The soldier stifled a laugh. Blackthorne shook his head.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ He turned to the soldier. ‘You can pass that round the fires this evening, can’t you? Meanwhile, we’re making for Gyernath. I need scouts ahead, tracking the Wesmen return to Blackthorne. We will take the south-east trail at Varhawk Point. We leave in an hour.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
Blackthorne walked to the edge of the cave. The hillside was awash with action. He saw the soldier hurry to his superiors, relaying Blackthorne’s orders. Voices rolled across the open space. Men leapt to their feet, packs shouldered; horses were led to their saddling areas, the remaining mages gathered themselves. What little canvas individuals owned was struck and folded. Away to the right, a soldier struggled briefly to calm a skittish horse and, here and there, fires were stoked to make the last hour of the dying as comfortable as they could be. Those unable to make the journey wouldn’t be left alive, and the pyres had been built the evening before.
The Baron smiled, satisfied. Farmers, boys and regular garrison soldiers mixed in a single purpose, moving with impressive order, readying themselves for the march. The next weeks would seal the fate of the entire Blackthorne Barony. He needed them. If they could alert Gyernath, defend the bay beaches and regain the town, the south would have a strong foothold in their own lands that could be used to strike further against the Wesmen.
The smile left Blackthorne’s face. For all his talk and thought, Balaia was a mess. Understone and the pass were surely in Wesmen hands; the Colleges could fall despite the loss of Shamen magic; he, Baron Blackthorne, most powerful landowner in Eastern Balaia, was homeless, chasing the hillsides with a band of townsmen, farmers and wounded, tired soldiers.
It got worse. The Raven were trapped in the West; much of the fighting strength of the East was wrapped up in lone garrison defence or fragmented between bickering barons more concerned with maintaining obsolete land boundaries than saving their country; and to cap it all much of Korina, with its distrust of mages and their Communion, would know little or nothing about it. And although the Understone garrison would have despatched fast messengers to the east coast, they would not arrive for seven days, if at all. The hordes of the Wesmen could sweep all the way to the eastern oceans and right now, no one was capable of stopping them.
‘By the Gods, we’re in trouble.’
‘Well spotted,’ said Gresse from within the cave.
‘Not just us, I mean Balaia.’
‘Well spotted.’
‘What will we do?’ asked Blackthorne, his confidence and belief suddenly deserting him, the enormity of the problem hitting him like an avalanche from the highest of his mountains’ peaks.
‘Everything we can, my friend. Everything we can,’ said Gresse. ‘Just take it one step at a time. Help me up, would you? I think we shouldn’t delay our travel to Gyernath any longer than is absolutely necessary.’
Chapter 6
The Raven didn’t ride until well into the following afternoon. Even then, Denser wasn’t truly up to it but time seemed to press. It was a warm day and the open spaces of the Torn Wastes attracted the heat. Riding would be uncomfortable without cloud to cover the sun.
The second measurement of the noon shade had been inconclusive, much as had been expected. Given allowances for inaccuracies, it wasn’t clear whether the rip had grown or, in fact, shrunk. The Unknown guessed it would be at least a week before believable evidence of the rate of increase of the rip’s area was available.
The four-College cavalry under General Darrick was partially split. Three mages, all Communion specialists, would remain hidden in Parve. With them would be fifteen sword cavalry, whose instructions included detailed examination and measurement of the dragon. It was this small company who would provide the information The Raven had to have: just how long would it be before the rip became too wide for the Brood Kaan to defend.
That left Darrick with around two hundred horsemen and eleven mages for attack, defence and Communion. Styliann’s ninety Protectors represented a formidable force and the Lord of the Mount’s magic was supremely powerful.
But, thought Hirad as he sat at the head of The Raven’s four warriors and three mages, he couldn’t help but feel they were just too few.
Even given that the fifty-odd thousand Wesmen would be concentrated in a few likely areas east and west of the Blackthorne Mountains, avoiding them would be difficult and they couldn’t hope to outfight or outrun a Wesmen army.
And there lay their biggest and most immediate problem. Having discounted traversing the sheer and treacherous range of mountains, they were left with attempting Understone Pass, which would be a suicidal folly, or heading either north to Triverne Inlet or south to the Bay of Gyernath. At either crossing, they would be forced to steal craft to reach their own lands.
The decision of which water to attempt was to be deferred until they had ridden perhaps two days down the eastern trail which led close by the Arch-Temple of the Wrethsires and directly to Understone Pass. Hirad suppressed a shudder. The Arch-Temple of the Wrethsires, where the blood of Protector, Raven and Wrethsire had been spilt but the last catalyst of Dawnthief found, was not a place the barbarian would ever wish to lay eyes on again.
As the column rode sedately out of Parve, Darrick at its head, The Raven behind the cavalry with the Protectors surrounding Styliann at the rear, Hirad shook his head.
‘We’re fooling ourselves,’ he said.
‘Pardon?’ said Ilkar who, with The Unknown, flanked him.
‘We need to make a quick decision of what it is we actually want. We’re unclear and it’ll cost us.’
‘I’m not with you,’ said the Julatsan.
‘For instance, do we, I mean The Raven, have to get to the Colleges? Can’t scholars there do the research for us?’
‘Hirad, we none of us really know precisely what we’re looking for,’ said Ilkar.
‘Yes we do. We have to find and read everything about Septern. Or rather, you mages do, since I can’t. And then, we have to link that to what Xetesk knows about dimension gates and Dragonene portals. Then we have to cast something that works.’
Ilkar stared at Hirad, his mouth open, his lips tugging up at the corners as he fought to avoid a smile.
‘It’s not like baking a shepherd’s pie, for God’s sake.’ Hirad’s expression was blank. ‘If we have to create a new spell to close that thing, we’re finished.’
‘What?’ Hirad turned in his saddle.
‘A spell of the nature you’re suggesting would take anywhere between one and five years to write, test and prove even assuming we had the raw Lore and understanding to do so.
‘What we’re hoping to find, and this has clearly passed you by, is some writing by Septern that will either log a spell designed to close a rip or tell us where to find one. At best, Xetesk’s DimensionConnect will provide background to help us understand more quickly.’
‘You have completely lost me,’ said Hirad. ‘Surely a rip is a rip. If you can open one, you can close one.’
‘No.’ The voice behind belonged to Erienne. She moved in between Hirad and a relieved-looking Ilkar. ‘We’ve now got three different types of rip. Four if you count the Dragonene portals.
‘We’ve got Septern’s bordered and stable rips which some of you have travelled, Xetesk’s DimensionConnect which is an unstable, embryonic portal magic, the Dragonene portals which we presume the dragons themselves control, and finally the unbounded rip created in the wake of Dawnthief.
‘They are all completely different constructs. To say you can close one because you can close another is like saying you can make shoes for horses because you can make them for people. All we’re sure is that, at some probably base Lore level, there is a connection between Septern’s bounded rips and the one in the sky. Only his work can really help us in the time we have. We don’t have time for a blacksmith’s apprenticeship.’