'But aren't you being overdramatic?' he asked. 'What do you mean, "night"?'
'No, Hirad, I'm not. Unless you count Thornewood as over-dramatic. And that, as we know, is far from being a one-off storm. Look, when a mage tries to learn to accept the flow of mana, there is a period, usually short, of darkness for the mage. Where the senses are uncontrolled, and the mind turns inwards while the mana batters inside the head. It's like being in a gale in the pitch black and that's why it's come to be called "Night". Mages training in the Colleges have the ManaBowl around them to direct and control the otherwise overpowering flow of mana. Lyanna only has the Al-Drechar and they clearly aren't up to shielding her from her Awakening or her from us. Her Night could last a long time. And again, that's just what I believe but I'm better placed than you to make a judgement.'
'And you think it would be better if she died?'
'Dammit, Unknown, no!' Ilkar pushed himself to a standing position. 'It may come to that but I certainly will have no hand in it.'
'Denser hears nothing of this,' warned The Unknown.
Ilkar shook his head. 'If he doesn't already know it inside, I'd be very surprised. He is a mage and no fool. He knows what he and Erienne wanted to create and so far as I'm concerned, he has rather unfortunately succeeded.'
'Then we'd best get to him, hadn't we? Sounds like he might be needing our help.'
The three old friends mounted up and rode for Greythorne, their silence as angry and dark as the sky above them.
Selik listened to the furious voices inside the inn for a few moments before slapping open the doors and striding inside, his men crowding behind him but for one who stayed by the horses. Three men stood against the bar opposite, looking out over a crowd of approaching fifty people who sat on chair or table, or leant against
walls and beams. The inn was lantern-lit and low-ceilinged. Pipe smoke lay thick across their heads in the poor ventilation, its sweet odour obscuring that of ale and wine.
His loud entrance having had the desired effect of silencing the crowd and having every head turn in his direction, Selik walked calmly to the bar, coming to stand between the three men. He kept the man he knew had to be Evansor on his right and the two older farmers on his left. The mage was young and slender, his body not used to hard physical work, and his clothing was of a cloth too fine-woven to be of any use in the fields.
Selik took in the gathering with a lazy sweep of his head. Some were fearful, others burned too deeply with anger to worry about what he represented, while most just looked on, waiting for him to announce himself. Perfect. He hushed the objection of one of the older farmers with a raising of his left forefinger and spoke.
T am Selik and some of you may have heard of me and the work I and my associates undertake on your behalf.' He indicated his men who had spread themselves around the inn. T have seen the wreckage in your fields. And I have heard of the extra mouths you have to feed. I feel for you all.'
Beside him, the mage scoffed quietly. Selik ignored him for the moment. He threw back his hood and waited for the sounds of revulsion and sympathy.
'You can see what magic has done to me, and now you experience its malignancy for yourselves.' He held up a hand as voices became audible. T know you don't understand but your mage does, don't you Evansor?' He sensed the mage flinch as his name was mentioned. 'Because this was no natural wind, was it? Magic did this to your village.' Selik affected a look of surprise. 'Oh, did he neglect to tell you? Well, perhaps he might choose to do so now?'
Selik turned to face Evansor and felt the gathering do the same. This was easier than he expected. Evansor's pale face pinched into a half-smile and he spread his hands.
'My friends, the Black Wings have always hated magic. Don't let him sway you. We have more important matters to discuss. Like how we are to survive the winter if the weather does not improve.'
He'd mollified a few but Selik wasn't even nearly done. 'You have dodged answering the question. A simple yes or no will do. Was the
wind that destroyed the livelihood of this village natural or not?' Selik let his voice soften. 'Come, Evansor, you're among friends. You said so yourself. Answer the question.'
Evansor looked around at the gathering, Selik watching him squirm. The net was tightening beautifully. The silence grew and with every heartbeat, suspicion grew with it.
'I-I tasted magic on the wind,' he said. 'But, but…'
'But you didn't think these people worthy of knowing? That the filth your kind creates has visited ruin on them all?' He swung round to face the crowd whose expressions ranged from the confused to the red-faced furious. He could see his men whispering in certain ears, guiding thoughts, suggesting actions. 'And how do you feel about that, eh?'
T don't understand,' said one voice. The query was taken up by others.
'What's there not to understand?' said Selik. 'The wind that wrecked your crops was fuelled by magic, not by an act of the Gods. And this "friend" of yours didn't want you to know that. Do you think Orytte's flood was a natural disaster? Or Denebre? Or any of a dozen others I could mention. Magic is tearing our country apart and yet you sit and ask him what to do. You've going to starve and he and his kind are the cause of it all.' He heard the crowd stirring and muttering. Close, so very close. 'Would you ask the devil the way out of hell?'
Selik heard a voice say 'no' and there was a sudden rise in the volume of noise, angry voices shouting out for answers and only quietened by one of the older farmers to his left.
'He's taking this too far,' the man said, half-pleading. 'Marching in here, spreading his poison. Evansor is our friend.'
' "Friend"?' Selik spread his hands theatrically. 'And who needs the sort of friend that won't tell you the truth when it suits him? Who's happy to take your money to keep the rats from your barns and the sores from your hands but who is only loyal to his cursed College? Because believe me, he isn't loyal to you. Any of you. Don't be fooled like I was. Don't let my face be your face.' Selik let his voice rise in strength. He had them, he was sure of it. 'This travesty of a man is the problem, not the answer. And problems have to be stamped out!'
He smacked a fist into his palm and glared at Evansor, hearing the clamour of the crowd grow. The mage was badly frightened but Selik knew he would speak and condemn himself.
'Please, my friends,' he said, shouting to make himself heard. 'I'm not your enemy, I can help you.'
'Yes, by getting out!' came a voice. It was a Black Wing voice but nobody cared. The crowd was shouting.
'Out! Out! Out!'
'Please!' Evansor's eyes were desperate, flitting around the room.
Selik grabbed the collar of his shirt.
'Don't touch me, Black Wing, or I'll-'
'What?' And Selik's voice stilled them. 'Cut me down like your kind have the crops of these good people? Which spell will it be? Fire or ice?'
Selik dragged him closer, then shoved him into the crowd. The fist of a Black Wing came out of nowhere and slammed into his cheek, snapping his head back and sending him stumbling. The crowd was roaring now, but none would move forward. Evansor, though, was losing control. Selik smiled as he saw the mage's eyes narrow in anger then unfocus as he prepared.
'He's going to cast!' shouted a voice. A Black Wing voice.
Selik gestured at two of his men. They rushed in. Evansor let the spell go. It was a ForceCone, hard enough to fling the men back, where they clattered into those behind them.
'Get back. I mean you no harm!' shouted Evansor. 'Please.'
A bottle came flying across the bar, missing the mage by a fraction.