“I'd go so far as to say we can't risk going into anywhere bigger than a village this side of the mountains and the College Cities,” said Denser. “Too many tongues and too much greed.”
“That's all very well, but if we don't take the risk, we'll get nowhere.” Talan had pocketed his whetstone and was examining the edge he'd honed. He glanced up at Denser. “You don't get groups of likely people loitering in the countryside waiting for the would-be saviours of Balaia to ride by.”
Ilkar laughed. “It's an interesting image though, isn't it?”
“Ridiculous,” said Hirad. “That anyone could ever see you as a saviour of Balaia, I mean.” Ilkar held up a middle finger. Hirad's face became serious once more. “So what's the answer? We just aren't enough like this. Even with Sirendor and The Unknown, we'd have been pushing it.”
“I guess the first question is, do we try to recruit now or after the Black Wings’ castle?” asked Talan.
“After,” said Hirad immediately. “No one interferes with those bastards’ deaths.”
Ilkar stared at him, tight-lipped. “And there was me thinking you were about to be reasonable. Now you're asking us to storm a castle, just the five of us.”
“I'll do it alone if I have to,” said Hirad evenly.
“As it happens, it makes sense to do the castle first,” commented Richmond. He clacked his teeth. There was quiet for a moment.
“This must be some strange kind of sense I haven't encountered before.” Ilkar sniffed.
“No, I really think we can do it as we are,” said Richmond. “As I understand it, although Travers himself rarely leaves the castle, most of the Black Wings are out doing their questionable deeds. There'll be twenty at most, I should think. Just enough to keep the castle running. Don't forget, they never have been a particularly numerous group. Just zealous.”
“And if you're wrong?”
“If he's wrong, Ilkar, we'll all die in one big bloodbath.”
Denser sighed. “You know, Hirad, that really isn't the attitude we need to adopt if we're going to succeed.”
“Well, bugger me blind, is that right?” Hirad swung on the Dark Mage. “I'd forgotten that correct procedure was to go rip-hopping while carrying the Dawnthief parchment.”
“All right, Hirad.” Ilkar raised his hands. “But it doesn't change the fact that we'll be taking one hell of a risk going in there as we are.”
“God's sake,” muttered Hirad, getting to his feet. “You're at it as well. Just when was it we all got careful? I must've blinked and missed it ’cos when he—” he jerked his thumb at Denser—“jumped into the Dragon's bloody lair we weren't doing it, and we're not about to start now!” He turned and walked away to where the horses were quietly grazing, unconcerned by the troubles of men.
Denser made to rise but was restrained by Talan's hand on his ankle.
“Let it be,” said the warrior.
“He's right, Denser, you won't change his mind now.” Ilkar dipped his mug into the pot of coffee over the fire.
“So that's it, is it? We just go to the castle shorthanded and take our chances because he's got some petty revenge to carry out?” Denser felt the surge of resentment as he spoke. His heart skipped a beat then began to race, his cat squirming uneasily in his cloak. When he looked round, Richmond, Talan and Ilkar were staring at him, expressions telling him he'd stepped badly astray. At least in that moment he had an inkling of what being a member of The Raven meant to these people. Ilkar's words reinforced his growing realisation.
“That is why you are an outsider,” said the elf carefully. “You have to understand the bonds that hold The Raven together. Even in death they are unbreakable. It is the strength of Hirad's feelings, those that drive him to need Travers’ blood, that is the reason we can trust him utterly.” He paused to eat some bread. Denser watched him, seeing the thoughts chase themselves across his face as he marshalled his next words.
“We're all alike,” he said at length, indicating himself and the two warriors. “We're just not quite so outspoken about it. Never speak of petty revenge where The Raven is concerned and particularly where Sirendor Larn is concerned. You seem to forget that he died in your place, and when that happened, Hirad lost his closest friend. You're fortunate he didn't hear you.”
“I'm sorry,” said Denser. Ilkar nodded.
