‘Please . . .’ Travers took a pace towards Denser, who ignored him, locking eyes with the cat.

‘Kill him.’ The cat changed, and Travers’ pleas turned to a blubbering fear. Denser looked at him a last time.

‘You thought to tame The Raven. So did I. But it can’t be done.

At least I will be alive to atone for my error.’ There was a slavering sound next to him. ‘Thank the Gods we beat you. At least Balaia still has a chance to save itself.’

Denser’s demon streaked across the space between him and Travers.

‘Close your eyes, Ilkar,’ said Denser.

The Captain screamed.

Jandyr fought the desire to open the door. Travers’ cries sourced from a fear deeper than any man should touch but, thankfully, were cut off quickly. The elf heard a sound akin to a melon hitting the floor. He fought equally hard not to vomit.

He turned at the sound of hurrying footsteps descending the stairs opposite. He stretched his bow but relaxed it as he saw a woman, Erienne surely, moving towards him flanked by Thraun and Will.

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‘Get out of my way,’ said Erienne, trying to push past him. Jandyr grabbed her by the upper arms and restrained her.

‘You can’t go in there. Not yet.’ He looked past her at Thraun.

‘Stop her while I check what’s happening.’ Thraun took Erienne, who made just one attempt to break his grip.

‘You can’t protect Travers for ever.’ She grated the words out, the fire in her eyes bright and hard.

‘I can assure you we are not protecting him,’ said Jandyr.

‘What’s going on, Jan?’ asked Will.

‘The Raven are in there, three of them at any rate. So was Travers, but I think he’s dead now.’

‘Think?’ hissed Erienne.

‘They wouldn’t let me remain to see.’ He paused. ‘Hirad’s hurt.

He’s dying. The Raven mages want you to help.’ He nodded at Erienne, then turned to the door. ‘Wait a moment.’

He peered inside. All was still save the pool of blood expanding slowly from beneath the blanket that covered Travers’ head and upper body. Denser and Ilkar hadn’t moved from Hirad’s side and the cat lay curled on the chair supporting Denser’s back, cleaning its paws and whiskers.

The elf walked back into the room, holding the door for the others. As one, they stopped to take in what they were seeing. Only Erienne understood, and she walked slowly towards Denser. She paused, sampling the movement in the mana.

‘Well, well, well. A Julatsan and a Xeteskian joined in a mana drip for a dying man. I’ve surely seen everything now.’ Her voice was cold but the dampness on her face gave away a fraction of what she felt inside.

‘I wish we could have met under easier circumstances,’ said Denser.

‘Easier!’ she screamed. ‘My children are dead, you bastard! Dead.

I should bleed the lot of you where you sit.’

Denser looked up and around, catching Thraun’s eye. The man nodded.

‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘One of the guards cut their throats.’

‘And all because your people wanted to save you,’ managed Erienne, sobs now racking her body. ‘My life has been taken and there was nothing I could do.’ She sagged into Thraun’s strong 232

grasp. He supported her to a chair. ‘I wasn’t even there . . . they died alone.’

‘Take your time, Erienne,’ said Thraun. ‘Take your time.’ He smoothed her hair.

‘Please,’ said Denser. ‘We don’t have long. Hirad is dying.’

Erienne dragged her hands from her face, her eyes, red and swelling, driving into his.

‘And you think I should care?’ She stood and walked over to him, looking down in disgust. ‘You know why I was taken? Because Xetesk started a search for Dawnthief and Travers thought I could help him control it. My boys are dead because of you and your College. Well, Denser the great Dawnthief mage, I might just sit and watch your friend die. At least that’s a choice I can make, unlike the one to save my children.’ Her chin wobbled again and fresh tears sprang into her eyes. She turned away.

Denser framed an apology but anything he came up with would have been woefully inadequate. Instead he said, ‘Xetesk doesn’t want Dawnthief for itself.’

‘Drop dead, Denser, I don’t believe you.’ Erienne walked back to her chair and sat.

Denser breathed deep, beaten muscles protesting. ‘You have to believe me. The Wytch Lords have escaped the mana prison and are back in Parve. Dawnthief is the only way to destroy them and stop eighty thousand Wesmen tearing our land apart.’ She looked at him again, brow creased. ‘Please, Erienne. No one can touch the suffering you must be experiencing, but you can save Hirad. If we are to defeat the Wytch Lords, we must have him.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he leads The Raven and they are recovering the spell.

Without him, we won’t be strong enough.’ Denser coughed, a line of blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

Erienne half laughed. ‘That’s one hell of a story,’ she said. ‘And what do you say, Ilkar? Or I presume you are Ilkar, the Raven mage?’

‘I believe him,’ said Ilkar, his voice soft and weak.

Erienne raised her eyebrows. ‘Really? Well, that is impressive.’ She walked stiffly to the doors, not bothering to wipe her cheeks. ‘You 233

know I didn’t have the power of life over my children, but I have it over you. Or death,’ said Erienne. ‘My children need me.’

‘Think hard, Erienne,’ said Denser to her back. ‘And get rest.

Replenish yourself. Right now, the fate of Balaia is in your hands.’

Erienne paused and turned to Denser. He managed to catch her eye and hold it. ‘I mean it,’ he said.

She left the room, Thraun shadowing her all the way.

‘It’s going to be a long night,’ said Denser.

Ilkar stirred, wincing. He opened his eyes and looked around blearily.

‘Where are the others?’ he asked.

‘Who?’ Will walked towards him.

‘Talan and Richmond.’

Will’s gaze flicked to Denser and he bit his lip. Denser felt a new weight settle on his heart.

‘I saw Talan fall. I don’t know about Richmond but, well, he’s not here. I’m sorry.’ Will shrugged.

Ilkar shook his head slowly and refocused on Hirad. The barbarian’s breathing was shallow but he was stable for now. Ilkar only hoped there was a point to it all. Denser could keep him alive and he could keep Hirad alive for perhaps another twelve hours, but that was all they could do. The efficiency of the beatings administered by Travers’ men had seen to that. Then, the mana, the last drops that even Travers couldn’t take from them, would be gone. And when the support went, the final nails would be in place and The Raven would be lost for ever.

Denser squeezed his shoulder. ‘She will help us. Just hang on.’

‘There’s nothing else I can do,’ said Ilkar. ‘He’s all I’ve got.’ He looked at Hirad’s face, still and calm. ‘Just you and me now, old friend. Don’t even think of dying without me.’

He would have lapsed back into his semi-trance, his mind roving in Hirad’s ruined stomach to feel where his trickle of life-sustaining mana could do most good, but the bottom doors opened and in walked joy and sorrow in equal measure.

A little unsteady on his feet but very much alive, Talan entered the room. Will and Jandyr relaxed their stances; Will smiled. So did Ilkar for a moment. But his euphoria was quashed as easily as it had arisen. In Talan’s arms, his legs limp from the supported knees, head 234

lolling and arms hanging, was Richmond. The fact of his lifeless body was etched in Talan’s grim face. The warrior laid his friend on the nearest table.

‘This is one Vigil too far,’ he said. ‘It must . . .’ His eyes, so far locked on Ilkar, moved to capture Hirad. A look of pure panic swamped his grief. ‘Oh, no,’ he said, his voice leaden. ‘Please God, no.’ He started to move but Denser’s voice stopped him and the relief he felt at the mage’s words robbed his legs of their remaining strength and he sat heavily.

‘He is still alive,’ said the Xeteskian. ‘And we can keep him that way for the time being.’

‘And then what?’ Talan felt disquiet at Denser’s tone.

‘Erienne, I hope. She represents Hirad’s only chance.’

‘What do you mean, ‘‘I hope’’?’ Talan probed the back of his head, felt the swelling, the crusted blood, the matted hair.

‘Her sons are dead; her life, she believes, is over, and she holds The Raven to blame.’

‘And if she doesn’t help?’ Talan’s face suggested he knew the answer. Ilkar merely confirmed his fears. And worse.

‘Hirad will die,’ he said. ‘And so, I am afraid, will I.’ The Julatsan offered Talan a bleak raising of the eyebrows, then his mind once more was lost to Hirad’s desperate cause.

Talan put a hand to his mouth and massaged his bottom lip, the thudding at the back of his skull forgotten as he contemplated a far grimmer reality. It was laid in front of him yet he still refused to completely believe. And at the same time he knew there was no doubt. Ilkar always called things as he saw them and he’d just called the end. Possibly. The key was Erienne. She had to be made to understand. He stood up.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Denser.

‘Where’s Erienne?’ demanded Talan.

‘You can’t help by confronting her,’ said Denser.

‘And what would you know?’ shouted Talan. ‘Is it your friends dying in front of your eyes? I don’t think so. The Raven has been taken down for the first time and it could get even worse. She has to understand the consequences—’

‘She knows.’ Ilkar’s voice was dark with fatigue. ‘We have to trust that her mage instincts will override her grief before it is too late.

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We’ve done all we can.’ He breathed in, a ragged sound full of pain.

‘Please, no more noise. This is hard enough already.’

‘We could all do with some food, I’m sure,’ said Denser. ‘The kitchen’s—’

‘I know where it is.’ Jandyr went in search of sustenance, partly in response to Denser’s request but mainly to get out of the room. The intensity of hurt, of grief and of loss was all but tangible. He found it oppressive. Closing the door on it, he could breathe freely again. He stepped past two bodies and made his way to the range.

Ilkar probed with his mind and fingers, allowing the mana to ease from him in life-sustaining pulses. Isman’s sword had driven deep, lacerating and severing Hirad’s intestines in half a dozen places. Its point had nicked his spine but there was no other damage to his back. The main worry stemmed from the upward trajectory of the thrust, taking the blade through the barbarian’s stomach. His digestive system was in total collapse, his multiple internal cuts needed constant attention and Ilkar was just waiting for his kidneys to fail.

A WarmHeal wouldn’t be enough – two or three, carefully targeted, might do the job but he wasn’t sure Hirad had that much time. The simple fact was that Hirad needed a BodyCast and Ilkar knew of only three mages who could cast it in reasonable safety.

None of them was in this castle.

With Hirad tended for the moment, Ilkar turned his mind on himself. He could feel the mana pulse and drip from Denser’s hands.

Over his chest, the gentle flow had stopped the bleeding in his lung, relieving his breathing, while from the base of his neck, pulse after pulse of mana fled down his veins to caress his most damaged internal organs.

Ilkar sent a prayer of thanks that in this one way at least, the Colleges would forever be united – every mage had the ability to use tiny amounts of mana to maintain a body in whatever condition it was found and indeed were morally bound to do so. Nevertheless, Ilkar had still found Denser’s actions surprising. Perhaps he shouldn’t have.

Time crawled. Ilkar was dimly aware of strong daylight edging around the heavy drapes, and of being fed soup. But as the hours 236

wore on, Hirad required more and more of his concentration and the world beyond faded.

He was tiring, he knew that. It was evident in the return of pain in his back, arms and legs. Denser couldn’t cover it all. His mana remained where it would keep Ilkar alive. But the Julatsan’s mana reserves were stretched, and as they became ever more so, he demanded yet greater input from Denser.

There would come a point when neither of them could suppress the pain in their own bodies as their mana was all directed elsewhere.

Then, the end would be near. Then, Erienne would have to help, or he and Hirad would die.

Styliann relaxed, smiling to himself as he recovered from the communion. He pictured Selyn in his mind, saw her body arching with pleasure, all but felt the caress of her lips and the gentle touch of her hands. Her return would signal a change. He needed a son.

But for now, she travelled deep in Wesmen-held lands towards Parve and the almost certain confirmation of the fear the four Colleges had harboured ever since the Wytch Lords’ banishment. A return. And a return to a power greater than before, harder to stop and impossible to vanquish. That is, without Dawnthief. Because the Colleges were no longer as strong and their armies no longer as big. Without the spell, everything would be lost.

Concealing herself during the daytime and flying on ShadowWings for parts of the night, Selyn was making swift and safe progress towards the edge of the Torn Wastes. She would reach its boundaries in three days, Parve itself in four. He could expect his next communion with her in five. It was going to be a hard time.

This was danger like she had never faced before. And he would see to it that she never had to face it again.

His mind wandered and he glanced out of his study window, tracing the outlines of Nyer’s and Laryon’s Towers. Nyer’s man had breached Septern’s workshop but had not held communion with his Master since then. Apparently. Styliann felt he was not being fed all the information. That irritated him a great deal.

He smiled again. Everyone trusted Laryon. The worker, the genius, the friend. Perhaps it was time to take the new member of the circle a little closer in. Styliann couldn’t track Nyer’s moves or 237

question him further without arousing suspicion. Laryon, on the other hand, would have no such problem. Styliann reached out his hand and pulled the bell chain by the fire. The wine he ordered would come with two glasses.

Time had become an irrelevant quantity for Ilkar long before Hirad’s kidneys finally failed. They went one after the other in quick succession, forcing the Julatsan to abandon all remaining sedation of his own body as his fight to save Hirad reached its last desperate stage.

‘Denser,’ he mumbled.

‘I know,’ said Denser.

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s coming. Hang on.’ Denser pulsed mana through Ilkar’s bruised back, the sense of relief serving only to heighten his aware-ness of his pain.

And so it had come to this. Hirad was dying, fading fast. Ilkar took everything he had and fed it into the barbarian’s failing body.

He was forced to ignore one kidney, letting it bleed and drain as he concentrated on the other. And all the time, his own cracked, bruised and aching body yelled for relief. His broken right arm sent waves of nausea through his head, his lower back seared as if it were atop a fire and his legs felt as though hammers pounded them up and down their length.

But it was a relief he was unable to grant himself – unless he let Hirad die. Nor could he ask it of Denser. The Xeteskian was already keeping him alive with almost his entire mana stream. Ilkar couldn’t fail to note the gasping breaths Denser was taking with increasing regularity. It was clear he had been less than honest with his assessment of his own injuries.

‘How long, Ilkar?’

‘Me or him?’ Ilkar gritted.

‘Isn’t it one and the same thing?’ Denser’s voice was appallingly tired.

‘Not quite. He’s got less than an hour. It’s his kidneys.’ And then, so suddenly that Ilkar had to think to maintain his flow to the barbarian, a new, strong anaesthetising warmth moved through him 238

and he knew she had come. The warmth travelled on into Hirad, following his mana trails.

‘You’re being generous.’ A woman’s voice sounded very close to his ear. ‘He has little more than half an hour. You are unaware of the gravity of your own state.’

As suddenly as it had come, the warmth was gone and pain engulfed Ilkar once more.

‘Well?’ asked Denser.

‘It can be done.’ The woman’s voice again.

‘Both of them?’

‘If you can hold on to the Julatsan. If that’s what you want.’

‘That’s what I want.’

‘There will be a price.’

‘I understand.’

‘I hope that you do.’

Ilkar shook his head. A price between a Dordovan and a Xeteskian. Still. As Denser had said earlier, there was a wider purpose. The warmth returned, tracing into Hirad’s body.

‘Release him to me, Ilkar,’ said Erienne.

‘I—’

‘You must,’ she urged. ‘Or Denser may not be able to save you.’

Ilkar knew she was right. With one last pulse, he withdrew from Hirad, taking his hands from the barbarian’s stomach and focusing inside at the ruins of his own body.

He shut off the pain, feeling Denser put a hand on his forehead.

Slowly, the world dimmed to peace and he was adrift.

Erienne scanned Hirad’s body and sighed. She should let the man die. In front of her was one of the reasons her sons were dead. The leader of The Raven. It would be fitting for him to die too. It would redress the balance just a little.

But Denser had seen into her when he had asked for her help.

Knew she would be too fascinated by the prospect of Dawnthief to refuse him. And knew she could not refuse her calling. But her healer’s code did not stop her striking bargains for the lives of those she was asked to save. And this time, the bargain might just give her a reason to carry on herself. Same goal, new subject, and Denser’s seed would be ideal. It would, of course, be all for nothing should Hirad and Ilkar die. She bent her mind to the immediate problem.

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For Hirad, a BodyCast was his only hope. It would take more than twenty minutes to prepare. As she began, she prayed he would last that long.

From the well of his agony, Hirad fought to rise. Somewhere, far above, the heat was calling him. He didn’t realise he’d fallen so deep and he didn’t think he could climb back. Try, Hirad, try. A voice penetrated his unconscious. A woman. He tried.

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Chapter 17

The next thing that assaulted Ilkar’s senses was a smell, cloying, with a sweet aftertaste. Pipe smoke.

He was lying down, still in the big room, and the view afforded him when he opened his eyes revealed nothing but a ceiling lit by bright sunlight. It was a fuzzy view and he lay listening to the quiet while his eyes found their focus. Erienne had saved him. He was tired, dull aches flagging his more serious injuries, but he knew he was no longer in any danger. It was a good feeling.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and there was Denser. The Xeteskian sat on a chair with his feet on a table, legs outstretched.

His face, what Ilkar could see of it, still bore the scars of his beating but, dressed in his familiar black and with his skull cap in his lap, he looked pretty much like the old Denser. His pipe smoked gently in his mouth, a steaming mug sat on the table by him and the cat lay on his thighs, curled and asleep.

‘Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be pleased to see a Xeteskian.’

Denser laughed, and his movement woke the cat, who yawned, stretched and leapt to the ground. The mage took his feet from the table and ambled over to Ilkar.

‘And good morning to you, Ilkar. Or should I say good morn-ings?’

‘I don’t know, should you?’

‘There have been two so far.’

‘Hirad?’

Denser smiled. ‘See for yourself.’ He indicated to Ilkar’s left before returning to the table to swap his pipe for his mug.

Ilkar looked where Denser indicated and for a brief, dreadful moment knew that Hirad was dead. But then his chest rose and 241

fell, gently and smoothly. It was a quite wonderful sight. Hirad was lying, like Ilkar, on firm bedding, his head propped on a pillow and his body covered to his bare chest with blankets. A mound around his midriff told of heavy bandaging beneath. He looked pale, but that hardly mattered. Ilkar’s heart flared with joy and tears came unbidden to his eyes. He wiped them away.

‘Uh—’ he began.

‘You are allowed to get up,’ said Denser. ‘Come and have a mug of coffee.’

Ilkar nodded and moved slowly to a sitting position, holding himself as the blood rush hit his head, threatening to knock him down.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Denser.

‘I think,’ said Ilkar, ‘that I’ll take that drink sitting here.’

Denser chuckled and ambled over to the kitchen door. He leaned through it.

‘Talan? Stop chopping and bring a coffee through. There’s someone you’d like to talk to.’

There was the clatter of a knife on a hard surface, a few footsteps and then Talan loped in, spilling coffee as he came.

‘Ilkar!’ He practically threw the mug into the elf’s hands. ‘You don’t know how good you look!’

‘Steady,’ grinned Ilkar. ‘Thanks for this. How’s everything?’

Talan became solemn. ‘I conducted Richmond’s Vigil alone. He’s buried in the garden near the stables.’

Ilkar nodded, sipped from his mug. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I.’

‘And what about him?’ Ilkar inclined his head in Hirad’s direction.

Talan sat on the bed next to him. ‘I’ve got to tell you, it was amazing,’ he said, brightening a little. ‘The woman, Erienne, she’s sleeping I think. Denser said she used a BodyCast, is it?’ Ilkar nodded. ‘All over him. I could feel it, a deep warmth. It shifted as she moved her hands, it went in his mouth, his ears, his nose . . . she was with him for hours.’

Ilkar nodded again, glanced up at Denser.

‘BodyCast, eh?’

‘Textbook preparation. She’s good, Ilkar. Powerful. From what 242

Thraun said, she used an IceWind too.’ Denser raised his eyebrows, drained his mug and wandered into the kitchen for a refill.

Talan leaned in closer. ‘And he now commands my complete admiration.’

‘Oh?’ Ilkar bridled in spite of himself; an inbred reaction.

‘Erienne rested after the BodyCast. Then she used another spell to finish the job and make Hirad sleep. Then she rested again before seeing to Denser. Two days in all. He just sat there and kept you alive. Said hardly anything. Just ate a little, drank a little.’

‘I appreciate the sacrifice he had to make,’ said Ilkar, yet he had been unaware of the extent of Denser’s effort and was reeling inside.

‘They’d broken his jaw, fractured his cheeks, smashed his nose, broken most of his fingers and toes and cracked half a dozen ribs.

He must have been in total agony the whole time. You owe him.’

Talan shook his head. Ilkar gaped. The door opened and Denser walked back in. He smiled, and it was then that Ilkar noticed the cat at his feet.

‘It is a debt I will never call in,’ said Denser. ‘It is merely what had to be done.’

‘Whatever you say,’ said Ilkar. ‘I’m lost for words of thanks.’

‘You are alive and talking, Julatsan, that is thanks enough.’

Embarrassed, Denser stalked to the other doors, heading for the hallway, his cat in close attendance.

Later that day, standing one to either side of him, Ilkar and Talan helped Hirad to his feet. The barbarian was ready for the pain and nausea that swept his body as the newly knit muscles of his stomach strained and protested. Another WarmHeal, Erienne said, and he’d be fit to ride tomorrow – three days after he’d entered the castle on the crest of a Rage.

He gazed down at Richmond’s grave. The Raven symbol still scorched proud on the packed earth. His feelings were mixed but dominated by one of inevitability. Ras, Sirendor, The Unknown, Richmond. Had The Raven died with them? Only he, Talan and Ilkar were left and he questioned whether that was enough. He decided that while any of the founder members lived, it was. They had always expected to evolve as men died, or left, and others joined. It was an insult to the memories of those who had gone to let The Raven pass into history.

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But who would be next to die? Clearly, it should have been him, and the stories of his salvation by the three mages had turned his view of their whole order in general and Denser in particular. He still didn’t trust the man further than he could spit, but he had to admire his fortitude and sheer determination. Denser also had his gratitude – so did Erienne, but she wouldn’t catch his eye, far less speak to him.

He looked across at her, kneeling, as through almost her every waking hour since their burials, at the graves of her family. That of Alun, Erienne ignored, but those of her sons commanded her unswerving attention. He felt for her but knew he could never articulate how, because she would not listen.

And here, standing by him, was the man for whom no level of admiration could ever be enough. Ilkar would have died with him –

indeed, had chosen to do so, had Erienne not healed them both.

Loyalty in battle he could readily understand but this was something more. He felt a lump in his throat, swallowed it away and crushed Ilkar to him with the arm slung round the mage’s shoulder for support.

‘We all set?’

Ilkar nodded. ‘We’ve enough fit horses, including all of our own, the bodies are all destroyed and Will has rigged the castle. He’s a clever bastard, I’ll give him that.’

‘Very effective,’ agreed Talan.

Will, in response to Hirad’s desire to see the castle razed to the ground, had devised a way of doing so while allowing them to be half a day’s ride away when it happened.

‘Better your enemies are attracted to the beacon when you’re not there,’ he’d said.

And now, all but the kitchens and banqueting room, where they’d spent so much time, were no-go areas. Oil soaked drapes, rugs, furnishings, books and timbers. Lines of oil criss-crossed the castle from top to bottom, piles of wood and kindling were placed in strategic areas and, where Will wanted flash flame – in the towers and the entrance hall – mountains of dry flour sat awaiting ignition.

All but Hirad and Erienne had worked to his direction while he had either patrolled the castle, ensuring all was laid to his exact specification, or sat laboriously testing myriad styles of long-burn 244

fuse. Rope, oil and tar were mixed in minutely changing quantities then set alight to be timed for their burn by the beating of Will’s heart. At last, satisfied, he had manufactured yards of a material about as thick as his thumb and placed one upstairs and one down.

‘All that’s left is to saddle up and pack the horses and prime the last couple of rooms tomorrow morning. Will and Thraun will light the fuses and then we’re away.’

‘Good. I know Denser’s anxious about the time we’ve lost,’ said Hirad.

‘He’s not the only one,’ returned Ilkar.

‘And how’s she reacted to us travelling to Dordover to plunder one of her ancient’s tombs?’

Ilkar smiled. ‘Good question. All I can say is that whatever deal it was they struck, it’s important enough to her not to betray us.’ He paused, reflecting. ‘I don’t know. She knows a good deal about Dawnthief and she certainly believes Denser.’

‘And the others?’ said Hirad.

