Nightchild

'So where does that leave Lyanna?' asked Hirad. 'Strikes me your little outline has her surplus to Balaia's requirements.'

'Yes, Ilkar, perhaps you'd like to put your foot down in one camp or another,' invited The Unknown, his eyes cold and body tensed.

Ilkar's ears pricked and he sucked his top lip while he thought. 'I want the magical balance of Balaia maintained. I think that's best for

everyone, not just Julatsa. I think Lyanna should not be allowed to return to Dordover, Xetesk or any college. She should be taught by the Al-Drechar to contain the outbursts that are causing all the trouble but that's as far as it should go. There shouldn't be a return to the One. Not ever.'

'And if Denser or Xetesk or whoever doesn't agree with you?' asked The Unknown. 'If they determine her training should continue to its natural conclusion?'

Ilkar shrugged and looked away over the wilds in the direction of Greythorne, still obscured by rolling heather-covered moors ahead.

'You would, wouldn't you? I bloody knew it!' The Unknown stormed to his feet and took a pace towards Ilkar. Hirad scrambled up and stood between them.

'Take it easy,' he urged, putting up a hand in front of The Unknown. 'What would he do?'

The Unknown stared past him at the elf. 'He'd see her die.'

'Kill her?'

'No, I don't suppose so. But I don't suppose he'd stand in anyone's way, either. Would you Ilkar, eh?'

Ilkar didn't turn his head.

'See?' The Unknown's face burned and Hirad realised he couldn't move aside. 'She's just a little girl, you bastard. And she's Denser's daughter. How could you even contemplate it? Gods, I thought better of you, Ilkar.'

Hirad was desperate to turn but was fearful of The Unknown's next move. It dawned on him sickeningly that this powerful man was a genuine threat to Ilkar for the first time ever. From behind him, Ilkar spoke.

'You know me well enough, Unknown. Perhaps it's me that's misinterpreted you.'

'I'm a father, Ilkar. And I understand what Denser must be experiencing.'

'And he's an old and trusted friend of mine and I would see no harm come to him, Erienne or Lyanna. But she's a child of the One, that's becoming clearer to me at least, by the day. And Tinjata's Prophecy is so far proving depressingly accurate. Or so I believe. Lyanna's Night has only just begun, Unknown, and it promises devastation for us all if she isn't controlled. Or stopped. And I don't

see anyone coming forward with ways to control her. Clearly the Al-Drechar haven't yet, have they?'

Hirad felt The Unknown's body relax. It was enough for him to turn and look at Ilkar, who was still seated. The expression on the elfs face, and the desperation in his eyes, told of the depth of his belief in what he had said.

'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.