‘Denser?’ He half-ran back to where the Dark Mage had been reading, but he wasn’t there. A spear of panic stole his breath before he spotted the Xeteskian walking in the other direction, towards the rip at the opposite end of the platform.
‘Denser!’ The mage turned. Hirad could see his pipe smoking gently. The cat was in his cloak, head alert, and Denser was stroking its head. Of the parchment there was no sign. ‘Have you read it?’
Denser nodded.
‘And?’ Hirad was still walking.
‘I couldn’t read it all. Ilkar’ll have to have a go too.’
Close to, Hirad could see something was amiss. Denser’s gaze seemed unfocused and he glanced now and then over his shoulder at the rip.
‘Are you all right? The Raven and the skeletons are all gone. Are you sure that thing didn’t hit you on the head?’
Denser raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘I’m sure they’re fine.’ He paused. ‘Hirad, have you ever just had to do something? You know, something your curiosity just wouldn’t let you forget?’
Hirad shrugged. ‘Probably. I don’t know. What are you on about?’
Denser turned and carried on towards the rip. For a moment, Hirad was confused. Just for a moment.
‘You have got to be joking!’ He set off after the mage.
‘I have to know. It’s just one of those things.’ Denser’s step quickened.
‘What has got into you?’ Hirad broke into a trot. ‘You can’t do it, Denser. You can’t afford to. We’ve got—’ He put a hand on Denser’s shoulder. The cat slashed at it with a claw, missing as he snatched it back. The Dark Mage turned a hard-set face to him. His eyes were lost, adrift in his churning mind.
‘Don’t touch us, Hirad,’ he said. ‘And don’t try to stop us.’ He turned his face away, strode to the rip and jumped into it.
Seconds later the cat was back. It fell from the rip in an ungainly jumble of limbs, hit the ground and sprinted behind Hirad, scattering stones and grit.
The barbarian stared at it, its coat ruffled and flecked with dust, stomach heaving as it dragged air into its lungs. Its tail was coiled tightly under its hind legs and its eyes were fixed on the rip, waiting. It was shaking all over.
‘Oh, no,’ Hirad breathed. He took half a pace towards the swirling brown mass before a shimmer in its surface stopped him. Denser plunged out and sprawled in the dirt. His face was sheet-white.
‘Thank the Gods,’ muttered the barbarian, but his lips tightened in anger. He helped Denser to a sitting position, feeling the mage quivering beneath his hands. He slapped some debris from his cloak.
‘You satisfied now?’
‘It was black,’ said Denser, gesturing with his hands, not looking up. ‘It was all black.’
‘Make sense, Denser.’ The mage locked eyes with him, his pupils huge.
‘Burned and burning. It was all ruined, cracked and black. It made this place look alive. The ground was all black and the sky was full of Dragons.’
It was a line straight from Hirad’s dream. The barbarian straightened and took an involuntary pace backwards. He swallowed hard and gazed at the rip. Beyond it, his nightmare lived.
The enormity of Denser’s action hit him like a runaway horse. He switched his stare to the mage, who was on his feet.
‘Feeling better?’ he asked.
Denser nodded, half smiled. The barbarian’s punch caught him square on the jaw, knocking him down hard.
‘What the—’ he began.
Hirad leant over him and grabbed the neck of his cloak, pulling their faces close.
‘What did you think you were doing?’ the barbarian rasped, his anger burning, his brow a thundercloud. ‘You could have thrown it all away.’
‘I . . .’ Denser looked blank.
Hirad shook him. ‘Shut up! Shut up and listen to me. You took the parchment through there. What if you’d never come back? Your precious mission would have been over, and my friends’ - he drew a deep breath - ‘my friends who died for you would have died for nothing.’ He dropped the mage back into the dirt and placed a foot on his chest. ‘If you ever try anything like that again, I won’t stop until your face is inside out. Understand?’
Hirad heard a whispering sound behind him. Denser looked past him, his eyes widened and he shook his head. Hirad turned, removing his foot from the supine mage. Denser’s cat bored a stare of undisguised malevolence into him. He flinched, then grunted.
‘Your cat going to sort me out, was it?’
‘You’re a fortunate man, Hirad.’
The barbarian swung round. ‘No, Denser, you are. I should kill you. The trouble is, I’m beginning to believe you.’ He stalked away through the village towards the first rip and, he hoped, The Raven. If there was anything left of it.
Chapter 12
Dropping to the ground in Septern’s study, Hirad caught Ilkar’s eye. The elf smiled. To his left, Talan stopped in the act of shouldering his pack. Hirad gathered his thoughts as his heart rate returned to something approaching normal.
‘I said not to come back,’ he said.
Talan shrugged. ‘You’re Raven.’
Hirad sucked his lip, nodded his thanks.
‘Did you find anything?’ asked Ilkar.
Hirad inclined his head.
‘Where’s Denser?’ Richmond was frowning.
‘Thinking hard, I hope,’ replied Hirad.
‘What about?’
‘His responsibilities. And how he treats The Raven - alive or dead.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Hirad didn’t reply immediately. He dusted himself down and turned to the rip. Its surface shimmered.
‘Perhaps you’d better ask the great explorer himself,’ he said.
Denser emerged from the rip, his cat right behind him. He studiously avoided Hirad’s cold gaze, choosing to examine the floor as he steadied himself. Presently, he rose to his feet. The cat jumped into his cloak. Denser rubbed his chin, pulled the parchment from a pocket and handed it to Ilkar. The elf examined the reddening area on the point of Denser’s jaw. He pursed his lips and looked past the Dark Mage to Hirad as he took the parchment. Hirad flexed the fingers of his right hand.
‘This is it, is it?’ asked Ilkar. Denser nodded. ‘Well?’
‘Some of it’s Julatsan lore, just like the amulet. I need you to help me understand it.’
‘I see.’
The two men walked over to Septern’s desk, where a lantern cast light enough to read by.
Hirad sat down. Talan and Richmond came over and squatted by him, wanting answers to questions. Hirad obliged and sketched in the events in the village, always with one eye on the mage pair, whose body language and hurried voices suggested problems. Hirad also had questions of his own, and The Raven warriors’ shaken heads and dulled sword blades provided ample answers.
It wasn’t too long before Denser and Ilkar had finished and moved back to the centre of the rip in front of the three fighting men. Ilkar held the parchment, his face troubled. Denser stared impassively at Hirad. The barbarian ignored him and addressed Ilkar.
‘So, what’s the plan, my friend?’ he asked.
‘Well, there’s good news and really really bad news. The good is that we know what we have to do. The bad is that we have next to no chance of doing it.’
‘He’s always been good at making things sound attractive, hasn’t he?’ Talan raised his eyebrows.