Ilkar shrugged. ‘They are good-quality people, Hirad. Thraun is a born swordsman. Erienne is a well-known magical talent, Jandyr gives us the bowman we’ve always wanted, and Will, well, he’s quick and clever. They balance the team, Talan and I swore them into the Code and, in your absence, accepted them into The Raven. I know it’s not how we really do things but we haven’t the time to assess them in any more action and we need to know that they’ll follow you without question. I’m confident they will. Talan?’

‘I agree.’ Talan nodded, though his eyes were distant. ‘Your only doubt is Will, but I think Thraun can keep him under control.

Erienne’s grief might make her unpredictable, too. Watch out for that.’

‘They’ve signed the current job contract and they know what they’re getting themselves into,’ continued Ilkar. ‘Denser has told them the whole gory story and they didn’t find it too hard to accept.

It’s the choice we were never allowed to make, isn’t it? They survive, they’re rich; if not, well, the money’s not important then, is it?’

Hirad raised his eyebrows. ‘True enough.’ He felt tired. ‘I think I’d better amble back inside, lie down for a while.’

The Raven trio walked slowly back to the courtyard at the front of 245

the house. At the door, which faced the open gates, Talan stopped them.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, but I can’t go any further. I’m leaving The Raven.’

Ilkar and Hirad weighed his words in silence. He carried on.

‘We were very close, me, Ras and Richmond. Joining and fighting for The Raven was the pinnacle for us. But two corners of the triangle are gone now and next time, it’ll be me. It hit me when I found Richmond . . . he died alone.’ He sighed and scratched his head. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not explaining this very well. I don’t know . . .

inside me the desire isn’t there suddenly. The fire has gone out.

Richmond’s was a Vigil too far and I’m not prepared to bury another member of The Raven.’

Hirad said nothing, only nodded. Ilkar’s face clouded, his eyes narrowing as his frown deepened.

‘Do you understand?’ Talan asked. ‘Say something, one of you.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Hirad. ‘When I was alone with Sirendor, just looking at his dead face, I was ready to break my blade. I chose not to and I’m only sorry you can’t do the same.’ Hirad lowered himself to the steps, Ilkar reflexively offering a helping hand.

‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ demanded the Julatsan.

Hirad shrugged. ‘What else is there? If his heart isn’t with us then he’s a liability and we’re better off without him. He knows it, I know it and so do you, Ilkar.’

‘Under normal circumstances, yes, but in case it’s slipped your attention, we are not involved in just any old job. And I have to say that he will be much more of a liability away from us than with us.’

‘I hardly think so—’ began Talan.

‘They know you!’ snapped Ilkar. ‘They know what you look like, where you come from and they’ll be after what you know. Gods, Talan, you have information any Wytch Lord servant would die for.

Not only do you know what the Dawnthief catalysts are, you know where to find them. And if you walk away now, we’ll never know if you’re safe or whether you are telling them everything.’

‘I would die first, you know that.’

‘Yes, but you can only do it if you have the choice.’ Ilkar paused, saw the anger in Talan’s face. ‘Look, I am not questioning your 246

loyalty or your faith. I’m just saying that choosing to die may not be possible. You’re not a mage. You can’t just stop your own heart.’

Talan nodded slowly. ‘Nevertheless. How will they find me if they don’t know I’ve even left you? If they don’t know where I’ve gone?’

Ilkar gave a short laugh. ‘There’s only one safe place for you, Talan, and that’s the Mount of Xetesk; and somehow I don’t think they’d welcome you with open arms.’ Ilkar sighed. ‘You must change your mind. Or at least think it through.’

‘What do you think I’ve been doing these last few days, working on my life story?’

‘You are walking out on the fight for Balaia.’

Talan leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Ilkar. ‘Let me tell you something, Ilkar. I don’t need you to tell me what I’m doing. I know, and I feel bad enough without you pushing my face in it.’

Talan threw his arms in the air. ‘I want your understanding, not your consent. I’m leaving. It’s over.’ He stalked off towards the gate.

‘We can’t let him go,’ said Ilkar.

‘Neither can we stop him,’ said Hirad.

‘Denser won’t like this.’

‘Well, Denser knows what he can do with it. This is Raven business.’

‘Hirad, I really think . . .’

‘It’s Raven business.’

‘Oh, I give up!’ Ilkar turned a small circle in frustration. ‘Haven’t either of you grasped what’s going on here? This is bigger than The Raven. It’s bigger than everything. We can’t afford to fail this job and we need all the help we can get.’

‘Nothing is bigger than The Raven,’ said Hirad evenly. ‘The Raven is the only reason we got this far in the first place and The Raven is the only reason we’ll win. And that’s because we always do.’

Ilkar stared at Hirad, his hard, open-mouthed expression slowly softening.

‘There just is no answer to that, is there?’

‘No.’

‘Blind faith is a wonderful thing.’

‘It’s not blind faith, my dear elf, it’s fact. You name me a job we’ve failed.’

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‘You know I can’t.’

Hirad shrugged.

‘Ilkar?’ Talan called.

‘What do you want?’

‘Your eyes. Over here.’

Something in Talan’s tone stayed Ilkar’s next remark and instead he hurried over. Hirad levered himself painfully to his feet, hugged the wall for support until the nausea passed, then walked after him.

‘What is it?’ said Ilkar at Talan’s shoulder.

Talan pointed. ‘Straight ahead. I thought I saw movement.’

Ilkar nodded. ‘Yes. A rider. Coming this way and at a tan gallop by the looks. He’s a big bastard too.’

‘Jandyr! Thraun! Front gate!’ shouted Talan. ‘If there’s trouble, Hirad,’ he continued, hearing the barbarian shuffle up behind him,

‘you keep out of it.’

‘Sod off.’

‘Thought you might say that.’

‘Why did you say it then?’

‘Old times’ sake?’ He caught Hirad’s eye and the two men smiled.

‘Come back any time,’ said Hirad.

‘You never know.’ Talan fixed his gaze out of the front gate once again.

By the time Jandyr and Thraun had joined them, they could hear the hoofbeats and see the rider in the distance.

Dark cloak billowing behind him, he came on astride a huge grey.

As he neared, they drew their blades, Ilkar readying to cast. But perhaps thirty yards away he reined in and trotted to the gates, one hand out in a gesture of peaceful intent. He was wearing a full face mask but no helmet.

‘That’s far enough,’ growled Talan. ‘What’s your business?’

‘You can put up your swords,’ said Denser, walking to the cluster around the gate. ‘He’s on our side.’

‘Oh, yeah? And who is he?’ asked Hirad. Ilkar already knew the answer.

‘His name is Sol. He’s a Protector. And let’s face it,’ Denser stood squarely in front of Talan, ‘as I overheard someone say just now, we need all the help we can get.’

*

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‘You don’t think you might have at least mentioned you’d requested a Protector?’ asked Ilkar. He had kept his silence on the subject throughout a rather tense afternoon, preferring to let Hirad believe it was part of a plan agreed while the barbarian was still comatose.

But now Hirad was asleep, resting under Erienne’s final WarmHeal, and the sun had disappeared behind night.

Ilkar and Denser were sitting alone on the front steps of the castle, taking in the warm late evening air. The Xeteskian’s pipe was, as ever, between his teeth. The cat was nowhere to be seen.

‘Would it have made any difference?’

‘Courtesy is such a simple thing to observe,’ said Ilkar testily.

‘Then I apologise. But I did not request the Protector. Xetesk believes he is necessary to my security.’

‘I bet.’

‘Why must you always take the negative view?’ Denser refilled the bowl of his pipe and tamped down the tobacco. ‘This has nothing to do with the ultimate return of Dawnthief to Xetesk.’ He lit the pipe, blew a smoke ring. ‘It would be easier for us all if it was.’

‘And how do you come by that conclusion?’

‘Well, things are getting more complex out in the big wide world we seem to have left behind.’

‘Complex.’ Ilkar was immediately worried. Denser had a habit for understatement. ‘Things’ were possibly very bad.

‘There’s something you have to know. I’ve had a report on the Triverne Lake meeting. There is a four-College agreement which deals with the raising of an army to defend Understone Pass and Triverne Inlet. Apparently, they are trusting Blackthorne and Gresse with the defence of the Bay of Gyernath.

‘Unfortunately, the rest of the KTA have chosen to ignore the warnings and it’s leaving the country largely undefended should the Wesmen break through our lines.’

‘Sounds about right. And how did they react to the news that we were after Dawnthief?’ asked Ilkar, imagining the sparks flying.

Denser said nothing.

‘Well?’

His smile faltered. ‘There was no news. We didn’t tell them.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

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‘The other Colleges have no idea that we are looking for Dawnthief,’ Denser looked away.

Ilkar’s ears pricked and his eyes narrowed to slits, blood boiling in his head. He stood up, unable to sit beside the Xeteskian.

‘How stupid of me to think that Xetesk might consider a Wytch Lord-backed Wesmen invasion more important than their own advancement.’ Ilkar breathed deeply. ‘You know, I was beginning to believe that Xetesk had really turned the corner. And now it seems that their prime objective isn’t to see our country out of this crisis, it’s to be sure they are dominant should we win.’

‘But it isn’t the way I think,’ said Denser.

‘No?’

‘No!’ Denser’s face coloured. ‘Why do you think I told you in the first place?’

‘Because it would have been pretty bloody obvious when we got to Dordover and didn’t find them standing at the gates with the ring gift-wrapped for us, that’s why!’

‘I understand you must be angry,’ said Denser.

‘I don’t think you understand anything at all!’ stormed Ilkar.

‘Your College is expecting us to go on fighting and dying and not for the greater good of Balaia. I will not be a pawn of Xetesk and neither will The Raven.’

‘So what do you want to do?’ asked Denser into the vacuum.

‘Well, that’s the worst of it, isn’t it?’ said Ilkar. ‘I don’t have much choice but to continue, because I believe Balaia is under threat. But let me tell you this. Now Erienne and I are both with you, Dawnthief belongs to the Colleges, not just Xetesk.’

‘You’re going to find this hard to believe, but I agree with you, and I do feel for your position,’ said Denser. ‘But I also agree with the position of Xetesk and you’re wrong if you think that Xetesk wants dominion. But if we had announced the search for Dawnthief at Triverne Lake, the interference would, we believe, have jeopardised the entire job, and with it Balaia.’

‘Convenient,’ muttered Ilkar. ‘If you really believe that, then you’ve swallowed too much of your own doctrine. Whatever, we now have to go into Dordover under cover because your Masters have not learnt the power of cooperation. None of us had better get hurt.’

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Sol walked in through the front gate and disappeared around the side of the house. Ilkar felt somehow that he was under close scrutiny. He shivered inwardly. Something about the Protector made him uneasy. At least this time he could put a finger on it almost straight away. The mask. It was simple, plain and black –

carved, Denser said, from ebony. It was moulded to his face but would not, the Xeteskian assured, be a good likeness.

To Ilkar it looked like no one living, and that was certainly apt. He shivered again, as the reason for the mask rose unbidden in his mind.

Protectors were effectively living dead, men promised to the Mount of Xetesk from birth and called should they die. So long as the soul could be taken, the body could be re-created. It was a hideous hangover from centuries of Xeteskian misuse of the living and the dead. It should have been banned but the Dark College refused to give up one of its most powerful callings.

And what the reanimated body and soul went through, Ilkar could only guess at. None would ever tell, as they were bound to silence except in the course of duty. To break the binds was, said Xeteskian lore, ‘to bring down an eternity of torment in the Mount such that Hell itself would seem release, peace and tranquillity for the soul in thrall’. That same lore stated of Protectors that ‘never again shall light or the eyes of the living gaze upon their faces.

Neither shall they speak unless the life of their Given should suffer risk if they did not do so.’

Singularly, Protectors were utterly loyal bodyguards, knowing dissension would bring down torment, but the real reason for their creation was that an army of Protectors would move and fight with a power and synchronicity that would be practically unstoppable by all but magic. And even that wasn’t certain. Protectors were gifted an innate magical defence when they were created. They were truly terrifying adversaries.

Sol would be Denser’s mute shadow everywhere the mage went, and the shadow he cast would be large indeed. He was a huge man.

Bigger than Thraun, perhaps even bigger than The Unknown.

Crossed on his back were a double-handed and bladed axe and two-handed sword. Ilkar fancied that he could wield one in either hand and made a mental note to be out of the way when he did. He dragged his thoughts back to Denser.

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‘Sorry, I was distracted. That makes his appearance rather easier to understand, doesn’t it? You were going to say something.’

Denser relit his pipe, flame as always from the tip of his right thumb. ‘I noticed. He will not harm you. He has been closely informed of the who and the what of our situation.’

‘Who by? I haven’t seen you say more than a dozen words to him since he arrived.’

‘He has been walking with my Familiar.’

‘Enough said. Go on.’

Denser shifted his position slightly and brushed some grit from beneath him.

‘Well, our decision not to talk about Dawnthief at this stage, and we will announce it when the time is right, has given us another problem.’

‘Why are The Raven working for Xetesk?’ Ilkar framed the question.

‘Exactly. And this gives us a big problem where we’re going next.’

‘Dordover.’

Ilkar pursed his lips.

‘If you, Hirad or I are seen in the City it will trigger untold problems with the Dordovan College. We can’t afford a split because if we don’t stand together, the Wytch Lords will trample us underfoot.’

‘We’re going to have to be incredibly lucky in there not to be spotted.’ Ilkar shook his head, wondering how the Colleges would ever stop bickering long enough to stand together. He tried to believe Denser a liar but somehow, given that he was as much at risk as The Raven, he couldn’t. The actions of Xetesk, though, were despicable.

‘We aren’t going in at all. Will, Thraun and Jandyr will have to do this alone.’

‘And Erienne?’ Ilkar was uncomfortable with trusting the theft of the Lore Master’s ring to untried and unknown people. Yet he knew Denser’s solution made sense.

‘We can certainly trust her not to betray us.’ Denser’s eye had a twinkle. ‘But that’s not the problem. She’s not exactly Dordover’s favourite daughter and if we have to send her in, well . . .’

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‘I don’t like the feel of this at all,’ said Ilkar. ‘I need to think. I’m going to check on Hirad.’

Selyn awoke with a start, the sound of running feet jerking her to instant wakefulness. It was late afternoon and she would have normally remained asleep for another two or three hours before casting her ShadowWings for the journey to Parve. She lay concealed in a dense area of shrub midway up a crag that overlooked the road from the Torn Wastes to Terenetsa. She was still four days from Parve.

Moving carefully to avoid rustling the foliage all over her, she edged her head above a rock formation and looked down on the road. Wesmen were jogging past, thousands of them, punctuated by Shamen on horseback. She watched for five minutes, trying to gauge the strength of the unbroken line of armed and fur-clad men running towards Understone Pass.

By the time the last riders were through, she estimated she’d watched the passage of around seven thousand. And at that speed, they would reach the pass in approximately six days.

‘Gods, it’s happening,’ she breathed. She wasn’t due to make another communion until reaching Parve but she couldn’t let that many men surprise the Understone Pass defence. And assuming more were taking the southern trails from the Heartlands, they meant to throw a massive force at eastern Balaia. Shaking her head, she lay down and probed the mana for Styliann.

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Chapter 18

The morning began calm. Dawn broke to the sound of people checking horses, stowing equipment and preparing food. The weather was fine and cool, ideal conditions for riding. Nonetheless, there was a storm about to break.

With horses saddled and castle rigged, most of The Raven, old and new, had gathered in the courtyard. Talan was astride his horse.

‘Second thoughts?’ probed Hirad. He was feeling good, strong. A few practice moves with Talan had revealed a dull ache and nothing more. Erienne said the ache would be with him for ever.

‘With every breath I take,’ said Talan.

‘And?’

‘I’m still right to go.’ He shrugged.

‘Where?’

‘Never you mind, barbarian. Least said, least knows, never does find.’

‘What?’

‘My mother used to say it. God knows why, but it sounds right.’

Hirad raised his eyebrows and offered Talan a hand which the other shook. ‘You’ll always be Raven,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget.’

‘Thank you. Gods, Hirad, I—’

‘It’s done, Talan. We wish each other life and luck. It’s all we can do now.’ He smiled. ‘See you in Korina when it’s all over.’

‘Depend on it.’ Talan turned his horse and trotted towards the gates. As he neared the walls, Sol stepped squarely into his path.

‘I think you’d better stop, Talan,’ said Denser, emerging from the house, cat in his arms.

‘What’s up?’ Hirad turned to the Xeteskian.

‘I didn’t really believe he’d go. I was trusting you to change his mind.’

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Hirad felt a chill through the warmth of the morning.

‘This is Raven business. It’s his choice,’ he said. ‘It’s his right.’

‘No, it is not,’ said Denser, his voice calm and cold. ‘We cannot take the risk of his capture. He cannot be allowed to leave.’

‘Don’t do this, Denser,’ urged Ilkar.

Denser ignored Ilkar. ‘Reconsider.’

Talon shook his head. ‘No.’

At a signal from his Given, Sol snapped the axe from his back to the ready.

‘Reconsider,’ Denser repeated.

Another shake of the head.

‘You’d kill him?’ Hirad’s face darkened.

Denser shrugged. ‘It’s what Sol does best.’

Hirad didn’t even think about it. He covered the ground to Denser, locked an arm around his neck and pushed a dagger under his chin.

‘Reconsider,’ he grated.

Sol broke towards them, his movement measured, implacable.

‘Not another step, maskman, or this whole thing ends right now.’

The point of Hirad’s dagger drew blood. Sol stopped dead. ‘And don’t even think about a spell. You aren’t quick enough to beat me,’

said Hirad into Denser’s ear. He looked over at Talan. ‘Get out of here.’ Talan nodded his thanks, spurred his horse and galloped away. ‘Like I said, it’s Raven business.’ He released Denser and sheathed his dagger. ‘Now you can either kill me or we can get on with our job.’

‘No purpose would be served by killing you,’ said Denser, rubbing his neck.

‘I thought not. Let’s go then.’

Ilkar let out his breath, paused long enough to glare at Hirad and walked back towards the stables. Thraun and Will disappeared into the house. Erienne was still at the grave of her sons.

Sol moved to stand at Denser’s side, the cat now on the Protector’s shoulder. All three stared at him.

‘What is it? Surprised I care that much?’ Hirad’s anger had not entirely left him. ‘You still don’t understand us, do you, Denser?

The few of us that are still alive. And though you are sworn to the Code, until you do, you will never be truly Raven.’

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‘No,’ said Denser. ‘I don’t and I’m not, although I’m getting a better picture every day.’ He paused. ‘You would really have killed me?’

‘It’s what I do best.’ Hirad smiled.

‘And handed Balaia and Dawnthief to the Wytch Lords.’

‘I will not let you use that as a weapon to dominate us. You had no right to stop Talan—’

‘I had every r—’

‘It was Raven business!’ snapped Hirad. ‘I won’t repeat myself again. Now I know you’re important and I know we need to keep you alive. But if you pull another trick like that, I will stop you any way I can. And if that means we both die and Balaia with us, so be it.’

Eventually, Denser nodded. ‘But you understand my fears.’

‘Of course. Ilkar shares them. But you should have spoken to us about them. Did you really think we were going to stand by and let your shadow chop down a member of The Raven?’

Denser was silent for a time. He breathed in deeply.

‘In hindsight, no. Look, I wasn’t thinking straight. We’re in a lot of trouble—’

‘Ilkar’s told me.’

‘—and I just saw it as one risk too many.’ He paused. ‘I panicked.

I’m sorry.’

‘Then it’s forgotten.’ Hirad accepted Denser’s hand. ‘As long as he realises it was nothing personal.’ He switched his gaze to Sol.

Behind the mask, the eyes stared back, betraying no reaction.

‘He will not attempt to harm you unless you threaten my life,’

said Denser.

‘I think we both know how to avoid that, don’t we?’ Hirad turned at a sound from the castle. Will and Thraun trotted out.

‘Fuses are lit,’ said Will. ‘They’ll burn for around four hours. I hope we can find a convenient hill to watch from.’

‘We’ll see what we can do.’ Hirad drew breath. ‘Raven! Mount up, let’s go. The sun won’t stop moving!’ He paused to grab Denser’s arm. ‘You’ll see to Erienne?’ Then he ran to his horse.

Minutes later, the hiss and crackle of fuses was the only sound echoing around the stone walls of the Black Wings’ castle.

The Raven rode along the trail from the castle for ten minutes 256

before cutting away up a gentle incline into woodland. The ground was easy but rocks here and there dictated a measure of caution. It was three days’ ride to Dordover; an injury to a horse would add delay and time was something The Raven simply didn’t have to waste.

The first stop, earlier than Denser would have preferred, saw them on the slope of a hillside over three hours from the castle. Though not an ideal viewing point – the castle was partially obscured by both trees and distance – it was the best they could hope for and Will for one was not moving.

‘Something wrong, old friend?’ asked Ilkar.

Hirad looked away from the castle. ‘I was just working out how long it was since I had a drink and I’m not happy with the answer.’

‘It was in the ruins of Septern’s house, wasn’t it?’

Hirad nodded.

‘Travers had a stock,’ said Ilkar.

‘I’d rather drink the contents of my own bladder,’ replied Hirad.

‘Very wise. It made a good antiseptic, though, so Talan said.’

Hirad raised his eyebrows. ‘He’d better be all right,’ he said. ‘I’m going to miss him, I think.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Ilkar.

‘Are you surprised he’s gone?’

‘Surprised and very disappointed. I really thought . . . you know, after four years . . .’

‘Yes, I know. And talking of being disappointed, I’m beginning to lose faith in this great firework display of Will’s.’ He turned to where Will was standing, hands on hips, a few yards away. ‘Hey, Will, any danger of this event of yours actually happening?’

Will tensed and shot him a sharp glance. ‘Patience,’ he said.

‘Smoke!’ said Jandyr immediately, pointing and standing up.

‘Where?’ asked Ilkar.

‘Front door, all around the cracks.’

‘Got it,’ said Ilkar.

‘Where?’ And as Hirad strained to see what was visible only to elven eyes, the front door and surrounding walls blew out. A huge tongue of flame lashed into the courtyard, bringing with it a cloud of debris and smoke, causing him to shudder at the unwelcome reminder of his escape from Sha-Kaan.

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The muffled thump of the first detonation reached them seconds later, moments before the two towers exploded in perfect syn-chronisation. One tore itself apart, collapsing inwards. The other’s force was concentrated upwards, its ornately pointed top section spinning lazily into the air atop a plume of powdered masonry. Will shouted, delighted. Erienne burst into tears. Denser moved to her, held her and wiped dry her damp cheeks. She looked up at him and smiled.

And then, with the castle wreathed in flames and smoke, Hirad patted Will on the back and hurried them on their way under Denser’s anxious gaze.

Understone.

Once the focal point of trade and travel both east and west of the pass, the town had fallen first to disuse, then to disrepair, following the surrender of the pass to the Wesmen. All that remained was a poorly provisioned garrison of first-tour career soldiers paid for by the Korina Trade Alliance, though the parlous state of that organisation scarcely warranted the name, such was its fading reputation.

Seventy-five men made up the total defence against incursion from the west, an incursion that none in the KTA believed would happen after the first five years of quiet.

How times change. In the aftermath of Travers’ extraordinarily brave but ultimately doomed defence of the pass, Understone was fortified and garrisoned with three thousand men. With the entire eastern part of Balaia deemed under threat, no cost was too much in ensuring the Wesmen got no further than daylight the other side of the pass. Temporary accommodation was built, and traders, prosti-tutes, entertainers and innkeepers saw their best-ever years. But it didn’t last. The Wesmen never attacked again. It seemed, after five years, that control of the pass and the tolls Tessaya could exact was the limit of their ambition.

Why they took the pass was a question left unanswered at the time. In the years before the series of battles that led to Travers’

defeat, an uneasy peace had been maintained, allowing trade from the richer east to flow west, opening up new markets and developing new industries. But now nine years after the fall of the pass, the 258

situation was unfortunately clear. The Wesmen had taken the pass as a precursor to the eventual return of the Wytch Lords.

The town of Understone stood no more than four hundred yards from the thirty-feet-high by twenty-five-feet-wide open black arch that was the entrance to Understone Pass. To either side, the mountains spread up and away, rolling into hills and scrubland which stretched as far as the eye could see, north, east and south. It was a bleak but beautiful sight, the town standing squarely in the middle of a carved wagon trail, its tumbledown houses littering neighbouring hills or jostling for position on the inadequate flatter spaces away from the main street.

