“Are you all right, Unknown?” asked the Julatsan.
“Yeah, fine,” said The Unknown but they could all see a distant look in his eye.
Hirad shrugged and walked over to the stream, a smile breaking over his face as his irritation faded. The horses looked relaxed and ready and were grazing contentedly. He patted one on the neck and ran a hand down its foreleg, feeling the fit muscle and bone beneath his fingers.
His smile broadened. They may have been apart for five years but still, when The Unknown spoke, they listened. That fact alone would, he considered, give them the ghost of a chance in the days to come. And it sounded like they might need every ghost they could grasp.
Selik leaned back in his richly upholstered red and gold chair in a private room of the Lakehome Inn and allowed himself a smile. It still felt like a smile to him though the humour was gone. Another would have seen little more than a grotesque distortion of his face.
He wouldn't have described the feeling as “happiness” either. A bitter satisfaction, maybe, an easing of the burning hate in the knowledge of its ultimate extinguishing through sweet revenge. But happiness, no. That was an emotion he hadn't experienced since the bitch had frozen him. Lesser men would have died. His strength and breastplate had saved his life when the IceWind had struck him. Nothing so resistant had been protecting his hands and face, though, and he'd borne the stigma for six long years, just waiting his chance.
And now, he was to be presented with it.
It had been good news Gorstan had given him as they'd stood at the mouth of Arlen Bay and he'd ridden hard for the town to set about hiring ships and crews and buying provisions. But there'd been a nagging anxiety. It was one thing knowing where the bitch and her abomination of a daughter hid. It would have been quite another getting there through the famously treacherous rock and coral straits. Many men would have been lost and he didn't know how many, if any, he could afford to lose.
He'd dismissed the mage who'd bought him the latest, far finer news and now sat alone in front of an open fire, a rug beneath his bare feet, mulled wine steaming on a table in front of him and the other three chairs in the tapestry-hung room empty. He enjoyed the peace, broken only by the crackle of flame.
He relaxed, feeling the anxiety slip away. He was not a keen sea traveller and the thought of danger he couldn't see lurking beneath the water at Ornouth made him nervous.
Now, though, the answer to his prayers was sailing up the Arlen River. And he would be waiting at the dock to welcome her.
He sipped his mulled wine, then took a long swallow, draining the glass. Gods, but it tasted good.
Denser ceased his probing, released the Communion shape and opened his eyes. The Raven were around him and the concern on their faces told him he'd shown facial expression during his search for Erienne. He felt tired and lost, somehow, and his heart beat hollow in his chest. He moved gingerly to a sitting position and felt for his pipe and weed pouch.
Ilkar laid a hand on his shoulder.
“That didn't look comfortable, Denser. What happened?”
Denser filled his pipe and lit it, suppressing an unwanted smile at Ilkar's choice of words. The Communion hadn't merely been uncomfortable. It had been like searching in a hailstorm. He felt battered and a little confused by what he had encountered in the mana spectrum.
He knew he'd searched the right area and he knew Erienne's signature intimately. She wouldn't attempt to hide from him. But he'd found a sudden impenetrability, like coming across a bank of fog in a sheltered valley. And it had been a painful experience.
He looked up into Ilkar's face and past him at Hirad, who was examining the blade of a dagger, apparently uninterested.
“I couldn't reach her,” he said quietly. “Couldn't even feel her. There was something in the way.”
Ilkar frowned. “How do you mean?”
“Well…” Denser fought for the right words. He scratched his head and took a draw on his pipe, the smoke funnelling pleasantly into his mouth. “Like there was another power there, occupying the space. I couldn't feel her because there was focused mana in the way, I suppose.”
“What shape was it?”
“That's why it's so confusing, there was no shape. It was a coalescing of mana, like a wall.”
“Produced by another mage, though?” Ilkar frowned.
“Presumably.” Denser shrugged. He sighed. “I guess it doesn't really matter. The fact is that I can't contact her.”
“Not now, anyway,” said The Unknown. “Come on, we'd better get away. Try again when we stop this evening.”
