Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

It was enough.

‘How dare you!’ Erienne flew at the Captain as he entered her room. ‘How dare you!’ He caught her easily by the arms and pushed her back towards the desk chair.

‘Calm yourself, Erienne. Everything is as it was,’ he said.

‘Three days,’ she grated, her eyes ablaze beneath her tangled dirty hair. ‘Three days you’ve denied me. How can you do it to them, never mind me?’

Since their last conversation, the Captain had been true to his word. She had spoken to no one but the guard who brought her food and water. At first it had been easy, her anger at his assumption that she would crumble burning in the pit of her stomach. She had occupied herself quoting lore, revising little-used spells – some of which she would dearly like to cast in the castle – and searching for weaknesses she could exploit to get free of the Captain. But he had her children, he’d threatened quick death for any magic use and she had no doubt he would do exactly as he said.

Unless she could be in a position while she was with them to cast effectively, she couldn’t take the risk. But then there was the future, after he had no further need of her. Would he let them all go? Part of her wanted to believe that he wasn’t a murderer of innocents, that his intellect had a compassionate side, but that part was small. Erienne knew in her heart that he had no intention of letting them leave the castle. He surely knew her sons had great potential power, and that power would scare him. And that left her having to prolong their lives in any way she knew how and hope that he would drop his guard even for a moment to give her the chance she wanted. Until he let the boys out of their room, that chance would never materialise.

As the hours went by, her anger faded, to be replaced by the dread feeling of longing over which she had no control. She stopped being able to concentrate and the lore lessons were forgotten. Her heart pounded painfully in her breast and the tears were regular and prolonged as her happy memories of the boys gave way to nightmare visions of them cold and alone in a dusty room without anyone to protect them.

She knew the answer was simple. To see them was to call the guard and agree to help the Captain. But to help him was abhorrent to her every belief. And not only that. She believed him to be deeply misguided, and to lend assistance would place Balaia in greater danger than it appeared to be in already.

After two days, she couldn’t sleep, eat or wash, the longing was that great. All she could do was shuffle, head down, around the room, calling out their names and praying for their safe return to her. Her mind was full of them, her body racked with the need of them.

She called the Captain on the third day, when she feared she was losing her mind and when she was sure her boys would wither without her. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she wept tears through the dirt on her face. Her hair was lank and greasy, knotted and straggling over her scalp. Great dark circles under her eyes told their own story about the state of her fatigue, and her nightdress was torn at one shoulder where she’d caught it on a loose nail.

‘You have denied yourself,’ said the Captain. ‘The answer was forever in your grasp.’

She was too tired to defend herself, slumping instead into the chair. ‘Let me see them,’ she said.

The Captain ignored her plea. ‘I assume you have some news for me.’

‘What do you want from me?’ she said, her voice thick with exhaustion.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good. I knew you’d see sense. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. First, I want you to get some proper rest, and I’m going to make it easy for you by promising that you will see your sons very soon. And I never go back on my promises, as you are aware. Then we will talk about your role in saving Balaia from this appalling creation of Dawnthief.’

‘I have to see them now,’ said Erienne.

The Captain knelt beside her and held up her face. She looked at him, his smile softening his features into fatherly concern.

‘Erienne, look at yourself. They will be frightened if they see you like this. You must sleep, then you must wash. Now come.’ He rose and helped her out of the chair and across to the bed, moving the blankets over her as she lay down, unprotesting. ‘I’ll stay with you until you sleep. And dream happy, because when you awaken, you will see Thom and Aron and realise they are well.’ He stroked her hair back from her face, and though she fought it, sleep took her in an iron grip and she slipped into a deep slumber.

The Captain turned to Isman and smiled broadly. ‘You see, Isman? Deprivation can get the results that violence does not.’ He stood. ‘Now, one more piece to the puzzle. Let’s go and talk about how we might catch our most valuable prize.’

