'We are working together,' said Heryst.
'Damn you, we are not!' snapped Vuldaroq. 'You know something and you are not telling me. What did you see?'
‘Iwas too busy attempting to stay alive. Hirad Coldheart had a knife to my throat.'
'That they could escape with Darrick from under your nose.' Vuldaroq chuckled, returning to his preferred line of provocation.
'Well, you'd know all about defeat at the hands of The Raven,' said Heryst. 'Remind me how many men you committed to the offensive on Herendeneth?'
'It is hardly the same order of magnitude as being outwitted in your own college grounds.'
'You still lost. One thing we can agree on. It hurts.'
'So help me, Heryst, damn you. Did Erienne cast a spell of the One?'
'I don't know;' Heryst replied. 'The One was used but by whom, why and to what effect we are still investigating. In case it is The Raven, we have them under observation. We know where they are headed. They are only six. They cannot evade us forever, should we wish to stop them.'
‘Iwould have thought that your main priority. After all, Darrick is with them.'
'That is an internal matter I am dealing with separately,' said Heryst coolly. 'You will not intercept them. You don't understand.'
'Oh, I understand, my Lord Heryst. I understand that you know Erienne performed the casting in question. I understand that you were not strong enough to stop her escaping you and I understand that my forces are all ordered to arrest The Raven on sight.'
'Vuldaroq you-'
'And before you protest, I understand something else too. If I were Xetesk, and I had pinpointed the One casting, I might be taking a detour on my way north, to ensure Julatsa never rises. Care to guess where that might be if I believed the ultimate weapon resided there?'
Heryst had no answer. There was none that left him with any credibility in this debate.
'Lucky, then, my dear Heryst, that we are friends and allies, isn't it? With me at your side, you might just stop them destroying your college. I think it's time you were completely straight with me, don't you?'
Thraun pointed away to their left and up on to the ridge along which the supply wagons had passed earlier that morning. Heading for Xetesk and heavily defended, the train had rattled past with a cloud of dust, squealing axles and hard-driven horses. Seeing the signs from over a mile away, The Raven had simply ridden further from the trail and rested their mounts while they watched it go by. But now, galloping hard away from the Dark College, horsemen were approaching fast. The Unknown dragged his reins right, turning his horse on the canter and digging in his heels, demanding more speed. The Raven followed him, angling away from the ridge and trail, hoping to hide themselves in the folds of land. Here, the ravages of Lyanna's uncontrolled elemental power had wreaked terrible damage. Barely a bush or shrub stood tall. Trees lay broken and rotting. And criss-crossing like whip scars across the back of the land, the top soil was torn away, leaving dark slashes in the green of spring grass.
Hirad urged his horse on in the wake of The Unknown and Thraun, sparing a glance behind to reassure himself that the others were keeping up. The sound of hooves hitting soft earth filled his ears, clods of mud churning into the air in the wake of their passage.
The Raven rode down a shallow incline, heading for a cleft between two rises that would take them back towards the ridge and beneath the sight of any riders. But they were not going to be fast enough. The dust from the ridge signalling the oncoming horsemen was already too close and while Hirad watched, the heads of the leaders appeared on the skyline no more than a hundred yards from them.
Forcing a reckless pace along the trail, Hirad clung to the hope that they wouldn't see The Raven below them. But with a shout, the whinnies of horses pulled up sharply and a sudden change of direction, that hope disappeared. Whoever they were, they split into two groups, of at least six each. One began edging down off the ridge in direct pursuit, the other wheeled about and galloped back down the trail, looking to head them off.
'Keep moving!' yelled The Unknown. 'We can beat them on open ground.'
He hunched over his saddle, Hirad mimicking him, the strong smell of horse sweat in his nose and mouth. And then Darrick was by him, riding easily as if he were out for a training gallop. He caressed his horse after The Unknown, eating up the ground between them, leaning over and pulling at the big man's shoulder.
The Unknown turned his head. Darrick drew a finger across his throat, pointed front and back and with barely a flick of his reins, swung his mount right and began charging directly away from the path, heading for a steep-sided gully. The Unknown followed him, Hirad doing likewise, frowning, not understanding for a moment. Yet the reason for the move soon became apparent.
