Tessaya spent hours scouring the cloudy skies from the third morning onwards. He looked south, waiting for the tell-tale dark dots in the sky that would signify his approaching birds. And on that afternoon he was rewarded. A single bird, high in the southern sky. Tessaya tied the hair back from his face and watched its approach, his keen eyes following its course as he stood in the newly completed southern watch tower.
It was definitely one of his birds. He could tell by its flight pattern, alternating gliding rests on the wing with sharp beats, fixing its position by subtle nuances in the currents of the air and in the roll of the land.
With the bird nearing, Tessaya tied the green and red marker ribbon to his wrist and waved it slowly above his head, the striped material snapping in the stiff breeze. In a flutter of wings, the grey and white woodruff landed on the rail of the guard tower. Tessaya scooped the bird up and held it gently to his chest with one arm, bending his neck to press his lips to its head and taking the messages from its legs. Then he set it to flight again, to the roost above the inn where it could rest and eat.
‘More reliable than smoke, eh?’ he asked of the watchman. He unrolled the coded papers.
‘Yes my Lord,’ replied the man, the embryonic smile dying on his lips as Tessaya, having read the import of the first message, caught his eye.
‘My Lord?’ ventured the watchman.
‘Curse them,’ grated Tessaya. ‘Curse them.’ Ignoring the frightened guard, he strode to the ladder, descending more quickly than was safe. His riders had not found Lord Taomi. But they had found his men and Shamen butchered and left to rot. They had found pyres built in the eastern manner. And they had found evidence of a hasty retreat southwards. They would continue but their pace would be slow. To run into the rear of the army pursuing Lord Taomi would be foolhardy.
Who could it have been? The advance was supposed to be too fast for any pursuit from Gyernath to overhaul them. That left the rich Baron Blackthorne, whose wine tasted sour in Tessaya’s memory. But he found it hard to believe that Blackthorne, well-armed though he was, could muster enough of a force to seriously trouble Taomi. Not without help.
He read the notes one last time before striding away towards the barracks where his prisoners were held. The fat man, Kerus, would have to supply some answers. Either that or lose some of his men to Wesmen executioners. The time for reason was past for now. Tessaya had to have knowledge of the forces he was against and he found himself able to consider almost any method to get it.
Dawn was threatening to slit the eastern sky. Barras stood on the Tower’s highest rampart, looking down into the quiet city, a cool breeze blowing fresh air across his face.
At a time like this, it was easy to imagine that all was as it had always been. That no army of Wesmen was in occupation beyond the College walls, that first light would not bring the slaughter of fifty innocents. Innocents whose souls would feed the demons’ insatiable appetite and sit heavy in Barras’ heart forever.
But two things gave the lie to Barras’ fleeting ease of mind. The oppressive DemonShroud that surrounded them, its evil casting a pall of anxiety over him; and the Wesmen’s tower, now all but complete, which overlooked them.
They had been wrong about its purpose. The Wesmen had no intention of attempting to breach the Shroud using the structure, which scaled perhaps eighty feet into the sky. Its wheels were for manoeuvring it around the College walls, its steel cladding protection against fire and spell. They wanted to see inside the College and Barras conceded the common sense in that while cursing its invention.
The old elven mage, Julatsa’s Chief Negotiator, surveyed the perimeter of his city, his eyesight sharp and clear in the dark before dawn, the grey veil of the DemonShroud growing visible as light began to crack the sky, a hideous reminder of the horror that lived with them every day. The Wesmen, or rather their prisoners, had not been idle and the evidence of long-term intention to occupy was everywhere.
Other fixed watch-towers were already built in half a dozen locations and now the stockade was going up. It would be a slow job. Suitable timber was not in plentiful supply close to hand and Julatsa was a sprawling city. Even so, three weeks and the ranks of pole timber would encircle them and the Wesmen would be that much harder to shift.
Barras moved his gaze to within the College walls. The Tower and its many service and official buildings dominated the centre of the grounds. In front of him, the trio of Long Rooms, where range spells were tested, stretched away from the opposite side of the stone-flagged courtyard which encircled the Tower. Each Long Room was over two hundred feet in length, low and armoured and had seen some of Julatsa’s greatest successes and most awful tragedies over the course of the centuries. Now, though, they were emergency accommodation.
The same was true of all the lecture rooms, the old Gathering Hall, the principal auditorium, and the Mana Bowl where fledgling mages hoped to discover their acceptance of mana and feared the consequences for their sanity if they did not. Only the Library and the food stores remained off limits.
Despite the hour, around a hundred people milled about in the courtyard, many, because of Kard, now aware of the fate that was about to befall the unfortunates in Wesmen hands. The General had not slept. Instead, he and a member of the Council in rotation had visited every pocket of the population within the College walls, explaining the situation as completely as he could. So far, his words had caused sadness and anxiety but no anger. Barras was due to attend the last meeting but first, he had to try and buy the College some time.
He hurried from the Tower, walking quickly across the cobbles to the North Gate where he climbed up to the gate-house and came face to face with a surprised guard.
‘My mage?’
‘I have to talk to Senedai. Excuse me.’ Barras walked on to the ramparts that ran across the gate. The DemonShroud’s evil was all but within reach. Well beyond it, three Wesmen guards sat around a small fire in the centre of the open area sandwiched between the College and first city buildings.
‘I would speak with your Lord!’ called Barras. The Wesmen looked up. Barras could see them frowning. One stood up and moved closer, cupping a hand behind his ear.
‘I must speak with your Lord,’ said Barras. He was greeted with a stream of tribal Wes and a shrugging of the shoulders.
‘Imbecile,’ muttered Barras. He straightened and spoke loudly. ‘Senedai. Get Senedai. Yes?’ There was a pause that seemed to last for eternity before the guard nodded and scurried off, passing an aside to his colleagues who both laughed and looked at Barras.
‘Laugh while you can,’ said Barras, smiling back and giving a little wave. He wasn’t waiting long before Senedai strode from the shadows into the firelight, augmented now with the first murk of dawn. ‘You cut it very fine, elf,’ said Senedai, once he had stopped a safe distance from the Shroud. ‘I trust there will be an orderly surrender.’
‘Ultimately, Lord Senedai, but not at dawn. We are not ready.’
Senedai snorted. ‘Then fifty of your people will soon be dead.’ He half turned.
‘No, Senedai, wait.’ The Wesman Lord spread his arms wide and swung back.
‘I’m listening but it will make no difference.’
‘You don’t fully understand our situation.’
‘Oh but I do. You are desperate. You have no way out and you are trying to buy some time. Am I right?’
‘No,’ said Barras, knowing his attempt, a long shot at best, was now almost certainly doomed to failure. ‘Put yourself in our position. We have much anxiety in here. Our people are scared. We need more time to calm them, to assure them of your honourable intentions. But more than that, we have to put our affairs in order.’