He paused at the end of the second line he'd tracked, the one representing southeast, frowning. The final two spikes seemed a little further from their adjacent cousins than the rest, like the line was becoming stretched. He glanced left and right. If his eyes didn't deceive him, the pattern was repeated in the south and east lines.
“Delyr?” he called. The Xeteskian looked up from his conversation with Sapon, a Dordovan colleague.
“Jayash.”
“Have we had a problem the last couple of days?”
Delyr shrugged. “Not really. We've seen what is a significant but probably small acceleration of the rate of shadow increase but some of it has to be to do with cloud effect blurring the edge of the shade.” He glanced up into the sky, blue but for the rip overhead. “Today we'll know.”
Jayash nodded. “But you've known of this possible problem for a couple of days.”
“Five actually. Look, I appreciate your desire to be told every minute detail, but in scientific terms, it was not worth mentioning, so I didn't.”
“But today.”
Delyr smiled thinly. “You will receive instant assessment followed by a full report. Now, if you wouldn't mind, time is short.” He gestured at the rip and the shadow at the base of the pyramid that was all but gone.
Jayash waved a hand vaguely and stepped back to watch. Delyr and Sapon trotted around the edge of the spike field, leaving a peg lying at the end of each line. Both mages then walked briskly to the base of the pyramid and knelt close to the sun shade marker, a long piece of polished wood fixed to the ground where the pyramid's east wall met the earth. When the last vestiges of natural shadow had left it, the measurements were made.
It was a good enough system but, Jayash considered, it had a flaw. At present, the shade was relatively small and the pyramid close. The movement of the sun between the moment the mages agreed it was noon and the measurement of the shade was negligible.
But soon, the pyramid would be covered by the rip's shadow and the agreement of noon would have to be made more distantly. What was more, the area of the shade, growing larger, would mean more time to make the measurements.
He could foresee, firstly, all his men being co-opted into taking readings rather than securing lives and later, a hopelessly inaccurate measurement, leaving The Raven with a margin of error that ran into days. Delyr seemed oblivious. He alone still thought he was going home once the rate of increase of the shade had been clearly established.
He didn't realise he'd been marked as a martyr, not a hero.
It was noon. Delyr and Sapon straightened and walked quickly back toward the spikes. The rip hung in the air, waiting, its shadow wide and clear, uncluttered by the fog of cloud, its edges hard and distinct.
Swiftly and without conversation, the two mages took up opposite positions, north and south, and began their task, leaning close to the ground to gauge the exact end of the shade and the beginning of light. Once satisfied, they placed spikes in their marks and, with small iron mallets, drove them into the earth beneath the paving of the square. Moving around the compass points counterclockwise, they repeated the operation in less than five minutes.
Jayash could see the mages’ consternation immediately, saw the anxious glance they exchanged and began walking toward them. Delyr and Sapon met by the south line and measured the distance the new spike sat from yesterday's using both a length of carefully marked rope and a carved length of rod-straight wood in which they made two marks. In this way they took readings from three points before Delyr consulted a parchment he fetched from a leather bag lying on the ground.
“What is it?” asked Jayash but he knew the answer already.
“Just a moment,” said Delyr. He and Sapon scribbled on the parchment, retook their measurements and entered the figures in the log. Delyr looked up.
“Instant assessment?” suggested Jayash.
“We're in deep trouble.”
“Justification?”
“We'll check again tomorrow but the rate at which the shade is growing is increasing. It's not stable, or doesn't appear to be.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the bigger it gets, the faster it grows.”
Jayash pushed his tongue into the inside of a cheek. “So, time is shorter than you originally calculated.”
“Yes, much,” said Delyr. “And we have no way of knowing whether the rate of increase will continue to rise. I suspect that it will.”
“So what's the new estimate?”
“Yes, hold on…” Delyr looked at Sapon who had been writing furiously. He underlined a figure on the parchment and handed it to Delyr, whose eyes widened.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes.” Sapon nodded. “I'll refine it later but it's not far away from accurate.”
