“That's about the size of it.” Ilkar had the grace to appear apologetic at least.
“Can't we just ask them to hand it over?” asked Richmond.
“Come on, man, think!” snapped Denser. “We'd be asking a College to desecrate its tombs and we couldn't tell them why because they'd try to control the spell. It has to be a theft and they mustn't know until afterward.”
“Going to give the ring back later on, are you?” Talan's laugh was dismissive.
“I expect I will be forced to, Talan, yes.”
“Too bloody right you will,” muttered Hirad.
“Can we discuss this later, do you think?” Ilkar waved the parchment. “There's more, and it doesn't get any better.”
“I can't wait.” Talan stretched out his legs.
“The second catalyst is the Death's Eye Stone.”
“I've heard of that, haven't I?” Richmond aimed the question at Denser, who nodded.
“I expect you have,” replied the mage. “It's the centrepiece of the Wrethsires’ religion.”
“That's right. Death worshippers, aren't they?” His brow furrowed. “Don't they have some magic?” He ground his teeth, thinking hard.
“Oh, yeah, ‘the fifth College.’” Denser glanced across at Ilkar, his face all but dripping contempt. Ilkar huffed. “They have no lore, no history and no mana ability. That they presume to liken themselves to the four Colleges is not only outrageous but a slur against magic itself.”
“But you're right, Richmond,” said Ilkar. “They do worship Death in the belief it'll free them from eternal damnation, or something like that, and they do have some form of altered magic which they don't fully understand. It makes them dangerous.”
“They're going to love us, aren't they?” grumbled Hirad. “Stealing their most important artefact.”
Ilkar shrugged. “Denser never said we could pick the sodding things up from the market, did he?”
“No, he didn't,” said Hirad. “He never wanted to tell us anything at all. I didn't choose to get involved in this and have my life totally screwed up, so if I want to moan about things I have to do that seem beyond my control; or about how he—” he stabbed a finger at Denser, “has been responsible for the deaths of my friends, I will bloody well do so.”
Denser sighed. Hirad tensed but made no move.
“Have you got a problem with that, Xetesk man?”
“No, he hasn't,” said Ilkar quickly. “Now then, the third catalyst.” He scanned The Raven, daring anyone to speak further. “Right. Now this one poses a problem of location, because it's the Badge of Office of the Understone Pass Guard Commander.” There was a contemplative silence.
“But the Korina Trade Alliance lost Understone Pass nine years ago. There isn't a commander any more,” said Talan at length. He took the parchment from Ilkar, frowning at the lore script it contained.
“Exactly,” said Ilkar. “So where is the Badge?”
Another silence. Hirad tried hard to suppress a smile but failed. He gave a short laugh and stood up.
“And you buggers are always accusing me of not knowing my history!” he said.
Ilkar frowned at him. “Explain.”
“When the pass was opened, the Badge of Office was given to Baranck, the first Commander, by the Baron Council, which, as I'm sure you're all aware, was the forerunner of the Korina Trade Alliance. That must have been over five hundred years ago—before the Wytch Lords came to power the first time.
“It was a purely ceremonial pendant but the regulation stated that it was not to be removed from the pass unless it was lost. In that event, the Badge was to be taken by the defeated Commander and kept as a standard for the forces who would eventually retake the pass.” He stared around a row of blank faces.
“Must I spell it out?”
“I think so, Hirad, yes,” said Ilkar.
“Gods above, Ilkar, we were talking about him on the road the other day.”
“Were we?”
“Yes. And it looks as if I'll be getting my wish sooner than I thought.” Hirad bared his teeth. “The last commander was Captain Travers.”
The loss of their Destranas would normally have led to harsh discipline, even death, but this time their information bought their lives. A day's ride from their encounter with The Raven near Septern's long barn, the Wesmen scouts stood in the centre of a clearing in dense woodland, speaking to their Shaman, who sat under canvas, drinking a colourless strength-giving spirit.
“It is as the Masters expected,” said the leader of the party. “Easterners are searching the old house.”