It was bleaker still when the rains came, as they often did, clouds sweeping over the mountains on the prevailing wind to disgorge their contents on the hapless inhabitants below.

Flooding, mudslides, subsidence, all had left their scars on the town, whose solution to the rains was a lattice of drainage trenches probing in all downhill directions. They had worked well but disrepair now limited their effectiveness and the floods had returned.

The main street was ankle deep in a thick, clogging mud, its stench rising with the sun.

The unannounced arrival of more than five hundred men and elves from the four Colleges caused panic in the small garrison.

While a few stood in the way of the mounted force, most disappeared into buildings or ran shouting for their commanding officer. By the time he had dragged his way from an old inn, buttoning his tunic over his ample belly as he came thrashing through the mud, only twelve conscripts remained. It was pitiable.

The garrison commander looked past General Ry Darrick at the long line of horsemen who filled his town’s main street almost end to end. He looked at those of his men who had chosen to stand their ground and nodded his thanks before facing Darrick, who leaned forward in his saddle, not even honouring the man by dismounting.

‘And this is how you would face those who would take our lands,’

said Darrick.

The commander smiled. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Because those who would take our lands would hardly draw breath while slaughtering so small a garrison. Whom do I address?’

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‘I am Darrick, General, Lystern cavalry. And you are Kerus, commander of the garrison standing at the gates of hell.’

For a second time, Kerus frowned, gauging the meaning both of Darrick’s words and of the weight of numbers behind him. Choosing to keep the rest of the conversation private, he walked through the mud to stand by Darrick’s chestnut-brown mare.

‘General Darrick. What I have here are seventy-five men, none of whom is above nineteen. They have been sent here to patrol the area outside the pass and to deal with any raiders who might come through. They were never expected to repel an invading army because no army will ever come through the pass. And now, I must ask you, what is your business in Understone?’

‘Preparing to repel the invading army that you say doesn’t exist. I have five thousand foot two days behind me.’

‘Perhaps we had better talk in my quarters,’ said Kerus.

‘Perhaps we had.’

260

Chapter 19

It was late afternoon. Will had the wood burner firing and a pot of water bubbled on top of it. No light could be seen.

‘I’m astonished, frankly,’ said Denser. ‘We didn’t meet another soul. How likely is that?’ He, Ilkar and Hirad had walked away a few yards to talk. Jandyr and Thraun were seeing to the horses and Erienne had already put her head down to sleep.

‘He’s a good tracker, I’ll give him that,’ said Hirad.

‘Good! It’s hardly desolate out here. We didn’t even hear anyone.

It’s extraordinary.’

‘Not only that, half the time we didn’t hear him ourselves,’ agreed Ilkar.

‘All right. Meeting of the Thraun appreciation society closed,’

said Hirad. ‘What about Dordover?’

Denser gestured for Ilkar to speak.

‘It’s the largest of the College Cities. It is more closely linked to Xetesk than Julatsa and has a history of allegiance with Denser’s lot, although they now barely talk. It wouldn’t make our job any easier if they did. One thing you have to understand is that the colleges guard their lore more jealously than any other possession. What we are about to steal is part of Dordover’s lore.’

‘So it’ll be protected.’

‘Yes, but not by people. Spells,’ said Ilkar. ‘That’s our problem.

Wards, alarms, traps, all coded. If the wrong person moves in their sphere, they’ll be triggered.’

‘So how?’ asked Hirad.

‘Our only choice, unfortunately, is Erienne,’ said Denser.

‘Why unfortunately?’

‘Because we shouldn’t be asking her to take such a direct part in 261

this theft. She’s already torn apart by losing her sons. I wonder whether this might not be one thing too many for her to take.’

‘I know,’ said Hirad. ‘But if she’s only telling us what to do . . .’

‘You misunderstand,’ said Denser. ‘She’ll have to go in.’

‘So we’re talking of sending Will and Thraun into this place in the company of a woman who’s out of her mind with grief and was schooled just around the corner, to steal a ring which is central to her beliefs.’

‘That is a very accurate summary,’ said Denser.

‘Do they know she’s coming?’ asked Hirad.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Denser. ‘Just one more thing. There’s to be no killing, Erienne will not stand for it.’

‘Want me to lop their hands off too?’

‘Sorry, Hirad.’

‘Let’s hope we’re not all sorry before tomorrow.’ He moved away and called to Thraun before turning back. ‘So before we met Erienne, what was the plan?’

Ilkar and Denser exchanged a glance and the cat raised its head.

‘It is possible to subvert weaker minds remotely, given time,’

replied Denser.

‘Believe me, you don’t want to know the details,’ said Ilkar.

Hirad nodded and walked over to the stove.

Styliann rattled his glass back on to the table, his eyes blazing, his face colouring red in the lanternlight of his study.

‘The Protectors are under my direct control. No one assigns a Protector without my prior authorisation. Not even you.’

‘But the situation, my Lord . . .’ began Nyer.

‘Should have been discussed with me,’ said Styliann. ‘I do not like the flouting of my authority. And I particularly do not like your choice of Protector.’

‘Sol is extremely capable.’

‘You know precisely what I am talking about,’ snapped Styliann.

‘You will recall him at once.’

Nyer dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded his head. ‘Naturally, my Lord. If that is your wish.’

‘Damn you, Nyer, I don’t know!’ said Styliann. He poured the 262

older man a drink. ‘What has got into you? You always discuss such matters with me. Always.’

‘You were in conference at Triverne Lake. I felt a decision had to be made.’

Styliann considered and nodded. ‘Very well. Let the Protector stay. At least until after Dordover. But keep me closely informed of progress. I want a full account of all communions and I would hate to have to employ TruthTell to be sure you were telling me everything.’

Nyer recoiled as if slapped, but recovered to smile. ‘I suppose I deserved that,’ he said. ‘Selyn is well?’

‘Considering the invading armies of the Wesmen trampled her toes on the way to Understone, yes.’ Styliann sucked his lip nervously.

‘She’ll make it, you know.’

‘Thank you for your thoughts.’ The Lord of the Mount rang the bell by the fire. ‘I need to rest. Please don’t work behind my back again.’ His expression was bleak. Nyer left in response to the opening of the door. Styliann sighed. He wouldn’t have believed it of Nyer, he really wouldn’t.

Erienne, with a few brief words to Denser and a squeeze of his hand, left the camp well before sundown alongside Thraun and Will. Unlike Xetesk, Dordover was not a closed city and the trio rode through the gates under the disinterested gaze of the west gate guards two hours later.

‘I couldn’t bear to go back to the house,’ said Erienne when they were seated at a table downstairs from the rooms they had taken for the night at a quiet inn near the College.

‘I understand,’ said Thraun. ‘When this is over, we’ll sort the place out for you.’

Erienne nodded her thanks, tears again threatening behind the sunken, dark-ringed eyes in her pale face. ‘So many memories, so much happiness. And now . . .’ She shook her head and dropped her gaze to the table, pushing her hair back over her ears.

‘We’ll help you through this,’ said Will. ‘We’ll always be here for you.’

Erienne reached out a hand and squeezed Will’s arm. She 263

breathed in and composed herself. ‘Now listen,’ she said. ‘Although Dordover is far more open than somewhere like Xetesk, the College has strict rules concerning visitors. You’re not allowed in the College grounds after full dark, so please, take my lead and try not to say too much.’

‘Will you be recognised?’ asked Thraun.

‘I expect so, near the College anyway. I spent a lot of years here, after all.’

Food and drink arrived at the table.

‘Let’s eat,’ said Erienne. ‘Then we need to get out to the College.

We won’t gain entry after dark.’

The College itself consisted of a group of ten or so buildings arranged in a rough circle around the ‘Tower’. That the Tower looked nothing like its name suggested it should was something Will was quick to point out.

The trio were walking up to the single gate of the walled-in college, and the Tower, in actuality a twin-winged four-storey mansion house, lay directly ahead of them.

‘There used to be a tower before the College was formalised as a centre of excellence in magic,’ explained Erienne. ‘It was the done thing about four hundred years ago, I think, but completely im-practical. When the College developed around it, the Tower was eventually demolished to make way for the house. Only Xetesk retains towers. They’ve got seven, and that’s a reflection of the College hierarchy’s thinking.’ She couldn’t quite keep the sneer from her voice. ‘Everyone else has moved with the times.’

‘So what was the point of a Tower, if you’ll excuse the pun?’ asked Thraun.

‘They were a symbol of power and authority.’ Erienne shrugged.

‘Phallic symbols for men whose mana ability was less than their egos demanded. Pathetic, really.’

At the gate they were stopped by a single guard who, after a moment’s reflection, recognised the mage in front of him.

‘Erienne,’ he said kindly. ‘It’s been a few years since you came here.’

‘We all have to fly the coop sometime, Geran, but it’s good to see you.’ The guard smiled, then looked at Will and Thraun. ‘Friends of 264

my husband,’ said Erienne. ‘I’ve had a little trouble, I’m afraid.’ Her voice caught and she stopped.

‘And now you’re here for some help.’

‘Something like that.’

Geran stepped aside. ‘You know the rules on visitors,’ he said.

Erienne nodded and walked past him. ‘I’ll see they don’t encroach.’

‘How is Alun, by the way?’ asked Geran.

Erienne stiffened but carried on walking, not turning. Thraun came to Geran’s shoulder.

‘That’s the trouble. He’s dead. And the boys.’

Geran’s face fell. ‘I’m—’

‘I know. Best left.’

It was close on two hundred yards to the Tower from the gate.

To their left, a line of stubby wooden windowed huts – classrooms –

arced away, and to their right a long, shuttered building, metalled and black.

‘It’s where range spells are practised and new spells live-tested. It has to be strong,’ said Erienne, stopping to look. ‘Did you know that across the Colleges one in fifty mages die in their long rooms and test chambers? No, of course you didn’t. You thought we all just wake up one morning able to cast. There never has been enough respect for the dangers we face in training and research. You think it’s a gift, but to us it’s a calling we have no choice but to obey. We don’t walk in here, they find us and bring us.’

‘Take it easy, Erienne.’ Thraun, taken aback by her sudden anger, put a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off and began walking again.

‘Behind the Tower is another place to dread. The Mana Bowl.

That’s where mages learn to accept, build and control mana. Next door is the ward where the ones who opened their minds too far too soon lie gibbering and drooling until death takes them. Mercifully, that isn’t usually too long.’

She marched up a short flight of stone steps, across a paved relief and hammered on the massive oak doors that fronted the Tower.

The left-hand one swung open silently and a man stepped out. He was old beyond anything they had seen or even dreamed. White hair cascaded below his shoulders and his mouth was obscured by a 265

grey-flecked beard. While his body was bent with age and he supported himself on two sticks, his eyes were a clear blue, flashing from a face wrinkled and rolled into a grotesque caricature of the man he once was. But the eyes gave him strength and Erienne bowed to him.

‘Master of the Tower, I am Erienne. I seek knowledge in the library.’

He considered her for a moment before nodding.

‘Indeed,’ he said in a voice brittle and quiet. ‘And your companions?’ He gestured vaguely with one stick.

‘They guard me.’

‘They may enter the hall but go no further.’

‘I know, Tower Master.’ Erienne wrung her hands.

‘You are impatient, Erienne Malanvai. It was always your weakness.’ He chuckled. ‘Go and seek your knowledge. You have been absent from the library for too long. Perhaps age is finally bringing you wisdom.’ He took a pace towards Thraun and Will, squinting at them in the failing afternoon light. The thief received only a cursory glance, but Thraun’s face he held with his eyes for some time, a frown deepening the wrinkles of his forehead still further.

‘Hmm,’ he said eventually. ‘Do not trespass. The penalties are swift and severe.’ He shuffled back into the Tower, leaving the door open for them to enter.

Erienne came down towards her companions. ‘What was all that about?’ she asked.

‘I must have a scary face.’ Thraun smiled, but it was less than convincing.

‘We could ask you the same question,’ said Will.

‘The Tower Master, you mean? Just do as he says. He runs the house for the Lore Masters. No one goes against his word and it worries me that he didn’t like you.’

Thraun shrugged. ‘What now?’ he asked.

‘I’m going into the library to check up on the defences around Arteche’s ring. The heavy door you’ll see to the right of the library leads to the crypts. Take a good look at the lock but I’d advise against turning the handle.’

She turned on her heel and walked into the Tower. She headed 266

left and opened a wood-panelled door, then stopped and turned.

‘Don’t – are you two all right?’

Thraun and Will had only taken one pace into the Tower before stopping. Both men had paled, eyes widening more in fear than in reaction to the half-light inside.

Will felt a weight settle on his body like a metal shroud. Oppressive and cloying, it squeezed his lungs and chilled his heart, breath catching in his throat. His eyes swept around the hall. Directly in front of him, a flight of stone stairs led upwards into darkness, and to the right of them, a single closed iron-bound door.

Erienne stood by another door, and to her left, the one that led to the crypts sat next to the stairs. The half-light inside was spread by dim lanterns high on the walls, and from every panel a portrait glowered down – staring, enquiring, demanding. Beneath Will’s feet, the stone-flagged floor was covered by a dark rug, and from every pore leaked power.

‘Would you rather stay outside?’ asked Erienne.

Thraun shook his head weakly. ‘No, we’ll be all right.’ Will was alert enough to shoot him a sharp glance. ‘What is it?’

‘Mana,’ said Erienne simply. ‘The legacy of ages. Lore Masters and mages. The living in the rooms above your head and the dead below. It’s something you’ll never be able to understand, but you can feel it, can’t you? A dead weight for you and the purest form of life energy for me. I will draw strength while you merely endure.’

She almost smiled. ‘I won’t be long.’ She turned and disappeared into the library, the door thudding home.

Behind Thraun and Will, the light was fading fast and the lanterns on the wall lightened in response. Will sank into a chair near the library while Thraun closed the main door.

‘I wonder what she means by not being long?’ he said.

‘Hmm.’ Thraun leaned against the lintel the other side of the library entrance. ‘I don’t know. Whatever, it’s going to seem an age in here.’

‘Better make ourselves useful, then. Let’s see about that lock.’

Denser dozed fitfully. In his half-dreams, the Familiar struggled to free itself from a cage too strong to break. Its form swam from cat to true, its claws scrabbled, talons flashed, teeth rent, voice 267

howled . . . Denser awoke, uneasy. He sent his thoughts through the gloom and relief flooded in as he felt the calm beat of the Familiar’s force. He bade it be cautious.

In the street outside the College of Dordover, a black cat withdrew further into shadow, its eyes never shifting from the gate and its solitary guard, who sat smoking at his post.

‘You must be seen to leave.’ Erienne’s search had been brief and she stood in the hall with Will and Thraun once more. Their wait had seemed interminable. Not a sound had registered in the Tower the entire time she was gone.

‘And then?’ asked Will.

‘Wait until full dark, then come back. I’m staying to do a little more research.’

‘Is the gate well guarded after dark?’

‘No, same as daytime. Either way, I suggest you come over the wall behind the long room.’

‘Isn’t it spell-guarded, the wall?’ Thraun shifted his stance; something wasn’t quite right and it irritated in his subconscious.

‘No.’ Erienne shrugged. ‘Who’d want to break into a College grounds?’

‘Who indeed?’ Will smiled ruefully.

‘Your problems start when you try to get back in here.’

‘Why leave then?’

‘You aren’t allowed in the College after dark. They’ll kill you if they find you. Meet me in the library.’

Will nodded and led the way outside, gasping in the air as he stepped out into the dusk, the weight lifting from his body as quickly as it had settled. He glanced over his shoulder to see the door shut behind them, and he and Thraun hurried down the path, past the guard and out into the street.

Erienne stopped short of the door to the library, hand outstretched to the handle, at the sound of movement behind her.

‘Erienne, Erienne,’ said the Tower Master. ‘You of all people should know that the walls of the Tower have ears.’

In the shadows outside the College gate, the cat pricked its ears, feeling its hackles rise. It shifted, looked behind it, but there was 268

nothing. From nowhere a hand clamped around its neck, pinning it to the ground. It could feel the mana shape which mimicked the shape of the hand, and fear swamped its senses.

‘Don’t think to change, little one. Your bones are thin beneath my fingers.’

The cat was lifted up to a face, dark, with long black hair tied back. The eyes, brown and narrow, bored into its skull. The man spoke again.

‘I could smell you from within the walls,’ he sneered, tightening the mana hand a little. ‘Let’s see if we can’t draw your master from his hiding place.’ A bag, heavy with invested mana, covered the cat’s head, cutting off its sub-vocal howl.

Denser’s scream of pain shattered the peace of the woodland hiding place. Hirad jerked violently from his doze then sprang to his feet, hand already on the hilt of his sword. He ran the short distance to the stricken mage and took in Sol, who was standing near by looking on in what appeared to be disinterest, if anything could be gained from the eyes behind the mask. Denser was hunched on his knees, hands clasped to the sides of his head, nose scraping the leaf mould.

A dark trickle ran from a nostril.

‘Denser?’ He could see no wound, no reason for the mage’s sudden cry. That scared him. He felt Ilkar and Jandyr at his shoulder. Ilkar went past and knelt by the Xeteskian, an arm about his shoulders.

‘Denser?’ asked Ilkar. ‘Can you speak?’

Denser gurgled and groaned, shuddering the length of his body.

He gasped and allowed Ilkar to pull him upright. Even in the gathering gloom they could see his eyes dark with blood against his stark white face. He seemed years aged, and when he opened his mouth to speak, the muscles of his jaws spasmed. Blood ran from his mouth.

‘They’ve taken him,’ he managed in a voice thick with phlegm.

‘They’ve taken him to get me.’

‘What?’ Hirad was confused. ‘Taken who?’

‘The Familiar,’ said Ilkar. ‘A Dordovan mage must have captured it.’

‘Why a mage?’

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‘Because no one else would have the power to keep it subdued.’

Ilkar scratched his chin. ‘Gods, this is serious.’

‘I’ve got to get there,’ said Denser, starting to rise.

‘No way, Denser.’ Ilkar held him down. ‘They’ll destroy you.’

The mages stared at each other.

‘They’ll hold him till he dies. What then? What then?’ Denser’s eyes were desperate, his body shivering with the aftershock.

Ilkar shook his head. ‘I don’t know . . . oh, no.’

‘What?’ Hirad stopped halfway to resheathing his sword.

‘Thraun, Will, Erienne. The College are going to be expecting something, aren’t they? And those three are pig in the middle. How much chance do you reckon that gives them?’

‘But there’s no way they could link them with the cat, is there?’

said Jandyr.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ replied Ilkar. ‘The College’ll be on high alert once the capture of the Familiar is announced. They’ll think Xeteskians are about and no one will get in or out, believe me.’

Hirad rammed his blade home the rest of the way.

‘Oh, that’s just great. Not only will Denser have his brain fried when the cat dies, but we’re going to lose half our people without claiming the ring.’ He walked away a few paces and kicked at a tree, cursing under his breath. ‘Anyone got any bright ideas or do we just serve ourselves up to the Wytch Lords now?’

‘I’m going to get him,’ said Denser. ‘I can’t leave him in there.

You don’t understand.’

‘There’s only one person who can try to find out what’s going on, and that’s me,’ said Jandyr. ‘I’ll saddle up and go.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ilkar. He switched his attention to Denser.

‘Remember why we’re all here and remember the people who have died so far. If you stamp off into Dordover you’ll just be committing suicide and all we’ve achieved will be wasted.’

He paused and glanced up at Sol. The Protector’s eyes were hidden by the gloom but Ilkar knew he was looking at them.

‘You understand all this. It’s up to you to see he stays put.’ He squeezed Denser’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I know the depth of the bond. I’m sorry for the pain you’ve suffered and for the pain you still 270

have to face. But Dawnthief is bigger than any of us, you said so yourself. You are hearing me, aren’t you?’

Denser nodded and slumped against Ilkar’s body. He looked up into the Julatsan’s face, tears brimming in his eyes.

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Chapter 20

Will and Thraun saw it happen, knew straight away that it wasn’t just a man snatching a stray cat, but didn’t know what it meant. Crouch-ing deep in shadow outside the College and near the wall by the long room, they reached a decision quickly enough.

‘We said we’d go back,’ said Thraun. ‘She could be in trouble.’

‘I know you’re right but can we really help in there?’ Will jerked a thumb at the College.

‘We’d better hope so. We do have one ace up our sleeve.’

‘Hmm.’ Will eyed Thraun, a frown creasing his brow. ‘There’s always that, though I didn’t like the way that old man stared at you, like he knew something. And to be fair, there’s no way they would connect Erienne with the cat, it’s a Xeteskian beast. Still . . .’ He trailed off and shrugged.

‘I know,’ said Thraun. He studied the sky. ‘We’d better get inside. I’d hate to be late.’

Though smooth, the wall was no challenge. Will swarmed over it in seconds and it was low enough for Thraun to jump and catch the top edge. Within a minute, they were behind the long room.

The building was dread and sinister. The walls were scarcely taller than Thraun and the roof swept down either side, overlapping almost to ground level. Clad in iron, the strength and weight had to be immense, and when Will touched the wall he flinched. It was warm. But there was more; an aura similar to that they had experienced in the Tower, but uncontrolled somehow. Dangerous.

‘Can we move from here?’ His unease was heightened by a creak in the metal.

‘It would be a pleasure.’ Thraun started off along the length of the building, heading towards the Tower but shielded from it. His eyes, sharp and clear, picked out every twig and dry leaf. Behind 272

him, Will, through long years of experience, concentrated solely on placing his feet in the imprints left by Thraun, which he could just make out in the darkness.

The two men moved like ghosts through the College, so quiet that someone two paces away could miss them with back turned.

They stopped at the corner of the long room and studied the Tower.

Light came from three windows and lanterns hung either side of the main doors. The ground floor was completely dark, but between them and more welcoming shadow were thirty yards of open space.

‘Any ideas?’

‘Just one,’ replied Thraun.

Erienne laid the unconscious body of the Tower Master in a far corner of the cavernous library, making him as comfortable as possible.

Her action had been swift and without error, her straight punch catching him square on the jaw. He’d crumpled into her arms and she’d dragged the dead weight into the library, panting at the sudden exertion. With the door closed, she’d shaped a gentle sleeping spell which would keep him under the entire night.

When she stopped moving, the enormity of what she’d done struck her like falling rock. She pulled out a desk chair and slumped into it, hands over her face, elbows on the desk and tears beginning to prick at her eyes.

That the Tower Master had heard her conversation with Thraun and Will was bad – his suspicions would be plenty enough to see her expelled from the College. But to have struck him and then disabled him with magic . . . they’d tear her brain to pieces. Her only hope now was to avoid capture and pray the circumstances of the decep-tion would mitigate future punishment. Either way, she couldn’t ever see herself setting foot in Dordover or its College again.

After a few moments to gather herself, she moved to kneel by the Tower Master, and smoothed a strand of hair from his face.

‘I am sorry. But underneath it all, you are still just an old, old man. Please forgive me.’ She rose. ‘It is not a betrayal. I’m trying to save us all.’ The Tower Master lay still, his gently moving chest the only indication he was alive at all.

Twitching aside a heavy drape, Erienne checked the sky and 273

frowned in surprise. Full dark had come. She’d had no idea she’d dallied in the library so long and there was one question she hadn’t answered. She hurried to a shelf and dragged off a large volume. She leafed through the pages quickly, scanning for the information she knew had to be there.

Denser turned the Understone Pass Commander’s badge he’d taken from Travers over and over in his hands. It was hard to see in the lessening light and he augmented his sight for a better look.

The badge itself was quite plain, though its importance to the survival of Balaia could not be measured. Formed from an amalgam of gold and steels it was about three-quarters the width of his palm and ringed with an embossed leaf design. In its centre, an intricate engraving of the southern entrance to the pass gleamed at him and on the reverse were etched the names of previous commanders.

It was the first time Denser had studied the badge, and he should have found it fascinating – particularly its constitution. But as he twiddled it absently, his thoughts were dominated by the fate of his Familiar. His mind was shorn of its touch and the loneliness he felt was merely the prelude to the agony of its death. He fancied he could feel its fear, anger and desolation; and the howls of despair ready to be unleashed at its demise. He couldn’t let that happen.

Sol stood near by, a statue of controlled power. His eyes, as ever, scanned everywhere, missing nothing that could prove a threat.

Nothing until now. His eyes could not penetrate Denser’s mind.