“Well, before, we had thirty days before the rip covered Parve. We now have eight.”
Jayash said nothing, just stood at the rip above, shuddered and imagined the dragons pouring through.
It was the longest night of Ilkar's life. Between them, The Unknown and Denser set a direct course across Triverne Inlet, using the stiffening breeze to drive them on a single tack toward the meeting of water and the Blackthorne Mountains on the eastern side of the Inlet. At least the Xeteskian was making good on his desire to learn to sail. Further out into the expanse of tidal sea, the swell deepened, making the quiet choppiness near the shore a distant memory. The small boat, never in danger under the stewardship of its dual skippers, pitched and yawed through the swell but made good headway, sail taut and full.
But something was wrong. Ilkar had always thought himself naturally empathic but even he was taken aback that Hirad in particular seemed to have no inkling that it was much more than the fact that Thraun had not returned to human form.
For Ilkar though, it was as obvious as the sun in a cloudless sky. He had taken The Unknown's advice and kept his eye on the horizon, feeling an initial wash of sickness slowly subside as his brain registered normality forever just out of reach. But increasingly, he found his attention straying to the boat's other occupants. It was the quiet. At first, Hirad had quipped away, talking the irrelevancies that were his trademark in relaxed situations, but received at best low chuckles and short answers in response. Ultimately, there was no reaction and he had shrugged and joined the silence. But quiet was so unlike The Raven. There had been little discussion of their direction on reaching the eastern shore save to try and find horses quickly for the ride to Julatsa. Beyond that, there seemed no plan and, without The Unknown to drive the discussion, the energy to talk was lacking.
Ignoring his protesting gut and swimming head, Ilkar turned to look at the Big Man and felt a chill in his body. Never given to joviality, The Unknown typically had his eyes everywhere in every situation, playing the role of the guardian angel with consummate skill, snuffing out threat to his friends before it became deadly. But now he was inside himself. Ilkar saw him glance occasionally in their direction, or up at the sail and even more rarely murmur to Denser to trim the tiller position or release a handful of mainsheet.
Aside from that, his head was angled forward, his eyes closed or fixed firmly on the timbers between his feet and the set of his body slightly slumped. Ilkar knew what had to be troubling him and there was nothing any of them could do about it. He had changed during his brief time as a Protector. Not because of the harsh regime under which the demons held them in thrall but because of the closeness of souls in Xetesk's Soul Tank.
He had hinted as much in the days after his release and had appeared to shake off the memories of the bonding he had undergone but now, as they returned to the East, the memories resurfaced. Because every passing moment brought them closer to the Colleges, closer to Xetesk and closer to the Soul Tank from which his soul was wrenched. Ilkar wondered if he could still hear them calling him.
“Unknown?” said Ilkar. The Big Man looked up, his eyes heavy and full of pain. “Can you feel them?”
The Unknow
n shook his head. “No. But they are there and I am not. Their voices still sound in my memory and tear at the strings of my heart. The emptiness has not filled inside my soul. I think it never will.”
“But…”
“Please, Ilkar. I know you want to help but you can't. No one can.” The Unknown returned to his examination of the bottom of the boat, his last words directed at none who could hear them. “To reach the dragons I will have to walk by my grave.”
Ilkar felt a pang in his chest and drew in his breath sharply. He caught Denser's eye. The Dark Mage looked no better than The Unknown and Ilkar felt despair. He had hoped the manner of their escape from the camp would have rekindled his enthusiasm. But it was clear now that it was a spark derived from the innate desire for self-preservation.
Denser believed he had already served his life's purpose: Dawnthief was cast and the Wytch Lords were gone. But they had to close the rip in the sky or there would be no hiding place from the hordes of dragons that would eventually fly through it. Not for Denser, not for The Raven and not for Erienne and their child.