Darrick dragged his horse to a stop in a cloud of dirt and loose stones, ten strides from the gully edge. The Raven pulled up around him, the sounds of their pursuers loud in the sudden lull. As one, they turned. Left and right, riders came on, angling in at them, one group over a hundred yards distant, the other perhaps twice that, having picked its way down from the trail ridge.
'Listen to me,' said Darrick. 'We couldn't afford to get trapped between them on the gallop. They knew they had us there, they know the terrain.'
'Whatever's in your mind, tell us fast,' said Hirad.
Darrick twirled the now headless rake he'd taken from the Lystern stables in his right hand as he spoke, Hirad acutely aware of how vulnerable the ex-general was, garbed only in his dress uniform.
'Couldn't you have picked up a sword?' he said.
Darrick shrugged. 'Without armour, I'd rather keep them a little further away. Right, we'll go at the closer group on my mark. Let me lead. Don't flinch. Denser, ForceCone at the far group if they close. Anything to slow them when they wheel as they will to follow us. Swords, everyone, Erienne centre for protection, casting Spell-Shield. Anyone ever wanted to be in the cavalry?'
Blades hissed from scabbards, free hands held reins loose. Horses, heads up, ears pricked, stood ready, shifting slightly. The nearer group came on. They weren't flat out. Darrick waited and Hirad saw what he must have seen immediately. These weren't cavalrymen against them. They didn't have the form or the relaxation in the saddle.
'Waiting,' said Darrick. 'Waiting, let's have them wondering.'
'Mercenaries,' said Hirad. 'You'd think they'd know better.'
'Shield up,' said Erienne.
'ForceCone ready,' murmured Denser.
Ilkar's voice never came and Hirad's heart missed a beat.
At less than thirty yards for the nearer group, maybe ninety from the other, Darrick spurred his horse.
'Note their blade position. They'll chop down, trust me. You know what to do. Come on! Close form. Ride, Raven!'
His mount sprang away, the rake handle held a third of the way down and pointed straight along the animal's neck. The Unknown was after him, Thraun on the right flank, leaving Denser partnering
Erienne in the centre while Hirad defended the rear quarter. He felt his pulse race and a grin split his face as the wind rushed into him. He roared his energy, Thraun taking up the call. The Raven rode.
Oblivious to the vulnerability of his unarmoured body, Darrick galloped directly for the centre of the mercenary charge. Deep green light splashed across Erienne's shield from a mage rider, the casting dissipating harmlessly.
Darrick twitched the rake handle in his grasp, the wood now held horizontally away from him. He kicked his horse's flanks again, closed the gap to engage, feinted low then whipped the pole through head high. His target had already begun to defend low and couldn't readjust the heavier weapon in time. Darrick's rake caught the top of his head, knocking him senseless. His blade fell from nerveless fingers and he slumped back. Darrick didn't pause to look, ducking low in the saddle as an enemy to his left struck out, missing his back by a whisker.
A stride behind him, The Unknown and Thraun drove in. The big man's sword whined through the air, strikin
g right and out, plunging into the undefended body of Darrick's left-side attacker. On the other flank, Thraun clashed metal with a fast-armed swordsman, carving his own blade round and riding on unharmed. His opponent was not so lucky. Hirad was following up, his blade straight and true and his grip strong, the man dead before he hit the ground.
The Raven punched a hole clear through to open ground. Darrick fended off more blows, his rake splintering in his hands. The Unknown dragged his blade through the thigh of the mage rider and Thraun nicked another on the way past but they weren't finished. Denser rotated in his saddle, ForceCone cast with a single word. Without a SpellShield the surviving enemy were defenceless. The Cone slapped into the backs of them, catapulting riders from saddles, fracturing bones in men and horses.
'No!' shouted Darrick. 'Too early.'
He pulled up and turned.
'Wrong,' said Hirad, seeing the faltering gallop of the second group. 'That was cavalry, this is Raven. Kill but never murder.'