‘Sol,’ said Denser softly. The Protector turned his head. ‘Catch.’

He tossed the badge and chain to Sol, who enclosed them in one gloved hand. ‘Keep it safe.’

Now Sol looked at what he held and his eyes widened. His gaze snapped back to Denser but the mage had already finished his incantation.

‘You know I had to do this.’ Wings of pure night appeared at Denser’s back, and with one lazy flap he shot into the air, orienting himself for Dordover.

‘No!’ Sol’s shout put birds to flight and shocked Hirad out of a doze for the second time. For a moment he was confused by the sound – it was the first word he had heard Sol utter. He sprinted to 274

the Protector and, following the tilt of his head, could just make out a shape dwindling against the starscape.

‘What the—’

‘ShadowWings.’ Ilkar was at his shoulder.

‘That’s Denser?’ Hirad pointed at the smudge in the sky.

‘ ’Fraid so,’ said Ilkar.

‘Well, that’s just bloody great!’ Hirad hurled his sword to the ground at his feet, fury bringing heat to his cheeks. His hands clenched. ‘He threatens to kill Talan because of some imaginary risk to his precious quest and now he’s off to commit suicide in Dordover all because someone’s stolen his pet bloody cat!’ He flapped a hand in the direction Denser had taken, breathing out loudly through his nose. ‘I mean, just what does he expect us to do now?’

‘Nothing.’ Sol flicked the badge and chain to Ilkar, who caught it effortlessly. ‘Stay.’

‘Talking to me or to your dog, maskman?’ Hirad squared up, his blade still lying in the fallen leaves.

‘Hirad . . .’ began Ilkar.

Sol considered the situation briefly, Hirad half believing he could see the Protector frowning.

‘Stay, please,’ he said, then turned and sprinted for his horse.

Hirad made to follow him, stooping for his sword on the way.

‘Don’t, Hirad.’

‘What?’

‘I think he’s right. We should stay.’

‘You’re agreeing with a Xeteskian?’

Ilkar grinned. ‘Unusual, I know, but yes.’

‘Why? Their recent record for decision-making is very poor.’

Another gesture in the direction of Dordover and the departed Denser.

‘Because if they all die, someone has to go on who knows the whole story.’

‘But without that flying prat no one can cast the spell, isn’t that right?’ Hirad pushed his sword back into its scabbard.

‘He’s the only chance right now, admittedly, but without any of us to report back to Xetesk, there’s no chance at all.’ Ilkar shrugged.

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‘So we just sit and wait?’ Hirad was unused to being unwanted in what looked a certain fight.

‘No. We clear the camp and get ready for a quick exit. One way or another, we won’t be here long, I think.’

‘How will we know if he dies?’

‘We’ll know. Believe me, we’ll know.’

The library door opening shocked Erienne into dropping the book like a guilty child. Her heart hammered then missed a beat in relief as Will and Thraun stepped in and closed it behind them.

‘Gods, you scared me! How did you . . .’ She pointed vaguely to the outside.

‘By looking as if we owned the place,’ said Will. ‘You’d be surprised how often that works.’

‘Yes, but here?’ Erienne was dumbfounded.

‘I have to admit the College was pushing the point, but seeing is believing.’ Thraun smiled. ‘Our only bit of luck was avoiding your friend the Tower Master. I thought we’d have to deck him.’

‘I beat you to it.’ Erienne reprised the events of the past hour or so.

‘One thing,’ said Will. ‘Someone here’s got Denser’s cat.’

‘Fool!’ spat Erienne, slapping the table next to her. ‘I told him they would detect a Familiar. That man’s arrogance knows no end.’

She breathed in deeply but her eyes betrayed her thoughts. ‘The pain he’ll be suffering . . . poor man, it’ll be terrible.’ She paused.

‘Come on, we can’t stop to worry about that now. All in all, I’d say we’ve been luckier than we deserve. I’ve already lost my reputation pursuing this ridiculous folly, I don’t want to lose my life too.’

‘Reckon we can take the ring?’ asked Will.

‘I’m not sure,’ admitted Erienne. ‘There’s a ward down there I don’t know.’

‘So . . . ?’

‘So until I can plot the mana shape, I don’t know what it does or whether I can move it. To do that I need to get near it.’ She walked to the door. ‘Let’s get moving.’

Thraun gave the all clear and they padded quietly to the crypt entrance.

‘Will?’ asked Erienne.

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‘It’s a standard through-bolt operating a latch on the other side.

Heavy but crude,’ he whispered. ‘I need to know if it’s spell-guarded or conventionally trapped.’

‘Neither,’ said Erienne.

‘Good.’ Will bent to his task, inserting a metal rod the size of his little finger into the lock. He probed briefly for the latch assembly.

‘Very crude.’ He withdrew the rod and fished in a belt pouch, taking out a flat piece of metal about one and a half inches wide, welded to a cylinder which slipped over the rod and clicked into place. He pushed the makeshift key into the lock, angling it slightly and manoeuvring it back and forth. Presently he smiled, turned the key and heard the latch slide up on the other side of the door.

‘Want to go first?’ he asked Erienne.

‘I think I’d better.’ She stepped past Will as he stowed his tools and opened the door. Inside, the weight of mana was heavier than ever, causing her to pause for breath. It was also pitch dark.

‘There’s a lot of static mana here, keeping the wards sound. I can navigate by the trails. What about you two?’

‘I’ll follow him, don’t you worry,’ I said Will.

‘No light?’ queried Thraun.

‘Not until we’re down the first steps. There’s a light-sensitive ward about halfway down the flight which activates at dusk. It’s an alarm.’ She began to move carefully down the stairs, Thraun and Will behind her, the latter closing and rebolting the door behind them.

To Will, the darkness was impenetrable, the mana-laden atmosphere cloaked him in anxiety and the air was musty and stale. He hooked the fingers of his right hand into Thraun’s belt and traced the near wall with his left, relying on his friend’s directions for his every footstep.

He was concentrating so intently, he hardly heard Erienne as she advised them they were passing the first ward, but it registered and he was sure he could feel it: a deeper quality to the level of mana all around and a spike that sent fear into his heart and sent his sightless eyes probing desperately for something to anchor him. He stumbled.

‘Easy, Will,’ said Thraun, his own voice hushed by the power all 277

around them. ‘There are maybe a dozen more steps and then we’re down.’

‘I’m not enjoying this.’

‘Nor me. Just take it steady. Step down now.’

The descent of the thirty steps ended with a right-hand bend in a narrow passage and another door through which Erienne ushered them before closing it and beginning an incantation. Will leant against the door, finding comfort in the wood and iron at his back while somewhere to his left, Erienne murmured on.

‘Illuminate,’ she said eventually, and light grew steadily. It came from a globe that expanded to a size approaching that of Will’s head, and at that moment it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He noticed the chamber next. It was long, narrow and cold, stretching away into the darkness beyond the throw of Erienne’s LightGlobe. And stacked three high to left and right, separated by shelves, were stone sarcophagi. Here as nowhere else, the mana beat down upon him. The moment’s relief he felt as the light flooded the chamber was extinguished by the reality of his position, which forced him back against the door. He gasped, looking vainly for help from Thraun, but he too was suffering, the bow of his shoulders telling a clear story.

‘Erienne . . .’ Will began. He could feel his face flushing. His legs were trembling with the exertion of keeping his body vertical.

The Dordovan mage nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Will, I had no idea it would be so strong. Take a few moments and it will ease enough for you to carry on. We’ve got a way to go yet.’

Will grimaced and levered himself from the door, forcing himself to concentrate on the darkness that enveloped the chamber a dozen paces ahead.

‘It’s all in the mind,’ he assured himself.

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Erienne. ‘Mana is a force that controls and adapts nature. It is physical and, as you are discovering, is tangible in concentration. Some people attract it and the ones who can welcome and harness it are mages, like me.’

‘Thanks for your help and support,’ muttered Will.

‘Just remember that in this state, it is harmless. It’s mages who shape it and make it unstable and dangerous. Let’s keep it going.’

She strode off along the lines of tombs, Lore Masters and Mage 278

Lords, some centuries dead. The LightGlobe followed her, marking a smooth course slightly above and to the right of her head.

Will and Thraun followed as best they could, heads down and slogging as though labouring under heavy packs.

Jandyr thundered into the stables of the inn and slid off his horse. A quick word and a few coins exchanged with the stable lad gave him the information he needed, and a bag of feed for his horse.

Snatching his bow and quiver from their saddle straps, he jogged out into the Dordovan evening, following the directions given him and not having a clue what he’d do when he arrived. Something would suggest itself; it normally did.

To Denser, the mana flowing around the Dordovan College was a beacon of soft orange that swamped the lights of the City. The ShadowWings beat lazily, propelling him at good speed towards his goal. One hand was pressed on his skull cap, the other kept his sword from flapping against his leg, and he squinted through eyes half closed against the wind of his passage.

All thoughts of Dawnthief and the salvation of Balaia had vanished from his mind. Somewhere in the College was his Familiar, an integral part of his mind and consciousness. No one could be allowed to take that away. He pulsed a thought of calm and relief in the hope it might penetrate the mana cage the Familiar had to be in.

He dived towards the College and its centrepiece, the Tower – an ugly squat house not worthy of the name given to the greatest of mage structures. But then, Dordover misunderstood the focusing power that a tower conferred upon its incumbent, just as it misunderstood many things. Like the reaction from the master of a stolen Xetesk Familiar.

Circling the Tower at a height of fifty feet above its highest point, Denser knew that whoever held his Familiar would be waiting, that they could feel his presence but would not know where he was.

Experience dictated that man will rarely look up to find other men.

Denser had an edge.

He dropped silently towards the roof of the Tower, hovering scant feet from its slates, pulsing the same search message all the 279

time. He moved slowly to all corners of the roof, hoping for some signal, some clue as to the direction he should take. He was close, he could feel it, but a wrong move now would mean disaster.

In its mana cage, the Familiar abruptly stopped struggling and cocked its head. It grasped the bars with its hands and strained forwards, a grin cracking its hairless face.

The mage flinched involuntarily from the sight but managed to smile through his revulsion.

‘Excellent. I take it he has arrived,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said the demon, in a voice like footsteps on wet gravel. ‘And you are mine.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said the mage. He turned his chair to face the door, the smug expression on his face hiding the huge effort he was making to ignore the taunts of the beast in the cage behind him.

‘Stay back around the corner, I’m at the next ward.’

Erienne’s voice brought Will back to himself. He’d been staring at the floor, filling his mind with thoughts of freedom as his body fought the constant pressure of the mana.

He looked up, past Thraun’s back, to where Erienne stood at the centre of a cross-passage, the globe bright over her head. Behind her, the passage led on into darkness, and to Will’s left and right, the shelves of caskets had given way to blank walls as the passage narrowed.

‘Where are we?’ he asked.

‘Arteche’s vault,’ said Erienne, indicating to her right. ‘The door down here is the entrance. It’s guarded. No one is allowed in there bar the present Council of Lore Masters. They are excluded from the ward.’

‘But you can get round it?’

‘Sort of. It would be more accurate to say I can move it.’

‘Then why—’ began Will.

‘They’re just a deterrent to Dordovan mages and moving them’s not without risk even if you know the structure. People like you, though, ordinary people, you wouldn’t stand a chance. What was left of you I could scrape into the palm of my hand.’

‘Nice,’ muttered Thraun. ‘So what is it, exactly?’

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‘Essentially, it’s a bubble of mana which covers the door and inside it is the trap spell. If you’re careful, you can make the bubble slide; if not, it will burst . . . I’ll call you when I’m ready, but tread slowly.’

‘Good luck,’ said Thraun.

‘Thanks,’ she said, and walked away around the corner.

At the ward, she refocused her eyes, tuning in tight to the mana spectrum. It was exactly as she had described, a bubble of mana which bulged out some five feet from the door and was anchored flush with all four edges. It was a gentle orange – the static mana which kept it active didn’t have the bright force of focused mana –

and inside, the trap spell pulsed blue, cold and deadly.

She reached out her hands to the bubble and pushed very gently against it. The surface gave like a full water skin. It was a good sign.

The give afforded her some margin of error which a taut ward did not. It had clearly not been maintained for some considerable time.

Erienne dropped her hands and concentrated, beginning the process of creating a mana shape to completely isolate the ward.

She built out from the centre, drawing on the reserves of her body only slightly as the crypts supplied almost all she needed. The shell grew, expanded and reshaped. A circle at first, it soon took on the outline of the target ward, matching its shape utterly in every detail.

In form, though, it was entirely rigid.

It took perhaps five minutes, leaving Erienne nervous about possible discovery. She moved her shell over the ward, forcing it home and feeling a satisfying mental thud as the ward accepted and bonded with her creation. She probed for weak points and there were none. Now, she unlocked the rigidity of the shell and used her mind to press against the whole left-hand side. The ward-shell slid gently back into itself, freeing first the handle of the door, then more, until half of it was out of the ward’s influence. Satisfied, she stood with her back to the shell and called Will and Thraun.

‘Will, there’s the lock, it needs picking,’ she said as they appeared.

‘On no account attempt to move behind me. Only walk in front of me. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said both men.

The lock was so easy that Will felt vaguely insulted. At Erienne’s nod, he turned the handle and pushed the door ajar.

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‘Go inside and move to the left. Lean against the wall, you’ll be safe enough. You too, Thraun, I’ve got to let the ward back.’

The two men moved inside. By the partial light cast by Erienne’s globe, they could make out a dim shape in the centre of the room, long and low. The light brightened as Erienne stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The globe illuminated a simple chamber, panelled in stone with its ceiling at around eight feet.

The shape in the centre was a single stone sarcophagus. It was flat, wide and featureless but for an inscription at one end. On top of it lay a sword, a deep blue and orange robe in a glass case, and an ornamental ring. The atmosphere was easier in the chamber, and Will breathed in deeply, gratefully. He looked around again. The walls were plain and they’d entered by the only door.

‘Is this it?’ Will was singularly unimpressed.

‘What did you expect?’ asked Erienne, walking to the sarcophagus, her eyes fixed on the ring, frowning.

‘Something a little grander, frankly.’

‘A Lore Master may be ostentatious in life, but in death he needs nothing but mana to cloak him. Oh, dear.’ She made a slow circuit of the casket, hands deep in her robes.

‘What is it?’ asked Will.

‘The ward surrounding the ring. I . . . hold on.’ She breathed deep and looked again at the extraordinary mana shape. It was small, perhaps the size of a human skull, but two factors set it apart. It had three bands of rotating colour – orange, blue and a deep green – and the shape itself was spiked, giving the whole the appearance of an oversized mace.

Erienne had never heard or read of anything like it before, and when she moved her mana-shielded hands towards it, the ward’s colours shifted and darkened, threatening to break the shield. She withdrew, arms tingling in the aftermath of the encounter.

‘You’d better lock that door, Will,’ she said. ‘This may take some time.’

‘What’s the problem?’ asked Thraun.

Erienne favoured him with a sympathetic smile. ‘I don’t think it’s something you’d understand.’

‘Try me.’

‘All right then. The ward shape and construction isn’t of purely 282

Dordovan origin. It contains lore from another college and I can’t read it. Does that help?’

‘Not really,’ said Thraun. ‘Have you any idea what will trigger it?’

‘Someone breaking the shape, I expect,’ said Erienne a little petulantly.

‘I need you to be more specific,’ said Thraun. ‘What exactly passing through the shape will break it?’

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘Remind me how a ward works,’ said Thraun.

‘Why?’

‘Humour me, please.’ His tone was insistent.

‘A ward is a shape of static mana positioned to protect a target,’

quoted Erienne. ‘The base lore of the shape allows the caster to include or exclude any class of object or being, living or inanimate.

So what?’ There was an edge to her voice.

‘Do you think you can match the mana shape?’ asked Thraun.

Erienne sucked her lip and shrugged. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Not without considerable risk to us all.’

‘In that case, I suggest you concentrate on finding out if there are any exclusions to the ward,’ said Thraun quietly.

Erienne stared at Thraun as if he had slapped her, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. ‘You suggest?’ She reddened. ‘What are you, all of a sudden, some kind of ward constitution specialist? No, I’ll tell you what you are, you’re a walking slab of muscle who shouldn’t presume to speak on subjects you have no knowledge of. How dare you try to teach me?’

‘It was just a suggestion. A simple no would have done.’ For all Thraun’s voice remained calm and quiet, there was an animal menace in his very slight change of stance.

Will, who had been happy to watch the exchange from the door, now stepped forward, anxious to calm the situation and only too aware of the precarious position they were in.

‘Do you have an alternative idea if, indeed, you can’t match the ward shape?’ he asked.

‘With one sweep of my hand I could end all this, how about that?’

she said coldly, lifting an arm.

‘I mean a sensible one. There’s no point in losing everything.’

‘Not for you. In case you’ve forgotten, I already have.’ Erienne 283

moved her arm closer to the ring. She sneered. ‘Look at you. Big man Thraun and clever little Will. I have the power of life and death over you both. How easy it is to snuff out life.’ Abruptly her eyes were full of tears.

Will and Thraun shared a glance. Thraun nodded.

‘Erienne, you know how much we grieve for your loss,’ said Will, moving towards her. ‘We loved your children and we loved Alun and no one can compensate for their deaths. But right now, we need you to help us. We need this ring and we don’t have much time before we’re caught.’ He laid a hand on her arm to draw her to face him. ‘Please, Erienne. There is time to cry when we’re out of this tomb.’

Erienne stared at Will while tears rolled down either cheek. She shook off his hand and wiped at her face.

‘The answer to your question, Thraun, is that, like most Dordovan wards, it excludes people by being triggered by human brain activity, and anything inanimate that passes through it will trigger it too.’ Her voice was shaking but she appeared to have regained rationality. ‘Not that knowing that does us any good.’

‘On the contrary, it means your work is done,’ said Thraun.

‘Apart from finding and training an animal to take the ring.’ The fire was back in Erienne’s eyes. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, there are none in here.’

‘That’s not strictly true,’ said Thraun.

‘What do you mean, not strictly true?’

‘Thraun—’ Will had tumbled to Thraun’s thoughts. He walked over and stood close to the other man. ‘You retain a critical part of your sentience. I don’t think that qualifies you as an animal,’ he hissed.

‘We don’t have time for anything else,’ said Thraun evenly. ‘And Erienne can’t move the ward. It’s our only option.’

‘Will you two stop talking riddles? What are you suggesting?’

‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Will. Thraun nodded. ‘Then you can explain.’

‘I wish one of you would,’ said Erienne, irritation edging her tone.

Thraun took a deep breath. ‘It’s quite simple.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m a shapechanger.’

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*

In its cage, the Familiar chittered loudly, like a monkey. It hopped from claw to claw, unfurled its wings as far as the bars allowed, hissed, spat and taunted.

‘Close to death, Dordovan, close to death.’

For his part, the mage kept as calm as the situation allowed, never taking his attention from the door, his chosen mana shape part-prepared and quick to complete.

The taunting stopped.

‘Now,’ hissed the Familiar. It turned its back and covered its head with its wings, actions the mage didn’t see. Perhaps if he had, he would have been prepared. Perhaps.

The windows at his back blew in, glass and wood splinters showering the room. Next came Denser, ShadowWings sweeping back as he shot feet first into the middle of the floor.

The mage, disorientated by the sudden explosion behind him, was only halfway up and turned when Denser’s fist caught him full on the jaw. He staggered back, concentration broken, spell lost and unable to raise a defence to the next punch to his nose or the boot in his gut. He collapsed on to the floor, sliding down the door by which he’d been so sure Denser would enter.

The Xeteskian stood over him, hauled him to his feet, dark eyes burning into him with uncontrolled hatred.

‘More will arrive, you can’t beat us all,’ said the Dordovan.

Denser’s laugh was pure scorn. ‘Too late for you.’ A headbutt split the Dordovan’s lips open, spattering blood. Denser dragged him towards the mana cage.

‘You’ll never open it,’ said the Dordovan defiantly. ‘And I’ll die before I help you free that thing.’

‘So foolish.’ Denser, his voice suddenly quiet, held the other’s face close to his. ‘So very, very blind. One magic, one mage.’ He dropped the man back to the floor and simply flipped the latch. The mana cage dissolved and a ball of fury came boiling out.

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Chapter 21

Jandyr stared through the gate at the house, which was partially obscured by trees and other buildings. All appeared quiet in the Dordovan College. The street outside had some passing traffic but certainly wasn’t busy, and the guard at the gate seemed unconcerned by his attention.

He was at something of a loss. He knew he wouldn’t gain entry to the College at this hour but took the lack of activity as a sign that nothing more had gone wrong after the taking of the cat. All he could do was wait and see.

Away behind him, towards the centre of the City, he heard a commotion. The shouting resolved into the sound of hooves getting closer.

Pain flared briefly in Erienne’s skull and she staggered, clutching at the sides of her head. She dropped to her knees as the jolt momentarily robbed her of her balance. She felt dazed and squeezed her eyes tight shut. She heard Will rush to her side.

‘What is it? Are you all right?’

‘Gods, that hurt,’ she spluttered, shaking her head as the rattling in her brain subsided. She calmed herself, probing the mana trails that ran the length and breadth of the Tower, looking for the breach. It was in the Tower’s top storey, and when she found it, she gasped.

‘There’s a Xeteskian in the Tower,’ she grated, staggered by the audacity of the act.

‘Denser?’ asked Will.

‘Who else?’ She pulled herself to her feet. ‘He’ll have woken every mage in the building.’ She looked at Thraun. ‘Whatever you’re going to do, make it quick. We’ve just run out of time.’ Thraun’s 286

revelation of his nature had at once shocked Erienne and made perfect sense. How else could he see like an elf in the dark? How else could he track and trail as silently as a hunting animal? How indeed? She had no idea whether to be afraid, fascinated, disgusted or amazed at him.

Thraun immediately began stripping off his clothes.

‘Listen, Erienne, the change is quick but people tend to find it horrible. Feel free to look away if you need to, I won’t be offended because I won’t know. Will, don’t leave my gear, I won’t get a chance to re-form until we’re away from here.’

Will nodded. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing. Good luck.’

Once naked, Thraun lay down on the cold stone floor, flinching at its touch. He lay on his side, legs drawn half up and arms straight out in front of him. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing before tapping into that part of his mind which he feared, loved, loathed and cherished.

In a heartbeat his thought patterns changed. His mind filled with dreams of the pack, the joy of the chase and the glory of the kill. He could scent blood in his nostrils and the myriad odours of the forest.

He dreamed of speed and the muscles of his limbs thickened, bones shifting, pads forming. He dreamed of the power in his face and his jaws extended, fangs growing, tongue flattening, nostrils developing. He dreamed he could hear the noises of the world all around him and his ears rose from the top of his skull. He dreamed of strength and his rib cage rounded, lungs expanded and heart pumped faster.

He could feel the sky above him, remember the prey at his feet and hear the sounds of his brethren calling him. He knew he had come home, but deep in his psyche, a voice tolled one word:

‘Remember.’

He rose quickly to his feet, growling deep in his chest, strength pouring into his re-formed muscle. He saw the woman-friend move backwards and the man-packbrother raise a hand that all was well. He turned his attention to the lid of the tomb.

Erienne had always prided herself that she could view anything with an objective eye. The horrors she had seen during her training had numbed her to most things, but Thraun’s transformation was something completely out of her experience. He was right, it was 287

quick, but it would live with her for ever. And now he was standing, about four feet at the shoulder, massive jaws slightly apart, just staring at her with those same yellow-tinged eyes. His coat was a pale brown, flecked with grey, and down his neck ran a stripe of pure white. Beside her, Will waved, and at that, Thraun leapt on to Arteche’s tomb, walked through the ward, sweeping up the ring with his tongue, then jumped down again. He dropped the ring at his feet and looked up squarely at Will.

Relief flooded Erienne. Had Thraun triggered the ward, they would have been obliterated, and Will’s lack of fear at the sight of the wolf had an instantly calming effect on her nerves. She reached out and Thraun sniffed her hand.

‘You’d better move that ward outside again,’ said Will. ‘I’ve left my key in the door, just give it half a turn.’ He whistled to attract Thraun’s attention. ‘When we leave, we will be running. You can reform back in the forest. It will be dangerous. Follow me.’ He half crouched and reached out a hand to the ring. Thraun growled and placed a paw on it. ‘You keep it then.’

