“I agree.” Talan nodded, though his eyes were distant. “Your only doubt is Will, but I think Thraun can keep him under control. Erienne's grief might make her unpredictable, too. Watch out for that.”
“They've signed the current job contract and they know what they're getting themselves into,” continued Ilkar. “Denser has told them the whole gory story and they didn't find it too hard to accept. It's the choice we were never allowed to make, isn't it? They survive, they're rich; if not, well, the money's not important then, is it?”
Hirad raised his eyebrows. “True enough.” He felt tired. “I think I'd better amble back inside, lie down for a while.”
The Raven trio walked slowly back to the courtyard at the front of the house. At the door, which faced the open gates, Talan stopped them.
“Look,” he said. “There's no easy way to say this, but I can't go any further. I'm leaving The Raven.”
Ilkar and Hirad weighed his words in silence. He carried on.
“We were very close, me, Ras and Richmond. Joining and fighting for The Raven was the pinnacle for us. But two corners of the triangle are gone now and next time, it'll be me. It hit me when I found Richmond…he died alone.” He sighed and scratched his head. “I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this very well. I don't know…inside me the desire isn't there suddenly. The fire has gone out. Richmond's was a Vigil too far and I'm not prepared to bury another member of The Raven.”
Hirad said nothing, only nodded. Ilkar's face clouded, his eyes narrowing as his frown deepened.
“Do you understand?” Talan asked. “Say something, one of you.”
“Yes, I do,” said Hirad. “When I was alone with Sirendor, just looking at his dead face, I was ready to break my blade. I chose not to and I'm only sorry you can't do the same.” Hirad lowered himself to the steps, Ilkar reflexively offering a helping hand.
“Is that all you're going to say?” demanded the Julatsan.
Hirad shrugged. “What else is there? If his heart isn't with us then he's a liability and we're better off without him. He knows it, I know it and so do you, Ilkar.”
“Under normal circumstances, yes, but in case it's slipped your attention, we are not involved in just any old job. And I have to say that he will be much more of a liability away from us than with us.”
“I hardly think so—” began Talan.
“They know you!” snapped Ilkar. “They know what you look like, where you come from and they'll be after what you know. Gods, Talan, you have information any Wytch Lord servant would die for. Not only do you know what the Dawnthief catalysts are, you know where to find them. And if you walk away now, we'll never know if you're safe or whether you are telling them everything.”
“I would die first, you know that.”
“Yes, but you can only do it if you have the choice.” Ilkar paused, saw the anger in Talan's face. “Look, I am not questioning your loyalty or your faith. I'm just saying that choosing to die may not be possible. You're not a mage. You can't just stop your own heart.”
Talan nodded slowly. “Nevertheless. How will they find me if they don't know I've even left you? If they don't know where I've gone?”
Ilkar gave a short laugh. “There's only one safe place for you, Talan, and that's the Mount of Xetesk; and somehow I don't think they'd welcome you with open arms.” Ilkar sighed. “You must change your mind. Or at least think it through.”
“What do you think I've been doing these last few days, working on my life story?”
“You are walking out on the fight for Balaia.”
Talan leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Ilkar. “Let me tell you something, Ilkar. I don't need you to tell me what I'm doing. I know, and I feel bad enough without you pushing my face in it.” Talan threw his arms in the air. “I want your understanding, not your consent. I'm leaving. It's over.” He stalked off toward the gate.
“We can't let him go,” said Ilkar.
“Neither can we stop him,” said Hirad.
“Denser won't like this.”
“Well, Denser knows what he can do with it. This is Raven business.”
“Hirad, I really think…”
“It's Raven business.”
“Oh, I give up!” Ilkar turned a small circle in frustration. “Haven't either of you grasped what's going on here? This is bigger than The Raven. It's bigger than everything. We can't afford to fail this job and we need all the help we can get.”
