'My Lord?' queried a voice behind him.
'Sharyr,' said Dystran, not turning to face his new head of dimensional magics. Barely more than a student but the best he had left. 'Come here. Tell me what you see.'
He heard a nervous shuffle then slightly laboured breathing mixing with snatches of noise from the walls. Dystran looked across to Sharyr and watched the balding young man scanning the night, anxious to pick up whatever he was supposed to see. He shifted uncomfortably and gave a half shrug.
'Wesmen on the walls?' he ventured, voice tremulous.
'Excellent,' said Dystran. 'Does that scare you?'
'Yes, my Lord,' said Sharyr. T have family in the city.'
'Then they are fortunate because you will personally be keeping them safe, won't you?'
'Me? I—'
Dystran turned to face his nervous student.
'The distance between the walls of the city and those of this college is slight for a rampaging Wesmen army. Less than a mile, wouldn't you say?'
'My Lord.'
'This is not a big city,' said Dystran. 'When do you think the Wesmen will take either of those turrets?'
Sharyr stared at him blankly.
'You see,' continued Dystran. 'When they do, they will have access to our streets and more importantly, the south gatehouse. And there are thousands of them just itching to get in.'
'Yes, my Lord.'
'The point is that this undefined but quite possibly short length of time is how long you have to be ready to cast the spell of your choosing.'
'I—' Sharyr backed up a pace into the room.
Dystran turned to follow him. 'You do understand that none of those men will reach the college, don't you? If Chandyr can't stop them, you will. Won't you?'
'The - the alignment isn't going to be complete until this time tomorrow night,' managed Sharyr.
'Oh dear,' said Dystran, putting a hand to his mouth. 'Whatever will you do?'
'Well, I don't know, my Lord,' replied Sharyr, missing Dystran's sarcasm completely.
Dystran bore down on Sharyr, forcing the younger man to back away across the room.
'Then let me enlighten you.' His voice barely above a whisper. carried all the menace of long practice. 'You will be ready to cast because you and I both know that the alignment can be forced for the purposes of the casting. I have written at great length on the subject. The spell will be difficult to control and you will instruct your charges how to handle the forces and inform them of the personal consequences of failure. Backfire from a dimensional casting is very, very messy.'
Sharyr fetched up against the mantle of the fire. Fortunately for him, diere was no heat from the embers.
'The risks to our city . . .' he began.
Dystran leant in further. 'The Wesmen will take this college if they are not stopped. That is the risk to our city. You will stop them or you will die in the attempt. Any of your team who feel they are not up to the task can report to me to discuss it.'
'I—'
'Do not fail, Sharyr.' Dystran straightened and stepped back a pace, seeing the terror in the student's expression, the sweat beading on his brow and the darting of his eyes. He chose to smile. 'You have heard the shout, "Death or glory"? Bet you thought it only applied to soldiers, didn't you? Think again, get down to the catacombs and be ready. When the time comes, I will call you personally to the walls of the city. Go.'
Sharyr had the presence of mind at least to bow his head and mutter, 'My Lord.'
But the door to the reception chamber opened before he reached it and an old man with tears on his face stood in the brazier light from the stairway. It was Brannon, Ranyl's manservant of decades.
'Please, my Lord,' he said. 'You must come quickly.'
Dystran felt his world dropping around him and fear shiver though his body.
'Oh no,' he breathed, already starting to run. 'Not now. Not now.'
Chapter 2
Hirad Coldheart sat on the steps of Julatsa's refectory. The night was warm and peaceful. From outside the college, he could hear the odd snatch of life. A cart rattling over cobbles; horse hoofs echoing against buildings; a voice raised in greeting. He breathed in deeply, feeling his chest wound pull under its bandages. It was a stubborn one. Magic had knitted the muscle but his skin was still sore and tight. A mark of age, he supposed. A little like the grey flecks he'd found in his long braids.
He knew he shouldn't but he felt released. All the problems that Balaia still faced and for the first time in so long he and The Raven were not bound by honour or contract to do anything about them. He knew he should still care but he found he couldn't. Not at the moment. Not ever, probably.
There was tension in Julatsa as those who had fled began to return. The city's rulers still hadn't had the guts to come to the college. There would be trouble, he was sure of it. And beyond this city, Dordover, Xetesk and Lystern presumably still fought. They'd battle themselves to a standstill. All too proud to sue for peace before the maximum blood was spilt.
He knew he should worry about where the country he loved was going but something was missing. Looking over at the Heart of Julatsa, around which would soon be constructed a new tower, he knew exactly what it was. It wasn't the country itself that was great and worth saving. It was the people he loved that wanted to live there. And they were dead or leaving. All of them.
Ilkar might have been the final straw for him but there were Sirendor, Ras, Richmond, Will and Jandyr too. All dead despite everything he had tried to do to save them. And The Unknown, Denser and Erienne were all thinking of their families across the
ocean, alive or dead. Thraun would go with them because The Raven were his family. Either that or return to the pack. He would not be drawn on the subject. That left Darrick. Hirad chuckled. If there was one man more wanted than the rest of The Raven, it was Darrick. He really had little choice.
So they would all be travelling back to take ship near Blackthorne with those very few elves that could be spared from the effort to shore up the college now the Heart was risen. Rebraal had to go. The Al-Arynaar needed their leader on Calaius. The same was true of Auum and the TaiGethen and of course, where he went, so did his Tai. Finally, Hirad would have bet everything he owned on the single ClawBound pair returning to the rainforests. They had been mourning for those of their kind lost since the end of the siege. That they missed their homeland and dieir kin was somediing he could read even in the eyes of the panther. They were outside now, staring up at the stars and knowing dieir positions were all wrong.
Hirad drained his goblet of wine and looked down at his plate. It was empty of the bread and meat he'd taken. Thinking it was probably time to turn in, he picked up the plate and turned to rise. Denser and The Unknown were just coming out of die refectory, a wineskin and goblets in hand. He smiled at diem both, the sharp-featured mage and the shaven-headed warrior.
'Where do you think you're going, Coldheart?' said The Unknown.
'For a refill?' ventured Hirad.
'Correct answer,' said Denser.
The two men sat either side of him. Denser filled his goblet.
'What's this, some sort of deputation?'
'No,' said The Unknown. 'We just thought it's a long time since we'd sat and drunk wine together. The others'll be out soon.'
'Time to toast the dead and move on, eh?' Hirad nodded at the Heart.