Dystran brushed his hand across the cover reverentially and looked up. 'No mistake, Erys,' he breathed. 'If there was one text I needed, this was it. You two have no idea of the rewards Xetesk will heap on you for what you have done. This will bring us what we desire.'
'My Lord, we live to serve,' said Erys, bowing.
Yron looked at the young mage and shook his head.
'And you have the healthy cynicism of experience,' said Dystran, noticing the gesture. 'Captain, all I can offer you now are my thanks, the respect of the Circle Seven and a place to bathe and change. I have had chambers readied for you both just a little way down the hall. I have had clothing laid out for you and while you bathe, Captain, your axe will be polished and placed in a new holster. I trust you like it. And that is only the very beginning.
'But before you go, I would see the statue fragment you have.' Dystran held out his hand.
Yron looked at Erys again. 'Thanks a lot.'
'I'm sorry, Captain, I…' At least he had the good grace to look embarrassed.
'My only memento of this whole mess and my only solid memory of Ben-Foran. You owe me, boy.'
He dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out the thumb, handing it across to Dystran, who clutched it greedily.
'Oh, don't worry, Captain; it will be returned to you. But it needs to be researched and studied.' He looked up and smiled again. 'Rest assured, it remains your property. Now, please, both of you, wash, rest and dress. We are hosting a dinner in your honour in the rooms adjacent to this one. There we can discuss what is to be done to appease the elves while we have to. Thank you, Captain Yron, Erys. You have done Xetesk a service greater than you know.'
But as Yron left the chamber, he wasn't so sure he had. Not so sure at all. It had been a long and, if Yron was absolutely honest with himself, very pleasurable evening when the war outside the gates seemed distant. He'd spent the day relaxing in sumptuous chambers, he'd taken two baths and he'd slept in a bed for the first time in so long he'd forgotten what a luxury a mattress and sheets were.
And dressing in the fine dark silk shirt and stitched leather trousers Dystran's tailors had so expertly made from the template of old clothes taken from his barracks room, he began to feel that perhaps his earlier misgivings were, well, misplaced. His only regret was that Ben was not here to enjoy the fruits of their success.
He'd left the gold- and silver-veined holster, in which his old axe sat like a pig's trotter in a velvet glove, on his bed, feeling the need to be free of the accoutrements of battle for the evening, and had gone to join the dinner. It had been everything Dystran had intimated. He and Erys had been toasted repeatedly, feted by the most powerful men in Xetesk and urged to describe ever more freely their exploits on Calaius.
Yron, cautious and close at first, had found his lips eased by the vintage red wine in his seemingly ever-full goblet and had relaxed into the celebration with growing enthusiasm. For once in his life, he was truly ahead.
As the evening wore on, and feeling more light-headed from the wine than he was used to, Yron had gone to relieve himself and then wandered back along the lantern-lit picture-hung corridor to the huge vaulted dining chamber. Bright light spilled from the open doors and the sound of laughter and the chink of glasses and cutlery echoed out to him in welcome.
He paused just to the side of the doors to let a servant laden with dishes hurry out and became aware of Dystran's voice inside but very close. It never hurt to hear the unguarded thoughts of the mighty so he checked the corridor was empty. Barring the Protectors flanking the doors, it was, so he listened.
'The Aryn Hiil will provide great insight, I am sure,' Dystran was saying.
'My scholars are working on the translation even now,' said Ranyl's cracked voice.
'Well, you must keep me apprised.' The disinterest in his tone was obvious. 'But now we have this outwardly insignificant item, we have a far less troublesome solution to our problem.'
'It is a severe course of action, my Lord.'
'Innocents die in every conflict, Ranyl,' said Dystran. 'But with this small piece of admittedly very well carved marble, we don't have to lose a single man or mage in fulfilling this part of our plan. Julatsa will cease to exist as a magical power. All we have to do is hang on to it and watch the elves die. As many as we want. What a treasure.'
'Assuming we can keep the allied colleges from our gates,' said Ranyl.
'That I entrust to our commanders and they assure me we will prevail.'
Yron's head swayed and he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. His mouth was dry and nausea galloped through his stomach. All the glory was gone, and in its place the betrayal and murder of an entire race. That couldn't be allowed to happen.
Straightening his clothing and forcing a smile back onto his face, Yron walked back into the banqueting chamber and straight over to Dystran.
'Ah, one of our heroes. How does it feel to be going down in history, Captain?' asked Dystran.
'Difficult to put into words, my Lord,' said Yron, wishing to God he had his axe, though murdering Dystran wouldn't right any wrongs. 'I wondered if I might be excused for the night. The wine and my exhaustion have conspired against me.'
'Of course, Captain. You have graced us for longer than we should have allowed. Erys has already retired, feeling a little sick, I think.'
'I know how he feels,' said Yron.
'I trust you have a quiet and restful night,' said Dystran.
'Well done, Captain,' said Ranyl. 'I knew you would repay my faith.'
'I've certainly done that,' said Yron. He bowed stiffly. 'Good night, my Lords.'
He spun on his heel and left the banqueting hall, walking quickly to his chambers. He listened at the doors of Erys's room and could hear nothing, At least the boy was not being sick. Good, because he had a great deal of work to do. He turned and almost walked straight into the Protector standing directly behind him. His heart fell. Dystran must have known he'd been overheard. His hand fell to his waist but his axe was behind a closed door. He waited for the end.
'We will not stand in your way,' said the Protector. 'We understand. '
'Eh?'
'You will do what you must.' And the Protector moved away silently.
Yron put a shaking hand on his door handle and pushed down. He would have to do it tonight or it would be too late. He might never get another chance like this. What was going on? Protectors turning against their masters? It could only be down to one group of people. People who rode with an ex-Protector.
He closed the door behind him, walked over to his wash bowl and made himself sick. It was the early hours of the morning. Darrick was on watch and sat by the cook fire, letting it die slowly. It wasn't a cold night. The Raven were in a sheltered hollow surrounded by undulating plains, the lowering presence of the Blackthorne Mountains on the western horizon. Cloud had come across the sky towards the end of their ride, locking in the warmth of the day.
They were deep in Xeteskian mage lands, to the north-west of the city and within a day's ride of both it and Triverne Lake. Darrick was worried. The plan, though well laid, smacked of desperation. The Raven were famous for pulling off the seemingly impossible but this had to be beyond even them. A raid on the Dark College. It revolved around Denser and Ilkar carrying people over the walls to drop them in the college, snatching Yron from the rooms they knew him to be in and flying out again.
One bonus was that Aeb, being a Protector, was capable of maintaining ShadowWings and could fetch and carry too. But for Darrick there were going to be too many times when The Raven were split and when warriors were marooned inside the college with no magical support nor realistic means of escape.