‘How much of that did he understand?’ asked Erienne. She had the door open and was looking over her shoulder at Will, who shrugged.

‘It’s hard to say. He gets the gist of most things, I think, and there are certain words I know he understands. Unfortunately, he can’t remember how he understands, just that he does.’

Thraun took his paw from the ring and licked it back into his mouth.

There would be threat, man-packbrother had said. He would be running. There would be a forest. The calls of the brethren echoed in his ears once more.

Reversing the ward was easy, fortunately. The construction of the mana shape meant the bubble couldn’t be burst from the inside. But because the trap spell could still be triggered, Erienne had to move it aside. It was the work of seconds.

‘Will he follow us?’

‘Yes,’ said Will. ‘But remember he’s completely independent. He won’t necessarily listen to anyone, not even me, and that makes him dangerous.’

‘To us?’

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‘No, he knows we’re friends. But he’s essentially a wild animal and will react to threat as such.’

‘Right.’ Erienne set off, the globe above her head lighting the way.

‘Thraun, let’s go,’ said Will loudly. He jogged after Erienne, hearing his friend loping along in his wake, padded feet kissing the floor gently.

The demon streaked across the space to the mage and buried the claws of its feet in the man’s shoulders. All pretence at bravado gone, he gibbered and whimpered, thrashing his limbs on the floor but unable to strike the beast that drooled on his face.

‘Kill him,’ said Denser.

‘No!’ wailed the mage. ‘Please.’

The demon cut him off, pushing his mouth closed with one hand.

‘Your soul is mine,’ it said. It arched its back, spread its arms wide, clenched its fists and brought them back to impact the sides of the mage’s head with massive force. His skull crumpled like pottery between stones, his brain exploding into the Familiar’s delighted face. It fed, gorged itself on blood and brain while Denser looked on, dispassionate but appeased.

He became aware of people approaching the room. Multiple footsteps hurrying, and an urgent sound of voices.

‘Enough,’ said Denser. The Familiar looked up, disappointed.

‘We have company.’ Denser prepared another set of ShadowWings, his reserves of mana stamina falling low.

‘Disperse them and find Erienne. Downstairs. Bring them to the gate and be sure she remains unharmed. I’ll be watching over you.’

The Familiar smiled, blood dripping from its chin. ‘You will always watch over me?’ it asked.

‘Until the day my soul departs this world,’ responded Denser. He turned and flew from the shattered window, rising into the night sky and augmenting his vision to bring the house and its surrounds into bright focus.

The Familiar, content and sated, paused on its way to the doors, deciding to let whoever it was open them. It hovered a few feet above the corpse of the mage, sitting cross-legged on the air, wings beating time.

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The doors crashed open and more than half a dozen people spilled in, guards with swords glinting and mages with hands free for casting. They pulled up short at the sight of their brother, head a mass of brain, blood and shards of bone. A beat later, they saw the Familiar. It laughed, a cold sound delighting at the death and mayhem it had created. Then it was among them, talons outstretched, wings beating around heads, saliva flying, tail flashing, roaring with mirth as they ducked and scattered, shouting alarm and fear.

It paused to see its handiwork, took in the bloody faces and the expressions of confusion and disbelief, turned a loop and stormed down the central stairwell, laughter echoing from the portraits hung at every level.

Jandyr stepped back into the street as Sol powered his horse through the protesting Dordovans. He ignored them, reining in by the elf and dismounting.

‘Go to the inn,’ he said. ‘Bring the other horses here.’ He handed Jandyr the reins. ‘You will be quicker on this,’ he said, every word carefully spoken as if his vocal cords were stiff from under-use.

‘Please,’ he added before running for the gates, hands free, weapons on his back.

‘What’s going on?’ called Jandyr after him.

‘Trouble.’

Jandyr shrugged, mounted up and hurried back to the inn stables.

Erienne hit the stairs at a dead run. She’d felt the life force of a mage dissipate violently through the mana, and anger at Denser’s assumed action swamped her already frail thoughts of caution.

‘The ward, Erienne!’ shouted Will. Labouring under the weight of the mana, he was trailing her by a good many paces.

‘Too late to worry about it. That idiot’s already seen to that.’

‘Who?’

‘You know who.’ There was disappointment in her voice but sympathy in her mind. Her LightGlobe triggered the ward, setting off a clarion call that echoed through the Tower and battered at Will’s ears. Behind him, Thraun yelped and accelerated past, bound-ing up the stairs and overtaking Erienne as she opened the door.

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The hallway was empty, but as the alarm faded away, the sounds of angry voices and movement came from all quarters. Thraun chased to the front doors and pawed ineffectually at the handles with Erienne only a few paces behind him. They both missed the descending Familiar but Will, last out of the crypt, was greeted by a sight far beyond his worst nightmare.

He had glanced around to check for enemies and had just seen Erienne open one of the main doors when his vision was filled with the blood-smeared face of Denser’s demon. Its skull pulsed and crawled and it laughed wildly, raising a claw to strike before recognising him. It leaned into him and said:

‘Come, come. Out. Out to the gate.’

Will opened his mouth and screamed.

Denser saw it all unfold. As Jandyr rode for the city centre, Sol strode up to the guard and felled him with a single punch. He ran into a College which had woken to mayhem.

Erienne emerged from the Tower, followed by a massive wolf, but before Denser could even think how to stop it catching and killing her, it had turned and run back inside.

Erienne faltered too, half turning as she dashed for the gate. She stumbled.

‘No, no!’ hissed Denser, and dived for the path. Mages, guards and acolytes were coming from everywhere, giving Erienne a shield of chaos. One even helped her to her feet. Denser shot in towards Sol.

‘See her out,’ he shouted above the rising noise of discovery, anger and organisation. ‘And find my Other. I’m going to help Jandyr.’ Sol nodded and Denser flitted back into the sky, trailing the elf astride Sol’s fast-moving horse.

Erienne smiled at the mage who had helped her up and dashed back towards the Tower.

‘What’s happening?’ asked the mage, making to chase her.

‘There’s a Xeteskian in the College.’ She ran on into the house, sliding to a stop at the scene that greeted her eyes.

Thraun and what she assumed had to be Denser’s Familiar circled each other in the centre of the hall, loosely ringed by a group of four disbelieving mages. The winged beast darted left, right, up and 291

down while Thraun lashed claws and bit at empty space. He already sported a deep cut on his nose. She couldn’t see Will.

The only thought in Erienne’s mind as she shouted at them to stop was that she might get badly hurt. But there was no time for any other action. She ran in front of Thraun, who snarled in frustration as his target was obscured. She put her back to him and shuddered as the Familiar dropped into her view. She felt Thraun tensing behind her.

‘Thraun, no!’ she ordered over her shoulder. ‘Friend.’ It was the only word she could think of that he might understand, but one more inappropriate she couldn’t imagine.

‘And you stop it now!’ she spat at the demon. It grinned and chuckled, looked past her at the wolf.

‘Leave him, it’s Thraun,’ she warned.

The demon backed off immediately, grin replaced by an expression of surprise. ‘Shapechanger—’ it said, expelling breath in a hiss.

‘Yes, now get out after your master and never presume to defile the grounds of this College again.’

‘Yes, mistress,’ said the Familiar, and powered out of the door.

Erienne turned and found herself facing the quartet of mages for whom the spell of incomprehension had been broken.

‘You know these . . . things?’ one asked. All of them had read the mana trails to identify her as Dordovan.

‘Acquainted, certainly,’ said Erienne brusquely. ‘And soon you’ll be free of all contamination, I’m seeing to it personally. Now please excuse me, I’m in a hurry.’ She started towards the crypts, then saw she wouldn’t have to find an excuse to search them. Will was huddled near the door, shaking. ‘Will? What the—’

A hand was laid on her arm. ‘I think you’d better come with us.

That was a Xeteskian Familiar you spoke to. It called you mistress.’

The man holding her arm was middle-aged. His greying hair was receding and thin but his eyes, dark and brooding, were strong as they bored into her face. Erienne didn’t recognise him.

‘Yes, and as you can see, I have ordered it from the College. And now I’d like to help my friend.’ Her heart was beginning to beat faster again. She had to buy enough time.

‘A commoner in the Tower after nightfall,’ he said, at once dismissive and threatening.

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‘Never mind that, he needs help. Look at him,’ urged Erienne, casting a glance to where Will hadn’t changed his position. What had happened to him?

The mage did not trouble to look. ‘It isn’t that simple, as you must be aware.’

‘Let go of my arm.’

‘No.’ The grip tightened and the rest of the mages began to close in.

Erienne flicked her head nervously, in her mind cursing Denser’s stubbornness in sending in the Familiar to watch her. Thraun growled deep in his throat and moved towards her. The mages looked as one.

‘Do it,’ she said. ‘Please. I can’t control him.’

‘We can take them both,’ said another of the mages. ‘You know what to do.’

‘Gods,’ said Erienne, knowing instinctively which spell they would cast. ‘Thraun, run!’

The wolf didn’t hear her. Man-packbrother was hurt and the woman-friend was under threat. He removed the source of the threat.

The mage’s shout of alarm was cut off abruptly, Thraun’s jaws clamping around his neck, bearing him to the ground hard. Erienne stumbled as the grip on her arm was wrenched off and the hall dissolved into a few moments of total confusion.

Erienne shouted for Thraun not to kill the mage as Sol charged through the main doors, scattering the mages and swatting one with a punch to the back of the neck as he ran. Their concentration broken, the mages ran into the library, slamming the door behind them.

‘Thraun, leave him!’ yelled Erienne, rushing to the wolf’s head, expecting to see nothing but blood. Instead, Thraun looked around and she could see, under his paws, the terrified mage, pressure marks in his neck but otherwise very much alive. Sol saw him into unconsciousness and Erienne turned her attention to Will.

The little man had curled into a ball and was rocking slowly to and fro. He was silent but tremors racked his body, pushing breath through his clenched teeth in a juddering hiss.

‘Will?’ Erienne touched his arm and he flinched violently. ‘We’ve got to go.’

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Thraun padded to her side and nuzzled him, licking his face.

There was no reaction but a movement in the mana had Erienne jerking upright.

‘Casting!’ she said. She yanked at Will’s sleeve. ‘Come on! Get up!’ He wouldn’t move. And then Sol was at her shoulder. He stooped and swept Will into his arms.

‘Run,’ he said. They ran.

Jandyr galloped into the stableyard wondering how he was going to saddle and bring four horses to the College in the short time he had, only to find Denser already there. He was barking orders at the stable lad, whose fear was all too apparent. Denser had what appeared to be wings folded at his back.

‘You took your time,’ he said.

Jandyr didn’t reply. He dismounted and ran to the lad. ‘Which one next?’ he asked.

The lad pointed at Thraun’s horse. ‘T-tack and saddle inside on the left, first h-hook,’ he said. And then to the elf’s back, ‘He just flew down. He flew. He shouldn’t . . .’

‘All right, son.’ Jandyr reappeared with saddle and bridle. ‘He won’t harm you.’ He caught Denser’s gaze briefly. His blasted cat poked its head from his cloak and Jandyr swore it was smiling.

The mage pulled a girth strap tight and buckled it. ‘You lead, I’ll be above you,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure the other horses follow you, don’t worry about them.’

‘Whatever you say,’ said Jandyr.

‘Hurry.’

‘Shut up.’

Erienne had no idea what spell was being cast from the library, but she was sure it would be an entrapment of some kind. And as she sprinted down the steps on to the path, she heard the door fly shut behind her, crackling and fizzing. WardLock. They had been very lucky.

Sol forged on ahead, carrying Will like a sack over one shoulder.

Thraun loped easily by Erienne, who was pushing hard. The grounds of the College were still wreathed in confusion but too many people were paying them attention, Thraun saw to that.

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Even so, Erienne thought they’d escape the gates unchallenged, but felt her heart sink as she heard a single voice shout: ‘Stop them.’

Jandyr would have preferred to smooth his passage with apology but he’d never have left the stableyard. Pausing only to flick some coins to the lad, he climbed on to his horse, kicked its flanks and charged out into the streets of Dordover. Above him, Denser kept pace at a height of about one hundred feet, and behind him, the quartet of riderless horses kept close form.

The streets were busy with early evening traffic and walkers. Jandyr kept up a barrage of shouted warnings, conscious of the attention he was undoubtedly drawing to his headlong dash in the direction of the College. Most cleared the way but the odd one, he knew, would take a kick or be trampled by the barely controlled stampede.

Thundering away from the centre of the City, Jandyr was approaching a residential and parkland area when Denser abruptly swooped to his side.

‘Trouble ahead,’ he shouted above the clatter of hooves on cobbles. ‘Take the next left, carry on to a large warehouse and go right. Keep going down there and I’ll catch you.’ He disappeared back into the sky.

Jandyr had no desire to find out what the trouble was and swung his horse left as indicated. The others followed, though not without some pause, Denser’s influence diminishing with distance.

Two things saved Erienne in her chase for the relative safety of the streets outside the College. The reluctance of any mage to cast a spell with so many innocents in the way was one, and the dual threat posed by Sol and Thraun the other. The Protector threw Will over one shoulder, snatched his axe from his scabbard and simply roared his way to the gates, while the howling maw of Thraun kept any blade from their rear.

And so it was that they rushed out of the gate and on into the bedlam that was overtaking Dordover.

Denser flew fast for the College. The mana over the buildings was again a solid orange and he refocused to search for Erienne and the shapechanger.

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Between them and the horses, Denser knew, was a cordon of City Guards. More would follow. To the north, the College Guard was coming together, some already on horseback. And there, running blind along the main street and pursued by at least ten College Dordovans, were Erienne, Sol and the wolf. It was a moment before Denser saw Will carried like a sack over Sol’s left shoulder, one massive arm clamped around his midriff. They were going to be trapped.

Jandyr turned along the side of the warehouse and continued his gallop. His eyes pierced the dark of night and the blank of shadow, while at his back, the four horses were getting skittish. Denser had strayed too far. A few strides further on, Jandyr halted to tie the horses off and fix the reins to his saddle. In the midst of the meˆleé of flank and fetlock, he grabbed at bits and bridles, snapping out orders that were half obeyed.

He linked pairs of reins then looped the master set over the rear of his saddle, tied in a slip knot. Halfway back on to his horse once more, he was stopped by a voice.

‘Want to sell those horses? They look a little much for one man – I beg your pardon, one elf.’

Denser dropped to Sol’s shoulder.

‘You’re running into trouble. Go right and follow me.’ The mage led the fleeing trio off the main street. He rose to get his bearings on Jandyr and saw him backing away from a ring of torchlight.

‘Damn it.’ He melded minds with his Familiar. ‘Follow my eyes and bring Sol to me.’ The demon flew from his cloak.

There were five of them, one for each horse, noted Jandyr drily.

Three carried torches, all carried blades. He had snatched his ready-strung bow from its ties, quiver already over one shoulder. With one arrow nocked, he backed off, keeping the horses behind him. He knew he had to buy time, he just wasn’t sure how much.

‘Move away from the rides,’ repeated one. Their faces harsh in the torchlight, the men moved forward.

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Then we’ll be forced to kill you.’

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‘One of you goes first. Which will it be?’ Jandyr swung his bow in an arc, encompassing them all. ‘You,’ he said, targeting one with unease in his eyes. ‘One more pace and you’re a dead man.’

His intended target stopped walking, but the others moved on, quicker now as they closed.

‘You can’t stop us all that way.’

Jandyr glanced at the sky in the direction of the College and saw Denser descending like an eagle on its prey. He smiled.

‘I won’t have to.’

Denser, knees raised, cannoned into the head of one man, sending him crashing into another. Both hit the ground hard. Jandyr released his arrow and took his target in the chest. He nocked another, stretched his arm and aimed at the two still standing.

‘If you want to run, run now.’ They needed no further invitation.

Ignoring the men he had felled, Denser untied the horses and climbed on to one, his ShadowWings gone. Jandyr paused to cut the arrow from his lifeless victim.

‘Let’s go, come on.’ Denser urged his horse to move, the others following mutely. Jandyr hauled himself into his saddle and the race was on.

Erienne felt her lungs were about to explode. Her heart slammed painfully in her chest, her legs were tree trunks and her head thudded. She was slowing them down, she knew, and behind her, the pursuit was closing. An arrow missed her by inches, plunging off into the street where an innocent was equally lucky. Shouts of recrimination reached her ears and that threat at least was removed.

Beside her, Thraun still ran easily, and half a dozen paces ahead, Sol, with the Familiar standing on his right shoulder, one hand pointing the way, the other arm around his head, cleared a path with his presence alone.

They were running up a wide street towards the centre of Dordover. It led straight into the central marketplace, taking them past the old grain store which was now the headquarters of the City Guard. While the roads around the College were quiet following nightfall, Dordover was a lively city after dark, and the City Guard were plentiful, policing the street theatre crowds, the food stalls and 297

the alleys where whores plied their trade and the dagger was as much currency as was coin.

As she thought to shout a warning, Sol veered right, taking a narrow passage leading directly away from the main street. Here, the life ahead was replaced by the quiet menace of the industrial quarter.

Footpads haunted the shade and every corner was a trap for the unwary. With no lamplight, the shadows extended their dark fingers across the ground. Erienne stumbled but remained on her feet, while behind her, Thraun howled. The sound bounced from the walls and echoed into the sky like a cry from hell. Erienne found herself wondering who was chasing them and whether the noise would stop them. It would have stopped her, she was sure of that.

Running on, she followed Sol round a left-and-right combination into a wider alley. Tall buildings rose to either side, their walls glaring down, deeper black than the night. Thraun was again at her side and she could hear the mob behind. Their shouts were mixed with the unmistakable sound of hooves clattering across stone and slapping through mud.

And then she could see them approaching through the gloom, reining to a halt in front of them. Sol ploughed on, the Familiar back in cat form, and Erienne realised the two horsemen had to be Denser and Jandyr. She staggered into the group.

‘Are you hurt?’ asked Denser.

‘Don’t talk to me,’ she managed between gasps. ‘They’re close.

We need to rush.’

As if to add weight to her words, the chasing pack of around twenty men burst into the alley. Arrows raided and skipped off the walls and the Dordovans charged. Sol threw Will across his saddle and all but picked Erienne up and dumped her in hers. Mounting up, he wheeled his horse in a tight arc and galloped off. In a cacophony of whinnies, flashing hooves and ducking heads, the others followed.

Thraun turned and ran at the enemy.

Leading the way, Sol pushed his horse back past the warehouse and left into the main street. Denser was close behind, with Erienne, her strength gone, clinging grimly to her saddle and flanked by Jandyr, who held the reins of Thraun’s riderless mount.

Arrows flew over his head towards the horses as Thraun crashed 298

into the front of the mob, his bulk bearing him straight over one man to bury his jaws in the neck of another. A swing of his head and the victim’s throat was torn out, his cries lost in blood. In ten seconds of claw and fang, Thraun had scattered the bewildered pursuers. Some had run, some backed off. Others lay still and one or two would never move again.

His job done, he broke off and stretched his limbs for the long run into the forest, howling his delight as he went.

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Chapter 22

‘It’s exciting being in The Raven, isn’t it?’ said Hirad, leaning back against his tree and stretching his legs in front of him.

‘Feeling more comfortable about it now, are you?’ asked Ilkar.

‘No, I’m feeling surplus to requirements.’

‘Well, you’re not.’

‘You know what I mean.’

The campsite was clear. All equipment was stowed and tied to the saddles, and the three horses, which included Denser’s, were tethered just a few yards away.

Hirad smiled, remembering his friend’s urgent words as they scurried around the camp to clear it. And now they’d been sitting with their backs to trees for getting on for an hour. He thought he ought to be worried about what was going on in Dordover, but for some reason, apart from his remaining anger at Denser, he felt oddly calm. Maybe it was just that none of them was original Raven so he didn’t care that much. Actually, that was certainly part of it, but there was more – there were some of them, Thraun and Jandyr in particular, in whom he found he had great confidence. Almost the sort of confidence he had had in The Unknown and Sirendor.

Almost.

Sadness fell on him with the force of night, and the memories swept through his mind, images of death and loss overwhelming the good times he recalled so fleetingly. Ras dying as they fought around him; Richmond trying to defend a man he didn’t even know and paying with his life; The Unknown, his blood soaking the earth outside the low barn; and Sirendor . . . Sirendor, his life draining away while all Hirad could do was watch. For all his great words, he hadn’t been able to protect any of them, and now Talan was gone 300

too, driven away by fear and the knowledge that if he stayed on his death was inevitable.

He wiped at his eyes and looked over at Ilkar. Gods help him if he lost Ilkar, his only link to The Raven he loved and for which he had lived.

His heart began to race and his breathing shallowed. It was all beyond his control. There in Dordover, the fate of the new Raven, and perhaps that of Balaia, was being decided, and he was on the edge. A peripheral figure reduced to saddling horses and clearing campsites. Maybe they’d been right those short weeks ago in another life when they’d joked about his age. It was no joke. He’d slipped from leader to led and he hadn’t noticed the change.

Denser. Denser had done it. And the one thing he couldn’t have was Denser in command of The Raven. Not after what he had caused.

He lifted a shaking hand to wipe across his nose and took a slow, deliberate breath, glancing again at Ilkar, hoping his fears weren’t written for all to see. But Ilkar wasn’t looking at him. He’d cocked his head to one side and, as Hirad watched, put an ear to the ground, hands either side, and tensed.

Hirad was already halfway up by the time Ilkar said:

‘Someone’s coming.’

‘Let’s hope it’s them.’

‘Well, I’m not standing around waiting to find out.’ They ran for the horses but had not covered half the distance when light bloomed behind them, creating a false dawn, sweeping away the night and throwing sharp shadow ahead of it. A heartbeat later, the detonation and a noise like rushing water.

The horses bucked and pulled at their tethers. Hirad clutched at his mount’s bridle, dodging a flailing front hoof and coming face against a wild rolling eye.

‘I don’t like the sound of that!’ he shouted, trying in vain to calm his horse as he tugged to release the rein.

‘No time,’ gasped Ilkar. ‘Just get on.’ His horse was calmer, and Denser’s, after flinching violently at the light, was still.

‘On this?’ Hirad hauled the rein free and his mount whinnied, front legs pawing the ground. ‘We’re going, we’re going!’ He hooked a foot into a stirrup while the mare jumped and snorted, 301

threatening to bolt before he hit the saddle. ‘Calm down, damn you!’ He swung on to its back and forced some semblance of order on the terrified beast. As he turned it, a wolf streaked into the clearing from the direction of the light and away into the forest the other side. His horse reared again. He couldn’t hold it.

Above the rushing sound, hoofbeats, and Denser broke cover.

‘Go, go,’ he yelled, and plunged off after the wolf. Erienne galloped through, holding an arm in front of her face to ward off branches, and behind her came Jandyr and a riderless horse, followed by Sol with the body of Will across his saddle. None of them paused in their flight.

Hirad fought his horse in desperate circles as it champed and kicked, too scared to run in any direction. And then as it slowed to a stop, quivering before bolting, Hirad looked into the light and saw what the rushing sound was. Fire. Moving towards him, engulfing tree, bush and grass faster than a man could run.

‘Oh, dear God!’ He hauled on the reins and jabbed his heels in hard. The horse responded. Into the fire was certain death. At least following the wolf gave them a chance.

And as he began to gallop into the forest, Hirad couldn’t shake the vision of the wolf from his mind. If they weren’t chasing it, there was only one reason why they should be following it, and that reason made Hirad’s stomach lurch.

Ilkar drew to Erienne’s side as they exited the forest a few hundred yards from the clearing. He’d lost sight of Hirad and could barely hear the other horses he knew were around him, the roar of the FlameOrb was so loud. That it was a type of FlameOrb he had no doubt. How they’d managed to create one so big and powerful was another matter.

‘When will it burn out?’ he yelled at Erienne.

‘The forest is fuelling it, it won’t reach far past the borders.’

‘How did they do it?’

‘ManaStack. It’s a co-operative spell casting. I knew they were working on it but I had no idea they’d applied it to the FlameOrb.

It’s very draining, they’ll all be spent who cast it.’

‘Then why are we still running?’ asked Ilkar.

Erienne began to rein in and, further ahead, could see that Denser 302

had reached the same conclusion. In fifty yards, the dash was over and, horses wheeled, they lined up to see the FlameOrb spend itself at the edge of the forest.