Ilkar just stared while he tried to compose himself. The quiet hurt his ears. Talan had kneeled and closed The Unknown’s eyes, and now he, Richmond and Ilkar stood around the big man’s body as the wind ruffled his bloodied hair and blew in through the open door of the barn. Hirad, having decapitated the last dog, had walked back two steps and collapsed. Denser was tending him.

Thoughts crashed through Ilkar’s head in a confused barrage but one kept rising to the surface of his mind. It was the view in front of him. The Unknown lying dead was a sight he had never believed he would see. And the idea that he would no longer be there to say the right words or make the correct decision to save them all was one that Ilkar was unable to take.

‘Why the hell did he do it?’ he asked.

Richmond shook his head; tears stood in his eyes.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We could have helped him. If he hadn’t locked the door, we . . . Why did he lock it?’

It was not a question Ilkar could answer. He dragged his attention to Hirad and caught Denser’s eye. The Dark Mage was worried.

‘Bad?’

Denser nodded. ‘Do you know WarmHeal?’

‘That bad, is it?’

‘Yes,’ said Denser. ‘He’s lost a great deal of blood. Well?’

‘I’ve never used it,’ said Ilkar.

‘I’m not asking you to use it. All I need you to do is to shape the mana flow for me – I don’t have the energy.’

‘You want me to channel mana for you,’ said Ilkar slowly. ‘How can you ask that of me?’

Denser scratched his head beneath his skull cap. ‘This isn’t the time to discuss morals and College co-operation.’

‘No?’

‘No!’ snapped Denser, standing and pointing down at the prostrate Hirad. ‘I don’t think you quite understand. If we don’t do something now, he will die. Now you can either try it yourself, use your energy and probably screw up, or you can shape the mana for me and I’ll make it work. I’m good at it.’ He was standing very close to Ilkar, and the elf could feel the cat squirming in Denser’s cloak. ‘So which is it to be?’

Ilkar looked away, straight into the stern gazes of Talan and Richmond. He held out his hands.

‘You don’t understand,’ he said.

‘We understand that if you don’t do something, Hirad will die,’ said Richmond. ‘And we’ve just lost one, so stop talking ethics and get on with it.’

Ilkar looked back to Denser and inclined his head. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

Denser removed Hirad’s leather armour and shirt. The tear in his lower back was ugly, full of blood and over twelve inches long. Denser probed the area around the gash and Hirad moaned his pain through his unconsciousness.

‘It’ll be infected,’ said Denser. ‘Destranas are never clean. Are you ready?’

Ilkar nodded. Kneeling, he placed his hands on Denser’s shoulders, index fingers on the base of his neck. He opened his mind to the mana, feeling a surge through his body before he began shaping the WarmHeal and channelling the energy through his hands. There was a jolt as Denser accepted the flow and something akin to pain as the two Colleges, Julatsa and Xetesk, met and melded. Focusing on the Dark Mage’s hands, Ilkar blotted out the barn around him and the ache growing in his head, seeing Denser’s gentle finger movements, hearing his quiet incantation and feeling the mana being dragged through him with greater force as the preparation climaxed.

He could feel himself beginning to weaken. Denser was hauling the stamina from him as he drew on the magical force with ever greater urgency. And then it was done, the flow shut off, the channel closed, and Denser’s hands were encased in a red-tinged golden glow. For Ilkar, the colour would have been a pure green, soft and pulsating but he couldn’t say that the feeling was any different than if the mage under his hands had been another Julatsan. Unable to move from his position, Ilkar watched as Denser moved his hands over the wound, his fingers kneading the skin and probing the torn flesh. Blood flowed briefly on to the floor of the barn, Denser breathed in slowly and, with his exhalation, the light dimmed and died.

Slowly, the rest of the world encroached once more on Ilkar’s mind. His heart was hammering in his chest and his arms trembled as he took them from Denser’s shoulders. The Dark Mage examined his work, then sat back on his haunches, turning to Ilkar and smiling.

‘That was a very interesting experience. We should research it further,’ he said.