Denser nodded. “Yes. It's unlikely to be a long-lived effect. Or I hope it won't.”
“Unless it's a deliberate obscurement,” said Ilkar.
“Hmm. How, though? It's not a structure I recognised. It wasn't right, though.” He bit his lip, frustrated.
Hirad sheathed his dagger and got to his feet. “It'll be all right, Denser.”
Denser blew out his cheeks. “Nothing like a nonmage to give you confidence, is there?”
Erienne leaned over the post and retched again, her muscles convulsing, the taste of bile strong in her throat. Her stomach was long empty but the nausea sweeping through her didn't subside and hadn't for most of the morning.
Ren'erei had stood just far enough away to give her comfort but not too near to crowd her and add to her acute embarrassment. As Erienne straightened and turned to let the wind blow into her face, cooling the sweat on her brow, she walked forward.
“It isn't seasickness,” she said. “How can it be after this many days?”
“I know,” managed Erienne, her head thumping, her belly aching and protesting every time she took a breath.
“It must be something you ate,” she said, helping Erienne to sit on one of the net-covered crates on deck.
Erienne shook her head; she didn't have the energy to speak. She knew where the nausea originated but didn't want to have to explain it to Ren'erei. It wasn't food, it wasn't the gentle motion of the Ocean Elm, which was speeding toward Arlen Bay on a stiff and consistent wind. It was nothing that Ren'erei could comprehend even though she was an elf and so inherently magical. She didn't understand what it was that touched and aided her in everything she did. After all, she wasn't a mage.
Erienne was under attack. She didn't know from where or by whom and that scared her almost as much as what she was feeling. On the mainland, only The Raven knew she was coming, so how she could have been targeted, she didn't know.
It had crossed her mind that she had fallen victim to a mana sickness. There were always claims bouncing around the Colleges that mana within a mage could become somehow infected. Erienne had always dismissed them but in the first flush of her nausea, she had been prepared to believe anything that would provide an explanation.
But as the hours passed and she regained some rationality, she'd ignored the notion in favour of hard fact. Her nausea had come on her like a blow from a hammer, and stirring her head like thick soup so she couldn't focus on her hand in front of her face. It had provoked a reaction in her body that was nothing to do with any physical sickness. And it had gone on long after she'd established in her own mind that there was nothing wrong with her mana capabilities.
So there was no infection, there was no food poisoning and there was no focused drain on her mana stamina.
This was something no textbook had ever covered. It was what happened when someone who knew your signature launched spells at you without knowing exactly where you were. Enemy or friend, Erienne couldn't tell but she could guess. Lyanna. Seeking her mind. But in her innocence she was damaging her mother and until it stopped, the world of magic was closed to Erienne.
The realisation rocked her. It was a powerful weapon. It made her defenceless. Fortunately, she'd be meeting Denser in a couple of days.
He would know what to do.
It was the same that night. While the fire burned and The Raven waited, Denser tried and failed to make contact
with Erienne. If anything, the fog obscuring her was thicker than either of the times he'd tried before.
He dispersed the Communion and lay still, desperation beginning to steal over him, a feeling of tears behind his closed eyelids. He was tired. He had never found Communion an easy spell and his three attempts so far had left him depleted of stamina. He needed to rest and pray, to rebuild his strength for another casting, but his mind raced with possible solutions and he could see sleep would be a long time coming. He didn't have time for this. None of them did.
“Denser?” It was Ilkar. He didn't open his eyes. He could feel the fire warm the left side of his body as he lay, its flickering glow orange on his eyelids.
“C'mon Denser. I know you've released the spell. There's tea here for you. Herbal. It should help you sleep later.”
Denser opened one eye. Above him, through the trees that part sheltered them from the strengthening wind, he could see cloud tumbling across the sky. It was darker than the night it covered. There was going to be heavy rain. Very heavy.