‘Where is he?’ whispered Ilkar. ‘Where is he?’ The yellow bloom of the FlameOrb grew as it thrashed towards them. Above it, a thick cloud of woodsmoke cluttered the night sky, obscuring the stars.

On the grassland in front of the tree line, the shadows lengthened at a frightening pace as the flames demolished an area of woodland easily seventy yards across. With a great whoosh it broke clear of the confines of the trees and expired in the open air, and as the last flame faded to orange and disappeared, Ilkar saw a single silhouetted figure on horseback, riding hard towards them.

The elf let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and his face cracked into a grin. He looked across the line of horses, caught Denser’s eye and nodded. Denser raised his eyebrows.

‘Not easy to lose, is he?’ he said.

‘No,’ agreed Ilkar. His face hardened. ‘Right, Erienne, what can we expect now?’

‘The casting mages will be spent but there may be others. There were certainly some soldiers in the pack. No doubt they’ll be behind the flame.’

‘And not far behind it,’ said Jandyr. ‘Look.’ Ilkar followed his hand and saw seven or eight people running out of the forest. And, skimming the trees, a pair of mages.

‘Damn,’ said Ilkar. ‘Can we outrun them?’ Erienne shrugged her shoulders. Hirad pulled up, his face red with exertion, his horse shaking all over.

‘Too close,’ he said. ‘Too bloody close.’

‘It’s not over yet. We’ve got ten to deal with,’ said Ilkar.

Hirad turned his body and stared behind him, squinting slightly into the half-light from the stars and the fires still burning in the forest. He slid off his horse. ‘We’ll take them here.’

‘We’ve got two mages in the sky,’ said Ilkar.

Hirad shrugged. ‘So shield us. You’re the best there is.’ He looked right and left. All but Sol were still on their horses. Gods, he’d have to drill them. The Raven would have been in skirmish formation by now. If they weren’t all dead. Sol was already striding 303

forwards, unhitching his sword as he went. At least someone knew what was going on.

‘Jandyr, to Sol’s left. I’ll take the right. Where’s Thraun?’

‘No time to explain, but—’

‘He’s a shapechanger. Gods alive!’ said Hirad. He pushed the knowledge from his mind. ‘We can do it with three swords. How many of them are there?’

‘Eight swords, two spells.’ Ilkar began readying the shield. ‘Either of you two know HardShield?’

‘I can’t cast,’ said Denser, drawing his sword.

‘Yes,’ said Erienne.

‘Good. Get it over our heads, I can sort the magical attacks.

Denser, put your sword up and go away with the horses. Send Thraun back if you see him.’ Ilkar locked eyes with the Xeteskian for a moment. The latter put up his blade, whistled to his horse and trotted away behind them.

Thirty yards and closing Hirad felt a double surge as the magical and hard shields went up around them. Jandyr loosed off an arrow, taking down one man. He thought to try another, but they were closing too fast. The enemy mages landed to cast; a spell clattered against the shield, flashing orange as it died.

Hirad breathed deep and roared to clear his head. Just like the old days except they weren’t so old. The enemy were splitting, trying to flank them. He glanced over at Sol. The masked man stared straight ahead, taking in the scene, concentration so complete it could almost be felt. Just like . . . Hirad became aware of a sound and looked to the ground in front of Sol. The Protector was tapping the tip of his blade rhythmically against the ground. Hirad almost dropped his, clutching it as the nerves returned to his muscles. Just like the old days.

‘Unknown!’ he shouted. Sol turned to him, and there, in his eyes, was the unmistakable flicker of recognition.

‘Fight,’ he said, his voice laden with sorrow.

‘But . . .’ began Hirad.

‘Fight,’ said Sol again. From nowhere, Thraun smashed into the enemy’s left flank and battle was joined.

Nothing could stop Hirad. No one could stand in his way and he almost felt sorrow for the hapless Dordovan soldiers as they were 304

systematically destroyed. His heart was full of joy, the back of his mind full of confusion, but his fighting brain was irresistible.

As the first man went down under Thraun’s jaws, the enemy strategy fell to pieces. Hirad battered the nearest skull, while beside him the big man slaughtered two without even moving his feet.

Sensing Jandyr holding his own, Hirad strode forwards, slitting the stomach of one, parrying a blow from a second then slicing his sword through the attacker’s hamstrings as he was forced around.

The two remaining men turned and fled, their mages close behind them.

‘Shield down,’ said Ilkar, staring at Sol. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

‘Are you kidding?’ asked Hirad, his face alight. He wiped his bloodied blade on one of his victims and resheathed it. ‘Ilkar, it’s him! I don’t know how, I don’t care, but it’s him!’

‘Please, Hirad,’ implored Ilkar. ‘This isn’t the time.’

‘What do you mean?’ The smile was fading from Hirad’s lips.

‘Just bear with me. We have to get away from here first, then we can talk.’ Ilkar started walking in the direction of Denser. The elf could see the Xeteskian’s face and knew at once that he had no idea of Sol’s former identity.

‘Hang on.’ Hirad tugged at Ilkar’s shoulder. ‘Has this got something to do with him being a Protector?’

Ilkar stopped and faced him. ‘Everything.’ He held up a hand against Hirad’s next utterance. ‘And Denser knew nothing. He has no say over the choice. Please, let’s go.’ He was moving again, leaving Hirad to throw his arms up. Thraun loped by.

‘And what about him?’ demanded Hirad. ‘How are we supposed to deal with him?’

‘He won’t harm you,’ said Jandyr. ‘Please let him be.’

‘You can’t just . . .’ began Hirad. Sol strode past him. ‘Unknown, please!’ Sol didn’t falter. ‘Will someone tell me what is going on!’

Hirad shouted.

‘Later,’ said Ilkar.

‘Now.’

‘No, Hirad, we can’t stay here. The Dordovans will be back.

We’ve got to find a place to hide.’ Ilkar jabbed a finger at Denser.

‘This may not be your doing but have you any idea what Xetesk has 305

just uncorked? I cannot believe that even they could be so stupid!’

He shook his head.

‘Neither can I,’ said Denser. Hirad saw him look at Sol, close his eyes and rub a hand over his face. ‘Neither can I.’

Hirad stood it for half an hour as they rode hard away from Dordover, heading for the Blackthorne Mountains. And when he could take it no more, he drove them off the trail and into some low hills, stopping in the lee of a crag, completely hidden by the road.

He watched in silence as Sol helped the now conscious Will off his horse. The thief sat down, looking at no one, taking in nothing, staring inside of himself. Jandyr walked across and sat next to him, trying to get through, but there was no reaction. Sol walked away a few paces and sat down himself, stroking the Familiar, while Erienne moved to Denser. Thraun trotted away into the gloom and disappeared.

‘First things first,’ said Hirad. ‘The Unknown.’

‘Is it him?’ asked Denser. He was filling his pipe, standing in between Ilkar and Hirad.

‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?’ asked Ilkar.

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s him. Tell me how it’s him, how he’s not dead and tell me why there’s a problem, because you two obviously think there is.’

Hirad looked across at Sol again. ‘Gods, I don’t know why there should be. The Unknown coming back could make all the difference.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Well?’

Denser breathed deep. ‘I may as well tell you. I knew The Unknown was a Protector. That night after we’d buried him, I was on watch. I heard the demons taking his soul.’

‘And you didn’t see fit to let us know?’ Ilkar was stunned.

‘What would have been the point?’ snapped Denser. ‘You were in bad enough shape as it was. All I’d have done was ruin your memory of him by claiming him as a native Xeteskian who’d denied his lineage. I mean, do you think you would have believed me?’

‘No, probably not,’ said Hirad after a time. ‘But if you knew . . .’

‘Never in my wildest dreams did I think he’d be assigned to me. If I’d thought so for one moment I’d never have accepted him.’

‘Not good enough, eh?’

‘Hirad!’ warned Ilkar.

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‘What does it matter anyway?’ asked Hirad, moving away a little and gesturing at Sol. ‘Let’s get that ridiculous mask off and get on with it.’ Silence. ‘What?’

‘Hirad, I can’t take the mask off him,’ said Denser.

‘Well, I’ll do it then.’

‘No!’ Denser voice rose to a shout. He quietened it instantly.

‘No. You don’t understand. If the mask comes off, he’ll be destroyed. Eternally.’ He chewed nervously at his unlit pipe and took it back out of his mouth. ‘If you say that The Unknown’s mind is in Sol’s body, then I believe you. But you must realise that he is no longer The Unknown Warrior. He’s changed. He’s a Protector, he’s Sol. There’s nothing I can do.’

‘You can change him back, that’s what you can do.’ Hirad’s face was stone.

‘He can’t, Hirad,’ said Ilkar. ‘That’s not The Unknown, not any more.’

‘No? He recognised me, Ilkar. Didn’t you see?’

‘He what?’ Ilkar leaned forward.

‘He knew me. I called him and he knew me.’ Hirad shook his head. ‘He tapped his blade before he fought. No one else does that.’

Hirad’s voice was edged with desperation. ‘It’s him. It can’t be anyone else.’

Ilkar turned on Denser. ‘Got an explanation for that? I understood that all life memories were blanked.’ Denser stared at the ground. ‘Tell me that’s true,’ demanded the elf. ‘Tell me.’ Denser looked up and held his gaze, his eyes moist. He shook his head. ‘Oh, no,’ breathed Ilkar. He fell back a pace and turned to where Sol –

The Unknown Warrior – sat, his mask facing them. He could all but taste the big man’s desolation. ‘Gods, Unknown. I am so sorry.’

‘Ilkar, please?’ Hirad put a hand on his shoulder.

‘He remembers everything,’ said Ilkar. ‘Don’t you see? He remembers The Raven, The Rookery, all our fights, all those years.

His whole life! And he can’t ever speak of it or acknowledge it.

Ever.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘He’s in thrall, Hirad. His soul is held by the Mount of Xetesk. If he steps out of line, they will make what he’s going through now seem like a Raven party. He’ll be dying for eternity.’

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Hirad let what Ilkar had said sink in. He walked slowly over to The Unknown and squatted in front of him, gazing deep into his eyes. And there he could see the lifetime of pain and loneliness that lay ahead. Mapped out in those orbs was all that had gone before.

Everything. But it was locked away. Lost behind a mask of Xeteskian domination.

‘I’m going to get you out of there, Unknown.’ Hirad stood up and stalked back to Denser, not seeing the single shake of the masked head behind him.

‘Never mind that it’s The Unknown,’ spat Ilkar. ‘You knew what he was going through by the mere fact that he was a Protector.’

‘I know! I can’t reverse three thousand years of calling. Do you think I want this?’ Denser gestured at The Unknown and searched the faces of Hirad and Ilkar. ‘I can’t begin to make you understand how sorry I am. Please understand that I never wanted this.’

‘You know, I’m tired of your apologies, Denser.’ Hirad moved in, menacing. ‘Everything bad that’s happened to The Raven has happened because of you. And not just all my friends who have died on your behalf. All those times when you—’ he prodded Denser in the chest – ‘you could have killed the rest of us. It’s all down to you, this mess, and I’ve had it. Until you help The Unknown, I’m no longer with you, can you understand that?’

Denser removed his pipe from his mouth ‘I realise this is difficult, but I really . . .’

‘But nothing, Denser!’ Hirad pushed Denser away, the mage stumbling backwards but keeping his footing. ‘Through the rip, you risked everything because you were curious. You were going to kill Talan because he couldn’t handle it – make The Unknown kill him. With Sha-Kaan, you risked my life without even blinking, and just now you chanced the lives of four people because your precious cat was in trouble, not to mention mine and Ilkar’s in your haste to get away.’

‘I don’t think you’re being quite fair.’

‘Quite fair? It’s all down to your mistakes, your haste and your pig-headed arrogance that we’re this deep in trouble. I told you to leave it to The Raven but you always had to do it your own way. I told you we survived by being a team but you wouldn’t listen. And now,’ Hirad moved in again, his nose right at Denser’s, ‘now the 308

final insult. Him.’ He pointed behind him at The Unknown. ‘You’re telling us you have to leave him in hell and yet you still expect us to ride with you?’

‘There’s nothing I can do.’ Denser shrugged.

Hirad snapped, grabbed him by the collar and hauled him almost off his feet. ‘I’ll tell you what you can do, Xetesk man. You can commune with your masters and you can tell them that until they release my friend from thrall it’s all over. No Dawnthief, no victory.

Reckon you can tell them that?’

‘Let me go, Hirad.’

‘Reckon you can tell them that?’ Hirad repeated, barking his words, spittle flying into Denser’s face.

‘It’ll make no difference. They won’t release him.’

Hirad looked over at Sol, sorrow swamping his anger in an instant.

‘Try. Please?’ His voice, suddenly quiet and imploring, was backed by his eyes, searching Denser’s, desperate and pleading. He let the Dark Mage go. ‘This is my friend. You have to do something.’

Denser wanted to tell him that this wasn’t his friend. That he was a Xeteskian fighting machine, a man with natural magical defence and strength augmented by the weight of all the Protectors whose souls resided in the catacombs of Xetesk. A being with no mind but to defend his master. A man quite without emotion or fear. A man whose ability in a fight was increased the more Protectors were around him. That he was no longer The Unknown Warrior.

Instead, he nodded. He couldn’t do anything else. And he needed to find out for himself just why Nyer had sent him this Protector amongst the hundreds in the College. And why Styliann had approved the assignment. Something wasn’t quite right, and Nyer needed to understand the strength of feeling that bound The Raven together.

‘I will commune in the morning, the moment I have recovered my strength,’ he said.

Hirad nodded his thanks. ‘I mean it,’ said the barbarian. ‘I can’t go on with him still a Protector. I know Balaia is in danger but it would be a betrayal of everything I have lived for.’

It was truly astonishing. But at the same time, it was terrifying.

Selyn had visited Parve once before, perhaps ten years ago. It was 309

part pilgrimage, part orientation, part initiation for a mage spy. That time the City had been deserted and devastated, the dust of centuries blowing over scattered ruins, the wind howling across open spaces where great buildings once stood. Then, her march across the Torn Wastes had been simple. A stroll through cracked earth, harsh bramble and shivered stone to an empty ruined City.

Xetesk’s mages and Protectors of three hundred years earlier had certainly been thorough. Within Parve itself, every building had been taken apart in a systematic destruction. Anything of any religious or magical significance had been buried. Roads were dug from their foundations, small dwellings obliterated and marketplaces turned inside out. All because Xetesk felt the desire to warn anyone who stood against the Colleges that their magic was no match.

And in an area roughly seven miles in every direction from the centre of Parve, nothing of any worth would ever grow again. The sheer concentration of mana and, myth had it, anger poured into Parve and its surrounds had poisoned the air and the earth, snuffing out vegetation and driving all animal life into the surrounding hills and woodland.

So, as the trees rotted and fell, the crops shrivelled and died and the scrubland roots delved deep to lie dormant, the Torn Wastes were born as eternal testimony to the awful power of offensive magic.

As Selyn approached the periphery of the Wastes, she all but ignored the emptiness, registering only that it would take a super-human CloakedWalk to reach Parve across so large an open space.

Because, with the afternoon fading towards a gloomy dusk, hundreds of lights and fires were burning in the City of the Wytch Lords. And surrounding the city were tented encampments bristling with life. The Torn Wastes were awash with Wesmen.

Her vantage point was the tree line which stretched across the eastern border of the Wastes. To her right, not two hundred yards away, a Wesmen guardpost stood at the head of the main east–west path through the scattered woodland. About fifteen men stood or sat around a fire, watching a stream of Wesmen marching from the Wastes, moving in the direction of Understone Pass.

Her decision was a simple one. Either take communion right where she was and be forced to spend the night recovering outside 310

the City, or move on as darkness fell, making her successful passage to Parve more likely.

She knew she should report in, she was overdue, but her chances of capture were greater in the open than ensconced on the roof of an outhouse in the west of Parve. But should she be caught before she had a chance to communicate the incredible sight before her, Xetesk would be denied critical information.

She wasn’t long in making up her mind. With a smile, and her eyes on the main prize of her journey, she waited until full nightfall before checking her camouflage and slipping out of the relative safety of the trees and into the evil of the Torn Wastes.

‘How disappointing,’ said Nyer after Denser had outlined the discovery of Sol’s former identity. ‘It is clear that the suppression of memory is not perfected.’

‘Why did you send him, Master?’

‘There was a need to know the answer to the question of latent knowledge affecting performance.’

Denser paused, mind racing, feeling Nyer’s presence in his mind. He wanted to remain calm but found he could not.

‘You used us for an experiment?’ He fired the thought, knowing it would cause discomfort. ‘Do you know what you have done?’

‘Calm yourself, Denser,’ warned Nyer. ‘There has been no damage.

We will merely recall the Protector.’

‘It is too late for that. The Raven are demanding you release Sol from thrall.’

‘Really?’ Nyer’s tone suggested amusement. ‘They are an interesting group. And what is the penalty for failing to accede to their request?’

‘They have threatened to walk away from the search.’

‘And will they carry out this threat?’

‘I have no doubt that they will,’ said Denser. ‘I could only be sure of retaining the Dordovan mage, Erienne.’

‘You do know that the release of a Protector is still only a theoretical possibility?’

‘Yes.’ Denser sent a feeling of irritation at the question. ‘But the attempt needs to be made if we are to remain on target for the recovery of Dawnthief.’

‘Bring your Protector and bring your friends. But be careful. There 311

is treachery in the College from those who would have Dawnthief for themselves. I will do what I can to release Sol. Trust no one.’

Ilkar looked at Denser, lying still on the grass as dawn broke across the sky behind him. He’d seen the occasional movement of his face as his communion progressed, but it gave no indication of the probable outcome.

Hirad came to his shoulder. ‘Ready?’ he said. Ilkar nodded. The Unknown stood near by, arms folded, impassive behind his mask.

‘Will they see sense?’

Ilkar snorted. ‘Sense is not a word often employed when talking about the Xetesk Masters. We just have to hope.’

Denser’s eyes snapped open. He took a shuddering breath, dragged himself to his feet and faced Ilkar and Hirad.

‘Well?’ demanded Hirad.

Denser closed his eyes and sighed, a half-smile touching his lips.

He spread his arms wide.

‘We’d better get saddled up,’ he said, swaying.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Ilkar.

‘Xetesk.’

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Chapter 23

It was, Ilkar reflected as The Raven rode towards the City of the Dark College, the only viable route to a solution. Yet somehow he’d convinced himself that the Masters would be able to issue instructions to Denser remotely.

Understandably, Denser looked calm and happy. There was something undeniably comforting about returning to your College.

It was like going back to the welcoming arms of your family. But watching the Dark Mage chatting easily to Erienne as they rode ahead of him, he couldn’t help but feel there was more to his high spirits than his imminent return home.

Xetesk wasn’t far. None of the Colleges was far from each other.

When they had set off, they had a little over two days’ ride ahead of them. Now they were no more than half a day from the closed City, and so much was still to be straightened out.

At least the Dordovan chase had been called off. Denser, following another communion, had confirmed that a four-College meeting had been called at Triverne Lake. The secret of Dawnthief would soon be out.

But there was going to be trouble at the gates of Xetesk. Plenty of it.

Will had refused point-blank to enter the City and wouldn’t even ride near Denser and the Familiar. He was still shaking slightly; his nerves – his lifeline – had not recovered and yet the nightmares with which he was plagued worried him less than the grey which flecked his hair.

And Hirad. Hirad didn’t want the two catalysts entering the City but he hadn’t informed Denser of this. His view was that they might need some bargaining power, and Ilkar was inclined to agree. As for 313

Denser himself, he was curiously tight-lipped. Brooding on something he’d heard in communion.

Ilkar, for his part, was just plain scared. He’d never visited Xetesk

– few Julatsans had – but he knew he’d have to go in. And so would Erienne. What Jandyr and Thraun – now back in human form but still tired – thought, he couldn’t guess. Confusion, probably. And wishing they hadn’t bumped into The Raven, certainly. Only Erienne had a smile on her face, and for some reason he couldn’t fathom, that worried him. Much of the time they rode in silence, keeping to the main trails now they were free of pursuit, but still wary.

Ahead of Ilkar, Hirad, who had done little but stare at The Unknown and glare at Denser, was finally talking to the latter. Ilkar urged his horse forwards, anxious to hear what was being said.

‘. . . I haven’t given up on you, Denser. I just want to know where you stand.’

‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘I mean do you align with The Raven or with your masters?’

Denser thought for a moment. ‘If you’d asked me that a week ago I’d have been firmly with Xetesk, the way I was when I met you. But now there’s no definite answer – wait, before you say anything, let me explain.

‘What I believe is that Balaia faces disaster if we don’t recover Dawnthief and use it to destroy the Wytch Lords. In this, I agree with my master that The Raven was, and still is, the most likely route to success.

‘But as regards Sol, they have misled me, betrayed your trust and beliefs and so damaged our chances severely. I cannot forget that, because it was a conscious decision to send him and I’m not sure I buy the story that we were the subject of an experiment.’

‘Meaning?’ Hirad frowned.

‘Meaning someone there has a vested interest in my – our –

failure.’

‘But—’ Hirad was at a loss. ‘But if we fail—’

‘Not everyone in Xetesk accepts the threat from the Wytch Lords needs to be met with the casting of the spell, but everyone wants Dawnthief to be found. There is a power struggle going on in the Mount, and ownership of Dawnthief will end it. I’m sure Ilkar 314

would be happy to tell you that in Xetesk, Mount politics cloud every decision.’

‘All right.’ Hirad tried to sort things out in his mind. He rubbed his nose with thumb and forefinger. ‘So who sent you out in the first place?’

‘My master, Nyer.’

‘Well, that’s something I suppose, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Denser. ‘And it is he I talk to in communion and who has warned me of potential danger inside the City.’

‘So what’s the problem? Won’t he protect you?’

‘Possibly. But it was he who sent Sol to us. Look, I think we’d better all stop and talk before we go any further.’

Hirad nodded. They rode off the trail a short distance and Will set up the stove.

‘Xetesk is a very different City to Dordover,’ said Denser, once a cup of coffee was in his hands.

‘I bloody hope so,’ muttered Thraun.

Denser ignored him. ‘Not only does my presence not guarantee our safety, in certain circles it will invite trouble. Dawnthief and the Wytch Lords have caused a split of opinion as wide as Understone Pass. We must have a strong bargaining position and this is what I suggest.

‘I have to go to the Mount with Sol, and to give us the best chance of fair treatment, Ilkar and Erienne should be with me. As a three-College party and with representatives already in Xetesk, we should be all right. You two?’

‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,’ said Erienne, smiling at him. He smiled back.

‘Agreed.’ Ilkar was less than enamoured to hear the confirmation of his fear.

‘And as for the rest of you, the good news is that I think you should stay well away from Xetesk,’ said Denser.

‘But the bad news is you want us to guard the catalysts while we’re at it,’ said Hirad. Denser nodded. ‘Good. I wondered whether you’d see sense.’

‘So did I,’ muttered Ilkar.

‘Well, we all harbour misconceptions, don’t we, Ilkar?’ said Denser shortly.

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‘If that’s what you want to call them,’ replied Ilkar with equal cool.

‘You know, I thought we were really coming to a meaningful understanding.’ Denser sighed.

‘On the occasions we have had to work together, the situation has been successfully resolved.’ Ilkar chose his words with care.

Denser shook his head and pursed his lips. ‘What hurts me is that we have really suffered together. Do all those hours with the Black Wings mean nothing? Or our fight to keep Hirad alive? What else do I have to do to prove that I am different from your image of me?’

‘Bring The Unknown out alive. Really alive. Then I’ll believe.

Until then, I can’t forget where you were schooled and what that has meant for countless hundreds of years.’

‘Julatsa!’ Denser threw up his arms, got up and moved away, spilling what was left of his coffee. ‘You look forward with both feet planted firmly in the past. You know something? Around this stove it’s you who everyone sees has the closed mind and the chilled heart.

I make no secret, Ilkar, that I respect and like you despite your College ancestry. I think I deserve the same treatment from you.

Shall we ask what the others think? Shall we?’

Ilkar said nothing, just stared back, impassive.

‘This is a fascinating debate I’m sure,’ said Thraun. ‘But tell me, is it how the Triverne Lake meeting will proceed? If it is, we might as well all fall on our swords now, because you’ll still be bickering when the Wytch Lords stroll in and take your precious Cities.’