'Form up!' called The Unknown. 'Darrick my left.'
They trotted into a single line abreast, still under Erienne's shield. Loose horses milled in confusion, the injured limped or lay, their cries echoing mournfully from the ridge. Dead and wounded mercenaries were scattered over an area of twenty yards and Denser kept a weather eye out for mindless acts of bravery. Ahead of them, the centre rider of the group raised a hand. His five colleagues reined into little above a trot.
'Shouldn't go attacking The Raven, Tolmek,' said The Unknown, commanding voice crossing the twenty yard divide. 'And you can have the same but it is not what we want.'
'There's a high price on your heads, Unknown,' replied Tolmek. 'And those are my men you've killed and wounded.'
The mercenary leader had modelled himself and his team on The Raven. He was an experienced fighter, scarred from battle, his sharp blue eyes bright beneath a fluted helmet which crushed his untidy black hair to his head. If The Raven admitted to respecting any others in their trade, he'd be high on the list. Right now, though, he was a potential enemy. He understood that.
'We have the right to defend ourselves.'
‘Ihave the right to try and fulfil open contracts,' replied Tolmek.
'I'm sure,' said The Unknown. 'Yet we're all fighting on the same side. You want Balaia saved, you turn and ride away.'
'What I want is money enough to retire before I'm too weak to hold my sword.'
'Then fight with Xetesk. They'll pay you more,' said Hirad.
‘Ithink you know me better than that, Coldheart.'
He nudged his horse on ahead of his men, closed until The Unknown's mount nuzzled his and spoke quietly.
'Everyone is looking for you,' he said. 'I can understand Lystern's anger but there's more, I know it. Dordover is way too keen to see you taken. All of you alive, not dead. What's going on?'
'Time you were leaving,' said The Unknown. 'You don't want to force us to fight you.'
Tolmek half smiled. 'Tempting though it is to try and earn the reward… maybe another time.'
'We won't strike first against you,' said The Unknown. 'But force our hand and we won't hesitate.' He gestured to the mess surrounding them. 'See to your wounded then go.'
Tolmek nodded. 'Be lucky, Raven. I-' He paused and frowned. 'Where's Ilkar?'
Hirad's heart dropped at the sound of his name. 'He's dead, Tolmek. Elfsorrow took him. Xetesk is to blame.'
Tolmek raised his eyebrows and began to turn his horse. 'I'm sorry to hear that. And perhaps I can make Xetesk sorry too.'
'Just leave us alone, don't follow us,' said The Unknown. 'Tell the trade. Don't try to stop us. It isn't worth it.'
The Raven moved to let Tolmek take his surviving men to their fallen.
‘Iwonder how big the reward is,' said Hirad, The Raven gathering to leave.
'Huge, I would hope,' said The Unknown.
'I'd be insulted by a small one,' agreed Hirad.
'So why didn't you ask?' Darrick, like all of them, was dismounting.
'Best not to know,' said Hirad. 'After all, however big, it could always be bigger.' He put an arm round the general's shoulder. 'Now, while Tolmek is sorting out the mess you organised, why don't you see if there's anything round here you like. It's your right, after all and besides, that rake of yours has seen better days and I think we should avoid bloodying your uniform any further.'
Chapter 9
'All right, what have we got?' asked Dystran, once seated around the dining table with his elven archivists and dimensional research teams. Ranyl was on his way, apparently. But it would, as with anything in these last painful days, take him some considerable time.
To Dystran's left, an old master dimensional mage was about to begin when Dystran held up his hand for further silence.
'I realise my last question may have given you the impression that I am merely after a quick update on our current state of research. Let me disabuse you of that particular notion.
'In case it has escaped your attention, we are at war. There are thousands of souls beyond our gates whose express intention it is to nail me to the walls of my Tower. Probably upside down. We may have won a recent victory but the tide is still against us. Our people live in fear of invasion. Hundreds clamour every day to leave.
'In this war, either Xetesk triumphs or we become a husk, never to reclaim our rightful position. Now, in order for the former and not the latter to be our fate – and let me assure you, if it is the latter you will all experience your fates before I do – there are certain things we must do, and do right. For that, I require your individed attention and assistance.'
