Nightchild

Although the hurricane must have struck two or three days before, the shock was only now setting in. Hirad could well imagine what had happened in its immediate aftermath. Adrenalin and panic would have banished fatigue as teams of survivors battled to find loved ones, free the trapped and salvage anything useful. Indeed, stacks of crates under skins and canvas spoke of the scale of the effort.

But the first night without proper shelter, sleeping in the ruins of once proud houses and, following that, the first dawn, would have sapped wills and leached morale away. Those awash with energy the previous night would have woken dark-eyed and exhausted as they looked on their town, and realised that all they were going to uncover now were bodies.

And this is how they were. Faces streaked with dirt, men and women worked as hard as they could but the spirit was gone. Eyes were wide and uncomprehending, still disbelieving.

They walked past a child wrapped in a blanket and sitting under a small, staked-out leather bivouac. No more than five, he was too traumatised even to cry. He just sat, stared and shivered. The Gods only knew what he had seen and the fate of his parents.

Walking into the main square, The Raven, who had been largely ignored, saw signs of the organisation behind the desperately slow but determined activity. The town hall and grain store were gone but for a corner which still supported windows, their glass reflecting lantern light like malevolent multifaceted eyes. An open-fronted marquee was pitched below it, lit up like daylight, and within, men and women swarmed around tables marking maps and parchments or prepared hot and cold food and drink.

In the centre of it all, sat a man bandaged around the right eye

and right leg. Even from twenty yards, he was pale and haggard, a deep-etched face, grey hair and a drained body fighting hard against exhaustion.

'We need to speak to him,' said The Unknown.

'You two go on. I'll find somewhere for the horses,' said Ilkar.

The Unknown nodded and he and Hirad walked into the warm tented space to be stopped by a young man, scared and tired.

'Out-of-towners? Come to help?' he asked, long blond hair hanging all over his pale, thin features.

'We are The Raven,' said The Unknown by way of reply. 'We're looking for Denser.'

The young man drew in a sharp breath.

'He said you'd be coming.' He nodded them on towards the bandaged seated man. Hirad put a hand on his shoulder.

'And yes, if we can do anything to help, we will.'

A smile brought a spark of life to his bloodshot eyes.

'Thank you,' he said. 'Thank you.'

The Unknown walked up to the man who still wore his mayoral chains and dark green cloak of office around his shoulders. He put out a shaky hand which The Unknown took and shook warmly.

'Gannan. At least you're alive.'

'Barely, Unknown, barely. I'd say it was good to see you but I fear your appearance here has little to do with salvage and much to do with the causes of all this mess.'

Ilkar had walked up to Hirad's shoulder.

'Is there anyone he doesn't know?' whispered Hirad.

'Apparently not,' replied the elf. 'I've left the horses with a local. There's a makeshift picket and stable in the west of the town.'

The Unknown ignored them.

'You've spoken to Denser?' he asked.

'Not at great length, but yes.' Gannan shifted on his chair, using both hands to adjust the position of his injured leg. 'He's very agitated, Unknown. Not making too much sense.'

'Where is he? We need to speak to him.'

Gannan gestured towards a table nearby. 'Some refreshment first, surely?'

'No,' said The Unknown. 'Save it for your people. We'll find our own.'

'He was behind the grain store a while back, wanting some peace and quiet. You could try there.'

'Thanks Gannan, we'll talk later.' He turned away. 'Hirad, you staying or coming?'

Hirad shrugged. 'I've got to talk to him sometime. It may as well be now.'

The Unknown nodded. 'Good.' He led the way outside.

The grain store had butted on to the town hall but was little more than a pile of rubble. Beyond it, to the north end of Greythorne, the activity and light were lessened, though the devastation was equally as severe. Clearly, there were simply not enough survivors to work everywhere.

But someone was moving through the debris, punctuating the windblown quiet with the shifting of slate and the grating of stone on stone.

'Denser,' said Ilkar, pointing away into the gloom.

For a time, Hirad couldn't make him out against the drab, dark background, then he saw his head move.

Denser was crouched in the rubble of what had probably been a house. Timbers were scattered around and slate, thatch and stone was piled where the corners of the walls still stood, defiant. He was holding something and, as they moved closer, they could see it was a tiny human hand.

He appeared not to notice them as they approached, just held the hand in one of his and stroked it gently with the other. Close too, over the noise of the wind, Hirad could hear he was murmuring but couldn't make out the words.

'Denser?' The Unknown's tone was soft. The Dark Mage started and turned to them, his face streaked with tears, his eyes black holes in the shadow of the night.

'Look what she's done,' he whispered, his voice choked and thick. He swallowed. 'This has gone too far.'

Ilkar crouched by him. 'What are you talking about?'

Denser indicated the hand in his. Ilkar followed it. It belonged to a young boy, no more than five, though in truth it was hard to tell. His head had been crushed by falling stone.

'You can't blame Lyanna for this,' he said.

'Blame Lyanna?' Denser shook his head. 'No, but she's the cause

of it all. You can feel what drives the wind even now. Imagine it fifty times as strong and tearing down your walls. It's a miracle any of them lived. If anyone's to blame, it's me and Erienne.'

'I don't think it's that simple,' said Ilkar. He shifted his position and took the child's hand from Denser's unresisting fingers and placed it back in the rubble.

'Only I can stop this thing. Only me,' said Denser, his eyes wild, his voice wavering. 'You have to get me to her. You have to.'

'I think it's time you stopped torturing yourself and came away from here.' Ilkar looked up. 'Reckon we can find anywhere private?'

Hirad shrugged. 'If we build it ourselves.' Ilkar's eyes flashed anger. 'We'll sort something out. C'mon, Denser. Time you had a hot drink.'

Every covered and sheltered space was crammed with people, the very young, the injured and the precious few carers. The Raven walked out of the centre of the town and laid a fire in a scrabbled together circle of stone from a building that had been cleared of any victims. With borrowed water heating in The Unknown's old iron jug, Denser calmed a little but his hands were jittery and his attention wandered fitfully.

'Surprised you're even here, Hirad,' he said, attempting a smile. Hirad didn't return it.

T wouldn't be but Sha-Kaan needs the Al-Drechar. Apparently ancient mages are the last chance now everyone else has let him down.'

'Can we leave that for another time?' Ilkar's voice was pained. 'How long have you been here, Denser?'

The Xeteskian shrugged. 'A day. I was delayed. There's so much mess. I had to try and help, didn't I?'

'You can't hold yourself responsible,' said Ilkar.

'Can't I? Isn't this what Erienne and I wanted? The Child of the One. Balaia's most powerful mage.' He spat out the words. 'But she's out of control and we must stop her. I must stop her.'

Ilkar looked at The Unknown and Hirad. 'What did I tell you?'

The Unknown nodded. 'If he believes it too, then I guess I'm prepared to. But that doesn't change why I'm here, and don't you forget it. Denser, we'll find her and help her control this. Or rather, you will, if you say so. Ilkar's explained it may be her Night.'