The Shaman nodded and placed his cup on the ground. “I must relate the news immediately. Prepare to leave. I think war may be very close.”
There was no argument. It wasn't just that the Black Wings’ castle was the nearest of the three catalyst locations. That wouldn't have figured as an issue. The fact was that Hirad was not interested in going anywhere else until Travers and all the Black Wings were dead. With the day not far past its midpoint, The Raven ate a leisurely meal in the ruins of Septern's house before taking the horses back to the long barn. Hirad eventually agreed that they should not move on any further until the next morning; Ilkar's insistence that they give themselves the maximum daylight to escape the boundaries of the rip's influence was unshakeable. And the barbarian had to concede that a night spent in the total security afforded by Septern's sealed workshop, where no one had to stand guard, no one had to keep a fire tended and no one had to react to every sound, was a very attractive prospect.
The smoke from the camp fire continued to spiral calmly into the sky as the afternoon waned toward dusk. Richmond snapped a branch into three and added it to the small blaze, dry leaves crackling as they caught in the heat. Denser, having lost the toss earlier in the afternoon, was leaning against a wall, reading Septern's journal now that Ilkar had finished with it. His pipe was, as ever, clamped between his teeth, and his head never wavered, rapt in the information he was assimilating.
Faint sounds from the workshop below told that Denser's Familiar was still rooting around in Septern's other equipment and papers. The Dark Mage had cautioned them not to go down there. With Talan outside somewhere trying to make sense of the immediate area to give them some semblance of a route the following morning, Ilkar and Hirad were left to sit together in the wan sunlight.
“This Familiar,” said Hirad. “What is it when it's not a cuddly cat?”
Ilkar looked askance. “I don't think you could ever accuse it of being ‘cuddly,’ Hirad. You're lucky it missed you with those claws back in the village…Look, about that incident—”
“Oh, Gods, here we go.” Hirad placed his goblet on the ground and folded his arms. “All right, let's have it, I shouldn't antagonise him, he's too powerful, right?”
Ilkar eyed Denser. The Dark Mage hadn't raised his head from the book. The elf cut his voice to barely more than a whisper.
“That's pretty much the size of it, yes. Now listen…and don't sigh like that, this is important. Not only is he too powerful, although I concede you won that last round, he's too central to this whole thing for you to pick fights with him.”
“I wasn't picking a fight,” hissed Hirad.
“Will you let me finish?” Ilkar's ears pricked in irritation. “Officially, now that we have all the knowledge—you know, the words and the whereabouts of the catalysts—we could ditch Denser and try this out ourselves. But as I said the other day, he's the only one with the teaching to cast Dawnthief with any chance of success at all. Do you follow me?”
“What do you think?”
It was Ilkar's turn to sigh. He briefly put a hand over his face. “Right. Umm, when you practise alone with a sword, it's with a dummy opponent, yes?”
“A hanging sack or maybe a mirror.” Hirad shrugged.
“But you don't know that the moves you're trying will work until a fight, do you?”
“I can't argue with that.”
“And i
f you didn't practise them at all, you'd have no control over them, would you?”
“What is this, a test?”
“Just answer the question,” said Ilkar. “I'm trying to put it in terms you'll understand.”
“Fair enough.” Hirad shifted, took another gulp of his wine. “No, Ilkar, I'd have no control over them, and what's more, I wouldn't even think of trying them in a fight. Satisfied?”
“Yes, and it's the same with spell casting. Exactly the same.” Ilkar moved so that he was squatting in front of Hirad. “If I try to cast a spell I haven't practised, it stands a good chance of not working, maybe even going wrong, and that can be fatal. Denser has trained all of his life in the casting of Dawnthief, so he knows in theory how to say the words, shape the mana and so forth. There's no guarantee it'll work in a live situation but, like you and your training, he'll be confident of success and he'll find out when push comes to shove. Do you understand now?”