“I hate herbal tea,” he said. He tried to smile but nothing happened. He dragged himself to a sitting position and accepted the mug Ilkar offered, wrinkling his nose at the heady, sweet smell. Across the fire, The Unknown was building a makeshift spit and he could see Hirad laying snares through the gloom about fifty yards away.
“Food could be a while,” said The Unknown, following his gaze.
They lapsed into silence. Denser forced his tea down, wincing at its syrupy texture. He could see Ilkar smile but it was an effort. Denser looked back at the sky. There were no stars at all now, just thick darkest grey cloud. The wind blew chill through the evening air and despite the shelter of the trees, it would get cold. The Unknown clearly intended to keep the fire stacked, not considering the blaze as a risk.
“Anyone in Greythorne who wants us that badly will find us anyway,” he'd said. “And anyone coming from Arlen is too far away to get to us tonight.”
Too far away. The words haunted Denser.
They were two days’ ride from Erienne and that was a day and a half too many. He felt angry that he couldn't reach her, frustrated she wouldn't hear his warning and scared of what they might find in Arlen if he failed in his contact at dawn.
Bloody Hirad. This could prove one indiscretion too many. And despite the barbarian's confidence, Denser still boiled inside. His wife and daughter were at stake here. Hirad seemed to forget that and he clearly had not grasped how desperate Dordover was to get hold of them both.
The wind rattled the branches and blew dying leaves over the ground. The rain was in the sky now and the odd spot hit his face. Dust kicked into the air and the flames of the fire blew hard, tinged with a telltale blue-brown corona.
It was so wrong. Denser wasn't a man of the woods but he was a sensitive mage. And this was deeply disturbing. It even tainted the air they breathed, or so it seemed to him. Perhaps it would be better if the Dordovans found Lyanna first. At least then…
He quashed the thought, ashamed it had even arisen. But the rational part of him acknowledged it as a solution to the ravages Balaia was increasingly suffering. Hideous, but a solution.
Hirad walked back into the firelight and sat down. He dumped an armful of leaves and roots on the ground by him.
“There's not exactly a mass of wildlife around here. I've set for rabbits but it might not be rich pickings tonight.”
Ilkar chuckled. “Get your excuses in early, Hirad.”
“You're funnier than usual tonight, Ilks,” returned Hirad. “Which isn't hard.”
“Right,” said The Unknown and the moment's levity was banished. “We have to face the possibility that Erienne will sail straight into Dordovan hands.”
“I take it the Communion was no better?” Hirad looked up at Denser who shook his head, his eyes not quite holding contact. “Maybe in the morning.”
“Maybe,” said Denser.
“But the worst case is that Erienne is captured,” said The Unknown. “What then?”
“Well presumably the Dordovans will demand Lyanna and that means all of them going back to Ornouth with her,” said Ilkar. “It's pretty simple.”
“Agreed,” said The Unknown. “But there are variables.”
“Aren't there always?” grumbled Hirad.
Ilkar patted his knee. “Wouldn't be the same otherwise, would it?”
“No indeed.” The Unknown drew a mark in the soil. “One. We don't know whether the Dordovans are there in sufficient numbers to take the ship. Even if they are, it will take two days to resupply, maybe more, depending on exactly how unhelpful Erienne and the Guild are able to be.
“Two. The Dordovans may only be able to stop the ship putting back to sea themselves. Given Darrick's arrival at Greythorne it's clear they aren't there in the numbers they'd ideally like in order to go to sea. We also have to assume that Dordover are working with Lystern on this. But that leaves us still not knowing the numbers in Arlen now.
“Three. The Guild could manage to put back to sea having rumbled the Dordovan presence. We need to think how to get out to sea and meet them—assuming Denser still can't get in touch with Erienne.
“Four. Earl Arlen. He isn't going to sit around and watch people fighting on his docks. He may be a good starting point for us because he may well not be aware of what is happening in his town. On the other hand, of course, he may be entirely complicit in the whole thing.
“Five. Because of that latter point, we can't be sure that anyone we meet or talk to is with us or even neutral. One thing that we can be sure of is that the Dordovans in Arlen will be looking for us. And it all means that getting to and helping Erienne is going to be extremely difficult. There are other possible factors but I think you get the picture.”
