Selik was amazed that anyone had survived and indeed only a handful had, taking their story to Pontois or Lystern, some south to Erskan. But who was to say it wouldn't happen again in any of tiiose places?
Selik turned to his men, taking in their disbelieving expressions and the hands over their mouths to keep out the worst of the smell that drifted by on the breeze.
'This is why we fight magic,' he said. 'This is why we are right. Magic caused all of this, never forget that. It is a force of evil and we are the only ones who can see it. The rest of the world is blind.'
But not for long, he thought. The destruction across Balaia had to change the perceptions of its people. They would demand more control. The mages couldn't be trusted to keep their power benign and innocents were dying in their hundreds and thousands, taken by forces they couldn't understand.
The worst of it was that she was behind it all. The bitch had given birth to the abomination whose mind was destroying the land. All in the cause of greater power, of domination. Selik seethed and as he put his heels to his mount and spurred it on southwards, leaving Denebre to rot, he began to imagine the pain he would cause her before he allowed her to die. Justice for the righteous. Agonising death for the mage.
The rain was falling hard on the Balan Mountains when Ilkar and The Unknown Warrior arrived late one evening, tired and hungry, eleven days after parting company with Denser. It was a bleak and cold night following a chill and sunless day. The rain had fallen incessantly and the pair had ridden into the teeth of a biting wind,
every part of their bodies soaked despite cloaks and leather. Bemoaning the sharp change in the weather from the sun and warmth of Julatsa, Ilkar was walking his horse and wishing fervently he was caressing Pheone's body when a movement in the rocks above caught his eye.
'Unknown-' he began, but with a shriek, a huge shadow tore through the clouds, sweeping low over them. Ilkar's horse reared and bolted, the elf making no attempt to hold on to the reins. The Unknown was pitched from his, landing in a heap on the ground, a flurry of hooves narrowly missing his head as his mount followed Ilkar's in a desperate attempt to escape.
The dragon banked and turned, its black outline only just visible against the heavy cloud in the darkness. Ilkar, shield spell on lips and heart hammering, moved towards The Unknown as the big man surged to his feet. He was swordless but no less imposing and his face was creased in irritation.
'Hirad!' he barked over the noise of wind, rain and wing. 'That is not funny.'
Nos-Kaan flew overhead, heading back to the Choul.
'Can't be too careful,' came the shouted reply. A figure moved down from the rocks above them. He had a few days' growth of stubble on his chin, long unkempt hair blowing about his head and heavy furs covering his trademark leather armour. He moved quickly and surely over treacherous wet rock, displaying no fear of the steep falls any slip would bring. Ilkar expected nothing less from Hirad Coldheart.
He leapt the last few feet, his tough leather boots smacking in a small puddle, and pulled Ilkar into a rough embrace.
'Gods, it's good to see you, Ilks,' he said. Ilkar pulled away, his nose wrinkling.
'You haven't built the bathhouse yet, then?' he said. Hirad grinned, his teeth white against his dark stubble.
'Sorry, it's these furs. I haven't got much in the way of curing tools up there. I'm taking them to Blackthorne in a couple of days, get them seen to.'
'I don't think so, Hirad,' said Ilkar. The barbarian's smile disappeared and he looked from one old friend to the other.
'This isn't a social call, then?' he asked.
'In this weather?' said Ilkar, wiping a sheen of water from his face.
'We'll tell you all about it once you've found our horses and kit,' grumbled The Unknown. 'Was that little display really necessary?'
Hirad's face was sombre. 'I can't take chances, Unknown. I couldn't see who it was and neither could Nos until he was closer. The hunters are getting too clever.'
The Unknown nodded. 'Later,' he said. 'Let's get ourselves out of this rain first, eh?'
It was a beautifully warm sunny day in Dordover, quite at odds with the chill that had swept over the city the day before. The scent of late-flowering blooms hung in the air of the College grounds and the chittering of birds gave an almost spring-like atmosphere. But it was moving towards late autumn and Vuldaroq did not enjoy sweating in the heat during this season. He bustled along the cloister to the Chamber of Reflection where visiting College dignitaries were met, sighing in satisfaction at its cool ambience as he swept in, dark voluminous robes flapping behind him.
The Chamber of Reflection was a room built entirely of polished granite slabs, in each corner of which a fountain or waterfall had been built to engender peace and calm. Woven reed chairs sat about a low marble table and beyond the doors opposite the cloistered corridor was the rock garden. It was a place much loved by mages for its intricate arrangements of pools and plants but hated by Vuldaroq for its ability to trap the sun's heat. He would not be entering it today.
Waiting in the Chamber were two men recently arrived from Lystern, Balaia's fourth and smallest College. Heryst, Lord Elder Mage, and General Ry Darrick, Balaia's brilliant young soldier. He was scowling beneath his mass of light brown curly hair and plainly uncomfortable, shifting his tall frame as if in a hurry to leave as he stood behind the seated Heryst. Three goblets and a jug sat on the low table next to a large wicker bowl of fruits.
'You took your time,' said Vuldaroq, bridling at Heryst's refusal to rise as he entered.
Heryst merely smiled. 'There are many issues demanding my attention in Lystern. We travelled as soon as was practicable.'
'Pour yourself some juice, Vuldaroq,' said Darrick. 'Sit down. You're looking a little flushed.'
Vuldaroq met Darrick's eyes. The General didn't flinch, staring back placidly until the Dordovan reached for the jug.
'Your Communion was not detailed,' said Heryst. T take it you have a problem too severe for Dordover to handle alone.'
Vuldaroq eased himself into a chair, his bulk causing the weave to creak and protest. He took a long draw on the cooling mixed apple and orange juice, determining to retain a modicum of control.
'As you may be aware, the child has left Dordover. This would not be a problem in itself but she and her mother have disappeared, to all intents and purposes, and we believe them to have been contacted by servants of the One Way.'
Heryst laughed. 'Vuldaroq, you always did have a penchant for the dramatic. For you, the most outrageous of conclusions to any scries of events has always been the most likely. No doubt Erienne is relaxing with her husband. Or perhaps she and Lyanna have merely taken a break from the rigours of training. They are not your prisoners, remember; they can go and do whatever they like without your permission.'
Vuldaroq mopped his sweating brow and allowed himself a patronising smile.
'Busy your College may be but it faces inwards from dawn 'til dusk. Lyanna is a child of the One, that much is now achingly obvious, and her effect is already being felt across Balaia. Presumably you are aware that Greythorne Town and Thornewood have been struck by winds the like of which none have ever experienced, and that Denebre has been all but swallowed by the earth.' He leaned hack, waiting for reaction. Darrick's shrug disappointed but did not surprise him.
'Portents of some greater doom, are they?' The soldier couldn't keep the cynicism from his voice.
'Absolutely,' said Vuldaroq, hoping his sombre response would disconcert the cocky General. 'You are clearly not conversant with the Tinjata Prophecy. Your High Elder Mage, of course, is.'