Why then, would he not take his place in the heart of The Raven and drive like he had done all the way to Parve? Ilkar understood very well that he must be fatigued but his mana stamina had returned and any bone-weariness was surely shared by them all.
“Thanks for not dropping me back there,” said Ilkar.
“No problem. I'd rather have you alive than dead at the hands of the Wesmen.”
Ilkar took that as a compliment but it saddened him at the same time. The old Denser, that which had surfaced to such spectacular effect in the Wesmen camp, had quickly disappeared beneath the waves of his own self pity once again. It took all the elf's control not to tell him so.
“You must be tired.”
Denser shrugged. “I've been worse. When you've cast Dawnthief, any other exhaustion rather pales.”
“Good effort though, Denser,” said Hirad. Ilkar glanced down at the barbarian, half sprawled and half asleep on his bench, a cloak under his head, his eyes closed. Thank the Gods for Hirad. At least, in his ignorance of the mood suffocating The Raven, he was not affected by it. They would need his strength and aggression in the time ahead, that was clear.
Ilkar opened his mouth to speak but found he couldn't be bothered to try and engage Denser in any further conversation. Nothing was coming back but the lethargic utterings of a man searching for a reason to keep on fighting. The elven mage shook his head. Surely Erienne and their unborn child were enough. But even she had found his mood impenetrable and their physical distance on this small boat was stark indication of the difficulties they faced.
At the bow lay the most immediate problem. Will had not taken his hand from Thraun's back nor his eyes from the wolf's head for hours. A deep anxiety crowded his face and his whisperings in the ears of his friend did nothing more than bring twitches and low growls. Thraun didn't want to listen.
What would they do if he never changed back? Ilkar almost laughed at his own question but feared the noise of his fleeting good humour. It was, of course, not their decision to make. They could not order the wolf to leave them or to stay with them. They couldn't tell him what to do. They couldn't control him. The longer he stayed a wolf, the more wild he would become. Eventually, Ilkar presumed, he would cease to recognise them. At that point, they would become as much prey as the next man and they would have to try to kill him.
Ilkar knew that was the fear that drove Will's anxiety. It was one that should drive them all.
And for his part, Ilkar himself was scared of what they would find in Julatsa. He would know if the College fell and the Heart was destroyed as would every Julatsan mage—those that lived through the experience. He was aware his city might well be in ruins. He knew the Wesmen were an occupying force. He knew the Council would not give up the College until every last one of them had perished in its defence.
But if The Raven couldn't get into the Library, if they couldn't find what they had to find, then the Wesmen, in the moment of their triumph, would have condemned most Balaians to death at the hands of dragons. Ilkar would derive no pleasure from telling them so.
He sighed deep in his chest and watched the shore unfold its detail before him, praying dry land would kindle some hope in his heart but knowing it probably would not. The destiny of Balaia was not in good hands.
Keeping far upstream from the Wesmen staging post, The Raven landed in a small cove bounded on both sides by crags and steep slopes. Above them towered the dark mass of the Blackthorne Mountains, cascading precipitously toward the Inlet, while immediately in front of them, the land angled sharply away from the rocky cove toward Triverne Lake, whose waters flowed into the sea not far from them as the mouth of the River Tri.
Splashing through the shallows, The Raven set foot back on dry land to an audible sigh of pleasure from Ilkar. He looked up at the climb into the lightening sky with what Hirad took to be pleasure.
While The Unknown made fast the boat and Denser furled the sail under his instruction, Will and Thraun scrambled away up the slope of grass-covered thinly soiled rock and crumbling clay. Will, clutching Thraun's clothes in his bag more in hope than expectation, hung on to a fistful of fur and thick hide low on the wolf's back, to help him on up.
“Why are you bothering to learn all that?” asked Ilkar, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them.
Denser stopped and straightened. “What?”
“If you care so little for the future, why bother to learn to sail?” Ilkar had no option but to carry on. Denser's eyes narrowed.
“Well maybe I'm trying to establish some normality. Maybe I'm making a bloody effort. Is there something wrong with that?”
