Shadowheart

‘Idon't share your confidence,' said The Unknown. 'And I don't know if we should release them, even if we discover how.'

'That's a question for later,' said Denser. 'There's much for us to do here. One thing at a time, eh?'

Another nod from the Unknown. He swallowed, unable to push the visions from his head. He focused hard on what they'd agreed.

'Go, Denser. Let's get this over with.'

Hirad grunted. 'Time to strike back.'

Denser crouched by the door. There was no conventional lock. What held the offices from unwelcome visitors was what Denser described as a magical door wedge. It was moved at dawn every day and replaced every night by the tower master, a mage with influence only bettered by the Circle Seven themselves. Not a difficult spell to overcome but, like everything in Xetesk, it could link to a hidden trigger that might do anything from setting off an alarm to firing a disabling spell.

'Nothing here,' said Denser. 'No. Hold on.' He fell silent again. 'Ah. Clever. Very clever.' He chuckled. 'Hold on.'

He drew in a deep breath and held it. The Unknown looked on, brow creasing deeper and deeper. Denser was working his fingers at an extraordinary rate. All the movements were minute but there was an order and complexity at which he could only wonder. The casting, or teasing of mana as The Unknown suspected it was, went on far beyond the time Denser should surely have taken a breath. His face displayed no discomfort and his face defined his level of concentration, eyes screwed tight, jaw clenched, neck muscles corded.

At the last, he shuddered. 'Release,' he muttered and rolled onto his back, to exhale and heave in a fresh breath. They gathered above him, looking down as he recovered himself.

'What the hell was all that about?' asked Hirad. 'You mages make things so difficult for yourselves, you know. Keys. They make sense.'

'The whole point is that the Tower Master should be alerted if someone tries to break in,' managed Denser.

‘Iexpect they'd just come in through the window like us, wouldn't they?' Hirad held out a hand and helped Denser to his feet.

'Thanks. You see, what you don't know is what we've triggered, coming through the windows and the office doors. It's a clever system and I'll explain it to you some other time.'

'So what did you do this time?' asked The Unknown, happy to be distracted.

'The Tower Master had a single strand of mana attached to the holding spell on the door. I suspect releasing the spell would have the effect of a ringing a bell in his chambers. I had to put in a lattice that would keep the strand at the right focus – that's tension to you, Hirad – and for that I had to calculate the focus. Not simple but not insurmountable.'

'And you reckon you got it right?' asked Hirad.

'No, I'm just killing time until the Tower Master gets here.' Denser shook his head.

Hirad suppressed a laugh. 'Not bad, Denser. Not bad.' He sobered almost immediately. 'But not Ilkar. Not yet.'

'Let's form up, Raven,' said The Unknown, taking the cue. 'Hirad, with me, Rebraal, your bow behind us. Mages centre, Thraun, Darrick you get the rear. And no debate. We see someone, we kill them. With one exception. Everyone understand? Denser, we'll do best with a SpellShield from you, I expect. Erienne, you and the others remember, no casting unless we're caught. We can't afford to be discovered through the mana spectrum.'

The Unknown indicated to Hirad to open the door. He stood to one side as the barbarian edged the gap wider. The domed hall was chill. Lanterns and braziers hung from wall spurs, the arcs of the outer towers and around the circumference of the dominating central stack that was Dystran's seat of power.

It was a huge chamber. The dome wrapped the towers some thirty feet above their heads. Directly ahead and mostly hidden by Dystran's tower, the massive gold-embossed arched wooden and iron doors kept out the night, reflecting the brazier and lantern light. Far left, a more sedate set of red-curtained doors led into the banqueting area while to the right, reception rooms were similarly shrouded, closed and empty.

But it was the unlit openings that set The Unknown's pulse quickening. There were seven. They twisted around and down, led to blind alleys, wards, alarms and, for the mage or guard trusted enough to know, to the base of spiral stairs and the top of the entrances to the catacombs. Seven up to the towers, seven down to where, historically, the seat of Xetesk's learning lay.

'Ahead,' whispered Denser. 'Skirt Dystran's tower to the left; we're headed for the curtained passage to the left of the dome doors.'

The Unknown led them out, his footsteps muffled by the cloth still wrapped around his boots but torn and wearing thin. The marble would give them away if it could. So would his breathing, the creak of his armour, the heat from his body or the call of his soul. Gods, he was prepared to believe anything would. The trouble was, if one Protector was near enough, they would be discovered through him.

A knife was in his hand now and he indicated to Hirad to keep an eye right while he took left, knowing those behind him were doing the same. It was a walk that went on forever beneath Xetesk's most secure quarters. Every pace could bring doom so quickly. Each footfall might reveal those that surely waited for them.

The Raven crept gradually around the base of Dystran's tower. Pace by pace, their target passage was revealed and, inch by inch, he began to believe they would reach it without incident.

Footsteps. Echoing. The direction hard to tell but the sound was growing. The Unknown clenched his fist. The Raven stopped, the Al-Arynaar half a pace slower. Rebraal's bow tensed. Hirad gestured left, the other side of the tower. The Unknown nodded, pointed either side of the tower and shrugged. Hirad shook his head. Denser pointed left and raised his eyebrows. Mouthed 'trust me', and began to edge back the way they had come. Right now they were visible from the dome doors. Whichever way the enemy came around the pillar, that was bad.

The footsteps were from more than one person, walking briskly, and clearly now from one of the tower entry passageways. The Unknown locked eyes with Rebraal. He nodded his readiness. All they could do now was to wait.

Men came into the dome. The muffling of the echoes gone as a curtain was pulled aside. The footsteps clattered across the marble, steelshod toe-caps and heels tapping out counter-rhythms. Soldiers. That was something.

There were two of them. Cloaked, helmets under one arm and marching purposefully towards the dome doors. They were talking, one plainly disagreeing with the other. The Unknown recognised the profile of the older one. The younger, the angrier one, he didn't.

He held up a hand, putting it in front of Rebraal's arrow. The Raven watched the men through the doors, which opened and closed for them, the guards on the outside not looking in as they pulled the slick-hinged and counterweighted halves together.

'Well, well,' whispered The Unknown. 'Still alive.'

'Who?' said Hirad, voice dead quiet.

'Suarav,' said The Unknown. 'Must be the oldest soldier on the staff if he trained me, eh?'

'And the other was Chandyr,' said Denser. 'Reporting to Dystran, the pair of them no doubt. Well, Raven, that's the heads of defence of city and college introduced.'

‘Icould have had them,' said Rebraal, bowstring relaxed once more.

'Not both of them and not without risk,' said The Unknown. He stared squarely at Hirad. 'We aren't here to kill unnecessarily. Come on. We've work to do.'

For Ranyl, rest was elusive. A new pain had been growing just beneath his ribs above his stomach and he feared that very soon even the thin soups he was currently able to take in would prove too much.

Now, even his familiar was asking him to submit to spells to numb the agony. He had seen the referred pain in the creature's eyes but was still determined that he would not allow others to cast on him that which he could not cast himself.

Having abandoned all hope of sleep, Ranyl had retreated to his most comfortable and supportive upright chair. His familiar had added logs to the fire, before curling up in his bed as a feline to sleep. Burrowing under the covers for warmth, his vitality was fading as his master slipped slowly away.