The sun was already past its zenith when The Raven rode out of Korina by the North Gate, heading for the ruins of Septern’s mage house, three days’ ride to the north-west. The morning had been taken up by Sirendor’s funeral, an event to which Denser was not invited.
Now clear of the scene of sorrow, they rode in loose formation on the trail. Denser, drawn and sunken-eyed, was at the head with Talan and Richmond. The Unknown Warrior and Hirad Coldheart rode together some twenty strides behind. Ilkar was well adrift of them and had kept silent from the moment they saddled up.
It was an hour since their exit from Korina and Hirad had been half expecting an attack, particularly from the Witch Hunters. The idea that they had sent only one assassin after Denser made Hirad wonder what sort of organisation they were, and he found himself a little disappointed in them. He was relying on their determination to see Denser dead, and as he gazed at the Dark Mage’s back, he had to smile. It was an odd situation for sure.
‘Why is it Ilkar dislikes Xetesk so much?’ he asked, still staring at Denser.
‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’ returned The Unknown. ‘It’s about time he joined up.’ He turned in his saddle and beckoned the mage to join them, but it wasn’t until Hirad turned too that Ilkar spurred his horse forwards.
As he moved closer, Hirad frowned. Ilkar displayed the import of Denser’s revelations of the previous night in his face like a wound. He tried to smile as he joined his friends but couldn’t muster any more than a raising of the eyebrows.
‘Are you all right, Ilkar?’ asked Hirad.
‘That’s a bloody stupid question,’ replied Ilkar. ‘What can I do for you two?’ His voice was flat and shocked. Hirad knew how he felt.
‘Hirad was wondering what you had against Xetesk, exactly,’ said The Unknown.
‘Everything,’ said Ilkar. ‘But putting it simply, in magic terms Julatsa and Xetesk disagree about all things magical. What it’s for, how to research it, how to build mana stamina . . . everything. When we say stop, they say go. In Julatsa, it’s a crime to work for the Masters of Xetesk. Do you understand?’
‘No,’ said Hirad.
Ilkar sighed. ‘Look - and stop me if you know this - but the reason the Colleges split was largely moral, concerning the direction of research and the uses of magic that the research was leaning towards. It was also due to the methods used for gathering mana, and, not to put too fine a point on it, the faction that became Xetesk found a quick way to replenish their mana that was based on human sacrifice. Now I can forgive Xetesk many things, but not that.’
‘Do they still practise sacrifice?’ asked The Unknown.
‘According to them, no, but the fact is that the method still works despite the fact that they have found other, hardly less reprehensible methods. Anyway, the point of it all is that two thousand years on, our lore - that is, our understanding of the physics of magic - is now so divorced from Xetesk’s that we can understand very little of how they construct and use spells.’
‘So could you cast Dawnthief?’ asked Hirad. ‘I mean, it’s not a Xetesk spell, is it?’
‘No it isn’t, and no I can’t,’ said Ilkar. ‘Well, in theory I can. I know the words and lore because Septern was careful to publish them to all Colleges. But in reality, having done no work on the mana shape or studied the intricacies of speaking the spell, I’d be certain to fail.’
‘So we’d better keep Denser alive, then.’ Hirad curled his lip.
‘Until we discover whether he’s telling the truth or not, at least.’
‘Yeah. Until then,’ muttered The Unknown.
They fell silent for a time. Hirad digested what Ilkar had told him and wished he’d paid more attention to what made mages beat. More important, though, was finding out what made Witch Hunters beat. The two, he reflected, would be linked.
‘What do you know about these Witch Hunters, Unknown?’ he asked.
‘You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?’ The Unknown turned up the corners of his mouth.
‘Thinking was only part of it, big man. Well?’
‘Not a great deal.’ The Unknown shrugged. ‘Their leader is a man called Travers. He was the commander of the garrison that finally lost control of Understone Pass while we were fighting for the Rache Lords up north in the early days of The Raven. He was a dangerous man but he must be getting old by now.’ The Unknown paused. ‘Ilkar’s your man for this, I think.’
Now at least Ilkar smiled. His ears pricked and he kneaded his forehead between thumb and forefinger.
‘I’m an elf, Unknown,’ he said. ‘It’s not a great story, I’m afraid. Travers is either a shining hero waging a long war against the evils of magic, or a once great soldier who’s blind to today’s reality. It depends which side of the fence you’re on.’
‘And which side are you on?’ Hirad leaned forward in his saddle, his hands on its raised pommel, stretching his back and breathing in the smell of leather mixed with the strong odour of his horse. He found it strangely comforting.
‘The blind man,’ said Ilkar. ‘Look, it all started out as a grand scheme and there were many people who wanted him to succeed. I was one of them. After Understone Pass, he founded a group dedicated to creating a kind of moral code which was aimed primarily at restraining the destructive magics of Xetesk and, to a lesser extent, Dordover. Not outlawing, mind; he didn’t believe they should be stopped, not then; just monitored and kept to quiet research.
‘Anyway, at that time they were called the Winged Rose and had tattoos put on their necks of a red rose head in between a pair of white wings.’ He stroked the left side of his neck in a circle as he spoke. ‘It was supposed to signify passion and freedom, I think.’
‘Does that make sense?’ asked The Unknown.
‘Sort of,’ replied Ilkar. ‘Initially their ideals were pure. It was all about their desire to see the country freed from the shadow of what they saw as dark magic, and they were going to pursue that aim without recourse to violence.’
‘Bloody hell,’ breathed Hirad.
‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ said Ilkar. ‘As you can gather, the ideals slipped by degrees, and what had been a plan for, I don’t know, regulation, I suppose, became a witch hunt; and one aimed at any College’s adepts Travers deemed dangerous. That, of course, now includes me, particularly since my unfortunate association with our glorious would-be leader up there.’
‘Do they still wear this tattoo?’ Hirad indicated his own neck.
‘Not quite,’ said The Unknown. ‘They’ve recoloured it a rather unoriginal all-black now, although the motif itself is the same.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Ilkar. ‘Black Wings, they call themselves. The rose must be an embarrassment or something.’
‘That’s how I knew the woman was trouble.’ It was a beat before Hirad realised that The Unknown wasn’t talking to either of them. ‘Damn.’
‘What are you talking about, Unknown?’ asked Hirad.
‘I recognised that tattoo, didn’t I? If I’d acted sooner, I could have saved Sirendor. Maybe. The trouble was, for a moment when I knew she was after Denser, I had no desire to stop her. I couldn’t have cared less if he lived or died, and in some ways I still can’t.’
‘Until Dawnthief came along,’ remarked Ilkar.
‘If you believe that,’ said The Unknown.
‘Still sceptical, are you, Unknown?’
‘Still an elf, are you, Ilkar?’
The buildings of the Korina Trade Alliance retained the grandiose air of centuries gone by.
The halls, offices, kitchens and rooms of the once proud organisation were set in gardens still tended beautifully by the City’s gardeners thanks to a legacy gifted by the third Earl Arlen in recognition of the KTA’s sacrifices in the first Wesmen wars three hundred years before. How the Arlen family’s fortunes had changed since then, swallowed up by the rising power of Baron Blackthorne on the back of the new rich trade in minerals.