‘Hardly,’ said Erienne. ‘Merely proof of your reserves beyond the immediate.’
‘HellFire is a little more than proof.’
‘It was a metaphor, all right?’ Erienne poked Denser in the chest.
‘Well just give me a chance, all right?’ snapped Denser, swatting her hand away. Erienne started and moved back, eyes moistening. He looked away from her into the fire.
‘Take it easy, Denser,’ said Hirad, startled by Denser’s sudden anger. ‘She was just fooling. How about you just answer the question. What exactly can’t you do?’
‘Everything else,’ admitted Denser. He sucked his lip and reached out a hand to Erienne who pulled further away. He sighed, raised an eyebrow and continued. ‘I’m empty. Given that we’re riding not resting, Communion is two days away, ShadowWings the same and HellFire about four to take a sample. Sorry if that’s not good enough for some of you.’
Hirad regarded him evenly. ‘I think we might find it in our hearts to forgive you,’ he said.
‘Most gracious,’ Denser mock bowed from where he sat.
‘Just relax a little, eh?’ Hirad indicated Erienne. Denser cut off his reply, nodding curtly instead. A short silence was broken by The Unknown.
‘Thraun?’ Though The Unknown had not seen Thraun change, he had seen the drain on his physical being while he had been a Protector.
‘No problem, but . . .’
‘I know,’ said The Unknown. ‘I’m just assessing our overall condition. We will never demand it of you. To change will always be your decision alone.’ Thraun nodded.
‘And what about Ilkar?’ asked Erienne. ‘What he’s heard tonight could seriously damage his ability to concentrate.’
‘Above everything else, he’s the best front-line defensive mage in Balaia,’ said Hirad. ‘His ability to concentrate in the middle of battle is one reason The Raven has survived so long. When push comes to shove, he’ll be as able to cast as you.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Erienne. ‘But, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll keep a close eye on him for a while.’
‘Of course.’ Hirad spread his hands wide. ‘He’s Raven.’
The Unknown cleared his throat for attention.
‘I’m glad everyone is feeling confident because this is going to be very tough,’ he said. ‘Quite unlike anything we’ve ever faced. We won’t be joining a line, we’ll be on our own in lands swarming with Wesmen. We can’t afford slip-ups and we can’t afford to carry anyone. If any of you have any doubts about yourself, you should stay with the cavalry.’
‘So, we’ll be facing odds no different than those we’ve just faced except going in the other direction,’ said Hirad flatly. ‘And you’re asking us if we’re confident we can pull it off?’
A smile tugged at the corners of The Unknown’s mouth. ‘I had to,’ he said.
‘I think what you need is sleep,’ said Hirad, patting the big man’s shoulder. ‘That sort of speech belongs ten years ago. I’ll take watch and wait for Ilkar.’
Barras and Kard joined Kerela at the North Gate of the College, the three elder Julatsans standing shoulder to shoulder as the gate was opened. To either side of them stood men with yellow and white flags of truce on short poles and, ringing the area by the gate, archers and defensive mages waited to respond to any projectile threat. Kard thought it very unlikely there would be an attack of any kind and had shunned the offer of a HardShield, advising the mage to conserve his mana stamina.
The gates swung back to reveal the DemonShroud, wide, grey and flaring blue-tinged yellow along its visible base. Beyond it, a trio of Wesmen. They had no archer support though the two flanking warriors were clearly a bodyguard for the man in the centre.
He was a man in his late thirties, mid-height and powerfully built. Furs ran across his shoulders and down his back, fixed below his neck with a polished metal clasp. He wore cracked black leather armour padded with furs around the shoulders and leather greaves covered his thighs. His arms were exposed down to fur-edged gauntlets and heavy, strapped ankle boots covered his lower legs and feet. His hair was long, dark, shaggy and unkempt, framing a heavily tanned face boasting large eyes and a chin that had felt steel in the not too distant past.
‘I am Senedai, Lord and General of the Heystron Tribes and I demand your immediate surrender.’ His voice, though loud and deep, echoed dully against the Shroud. Kerela turned to Barras.
‘You are our Chief Negotiator, perhaps you would like to establish our position.’
‘I fear you are passing me a poisoned chalice,’ said Barras grimly.
‘In all probability, my old friend. But delegation is one of the few joys I have left.’
Barras composed himself and took three measured paces towards the open gate and the Shroud, its innate evil sending shivers through his body, his skin crawling. It was all he could do to stand tall and keep his voice steady.
‘I am Barras, Elder Council member and Chief Negotiator of the College of Julatsa. You will appreciate that we are unwilling to surrender the homes and buildings you have not already taken by unprovoked force. What are the conditions you propose?’
‘Conditions? I promise you nothing but your lives, mage. And that is generous, having seen the pyres of thousands of my kinsmen burning.’
‘We were bound to defend our city from your groundless attack,’ said Barras.
‘You were bound to conduct battle like warriors, using blades, not spells.’
Barras laughed; he couldn’t help it.
‘A preposterous suggestion from one happy to use the magic of the Wytch Lords to devastate my people.’
‘The Tribal Lords were against such weapons.’
‘And that is how history will be rewritten, is it?’ Barras’ voice dripped contempt. ‘That the Wesmen Lords called a halt to the magic of the Wytch Lords to do steel-on-steel battle with the forces of Julatsa, only to be met with a barrage of cowardly magic?’
‘And yet triumph,’ said Senedai. ‘And triumph we will.’
‘This is a city of magic. Even in your most muddled dreams did you really believe we would not respond to your aggression with every means at our disposal? And may I remind you that we still have those means.’
‘Magic is an evil force and it is the sworn pledge of every Wesman to see your Colleges burn and your Towers lie in rubble.’ Senedai jabbed a finger at Barras.
‘Lovely imagery,’ said Barras. ‘But I think you’ll do well to see it.’
‘You think so?’ Senedai smiled. ‘There is a pitiful number of mages within your flimsy walls, even fewer men at arms and a handful of terrified women and children. All you have is this devil’s barrier and I know enough that you cannot keep it standing forever. We will not even waste our arrows on you; there is no need.’
‘A wise choice. Our roofs are slate, our walls are stone. We left mud and grass behind us generations ago.’
‘Your insults are as old as your body, mage,’ said Senedai. ‘And your posturing has got you nowhere. Now listen to me, Julatsan Council member, and listen carefully.
‘I have offered you, and all those within the walls of the College, life if you surrender now. That promise dies as you all will if another drop of Wesmen blood is spilt in removing you.’
‘What guarantee do I have that you will keep your word?’ asked Barras as haughtily as he could muster.
‘I am Lord of the Heystron Tribes.’
‘That does not impress me. And what will become of us if we do surrender?’
‘You will be held as prisoners until suitable work is found for you building the new Wesmen empire. The alternative is death.’
‘You are giving us nothing.’
‘You are in a position to demand no more.’ Senedai gestured around him.
‘But you are forgetting that you cannot break in here. The devil’s barrier, as you call it, is unbreachable.’