‘And you’re leaving us without any magical protection,’ said Hirad.
‘But not out of contact,’ replied Denser. ‘The Familiar will stay with you much of the time.’
‘You are joking,’ said Jandyr. He was sitting next to Will, who stared at Denser in mute disbelief.
‘I—’ began Denser, then saw Will. He sighed. ‘It’s the only way to cover all the angles.’
‘After what he did to me, you can even suggest this?’ It was the first time Will had spoken all day.
‘I’m sorry for what happened, Will,’ said Denser. ‘But he didn’t actually do anything to you.’
‘You call this nothing?’ Will’s voice rose to a shout. He pointed at his greying hair. ‘And this?’ He lifted a spread hand, palm downwards. It trembled. ‘This is your nothing, Denser. Without my nerves, I am nothing. Your bastard creation has ruined me.’
Denser regarded Will for some moments.
‘I understand your fear, but it will pass. Talk to Erienne, understand its nature. It will not harm you.’
‘With you here, I believe it is under control. In your absence - well, I have seen the results.’ Will drew up his legs and hugged them to his chest.
‘It will not harm you,’ repeated Denser.
‘Accepting that,’ said Jandyr into the silence that followed, ‘I understand that it can communicate with you, but how does it do so with us?’
‘Someone will have to agree to see him,’ said Denser. ‘For whatever reason, he seems to regard Hirad as acceptable company.’
Ilkar sniggered.
‘The feeling is barely mutual,’ growled Hirad.
‘Do you consent?’ asked Denser.
Hirad shrugged.
‘Don’t,’ said Will.
‘I really don’t have too much choice, do I?’
‘Good,’ said Denser. ‘Come with me. Introductions have to be made.’
‘One more thing.’ Thraun stopped them. ‘Where will we hide?’
‘I know a place,’ said Denser.
The darkness suited her, and with her keen sight picking out pitfalls in front of her feet, Selyn began making her way towards the once dead and now apparently resurgent city of the Wytch Lords.
With night falling on the Torn Wastes, the scale of the Wesmen encampments was hidden, but the firelight and noise of laughter, talking, shouting and fighting; of dogs barking and wind flapping canvas, all served as reminders of her precarious position.
But they were clearly preparing to leave. Before the light had failed completely, she’d made a rough count of the tents she could see, surmised a total to encircle Parve, added the number of Wesmen she’d seen marching away from the Torn Wastes two days before and multiplied it by a likely number of occupants per tent that still remained. Twenty thousand. And that was probably conservative. Call it twenty-five thousand. She’d shivered. That took the total number of Wesmen way past eighty thousand. And they were clearly once again servile to the Wytch Lords.
It was now merely a question of when the Wytch Lords could take significant part in the impending invasion. Too soon, and the Colleges would merely become the wavefront for the tide that would wash eastern Balaia into the Korina estuary. It was a question to which she had to find the answer, quickly.
Selyn dropped to her haunches behind a large lichen-covered boulder. She was a little over halfway to the first buildings of Parve, and already the smell of fear was invading her nostrils.
Low, dark cloud moved slowly overhead, lit by myriad fires, but none burned more brightly than the six beacons that ringed the top of the pyramid housing the shattered remains of the Wytch Lords’ bodies.
Now, the folly of her Xeteskian predecessors could be seen for what it had become. Built by Xetesk and sealed by its magic, the pyramid had represented a warning to any who challenged the might of the Dark College. But now, with their mana cage empty, it merely served as a focus for the growing power of the Wytch Lords, and the massing of their acolytes and soldiers. She shook her head. Overconfidence and ultimate arrogance. Not traits shared to such a degree by the current Lord of the Mount, but he would surely suffer for their presence in those who had gone before him.
She looked over and to either side of the boulder. A stand of seven tents, lit inside and out, was directly in front of her, no further than three hundred yards away and ringing a large fire. Wesmen stood, sat, crouched or lay in the light of the flames, making silhouettes of bulking shoulders, powerful frames and bull heads that filled her vision.
To her left, a similar encampment, this one hosted by a Shaman. She could not risk running into the mind-sight of one of them. Right, the tents stretched into the dark, the noise of thousands filling the air with a restless energy.
Looking away towards Parve, she assessed her options and found she had none. Her principal problem was that the mana drain for a CloakedWalk of such distance might not leave enough for communion. But considering the sprawl of enemies in her path, she knew it was a chance she simply had to take.
She gathered herself, formed the simple mana shape, spoke the single command word and started running.
Hirad studied the cat lying curled asleep in his lap, breathing fast and shallow. With eyes and mouth closed, the black was so complete you could lose yourself in its depths. Hirad shuddered. How different to the beast Denser had shown him. Even prepared, he had found it hard to keep looking as the demon’s eyes bored into his face from inside its pulsating skull. And, try as he might, he had flinched when it had placed a clawed hand on his arm and spoken his name.
Will’s terror had been so easy to understand, then. Already scared half witless by his journey through the Dordovan crypt, to see this thing in all its hideous glory would have been too much for most men.
It wasn’t just the look, though. A look you could get used to, however awful. There was something else. In demon form, the Familiar exuded an aura of contempt, as if it was only there on a whim and could break out at any time and do anything.
The sound of a door opening brought Hirad to himself. Jandyr walked in.
‘What do you think?’ asked Hirad.
‘Of this place?’
‘Yes.’ Denser had brought them to a farm some three hours outside Xetesk before riding immediately for the College City with Ilkar, Erienne and Sol. It was a working property, sprawling across several dozen acres and providing meat and cereal crops for nearby villages.
The house itself stood apart from the collection of barns and outbuildings, but all were clustered in the centre of the farm’s land. In every direction, the ground undulated gently away, giving clear vision for a good six hundred paces before a stand of trees or a low hill obscured what was beyond.
Denser and Evanson, the farmer, were clearly on good terms, and though Hirad had initially opted for a barn, the farmer insisted they stay in the house.
‘It’s more comfortable for one thing, but more important, it keeps you out of sight of my workers. Village locals all of them, and none would keep their mouths shut if they saw you.’ Evanson was middle-aged, with a face deep russet brown and wrinkled from long exposure to the elements. He had huge hands and powerful shoulders that bulged inside his loose shirt. His eyes sparkled from beneath his brow and his mouth was set in a smile. There was plenty about him to remind Hirad of Tomas back at The Rookery.
So they had agreed to stay in the house, and it was certainly a cosy option. Two storeys high, the building had beds enough for all of them to enjoy a little privacy. The range in the kitchen maintained a pot of hot water and food on demand, and with enough rest to let the adrenalin levels sink, all of them discovered a deep tiredness. Consequently, there had been little action save for some gentle snoring and a round or two of cards.
‘I think several things,’ said Jandyr. ‘It’s easy to defend. We have clear vision, plenty of warning and these beds are sent straight from paradise.’