'It's a thought. Put it this way. Our time, The Raven's time, is over. We have to face the fact that we're a little creaky, not as fast as we were. More than that, we're unpopular with Balaia's power brokers. But we've never reneged on a contract and we've never been beaten. We've preserved all that we can both here and on Calaius. We've made a difference. No one can take that from us. So I'm saying go and live somewhere you can have peace but keep in touch with your memories. The elves will provide that for you. Besides, I think Herendeneth would bore you rigid. You and Darrick both.'
Hirad laughed. 'Yeah, can't see us tending the gardens till we die.'
'Exactly. You aren't cut out for a quiet life. Something will find you, mark my words.'
'So long as it isn't sharp.'
Dystran's head ached with lack of sleep. That and the sound of EarthHammers destroying every building surrounding the college for forty yards beyond the cobblestones. His familiars, those that were left, were harrying the Wesmen who had no defence against them. But they were so few and could do little more than irritate. They seemed to have lost their capacity to terrify and Tessaya - he had seen the Wesmen Lord prowling the shadows at dawn - had quickly worked out that what could not be killed could at least be caught and trapped. Already the stones and timbers of Xeteskian houses were pinning two of the thralled demons to the ground.
With the sun halfway to noon, Dystran stood on the walls of the college above the gatehouse, having just completed another circuit. Wesmen surrounded his college. Unbelievable. The spells and arrows kept them at a safe distance for now; and the CobaltFury had made them wary, but Tessaya would wait until he deemed them weak enough and attack again.
When the tower had collapsed, tearing holes in the walls, the city defence had quickly folded and terror had gripped the streets. Every soldier and mage had fled back to the college, Wesmen chasing them down. The south gates stood open, under the control of the enemy. The other gates to the city were also in Wesmen hands though they remained closed.
The city populace had nowhere to run. The Wesmen had herded them away from the gates, the spell barrage had kept them from the college and so they cowered in their homes, not knowing whether they would live or die. Dystran knew the answer. The attitude of the Wesmen had changed. The only people Tessaya wanted dead were inside the college.
Dystran turned to the duty officer standing by him.
'Marshal your spell reserves well. When he attacks, I don't want to find all my mages having to rest.'
'My Lord.'
The Lord of the Mount hurried down the steps from the gate tower and across the courtyard to the tower complex. Those he had ordered to provide him with their current situation awaited him in the cavernous banqueting hall. Three men, two exhausted, one in old age, awaiting his pleasure in the chill room. They sat at one end of the high table near a fire hours dead. Light streamed through the dark stained windows but provided precious little in the way of warmth. Dystran's footsteps echoed hollow as he approached them. They stood on seeing him but he waved them down impatiently, taking the steps to the platform two at a time.
'I seem to be holding such meetings with monotonous regularity,' he said. He sat in his chair and laid a hand on the arm of the one adjacent, squeezing its upholstery. Ranyl's absence made the room truly cavernous.
'May I add my condolences to those of the mage community for the passing of Ranyl. He was a great man,' said Chandyr, his head bandaged, an oozing cut on his left cheek.
'And I would consign him to the next life in peace!' Dystran thumped the arm of his chair.
'We will prevail,' assured Chandyr.
'Will we?' Dystran snapped. 'And what leads you to that happy conclusion? Our astonishing defence of our city walls or our ability to demolish our own warehouses and civic offices? Commander Chandyr, we have exchanged one siege for another and I must say that I found the former far more agreeable. More spacious. I fear that our chances for victory lie not in arms but in spells. Prexys, what of our casting strength?'
The old Circle Seven mage scratched his head and allowed a small smile to cross his face. 'As Ranyl would undoubtedly have said, we have had easier times for our stamina reserves and for the security of our dimensional gateway for their replenishment.'
Dystran nodded. 'But he is not here, though your thoughts are welcome. How long do we have before Tessaya knows we are spent enough for him to attack?'