Ilkar wiped his sweat-slick forehead. ‘Don’t get carried away, Denser. I only did it to save Hirad.’

‘And save him we have,’ said Denser. ‘I’m sorry you feel the way you do. We should be learning from each other, not squabbling.’

Ilkar gave a short laugh. ‘And there speaks a man who would have Dawnthief for himself and his College.’

Both stood up, brushing dust from their clothing.

‘And you wouldn’t?’ Denser felt in a pocket for his pipe. ‘Julatsa sets itself on a pedestal and asks to be knocked down. For one thing, you know you cannot cast Dawnthief with any hope of success, and for another, you refuse our constant hand of friendship and reason.’

Ilkar felt as if all the breath had been knocked from him. He could feel his ears redden and the blood flowed into his face with equal force.

‘Reason? Xetesk? Denser, the last time I saw a Xetesk mage, she was fighting for Erskan’s Merchant Lords and killing people using MindMelt. That’s not reason.’

Denser merely tamped tobacco into his pipe bowl and lit the weed with a flame from his thumb.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You have never killed anyone in your work with The Raven.’

‘That is completely different.’

‘Is it? Your killing spells stink of righteousness and that makes them all right, I suppose.’ There was a sneer on Denser’s face. ‘You are a mercenary mage, Ilkar. Your moral is money and your code is that of The Raven. Forget my allegiance; my deeds are no worse than yours. In Julatsa you see yourselves as the white knights of magic, and yet, individually at least, you are no higher than any College’s mage. We should have stayed talking to Lystern and Dordover.’

‘You say that and yet you thrive on blood and the chaos in dimensional space. Your College has consistently ignored pleas to moderate and that’s why Black Wings hunt you. And me. I—’

‘For God’s sake, will you two shut up? I’m trying to rest.’ That voice drained the anger from Ilkar and he smiled. So did Denser.

‘Ah, Hirad, you’ll never know the angst that brought about your salvation,’ said the Dark Mage.

Ilkar found it hard to suppress a chuckle. He looked down and the humour died on his face. Hirad’s eyes were black-rimmed and sunken, and his expression spoke everything of recent events.

‘I heard you,’ said the barbarian. ‘We’d better bury The Unknown. I understand that a WarmHeal surge doesn’t last for long.’ He scrambled to his feet.

Denser nodded. ‘You’ll be asleep in less than an hour.’

Talan retrieved a shovel from his pack. ‘I’ll dig. Richmond can dress the body. We’ll observe the Vigil in the morning.’

Ilkar nodded his thanks. He was more tired than he cared to admit. The exertion of the WarmHeal was weighing on his mind as much as on his body. In saving Hirad, he’d committed a crime against the Julatsan way that would see him shunned by his brothers. He shuddered. At least none of them was ever likely to find out.

Hirad squatted outside the barn by the mound of earth that covered The Unknown. His sword was drawn and held in his hands, point driven into the ground and hilt by his face. His sorrow wasn’t as keen as that he had felt for the loss of Sirendor, but something lurked in the back of his mind that his exhausted body couldn’t register. He felt empty and useless. Again. It was a feeling he was becoming too familiar with. His eyes smarted and he turned them to the darkening heavens, as the mist that had bothered their journey all day deepened and stole the stars from the sky.

They were all asleep. Richmond and Talan had taken the early watches and snored in unison, lying on their backs on either side of the barn. Ilkar, his energy gone, was stretched on a patch of loose earth, his hands thrust deep in the soil, replenishing his mana stamina slowly as he slept. Denser smiled. If only he knew how easy it was. All you needed was peace and a victim or a prayer and an opening.

Finally, his eyes came to rest on Hirad, sleeping so deeply his breath hardly registered. He had been lucky. For all his confidence, Denser had no idea whether Julatsan-shaped WarmHeal mana would mean anything to him, or whether Ilkar’s reluctance to channel the mana would affect the flow. It was a sudden source of interest to Denser that, give or take the odd spike, the WarmHeal shapes of the two opposed Colleges were identical. Again the smile. He wondered if Ilkar would ever open his eyes to the truth his Masters had buried from him and all of his brothers.