“While we're doing this,” said Richmond, his tone gruff but not unfriendly, “perhaps we should clear up a couple of other things. Firstly, if anyone has the final say now The Unknown's gone, it's Hirad. It certainly isn't you, Denser. Second, while we all understand what we are doing, or trying to do, we are The Raven first and your hired hands second. So, if Hirad wants to take the castle first, that is what we will do.”
Denser gaped inwardly, confused by a conflict he couldn't untangle and was sure shouldn't have arisen. The destruction of the Wytch Lords had to be their only goal but they couldn't see it. Wrapped up in The Raven and its struggles, he was sure that they had no real conception of the disaster that would be visited on Balaia if they failed and the Wytch Lords won the ultimate battle. Xetesk would be gone, all realistic hope would go with them and The Raven would be blown away like so much chaff in the wind.
He drew in breath to speak but there was no point. Anyway, Talan got there first.
“We all want to succeed. But you have to keep in mind that until you joined us, only three people had died fighting for The Raven in more than ten years.” Talan glanced across at Richmond whose head was hung, eyes closed. “We trust to our ways and our instincts because they are nearly always right. You know we wouldn't have taken this job if you'd been honest with us, but you involved us and two of us are dead in a week.
“See it from our perspective and don't try to comment on what you don't understand. We're alive because we're good and if you keep your nose out, we'll probably stay that way.”
“I'm sure we can agree a compromise,” said Denser evenly, beginning to see what he had taken on.
Talan's face softened and he smiled, rose and clapped the Dark Mage on the shoulder.
“That was quite a lecture, wasn't it? Maybe you could similarly enlighten us some time soon, eh?” He pulled down his jerkin where it had tucked up under his belt. “Right now, I think we should be on our way. Hirad?” He walked off toward the barbarian. “Hirad! Horses, please, we're leaving!”
Erienne felt awakened from a long nightmare. They were scared and a little dirty but her boys were fed and warm and had befriended one of their guards, a point she didn't fail to note. The relief she felt as she held them close and the love that flowed between all three of them reenergised her aching body. This time they had not regarded her with any doubt in their eyes. The guard had given them an explanation of why she couldn't see them that they had believed, and for that she was grateful.
The Captain had allowed her a full hour with them before coming in person to respectfully ask her to join him for some dinner, and so they had returned to the chairs by the fire in the library. This time, she allowed herself a glass of wine.
Now, as she regarded the slight smile that touched his otherwise serious face, she realised what it was she was about to do. She only hoped the Gods, or more accurately the Dordovan Masters, would forgive her for it. She didn't hold out much hope.
“Am I not a man of my word?” The Captain spread his hands wide.
“Don't expect me to rush into your arms just because you've let me see my own children.”
“Come now, Erienne, don't spoil the moment.”
“I am very happy they are alive and well and very unhappy that we are held here against our will. There is no moment to spoil,” she said coldly. “Now tell me exactly how it is you want me to betray my own morals.”
“I don't want you to feel like that,” said the Captain. “What I am doing is—”
“Save it for people who swallow your stories. Just tell me what you want, then let me get back to my children.”
The Captain looked at
her, sucking in his cheeks. He nodded.
“Very well. It's quite simple. I need you to confirm the authenticity or otherwise of artefacts and information that might come into my possession concerning Dawnthief. If I am to control this spell for the protection of Balaia, I must be on solid ground.”
“You have no idea what you are dealing with,” said Erienne. “This is a power far, far beyond your comprehension and if you are unfortunate enough to be successful, even in gaining key information, you and your monkeys will all be killed by those willing to do anything to get it.”
“Erienne, I am well aware of the dangers, but it is up to me to face them. Somebody has to.”
“Yes!” she said, leaning forward, threatening to spill her wine. “The four Colleges must guard this discovery, if such it is, collectively. It is the only way to ensure it is never used.”
The Captain laughed. “I cannot believe you want me to leave this spell with the very people who are capable of using it. If I hold it, we are all safe.”
