Devun scratched at his head. ‘We have no choice. We wait.’
Pheone awoke with the sun streaming through her unshuttered window in the newly built room in the south of the college of Julatsa. If she chose to look out she could see much of the college spread out before her but the last thing on her mind was enjoying the view despite the brightness of the new day.
She felt nauseated. Her head felt thick and heavy and her stomach churned like she’d eaten something bad the night before. She knew it wasn’t food and a wry smile dragged briefly across her face. For the first time in her life, she was wishing sickness on herself because at least it would mean the problem wasn’t infinitely more serious.
Pheone tried to relax and focus inwardly, switching into the mana spectrum. That was where the source of her nausea was, she was sure of it. For one terrifying moment, she couldn’t tune in at all but then there it was before her mind’s eye. The gentle flux of focused mana that was the signature of the spectrum at the core of a college.
Yet it was far from right. The flux was weak. She could see that as clear as day. There was a random edge to the overall focus and that was indicative of the failing of the Heart. She frowned. They’d been seeing the slight breakdown for a while now and that wasn’t why she was feeling off. There had to be more. She followed the flux focus into the deep core of concentrated mana that flowed around the Heart. The pulsing core of the college, the centre of its power. Buried from normal sight but visible on the mana spectrum.
It was there as it had always been but displaced by its burial those few years before. Years that had seemed like an eternity. A displacement that had stopped the college in its tracks. Julatsans were no longer called to the college because the pulse was not loud enough. But those that remained had kept faith that the pulse still beat as strong. Not true. Not any more.
Pheone searched harder, probed the core and soaked up the mana streams that to a mage were like standing in a warm spring breeze. She felt comforted for a moment but it was false.
A chill shot through her body and her eyes snapped open. The Heart was losing its colour. Julatsan mana was a glorious warm yellow. Gold if you were romantic. It was the colour of life, of vibrant, exuberant pure magic.
Or it should have been.
What Pheone could see through her experienced attuned senses was dulled. Tarnished. Just slightly but there. If a shadow passed across the land it dulled the beauty of its colours. So it was with the Heart of Julatsa. A shadow was across it, dulling its beauty, hiding its power. It hadn’t been there yesterday but it was there this morning. Hardly noticeable.
But if it grew it would take their power from them. Hide it behind impenetrable shade. And then the college would surely die. She couldn’t allow that. Not while she had breath in her body. Dammit, if only Ilkar were here. How she needed his strength right now. At least their message should reach the battle lines outside Xetesk soon. The Al-Arynaar would have to help them, surely they would. Their mages stood to lose just as much.
She tuned back to normal light. The nausea was subsiding now she had its cause. She sat up and began to pull on her clothes, wondering if others had felt and seen what she had. She hadn’t reached the door to pull it open before the first shout of alarm reached her ears.
Chapter 8
Hirad relaxed and let Sha-Kaan’s dominating presence into his mind. He noted a resignation in the great old dragon’s feelings. Acceptance of fate, perhaps. Weariness, certainly.
‘I am lonely, Hirad Coldheart,’ he rumbled. ‘Lonely, old and tired.’
‘I’m doing everything I can,’ said Hirad, heart skipping a beat at the melancholy edge in Sha-Kaan’s voice.
‘I need my own kind. I need the healing winds of inter-dimensional space. I need my home.’
He sounded so old. The will was waning. Almost six years in exile since the violent realignment of dimensions following the closing of the Noonshade rip. Six years with his life energy ebbing away, day after tortuous day.
‘What’s happened, Sha-Kaan?’ There must be something to force this change for the worse.
‘The Kaan birthing season is now. Our greatest joy and our time of greatest risk. They have looked to me for so long to protect them.’ Sha-Kaan grumbled deep in his throat. ‘And this time I will not be there. If I was, I wonder if I would have the strength to truly help.’
‘I feel your loss,’ said Hirad. ‘But please have faith in us. I made you a promise and I will keep it.’
Warmth flooded Hirad’s mind. ‘You are my friend, Hirad, and I trust you. But you are a rare breed of man, it seems to me. Most of your race are without honour or true soul.’
‘Lucky I’m on your side, then,’ said Hirad, both moved and embarrassed by the unbidden compliment from the most unlikely source.
‘Listen to me, Hirad. There is danger here. Erienne has employed the One magic, has she not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Xetesk felt it. They have passed their knowledge here through the Protectors and their mages are pressing the Al-Drechar for answers. So far Erienne’s identity remains a secret but these men are strong and I cannot stop them all, should they choose force to uncover it.’
‘Diera?’
‘Safe so far. She is the wife of Sol and the Protectors will not harm her or her son. It is the mages that concern me. Work fast, Hirad. Xetesk must be weakened and its attention drawn elsewhere. I must have my home and I can bring help. The One must survive to build a stronger world but I fear bloodshed.’
Sha-Kaan left Hirad’s mind abruptly, leaving the barbarian momentarily confused. He sat up gingerly and looked around the dilapidated barn to which Darrick had brought them. Its roof, such that remained, clung to damaged timbers and only one wall was anything more than glorified splinters. Still, it represented shelter and that was some comfort.
The Raven were circled around a small fire. Erienne was asleep in Denser’s arms, no doubt in contact with the Al-Drechar. Darrick too was sleeping, though his was an emotional tiredness. The Unknown was awake, lost in his thoughts and staring at the blaze. Thraun was outside. He would guard them while he prowled the overgrown fields and sniffed out scent-marked territories. Still so much the wolf. Still so much lost inside himself. Hirad doubted the Thraun he remembered would ever fully reappear.
‘How’s my family?’ asked The Unknown, seeing his eyes open.
‘Unharmed,’ said Hirad evenly. ‘I don’t think you’re going to like this much.’
‘He calls it administrative guidance,’ explained Hirad to Darrick.
It was an hour before dawn and The Unknown had urged them to be on their way, his face severe in the light of Hirad’s report from Herendeneth. He had said little as he pushed them to clear the camp, saddle up and go but there was no doubting the fire within and his renewed desire to get inside Xetesk. And quickly.
The city was two days’ ride at best and their situation was far from ideal. Lysternan and Dordovan supply chains were everywhere on the principal routes, their security augmented by college horsemen and mercenaries not willing to fight for the besieged Xetesk despite the higher wages.
Not so long ago, The Raven would have contracted themselves to Lystern or Dordover too. Their desire for balance in the colleges would have stopped them joining Denser’s home college. That and Ilkar’s determination never to work for Xetesk. How different it all was now. Once feted, The Raven were now effectively outlawed and hunted by all but Julatsa. And yet they were still Balaia’s best chance of lasting peace if they lived long enough to make good on all their promises.
‘It’s an interesting use of language,’ said Darrick.