‘But what if I’m in the middle of battle?’ Hirad could imagine the pain felling him as surely as an enemy axe in the midst of mêlée. He could not allow that. The Raven were too important.
‘If your mind is open as it should be, I could detect whether you were at rest before contacting you.’
‘Then I accept,’ said Hirad before he knew quite what he was saying.
‘Excellent. Now tell me, how goes your search for a means to close the gateway?’
Hirad quickly outlined his understanding of the DemonShroud, which was limited, and the distance they had to travel to Julatsa, which was far more complete.
‘I must know more about this Shroud. Is it pandimensional?’
‘I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about,’ said Hirad. ‘All I know is that nothing living can pass through it, that it stretches as high as heaven and as low as hell and all who attempt to cross it lose their souls to the demons.’
Sha-Kaan was quiet for a moment but Hirad felt his presence, and his worry, no less keenly. He had a moment to reflect on the enormity of what he had done and found himself unperturbed by it. There was one thing, though.
‘Why did you choose me now?’ he asked.
‘Because I must attempt tasks that will provoke attack and damage. I must have a Dragonene. Now to this Shroud. Let me investigate. Your mages have dabbled again in something they do not fully understand or can control. I will contact the Brood and probe the space around the city you head for. There may be a way to get through. Be ready for my contact tomorrow as your sun passes its highest.’
‘I will.’
‘Thank you, Hirad Coldheart. You have taken a solemn oath but you are not alone. There are Dragonene everywhere there are mages. Until tomorrow.’
And then he was gone and Hirad realised he had no idea how to contact the Great Kaan himself. He opened his eyes.
‘Gods in the ground, Hirad, what the hell happened to you?’ Ilkar’s face loomed over his, colour returning to his cheeks, frown relaxing.
Hirad smiled, his head encased in sponge, his eyesight not quite sharp and the ache of Sha-Kaan’s presence a reminder it had not all been a dream. He was lying flat on his back, a cloak pillowing his head. A female hand reached across with a rag and wiped what had to be blood from his nose.
‘How long have I been out?’
‘A couple of minutes,’ said The Unknown.
‘Maybe less,’ added Ilkar. There was a low growl. Thraun’s muzzle appeared suddenly in his vision, the wolf’s yellow eyes searching his, heavy furred brows forced together, an almost comical frown rippling the skin above them. Apparently satisfied, his tongue whipped out to lick Hirad’s cheek then he moved away.
‘He’s happy anyway,’ said Hirad.
‘Yes, but he wasn’t. Not happy at all,’ said The Unknown.
‘Do you mind if I sit up?’ asked Hirad. They helped him to a sitting position. Denser sat cross-legged away from the group, his pipe newly lit, smoking into the afternoon sky. He wore a deeply troubled expression. Will stood nearby, stroking Thraun’s flank. Ilkar, The Unknown and Erienne crowded him, Ilkar handing him a mug of coffee.
‘You dropped your last one,’ he said.
‘I don’t remember.’ He was feeling more human now, the pulp encasing his brain fading, his thoughts sharper, as was his sight.
‘So what happened?’ asked Ilkar again.
‘It was Sha-Kaan; he spoke to me, from his own lands. From Wingspread.’
‘From where?’ The Unknown leaned back on his haunches. Hirad shrugged. He had no idea where the word came from. Sha-Kaan had not used it.
‘Wingspread. Sha-Kaan’s place, I suppose.’ Hirad scanned the faces of Ilkar and The Unknown. The former was thoughtful, the latter worried.
‘I presume it wasn’t good news,’ said Ilkar. ‘I mean, why is he contacting you?’
‘How, is more pertinent,’ added The Unknown. ‘Look at you. You’re paler than a two-day corpse.’
‘Thanks,’ said Hirad. ‘Look. I’m not sure what the news was but he’s worried about getting hurt and needs a new Dragonene. Me, to be exact.’
‘What?’ chorused the trio of mages.
‘Yeah, that’s what I said. But apparently I can be the contact and you three can do whatever he needs you to do. He picked me because he’s familiar with my mind. It’s very strong, he said.’ Hirad sat up a little straighter.
Ilkar chuckled. ‘Well, your head’s thick enough anyway.’
‘You didn’t agree, did you?’ asked Denser. It was more of a statement than a question.
Hirad raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, yes, of course. I had to.’
‘Thanks very much,’ snapped the Xeteskian.
‘What’s your problem?’ Hirad felt the pricklings of anger. ‘Did I really have a choice?’
‘Yes, you did. You could have said no. Suppose I don’t want to be a Dragonene?’
‘You aren’t, Xetesk man, I am. You’re a . . . I don’t know, you’re a consort or something.’ It was the wrong word and Hirad knew it. He only half-regretted saying it. Denser rose.
‘You have got to be bloody joking, Hirad. If you think I’m going to agree to be a “consort” ’ - he ejected the word like a mouthful of rotten fruit - ‘you can stick it straight up your arse.’
‘Denser, sit down now and lower your voice,’ ordered The Unknown, making the ghost of a move when the mage threatened to speak again. ‘Your noise will bring the entire Wesmen nation down on our necks. All our noise for that matter. We are The Raven. Let’s try and remember that once in a while.’
‘You weren’t there,’ said Hirad.
‘Hirad,’ warned The Unknown.
‘No, hear me out.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I could feel the waves of need in Sha-Kaan. He needs me, us, as much as we’ll need him. And in case you’d forgotten, Denser, if he and the Kaan die, so do we all. It is our duty to help protect him. And for that, I need your help. There was no time to consult you. I did what I had to do. What was right in here.’ He tapped his chest.
Denser took his place by the fire, exchanging sharp glances with Erienne.
‘Well, you’re right about the time thing anyway.’
The Raven looked at him with virgin interest. His Communion had been forgotten.
Ilkar cleared his throat. ‘I ask this with all due dread, but why?’
‘Because we’ve only got eight days to close the rip.’
Darrick’s heart was soaring. Eight days of exhilarating riding had brought the cavalry to within striking distance of the Bay of Gyernath staging post. His scouts reported a small force of Wesmen warriors and workers, perhaps as few as one hundred and fifty, and an intermittent stream of traffic moving in from the Heartlands trail which ran away to the west and the Southern Force, the river which ran from the Garan Mountains to the sea and guarded the eastern edge of the Wesmen’s ancestral home.
It had been a ride of power and discipline, hard paced by day, resting by night. He knew the horses hadn’t much left but journey’s end was in sight and the destruction of the staging post would herald a short sea journey and perhaps a day’s rest.
The four-College cavalry, one hundred and ninety swordsmen and archers and eighteen mages, was gathered an hour’s ride from the bayside encampment. The plans were laid. The most potent risk was from three watch-towers manned by three warriors each and to these Darrick detailed his full contingent of fourteen archers and enough mage support to provide HardShields. He would have preferred to launch a magical attack but the spells he needed were very hard to prepare and cast at a gallop. The main body of the camp, large store tents surrounded in a loose circle by billet canvas, was ripe for a cavalry charge with mage-fired torches as the first attack volley.