Lord Metsas cleared his throat but a sharp glance from Heryst stilled any further interruption.
‘It is the decision of this court, therefore, that you, Ry Darrick, be redrafted into the Lysternan cavalry, there to serve under Commander Izack in the war against Xetesk. Your rank will be reduced to cavalryman second class but, as you are aware, the Lysternan armed forces have always rewarded clear ability with swift promotion, often in the field.
‘You will leave for the east gates front at dawn tomorrow. Do you have anything to say now sentence is passed?’
Hirad didn’t know what to think. Relief that Darrick wasn’t to be executed was diluted with the knowledge he was to be taken from The Raven. And on the back of so much recent loss, Hirad couldn’t shift the notion that somehow The Raven were being forced to share his punishment.
For a few moments, Darrick was still while the chamber awaited his reaction. It was not one that any of them expected.
‘I accept the decision but not the punishment,’ he said.
Lord Metsas snorted. ‘You speak as if you have a choice.’
‘I do,’ said Darrick. ‘I can choose to agree to your punishment or remain true to what I believe.’
Hirad was sure everyone could hear his heart beating in his chest, the silence was that pronounced. Heryst was completely confused; his face had fallen and he looked as if he was about to burst into tears. Erienne was shaking her head but The Unknown and Thraun were nodding. Hirad was with them.
‘And what exactly is it that you believe?’ Lord Metsas asked.
‘That Balaia needs me with The Raven far more than it does at Xetesk’s east gates. That we can right the balance if we’re left to act and the allies hold Xetesk at her walls. That my return to the Lysternan cavalry is a sham.
‘Gentlemen, you have to understand me. I am Raven. And that is all I will ever be now until the day I die.’
Across the table, Metsas and Simmac relaxed into their chairs. Heryst closed his eyes briefly and leant forwards, fingers kneading his forehead.
‘Then I have no option,’ he said. ‘I’ve done everything I can for you. Ry Darrick, if you refuse to join the cavalry, the sentence of this court can only be one thing. Death.’
Chapter 2
The silence that had fallen over the largely rebuilt College of Julatsa had lasted for so long that now no one dared speak lest he or she voiced the fears they all harboured. None of them had suffered, for which the Gods had to be thanked, because none of them had been casting at the time.
But they had all been touched so deeply it had taken their breath and their strength, and had drawn them all to the gaping hole in the middle of the college. It was the one thing they couldn’t put right because there just weren’t enough of them, but it was the one thing they needed because without it the college would not function as a fully formed magical entity.
The Heart.
Buried to prevent its destruction by Wesmen and now lost until enough Julatsans could be gathered to raise it and allow its pulse to beat through the college once again.
They had thought the Heart’s burial would merely cause it to lie dormant but that was not the case. And it was this dread realisation that had drawn them all, few that they were, to the jagged crater. Three hundred feet below and covered in impenetrable black, lay the Heart.
Burying it had toppled the Tower which had been built above it, entombing those few brave souls who had sacrificed themselves to save the college from ultimate destruction. Reversing the burial was far more difficult and the forty mages standing around the crater simply weren’t enough.
Pheone stood chewing her lip, trying desperately to frame words of hope for them all, but her heart was as heavy as the pit in front of her was deep. They’d clung to the belief that though it was dormant, the Heart still kept their magic alive. This had given them the faith that one day, however long it took, they would be able to return their college to its former glory. Not now.
‘It’s dying, isn’t it?’ Pheone said, her voice carrying across the courtyard. No one answered her though the shifting of feet told her they’d all heard her.
What in all the hells was she supposed to do? They’d all turned to her when Ilkar had left to do The Raven’s work three seasons ago. Expected her to take up where he had left off. Like it was that easy.
Gods, how she missed him. His strength, his touch, his kiss. Not a day went by that she didn’t look to the gates, wishing for him to ride through them. He’d know what to do, where to find the mages they needed to raise the Heart before it was too late. Perhaps he would still come. But news was so hard to come by with so few Julatsans in contact with the college and she’d heard nothing of his whereabouts for over a season. And every day without word chipped at her belief a little more.
‘That’s not possible,’ said Lempaar at last. The oldest mage amongst them, he was an elf who had stayed clear of a disease that had claimed ten of his race and a fifth of the already small mage population. Only now was news filtering through that the disease had afflicted tens of thousands of elves on both continents before apparently running its course.
‘We all felt it, Lempaar,’ said Pheone. ‘We all know what it means.’
It had been relatively short-lived. An abyss had opened up in each one of them, giving them a glimpse of an existence without the touch of mana. It had been terrifying. A void of unfathomable depth, of unbridgeable loss.
Pheone let her gaze travel slowly across the assembly. They all, like her, were trying desperately to argue themselves out of the obvious. Every teaching any of them had received on the subject had been clear. The Heart, they said, was the centre of Julatsan power but was not the portal between them and mana in itself. Losing it would be a terribly weakening blow but it would not end Julatsan magic, just make it more difficult.
So said the teachings.
‘But they’re wrong,’ whispered Pheone.
‘Who?’ asked Lempaar.
‘Everyone who ever taught us anything about the nature of Julatsan magic.’
They were all looking at her. Waiting for her to tell them what to do next. It would have been funny had they not been facing catastrophe. She was unelected, leader only because she, like Ilkar, had a flair for organisation. It had been easy when there was so much work to do. But now the building and repair was done, bar the Tower, and they were facing a future that made weak roofs and dangerous structures insignificant issues. Now they faced losing the ability to interact with the mana spectrum. Julatsa was dying.
‘We have to think straight,’ Pheone said, trying to force her own thoughts into some semblance of order. ‘There are steps we can take and we can’t afford to give up. Not after all we’ve achieved.
‘Lempaar, could you take as many people as you need and scour what texts we have for any hint of what is going on in the Heart? Maybe we can, I don’t know, feed it or revive it in some way. Anything to prolong its life, if indeed it is the Heart that is the problem.
‘Buraad, Massentii, Tegereen, we need a clear plan to get out our plea for help. Every Julatsan mage must have felt this. Every one of them must come here to help us raise the Heart.’
‘We need so many,’ said a voice from across the crater.
‘Then we’d better start getting them here now,’ replied Pheone.
‘Why do you think we’ll be more successful this time than before? We’ve asked, you know we have. So few answered. And now there’s a war going on out there.’ It was the same voice, from a mage who looked like they all must feel. Washed out. Lost.
‘I know. But we have to succeed. And at least the war has brought elves here from Calaius, though the Gods only know why. They are all Julatsan-trained and we have to make them understand what is at stake. What other choice do we have than to try? The alternative is unthinkable.