One magic. One mage.

Denser was sitting close to the door, listening to the wind rattling the sparse brush against the base of the barn. He filled his pipe from his belt pouch, frowning as he felt around the dwindling supply.

‘Hmm.’ He lit the pipe, letting the flame he produced on his fingers warm his face for a moment. Within his cloak, his Familiar shifted, its head nestling against his stomach.

Outside, there was another sound; a whispering on the wind. Something gliding. It was a sound Denser knew very well, as did the Familiar, who poked its head from his cloak to look at him, nose and whiskers twitching, ears pricked.

The whispering came closer, the gliding changed to an idle flap and there was a landing just to the right of the barn door. Claws scrabbled briefly at the earth, the wings flapped again and the whispering became distant and was gone.

Denser and the cat stared deeply into each other’s eyes.

‘Well, well, well,’ said the Dark Mage. ‘That’s why you did it. You knew they were coming.’ He shook his head. ‘And I never suspected a thing.’

Chapter 10

Hirad awoke to sounds of movement and organisation. As he opened his eyes, he could hear Ilkar demanding someone ready the horses, while the crackle and smell of a fire told of Richmond preparing a meal. Light streamed in through the barn’s open door and any remaining shadows were crisscrossed with light that shone through gaps in the planking. Hirad shifted. He felt a dull ache in his back but the pain he remembered had gone.

‘Good morning, Hirad.’

Hirad turned his head and pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘Bugger me, Talan, but I pity the woman who wakes up staring at you.’ He offered an arm and Talan hauled him to his feet. Once up, a look around the barn brought reality back with unpleasant force.

There weren’t enough of them. No way. The gap left by The Unknown was enormous. Unbridgeable. Hirad felt his heart thumping in his throat, and his eyes swept the barn once more as if he’d somehow missed the big man, sitting on a bale of straw behind the horses perhaps. His eyes pricked and he set off for the door to give himself the confirmation he had to have.

Sure enough, the grave was there, and by it, Denser and the cat, the mage staring at the low mound of earth in a kind of sombre surprise. As Hirad watched, he shook his head slowly.

‘I know how you feel,’ said the barbarian.

Denser smiled thinly. ‘Probably not.’

‘What’s causing all this?’ Hirad waved an arm at the view in front of them. The air was no clearer than on the previous day. Despite the sun riding into the sky unchallenged by cloud, Septern’s estate shimmered in a light mist, keeping anything further than thirty-odd yards away just out of plain focus. At least today there were no dark shapes moving against the horizon. Not yet, anyway.

‘I think it’s either another after-effect of all the spell casting around the house, or the rip is causing eddies in the atmosphere. We don’t know how dimensions interact but it may be that they can’t mix.’ He glanced back down at The Unknown’s grave. ‘Perhaps we should talk.’

‘Yes, I think we should. We’re in trouble.’

Denser indicated they walk away from the barn, and the two men moved off together in the direction of the house.

‘I’m not—’

‘I think—’

A brief pause. Denser gestured for Hirad to speak.

‘We’ve got to take stock,’ he said. ‘The Raven isn’t used to its people dying. Not for years.’

‘I appreciate that,’ said Denser. ‘And I know we didn’t start off right—’

Hirad laughed, a contemptuous sound.

‘I’ll say we didn’t.’ His voice was low and cold. ‘First of all, your damned secrecy about what you involved us in almost killed me and ended in the death of my best friend. Then, because of that, we end up in this nightmare country and the second of my friends dies. To save you.’ Denser opened his mouth to speak but Hirad glared him down. ‘Your life is forfeit and I want you to know that the only reason you aren’t dead is that Ilkar seems to believe you are the only chance Balaia has got.’