“And what help can we be if the odds are overwhelming?” asked Denser. He shook his head. The rain began to fall steadily. Not hard but that was just a matter of time.
“We can always help,” said Hirad. “We're The Raven.”
“Well you'd better start thinking how. This mess is all down to you in the first place.”
Hirad nodded, brushed his hands together and stood up. He walked past Ilkar and The Unknown, heading for the horses.
“Where are you going?” asked the elf.
“Away.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I don't need to hear his smart-arsed superior remarks any longer. I made a mistake and it was a bad one and I'm sorry. But I can't undo it, only try and make it right. But every opportunity, he's going to remind me and I don't need it. So you people who never ever make mistakes can rescue Lyanna on your own.”
“So you'll find your own way to the Al-Drechar, will you?” asked Ilkar, ears pricking. A gust sent rain thrashing around the clearing, stinging the face and sending spats of dirt from the ground as it struck. The fire hissed and crackled in protest, shadows speared across the ground, flickering and jumping.
“I expect we could work it out, me and the Kaan,” said Hirad. “All I'm asking is a little respect for the fact that I'm helping a man who hasn't lifted a finger to help me in the last five years.”
“A little respect, I can grant you,” said Denser.
“Drop it, Denser,” said The Unknown, his voice a growl.
“One more word, Denser,” Hirad raised a finger. “And you'll be riding to Arlen alone.”
“Run off to your precious dragons, Hirad. And you can all die together in your chilly cave while I try and save Lyanna, and Balaia along with her.”
Hirad spun round and ran at the Xeteskian, hurdling the fire and kicking over the pot, scattering water to steam and hiss in the hot ashes. Putting a hand up he pushed Denser in the chest, knocking him back a couple of paces. He might have been a few years older than when The Raven last rode together but he'd lost none of his speed; there had been no time for Denser to react.
“You'd like that, wouldn't you, Denser, eh?” His voice grated low, his eyes, hooded, his fac
e muscles bunched and taut. “You and your powerful friends up in your towers.”
He pushed Denser with both hands this time, forcing him to fight to retain his balance.
“Let them waste away, you thought. People will forget, you thought. We'll play a little at research but we know we aren't going anywhere with it. No one will really care. Bet that's how it was in nice warm fire-bright Xetesk, wasn't it?”
Denser met his gaze but said nothing. Hirad grabbed his cloak at the neck and marched him backward, spitting out his words, his whole body shuddering with his anger.
“But I haven't forgotten, Xetesk man. And neither have the Kaan. You've made them suffer, you bastard, and you never gave it a thought. They are no closer to going home now than they were five years ago are they? But you're too wrapped up in your petty politics and power climbing to give a shit.
“But I've been there. Every day and every night. Seeing their eyes dim and their scales go dull and dry. Seeing their confusion grow and their minds seethe. Because every day they die some more while every day the ungrateful scum they saved forget a little more.”
Denser was backed against a tree with nowhere to go. Rain was running down its trunk and thunder barked overhead. The torrent increased its ferocity, its hammering in the leaf cover a cacophony into which Hirad shouted.
“Get where I'm coming from, Denser? Understand even a little bit?” Hirad made a tiny space between thumb and forefinger. “Because right now there's a death sentence over the Kaan. It's long and slow but it's certain because no one's going to help them, are they?”
“Hirad, enough.” It was The Unknown's voice but Hirad ignored it, pushing his face very close to Denser's.
“But now, it's your wife and child. Now, it's different. And we're all expected to drop everything and help you, aren't we? No, more than that. We have to.” He leaned in until their noses all but touched.
“Well I've got an answer for you, Xetesk man, and it'll stop bloody magic tearing up my country. Let the Dordovans kill the child. Problem solved. Death sentence carried out. What do you think. Eh? Eh?” He shook Denser, banging the back of his head against the tree and seeing the mage's eyes burning hatred into him.
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