Ilkar smiled, trying to defuse the situation he'd created, aware that the eyes of The Raven were on him.
“It just struck me as a little incongruous, that's all. Don't worry about it.”
Denser strode toward him. “Yes I will worry about it. Your ignorance of how I feel doesn't give you the right to make sneering little comments like that. What are you trying to say?”
“I'm trying to say that you are totally unpredictable and it's causing us all a problem. Furling that sail you are totally normal, just like the Denser we know so well. But in the next heartbeat you could close up and disappear inside yourself. We don't know where we stand.”
“Is that right?” Denser's face was reddening. “And you think I know, do you? My head's a complete bloody mess and I'm trying hard to make sense of what I have left. What I want is a little patience, not clever comment, from people like you!” He stabbed a finger into Ilkar's chest. The Julatsan pushed it away and pointed at Erienne.
“And she's not enough, is that what you're saying?”
“Ilkar, that's enough. Just leave it,” said Erienne.
But Denser moved in until their noses all but touched. “Don't you dare to question the way I feel about Erienne. You don't understand.” He pushed Ilkar firmly backward along the shingle. “Keep away from me, Julatsan, until you have something good to say.” He stalked over to the rise and began a solitary, angry climb, Erienne behind him.
“Good work, Ilkar,” said Hirad, shaking his head. He climbed up slowly behind the mages, noting the clear sky and the light forging toward them from the east. They would need to find cover soon. Fortunately, the River Tri's course was lush and wooded and far enough from likely Wesmen occupation to make quick travel possible. They would still have to be careful, though, aliens in their own land.
What taxed Hirad's mind, apart from Ilkar's surprising outburst and Denser's altogether predictable one, was where they would find horses. Without rides, journey time to Julatsa would be trebled or worse and give them no fast escape option. He dug in his heels and climbed faster.
The scent of home was everywhere, bleeding from the very ground on which Thraun trod. The colours of the forest and of his packbrothers filled his head as he bounded away from the water's edge, taking care that ma
n-packbrother should not slip from him by moving too fast.
Cresting the rise, he put his snout high into the air and sniffed. Untainted by the saltwater smells from below, the scents of the land and its inhabitants unfolded like a map before him. He turned to man-packbrother, aware he was making sounds. Man-packbrother knelt in front of him and held his face in his two hands. He growled, amusement and mild irritation mixing in his mind.
Man-packbrother spoke a word to him. He was aware it was a word without comprehension of language. It tolled in his head but the doors didn't open. Instead, a confusion of thought plundered his consciousness.
He was standing on his hind legs and there was no hair covering his face. His howl had gone and he could run upright without falling. But there was no joy in his senses, no feeling of the pack around him. He felt clumsy if strong, awkward in his understanding of the land and prey and threat around him. The memories were dim but he knew they were memories. They hurt him inside, dragged at his body and punished his being. He knew there was a way to make the hurt stop but he fought that way.
The hurt scared him, he reacted.
Thraun barked once and recoiled from Will's grasp, crouching low, yellow eyes fixed on him, fangs bared. He growled, deep, low and menacing. Will stood up in shock and backed away a pace, hands outstretched.
“Thraun, it's all right. Calm. Calm.” He backed away further.
Hirad had reached the top of the slope in time to see the end of the exchange and Thraun's sudden move backward, taking him perilously close to tumbling over the edge back to the cove. Hirad held his breath. The wolf was tensed to spring, its eyes on Will's face. But to his eternal credit, Will remained what he urged Thraun to be. Calm. And Thraun eventually relaxed his crouch, shook his head, stood up and trotted away toward a stand of trees.
“What happened?” asked Hirad. Will's face was sheet white in the predawn light. He shrugged. “I mean, what did you do?”
“N-nothing,” said Will, with a hint of the stammer that had plagued him for days following his terrifying encounter with Denser's familiar in Dordover. “Just tried to bring him back to himself with the word.”
Noonshade Page 22
