‘No, I just like it better than tea,’ said Denser.
‘And, speaking of which, we understand many of your former mercenary friends are on the Mount as we speak.’
Denser frowned. ‘You’re very well informed for men who never leave the catacombs for anything barring funerals.’
Dystran managed a shaky smile. ‘Ah well, you know the way the Mount works. We must all have our sources, must we not?’
‘So it seems.’
‘And we understand that the Communion Globe on Calaius is currently not functioning,’ said Vuldaroq.
Denser sucked in his cheeks and said nothing.
‘Now, if you assume as we do that this is linked in some way to the problems afflicting the mana spectrum at present—’
‘Wait,’ said Denser sharply. ‘That is not open research.’
‘Oh Denser, all research is open to the Lord of the Mount,’ said Dystran, patting Denser’s wrist.
Denser moved his hand. ‘Former.’
‘Some will remain forever loyal,’ said Dystran.
‘You do remember it was me who gave explicit instructions that you were not to be killed, don’t you?’ Denser sighed. ‘It has left you in a unique position and I rather hoped you might respect that. There are moments when I regret my leniency.’
Dystran laughed but it was brief and forced. ‘There are times I do too, Denser.’
Denser nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose there are. So tell me, what are your thoughts on all this?’
‘You see?’ said Dystran. ‘Having the old lord about isn’t all bad. If you’re lucky, it’ll become the done thing.’
‘I think we’ve moved beyond assassination as a mode of ascension,’ said Denser.
Dystran raised his eyebrows. ‘Only a fool would truly believe that. And only a fool would see what is happening here and now as a serious threat.’
‘Then I am a fool,’ said Denser. ‘I have dead souls reanimating fresh corpses all over the city, perhaps all over Balaia. I cannot talk to the elves even if I wanted to. I have massive mana dropouts to the east and getting closer, and I have reports that whatever it is that forced the dead out of their dimension is heading for the gates of Xetesk. How is this not a serious threat?’
Vuldaroq shook his head and exhaled loudly. Denser looked away and closed his eyes briefly.
‘Something wrong, Denser?’ asked the erstwhile Dordovan Tower Lord.
‘Nothing that not being patronised won’t fix.’
‘Don’t be so touchy. Instead, consider an alternative viewpoint.’ Denser motioned for Vuldaroq to continue. ‘Thank you. If there is one thing we learned from the demon invasion it was that the dead are far from the helpless onlookers we assumed. Not only do the Wesmen have direct access to their elders, the elves have a basic communication mode and was it not Ilkar who guided you to your destination all those years ago despite being dead?’
Denser shrugged. ‘Yes. So what?’
‘Open your eyes,’ snapped Dystran, slapping the arm of his chair and dislodging the bell which fell into his lap. He was interrupted by a brief fit of coughing.
‘You really believe they are here because something ripped open their own dimension? Something that powerful would not just be here by now, it would have destroyed us already. Think, my Lord of the Mount. This is not threat, it is opportunity. Find out what they really want. Find out why the mana spectrum is unstable. Xetesk thrives on harnessing fear, we always have.’
‘You’re saying I should dismiss the statements of my dead friends as lies?’
‘We’re saying treat anything a dead soul says with a little healthy scepticism. Every time one speaks, repeat to yourself, “Would I want to regain life if I were to die?” ’
‘Well of course I would. No one wants to die.’
‘Exactly,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘And expect them therefore to come up with a solution to the problem they have so conveniently appeared to warn you about.’
‘They already have,’ said Denser and a frown crept on to his face. ‘Are you saying . . . ?’
‘Ha! I rest my case,’ said Dystran, folding back into his chair, an expression of smug satisfaction on his pasty, thin face.
‘Wait, wait, young Dystran,’ said Vuldaroq, leaning further forward. ‘What form does this solution take?’
Denser shrugged. ‘Well, to be fair, this is where I have begun to lose it. They are convinced the enemy they say we face is too powerful and that we need to leave.’
Dystran gaped. Vuldaroq’s smile was half knowing.
‘Leave? And go where?’ he asked
‘Anywhere that isn’t Balaia, apparently.’
‘By which I suppose they mean south to Calaius, do they?’
‘Oh no, that would be too easy. They want us to leave the dimension entirely.’ Denser paused, sudden anxiety rippling through his mind. ‘Look, I can see where this is going.’
‘I should bloody well hope so,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘Bored dead people reappear in Balaia and announce the living should leave. I have no doubt you have been told their own dimension is damaged beyond repair or something like that.’
‘Something like that,’ said Denser. ‘But hang on a moment. These people are my friends, my wife. I trust them. I love them. And they want to leave too. With us, I think.’
‘So they say. And look who has come back so far,’ said Dystran. ‘That we know of. No simpletons. Of those who have announced themselves at our gates, or to you personally, every single one was a player before they died. The Raven. Styliann, my own predecessor, though his appearance was confusingly brief. Dear Gods burning and sorry you don’t know this, but there is a man sitting in the Mana Bowl right now who claims to be Septern.’
‘I did know that, and he is a fraud,’ said Denser. ‘He must be.’
‘You are so certain?’ said Dystran.
‘I just don’t see what point you’re making. It isn’t just powerful people. Ordinary Xeteskians are back too.’
‘But they are not shouting, are they? And that’s because they are merely pawns in this game. People of influence have returned. Drawn by something they clearly need. That, given what you have told us, appears to be a new home. Our home. And without us in it.’ Dystran leaned right forward and his voice was a husky whisper. ‘We don’t know what being dead does to people, Denser. Even those we love. Don’t trust any of them.’
‘I may not agree with them, but I will never deem them liars. You are talking about the most loyal people ever to have walked Balaian soil,’ said Denser. He pushed himself from his chair, unable to sit. He could feel his cheeks reddening. ‘You are talking about the woman I love and over whom I still weep ten years on. You who sit here in your cave, too frightened to face the world a decade after we, The Raven, freed it from the shackles of the demons. You are not fit to empty their piss from a bucket.’
‘And you will do your duty by your college!’ Dystran’s voice still held a surprising amount of power when he needed it. ‘The Raven is gone. You are Lord of the Mount. Start thinking like him.’
A servant came in bearing a tray of tea and coffee and no doubt heard enough of the conversation to keep him in free ale for ten days.
Denser had to restrain himself from spitting on the tray on his way out.
‘I only drink with friends.’
Chapter 11
Blackthorne had been chased by murderous enemies before but there was a bizarre quality to this one that was in danger of causing fatal complacency.
In the days since the Garonin had responded to Gresse’s attack with such appalling violence, the survivors had moved ahead of them. But such was the slow pace of the enemy advance that Blackthorne and the partially recovered Gresse had been able to undertake considerable planning. And because the Garonin stopped at dusk, standing stock still as if frozen in time, and restarted at dawn, they could camp, rest, forage and track at leisure.