‘Which takes us back to our original starting point which is pooling all College papers on Septern and dimensional magics, largely one and the same thing. We also have Septern’s last diaries but I suggest a return to his workshop is a must,’ said Ilkar.
‘So we all go back to our Colleges and pilfer from the libraries?’ Erienne’s tone expressed clear doubt. ‘I don’t think I’m welcome there any more.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Styliann. ‘As we near the Blackthornes, I will commune with Xetesk and issue instructions to all the Colleges to find everything they have for us. I believe Dordover and Julatsa hold the bulk of his works. Scholars there can sift the mass and we can view anything relevant at Triverne Lake.’
‘I think you’re forgetting something rather important, my Lord,’ said Ilkar. ‘There are fifty-odd thousand Wesmen running about over there. Triverne Lake won’t be an option.’
Styliann smiled. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘How easily one can forget.’
‘We’ll have to visit the Colleges ourselves,’ said Ilkar.
‘Assuming we can reach them.’ Denser adjusted his position. ‘There are bound to be armies marauding around the Colleges. You know the Wesmen’s ultimate goal.’
‘Yes, but they have no magic,’ protested Erienne.
‘That won’t stop them encircling the Colleges,’ replied Denser tersely. ‘There are other methods of victory than hand-to-hand warfare.’ Erienne frowned at his tart reaction but said nothing.
‘And you haven’t heard The Unknown’s assessment, have you?’ Ilkar raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll let him fill you in if you want but in a nutshell, he doesn’t see we necessarily have much of a home to go to.’
Styliann snorted. ‘No College will fall to a non-magical army, however big.’
‘They don’t have to batter it, they can starve it,’ said Ilkar. ‘And anyway, none of the Colleges has the strength of offensive mages to halt an advance by an army that doesn’t care about the level of casualties it takes. That’s what is worrying The Unknown. Nevertheless, it seems our course is clear. Dordover and Julatsa must be apprised of our needs. Following that, we, that is The Raven—’ he looked pointedly at Styliann ‘—will revisit Septern’s workshop, and perhaps the Avian dimension should that be necessary. It all depends what we find in the libraries.’
‘So, no real problem there then,’ said Denser, smiling. ‘I can’t see why we’re so worried about it. Any chance I can sleep now?’
Chapter 5
Funeral pyres were burning for the fallen members of Darrick’s cavalry. Wytch Lord acolytes, Guardians and Wesmen burned together in one corner of the square, filling the air with an acrid taint and the ash of battle’s end.
Near the pyramid, which Darrick’s mages had assured him was the exact centre of Parve, the General and The Raven’s warriors had waited for midday. Brisk conversation had died to the sporadic remark, then quiet.
Now, with the sharp-edged shadow of the rip cast from the cloudless sky etching the ground, the stone of Parve was stained by more than blood. The shadow covered an area of around five hundred paces on the longer side, three hundred on the shorter - as far as the irregular shape could be said to have sides. It was, at best guess, ten times the size of the rip itself. The Unknown, watched by two of Darrick’s Dordovan Communion mage specialists, marked the shade at four points.
Already in agreement was a calculation of noon based on the disappearance of shadow from the east face of the pyramid.
The Unknown straightened. ‘There we are. Today, of course, tells us nothing. Tomorrow won’t either as we will have no idea of the rip’s rate of growth until we have made measurements for a week or so. Are we all agreed on the calculations?’
The mages and Darrick nodded. So, after a pause, did Will. Thraun simply shrugged.
‘Hirad?’ The Unknown was smiling.
‘You trying to be funny?’ Hirad said more irritably than he intended. The Unknown walked over to him.
‘I apologise. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, not so’s you’d notice,’ said Hirad. ‘I mean, all that’s happened today is we’ve beaten what we thought was the biggest threat to Balaia, only to find there was worse lurking around the corner. What on earth should be wrong?’
The Unknown put a hand on Hirad’s shoulder and turned him away from the onlooking Will and Thraun.
‘That’s one thing. What else?’ Hirad stared at the big warrior. ‘Come on, Hirad. I’ve known you ten years. Don’t pretend that’s it. Not to me.’
Hirad turned his head, looking over at the three Raven mages and Styliann as they talked by the fire.
‘We’re going to have to go there,’ he said, frowning. ‘Sha-Kaan said the rip had to be closed back to front, or something. Erienne understood. But . . .’
‘I know,’ said The Unknown.
‘Unknown, I don’t know if I can.’
‘I’ll be standing beside you. We all will. We’re The Raven.’
Hirad chuckled. ‘At least I’ll be dying in good company, then.’
‘No one’s dying, Hirad. Least of all you. You’ve got more lives than a cat.’
‘It’s my destiny.’ Hirad shrugged. The Unknown looked at him bleakly.
‘You know nothing about destiny,’ he said, voice low and cool. Hirad bit his lip, cursing himself for his flapping tongue. The Unknown was a man for whom that word had a truly bitter meaning.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked.
‘Empty and alone,’ said The Unknown. ‘Like I’ve lost something precious.’ He watched a group of Styliann’s Protectors who were examining the dead dragon. ‘You can have no idea what it’s like. I can feel them but I can’t be close to them, not really. They know me as one of them but can’t relate to me. I’m outside of their conception yet evidently real. It’s as if I’m neither Protector nor free man.’ The Unknown pulled off a glove and scratched his forehead with his thumb. ‘You don’t know what your soul really is until you lose it.’
‘But you wouldn’t still want to be one of them, would you?’ Hirad too was staring at the Protectors. Xeteskian warriors, all taken before their time to the service of the College and enthralled, their souls removed from their bodies but kept alive. And kept alive to be held together in the Soul Tank, deep in the catacombs of Xetesk where the demons could reach them and punish them should they step out of line.
The Unknown had said it was both the tragedy and the glory of existence as a Protector. Never had he felt so close to his fellow men, their souls mingling in the tank, enabling them to operate as one in the flesh - the understanding of the human at the most basic level making them the awesome power they were.
But all the time, the DemonChain linking each body to the essence of the soul could be the source of unending pain. No Protector could return to his former life though he would remember every detail. The ebony mask each wore was both reminder and warning. Protectors belonged to Xetesk. They had no identity; the Dark College’s deal with the demons saw to that.
Hirad shuddered. And The Unknown had been one until Laryon, the Xeteskian Master who believed in an end to the Calling, had sacrificed his life in freeing the Raven warrior.
But the legacy remained. The Unknown’s time in the Soul Tank had left him permanently bonded to the remaining Protectors, some five hundred in all. And though his soul rested in his body once more and he could live maskless, without fear of retribution from demons, Hirad knew the big man would never really be free. He could see it in The Unknown’s eyes. And though he smiled, laughed and cared as much as ever he did, something was missing. He was wounded, his brotherhood cut from him. It was a wound Hirad doubted would ever close and if it did not, The Unknown would always carry with him that sense of loss.