“If each of three Colleges holds a catalyst, it is safer still.”
“And you expect me to believe your curiosity won't lead you to experiment?” He was dismissive. “I know mages. I know how they think, as do you. Only a non-mage can be charged with guarding Dawnthief. And that person will be me, with or without your help. Do you agree to do as I ask?”
She nodded, the fight leaving her. At least here she might exert some influence. She dropped her head. Control had nothing to do with it. She was helping him for one reason and one reason alone. And no magical moral was as important as the lives of her children.
The travelling was easy. Steering clear of the few hamlets spread thinly across the gently undulating forested and grassed terrain, The Raven stayed mainly under the cover of the often dense woodland, taking animal or seldom-used hunter and trade trails. Elsewhere, riding at the edge of the trees, Talan's eye for the sun's position and Richmond's ground knowledge kept them moving in the right direction.
Hirad found his mind wandering ever more away from the events through the rip as they rode and he was able to dispel the memories with a lungful of pure Balaian air. He had never before appreciated its beauty. Not until he had tasted that of another world. Conversation rolled easily around The Raven as the mood lightened under a warm sky, light wind and rich forest vegetation, and talk around the camp fire led to exaggerated tales of fight and victory. Only the great absence of The Unknown brought a cooling of the spirit. As yet, stories of the big man brought only sadness and loss and were followed by long silences.
It was at worst a three-day ride to the Black Wings’ castle through the rolling hills and woodlands of Baron Pontois’ lands. They were lands well known to The Raven, and as they travelled further northeast, where the hills gave way to cliffs and rock-strewn barren peaks, and the verdant growth of trees and grass to tough shrub, bracken and moss, they'd know when they were nearing their destination.
On the afternoon of the third day, a change in the weather brought The Raven to a stop beneath a deep overhang on the right-hand side of a valley they had been climbing south to north.
In something less than an hour, the sun was eclipsed by dense thunderclouds blowing down the valley at them, whipped up by a wind made harsh and cold by the seas far to the north. The temperature plummeted and cloaks were thrown around shoulders, and then, as the deluge struck and the cloud obscured the apex of the valley, The Raven cantered to the shelter of the rock.
Dismounting, they moved as far back as they could, leaving the horses to gaze mournfully out on the dreary scene.
“Travers has sent us his welcome, then,” remarked Talan.
“Yes, I feel sure Hirad will find it in his heart to blame him for this as well,” said Ilkar.
“Too right I will.”
The rain fell yet harder, bouncing off exposed rock, gouging at close-packed earth and battering down vegetation which sprang back in mute defiance.
Talan poked his head out of the overhang and looked northward.
“It's well set—it's got that feel to it,” he said, coming back inside and wiping a film of water from his hair.
He was right, thought Hirad. It was indefinable, but something about the smell of the air, the pace and weight of the rain and the feel of the wind told of a long soaking. Hours, probably.
“Well, we can't just stand here and watch it,” said Denser.
“Quite right,” agreed Richmond, shrugging off his backpack. “We'll get cold. I'll get a fire going.” He pulled a tinder box from an outside pocket of his pack and unhitched a large roll of waxed leather from behind his saddle. He unravelled it and took wood from its centre.
“Tip for you, Denser,” he said. “When the clouds come down, pick up dry sticks.” He waved the Dark Mage away from a space in the centre of the overhang amd started building the fire.
“So we're just going to sit it out, is that it?” asked Denser.
“That's about the size of it, yes,” replied Richmond.
“But the castle…”
Richmond shrugged. Finishing the pyramidal stick structure, he pushed some tinder into a hole at its base. “We're about half a day's ride away at a guess. Talan?” Talan nodded. Richmond continued. “Yeah. So assuming the rain eases off toward dusk, we can rest up here, ride the rest of the way this evening and attack at night, which was, I presume, the original plan.” No one said otherwise.
