'Unless we stop them, right?'
'Pheone, before I tell you what we must do, you must understand this. We believe Xetesk remains the focal point of their attack, Lystern to be under increasing pressure, and that Dordover has fallen.'
'What?' Pheone felt her heart race and a sick feeling cross her gut. 'Dordover?'
'We can't be certain but Baron Blackthorne, who still resists, reports that his last spies saw no light in the tower. But the Heart still beats because it feeds the demons mana strength. But what has happened to Dordover will happen everywhere unless there is unification. The colleges are the last free outposts of any real substance. If they are picked off one by one we are all lost. Elves, men, Wesmen, dragons and the dead.'
'The what?' Pheone's nervousness allowed a smile to creep onto her face.
'Don't mock what you cannot understand,' snapped Rebraal.
'I'm sorry,' said Pheone quickly. 'It just all sounds so far-fetched.'
'Have you not talked to the Al-Arynaar?' asked Auum. 'Humans are so blind. You do not even know when you are dying.'
'The cursyrd are on the verge of dominating this, and through it, every dimension we hold dear. We must unite to defeat them and it must be now. The fight will not take place here, it will take place in Xetesk. That is why we are here and that is why you must prepare to leave Julatsa.'
Pheone was so surprised that she replayed Rebraal's words to make sure she'd heard him correctly. 'You want us to do what?'
He had known constant fear. And beside that fear there was a pulse that he could sense and it was growing stronger. Malevolent in intent. He distanced himself from it like they all did. It confused his senses, threatened to overwhelm them.
And he experienced utter clarity too. Clarity of thought and memory brought him joy, comfort and a pure sense of belonging. These times were as common as they were craved.
He was aware of meeting others, of their presence and support. Whoever they had been they were immense in character and clear of purpose. And like him, they retained the link to those they had left, though he wasn't sure, like them, if his communication was truly understood.
All his senses were changed, were more complex than mere sight, touch or smell. He had no words to describe them but he understood and used them as if he had been born with them. He could describe without seeing, listen without hearing and speak, if speak it was.
He believed he communicated on his new sensory level without the need for words though he still considered it speech. It produced images, soundless yet they contained the meaning he needed.
When he had arrived here, with its warmth and comfort, with its beauty and calm, and with its threatened borders and fear, it hadn't been the way it was now. How long ago that was, he couldn't say. There was no conception of time passing, though surely the knowledge of change indicated such.
Now, though the link provided his most clear sense of the life he had left, it was no longer the only way. He had become aware that he could sense those for whom he felt enduring love without the need for the link buried in his ancestral homeland. But he couldn't always feel them and he didn't know if he was felt by them.
He felt a growing worry. The sense of threat to their existence was building and he, like all of them, had travelled away from the developing pulse to minimise its effect. But in travelling, he had lost the link and his ability to feel his loved ones. He was certain that
distance dulled feeling. Others felt it too and it worried them. The threat was forcing them from the link quite deliberately and it was weakening them, denying them joy and comfort.
He craved the sense of touch and he knew what he must do to try and regain it. Others would follow if they understood his reasoning. He had to approach the pulse, approach the burgeoning fear. He wanted to know if those he loved felt it too and if they could remove it and leave him with the peace and calm that was his by right.
He began to seek the direction of travel, a curious reminiscence flowing over him. The familiarity of purpose and of knowing he would soon be where he knew he truly belonged. He brought the words to his mind and the images washed through him. Had he lips he would have spoken the words. As it was, he felt exhilaration power his soul.
He reached out to them, sought them and pushed away the fear.
Them. The Raven. And within them, one mind and soul was for him so much brighter than the rest.
Hirad's head felt full and it kept him from his sleep. It had been coming on through the evening and he'd bitten his lip several times during the talking they'd done to avoid sparking a dispute. He knew it was something the others couldn't feel or understand. So he'd taken himself to sleep away from them, volunteering to take the last watch before dawn.
He tried to examine the way he felt. It was nothing like the touch of Sha-Kaan, which was warm; a gentle probing that sought permission to enter his mind. What he was experiencing now was more akin to an attack. Like someone was hammering on a door, demanding entrance. Everything was muffled but the pressure grew until he developed a thumping pain in his head.
Denser had offered a casting to give him relief from the pain but he didn't want that because he thought he knew what was causing it. Because as he lay and studied the weight inside his skull, he filtered feelings from the morass. He felt love, strength and the longing for contact, lost in time. And he felt fear too and that was reminiscent of that night in Taanepol.
But unlike that awakening, which had a dreamlike quality to it full of half-remembered images and snatches of sound, this was a solid
block of emotional force. And closer than the dream. Hirad closed his eyes and tried to probe the block but he had no real idea how to. All he knew was that the more he relaxed, the more certain he became that his first impressions had been right.
'Ilkar?' he spoke out loud but softly. 'It is you isn't it? Gods burning, I don't know how but it is. I can feel you, Ilks, but I can't understand you. I don't know how to respond. I'm not a mage, my mind isn't trained. But if you're sending a message keep on.' He chuckled. 'But perhaps you could speak a little quieter, I'm not enjoying the hammering.'
He paused. His words had had no effect. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the seat of the pain in the back of his skull.
'Ilkar, please. If you can hear this, back off a little. I can't under stand you, it's just coming over as pain and noise in my mind. Ilkar?'
And abruptly, the feelings were gone. Hirad sat bolt upright and closed his eyes against the yawing of his mind and the blackening of his vision as the blood rushed away. There were tears standing in his eyes.
There was something else too. Just like Rebraal had said he'd understood back in Taanepol.
It was a desperate cry for help.
T have to put this to the council,' said Pheone.
'We have no time,' snapped Rebraal, his palm smacking on the table top. 'You have a hundred and eighty mages here, almost two hundred Al-Arynaar warriors. You represent the strongest force on Balaia, don't you understand? Without you, the pressure on Xetesk will become intolerable. And we can't afford that to happen.'
'Well why the bloody hell aren't they coming here then if we're so damned great?' shouted Pheone, losing her cool. She was already tired and hungry and now these elves were putting her under enormous pressure. Damn, why was she the only one of the council awake?
'Because they won't make it and we need the information we know they hold. We have to make preparations now and leave in a day. Every moment is critical.'
'Hold it again,' she said, drawing breath and waving a palm at Rebraal. 'What information?'