Alarm rippled through the exhausted refugees but the riders sought to quell it quickly, assuring them they were not from any college. Avesh sat up, fatigue fading, and as a hush fell, one of the riders spoke.
‘I and my men had sight of the events of today and I want to pass on my sympathy at your plight and my fury at those who treat you no better than animals. But the reason I am here is to offer you hope and a way to make a difference and to end the persecution of ordinary Balaians.
‘My name is Edman, and I am an emissary of the Black Wings.’
He waited while renewed nervousness coursed through the cold, wet and hungry refugees.
‘Please,’ he said, raising his hands. ‘I know our reputation but I want to assure you we mean you no harm. We seek to restore what has been lost but we need people to make it happen. I can offer you food and shelter. It is a long walk from here but we will help you every step of the way. We will keep you from contact with our common enemy and we will help your sick and your wounded.
‘Any of you who want to return to rebuild the lives the colleges took from you go with our blessing. But any who come with us will make sure that those lives can be lived in security in the years that follow.
‘Who is with me?’
There were questions, there was suspicion, there was fear. But Avesh was not alone in feeling a surge of purpose. By him, Ellin reached up a hand to stroke his face.
‘You must go,’ she said. ‘Avenge our son for me. And when you are done, find me at the broken timbers of our farm and we will start again.’
Avesh gazed down at her, tears standing in his eyes, and knew he had never loved her more than he did right now.
‘I won’t let you down.’
‘Just come back to me.’
‘You know I will,’ he said and, kissing her gently on the lips, he heaved himself from the ground and went to hear what Edman wanted of him.
Heryst rode into Dordover with the night full and cool. He and his delegation were tired from the trail but Vuldaroq wasn’t in the mood to give them much time for food and rest. Still feeling dusty, Heryst met the fat red-faced Dordovan Arch Mage in a small warm reception chamber hung with dour portraits and with a roaring fire in a large grate.
The shake of hands was perfunctory but the wine Vuldaroq gave him was very welcome. The two men sat in large leather chairs either side of the blaze.
‘So, come to your senses finally, my Lord Heryst?’
‘I have always been in full possession of my senses, Vuldaroq. I had hoped that Xetesk and yourselves might rediscover yours.’
‘Exactly what was it you were hoping for?’
‘A way to peace through diplomacy, what else?’
Vuldaroq smiled indulgently. ‘You know I respect your skill as a politician and mage but in this you are being as naive as a child. Surely you cannot close your eyes to what is happening now. Peace is only possible when both sides desire it.’
‘I have never been naive, Vuldaroq,’ said Heryst. ‘I simply choose to seek a less bloody path.’
‘You think we wanted war against them?’
‘I think Dordover was angry enough at its defeat on Herendeneth to view conflict as preferable to negotiation. You as much as they have brought us to this juncture.’
Vuldaroq was indignant. ‘Preposterous, Heryst. We sought justice for Balaia and the sharing of the treasures discovered on that island.’
Heryst blinked slowly, having to make a deliberate effort to keep a scornful smile from his lips.
‘Who exactly do you think you are talking to here? We formed an alliance, if you recall, with the express intention of stopping the Nightchild realising potential beyond her control. Her death was always a possibility we had to consider. But you had darker motives. Nothing would have survived there had The Raven not intervened, would it? Wasn’t that why you involved the witch hunters?’
‘They were the only people capable of finding those we sought.’
‘Damn you they were not!’ Heryst spilled his wine on his hand. ‘And you gave Erienne to them. One of your own.’
‘A betrayer,’ said Vuldaroq smoothly. ‘A little like your own General Darrick, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Darrick’s actions were regrettable, I admit, but he was not prepared to stand shoulder to shoulder with those who would see us all dead, as apparently you would. He will account for his actions, have no fear. He, at least, is a man of honour.’
Vuldaroq sipped his wine. ‘And I am not? I and my college, alone, stand between Xetesk and their dominion of Balaia. Remember why we allied. We cannot let the power rest with one college alone; it would return us to the wilderness.’
‘I agree utterly. It is the method to use that has been where our differences lie,’ said Heryst, knowing tit for tat accusations would get them nowhere fast.
‘And do you also agree that the war, whoever you believe is to blame, now threatens you as well as us?’
‘And Julatsa, yes,’ said Heryst. ‘That is why I am here. I am appalled by the actions of Xetesk around Arlen and at their own gates. At least you have respected the rules of engagement and the rights of refugees.’
Vuldaroq inclined his head. ‘From you that is compliment indeed.’
‘I want to make it abundantly clear, however, that I am not proposing a formal alliance,’ said Heryst. ‘But we have a joint obligation to shore up the defences of Julatsa. I also believe we must put in place a blockade of Xeteskian lands to prevent movement of troops and materials.’
‘There also we are in accord,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘But how is this not an alliance?’
‘Because Lystern is not at war with Xetesk and that is the way I want to keep it. My soldiers will not be under any command of yours. I am suggesting a sharing of responsibilities in order to pressure Xetesk to the negotiating table. I will be telling Dystran the same.’
‘Of course, I respect your wishes,’ said Vuldaroq, and Heryst could see the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
‘Do not betray this. I will be seeking assurances you will not use this goodwill to advance the conflict.’
Vuldaroq held up his hands. ‘Heryst, please.’
‘Good. I suggest we break and let our respective teams discuss my proposals. We can reconvene later to iron out points of difference.’
An urgent knocking on the door was followed by two of Heryst’s mages running in.
‘Excuse the interruption, my Lords,’ said one, a young mage named Darrow. ‘I have grave news.’
He looked over to Vuldaroq. Heryst waved him on.
‘He will hear it anyway, best first-hand from you.’
‘Kayvel has contacted us,’ said Darrow. ‘As you know, Rusau travelled with a Xeteskian force riding to engage the Dordovans at the Dord crossing. It seems he was caught in the middle of the conflict. I’m sorry, my Lord, but he was killed.’
Heryst closed his eyes. He had feared this. He took a deep breath before speaking.
‘How did it happen?’
‘The story we have heard from Dordovans in the field was that he was killed by a Xeteskian pikeman.’
Heryst dashed his glass into the fireplace. Liquid hissed and spat. He fought to regain control but his mind churned and his pulse ran high.
‘He was a diplomat. A neutral,’ he said, hardly able to get the words out.
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘He was also my friend.’ Heryst put his head in his hands for a moment. ‘Are you sure the reports are true?’
‘That he’s dead?’ asked Darrow.
‘No,’ snapped Heryst. ‘That he died the way it is told.’