The wind gusted, picking at Denser’s cloak. The cat’s ears appeared briefly at his neck line, twitched and withdrew. The mage pulled his pipe from a pocket, made to put it in his mouth and decided against it.

‘That’s all I really need to know. You of all The Raven have to believe in me even if you hate me for what has happened.’

‘I didn’t say I believed in you. I said Ilkar did, and that’s good enough for me.’ Hirad looked into Denser’s face, seeing a frown developing as his words sank in. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? It really doesn’t matter what I believe. Ilkar says this is important. The Unknown thought so too, and that means The Raven is with you. That’s why we’re so good. It’s called trust.’

‘And now there’s a problem.’

‘Well spotted, Denser. Yes, there is. Your lies and our haste led to The Raven’s heart being torn out.’ He took a pace forwards, threatening. Denser was unmoved. ‘The centre of The Raven. Me, Ilkar, Sirendor and the big man. We’ve been fighting together for more than ten years. We meet you and in less than one week two of us are dead. Dead.’ Hirad dropped his head and sucked his bottom lip as images of Sirendor crowded his mind.

‘We can still do this without them,’ said Denser. ‘We have to.’

‘Yeah? Did you somehow miss what happened yesterday? The Unknown took out five of those dogs on his own. Who do you think’s going to do it next time?’

‘Well, there’s you standing in front of me and two other good swordsmen in the barn. The only reason we believed we had a chance of recovering Dawnthief was that The Raven would be involved.’

‘And you’ve killed two of us already!’ said Hirad. ‘Gods, Denser, there just aren’t enough of us now. And none of us who’s left was ever as good as The Unknown. Or Sirendor.’

‘But that doesn’t—’

‘Listen to me!’ Hirad breathed deeply. ‘We cannot face another attack like yesterday.’

Denser nodded. He filled the bowl of his pipe and tamped the tobacco down. A muttered word and a flame appeared around the mage’s index finger. He lit the pipe.

‘I’ve considered this, believe me. And like you say, we have to take stock. Depending on how wide our search is for the components will decide how it’s going to go from here. That’s all I ask right now – that we go to the house, find the information we need, assuming it’s there, then all sit down and talk it through.’ He paused. ‘Now those Wesmen have got away from us, they’ll report to Parve. The Gods knows what that will lead to.’

‘Why were they here?’

‘Because the Wytch Lords will have always assumed that here was the key to Dawnthief. You have to stay with me, Hirad, whatever you think of me. This is too important for the whole of Balaia.’

‘So you keep saying,’ said Hirad. ‘But first we have a Vigil to observe. Then we’ll sort out this house and see where we are.’ He turned and walked back to the barn, Denser following a few paces behind.

The Dark Mage was invited to stay inside the barn while The Raven conducted a shorter Vigil than The Unknown deserved. It was a tradition as old as mercenary camaraderie, but this time reverence had to be tempered with the reality of the situation in which they found themselves; and it was for the same reason that they all left the barn and rode the short distance to the house soon after, instead of walking. Should the Wesmen come back, having the horses even as far away as the barn could prove fatal.

The once grand structure lay in almost complete ruin. Blackened stone and scorched wood were scattered around a central hub of collapsed walls, with the odd splash of colour from ancient furnishings somehow surviving.

The house was maybe two hundred feet on its longest side, and had a main entrance that was still just about discernible. Part of a stone archway leant at a crazy angle above a shattered stairway, and next to it the mangled remains of a window frame clung desperately to the vertical, a shred of material flapping in the breeze, stuck on a nail.

Hirad dismounted, the others following suit. Denser led the horses to a fallen tree some yards away, then returned to stand by Ilkar. Both stared at the destruction, concern plain on their faces.

‘What’s up?’ asked Hirad. ‘Someone burned his house down. So what?’

‘That’s the problem. You don’t just burn down a mage’s house,’ said Ilkar. ‘They’re too well protected. The power needed to do this—’ he gestured at the ruin – ‘is enormous.’

