That ghost crossed Thraun’s lips again. ‘That is an offer and a commitment stronger than you know. But I don’t belong, not really. Not without Will.’ He gazed deep into Hirad’s eyes for a moment. ‘But I won’t let The Raven down.’
‘I know,’ said Hirad.
It was curious, the force that drew The Unknown to the Protectors. But he saw their loneliness, their anxiety at separation from their brothers. He knew how they felt. And so he stood with them, lending them his immediacy. There were no words at first but The Unknown could sense the same lack of focus he had observed earlier. But stronger now, verging on confusion. He broke the silence.
‘Cil, Ile, Rya. I am Sol. You knew me. You know me still. You are troubled.’
Cil inclined his masked head. ‘We cannot feel the brethren. Or the chain that binds us. Our souls are distant. We fear their loss.’
‘Is the chain broken?’ The Unknown was startled. To remove the DemonChain binding Protector to the Soul Tank would be to kill the body and lose the soul. But no Protector had ever travelled the dimensions and these Protectors were very much alive.
‘We cannot feel it,’ said Rya. ‘It is not there.’
‘But you can still feel your souls.’
‘Distantly,’ confirmed Cil.
‘Then . . .’ began The Unknown.
‘Are we not free?’ continued Cil. ‘We will only know by removing our masks. And if we are wrong, torment is eternal. And how can we truly be free when our souls are not within our bodies.’
‘Does Styliann know?’ asked The Unknown, wondering whether he was truly free himself. Yet his hope for his brothers rose even as he feared their reaction to permanent separation from the totality.
‘We are still his Given,’ said Cil. ‘We will not undermine his belief.’
‘I will support you in whatever you choose,’ said The Unknown.
Cil, Rya and Ile nodded, an exact movement.
‘We are one,’ they said. ‘It is ever so.’
Darrick had decided his course of action before the parley team had reached their camp at a gallop, the hooting abuse of the Wesmen loud in their ears. Shouting for his regimental commanders, he slid from his horse and strode into the command post, Blackthorne and Gresse on his heels, a little winded from the hard ride.
The General stood behind the map table and his senior ranks were arrayed in front of him awaiting his words. His orders were swift and sure. Never show weakness. Never hesitate. Ask for comment. Prepare to adjust but never change.
‘Tessaya will not yield, which we can’t say is too surprising though I was disappointed in a man of his apparent education and intelligence. He thinks he has us where he wants us. We cannot break through his lines to reach the Manse and we cannot beat his march to Korina. We will, of course, attempt neither.
‘We will move to engage his army immediately but with no thought of breaking it, merely occupying it. This is because we will not be attacking with our full strength. It is estimated that the army pressing the Manse is eight to ten thousand strong with only the Protectors keeping them away. Here is what will happen.
‘The second, third and fourth regiments, under the command of Regimental Commander Izack, will depart immediately, heading south before turning east through Grethern Forest, aiming to attack the Wesmen at the Manse from the south tomorrow at first light.
‘Tessaya will naturally anticipate this move. He is not a stupid man. Therefore the balance of the army under my command will meet them head on. We will try to draw them into the forest where our lack of numbers will be less of a disadvantage. Specifically, we will break the regiments into their component centiles and each Captain will have a particular area to guard. It’s a risky strategy but will allow us to cover a wider front. It will be a running battle unless we can convince Tessaya he has us all trapped in the forest. Comment.’
‘Sir,’ said Izack, a black-haired middle-aged soldier with small brown eyes and an impeccably trimmed moustache. Darrick motioned for him to continue. ‘The way through the woods is slow. If you are creating a diversion in Grethern, should we not march north and turn east beyond the first crag?’
‘But then if the Wesmen threaten to overwhelm us, you could not help. By the time you’re far enough south to turn east unseen, we’ll know if we can hold them without you. And you aren’t to travel the forest all the way. A mile beyond the Wesmen encampment, you should rejoin the main trail. Overall, a quicker journey than by crag.’ Darrick had considered and dismissed Izack’s thought earlier. But at least the man had the balls to speak up and the brain to speak well.
‘General, you are trying to hide a great many men in the forest. Do you really think they can escape the Wesmen?’ asked Gresse.
‘Yes, but only if we make ourselves appear larger than we are. We must make full use of our mage strength to block the gaps. That is also why we need them in the forest to fight us and why Izack must travel three miles south before turning east.’
‘And if we don’t hold them?’ asked Blackthorne.
Darrick shrugged and gave the answer he always did to such a question. ‘Perhaps that is something you should ask Izack because I will not be here to issue new orders.’ The fact was that he never considered failure or defeat. He had never experienced it. And he firmly believed there was nothing lucky about it. ‘Anything else.’
Heads shook and ‘No sir,’ rippled around the tent.
‘Then come to me in turn to receive your area orders. Barons, I would be obliged if you would brief your farmers and vintagers, who built the camp so expertly, to defend it in a similar manner.’
Gresse’s laughter echoed back as he and Blackthorne left the tent.
The night was full when The Raven gathered around the stove to talk briefly before grabbing what rest they could. Tomorrow, the fate of two dimensions would be decided. Around them, the Broodlands were quiet. Light shone from the odd opening in one or two dwellings but the Balaians were the only people outside.
‘Can you do it?’ asked Hirad, yet another mug of coffee warming his hands.
‘In theory,’ said Erienne. ‘We can construct the shapes.’
‘There’s a but in there somewhere,’ said The Unknown. ‘A big one.’
‘Several,’ agreed Erienne. ‘We have no idea how much stamina will be needed to close the rip this side, only that we have the ability to project the casting from the ground. Just. If the draw is too great, we won’t be able to close the corridor. We have had to estimate the effect of randomisation in interdimensional space on the mana construct. We have had to guess at how much strength the knit construct needs to seal the corridor rather than cause collapse. The list goes on and grows in technicality.’
‘Meaning those were the simple ones,’ said Hirad dryly.
Ilkar chuckled and patted his leg. ‘Poor old Hirad. Magic will always be a closed book to you, I’m afraid.’
‘Less of the old,’ growled Hirad. ‘I’m not having that debate start again. All I wanted was a yes or no answer.’
‘We’ll do it,’ said Denser. ‘We always do.’
‘Has Hirad been teaching you what to say?’ asked Ilkar.
‘You have to believe.’ Denser shrugged. Erienne put an arm around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Clearly he has,’ said Ilkar.
‘And what about him?’ Hirad nodded his head towards Styliann who sat with his back to a hut, Septern’s writings clutched hard to his chest. ‘Does he believe?’
‘With a zeal I find hard to credit,’ said Denser. ‘Frankly, it worries me. His eyes are wild at times. I don’t know whether he’s scared or excited.’
‘Well, we need him,’ said Erienne. ‘So don’t go upsetting him.’
‘And he needs us,’ said Hirad. ‘Don’t forget that. He dies just as much as we do if this fails.’