Demonstorm

He pushed himself to his feet, Auum stepping in to help him up. He was covered in blood and his body felt like he was still being attacked.

'Thanks. I think it's time we went and saw Sha-Kaan. Shared some memories and found out where it is this Klene is taking us. His world for now, I expect, until he can find himself a new Dragonene.'

He reached down a hand which Denser took and hauled himself upright. The Unknown threw an arm around his shoulder and looked into his eyes.

'Raven,' he whispered. 'Raven with me.'

Epilogue

Sol unlocked the door of The Raven's Rest in response to the insistent knocking. He cleared his throat irritably.

'We aren't op- Oh, if it isn't the Lord of the Mount elect.'

'Very funny,' said Denser. 'Mind if I come in?'

'Be my guest.' Sol stepped aside and let him in out of the chill rain. 'Fancy a glass of wine? Just had some excellent young Black-thorne red come in.'

'Sounds ideal.'

'Hungry?'

'I could eat a scabby horse.'

'Sold out of that at midday. Still, I'm sure I can find something. Sit yourself down if you can find a seat.' He gestured around the big empty room, clean for the evening traffic. He limped around the end of the bar and took a bottle from the racking beneath it. 'Jonas, you in the kitchen?'

'Yes, father.'

'Bring in some bread and ham for two, there's a good lad. Denser's here.'

'Oh, great.'

Sol fished in his pocket for a corkscrew. He watched Denser walking around the walls of the tavern, looking fondly at the paintings of The Raven hanging there. And like always, he lingered at the portrait of Erienne, reaching out to touch it, brush away an imaginary hair.

The cork pulled with a satisfying pop. He sniffed the bottle then set it on a tray with a couple of glasses,

'You know,' said Denser. 'I've wanted to ask this for a while but don't you think we should think about taking these down? You know. Let them fade naturally in memory?'

'You cannot expect me to answer that question when you ask it wearing an expression like that. Besides, they bring in the punters.'

'I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say. I don't mean don't display them at all. It's just that The Raven isn't for everyone. They're ours.'

'There are plenty who would dispute that,' said The Unknown. 'Are you saying that I shouldn't profit from them?'

'It's not even that. Gods drowning, but everyone alive still owes us. .'

Sol set the tray down and sat beside Denser. The dark mage had chosen a high-backed leather chair; one of four grouped around a low table and large open hearth. Same as always. It reminded him of their back room at The Rookery. Long demolished now of course. Gone along with Tomas, Maris and Rhob. Like the loss of so many friends on that cataclysmic day in the demon dimension, the fact still haunted Sol sometimes. At least with Tomas and family he didn't have the nightmare memories too. The unwelcome recollection brought a shake to his hand as he poured the wine.

'See what you make of that,' he said, sitting in die next chair.

'The nerves never really recover, do they?'

Sol shook his head. 'Some days it's worse than others. Yesterday, I couldn't have poured the wine for you.' He felt the familiar sickness twist his stomach. 'That's really why I keep diem up here, you know. How their souls escaped the demons I don't know or care but we need to … I need to remind myself every day about their sacrifice. I actually find talking to one or other of them a comfort. Keeps me sane.'

Denser chuckled, a laugh born of intimate understanding. 'You talk to pictures to keep yourself sane.'

Sol smiled and the two men chinked glasses.

'Good health.'

'Oh, now that's very good,' said Denser, savouring the taste. 'And tell you what, when that slight sharpness softens in a year or two, it'll be phenomenal.'

'My thoughts exactly.'

'Have you seen him recently?' asked Denser.

'The Baron? No, not for a couple of seasons,' said Sol. 'Funny die effect all this has had on people long-term. Blackthorne doesn't

often leave his town these days and you know what he used to be like.'

Jonas walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray of bread and meat. He set it down on the table. The Unlcnown ruffled his blond hair.

'Thanks.'

'Hello, Denser,' said Jonas.

'Good to see you, young man. How are-you?'

The tall and very solid lad shrugged. 'All right. The Julatsans ask too many questions. I'd rather be riding my horse.'

'Good points. Pheone is up at the college now. I think she was planning on dropping in to speak to the young man here,' said Denser.

Jonas sighed dramatically. 'Do I have to?'

'It won't last for ever,' said Sol. He patted Jonas's backside. 'Go on now, see if your mother wants anything then you can go and take the horse out if you want. But don't be out after dark.'

'All right.'

Jonas trudged wearily away. The two friends watched him go.

'How old is he?' asked Denser.

'Eight.'

'Five years. .' Denser shook his head and looked again around the bar at the pictures. 'Is he finding it difficult?'

'Some days,' conceded Sol. 'He's reached a stage where he understands how important he is but he doesn't really understand why. After all, he's only ever seen Sha-Kaan as a friend and protector, never as a key inter-dimensional link.'

'He is only eight.'

'Exactly. He's a quarter the age of the next-youngest Dragonene and like Hirad he's not a mage. It confuses him. It's bound to.' Sol took another sip and then reached for a hunk of bread. 'When you see Pheone, tell her to go easy, will you? Sometimes she forgets herself, I think.'

'I'll certainly mention it.'

Jonas clattered down the stairs and ran out of the back door towards the stables.

'I take it she didn't want anything then?' called Sol after him. He didn't get a reply. 'Children.' He shook his head.

'How's Lady Unknown, then?' Denser cut a thin slice of bread and loaded it with ham.

'Bearing up, thanks. She's due in ten days so she doesn't get around too much but her health is good. Thanks for keeping an eye on her. She's pleased it's going to be another son, by the way. We both are.'

Sol refilled their glasses.

'Have you decided which name, yet?'

'I could only really call him Hirad, couldn't 1?'

'It'll be good to hear that name echoing round again.'

'He'll have plenty to live up to.'

Sol leaned back in his chair. He looked over at his friend, who scratched his grey-flecked beard then reached into his pouch for his pipe and weed. He'd been a tower of strength in the intervening years when Sol had found it very difficult to come to terms with what he'd lost. He'd managed his own grief so much better and been able to sit with Sol night after night until the horror and pain began to fade.

'So, Denser. What really brings you down The Thread from the Mount this wet afternoon? I seriously doubt it was merely social.'

'Ah, glad you asked,' said Denser. He tamped down his pipe, brought a flame to the end of his thumb and lit up. 'I've got a job for you.'

Sol tensed. 'See this fist? Do I have to point out again that I own and run a bar?'

'Hear me out,' urged Denser.

'I'm not leading any more demon-hunter teams into the Black-thornes. I've told you.'

'Sol, no one is asking you to. Suarav and that Wesman with the long and involved name are doing what's necessary. We've not had a raid in Xetesk for, what … a season and a half? Like I said, hear me out.'

Sol shrugged. 'All right. Sorry.'

'I've just come from the Balaia reconstruction council meeting and we're starting to run into some problems. With Dystran being forced to step down, there's a vacuum building. Whether or not I take over is neither here nor there. The trouble is that some of the