‘Is it?’ Hirad turned to Denser. ‘Still think we can do it?’ The Dark Mage raised his eyebrows. ‘So who did it? The Wytch Lords?’

‘Almost certainly,’ said Denser. ‘They would have known the extent of Septern’s research into Dawnthief just as we did. He obviously vanished before they got to him.’

‘Not happy, were they?’ Talan kicked at a piece of rubble.

‘Nor would you be. If they’d got hold of Dawnthief, it would all be over by now.’ It was Denser’s turn to look at Hirad. ‘That is why it’s so important we succeed. We must believe we can, and we must do it.’

‘Don’t lecture me, Denser,’ said Hirad. ‘Let’s get inside . . . well, you know, in.’ He pointed through what was left of the arch.

‘What are we looking for in there?’ asked Richmond.

‘If we’ve read the amulet correctly, the entrance to the workshop is through the floor, and Ilkar is going to have to divine the way through it,’ said Denser.

‘Why Ilkar?’ Talan frowned.

‘There’s Julatsan code on the amulet. Septern wanted it to be as hard as possible for mages to find his workshop, it seems.’

‘More than that,’ said Ilkar. ‘If it was going to be found, he wanted more than just Xetesk represented.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not getting this,’ said Talan. ‘What College was Septern?’

‘Dordover,’ replied Denser. ‘And most of the code on there is Dordovan, but Xetesk could read that easily enough. What we couldn’t read was a passage concerning the opening of the door to the workshop, because it was based in the lore of Julatsa.’ Denser shrugged. ‘We could never read it even if a Julatsan mage told us how.’

‘So how did he write it?’

‘That, Richmond, is a good question. And I don’t know the answer. He may have worked with a Julatsan, but Ilkar’ll tell you that’s impossible.’

‘Not impossible. Just extremely unlikely. Shall we?’ Ilkar led the way over the crumbling rubble, leaping up the steps to the steadier ground on which the arch stood. He turned round. ‘Aren’t you coming in, Talan?’

‘Not yet. I think someone should keep a look-out, don’t you?’

‘Good idea.’ Ilkar moved gingerly into what was left of the mansion. Devastated stonework lay in chips, covering the cracked stone floor and making walking tricky. Nothing much else was left. The wall by a fireplace had survived to three feet, and beneath the flame marks, a pale blue was just visible. As for the furnishings, a few pieces of scattered wood and iron, the odd strip of deep green upholstery and the oval of a table top were all that remained.

Denser set about sweeping the stone dust and chips from the floor with his boot and gestured that he could do with some help. The floor itself was cracked in many places, particularly where it joined the walls. The central portion was scored and darkened but otherwise unscathed for an area covering maybe thirty square feet.

The Dark Mage fished out the amulet, his cat treading gingerly down his cloak as he did so. It padded about the floor, sniffing close, its ears and eyes alert. Denser clacked his tongue, took the amulet from its chain and walked into the middle of the cleared area.

‘As obvious as this may seem, the way into the workshop is right in the centre here.’ He knelt on the ground and brushed at it with his free hand. ‘Ilkar, it’s your turn.’ He held the amulet up to the elf, who took it with reverential care and stared at it at length before turning it over in his hands to stare again at the other side.

‘I should have looked at it closer the first time, shouldn’t I?’ he said.

‘I was praying you wouldn’t,’ said Denser.

‘Mean anything to you?’ asked Hirad at his shoulder.

Ilkar glanced round. ‘Not much of it, no. This bit, though—’ he pointed with his little finger to an arc of symbols which ran around an inner ring near the hub of the amulet – ‘that’s Julatsan, although the lore is very old. The style, I mean.’

‘Of course,’ said Hirad.

Ilkar chuckled and patted Hirad on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. Look, here’s a very brief lesson. College lore is something that is passed down through the College over generations. It’s not something you can learn like you can the words of a spell. You have to, I don’t know, assimilate it over years, I suppose. That’s why Xetesk couldn’t read this. It’s Julatsan lore code.’ He stopped.