Denser narrowed his eyes but made no further comment. Instead, he untied his bedroll, took the saddle from his horse and dumped both against the rock face at the southern end of the overhang.
“It'll be cramped,” he said.
“I wasn't suggesting we all laid down to sleep.” Richmond struck sparks with his flint and steel, blowing gently as a thin column of smoke rose from the tinder. “Hey, Hirad. Make yourself useful and go and get some stream water and more wood we can dry out. Just in case.”
“Yes, Mother,” said the barbarian. “Mind if I take this?” He pointed at Richmond's waxed leather. The warrior shook his head.
Hirad picked two waterskins from the nearest horse and put the leather over his head and shoulders, gathering it under his chin with one hand. He turned to Ilkar, who burst out laughing. Taking his lead, the others joined in.
“If I gave you a walking stick, you'd look just like my grandmother,” said the elf eventually, wiping his eyes.
“She must be spectacularly ugly, then,” said Talan.
Hirad tried to think of a witty reply, then a suitably obscene one, and failed. Instead he shrugged, smiled and left the shelter of the overhang.
He headed upstream for no other reason than to check out the route immediately ahead of them, though it fast became obvious that he'd gain little useful information from his walk.
Though the rain was easing a little, it was replaced by a cloying mist—the clouds sweeping off the hilltops to further obscure the valley and his visibility with every step. Still, at least the trail itself was solid, containing enough stone and gravel to limit the rain-driven erosion.
He trawled either side of him for likely looking sticks, eventually finding a coarse, thick bush whose central branches were ideal. A few quick slashes and some shaving with a dagger and he had all the firewood he was prepared to carry.
Ambling back in the direction of the overhang, he diverted to his right to fill the skins from the stream, which was already running quickly as the rainwater poured off the hills to swell the flow. Squatting on a flat rock, he held the neck of the first skin under the water, listening to the complementary sounds of the water clattering by in the stream and the rain pattering off Richmond's leather.
But that was all he could hear, and when he turned to switch skins, the hilt of a sword thudded into his skull just below his left ear.
He sprawled over the rock, trying to gather his senses as the mist, the river, the rain and the roaring in his head took him toward unconsciousness. A shape loomed above him. A man in full helmet and chainmail.
He leant in close.
“Go home, Coldheart, The Raven is finished. Go home.”
The pommel of the man's sword swung again. Sparks flew across Hirad's eyes then everything went quiet.
There was a look of thunder in Alun's eyes. And betrayal.
“You told me we were going in tonight.”
“The situation has changed,” said Thraun. “Something's going on in the castle. You saw the riders who came past here earlier. There's too much activity. We have to wait.”
Will had returned to the castle, tracking after the riders, and had returned in the late afternoon, reporting an air of excitement around the castle. Someone had been taken there, presumably as a prisoner and presumably important. Thraun had decided to hold a watching brief for the night and make a decision the following morning. Alun, as he anticipated, had other ideas.
“Every second we wait brings my family closer to death, and yet we're going to sit around the stove and sing a few songs, is that it?”
Thraun massaged his nose with thumb and forefinger.
“This isn't a deliberate ploy to delay us,” he said, keeping his temper in check, his voice a low growl. “I too am anxious to see your family safe but we cannot risk all our lives, because that will help no one.”
“We have to do something!” Alun's voice was desperate.
Will huffed, Thraun waved him silent.
“We are.” He gestured around him. “We are out here, waiting for the right time to make our move. You must understand that that time isn't now. We have to keep watching and let the situation settle. I know it's hard but please try to be calm.”
Alun threw off the hand that Thraun placed on his shoulder but he nodded all the same, getting up and moving further away from the path.
“He'll be all right,” said Thraun to Will's scowl. “Just leave him be.”
“He'll be the death of us,” warned the little man. There was a low whistle from the direction of the path and Jandyr trotted into the campsite.
“Someone's coming,” he said.
Thraun got to his feet. “I've had enough of this. It's like a busy day in Dordover market. What do you say we stop them?”
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