“Nothing is bigger than The Raven,” said Hirad evenly. “The Raven is the only reason we got this far in the first place and The Raven is the only reason we'll win. And that's because we always do.”
Ilkar stared at Hirad, his hard, open-mouthed expression slowly softening.
“There just is no answer to that, is there?”
“No.”
“Blind faith is a wonderful thing.”
“It's not blind faith, my dear elf, it's fact. You name me a job we've failed.”
“You know I can't.”
Hirad shrugged.
“Ilkar?” Talan called.
“What do you want?”
“Your eyes. Over here.”
Something in Talan's tone stayed Ilkar's next remark and instead he hurried over. Hirad levered himself painfully to his feet, hugged the wall for support until the nausea passed, then walked after him.
“What is it?” said Ilkar at Talan's shoulder.
Talan pointed. “Straight ahead. I thought I saw movement.”
Ilkar nodded. “Yes. A rider. Coming this way and at a tan gallop by the looks. He's a big bastard too.”
“Jandyr! Thraun! Front gate!” shouted Talan. “If there's trouble, Hirad,” he continued, hearing the barbarian shuffle up behind him, “you keep out of it.”
“Sod off.”
“Thought you might say that.”
“Why did you say it then?”
“Old times’ sake?” He caught Hirad's eye and the two men smiled.
“Come back any time,” said Hirad.
“You never know.” Talan fixed his gaze out of the front gate once again.
By the time Jandyr and Thraun had joined them, they could hear the hoofbeats and see the rider in the distance.
Dark cloak billowing behind him, he came on astride a huge grey. As he neared, they drew their blades, Ilkar readying to cast. But perhaps thirty yards away he reined in and trotted to the gates, one hand out in a gesture of peaceful intent. He was wearing a full face mask but no helmet.
“That's far enough,” growled Talan. “What's your business?”
“You can put up your swords,” said Denser, walking to the cluster around the gate. “He's on our side.”
“Oh, yeah? And who is he?” asked Hirad. Ilkar already knew the answer.
“His name is Sol. He's a Protector. And let's face it,” Denser stood squarely in front of Talan, “as I overheard someone say just now, we need all the help we can get.”
“You don't think you might have at least mentioned you'd requested a Protector?” asked Ilkar. He had kept his silence on the subject throughout a rather tense afternoon, preferring to let Hirad believe it was part of a plan agreed while the barbarian was still comatose. But now Hirad was asleep, resting under Erienne's final WarmHeal, and the sun had disappeared behind night.
Ilkar and Denser were sitting alone on the front steps of the castle, taking in the warm late evening air. The Xeteskian's pipe was, as ever, between his teeth. The cat was nowhere to be seen.
“Would it have made any difference?”
“Courtesy is such a simple thing to observe,” said Ilkar testily.
“Then I apologise. But I did not request the Protector. Xetesk believes he is necessary to my security.”
“I bet.”
“Why must you always take the negative view?” Denser refilled the bowl of his pipe and tamped down the tobacco. “This has nothing to do with the ultimate return of Dawnthief to Xetesk.” He lit the pipe, blew a smoke ring. “It would be easier
for us all if it was.”
“And how do you come by that conclusion?”
“Well, things are getting more complex out in the big wide world we seem to have left behind.”
“Complex.” Ilkar was immediately worried. Denser had a habit for understatement. “Things” were possibly very bad.
“There's something you have to know. I've had a report on the Triverne Lake meeting. There is a four-College agreement which deals with the raising of an army to defend Understone Pass and Triverne Inlet. Apparently, they are trusting Blackthorne and Gresse with the defence of the Bay of Gyernath.
“Unfortunately, the rest of the KTA have chosen to ignore the warnings and it's leaving the country largely undefended should the Wesmen break through our lines.”
“Sounds about right. And how did they react to the news that we were after Dawnthief?” asked Ilkar, imagining the sparks flying.
Denser said nothing.
“Well?”
