‘To the south, things are slightly more promising, but only slightly,’ he said. ‘We believe that Baron Blackthorne has had some success in holding a Wesmen force from reaching Understone. His Town has fallen and he is, as far as we can make out, riding to Gyernath to swell his numbers. It makes sense for me to attempt to join with him and try, as I assume he will, to disrupt the Wesmen’s southern supply lines and take back his castle. If we can make a base, we can begin to beat them back.’
‘Good old Blackthorne,’ said The Unknown. ‘Give him our regards when you see him.’
‘Be glad to.’
‘And Styliann?’ Denser’s question had Darrick blow out his cheeks.
‘He also has requested to see me and I will recommend he travels south with us. Ultimately, though, he is my commander and can do as he wishes. I believe I can persuade him that his best chance of returning in triumph to Xetesk is to attack from the south with us, avoiding Understone.’
‘No chance,’ said Denser, shaking his head a little contemptuously. ‘He wants in on Septern’s research and coming with us is how he’ll do it.’
Darrick drained his coffee and stood up, brushing himself down with his free hand.
‘Well, no time like the present,’ he said.
‘Good luck,’ said Denser. ‘You’ll need it.’
Darrick smiled. ‘I never count on luck. Get some sleep. We’re leaving at first light.’
‘If you see Ilkar . . .’ said Hirad.
‘I’ll give him a wide berth,’ said Darrick. ‘Good night.’
Ilkar strode away through the precise rows of tents. He stared straight ahead, ignoring the acknowledgements of cavalrymen, the staccato sounds of laughter and talking from within which broke the quiet.
He knew his eyes were full of tears and his teeth were clamped around the soft inner tissue below his bottom lip in a vain attempt to halt its trembling. Eventually, he slowed, reaching the edge of the tents and the open area between the cavalry and Styliann.
Sitting on a flat-faced, lichen-covered rock, he fought his mind into what passed for order and breathed in the ramifications of all he had just heard. The potential end to Julatsa’s seat of magical power, the slaughter of untold numbers of his brother and sister mages, and the isolation of the survivors - still Julatsan but without a focus for their energy, power or study.
And it could all have gone already. While he thought he would feel the destruction of the Tower through the mana trails, this far from Julatsa, the deaths of so many, one by one, would barely cause a ripple. He knew of none who had a ManaPulse targeting him to warn of their death.
And if the Tower fell, what then? Who would rebuild the College? Mages like him, he supposed. But where would he and those like him find the resources and sheer strength to accomplish the mammoth task that was the construction of a new Tower? And how could they hope to attract mage students to a College that had fallen to an army without magic? Surely, to lose the College in these circumstances would mean the slow end to Julatsan magic forever as its ever dwindling number of practising mages aged and died.
He wondered if The Raven could reach Julatsa in time, or whether they would be left picking over the rubble and corpses. And getting there before the College fell would serve what purpose? What could The Raven hope to achieve as the sole fighting force of the East outside of its gates? Perhaps it would be better it they weren’t around to see the end.
Ilkar bowed his head and let the tears flow, hands on his knees as the sobs wracked his body. There was no hope for Julatsa. If the Wesmen had sacked the city, the College, whose walls were not designed to repel an invading army any more, would soon follow. Then he would be truly alone, with only The Raven to support him. He wondered whether that would be enough.
‘It’s not necessarily over, Ilkar.’ The voice came to him from out of the gloom. He wiped his eyes, feeling the chill and realising he’d lost track of how long he’d been sitting alone. His backside was numbed. He shivered, cleared his vision and strained to identify the figure that approached him, outline blurred by the half light of dying fires against the background of night.
‘Get lost, Styliann,’ he spat. ‘Don’t presume to carp over our demise. You know nothing of how this feels.’
‘On the contrary, Ilkar, and I forgive you your mood.’ Styliann didn’t pause in his stride, the shapes of six Protectors filling the space around him.
‘Thank you so much,’ muttered Ilkar, looking away. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’ve come to offer you my sympathy, my help if I can give it, and some hope.’ The Lord of the Mount made no attempt to sit, seeming content to stand a few paces away, respecting Ilkar’s need for space.
‘Well, that’s a first.’
Styliann sighed. ‘I do understand how difficult this is for you to cope with,’ he said. ‘And I do know how it feels to face isolation, believe me. I won’t ask you to respond, just listen to me for a moment.’ He paused. Ilkar shrugged.
‘I have no desire to see the balance of magic shift. That is dangerous for us all at the best of times but right now we need every mage we can get to have a chance of seeing off the Wesmen threat. My Communion tonight was inconclusive about the situation in Julatsa and all I know is what Darrick has just told me. I will, however, seek to clarify the situation tomorrow. I understand you’re staying with the column for another day and if I can provide you with more detail, I will.
‘Finally, the hope.’ Now Styliann moved a pace closer and lowered his voice. ‘You and I know the capacity of the Colleges for self-preservation better than any in this camp. To me, the report of the fall of the city while the College remained intact says Julatsa has found a way of holding off the Wesmen army. It is now a question of how long that situation lasts, hence your need for haste.’
Ilkar sucked his lip, nodding finally.
‘Maybe. Maybe. And what are your plans?’
Styliann’s eyes narrowed, his jaw set. ‘I will travel south, separate from the column. My immediate future lies in other directions, though I will still set in motion moves to enable the release of Septern’s works to you. I fear I will no longer be able to study them with you.’
That caught Ilkar off guard. His head jerked up, meeting Styliann’s eyes and feeling the force of his anger.
‘Why not?’
‘I have a little local trouble,’ he said. ‘It seems that, temporarily at least, I am no longer the Lord of the Mount of Xetesk.’ He turned and strode away.
‘How long before you can cast, Denser?’ The Unknown’s question followed directly in the wake of Darrick’s departure for his meeting with Styliann. Denser, who had recovered enough to spend more time sitting than lying, shrugged his shoulders and knocked out the bowl of his pipe against a log end protruding from the fire. Dislodged embers glittered briefly in the dark.
‘There’s not a simple answer to that,’ said Denser, delving into his tobacco pouch for a refill. ‘Damn. This is running low.’
‘There never is, is there?’ said Hirad.
‘The situation is this,’ continued the Dark Mage. ‘I am still shattered by the Dawnthief casting in a mana stamina if not so much a physical sense and it is difficult for me to retain mana to cast. And I find myself unaccountably low in spirits though I’m sure that’ll pass. Contrary to popular belief, however—’ he looked half-smiling at Erienne, ‘—I am able to light my own pipe.’ He clicked his right thumb against its forefinger and a deep blue flame appeared with which he set alight the weed he had tamped into the bowl of his pipe.
‘Very good,’ said Erienne, pushing his face away. ‘Now bring down HellFire.’
‘You see? Never satisfied,’ said Denser, his smile broadened but it was hollow and bereft of real humour. ‘You offer a woman one country and she immediately demands the world.’