“Yes. So I won't kill him.” Hirad leaned in close to Ilkar. “But I will not have him risking himself that stupidly if he is so bloody crucial to all this. And I will not have him take chances with the memories of my friends!” Hirad's voice was audible all across the ruin. The noise in the workshop stopped, Denser looked up from his reading and Richmond paused in the act of hanging a pot of water over the now resurgent fire.
After a brief stare in which Hirad saw Denser smile thinly in Ilkar's direction, the Xeteskian buried his head once again.
“Anyway, so what about this Familiar, then?”
“Well, it's likely to be some kind of semi-intelligent winged demon, or so I've been taught.” Ilkar gave a slight shrug. “That's the only reason I can think of for Denser being so anxious that we don't see it out of cat form.” Hirad's face was completely blank. The elf closed his eyes. “You may have learnt about Travers, Coldheart, but in all the years I've known you, you've clearly never listened to a word I've said, have you?”
“Well, most of the time you were talking about magic and all that rubbish.” Hirad grinned.
“You seem pretty keen to learn about it now,” returned the mage.
“It's important now.”
“It was important then!” snapped Ilkar.
“Could you two talk about who-knows-what later?” Richmond had joined them. “I'm interested in this thing of Denser's.”
“Right.” Ilkar glanced over at Denser again. The Dark Mage was apparently paying them no attention whatsoever. “Put simply, Denser's Familiar is a conjuration similar in construction to the girl you found through the rip. Where it differs is in what it can do and how it survives. As soon as it's created, a Familiar has to meld its mind with its master.”
“Has to what?” Hirad poured another goblet of wine and offered the skin to Ilkar and Richmond.
“You'd have to ask Denser, though I doubt he'd tell you. A Familiar is a very Xeteskian thing, it comes from their association with the demon dimension. Anyway, the result is that they share part of each other's consciousness. They are a pairing that can only be broken by the death of one or the other.” Ilkar paused to sip his wine. “A Familiar has its own brain and can reason and act on its own initiative, but it will always be at the beck and call of its master and will never go against him. It's the kind of unswerving obedience you don't get anywhere else.”
“So what's the purpose of having one?” asked Richmond.
Ilkar blew out his cheeks. “That rather depends on the individual mage. In Denser's case it clearly acts as a guard, a companion, a scout, a message-bearer and, I should think, a powerful offensive weapon.” He indicated the stairs to the workshop. “Right now, it'll be looking for anything that's of interest, and no doubt it'll tell Denser all about it later.”
“They talk?” Richmond frowned.
“No, as far as I know, they don't talk. But close to, they can communicate. It's a kind of rudimentary telepathy,” said Ilkar. “I mean, they can converse over a reasonable distance but it would be very draining.”
“So what does it actually look like?” Hirad nodded in the direction of the hole in the floor. The noise from below had stopped, at least temporarily.
“I can't say for certain, but they have an aura that can scare people rigid, almost literally. Imagine your own picture of a demon—you know, ugly with wings and a tail—and you probably won't be far wrong.”
“And what happens to it if Denser dies?” Richmond finished his wine and reached for the skin. Hirad prodded it toward him with a toe.
“It would die too. It can't survive without him.”
“Why not?”
“Something to do with how it lives, what it eats and the twinning of their minds, but I'm not clear on the details.”
“And what happens to Denser if the Familiar dies?” asked Hirad.
“Pain,” said Denser. The Dark Mage had put the book down and was standing up. He brushed himself down. “Pain like someone reaching their hands inside your skull and squeezing your brain.” He walked toward them, acting out his words with a clenching of his fists. “Luckily, they are very difficult to kill.” As he spoke, the cat appeared at the top of the stairs.
“I wonder if it knew we were talking about it,” mused Richmond.
“Oh, yes,” confirmed Denser, his face bleak and serious. “It knew very well.” The cat jumped into Denser's robe and snuggled against his chest.
On the fire, the pot of water was steaming away.
“Hot drink, anyone?” Richmond asked.
“Yes, please,” said Ilkar. “Tell me something else, Denser. What did you make of that place?”