‘Go on. I think I’m there,’ said Hirad. ‘What does this lore do, then?’

‘Well, it doesn’t do much in the sense you mean. It’s a way of storing College memories. In simple terms, the lore I know teaches me how to shape mana for the spells I use, although it’s actually much more complex than that. And if I can work out the code on this amulet, it’ll tell me how to divine what it is that operates the entrance to Septern’s workshop. Or at least, that’s the theory.’

Hirad studied Ilkar’s earnest face, the elf’s sharply tapering eyebrows angled down between his eyes so that they almost met at his nose. He smiled.

‘Thank you for that, Ilkar. I suppose you’d best get on with it.’

Ilkar nodded and walked to the centre of the room, sitting where Denser indicated he thought the entrance to be. Hirad moved to sit in the rubble, where he could watch Ilkar’s face. It struck him again that for all the years they’d known each other, he’d never taken any interest in magic at all. How it worked, who was who, what you had to do. Nothing. Hardly surprising really, he reflected. Magic was Ilkar’s job. Hirad could never perform it, so he’d never bothered to look into it.

Sitting cross-legged, Ilkar held the amulet on his open palms, examining it intently, occasionally mouthing words. He was breathing slowly and deeply, and when he closed his eyes, his chest continued to move, somewhat to Hirad’s surprise.

Hirad glanced at Denser, who was also studying Ilkar, right hand absently scratching the cat’s chin, unlit pipe clamped between his teeth. There was a half-smile on his face and fascination in his eyes.

Ilkar was searching for something, that much was apparent. His head was sweeping the area immediately in front of him, his eyes roving behind closed lids. Hirad frowned and shifted, his mouth turning up at one corner, dimpling his cheek. He found the sight unnerving.

Ilkar licked his lips and started probing the floor with his fingers, amulet now in his lap. Suddenly, his sightless eyes shifted to his right to where Denser was standing. The Dark Mage flinched reflexively. Ilkar kept staring, unmoving, for fully half a minute.

He opened his eyes. ‘Got it,’ he said.

‘Excellent.’ Denser’s smile broadened.

Ilkar got to slightly unsteady feet and walked over to the Dark Mage. Hirad stepped over to examine the floor where Ilkar had been probing. To him it was just hard and cold.

‘It’s a control spell. Dordovan, I think. I’ll try it, it should be simple enough.’ Ilkar looked again at the amulet, turned it over and mouthed a few words. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Hirad, I would advise you to move a couple of paces backwards.’ The barbarian shrugged and did so.

Ilkar placed a palm on either side of the amulet, closed his eyes and muttered a brief incantation. There was a momentary hiss of escaping air from a seal, and an entire slab of stone disappeared from where Hirad had been standing.

‘All right, Ilkar, I’m impressed,’ said Hirad.

‘Thank you, Hirad.’

‘Me too,’ said Denser, moving to the hole Ilkar had made. ‘Dimensional transference. No wonder the Wytch Lords never found the way in.’

He was joined by Hirad. ‘They don’t make doors like that nowadays, eh?’

‘Hirad, nobody ever made them like that. Except Septern, it seems.’

They could see nothing down the hole. The first few steps of a flight led into the darkness, and there was an impression of size, but that was it. Hirad called to Talan to bring in two lanterns, and with them lit, he moved cautiously down the stairs, unsheathed sword in one hand, lantern in the other.

The air was musty and smelt of age, and Hirad could see he was descending into a chamber almost the same size as the room above it. All but covering the wall directly opposite him was a moving dark. Swirls of deep greys, flecked with brown, green and the odd flash of white, poured over each other, going nowhere. The dark roiled and swam within its frame, alien and menacing, its silence adding to its threat. The room held an air of expectancy and Hirad couldn’t shift the sensation that the swirls would snatch out to grab him and pull him into nowhere. The thought made him shudder. He stopped and felt a hand on his shoulder.