'And what will be left when dawn breaks for the Night Child, eh?' Denser swept an arm around him. 'Just look at this place. All the death. And I've heard the other stories. They're all over the town. Not just what we've seen. This is happening everywhere.'' He put his head in his hands. 'Magic has done this. That's what the survivors are saying here. But it's not just that, is it? It's my daughter. Mine. You've got to get me to her.'
'Come on, Denser, calm it down now. You need some rest. Hirad, we need a hot drink for him,' said Ilkar.
Ilkar sat back and let the silence roll over them all. Denser was biting back more tears. The Unknown and Hirad presumably were digesting Denser's words. There seemed little more to say and Ilkar found he'd lost the energy. He hoped that daylight would bring some level-headed talk.
But it was a long time until daylight.
All was not right. Thraun had left the remnants of the pack in safety, hidden deep within Thornewood, in a shallow den dug under a stand of trees the wind hadn't managed to destroy. He had chosen to scout Greythorne where the humans lived. To forage for food and look for any sign of the ones with the mist he recognised from a dim and confused past.
But when he'd arrived, with night full and blustery under a sky hidden by cloud, all he'd found was more sorrow and more destruction. He'd sat on a rise above the town, gazing down, his lupine heart beating strangely as if sympathetic to a race he considered a threat. There would be no food. No fowl to take, no dog or cat to chase down, no scraps from the tables of the humans discarded in alleyways.
Because though it was night, the town still moved as if it was day. Men carried stone from fallen buildings. Lifeless bodies, once exposed, were moved to an open space in the centre of the town and everywhere, lanterns and torches dazzled his eyes. He could not risk venturing in -he didn't want to bring the hunters back to Thornewood.
And so he had returned to the pack but decided on a different route to the new den, hoping for a kill. It was there that he had found them. Tour humans, two killed by metal and two by something else, their faces telling of sudden terror and brief agony.
But there was something more. A scent in the air and on the leaves
that he recognised, a cleanliness in the kills and a residual knowledge within him that sparked into life. He knew who had done this. He could taste them in the air. It had to be linked with the two he had seen in Thornewood before the wind had come. They and their tree-shadow people.
Thraun stopped, his mind clearing slowly. Thornewood felt bad. Not because of the breaking of so much, but because of how it had happened. The suddenness, the wind out of all keeping with all that was natural and its links to the mist he could sense but never touch or feel around him.
And that sense of wrong was still everywhere. With every gust his heart lurched, and with each drop of rain he feared flood from a clear sky. It had to be stopped. The threat to the pack had to be removed. And somehow, those humans he recognised so faintly were involved. Perhaps they sought what he now sought. Perhaps they didn't. But one thing was clear, he couldn't stay in Thornewood and live on hope alone.
Thraun had always known he was different from the rest of the pack. He understood things. He didn't get damaged. He felt a curious kinship with humans that led him to forbid the pack to hunt them. Now, though, he needed the wolves.
His mind set, he trotted back to the pack, left the cubs with the female least able to fight and took the rest back towards Greythorne.
Somewhere out there were the answers.
Hirad was poking at the fire, sending new flame spiralling into the air and embers scattering. Beyond the fire, the night was anything but quiet. Although it wasn't raining, the wind was blowing more cloud across the sky and, closer to the ground, savage gusts were whipping up dust, mourning around the broken ruins of Grey-thorne's once proud homes.
Down in the centre and south of the town, the lanterns still burned as the work to uncover the dead continued. Hirad had enormous admiration and pity for the townspeople who clung to each other for what support they could get, while their inner strength drove them to sift the ruins for their dead so that those who survived could begin to live again,
Hirad added another dried-out branch to the fire and looked away from the town centre to those he guarded. The Raven. It felt
undeniably good. He hadn't imagined ever watching over Denser, Ilkar and The Unknown again, yet here he was, and their sleeping postures said everything about their confidence in him.
There were so many memories to recall, he didn't know where to begin. He hooked the hot pot off the fire and refilled his mug, the soaking herbs Ilkar had gathered good enough for one last infusion.
A gust of wind played across the campsite, sifting through the cloaks and furs of his friends as they slept, the whispering pickpocket that stole nothing. He smiled, recalling the countless times he'd seen it before.
But the smile died as his eyes rested on Denser's form. Because the gust had gone, yet the riffling went on, his cloak moving under the order of some unseen hand. Unseen.
He'd witnessed more magic than most non-mages would see in a lifetime and he knew a CloakedWalk attack when he saw it. Mindful that the mage, who would be moving very slowly around Denser to avoid becoming visible, would not be alone, Hirad stood leisurely, his gaze never slipping entirely from Denser, his mind framing the likely position of the mage-thief.
Denser was the other side of the fire from him, with The Unknown to his left and Ilkar his right. Hirad stretched, his heart rate increasing. Another gust blew across the ruins. Hirad half-turned as if to look down in to Greythorne, swung back, took a single pace and launched himself across the fire.
Fists clenched and arms outstretched, he dived to land beyond Denser's body but connected with the Cloaked mage's shoulder and upper back as he bent to steal. Hirad heard the mage grunt in surprise and suddenly he was there; a long figure, dressed in close-fitting black clothes, his arms flailing as the barbarian slammed him to the ground.
'Raven! Mage attack!' called Hirad as he landed, hands grappling for a hold. The mage was fast, sinewy and supple, scrabbling furiously and jamming an arm between himself and Hirad, pushing the barbarian away.
Hirad rolled again, letting go his grip and coming to a half crouch, seeing the mage still disorientated and, behind him, The Raven surging to wakefulness. The mage made to run but Hirad was
quicker, lashing out a leg to trip him, the mage tumbling head over heels, sprawling in the dust.
The Raven man jumped after him, the mage quickly on to his feet and facing the barbarian. He swung a fist which Hirad ducked, stepping inside the man's long reach to slam a punch into his midriff and follow up with a left hand which caught him square on the nose. Hirad felt it crack under his fist and felt the blood wet and warm on his hand.
The mage staggered back, gasping in pain. Hirad went after him, double jabbing to the mouth with his left and swinging with his right in a hook that the mage swayed away to avoid. Hirad squared up but never landed his next punch, taken off his feet by a body slamming into his side.
He tumbled to the ground, aware of shouting and seeing another figure all over his vision as he rolled. He heard The Raven shouting.
'Three! There are three!' Denser shouted.
A sword was drawn. Hirad saw the glint of metal and blocked instinctively left to right, connecting with a forearm. He scrambled back, trying to gauge his surroundings, seeing people everywhere.
Denser shouted something unintelligible and rage filled the space. In front of Hirad, his attacker jumped to his feet but doubled over as soon as he straightened. Hirad felt the spray of blood over his face and the man collapsed.