Erienne stared at him blankly. ‘If and when the missing elements of Septern’s dimensional texts are recovered, we may be forced to form a research group,’ she said slowly. ‘Until that time, communication remains minimal.’
‘I understand.’
‘It was a stupid question to ask a Dordovan.’
‘Stupidity sometimes elicits the real gems.’
The door opened and a man entered carrying a jug of water and two glasses. He set them on the table and withdrew. Erienne filled a glass and drank it back in one.
‘Anything else?’
‘Oh, a good deal,’ said the Captain. He drained and refilled his wine glass. ‘I have hardly begun, although your information is gratefully received. I should let you get back to your children but think on this. Given that you appear to know all you can about dimensional magics already, I find it disturbing that there has been such a recent surge in interest surrounding Septern’s research.
‘Mastery of dimensional magic wasn’t his only triumph, was it? There was one of even greater notoriety. He created a spell, didn’t he? And I want to know why Xetesk has suddenly put all its muscle behind looking for it.’
Erienne’s face became deathly white.
Chapter 5
The Raven and their charges rode from Taranspike Castle as the sun picked at the dew lying heavily on the grass of yesterday’s battlefield. The rain of the previous night had blown away west across the central flatlands towards the dark line of the Blackthorne Mountains and a gentle breeze blew warmth through the dawn of the early spring day. Baron Pontois, his soldiers, mercenary warriors and mages were gone, disappeared north through the Grethern Forest from which they had come. All that was left of their encampment was flattened brush and a single, wood-picketed mound where the dead were buried.
At the head of the small horseback party were Hirad, Richmond and Ilkar, while much to his bodyguards’ displeasure, Baron Gresse chose to ride flanked by Talan and The Unknown Warrior. Denser and Sirendor Larn rode behind the second trio, leaving Gresse’s quartet of men bringing up the rear.
For the Baron, the ride was clearly a chance to shake off the shackles of an overprotective family and ride free. For The Unknown and Talan, the habit of gleaning information from whatever source came their way was impossible to break.
‘Are you still allied with Blackthorne?’ asked Talan.
Gresse nodded. ‘We have a reciprocal passage arrangement but I wouldn’t call it an alliance. He travels toll-free through this pass to Korina; I have similar rights through his lands to Gyernath.’
The Unknown frowned. ‘Did he take the lands east of Gyernath? I heard he—’
‘Six months ago. He’s all but annexed Gyernath now, though the City Council has applied significant pressure on him to keep his passage levies low. Successfully so far.’
‘So what happened to Lord Arlen?’ asked The Unknown.
‘He works for Blackthorne.’
‘Ah—’ Light dawned.
‘Gods, no, there was no fighting. No more fighting, should I say. Arlen still nominally controls the lands east of Gyernath, though the truth is he’s supported by Blackthorne’s considerable muscle, furnished with metals from the southern mines and taking a rake off the levy on traffic from the south-east, including Korina.’ Gresse chuckled and reached a hand out to pat The Unknown’s thigh. ‘If I were you, I’d cross Arlen off my list of potential employers. Blackthorne has all the finance around Gyernath now.’
‘Anyone else we can strike off?’ Talan asked.
‘Not me,’ said Gresse. ‘Pontois hasn’t finished yet, I’m sure. He’s either already planning another strike on Taranspike or hoping I’ll over-fortify there and leave myself open to him further west.’
‘Well, if you need us, get in early,’ said The Unknown.
‘Very early,’ said Talan.
‘Heard a rumour you lot might be hanging up your leather,’ said Gresse, careful not to catch either man’s eye.
‘Believe it on seeing it,’ advised Talan, raising his eyebrows.
‘So much for a trade of information,’ grumbled Gresse, a smile touching his eyes.
‘You’ll be the first to know if it happens, how’s that?’ said The Unknown.
‘It’ll have to do.’ Gresse fell silent, shaking his head.
Taranspike Pass was sheer grey and no less than four hundred feet high all the way to Korina, its cool slate home to birds and tenacious vegetation. Either side of the walls of the pass, the land was precipitous, falling to black chasms, deep ravines and harsh, lifeless valleys where water ran beneath rock, its sound like the souls of the lost as it poured under the ground. In the pass itself, run-off from the previous night’s rain puddled on the soft earth, making the way muddy. But with the sun lighting the pass throughout the day, that softness would be driven away and the cracks in a trail which varied between a dozen wagons and just three wagons wide were testament to the heat that sun on rock could generate in the hot season.
The sounds of birds, horses’ hoofs and men’s voices echoed from the walls, bringing with them an atmosphere that would have provoked discomfort in a lone rider but which a company, with the confidence of companionship, could ignore.
Sirendor Larn took another deep breath of the clean air of Taranspike Pass, revelling in the cool rush that filled his lungs and driving from his mind the smells and smoke of the castle and its surrounds. They would encounter no trouble along the pass. Gresse’s men kept the way safe enough and, to Sirendor’s knowledge, it wasn’t particularly dangerous anyway. With Korina less than a day’s ride away, his mood, never down, was lightening by the moment. The only cloud over him was the meeting, and he feared how Hirad would react.
He had kept up a light conversation with Denser for much of the ride, grinning at Ilkar’s scowls when he caught the elf’s eye. Denser seemed all right. It certainly wasn’t the first time Sirendor had fought a man one day and ridden home with him the next. Such was the way of mercenaries. He was clearly a capable mage and, cut from the rules of war, was just another man wondering where the next job would take him. The only difference was that this mage seemed a lot more certain than most. Sirendor took that to be a function of his upbringing in Xetesk and he reminded himself to ask Ilkar more about the Dark College.
Looking across once again at Denser, he smiled. That pipe was clamped between his teeth, gently smouldering as always, and the cat was balancing on the front of his saddle. The mage had been very reticent when pushed for details about the cat, mumbling only that it was an ideal companion for what was, for him, a life largely consisting of solitude. Denser himself was, not for the first time, trying to drill holes with his eyes through The Unknown’s back.
‘He fascinates me, too,’ said Sirendor. ‘Always has.’ Denser glanced around, his reverie broken.
‘What?’
‘The Unknown. I’ve known him ten years arid I still don’t even know where he was born.’
‘Or his name?’ Denser asked.
‘No. Nor his name,’ agreed Sirendor.
‘I thought you lot were the only people he told.’
‘Another rumour, I’m afraid. Not even Tomas knows.’
‘Who’s Tomas?’ asked Denser.
‘Landlord at The Rookery. Well, joint landlord with The Unknown. Tomas has known him more than twenty years. Looked after him at first when he turned up in Korina when he was thirteen.’ Sirendor shook his head. ‘You learn not to ask him certain questions. ’
‘So why do you call him The Unknown Warrior?’