He saw them cower and it gave him no pleasure. He struggled to understand what they had been prepared to do. These were ordinary Balaians. His people. The people he had been fighting for ever since the discovery of Dawn thief more than six years ago.
Hirad pointed at one, a broad-shouldered man with a thick thatch of unruly brown hair and a long nose.
'I drank with you last night. We bought each other ale. Exchanged names. And you.' He jabbed the freckled youth's chest, forcing him to back up a pace. 'You pestered me all night for stories.'
He shook his head sadly.
'And I told you everything you wanted to hear and every bit of it was true. And did you count the number of times The Raven stood against the enemy and saved your lives? We'd never met you and still we wanted you to live.
'That's honour. That's wanting what's best for the people of your country. We spent six years fighting battles we didn't start to give you the chance to grow your crops and tend your cattle.
'Yet you meet us for one night and decide to help another man betray us.'
His voice, carrying strongly, rose to a shout as his control finally broke.
'My friends died for you!' he stormed. 'Saving you so you could turn round and sell us for a few pieces of fucking coin.'
Hirad bit back bitter tears.
'If you ever had an elven friend and he's alive today, that's down to The Raven. You are not a pile of dragon-fired ash because of The Raven. Because the Wytch Lords don't own your souls, you should be thanking The Raven. And my friends died in that time. Ilkar the
last of them. A sacrifice to stop those who would dictate how you thought about magic.
'You are free because of us. Yet you would sell us. For how much, eh? What's in those purses of yours? What are The Raven worth?'
They fidgeted, looked to one another. Like last night, the village had assembled to see the spectacle. Hirad held out his hand.
'Show me. Now.'
The youth fished in his pocket and dropped a small purse in Hirad's palm. The barbarian eyed him meaningfully and poured the contents into his other hand. A few gold coins. Little real value in today's market where produce was king. He emptied them onto the ground.
'I could multiply that by five and still it would come to bugger all, wouldn't it? That's the price you put on everything The Raven have done for you is it? The price you put on Ilkar's death?'
The youth didn't see the left hook that laid him flat. Hirad rounded on the four still standing.
'Purses. Now. On the ground.'
They hesitated.
'You were paid a reward. But unless you are planning on arresting me yourselves, I suggest you hand it over. You have not completed your contract.'
A second hesitation was ended by a significant growl from Thraun who had padded up silently behind them. With great reluctance, hands reached into pockets. Four purses clinked to the ground. Hirad kicked them away and turned at last to face the villagers. To the left, Ferran's barn, wrapped in flame, began to collapse. Smoke boiled into the air.
'We didn't ever demand much. Payment for our services. Sometimes not even that. Mostly we just wanted a country where we could all live in peace.
'What you do with these behind me is up to you but personally I wouldn't be happy if they were part of my village. They are barely part of the human race. The money we'll take, barring what Ferran will need to rebuild his barn.'
He turned to walk back to The Raven but a final thought struck him.
'You know the thing that really makes me sick to my stomach? It's
the fact that next time Balaia is threatened, the same people who betray us today will call for us to help them. Well, we won't be hearing you. Perhaps you'll think on why that is before the enemy kills your children in front of you. Find yourselves some new heroes. Because we're leaving and we won't be coming back. 'The Raven will not ride again.'
Dawn's light had brought little real respite in Lystern. The demons had flooded through the city and into the college two hours before. Heryst had lost a third of his mage strength then and there, their life energy and souls feeding their attackers; their deaths mere prelude to lingering purgatory if the myths were true.
Heryst and the council had reacted smartly and enough mages were holed up in the great council chamber to keep a ColdRoom casting going almost indefinitely. The spell, which banished mana from within it, was their only effective defence against the mana-based demons which quickly suffocated without it. Any that tried to attack within the ColdRoom were easily dispatched because swords were also affected by the spell and carried no mana in their steel.
Heryst, Lystern's Lord Elder Mage, prayed for the souls of any not within similar sanctuary. He could not Commune from within the ColdRoom. Mana would not coalesce. Indeed the only strands of mana were those that led from the five casting mages that fed the spell construct.
Latterly, the demons had seemed content to walk or float just outside the transparent spell. It was enough to keep the one hundred and sixty-three mages, soldiers and assorted college staff on edge. Heryst knew he couldn't let the situation stagnate. He could feel the anxiety in the chamber and sense all of them begin to add up the practical problems they faced.
He squeezed the arm of his most trusted aide and friend. A man who he was so pleased to have with him now.
'Kayvel, it's time to get organised. Check on the casting team will you?'
Kayvel smiled through his own fear and climbed onto the council table. The casting team, surrounded by swordsmen, were in its centre, as far from accident as was possible. Heryst watched Kayvel
walk rather awkwardly across the intricately designed wood and kneel by the team to exchange soft words.
'People,' said Heryst, clapping his hands and stilling the quiet hum of conversation. 'Let's gather ourselves. Over here, please. We've got work to do.'
He could see it so clearly in all their faces. From the most senior mage to the youngest serving girl or kitchen lad. Incomprehension edged by terror. Loss. The war had been hard enough though it had never touched them. But this. Most of these people had gone from knowing about demons only from text and story, to the staggering certainty that nothing would be the same again. And that everything they had known and taken for granted was gone. Heryst had worse news for them.
He waited while they assembled. Every eye was on him, needing him to help them find a way back. If they could only but sample the desperation he felt. Too much knowledge could sometimes be considered dangerous. But he felt that he had to tell them what they were up against. But first, a little balm.
'We are safe here,' he said. T know you don't all understand what we have created but, as you have seen, it keeps the demons at bay and those who try to breach it are easy targets. Remember that because it is as good as our position gets.'
A murmur went round the crowd in front of him.
'There are things you have to know. And because I need you all if we are to survive, I will not hide anything from you. Outside this spell, we cannot fight them for any length of time. Though they are vulnerable to spells, they will barely be harmed by swords because of the mana in the air and over everything.'
A hand went up. It was a young girl that Heryst recognised. She was attached to the staff of the tower kitchens. In her early twenties, dark-haired and slim-built.
'Please my Lord, I don't understand. What are these things?'
Heryst smiled. 'I'm sorry, yes, let's start at the beginning. I'll be brief though so anything you don't quite get, ask a mage later. Mages, you will answer all these questions. This is no time to feel you are somehow above helping ordinary Lysternans.
'These demons are from a dimension other than our own. We have had contact with them for many hundreds of years. Enough to