‘He couldn’t,’ replied Ilkar. ‘That’s why I’m—’
The mage was by the wall. He had blinked into view with both his hands on it. They probed briefly and a section of the wall moved back and left, revealing a dark passageway. The mage stepped into it and immediately the opening closed.
Ilkar ran to the wall and examined the section minutely, the others crowding around him.
‘Open it, then,’ said Hirad. The elf turned to stare at the barbarian, his leaf-shaped ears, pointed at the top, pricking in irritation.
‘Can you open it?’ asked Talan.
Ilkar nodded. ‘I’ll have to cast, though. I can’t see the pressure points otherwise.’ He switched his attention back to the wall and the rest of The Raven gave him space. Closing his eyes, Ilkar spoke a short incantation, moving his hands over the wall in front of him, feeling the mana trails sheath his fingers. Now he placed his fingertips on the stonework, searching. One after another, his fingers stopped moving, finding their marks.
‘Got it,’ he said. No more than half a minute had passed. The Unknown nodded.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘But you—’ he indicated the stocky figure of Talan, his short brown hair matted with sweat and the old scar on his left cheek burning bright through his tanned skin - ‘stay and get that cut seen to, and you—’ spitting the words at Richmond - ‘start the Vigil and think on what you’ve done.’
There was a brief silence. Talan considered objecting but the blood dripping from his arm, and his drained face, told of a bad wound. Richmond walked over to Ras, sighting down his long thin nose, tears in his pinched blue eyes. He folded his tall frame to kneel by the body of the Raven warrior, his sword in front of him, its point in the dirt and his hands clasped about the hilt guard. He bowed his head and was motionless, his long blond ponytail playing gently in the breeze. It was he, along with Talan and Ras, who had joined The Raven as an already established and respected trio four years earlier, after the only other battle that had seen the death of a Raven warrior; in this case, two of them.
The Unknown Warrior came to Ilkar’s shoulder.
‘Let’s do it,’ he said.
‘Right,’ said Ilkar. He pushed. The wall moved back and left. ‘It’ll stay open. He must have closed it from the inside.’
There was light at the end of the passageway, wan and flickering. The Unknown trotted into the passage, Hirad and Sirendor right behind him and Ilkar bringing up the rear.
As The Unknown Warrior moved towards the light, a shout of terror, abruptly cut off, was followed by a voice, urgent and loud, and the scrabbling of feet. The Unknown increased his pace.
Rounding a sharp right-hand corner he found himself in a small room, bed to the right, desk opposite and firelight streaming in from a short passage to the left. Slumped by the desk, and in front of an opening, was a middle-aged man dressed in plain blue robes. A long cut on his creased forehead dripped blood into his long-fingered hands and he stared at the splashes, shuddering continuously.
With The Raven in the room behind him, The Unknown knelt by the man.
‘Where did he go?’ Nothing. Not even recognition he was there. ‘The mage? In the black cloak?’
‘Gods above!’ Ilkar elbowed his way to the man. ‘It’s the castle mage.’ The Unknown nodded. Ilkar picked up the man’s face. The blood from his wound trickled over gaunt white features. His eyes flickered everywhere, taking in everything and seeing nothing.
‘Seran, it’s Ilkar. Do you hear me?’ The eyes steadied for a second. It was enough. ‘Seran, where did the Xeteskian go? We want him.’ Seran managed to look half over his shoulder to the opening. He tried to speak but nothing came out except the letter ‘d’ stuttered over and over.
‘Hold on,’ said Sirendor. ‘Shouldn’t that wall let back on to—’
‘Come on,’ said The Unknown. ‘We’re losing him the longer we wait.’
‘Right,’ said Hirad. He led The Raven through the opening, down a short corridor and into a small, bare chamber. In the dim light from Seran’s study, he could see a door facing him.
He moved to the door and pulled it open on to another, longer passage, the end of which was illuminated by a flickering glow. He glanced behind him.
‘Come on,’ he said, and broke into a run down the passage. As he approached the end, he could see a large fire burning in a grate set into the wall opposite. Sprinting into the chamber, he glanced quickly left and right. There was a pair of doors in the right-hand wall perhaps twenty feet away, set either side of a second, unlit fireplace. One of them was swinging slowly shut.
‘There!’ he pointed and changed direction, not waiting to see if any were following. His prey was close.
Hirad skidded to a stop before the door and wrenched it open, stepping back to look before dashing in. It was a small antechamber, set with massive arched double doors opposite. They carried a crest, half on each side. The walls were covered in runic language; braziers lit the scene. Hirad ignored it alclass="underline" one of the big doors was just ajar and a glittering light came from inside. The barbarian smiled.
‘Come to Daddy,’ he breathed as he ran through the gap and into the chamber beyond.
‘Hirad, wait!’ shouted Sirendor as he, Ilkar and The Unknown raced into the larger chamber.
‘Get after that idiot, Sirendor,’ ordered The Unknown. ‘Time to take stock, I think.’
Above the fire hung a round metal plate, fully three feet across. On it was embossed the head and talons of a dragon. The mouth was wide, dripping fire, and the claws open and grasping. Otherwise, the room was bare of ornament. The Unknown moved towards it, half an eye on Sirendor as the warrior hurried towards the door through which Hirad had chased. He stopped suddenly, glanced behind him and frowned.
‘What is it?’ asked Ilkar.
‘This isn’t right,’ said The Unknown. ‘Unless I’ve gone badly wrong, this ought to be the kitchens and that end of this room—’ he pointed right to the two doors flanking the unlit fire - ‘should be in the courtyard.’
‘Well, we must be under it,’ said Ilkar.
‘We haven’t gone down,’ said The Unknown. ‘What do you think?’ But Ilkar wasn’t paying attention to him any more. He was staring at the crest over the fire, his face paling.
‘That symbol. I know it.’ Ilkar walked over to the fire, The Unknown trailing him.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s the Dragonene crest. Heard of it?’
‘A few rumours.’ The Unknown shrugged. ‘So what?’
‘And you say we should be standing in the courtyard?’
‘Well, yes, I think so but . . . ?’
Ilkar swallowed hard. ‘Gods, we’d better not have done what I think we’ve done.’
It was the size of the hall he entered that first slowed Hirad’s advance, and the heat that assailed him the moment he was inside. Next it was the odour, very strong, of wood and oil. Pervasive and with a sharp quality. And finally, the huge pair of eyes regarding him from the opposite side of the room that brought him to a complete standstill.
‘Gods, Hirad, calm down!’ Sirendor yanked open the door to the right of the fireplace and ran inside, seeing the crested double doors in front of him. He pulled up sharply, the dark-cloaked mage appearing suddenly before him. He raised his sword reflexively and took a pace backwards, realising the mage’s abrupt appearance was caused by the dispersal of a CloakedWalk spell. Probably in his late thirties, the mage would normally have been handsome beneath his tousled black hair and unkempt short beard, but now he looked pale and frightened. He held out his hands, palms outwards.
‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘I couldn’t stop him, but I can stop you.’
‘You’re responsible for the death of one of The Raven—’