‘You really think so?’ asked Will.
‘The boys are mage twins,’ said Thraun. ‘They will be powerful and they are Dordovan. Alun will tell you himself, when they’ve finished with Erienne, they will probably kill them. We have to get them out.’ He looked back at Alun. ‘It won’t be cheap.’
‘Whatever it costs, I don’t care.’
‘Of course, I’ll work for nothing,’ said Thraun.
‘No, my friend, you won’t.’ A half-smile cracked Alun’s face. Tears glinted in his eyes. ‘I just want them home.’
‘And home they will be. Now,’ Thraun rose, ‘I’m taking you home. You rest, we’ll plan, and I’ll be back later in the day.’
Thraun helped Alun from the bench and the two men walked slowly from the inn.
Richmond and Talan had moved Ras’s body to a quiet chamber carved out of the mountain into which the castle was built. Candles burned next to him, one for each point of the compass. His face was clean and shaven, his armour sewn and washed, his arms lay by his sides and his sword in its scabbard was laid along his body from his chin to his thighs.
Richmond did not look up from his kneeling position as Hirad, Sirendor, The Unknown and Ilkar entered. Talan, standing by the door, inclined his head to each of them as they passed him.
Ranged around the central table on which Ras lay, The Raven, heads bowed, paid their respects to their fallen friend. Each man remembered. Each man grieved. But only two spoke.
As the candles burned low, Richmond stood and resheathed his sword.
‘My soul I pledge to your memory. I am yours to command from beyond the veil of death. When you call I shall answer. While I breathe, these are my promises.’ His last was a bitter whisper. ‘I wasn’t there. I am sorry.’ He looked to The Unknown, who nodded and moved to the table, walking around it. Beginning at Ras’s head, he snuffed the candles as he reached them.
‘By north, by east, by south, by west. Though you are gone, you will always be Raven and we shall always remember. The Gods will smile on your soul. Fare well in whatever faces you now and ever.’
Again silence, but now in darkness.
Denser remained in Seran’s chambers. The dead mage was lying on his bed under a sheet. For his part, Denser couldn’t work out why he was still alive, but he was grateful. The whole of Balaia would be grateful, but no City would be breathing easier than Xetesk that the barbarian had been stopped.
The cat nuzzled his legs. Denser sagged down the wall and sat.
‘I wonder if this really is it,’ said Denser, turning the amulet over and over in his hands. ‘I think it is but I have to know.’ The cat gazed into his eyes. No clue there. ‘The question is, do we have the strength to do it?’ The cat jumped into his cloak, nestling into the warmth of Denser’s body.
It fed.
‘Yes,’ said Denser. ‘Yes, we do.’ He closed his eyes and felt the mana form around him. This would be difficult but he had to know. A communion over such a distance was a strain on mind and body. Knowledge and glory would come at a price if they came at all.
They buried Ras outside the castle walls, branding the ground with The Raven mark; a simple profile of the bird’s head, single eye enlarged and wing curved above the head.
All but Richmond left the graveside, tired and hungry. For the lone warrior, kneeling in the cool damp of a windy, moonless night, the Vigil would last until dawn.
Sitting at a table in the huge kitchens, Ilkar described the events through the dimension door to Talan. It was only then that Hirad started to shake.
Picking up his mug of coffee from the table, he stared at it wobbling in his hands, liquid slopping out over his fingers.
‘You all right?’ asked Sirendor.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Hirad. ‘I don’t think so.’ He raised the mug to his lips but couldn’t close his mouth on it. The coffee dribbled down his chin. His heart slammed in his chest and his pulse thumped in his neck. Sweat began to prickle his forehead and dampen his armpits. Images of Sha-Kaan’s head flooded his mind. That and the fire all around him, hemming him in. He could feel the heat again and it made his palms itch. He dropped the mug.
‘Gods in the ground, Hirad, what’s wrong?’ Sirendor’s voice betrayed alarm. The barbarian half smiled. He must look as terrified as he felt. ‘You need to lie down.’
‘Give me a moment,’ said Hirad. ‘I don’t think my legs’ll carry me anyway.’ He glanced around the table. They were all staring at him, their food forgotten. He shrugged. ‘I didn’t even believe they existed,’ he said in explanation. ‘So big. So . . . so huge. And right here!’ He put a quivering palm in front of his face. ‘Too powerful. I can’t—’ He broke off, shuddering the length of his body. Plates and cutlery on the table rattled. Tears fogged his vision and he felt his heart trip-hammering. He swallowed hard.
‘What did it talk about?’ asked Ilkar.
‘Loud. He thundered in my head,’ said Hirad. ‘He talked about dimensions and portals and he wanted to know what I was doing. Huh. Funny . . . that huge and he cared what I was doing. Me. I’m so small but he called me strong.’ He shivered again. ‘He said he’d know me. He had my life. He could have crushed me just like that. Snuffed me out. Why didn’t he? I wish I could remember everything. ’
‘Hirad, you’re mumbling,’ said Sirendor. ‘I think we should leave this for another time.’
‘Sorry, I think I’ll lie down now, if you’ll help me.’
‘Sure thing, old friend.’ Sirendor smiled. He pushed back the bench and helped Hirad to shaky feet.
‘Gods. I feel like I’ve been sick for a week.’
‘You’ve been sick all your life.’
‘Sod off, Larn.’
‘I would, but you’d fall over.’
‘Make sure he drinks plenty of hot, sweet liquid,’ said The Unknown as the friends shambled past. ‘Nothing alcoholic.’
‘Is the Xetesk mage still here?’ asked Hirad. The Unknown nodded.
‘In Seran’s chambers,’ said Ilkar. ‘Asleep. Hardly surprising after the casting he’s done today. He won’t be leaving until I’ve spoken to him.’
‘You should have let me kill him.’
The Unknown smiled. ‘You know I couldn’t.’
‘Yes. Come on, Larn, or I’ll collapse where I’m standing.’
The two men sat in low chairs either side of a fire long dead. Night hurried to engulf the College City of Xetesk and, in response, lanterns glowed, keeping the dark at bay and lighting up the massed shelves of books that stood at every wall in the small study. On a desk kept meticulously tidy, a single candle burned above the ribboned and titled sheaves of papers.
Far below the study, the College quietened. Late lectures took place behind closed doors, spells were honed and adjusted in the armoured chambers of the catacombs, but the air outside was still.
Beyond the walls of the College, Xetesk still moved, but as full night fell, that movement would cease. The City existed to serve the College, and the College had in the past exacted a heavy price for its own existence. Inns would lock their doors, patrons staying until first light; shops and businesses feeding off those who fed off the College would shutter their windows. Houses would show no light or welcome.
No longer did Protectors issue from the College to snatch subjects for experiment. And no longer did Xetesk mages use their own people for sacrifice in mana-charge ceremonies. But old fears died hard and rumours would forever fly through the markets that bustled by day but echoed silence at night.
As darkness fell, a malevolent quiet still emanated from the College in a cloying cloud of apprehension and anxiety like fog rolling in from the sea. Countless years of blood ritual would never be forgotten and forever hearts would quicken at the sound of wood splintering in the distant dark, and cries would be stifled as footsteps were heard slowing by locked doors. Dread ran through the veins of Xetesk and the foreboding receded only with the lightening of the sky on a new morning.