Styliann laid a hand on Cil’s shoulder. The Protector turned smartly to him.
‘You may take the masks from the dead. But be quick with your rituals. We must be back in Xetesk before nightfall tomorrow. There is much to be done.’
They’d found Thraun curled by the foot of Will’s bed. The infirmary staff hadn’t dared to move the big blond warrior, instead throwing a blanket over his nakedness to give him some warmth and dignity.
And that was all they could do for him because flooding through the doors had been Julatsa’s wounded and dying. Every bed was occupied; dark red had joined the light colours of the infirmary, and the wails of pain and fear mixed with the clatter of buckets, the whispering of mages, the urgent shouts of the tenders and the running of feet in every direction.
Will had lain in the bed, his face covered by a sheet, waiting for The Raven to take him and honour him, the area around him and Thraun a pool of sad quiet in the hubbub of the infirmary. There had been a Vigil but no burial. Victims of the siege were to be stored in the cellars beneath the Mana Bowl, where it was cool and dry and the air heavy with incense.
Now, with Thraun lifted on to the empty bed and left to sleep, his eyes dark hollows, his mouth moving soundlessly, framing words of grief and anguish, tears squeezing from his eyelids, The Raven took time to sit and talk in a quiet chamber in the Tower. Outside, the Wesmen gathered their forces, brought up their towers and catapults and prepared to attack, while in the skies above the sun shone down, an inappropriate warmth and freshness drifting over Julatsa.
Hirad took them all in, knowing their first action should be to sleep all day. They had had no rest since Sha-Kaan’s arrival, had fought almost constantly and Ilkar and Erienne, he was sure, were both spent as far as casting was concerned. Of Denser, he wasn’t so sure. The Xeteskian appeared relatively fresh and alert, his pipe, as ever, clamped between his teeth. But his eyes had that distant look that Hirad didn’t much care for. Like he was thinking greater thoughts than those in his company should be allowed to share. Still, it was an improvement on the sullen disinterest he’d shown since leaving Parve.
‘Will’s death triggered his change back, I presume,’ said Ilkar. Erienne nodded.
‘Had to be,’ said The Unknown. ‘But I think such speculation is not the best use of our very limited time.’
‘We need to try and understand or we won’t be able to help him,’ said Erienne.
‘Yes, but we’ve got significant problems, other than Thraun, that I am afraid some of us seem to have overlooked in the recent excitement,’ said The Unknown, his tone forbidding any interruption. Hirad almost smiled but quashed it. Denser and Erienne wouldn’t have seen him like this, not really. This was The Unknown he needed. The calm assessor and practical planner as well as the colossal warrior.
‘We came here to find Septern’s texts; let’s not forget that. But we don’t know how long the College can hold out against the Wesmen. The task is further complicated by the fact that part of the Library is now in the Heart below us. We have no idea how long the search will take and Barras cannot spare us many, if any, mages from the College defence.
‘We will have to play our part in securing the College from the Wesmen, not least to give ourselves time enough to search the Heart and Library.
‘We also have to tend to Thraun until he is fit enough to travel and, when we have what we came for, we have to get out of Julatsa whether the siege is over or not. The rip widens daily. It will not wait for us and we’ve already been delayed too long. If the measurements are correct, we have only seven days to close the rip and the only gateway we know of is three days’ ride away at least.’ He leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink.
‘But look at us, Unknown,’ said Hirad. ‘We can’t fight or cast effectively right now. We’re all shattered. The first thing we need is rest.’
‘We’ve made something of a rod for our own backs, haven’t we?’ said Denser, applying flame to his pipe. ‘It was a heroic rescue but they’ll merely expect more of the same.’
‘Well, thanks for that incisive contribution,’ said Ilkar. ‘Any other words of wisdom you’d care to share with us?’
‘I just felt it needed saying,’ said Denser with a shrug.
‘It makes no difference what people expect,’ said Hirad. ‘The Raven do what The Raven have to do. And what we have to do now is rest. I don’t want to see any of us on the ramparts today unless there’s a breach, which is something I doubt.’
‘You don’t think they’ll expect us to advise, or just be there to raise morale?’ said Denser.
‘We’ve told Kard all he needs to know,’ said The Unknown. ‘We have to look after ourselves for now. Ilkar, what’s your condition?’
‘Not too bad,’ said the Julatsan. ‘I can replenish quickly here in the College. We all can, though Denser and Erienne have to modulate the flow they accept. It’s you, Hirad and Thraun who need the rest. I’m going to the Heart to start the search and I’ll sleep at night, Wesmen willing. If Erienne and Denser want to help, the Library will be open to them.’ Both mages nodded. ‘Good.’
‘Another thing before we break,’ said Hirad. ‘The Raven do not fight apart. I don’t want to see any of us fighting or casting alone. I for one, will not stand on the ramparts without the rest of you. We are The Raven. Remember that.’
‘You’ll never let us forget it,’ muttered Denser.
‘Still alive, aren’t you, Denser?’ snapped Hirad. ‘Think on why that is.’
Styliann had lost only twenty-three Protectors, an astonishing testament to the power and skill of the soul-linked army. He estimated that almost half of the Wesmen lay staring sightless at the sky and, before he left the battlefield, birds were circling over and walking among the dead, a fresh feast theirs for the taking. The rest of the routed army would report back to Tessaya and their terror would do more long-term damage than any blade.
The gates of Xetesk were closed to the former Lord of the Mount when he arrived, not that he was surprised. Dystran had few defences left and, he suspected, even fewer friends. As he rode towards the gates, the blustery, cloudy day drawing quickly towards dusk, Styliann reinforced the natural shield around his mind. He smiled as he felt the tendrils of a spell push at his barrier. They, whoever they were, had no hope of sundering the shield but he would have been disappointed had they not tried. To remain Lord of the Mount required consummate skill at protecting the mind.
Styliann dismounted and seated himself on a convenient grass-covered rise, around fifty yards from the gates and a stone’s throw from the main trail. There was a quickening of the pulse as he took in the dark-walled power of his beloved city.
To either side of the grand East Gate tower, with its ornate arched windows, multiple oil runs and three levels of reinforced ramparts, the dun-coloured walls ran away for over a mile, lost to sight as the dark closed in. Studded along their length with functional mage and archer turrets built in dark grey stone, the walls turned west for around a mile and a half before meeting the great west wall which faced the Blackthorne Mountains.
With deep foundations and internal buttressing, the walls, never less than fifty feet in height, sloped very slightly outward as they rose, overlooking an area of gently undulating grass and shrubland, cleared for over a hundred yards in every direction to provide defending mages with a clear field of vision.
And inside, Styliann could see the lights beginning to shine in the Towers of Xetesk. The sight saddened him more than he cared to admit to himself, his unwanted exile pulling at his heart.
With a hundred eyes staring at him from the walls and gate towers, Styliann considered the problems he faced in gaining entry to Xetesk. Guessing the next likely action depended very much on your point of view. The average Xeteskian guardsman looking out at their Lord of the Mount and the Protector army would be confused. The more enlightened would surmise political unrest on the Mount but none would know yet that there had been an attempted usurpation. Even Dystran was not fool enough to claim stewardship until he could parade Styliann’s corpse.