‘What is?’ Sirendor motioned Ilkar to do the same for him. The mage passed over his goblet and filled another.
‘Now you’ve stopped to think, now the glint of truesilver has faded, you’re all getting twitchy, aren’t you?’ He sat down in his chair. ‘Xetesk is dangerous. Nothing is ever what it seems. There’s always a bigger story and I for one don’t believe anything he said about that amulet.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘Oh, and you’d have listened, would you, Hirad?’ snapped Ilkar. ‘Two hundred and fifty thousand for a day’s ride versus me. Don’t shovel it my way.’
‘I don’t see the problem,’ said Richmond. ‘We’re here, we’re safe, the money will be paid. We’ve bought ourselves more choice.’
‘If we live to enjoy it,’ muttered Ilkar.
‘You’re overreacting,’ said Sirendor.
‘You don’t know them.’ Ilkar spoke slowly. ‘I do. If he’s involved us in something, we’re expendable. Xetesk doesn’t have any code and they don’t follow any rules.’ He paused. ‘Look, all I’m saying is, be careful around Denser. We may well have got away with this one but we’ll just have to wait and see.’
‘We don’t have to work for Xetesk again,’ said Hirad evenly.
‘Too right we don’t,’ replied Ilkar.
‘We don’t have to work for anyone again.’ Silence followed Talan’s words. Hirad rose stiffly and walked to the table which carried the drinks. He poured himself wine and brought the bottle, another and more cups back to the fireplace. Those without helped themselves.
‘We didn’t have to work for anyone before but I know what Talan means,’ said The Unknown. ‘That two hundred and fifty thousand means we can do everything we talked of when we started and everything we never dared dream we could do. Just think of the possibilities.’
‘I think you’d better start by telling me about last night and what you said.’ Hirad drained his cup and refilled it.
‘We tried to wake you. We had no desire to exclude you,’ said Sirendor. ‘We went out of the castle to join Richmond. I don’t know about the others but looking down at Ras’s grave I had my first fear that one day it could be me. Or Ilkar—’ He gestured around The Raven, finally nodding at Hirad. ‘Or you. I didn’t want that. I want a future while I’m still young enough to enjoy it.’
‘The decision’s made, is it?’ Hirad’s voice was gruff.
Sirendor breathed deeply. ‘While we were talking, it became obvious that we all felt the same. Gods, Hirad, even you’ve talked about packing it in during the last two years. We all want to live. Talan wants to travel, Ilkar’s under pressure to go back to Julatsa. I . . . well, you know what I want.’
‘Husband and father, eh?’ Hirad smiled despite the thudding of his heart and the knot in his throat.
‘All I have to do is stop fighting and the Mayor won’t stop us marrying. You know how it is.’ Sirendor shrugged.
‘Yeah. Sirendor Larn tamed by the Mayor’s daughter. It had to happen some time, I suppose.’ Hirad wiped at the corner of his left eye. The atmosphere in the room was intense, focused on him. ‘You know I won’t stand in your way.’
‘I know,’ said Sirendor, but the look they shared spoke everything.
‘You can see the sense in it,’ said The Unknown. Hirad stared at him blankly. ‘Gods, Hirad, I’ve been half-owner of this inn for a dozen years and if I’ve served behind the bar a dozen times I’m lucky.’
‘And what about you?’ The barbarian turned his attention to Richmond.
‘Before yesterday I wasn’t sure,’ said the blond warrior. ‘But I’m tired, Hirad. Even standing waiting for something to happen is tiring. I—’ He stopped and rubbed his brow with three fingers. ‘Yesterday, I made a mistake I’ll have to carry to my grave. And right now, I’m not sure I trust myself to fight in line and I’d be surprised if you did. Any of you.’
Another silence. Long. Hirad stared around The Raven but no one said any more.
‘It’s unbelievable,’ said Hirad. ‘Ten years. Ten years and yet you’ve made the biggest decision of our lives . . . my life, while I was sleeping.’ He was too angry even to shout and his voice held calm. But at the same time he knew it wasn’t anger. It was a deep and bitter disappointment. The inevitable result of the formation of The Raven. The split. The funny thing was that, at the outset, Hirad never thought he’d survive this long. The future had been meaningless. Until now. Now it crashed over his head and he found he was frightened of it. Very frightened.
‘Sorry, Hirad.’
‘I just wanted someone to ask my opinion, Sirendor.’
‘I know. But the decision wasn’t taken last night, just confirmed.’
‘You didn’t ask me.’ Hirad got up and moved to the door. He needed a few drinks and to laugh. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘You retired folk fund the party and I’ll try to forgive you.’
Styliann’s eyes blazed and his face reddened. In the holding chamber beneath his tower, the three mages cowered where they sat, too exhausted to stand in respect of their Lord.
‘Tell me again.’ Styliann spoke low and quiet, the power of his voice filling the small chamber.
‘We were only sure three hours ago and even then we had to make our final fail-safe check. We didn’t want to cause concern until we had absolute proof,’ said one, an old mage whose life had been devoted to his single task.
‘Concern?’ echoed Styliann, voice cracking ever so slightly. ‘The greatest evil in Balaia’s history has gone missing. Causing me concern is the least of your worries, believe me.’
The three mages exchanged glances.
‘Not just missing, my Lord. Not only are they not in the cage, we don’t believe they reside in interdimensional space either.’ The old mage swallowed. ‘We believe that their essence and souls have returned to Balaia.’
The silence which followed dragged at the ears. Styliann’s breath hissed between his teeth. He took in the small chamber, its sketches and maps of dimensional space and spell result equation covering every wall. Notebooks were scattered on the single pitted wooden desk. The chairs, arranged in a loose crescent, each contained a terrified mage looking up at him as he stood near the door, Nyer at one shoulder, Laryon at the other. He wouldn’t look left or right; he didn’t have to. The impact of what they had just heard sent ripples through the mana trails.
‘How long have they been gone?’ he asked. It was the question they were dreading.
‘We can’t - can’t be sure,’ managed the old mage.
Styliann pinned him with his eyes. ‘I beg your pardon?’ They looked from one to another. Eventually, a younger woman spoke.
‘It has always been the way of the Watches, my Lord,’ she said. ‘The spells are cast and the calculations made every three months when certain alignments offer us more accuracy.’
Styliann didn’t take his gaze from the old man. ‘Are you telling me that the Wytch Lords could have been in Balaia up to three months ago?’
‘They were in the cage last casting,’ said the woman. ‘They aren’t there now.’
‘Yes, or no.’ Styliann almost believed he could hear their hearts pounding, then realised it was his own sounding in his ears and throat.
‘Yes.’ The old man looked away, tears in his eyes. Styliann nodded.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Clear the room, your work is finished.’ He turned to Nyer. ‘We’ve no choice. Contact the Colleges but say nothing of events here or at Taranspike Castle. We must have a meeting at Triverne Lake. Now.’
‘I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d smelled it with my own nose,’ said Sirendor. He was standing close to Hirad at the bar of The Rookery, appraising the barbarian’s clothes - leather trousers, a close-fitting dark shirt that showed off his upper body to good advantage, and a studded belt on which hung his scabbarded short sword. Ilkar was with them, dressed in a black-edged yellow shirt and leather trousers, and behind the bar stood The Unknown in a plain white shirt and similar leggings to his friends.