He paused and looked around the table. Eight men between the ages of thirty and eighty had lost their appetites for the vegetable stew and bread before them. Wine and water settled in glasses.
'So let's start with the easy one. Was it the One magic cast in Lystern last night?'
'Yes.' Kestys, that was his name. Dystran had never been good at remembering names. But he remembered faces all right. And this man's, unremarkable and slightly reddened as it was, was utterly familiar.
'And the caster?'
'That we have not yet ascertained.' Kestys looked for help to either side of him. It did not come.
'I see.' Dystran sucked in a breath slowly and carefully. 'Stop me if I make a mistake here. We still have Protectors on Herendeneth, meaning we have muscle and we have the means to communicate ' between there and here, correct? Yes. And you have presumably requested that the Al-Drechar be questioned about the identity of our mysterious practitioner?'
'Of course, my Lord,' said Kestys, shifting in his seat, a light sweat on his brow. 'But they have not been forthcoming.'
Dystran pushed his hands through his hair. 'On that island, our people face one dragon with no fire, one woman and a baby, half a dozen servant elves and two old mages. How is it they have been allowed to be "not forthcoming".'
'The Al-Drechar retain considerable power.'
Dystran smiled thinly. 'They do. They are also very, very old, and dying. They spent themselves trying to protect the Nightchild from her own power and they have never fully recovered. Two of them died. Pressure them further. And if they resist, threaten someone else. The baby, for instance… any latent talent there that could scare five Xeteskian mages? I think you understand me.'
'My Lord.'
A door opened behind him. Dystran turned to see Ranyl shuffle in. The cancer-ravaged mage was leaning heavily on two sticks but still refusing the aid of the mages trying to cluster around him. The room focused on him while he dragged himself to his chair next to Dystran and sat down, propping the sticks against the table. His face displayed his pain, his eyes his undimmed determination.
The Lord of the Mount poured him a glass of chilled water. Ranyl drank deeply.
'Thank you, my Lord.'
'Any time,' said Dystran. 'We will continue if you are ready.'
Ranyl smiled. 'Make no allowances, my Lord. I am here, therefore I am capable.'
A dry chuckle ran around the table. Ranyl commanded enormous respect from every mage in Xetesk but there was more to it than that now. Every senior mage knew that Dystran would respect Ranyl's wishes on his successor to the Circle Seven.
'So that we don't delay you any longer than necessary, we will deal with the progress of our research into the elven writings. I was hearing about a breakthrough?'
'Small but very significant,' said Gylac, the chief archivist and the only man truly capable of deciphering the ancient elven writings. Another man whom Dystran feared would die before his work was complete. 'I have found a common thread in all the pieces we recovered from Calaius. It speaks of the encasing of all elven people in a sheath of magic that sustains diem in die tasks laid down for them by their gods.'
'The key to their longevity?'
'It is the closest we have got so far, my Lord,' replied Gylac. 'What I find interesting is the similar language we have found in die admittedly vague references to the Elfsorrow.'
'Oh yes?'
Gylac gestured at Ranyl. 'My Lord Ranyl has theorised on the subject to a greater extent than I. I am concentrating on translation.'
'Gylac is being rather modest,' said Ranyl, inclining his head. 'This is not a small breakthrough. If we are proved correct and can understand fully the interaction between elves and mana, we should be able to create a spell that disrupts this sheath. Synthesise Elfsorrow, if you like. The construct is already in development but we have too many unknowns to complete it dius far.'
Dystran's heart rate was up. It was more than he could have hoped at this stage. 'How long?'
'I cannot say,' said Ranyl. 'Gylac's team are working as hard as they can but some of the language is so arcane it defies translation. I suggest we increase our efforts to capture an elf or two who could help us.'
Dystran nodded. ‘Iam meeting our military commanders shortly and will discuss that option with them. Thank you. All of you. This is good news. But only as far as it goes. We must have new weapons or we will eventually lose this war.' He paused. 'Now, our dimensional experiments.'
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