His smile faltered. “There was no news. We didn't tell them.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The other Colleges have no idea that we are looking for Dawnthief,” Denser looked away.
Ilkar's ears pricked and his eyes narrowed to slits, blood boiling in his head. He stood up, unable to sit beside the Xeteskian.
“How stupid of me to think that Xetesk might consider a Wytch Lord-backed Wesmen invasion more important than their own advancement.” Ilkar breathed deeply. “You know, I was beginning to believe that Xetesk had really turned the corner. And now it seems that their prime objective isn't to see our country out of this crisis, it's to be sure they are dominant should we win.”
“But it isn't the way I think,” said Denser.
“No?”
“No!” Denser's face coloured. “Why do you think I told you in the first place?”
“Because it would have been pretty bloody obvious when we got to Dordover and didn't find them standing at the gates with the ring gift wrapped for us, that's why!”
“I understand you must be angry,” said Denser.
“I don't think you understand anything at all!” stormed Ilkar. “Your College is expecting us to go on fighting and dying and not for the greater good of Balaia. I will not be a pawn of Xetesk and neither will The Raven.”
“So what do you want to do?” asked Denser into the vacuum.
“Well, that's the worst of it, isn't it?” said Ilkar. “I don't have much choice but to continue, because I believe Balaia is under threat. But let me tell you this. Now Erienne and I are both with you, Dawnthief belongs to the Colleges, not just Xetesk.”
“You're going to find this hard to believe, but I agree with you, and I do feel for your position,” said Denser. “But I also agree with the position of Xetesk and you're wrong if you think that Xetesk wants dominion. But if we had announced the search for Dawnthief at Triverne Lake, the interference would, we believe, have jeopardised the entire job, and with it Balaia.”
“Convenient,” muttered Ilkar. “If you really believe that, then you've swallowed too much of your own doctrine. Whatever, we now have to go into Dordover under cover because your Masters have not learnt the power of cooperation. None of us had better get hurt.”
Sol walked in through the front gate and disappeared around the side of the house. Ilkar felt somehow that he was under close scrutiny. He shivered inwardly. Something about the Protector made him uneasy. At least this time he could put a finger on it almost straight away. The mask. It was simple, plain and black—carved, Denser said, from ebony. It was moulded to his face but would not, the Xeteskian assured, be a good likeness.
To Ilkar it looked like no one living, and that was certainly apt. He shivered again, as the reason for the mask rose unbidden in his mind. Protectors were effectively living dead, men promised to the Mount of Xetesk from birth and called should they die. So long as the soul could be taken, the body could be re-created. It was a hideous hangover from centuries of Xeteskian misuse of the living and the dead. It should have been banned but the Dark College refused to give up one of its most powerful callings.
And what the reanimated body and soul went through, Ilkar could only guess at. None would ever tell, as they were bound to silence except in the course of duty. To break the binds was, said Xeteskian lore, “to bring down an eternity of torment in the Mount such that Hell itself would seem release, peace and tranquillity for the soul in thrall.” That same lore stated of Protectors that “never again shall light or the eyes of the living gaze upon their faces. Neither shall they speak unless the life of their Given should suffer risk if they did not do so.”
Singularly, Protectors were utterly loyal bodyguards, knowing dissension would bring down torment, but the real reason for their creation was that an army of Protectors would move and fight with a power and synchronicity that would be practically unstoppable by all but magic. And even that wasn't certain. Protectors were gifted an innate magical defence when they were created. They were truly terrifying adversaries.
Sol would be Denser's mute shadow everywhere the mage went, and the shadow he cast would be large indeed. He was a huge man. Bigger than Thraun, perhaps even bigger than The Unknown. Crossed on his back were a double-handed and bladed axe and two-handed sword. Ilkar fancied that he could wield one in either hand and made a mental note to be out of the way when he did. He dragged his thoughts back to Denser.
“Sorry, I was distracted. That makes his appearance rather easier to understand, doesn't it? You were going to say something.”