Prexys sighed. 'He is a clever man. He probes close enough to force casting almost continually but he is not losing men at the rate we need. You know how depleted our mage strength is. We can cast at our current expenditure for another day at the most before it becomes apparent we are struggling. And with the dimensional team out of the picture temporarily, we have nothing else to throw at them except our few remaining soldiers.'
'I see.' Dystran sucked his lip and turned to face Sharyr. He and fifteen of the team had made it back to the college. All were resting bar him and he was fit to drop, his face not washed clean of the dust of the walls. 'And why are you out of the picture, Sharyr? I would have thought a day plenty enough to ready yourselves for a decisive casting.'
Sharyr's eyes widened. He shivered. 'You can't ask us to do that
again. You saw what happened. The alignment isn't there. We cannot contain the energy.'
'They are already through the walls, Sharyr,' said Dystran. 'Scatter the power wherever you choose. Destruction of buildings is a small price to pay for all of our lives, surely?'
'With respect, my Lord, you don't understand.'
'I understand that alignment closes with every passing heartbeat. I understand that fifteen rested men can and will cast on my command if it becomes necessary. I understand that there is no price I am not willing to pay for the survival of this college.'
'Even its destruction?' Sharyr raised his voice.
'Well now, Sharyr, if it were destroyed, it would hardly survive, now would it?'
'Damn you, don't patronise me!' shouted Sharyr, shooting to his feet. 'We were not enough before and we are not enough now.'
'You will not-'
'There is residue where the connection with inter-dimensional space was made. Something of the tear remains, I'm sure of it.'
Dystran paused and frowned. 'What are you trying to tell me?'
'That we may have caused permanent damage, my Lord,' said Sharyr, calming a littie and sinking back into his chair. 'And that casting again might cause us serious problems. You see, my Lord, if there is still the residue of a tear, I have no idea how to close it.'
'We had a tear in our skies once before, as you will recall. It could have led to an invasion of dragons. Please tell me this is different.'
'Oh, quite different, my Lord,' said Sharyr. 'There is no hint of a link to any other dimension at this stage. I'm just currently at a loss how to deal with it.'
'Then I suggest that you rest now, Sharyr. And when you are rested, see that you investigate what you have left in my sky. I will have my spell ready, with you or without you. Because when I pay my last respects to my dear friend Ranyl tomorrow night, I will have peace and not a horde of Wesmen vermin battering at my door.' Dystran smiled thinly and saw the fear in Sharyr's eyes. T trust I make myself clear.'
The village of Cuff was a setdement of probably fifty houses and farms nestled in a shallow and sheltered, tree-lined valley. Grazing
animals ranged free up and down its length, crops were sprouting through fertile earth. To look at Cuff, it was clear the Nightchild storms had hardly touched it. The scene before them was at odds with much of the rest of Balaia given war and so many displaced people.
While farmers worked their land and the odd fisherman netted the free-flowing river on which the village stood, others on horseback patrolled its borders and guarded the crests of the valley east and west. Two rough watchtowers had been built, visible at either end of the village, looking out north and south along its single track.
The Raven approached at an easy trot, the elves running beside them in the late afternoon sun. The ClawBound had disappeared. Hirad's guess was they were already downwind of all the livestock and horses. In the trees to the south, hunting.
'Times are hard and people are desperate,' said The Unknown. 'We'd be the same. Let's tread carefully, Raven.'
'What do you think about the guards? Mercenary or local?' asked Hirad.
'Soldiers,' said Rebraal. 'Well armed. Used to armour.'
'We probably know them,' said Hirad.
'That's not necessarily a good thing,' said The Unknown. 'Let's be prepared. Just don't look like you are.'
There was a price on The Raven's capture and return to Lystern or Dordover. Probably a very high price at that.
'I'll keep my hand just far enough from my sword to be of no use if there's trouble,' said Hirad.
'You know what I mean.'
Hirad smiled. He glanced meaningfully at the TaiGethen moving fluidly by him. Even without their faces painted, he found it hard to imagine them anything less than fully prepared. Readiness oozed from every pore.