The Unknown ignored them.
‘You’ve spoken to Denser?’ he asked.
‘Not at great length, but yes.’ Gannan shifted on his chair, using both hands to adjust the position of his injured leg. ‘He’s very agitated, Unknown. Not making too much sense.’
‘Where is he? We need to speak to him.’
Gannan gestured towards a table nearby. ‘Some refreshment first, surely?’
‘No,’ said The Unknown. ‘Save it for your people. We’ll find our own.’
‘He was behind the grain store a while back, wanting some peace and quiet. You could try there.’
‘Thanks Gannan, we’ll talk later.’ He turned away. ‘Hirad, you staying or coming?’
Hirad shrugged. ‘I’ve got to talk to him sometime. It may as well be now.’
The Unknown nodded. ‘Good.’ He led the way outside.
The grain store had butted on to the town hall but was little more than a pile of rubble. Beyond it, to the north end of Greythorne, the activity and light were lessened, though the devastation was equally as severe. Clearly, there were simply not enough survivors to work everywhere.
But someone was moving through the debris, punctuating the windblown quiet with the shifting of slate and the grating of stone on stone.
‘Denser,’ said Ilkar, pointing away into the gloom.
For a time, Hirad couldn’t make him out against the drab, dark background, then he saw his head move.
Denser was crouched in the rubble of what had probably been a house. Timbers were scattered around and slate, thatch and stone was piled where the corners of the walls still stood, defiant. He was holding something and, as they moved closer, they could see it was a tiny human hand.
He appeared not to notice them as they approached, just held the hand in one of his and stroked it gently with the other. Close too, over the noise of the wind, Hirad could hear he was murmuring but couldn’t make out the words.
‘Denser?’ The Unknown’s tone was soft. The Dark Mage started and turned to them, his face streaked with tears, his eyes black holes in the shadow of the night.
‘Look what she’s done,’ he whispered, his voice choked and thick. He swallowed. ‘This has gone too far.’
Ilkar crouched by him. ‘What are you talking about?’
Denser indicated the hand in his. Ilkar followed it. It belonged to a young boy, no more than five, though in truth it was hard to tell. His head had been crushed by falling stone.
‘You can’t blame Lyanna for this,’ he said.
‘Blame Lyanna?’ Denser shook his head. ‘No, but she’s the cause of it all. You can feel what drives the wind even now. Imagine it fifty times as strong and tearing down your walls. It’s a miracle any of them lived. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me and Erienne.’
‘I don’t think it’s that simple,’ said Ilkar. He shifted his position and took the child’s hand from Denser’s unresisting fingers and placed it back in the rubble.
‘Only I can stop this thing. Only me,’ said Denser, his eyes wild, his voice wavering. ‘You have to get me to her. You have to.’
‘I think it’s time you stopped torturing yourself and came away from here.’ Ilkar looked up. ‘Reckon we can find anywhere private?’
Hirad shrugged. ‘If we build it ourselves.’ Ilkar’s eyes flashed anger. ‘We’ll sort something out. C’mon, Denser. Time you had a hot drink.’
Every covered and sheltered space was crammed with people, the very young, the injured and the precious few carers. The Raven walked out of the centre of the town and laid a fire in a scrabbled together circle of stone from a building that had been cleared of any victims. With borrowed water heating in The Unknown’s old iron jug, Denser calmed a little but his hands were jittery and his attention wandered fitfully.
‘Surprised you’re even here, Hirad,’ he said, attempting a smile. Hirad didn’t return it.
‘I wouldn’t be but Sha-Kaan needs the Al-Drechar. Apparently ancient mages are the last chance now everyone else has let him down.’
‘Can we leave that for another time?’ Ilkar’s voice was pained. ‘How long have you been here, Denser?’
The Xeteskian shrugged. ‘A day. I was delayed. There’s so much mess. I had to try and help, didn’t I?’
‘You can’t hold yourself responsible,’ said Ilkar.
‘Can’t I? Isn’t this what Erienne and I wanted? The Child of the One. Balaia’s most powerful mage.’ He spat out the words. ‘But she’s out of control and we must stop her. I must stop her.’
Ilkar looked at The Unknown and Hirad. ‘What did I tell you?’
The Unknown nodded. ‘If he believes it too, then I guess I’m prepared to. But that doesn’t change why I’m here, and don’t you forget it. Denser, we’ll find her and help her control this. Or rather, you will, if you say so. Ilkar’s explained it may be her Night.’
‘And what will be left when dawn breaks for the Night Child, eh?’ Denser swept an arm around him. ‘Just look at this place. All the death. And I’ve heard the other stories. They’re all over the town. Not just what we’ve seen. This is happening everywhere.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘Magic has done this. That’s what the survivors are saying here. But it’s not just that, is it? It’s my daughter. Mine. You’ve got to get me to her.’
‘Come on, Denser, calm it down now. You need some rest. Hirad, we need a hot drink for him,’ said Ilkar.
Ilkar sat back and let the silence roll over them all. Denser was biting back more tears. The Unknown and Hirad presumably were digesting Denser’s words. There seemed little more to say and Ilkar found he’d lost the energy. He hoped that daylight would bring some level-headed talk.
But it was a long time until daylight.
All was not right. Thraun had left the remnants of the pack in safety, hidden deep within Thornewood, in a shallow den dug under a stand of trees the wind hadn’t managed to destroy. He had chosen to scout Greythorne where the humans lived. To forage for food and look for any sign of the ones with the mist he recognised from a dim and confused past.
But when he’d arrived, with night full and blustery under a sky hidden by cloud, all he’d found was more sorrow and more destruction. He’d sat on a rise above the town, gazing down, his lupine heart beating strangely as if sympathetic to a race he considered a threat. There would be no food. No fowl to take, no dog or cat to chase down, no scraps from the tables of the humans discarded in alleyways.
Because though it was night, the town still moved as if it was day. Men carried stone from fallen buildings. Lifeless bodies, once exposed, were moved to an open space in the centre of the town and everywhere, lanterns and torches dazzled his eyes. He could not risk venturing in - he didn’t want to bring the hunters back to Thornewood.
And so he had returned to the pack but decided on a different route to the new den, hoping for a kill. It was there that he had found them. Four humans, two killed by metal and two by something else, their faces telling of sudden terror and brief agony.
But there was something more. A scent in the air and on the leaves that he recognised, a cleanliness in the kills and a residual knowledge within him that sparked into life. He knew who had done this. He could taste them in the air. It had to be linked with the two he had seen in Thornewood before the wind had come. They and their tree-shadow people.
Thraun stopped, his mind clearing slowly. Thornewood felt bad. Not because of the breaking of so much, but because of how it had happened. The suddenness, the wind out of all keeping with all that was natural and its links to the mist he could sense but never touch or feel around him.
And that sense of wrong was still everywhere. With every gust his heart lurched, and with each drop of rain he feared flood from a clear sky. It had to be stopped. The threat to the pack had to be removed. And somehow, those humans he recognised so faintly were involved. Perhaps they sought what he now sought. Perhaps they didn’t. But one thing was clear, he couldn’t stay in Thornewood and live on hope alone.