Denser and Ilkar looked at him as if he’d spat in their dinners.

‘It won’t be far off the level of debate, I can assure you,’ said Erienne before either could reply. ‘It’s getting us nowhere, and there’s something else I think we’d all like to know: what exactly will this meeting achieve?’

‘Well, isn’t it obvious?’ Denser frowned.

‘No, it is not,’ said Erienne. ‘If Xetesk is as split as you suggest, then the message you bring to the table will be confused and likely to cause further division.’

‘No.’ Denser shook his head. ‘It won’t be confused. The Lord of the Mount is delivering our message personally. The College delegates already accept the threat, and Dawnthief is the only solution.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ she said.

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‘So do I. We mustn’t lose the four-College co-operation or any force will be too weak and the Wesmen will sweep us into the eastern seas.’

‘Cheerful, isn’t he?’ said Hirad.

‘Getting back to the reason we all stopped,’ said Jandyr. ‘What is the risk to us outside Xetesk?’

‘To be honest, I’m not sure,’ said Denser. ‘I’ve been away a while and I don’t know the strength of those who want Dawnthief for themselves. However many, they’ll be dangerous if they discover your location.’

‘And you’re leaving us without any magical protection,’ said Hirad.

‘But not out of contact,’ replied Denser. ‘The Familiar will stay with you much of the time.’

‘You are joking,’ said Jandyr. He was sitting next to Will, who stared at Denser in mute disbelief.

‘I—’ began Denser, then saw Will. He sighed. ‘It’s the only way to cover all the angles.’

‘After what he did to me, you can even suggest this?’ It was the first time Will had spoken all day.

‘I’m sorry for what happened, Will,’ said Denser. ‘But he didn’t actually do anything to you.’

‘You call this nothing?’ Will’s voice rose to a shout. He pointed at his greying hair. ‘And this?’ He lifted a spread hand, palm downwards. It trembled. ‘This is your nothing, Denser. Without my nerves, I am nothing. Your bastard creation has ruined me.’

Denser regarded Will for some moments.

‘I understand your fear, but it will pass. Talk to Erienne, understand its nature. It will not harm you.’

‘With you here, I believe it is under control. In your absence –

well, I have seen the results.’ Will drew up his legs and hugged them to his chest.

‘It will not harm you,’ repeated Denser.

‘Accepting that,’ said Jandyr into the silence that followed, ‘I understand that it can communicate with you, but how does it do so with us?’

‘Someone will have to agree to see him,’ said Denser. ‘For whatever reason, he seems to regard Hirad as acceptable company.’

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Ilkar sniggered.

‘The feeling is barely mutual,’ growled Hirad.

‘Do you consent?’ asked Denser.

Hirad shrugged.

‘Don’t,’ said Will.

‘I really don’t have too much choice, do I?’

‘Good,’ said Denser. ‘Come with me. Introductions have to be made.’

‘One more thing.’ Thraun stopped them. ‘Where will we hide?’

‘I know a place,’ said Denser.

The darkness suited her, and with her keen sight picking out pitfalls in front of her feet, Selyn began making her way towards the once dead and now apparently resurgent city of the Wytch Lords.

With night falling on the Torn Wastes, the scale of the Wesmen encampments was hidden, but the firelight and noise of laughter, talking, shouting and fighting; of dogs barking and wind flapping canvas, all served as reminders of her precarious position.

But they were clearly preparing to leave. Before the light had failed completely, she’d made a rough count of the tents she could see, surmised a total to encircle Parve, added the number of Wesmen she’d seen marching away from the Torn Wastes two days before and multiplied it by a likely number of occupants per tent that still remained. Twenty thousand. And that was probably conservative.

Call it twenty-five thousand. She’d shivered. That took the total number of Wesmen way past eighty thousand. And they were clearly once again servile to the Wytch Lords.

It was now merely a question of when the Wytch Lords could take significant part in the impending invasion. Too soon, and the Colleges would merely become the wavefront for the tide that would wash eastern Balaia into the Korina estuary. It was a question to which she had to find the answer, quickly.

Selyn dropped to her haunches behind a large lichen-covered boulder. She was a little over halfway to the first buildings of Parve, and already the smell of fear was invading her nostrils.

Low, dark cloud moved slowly overhead, lit by myriad fires, but none burned more brightly than the six beacons that ringed the top 318

of the pyramid housing the shattered remains of the Wytch Lords’

bodies.

Now, the folly of her Xeteskian predecessors could be seen for what it had become. Built by Xetesk and sealed by its magic, the pyramid had represented a warning to any who challenged the might of the Dark College. But now, with their mana cage empty, it merely served as a focus for the growing power of the Wytch Lords, and the massing of their acolytes and soldiers. She shook her head. Overconfidence and ultimate arrogance. Not traits shared to such a degree by the current Lord of the Mount, but he would surely suffer for their presence in those who had gone before him.

She looked over and to either side of the boulder. A stand of seven tents, lit inside and out, was directly in front of her, no further than three hundred yards away and ringing a large fire. Wesmen stood, sat, crouched or lay in the light of the flames, making silhouettes of bulking shoulders, powerful frames and bull heads that filled her vision.

To her left, a similar encampment, this one hosted by a Shaman.

She could not risk running into the mind-sight of one of them.

Right, the tents stretched into the dark, the noise of thousands filling the air with a restless energy.

Looking away towards Parve, she assessed her options and found she had none. Her principal problem was that the mana drain for a CloakedWalk of such distance might not leave enough for communion. But considering the sprawl of enemies in her path, she knew it was a chance she simply had to take.

She gathered herself, formed the simple mana shape, spoke the single command word and started running.

Hirad studied the cat lying curled asleep in his lap, breathing fast and shallow. With eyes and mouth closed, the black was so complete you could lose yourself in its depths. Hirad shuddered. How different to the beast Denser had shown him. Even prepared, he had found it hard to keep looking as the demon’s eyes bored into his face from inside its pulsating skull. And, try as he might, he had flinched when it had placed a clawed hand on his arm and spoken his name.

Will’s terror had been so easy to understand, then. Already scared half witless by his journey through the Dordovan crypt, to see this 319

thing in all its hideous glory would have been too much for most men.

It wasn’t just the look, though. A look you could get used to, however awful. There was something else. In demon form, the Familiar exuded an aura of contempt, as if it was only there on a whim and could break out at any time and do anything.

The sound of a door opening brought Hirad to himself. Jandyr walked in.

‘What do you think?’ asked Hirad.

‘Of this place?’

‘Yes.’ Denser had brought them to a farm some three hours outside Xetesk before riding immediately for the College City with Ilkar, Erienne and Sol. It was a working property, sprawling across several dozen acres and providing meat and cereal crops for nearby villages.

The house itself stood apart from the collection of barns and outbuildings, but all were clustered in the centre of the farm’s land.

In every direction, the ground undulated gently away, giving clear vision for a good six hundred paces before a stand of trees or a low hill obscured what was beyond.

Denser and Evanson, the farmer, were clearly on good terms, and though Hirad had initially opted for a barn, the farmer insisted they stay in the house.

‘It’s more comfortable for one thing, but more important, it keeps you out of sight of my workers. Village locals all of them, and none would keep their mouths shut if they saw you.’ Evanson was middle-aged, with a face deep russet brown and wrinkled from long exposure to the elements. He had huge hands and powerful shoulders that bulged inside his loose shirt. His eyes sparkled from beneath his brow and his mouth was set in a smile. There was plenty about him to remind Hirad of Tomas back at The Rookery.

So they had agreed to stay in the house, and it was certainly a cosy option. Two storeys high, the building had beds enough for all of them to enjoy a little privacy. The range in the kitchen maintained a pot of hot water and food on demand, and with enough rest to let the adrenalin levels sink, all of them discovered a deep tiredness.

Consequently, there had been little action save for some gentle snoring and a round or two of cards.

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‘I think several things,’ said Jandyr. ‘It’s easy to defend. We have clear vision, plenty of warning and these beds are sent straight from paradise.’

Hirad smiled and lay back, arms supporting his head. ‘My thoughts too. Where are the others?’

‘Will’s asleep and Thraun is reading one of Evanson’s books. He’s assembled quite a library.’

‘Tell me about Thraun,’ said Hirad. To him, shapechangers had been figures of myth. Until now. Now he had seen with his own eyes, and he didn’t know whether to be scared, disgusted or amazed.

Jandyr nodded. ‘It is something he tries so hard to hide.’

‘How did it happen?’ asked Hirad.

‘It’s a hangover from old Dordovan spell research. Thraun is descended from mages who tried to enhance their strength, agility, eyesight, hearing, whatever, by blending themselves with the essence of animals. For Thraun’s forebears, it was strength and speed, hence the wolf shape.’

‘But . . .’

‘I know what you’re going to say,’ said Jandyr. ‘The problem was that they didn’t understand what they were doing. So rather than enhance what they already had, they replaced it. Some lived out their lives as the animals they used. Others found they could control it and the knowledge was passed down through the generations.’

‘Why won’t he talk about it?’ Hirad had seen the benefits, the power and the speed.

‘Because of how people view him,’ replied Jandyr. ‘There are enough who think all shapechangers are abominations whose lines should be stopped by death to make him scared to admit what he is.’

Jandyr rose. ‘Look, you have to understand that Thraun is a man like any of us. But he has another side he would rather not have. He is not to be feared, more to be pitied. Just treat him like a man. It is all he wants.’

‘I understand,’ said Hirad.

‘None of us can ever truly do that,’ said Jandyr.

Denser opened his door in response to the soft knocking. He didn’t consider a threat – with Sol guarding the corridor for all of their rooms, he didn’t need to. Anyway, he knew who it was.

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So there she stood, and the first thought that rose in his mind was that, cleaned of all the grime of the trail and wearing soft, loose fabric, she was, as he had thought since he had first laid eyes on her, very attractive.

His groin stirred, unbidden, and he suppressed a smile. He wondered if she could read his face. He would enjoy this. He pushed the door wide.

Erienne swept into his room, smiling. ‘Tonight I will conceive.’

Her face was turned away from him, her voice emotionless.

He chuckled. ‘Is that really all it is to you?’

‘We made a deal. This is the payoff of that deal. What else could there be?’ But her smile betrayed her words.

Denser closed the door and moved towards her, his eyes tracing the shadow of her body beneath her white robe as it flickered in the candlelight.

‘It may be that the payoff of the deal could be pleasurable to you,’

he said, eyes sparkling, pupils dilated.

‘That isn’t why I struck the deal,’ she said quickly. ‘But things do, um, develop.’ Denser saw her face colour.

He stood close to her now. She didn’t move away.

‘I did it because I respect your skill as a mage.’

‘And my power,’ added Denser.

At last she turned to him. ‘That’s the main reason I chose you instead of Ilkar.’

‘Ilkar, he . . .’

‘He is certainly more handsome than you.’ She was smiling again.

Denser stood squarely in front of her. ‘But Ilkar’s an elf !’

‘Yes, and a Julatsan. Two more reasons I favour your seed.’ The smile broadened and softened her face to beauty.

‘Well, I’m flattered my College is so much more attractive to you,’ said Denser.

‘Lucky, more like, or I could be standing in front of Ilkar now.’

‘Not short on self-confidence, are you?’ He placed a hand on her cheek, cupping her face as she leaned into it.

‘It covers the emptiness,’ she whispered. She pushed a hand through his hair, smoothing it down his neck.

‘Do you still hurt inside?’ asked Denser.

‘Like a knife is twisting through my heart.’

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‘Tonight, I want to stop that.’ His voice was barely audible as he moved his lips to her ear. ‘Together, we can make you whole again.’

She grabbed his face in both hands and looked deep into his eyes, searching for lies. She found none and felt tears well up.

‘What’s wrong?’ Denser asked.

‘Nothing.’ She kissed him gently and he let his tongue whisper across her lips. Her hands moved to the back of his head and his arms caught her about her waist, crushing them together.

The kiss gained intensity, their tongues meeting, exploring mouths, heads moving, breath drawn in hard. Hands searched. He felt hers trail to his neck, where they kneaded and pressed before moving down to his chest to pick at the buttons of his shirt.

She was wearing a simple white shift, clasped at the shoulder. He found the fastening, fumbled briefly, and snapped it open, hearing her gasp involuntarily as the shift dropped soundlessly to the floor.

Beneath it she was naked. Denser’s arousal was complete. He walked her to the bed and laid her down, straddling her body on hands and knees and looking down at her face and at her breasts, which were moving in rapid response to her breathing.

He cupped one in his hand, feeling the nipple harden.

‘You didn’t want to waste any time,’ he remarked.

‘No. And I still don’t.’ She grabbed at his belt and the button of his fly, and while she hauled his trousers down over his hips, Denser pulled his shirt over his head. Together, they added his trousers to the pile of discarded clothing.

She took his penis in one hand and guided it towards her, Denser looking down at the hair between her legs, which was as dark as her skin was pale. She moved her legs apart and he responded, moving his inside hers and leaning down to her. His mouth was on her breast as he entered her, and as he began to move inside her, the clamour of the mana swept him away.

Shafts of blue light shattered before his eyes as he pushed himself fully inside her. The trails they left spread away, flickering and dying, absorbed by the warm orange pulsing all around Erienne.

She felt smooth but he barely noticed as, with each gentle thrust, the mana poured around him in ever darker tendrils, catching and mixing with the Dordovan strain. The sight was so beautiful it took 323

his breath away, and as Erienne began to move with him, it took his rhythm too.

‘Don’t stop,’ she whispered, and he picked it up once more.

To Erienne, it was a mana-meld miracle. She could feel his hand on her breast, his lips on her neck and his movement inside her, confident and sensual. She held herself in check, denying herself orgasm as she watched their manas weave while the colours became indistinct, ultimately forming a cocoon of softly pulsating deep mauve.

Now the conditions were ideal. Denser’s thrusts were more urgent, his tempo increasing, and she felt him deeply, her legs and back tingling and numbing with pleasure.

She reached a hand down to cup his testicles, his breath hissing out suddenly against her shoulder. She moved her pelvis with him, swift but controlled, bringing herself to the point of orgasm.

Above her, Denser moaned as he approached climax. His penis hardened further, delighting her with its touch, and they came together in an explosion of mana light. The cocoon disintegrated, sending rainbow teardrops splashing around them. Erienne cried out in pleasure and triumph. Denser pushed hard once more then stopped moving, still deep inside her.

She placed a hand low on her stomach and probed down with her mana to warm the semen, to keep them alive and to imbue them with the beginnings of the power her child would possess.

Denser lifted his head and looked down at her. Erienne smiled, put her hands either side of his face and kissed him.

‘Now we should sleep,’ she said. ‘And then next time we can concentrate on pure enjoyment.’

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Chapter 24

During her run into Parve, Selyn thanked the Gods for the unusual order of the Wesmen encampments. Although it had seemed from a distance that they were pitched anywhere, the stands of tents were all grouped in half-circles around large fires, giving her the opportunity to skirt the light, people and dogs.

A CloakedWalk spell, although rendering its caster completely invisible, did nothing to deaden noise or scent, and Selyn’s principal concern was the Destrana pure-bred war dogs favoured by the Wesmen tribes. Men’s eyes deceived the other senses; not so those of the Destrana.

Unable to stop except in deep shadow, Selyn ran, walked, crawled and trotted as circumstances dictated, always with one eye on the ground for a stray twig or loose rock. A thrill was in her heart. This was what she had trained for so long to do. Deep infiltration, awesome odds, a deadly enemy, and Selyn passing through it all like a breeze through the undergrowth.

Where the firelight cast good illumination on the ground, Selyn slowed to examine the encampments more closely. All had the same characteristics. A tribal standard stood proud in front of a blazing wood fire, over which cookpots hung and steamed.

Between six and ten squad tents were pitched in formal order around the fire, and here and there, knots of smaller tents denoted beds for senior ranks and, presumably, Shamen. To these, Selyn gave the widest berth.

Everywhere, there were Wesmen, most lounging in the heat of the fire as the night cooled off. Lanterns lit most tents, and here and there the screams and moans of women punctuated the noises of the night – some in pleasure, others not.

There were no guards, no patrols and no lookouts. Arrogant in 325

their confidence, the Wesmen looked to the renewed might of Parve and wallowed in their safety. And safe they were, though for a mage spy, the shadow, the noise and the eyes forever turned inwards were more than enough to make a secure if cautious passage.

The City itself was quiet on its outer reaches, where the hand of the Wytch Lords and their acolytes had not yet been laid. Here, the legacy of the past, broken stone and splintered wood, served as a reminder of the battle scars of history.

For Selyn, though, it provided a stark and terrifying contrast to what lay beyond – a City rebuilt. She moved through the rubble and into an area of low storage buildings. Long, flat-roofed constructions of slate and stone, topped by chimneys, none of which was smoking. Away towards the central square, higher buildings rose into the night, testament to the effort of the Wesmen and the acolytes of the Wytch Lords who in scant months had turned a blasted region of stone and dust into a City with a heart that beat once more.

Selyn walked in a couple of blocks before swarming up the side of one of the store buildings and lying down in its centre to rest, the CloakedWalk slipping from her. Her pulse, which had raced through her journey to Parve, hardly slowed. Her next step was to reach the pyramid itself, and with her mana stamina gone, the dark would now be her only disguise.

Dusk was settling, throwing the Mount into shadow. Puddles of wan light cast from windows grew slowly in intensity, and the sounds of the day began to ebb. Denser, Erienne and Ilkar sat around a table with Laryon, a close associate of Styliann. He had intercepted them at the door to the rooms of Nyer, Denser’s mentor, and hurried them back to his chambers, where he spoke of Nyer’s recent troubles with the Lord of the Mount. Nyer had subsequently been seen closeted with a splinter group of mages and it had fallen to Laryon alone to assess the chances of releasing The Unknown from thrall.

Sol himself stood silent guard by the door of the study, and Denser pushed his concerns about Nyer’s intentions to one side to concentrate on rescuing the search for Dawnthief. At a nod from Laryon, Denser refilled their glasses with wine.

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‘The risk is great,’ said the Xeteskian Master, leaning back in his chair, the lamplight catching his close-cropped grey hair and emphasising his bulbous nose and small mouth.

‘But it is possible,’ said Ilkar.

‘Technically,’ Laryon said carefully. ‘You must understand the process by which a Protector is created.’

‘I think I understand only too well,’ said Ilkar shortly.

‘No,’ said Denser. ‘You do not. And please can we leave aside the morals of the situation. What you are about to hear isn’t pleasant, but keep in mind that we are all of us trying to help Sol.’

‘Really?’ Ilkar chuckled mirthlessly. ‘I’d like to believe that, but I think we all know that this is purely to stop Hirad running off with Dawnthief.’

‘He wouldn’t get far,’ said Laryon dismissively.

‘Want to bet?’ Ilkar bridled.

‘Can we leave this?’ Denser’s patience wore a notch thinner.

‘Ilkar, this is not productive, and, Master Laryon, I wouldn’t take the bet. You have no idea what they are capable of.’

Laryon opened his mouth to reply but chose instead to exhale audibly through his nose.

‘A Protector,’ he said, ‘is a self-supporting resurrection with a body reincarnated from soul memories. The critical point about soul memories is that they are far more accurate than brain memories.

As long as the soul is taken within about twelve hours of death, re-creation of mind skills and body will be complete.’

‘There’s a but in here somewhere.’ Ilkar was looking at The Unknown, shaking his head.

‘Correct. The soul does not re-enter the body.’

‘What?’ Erienne jerked upright in her chair.

‘Then how—’ began Ilkar.

‘What started as the only way to forge a bond became the ultimate mode of control,’ said Laryon. ‘When the spell was in its infancy, the only way to ensure life was to link the body and soul using a DemonChain – this is a spell which enthrals the mass consciousness of a multi-demonic conjuration. It works supremely well. Because the demons are under our command, we can instruct them exactly as we wish. Usually, this involves them in keeping a clear channel between body and soul.’

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‘Usually,’ muttered Ilkar, seeing the bigger picture in all its horror.

‘Yes,’ said Denser. ‘And the Masters can also instruct the demons to do anything to the body or soul. They can even give free rein, and that is where hell for eternity begins. Now you can see why I couldn’t take it on myself.’

‘It’s barbaric,’ said Ilkar.

‘Worse,’ agreed Laryon.

‘So where are the souls?’ asked Erienne.

‘In stasis, here in the Mount. They are all together, and that’s what gives the Protectors their true power. Communication and action are instant. An army of them would be unstoppable.’ Laryon raised his eyebrows.

‘And what’s the procedure for releasing The Unknown?’ Ilkar indicated the statuesque figure of Sol.

‘Ilkar,’ said Laryon gravely, ‘I told you about the forming of a Protector so you would understand the risks involved – or at least the ones we can guess at. You must be aware that what Denser and I will attempt has never been tried before. I will do everything in my power to keep Sol alive, but I can’t guarantee it.’

‘It’d be convenient if he died, wouldn’t it?’

‘Not really. What would I gain?’

‘The continuation of the Protectors,’ said Ilkar. ‘You could prove to the Colleges that you’d tried and failed and could sit back on your

‘‘some life is better than none’’ argument. I personally would question whether being a Protector qualifies as ‘‘some life’’, knowing what I now know.’

‘I understand your cynicism,’ said Laryon. ‘And although you won’t believe it, I agree with you. There’s a growing faction in the Mount demanding acceleration of reforms to certain antiquated and unpalatable practices. Denser is one such, and I am perhaps the most senior supporter. I want this to succeed, both as a reformer and as a research mage, which is why Denser will assist me. Surely you trust him.’

‘As far as I trust any Xeteskian.’

Laryon smiled. ‘It is all I can offer.’

‘Then it will have to do. But a word of warning. If The Unknown dies and you can’t explain why to Hirad in terms he’ll understand, 328

you’ll find the result the same as if you hadn’t helped in the first place.’

‘Thanks, Ilkar,’ said Denser, sighing. ‘More wine, anybody?’ He refilled their glasses.

‘Quantify the risks for me,’ said Erienne.

‘Quantify, no. Postulate, yes,’ replied Laryon. ‘Firstly, it is only technically possible to repatriate a soul, and then only by channelling it through the DemonChain. We do not know what damage it might incur. We also have no idea whether the soul will volunteer to return or what harm prolonged suppression of total consciousness will have done. We are merely guessing at the system shock when the DemonChain is broken and the body is once more under its own control. Don’t forget, he was dead.’

Ilkar looked across at The Unknown. He was watching them. Or perhaps the DemonChain was listening and watching through him.

As always, his eyes, hooded by the mask, gave nothing away.

‘A return to death would be preferable to what he has now,’ said Ilkar.

‘I tend to agree,’ said Laryon. ‘Denser? We must prepare. But first we must assess the situation with our friend Nyer. Denser, if you would contact your Familiar?’

Denser nodded and closed his eyes.

The cat shifted suddenly in Hirad’s lap, waking him from his doze.

He sat up in his chair and looked out of the window. It was late afternoon and the sun was losing some of its strength, allowing a breeze to cool the fields. Hirad could see one of the farm hands working a plough away in the distance, and closer to home, the sounds of work echoed to him from the barns and outbuildings.

He glanced back at the cat, starting as he met the eyes of the demon.

‘Don’t do that!’ snapped Hirad. The Familiar smiled and chuckled, a hollow rattling that had nothing to do with humour. ‘What is it?’

‘They are coming. We must be ready to leave here.’

‘Denser?’

The Familiar shook its head. ‘Those who would have Dawnthief.

We must be ready.’

329

*

Styliann gathered his thoughts as he looked around the hostile table.

With the Wesmen already close to the Bay of Gyernath and nearing Understone Pass, he couldn’t afford to lose the support of the Colleges. And while he was furious with the actions of Nyer’s mage, Denser, he was equally livid with the actions of the Dordovan mage who had begun the trouble.

‘The unfortunate events—’ Vuldaroq snorted. Styliann stared him down before continuing, already biting back the reply his heart demanded – ‘in Dordover a few days ago have forced us to reveal to you something we wanted to remain secret for a while longer.’

‘You didn’t trust us?’ asked Heryst, no malice in his tone.

‘I felt that certain likely reactions at too early a stage would have jeopardised Balaia,’ said Styliann.

‘And you expect me to accept that your rape of my crypt was therefore justified?’ The voice was quiet but brimming with poison.

Styliann kneaded his brow for a moment before replying, choosing to look the Dordovan in the eye when he did so.

