face. “You know, sir.”

  “There is a very good reason for that. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Only, it’s a lot, sir, barrels, sir ...”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would anyone need so much ...”

  Krammer raised a hand. “The truth is a terrible burden. One I do not wish to place upon everyone.”

  “I can handle it, sir.”

  “You seem like a bright young man with a lot of ambition. I can respect that.” He reached for a piece of paper and in the shadow of his beard jotted down important looking lines that amounted to “Kill messenger immediately” before he sealed the envelope tightly. “Here. If you still want to know by the time you return to your captain, give him this.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The general nodded. “Dismissed.”

  When the young man had left, Krammer locked the door, drew all the curtains in his office, and without so much as a swishing sound teleported away.