Denser relit his pipe, flame as always from the tip of his right thumb. “I noticed. He will not harm you. He has been closely informed of the who and the what of our situation.”
“Who by? I haven't seen you say more than a dozen words to him since he arrived.”
“He has been walking with my Familiar.”
“Enough said. Go on.”
Denser shifted his position slightly and brushed some grit from beneath him.
“Well, our decision not to talk about Dawnthief at this stage, and we will announce it when the time is right, has given us another problem.”
“Why are The Raven working for Xetesk?” Ilkar framed the question.
“Exactly. And this gives us a big problem where we're going next.”
“Dordover.”
Ilkar pursed his lips.
“If you, Hirad or I are seen in the City it will trigger untold problems with the Dordovan College. We can't afford a split because if we don't stand together, the Wytch Lords will trample us underfoot.”
“We're going to have to be incredibly lucky in there not to be spotted.” Ilkar shook his head, wondering how the Colleges would ever stop bickering long enough to stand together. He tried to believe Denser a liar but somehow, given that he was as much at risk as The Raven, he couldn't. The actions of Xetesk, though, were despicable.
“We aren't going in at all. Will, Thraun and Jandyr will have to do this alone.”
“And Erienne?” Ilkar was uncomfortable with trusting the theft of the Lore Master's ring to untried and unknown people. Yet he knew Denser's solution made sense.
“We can certainly trust her not to betray us.” Denser's eye had a twinkle. “But that's not the problem. She's not exactly Dordover's favourite daughter and if we have to send her in, well…”
“I don't like the feel of this at all,” said Ilkar. “I need to think. I'm going to check on Hirad.”
Selyn awoke with a start, the sound of running feet jerking her to instant wakefulness. It was late afternoon and she would have normally remained asleep for another two or three hours before casting her ShadowWings for the journey to Parve. She lay concealed in a dense area of shrub midway up a crag that overlooked the road from the Torn Wastes to Terenetsa. She was still four days from Parve.
Moving carefully to avoid rustling the foliage all over her, she edged her head above a rock formation and looked down on the road. Wesmen were jogging past, thousands of them, punctuat
ed by Shamen on horseback. She watched for five minutes, trying to gauge the strength of the unbroken line of armed and fur-clad men running toward Understone Pass.
By the time the last riders were through, she estimated she'd watched the passage of around seven thousand. And at that speed, they would reach the pass in approximately six days.
“Gods, it's happening,” she breathed. She wasn't due to make another communion until reaching Parve but she couldn't let that many men surprise the Understone Pass defence. And assuming more were taking the southern trails from the Heartlands, they meant to throw a massive force at eastern Balaia. Shaking her head, she lay down and probed the mana for Styliann.
The morning began calm. Dawn broke to the sound of people checking horses, stowing equipment and preparing food. The weather was fine and cool, ideal conditions for riding. Nonetheless, there was a storm about to break.
With horses saddled and castle rigged, most of The Raven, old and new, had gathered in the courtyard. Talan was astride his horse.
“Second thoughts?” probed Hirad. He was feeling good, strong. A few practice moves with Talan had revealed a dull ache and nothing more. Erienne said the ache would be with him forever.
“With every breath I take,” said Talan.
“And?”
“I'm still right to go.” He shrugged.
“Where?”
“Never you mind, barbarian. Least said, least knows, never does find.”
“What?”
“My mother used to say it. God knows why, but it sounds right.”
Hirad raised his eyebrows and offered Talan a hand which the other shook. “You'll always be Raven,” he said. “Don't forget.”
“Thank you. Gods, Hirad, I—”
“It's done, Talan. We wish each other life and luck. It's all we can do now.” He smiled. “See you in Korina when it's all over.”
“Depend on it.” Talan turned his horse and trotted toward the gates. As he neared the walls, Sol stepped squarely into his path.
“I think you'd better stop, Talan,” said Denser, emerging from the house, cat in his arms.
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