‘The answer to your question has to be yes, but permit me to qualify that answer. Under any circumstances other than these, there is no doubt our action would have been different.

‘It is also true that before we authorised the action we took, lengthy consideration was made of the potential ramifications as we saw them. The manner of your discovery of our actions is deeply regretted.

‘It is also true that we believed that informing you of the impact of our actions would have been unwise and divisive.’

Vuldaroq nodded slowly, his face red, his jaw set. He leaned back in his chair, one of its wings hiding his face.

‘Lengthy consideration,’ he said. ‘Deep regret.’ He brought his face back into the light. ‘One of my mages died.’ He let the word hang in the air above the table.

‘Hmm.’ Styliann settled into his chair. He took a sip of water and read the notes written by his aides. They agreed with his line of argument. ‘Tell me, Vuldaroq. Why did he die?’

‘Because he tried to stop the rape of our crypts.’

‘Is that what he was doing? My understanding is a little different.

Perhaps you would like to explain to the meeting how kidnapping 330

and imprisoning a Familiar as bait for its master’s trap was supposed to help him achieve this?’

‘I am not some child caught doing wrong,’ snapped Vuldaroq.

‘Do not treat me as such. Our mage was murdered by your bastard Familiar, let us not forget that.’

‘Very well. I am prepared to concede that this was the end result.

But I think we owe Barras and Heryst a complete view of the events leading to the unfortunate circumstance. I would hate them to feel they could not continue to lend their support to the alliance because of a misunderstanding.’

‘What is there to misunderstand?’ Vuldaroq was dismissive. ‘It is hard to misunderstand murder.’

Styliann’s eyes flashed and he made to rise. An aide pressed a hand on his arm and he relaxed.

‘What I fear,’ said Styliann carefully, ‘is that our colleagues might not realise that the Familiar was taken outside the walls of your College—’

‘It was still in the City,’ growled Vuldaroq.

‘Is that a crime?’ countered Styliann.

‘It was part of a—’

‘Is that a crime?’ repeated Styliann, his voice rising.

Vuldaroq’s scowl deepened. ‘No. It is not.’

‘Thank you for that clarification. I would also be unhappy unless I told our colleagues that the Familiar was merely an observer, that Denser was placed in woodland some distance from Dordover and that he would never have entered the city but for the kidnap of his Familiar.

‘Now I do not expect anyone to condone our theft, but I do expect everyone to understand its necessity and respect that we planned to take the ring quietly, peacefully and without using mages from any College but Dordover. Violence only occurred because of the actions of a maverick mage who suffered the inevitable consequence of caging a Familiar that was subsequently set free.’

There was a furious scribbling of notes all around the table. The delegates huddled and whispered while Styliann looked on.

‘Do you disagree with Styliann’s description of the events?’ asked Barras following his consultation.

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‘The Familiar was removed from outside the College walls,’ conceded Vuldaroq. ‘But don’t forget that at this time, our grounds had been penetrated by two unauthorised individuals.’

‘I’m afraid your timings might be slightly awry.’ Styliann’s smile was laced with contempt. ‘The two members of The Raven you are talking about witnessed the kidnap from their position outside the walls.’

‘While they plotted an illegal entrance.’

‘Their actions are not disputed,’ said Heryst, his gentle voice cutting across the tension. ‘The actions of your College are.’

‘We are the victims here!’ Vuldaroq stood and slammed his fists on the table.

‘In that the ring was taken, yes, you are.’ Heryst shrugged. ‘But you are basing your objection to Xetesk’s actions on the death of a mage. A mage who kidnapped a Familiar from outside the College walls.’ He leaned into the light, a half-smile playing about his lips.

‘The first crime of the evening was committed by Dordover.’

‘Your point being?’ Red-faced, Vuldaroq wiped sweat from his forehead, his shoulders sagging slightly.

‘His point being that we have two separate incidents that you have intertwined. One Styliann has confessed to and given reasons for. The other, regrettable though it was, appears to have been in-stigated by a Dordovan, brought a Xeteskian and his Familiar to the College where they would otherwise not have been, and resulted in inevitable consequences.’

‘Inevitable? When can murder ever be inevitable?’

‘Enough!’ Styliann rose again. ‘You are well aware of the bond between a Xeteskian mage and his Familiar, and so was your foolish student. Another time he might have been successful in trapping both, though why he should wish to is beyond me. His great misfortune was that he chose to steal that belonging to a particularly talented man. Denser was bound to release his Familiar and then your man’s life was over. I have little sympathy.

‘Now. Two incidents, as Barras correctly deduced. We are talking about the theft. I have explained why it was carried out and why we were secretive. Vuldaroq has since demonstrated to me that our secrecy was entirely justified. We are facing catastrophe if we don’t 332

work together. I must have your support and you must believe, as I do, that Dawnthief is our only realistic chance of success.’

‘I agree with you,’ said Barras. ‘But I, personally, am insulted that you kept such information from me.’

‘I see.’ Styliann scratched his ear. ‘All right, let me put it this way.

Let’s assume for a moment that I opened up about Dawnthief at the last meeting, and we, as the four-College delegation, went to the Dordovan Council and asked for the Ring of Arteche. What would have been the result? Vuldaroq?’

‘You know full well what the result would have been,’ muttered Vuldaroq.

‘Yes, I do, they would have initially refused.’ Styliann threw his arms wide. ‘Then, following pressure, they might have agreed to release the ring, but they would have demanded a senior mage in attendance at any use of Dawnthief, and to advise on the search as it continued. How long would all this have taken to agree? A month, two months? Gentlemen, I believed that we didn’t have that sort of time, and the movement of the Wesmen invasion forces proves me correct.

‘I apologise for misleading you all about our ideas for the destruction of the Wytch Lords, but we are now in an advanced enough state to stand a realistic chance of success. Now you all know that your councils would have delayed the recovery of the spell, perhaps critically. And you also know that The Raven as it stands contains members of three Colleges, and that, with Heryst’s blessing, is a quorum.’ Heryst inclined his head. ‘Good. All that we need now is to facilitate The Raven’s entry into the west.’

‘And how might we do that?’ asked Heryst.

‘We’ll have to take Understone Pass,’ said Styliann.

Vuldaroq scoffed. ‘Styliann, there are eight thousand Wesmen in that pass. Just how do you suggest we achieve this miracle?’

Styliann smiled.

Denser turned to Ilkar and Erienne, his message finished. ‘I’ve done all I can. He will see them away from the farm and on their way to Triverne Lake, then return to me.’

‘Will they make it?’ asked Ilkar, uneasy at leaving The Raven to travel with no magical escort.

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Denser nodded. ‘And so will you if you leave now. One of Laryon’s Protectors will take you to the City boundaries. If you ride through the night you’ll be there by dawn. I’ll join you as soon as I can.’

‘And where exactly is Nyer?’ Ilkar’s eyes shifted up and down the corridor. He half expected the Master to loom out of nowhere and attack them.

‘On his way to the farmhouse,’ said Denser. He chewed his bottom lip. ‘I can’t believe he is betraying me.’

‘Denser!’ Laryon called from inside the spell chamber.

‘I must go.’ He kissed Erienne, holding on to the embrace. ‘Be careful.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ She smiled and stroked his face.

‘Get this right, Denser,’ said Ilkar.

‘If it is possible, I’ll beat you to Triverne Lake and The Unknown will be with me.’

‘Now that would be impressive.’

‘Then I’ll see it is done.’ Denser held out his hand. Ilkar hesitated a moment before shaking it.

‘Denser!’ Urgently.

Denser raised his eyebrows, stepped into the spell chamber and closed the door. Ilkar and Erienne heard solid bolts slide home. No one else was getting in.

‘Let’s go,’ said Ilkar. Erienne paused to stare at the door a moment before leading the way back from the catacombs and the suffocating press of Xeteskian mana.

Inside the armoured spell chamber, deep beneath the Mount, The Unknown, Sol, blinked into the candlelight. Denser and Laryon talked at the foot of the slab on which he lay pillowed, clothed in traditional dark tunic and breeches.

‘What I require from you is a mana channel to keep the DemonChain under control until the soul is returned.’ Laryon flexed his fingers. ‘They will resist you, and once the soul moves, they will try to break free. Do you understand?’

Denser nodded.

‘Then let’s begin. I am anxious for the safety of The Raven.’

Laryon moved to Sol’s head, placed his hands over the Protector’s 334

eyes and muttered a short prayer. Sol’s body relaxed, his eyes closed and his head fell to one side. He wasn’t breathing.

‘Time is short. Denser, prepare the mana channel. Hold it in readiness until the Chain is visible. You’ll know what to do instinctively. Trust me.’

Denser breathed deeply and began to construct the shape of the channel. He tuned his consciousness to the mana spectrum, seeing Sol shrouded in a deep blue radiance – the static mana channelled by the DemonChain.

In essence, the shape was simple. It was tubular, with a spiral movement heading away from him. The difficulty was keeping both ends open and firm to accept and contain the DemonChain.

To Denser’s left, the mana shifted, sharpened and deepened in colour. Laryon was casting.

Almost immediately, the radiance encasing Sol rippled, pulling towards the shape Laryon was creating. It shimmered and sparkled, coalescing into something Denser couldn’t make out at first. But steadily, the form became clearer. The mana formed a conical shape, left Sol’s body and settled, one end in the centre of his torso, the other splashed through the floor of the chamber beneath the slab.

Energy lines ran up and down its length, and suddenly the DemonChain was there. Faces, limbs, bodies, mouths, fingers, hair. All distilled from the cone. Voices hissed and individuals writhed, but the whole locked together in chaotic form.

One had hands lost in another’s chest. Another’s head melded to a third’s foot. Any combination, but all of them were alive, identical in every physical aspect and very, very angry.

From the centre of the chain, one locked its eyes on Denser and screamed its hate. Denser looked on unfazed.

He took in the beast with a body the size of a newborn child’s, arms long and wiry, legs stubby and malformed and a face full of evil. Blue drool ran from its lipless mouth, tongue licking at its cheeks, fangs tearing rents in its own being. The eyes, huge and slitted, were orbs of dark malevolence and its ears ran high above the crawling skull to meet in a spire over its head.

‘Time, Denser,’ said Laryon, his voice distant with effort.

‘Envelop,’ commanded Denser in response, and his mana channel flashed towards the DemonChain, muffling howls of fury as it 335

opened for the merest moment all along its length and snapped shut around the whole.

‘Excellent,’ said Laryon.

Denser felt him release control of the DemonChain. They turned their attention to the channel holding them and battered at it with feet, fists, fangs and minds.

‘They cannot break through. Keep your concentration steady.

They aren’t strong enough,’ said Laryon. ‘Attend to my voice. Now it gets difficult. Only remove the channel on my word.’

Laryon breathed deep and prepared the path for The Unknown’s soul.

336

Chapter 25

The Familiar alighted on Hirad’s right shoulder. He winced involuntarily and pressed his lips together in irritation.

‘How did they find us?’ he asked.

‘Someone has betrayed us. Someone powerful.’ Anger and surprise edged its tone. ‘You must leave for Triverne Lake. Evanson will guide you.’

‘I’m not running,’ said Hirad stiffly.

The Familiar ignored him. ‘I will distract them while you get away.’

‘Why don’t we just stay and take them out?’

The Familiar regarded him blankly. ‘You do not understand.

They are too powerful for you. And for me. They will kill me.’

Hirad started, and frowned.

‘Good luck, Raven man. Look after my master.’ The Familiar flew from the open window, high into the night sky.

The Unknown juddered violently and his soul scorched along the DemonChain into his body. Laryon smiled but was totally unprepared for the backlash. He hadn’t seen the possibility at all.

The returning soul negated the DemonChain’s fastening to The Unknown’s being and the result was violent severance.

With howls of triumph, the Chain whipped away from The Unknown’s body, slashing in a wide arc at the two mages. Laryon was caught on the side of the head and slammed against a wall, groaning as he slumped, a trickle of blood running from his mouth.

Younger and quicker, Denser ducked the Chain, feeling the mana slice above his head and the unmistakable sensation of a draught through his hair as the demons began to gain corporeal form.

Dragging his concentration to himself, he fought to close the end 337

of the mana channel but knew, as he watched the head of the Chain tearing at the very fabric of the mana, that it was futile.

And, with the Chain coiling like a snake for its next strike, Denser felt something he had never truly felt before. Fear. Fear because he hadn’t the power to stop the DemonChain forming a corporeal state, and fear because he couldn’t stop it killing him. But mainly fear because he didn’t know how, and the gap in his knowledge was going to be fatal.

The Chain writhed, Denser’s mana channel was torn apart and the sound of their hate assaulted his ears. They promised him death.

They promised him torment for eternity and they laughed at his weakness.

The Chain lunged at him, missing him by a whisker as he hurled himself to one side, landing heavily near the still form of Laryon.

The mage was still alive. Denser shook him hard.

‘Help me,’ he said. Laryon groaned. ‘Help me!’ shouted Denser.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Chain whipping into a frenzy of speed and sound by The Unknown’s head. The warrior lay, breathing slowly, oblivious to the horror above him.

Laryon said something. It was a mumble Denser didn’t catch.

‘What?’

‘Lymimra,’ said Laryon.

‘I don’t understand.’

Laryon’s eyes opened and he looked past Denser before grabbing the mage’s head in both hands and pulling his ear close. ‘LightMirror,’ he whispered before clutching Denser’s head hard to his chest. Above Denser, the DemonChain ploughed into Laryon’s face, his cry of pain cut off abruptly, his grip dropping.

Denser looked behind him. The DemonChain writhed, still attached through the floor of the chamber, its laughter echoing off the walls, its triumph all but complete. Scrabbling to his feet, Denser paused briefly to look at Laryon. He shuddered. Though the Master was unmarked, his eyes were open in death, and through them Denser could see into his soul. Only it wasn’t there.

He turned back to the DemonChain and formed the mana shape for the LightMirror. It was a simple rectangular structure and he had it in seconds. The Chain began to coil again, winding in on itself like 338

paper in a whirlwind. Then it was still, poised, but the noise of its fury hammered ceaselessly on Denser’s ears.

As it moved to strike, he cast. A thin, horizontal beam of light about eight feet wide cut the candlelit room in front of Denser at floor level. The Chain flashed forwards and Denser brought his hands up sharply in front of him. The LightMirror deployed like a blind moving up a window to let in the sun.

A brilliant light flooded the room, gathering the pinpoints from the candles and casting them back a hundredfold brighter. The DemonChain shrieked in terror and tried to swing away, but its blue mana light was victim to the mirror.

Denser shielded his eyes as the light was stripped from the howling demons being dragged ever closer. The light speared into the mirror with increasing intensity and speed, the mana creatures howling as their life-force was ripped away, and then they were gone, leaving silence, the echo of violence and a gentle blue in the mana spectrum.

Denser refocused to normal light and saw The Unknown sitting upright.

They left the lights burning in the farmhouse. Hirad didn’t like it but it made sense. Triverne Lake was the only place of sanctuary for both The Raven and, more importantly perhaps, the two catalysts he held. With strong presence from all four Colleges, there should be no threat. And yet he was uneasy. He needed Ilkar. Ilkar would know what to say to smooth the passage of their arrival. Without him and his knowledge, Hirad felt exposed.

As they spurred their horses northward into the gathering gloom of evening, a confused but compliant Evanson leading the way, Hirad scanned the sky for the Familiar. He couldn’t see it, knew he wouldn’t, and felt a passing regret. It was not something you could ever like, but respect was something else. Unlike Ilkar, he couldn’t see the Familiar as inherently evil, and its assertion that it would die causing a diversion represented a sacrifice he couldn’t ignore.

Presumably Denser knew it too, and the knowledge that the mage was genuine in his determination to see Dawnthief used to save Balaia and not to further Xetesk made Hirad feel guilty he’d ever doubted him. He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and made up 339

the ground to Evanson, wondering what their reception at the lake would be.

They hadn’t sensed him and he grinned. They were riding over open ground, still an hour from the farmhouse and keeping away from any trails. Twelve of them in cells of three, one mage and two Protectors, close formed against attack from the ground but completely exposed to anything from the air. High up in the darkening sky, he circled, pulsing his warning cry through the mana to his master as he selected the target that would produce the most mayhem.

There he was, and the sight sent a warm thrill of fear through his body. Nyer, the Xetesk Master. The man with whom his master had communed for so long. A traitor. And about to die.

He flew higher, a silent death about to unleash itself on an oblivious victim, and circled still unnoticed behind his target.

He dived, suppressing the urge to scream his laughter and gurgle his delight. Eyes fixed on the back of Nyer’s head, wings swept back, he tore through the air. At the last, he extended wings to brake his descent, swung his taloned feet in front of him and buried them in the Master’s unprotected neck.

Nyer grunted and pitched off his horse to tumble and sprawl in the dirt. The Protectors shouted warnings but were way too late.

Even as they halted, wheeled and closed, the Familiar arched its back and slammed its fists into Nyer’s head, crushing his skull.

Now it laughed and turned for its next quarry. With a beat of its wings it took to the air and shot past a bewildered Protector, who swung his sword hopelessly wide.

Chittering in exultation, the Familiar arced back into the sky, scanning below as the enemy halted and the three remaining mages prepared spells to bring him down. But he knew he would be safe.

His master had answered his call and was already on his way. A warmth stole over his heart, which beat faster with new energy, and he turned a lazy somersault.

The spell caught his left leg and seared along his tail.

Pain.

Flashing over the ground, ShadowWings shaped for raw speed, Denser wailed as the jolt from his Familiar’s wound thundered in 340

his head. He clung to his concentration, held the wings together, kept flying, tears rolling down his cheeks, vision a blur.

He looked over his left shoulder. The Unknown was close behind him and Denser still had the energy to admire the way he had accepted the use of the ShadowWings. The ability to hold mana placed in his body was a given ability of Protectors and he no longer was one. The trouble would surely start when he had time to think and remember.

‘What’s wrong?’ called The Unknown.

‘They’ve hit him, the bastards. They’ve hurt him.’ Denser took a deep breath and pushed his wings beyond the safe limits of their speed. Behind him, without knowing exactly how, The Unknown did the same.

The Familiar was weakening. Pain forced tears from his eyes and his circling became ever more desperate as the fire ate along his tail and leg. His master was coming but he could not home in on the direction, and the dark shroud that threatened to steal his consciousness drove cogent thought from his head. He circled on, dimly aware that beneath him, a mage prepared another spell. He wept now, knowing death was upon him.

‘Master,’ he breathed. ‘Come for me. Avenge me.’

The spell caught him in the throat. The Familiar crumpled and plummeted to earth.

Nothing could prepare Denser for it. Like having needles pushed into his eyes and his brain crushed by rock, the Familiar’s last agonised whisper and the snuffing of its life shattered his mana stamina and took his consciousness. The ShadowWings vanished and he fell from the sky.

The Unknown saw it coming, saw Denser’s head snap back and his hands claw at his face as if he was trying to tear his skull apart. He saw the wings flicker, flash bright against the dark sky, then blink out. Already slowing and diving as Denser began to fall, he shot past him once, banked, turned and caught him on the next pass, maybe fifteen feet from the ground.

With the Dark Mage limp in his arms, he hovered, gaining height slowly. Looking down on his face, pale even in the gloom and taut with pain through his consciousness, The Unknown felt protective towards him. He frowned, knowing that he had felt hatred before, 341

but it seemed long ago. Other memories were filtering slowly through the morass of his recently ordered mind, but he quashed them, keeping his attention on the ShadowWings.

He felt anger too. Anger at whoever had damaged Denser. Anger at Xetesk for taking him as a Protector and stealing his death. But desire for revenge was put aside. Right now he had to reunite The Raven. He flew for Triverne Lake.

Selyn appraised her route to the pyramid, her professional dispassion flawed by a shiver down her spine as she gauged her final, troubled half-mile. It wasn’t that she was concerned over her chances of making it alive. No. There was something more. An atmosphere hanging around Parve of power, energy, fear and anticipation. It was as though the very stones of the rebuilt City of the Wytch Lords sensed the coming of something.

Xetesk had been quietly aware of the Wesmen threat for months.

Latterly, the news of the Wytch Lords’ escape had scared them into overt as well as covert action. Now she was here to answer the final question. And the question was no longer ‘if ’; it was ‘when’.

The building she had been resting on for the past hour was completely encircled by streets. Three chimney stacks ran its length.

She kept very close to the centre stack, body still, head moving slowly to gauge her position.

Behind her, the Torn Wastes stretched away into the night, their noise muted inside the City boundaries. To her right, more low buildings, none lit, gave way to ruins after about a hundred yards, but it was left and ahead that held her attention.

One street across was the eastern of four main thoroughfares to Parve’s central square and the pyramid which dominated it. The road ran straight and wide for around seven hundred yards before opening out on to the square. If her information was right, a tunnel, sealed and heavy with wards, led into the pyramid itself. And surrounding it, statues depicting scenes from the war. But it had been a long time since a Xeteskian had been to Parve’s ruins and the Gods only knew what might have changed. She had to know whether the tunnel was open. If it was, time would be short.

The City was quiet. She could pick out shapes moving in the streets ahead but there was nothing like the bustle even of Xetesk at 342

dusk, let alone Korina or Gyernath. It should be easy to reach the pyramid tunnel but something inside her begged caution. She stayed and watched.

Three hours later, with night at its deepest, she was rewarded for her innate sense of danger. At the periphery of her vision there was movement in the square, where she expected the tunnel entrance to be. Dark shapes shifted against the firelit square, and although she couldn’t make out too much from this distance, it appeared the whole square rippled. Surely a trick of the poor light.

The dark shapes split into four groups and began to leave the square in the direction of the Torn Wastes. They were riders, and enough of them clattered along the eastern path for Selyn to know who they were. Shamen.

One link, at least, was proven. The Wytch Lords were directly controlling the Wesmen through the Shamen, and they would have strong magic. When they had left the City, she moved.

Dropping to the ground on the opposite side to the main street, she hugged the silent shadows, moving carefully but quickly towards the central square. Parve was built on a strict grid, interconnecting blocks making navigation very easy for the stranger. But it also made concealment difficult, and Selyn checked closely for openings, alleyways and deep shadow as she passed, logging anything promising for her escape.

Away from the main streets, the City was dark and deserted but strangely secure. No patrols echoed on the tight new pavings and cobbles, no shadows flitted between doorways or waited for the unwary traveller or lost drunk. It was an atmosphere quite without . . . atmosphere. Then it struck her, and she stopped to take the air more closely.

It wasn’t the quiet that caused her pause. There was something else, something that hung over the City like a blanket. Parve was dormant, slumbering. But waiting to awaken.

She quickened her pace, hurrying across a wide, large-cobbled street and into the shadows two blocks from the square and pyramid. She pulled up sharply in a let-in doorway, stilled her breathing and slowed her heart rate. She had been seen and followed. She had heard nothing, seen nothing, but that inner sense told her all she needed to know.

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The man came slowly and carefully around the corner, his footfalls barely registering. Selyn’s body ceased all movement, waiting to pounce or run. From her position, hidden in shadow, she could see him edging along the opposite wall and her heart sank. It was a Shaman, and if his senses were tuned, he would be able to find her.

She took short breaths and activated her wrist bolts, a leather trigger running up each palm and ending in a loop which slipped over the middle finger. Now, a sharp snap back of either wrist would be enough.

The Shaman moved on up the wall, his hand brushing the layered stone, passing out of her field of vision. Quiet reigned in the street.

Selyn waited on, poised. Five minutes. Ten. As her hearing attuned, she became aware of the noise of people and fire from the direction of the square, the distant clump of a hoof on stone, a door closing.

Fifteen.

And then he was in front of her, the stench of his furs heavy in her nose, his dark face and cold eyes close to hers, his arm reaching out.

‘Did you think I could not smell you, Xeteskian?’ His accent was thick, the words uncomfortable in his throat.

Selyn said nothing. Batting his arm aside with her right, she rammed her left wrist into the Shaman’s eye socket and snapped back. The bolt thudded home. He died instantly, dropping like a sack to the floor.

‘Damn it,’ she breathed. She rolled him over and retrieved the bolt, wiping it clean on his furs. Struggling with his bulk, she hauled him into the shadows of the doorway. What had he been doing so far behind the others and on foot? Now time was at a premium. It wouldn’t be long before a Shaman was missed.