well,” she said, when no one objected.
“Grand Mage Bisahalani,” said Ode, “the last time we spoke in private we discussed a certain …”
“Yes,” said Bisahalani, “of course.”
Wahrheit did not look happy. “Private discussions are not part of the Supreme Council’s agenda, gentlemen. Please – elaborate.”
Bisahalani clasped his hands behind his back, the way he always did when he was about to discuss unpleasantness. “There is a single individual capable of turning the tide of this war in whichever direction he chooses. Unfortunately, despite his nationality, we have reason to doubt that he will side with us.”
“Who are we talking about?” Kribu asked.
“His name is Fletcher Renn. He’s the last Teleporter. Twenty years old, born and raised in London, but when his natural aptitude for magic made itself known he was, for all intents and purposes, taken in by the Irish Sanctuary. That is where he received the first part of his training. He is currently in Australia, where he continues his studies.”
Mandat frowned. “And you think he’ll side with the Irish if they ask?”
“That’s where his friends are. Also, from what we’ve heard, he and Valkyrie Cain were involved.”
“So he’s definitely on their side,” said Wahrheit.
“I’m afraid so.”
“He must be targeted.”
“He already is. If there is no objection, the kill order will go through.” Bisahalani looked round the room. No one spoke. “Very well,” he said. “The order is given.”
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