“How do you mean?”
“Never mind that they walked, why were they all dead in the first place?”
“I'll tell you why,” said Hirad. “You saw the searchings and burning. The Dragons got there and they came to rule. That's why.”
“Gods alive,” breathed Talan.
“And if you're right,” said Denser, “just think of the consequences if the Dragons got here.”
“I told you,” said Hirad quietly. “And you wouldn't listen.”
“It won't come to that,” said Denser.
“When this is over, that amulet goes back to Sha-Kaan,” said Hirad. “Somehow we'll have to find him.”
“It's too late for that,” said Ilkar. “Because we already have the knowledge. But it is down to us to prove that we can use that knowledge wisely.” He looked hard at Denser. “If we don't, if we abuse what we now know, if it falls into the wrong hands, then we can expect nothing less than the removal of Sha-Kaan's protection.”
“I hope you're listening to this, Xetesk man,” said Hirad.
Denser nodded. “Yes, I am. And I agree with everything he's saying. Now, please could I have a drink? I'm parched.”
Thraun brought them to a halt off the track that led directly to the gates of the castle. They made camp about one hundred yards away, hidden from the track by bushes and trees. Rather than risk an open fire, Will unpacked his smokeless stove and set it going. Although very efficient for heating cooking pans, the wood-burning stove gave next to no light and channelled its heat upward to the hot plate rather than outward at those crowded around it. As a result, they chilled as a cloudless, breezy night fell.
The journey from the river valley had been made largely in a sullen and angry silence. Thraun had had to comfort Alun's tears on more than one occasion, and Will's snarling asides brought with them the threat of violence. Jandyr watched it all from the periphery, wondering how they would pull themselves together closely enough to have any chance of rescuing Erienne and the boys.
With the stove heating a pot of water and one of porridge oats, Thraun spoke.
“We are only an hour's walk from the castle,” he said. “I will tolerate no raising of voices and no disappearing without my knowledge of where you are. Now, after we've eaten, Will and I will circle the castle, try to find a likely entry point and see if we can make any sort of guess as to the numbers we are facing. Meanw
hile, Jandyr, you stay on guard; Alun, try to rest, you look exhausted. Any questions?”
“When will we make the rescue attempt?” asked Alun. He could hardly function any more, his anxiety making him jittery and keeping him from rest.
“Not tonight.” Thraun raised a hand to quell Alun's automatic protest. “We've had a long day's ride, we're all tired, and after we've done the scouting there won't be time to plan and execute tonight. If all goes well, we'll go in tomorrow in the early hours of the morning when the guards will be at their most sluggish. Agreed?” Heads nodded. “Good, now let's eat.”
It wasn't until after lunch the following day that Hirad voiced the fear that had nagged at him since Ilkar had read the parchment. The journey had been uneventful. Talan's wanderings of the previous afternoon had revealed a probable trail, and sure enough, they'd walked their horses into much more usual terrain and conditions well before the sun had reached its high point.
Relaxing slightly now the influence of the rip was behind them, The Raven and Denser had stopped in the lee of a hill they had descended. Richmond lit a small fire and the tendrils of smoke were picked away by a gusting breeze and blown into a sky half covered with slow-moving cloud. When the sun appeared, it was warm too, but a cool mood settled on them all as each had time to reflect on what they had lost and the enormity of what was still to come.
“We need more people,” said Hirad.
There was silence around the crackling fire. They were all looking at him, none willing to speak. Richmond pushed a ripple of thick soup around his plate with some soggy bread. Denser relit his pipe, blowing gouts of smoke from the corner of his mouth. Talan, eyes hooded from the sun, was absently sharpening his sword, the whetstone rasping on the metal while Ilkar chewed his lip thoughtfully before speaking.
“I'm glad to hear that from you. I expect we all are.”
There were nods and grunts of assent.
“So…” Talan led the train of thought.
“Exactly,” said Hirad. “Where do we find people good enough that we can trust? Because of our need for secrecy, we'd have to take great care in town.”
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