Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

‘It’s the dimensional rip. Nothing to worry about,’ said Denser.

‘Can’t things come through, you know, from the other side?’ Hirad wafted his sword in the direction of the rip.

‘No. Septern stabilised it using his magic and lore. You have to start this side to get back to this side.’

Hirad nodded and moved on down, only half convinced by Denser’s reply. The rip was compelling. It gave an aura of impenetrable depth but Hirad could see its edge and it seemed to hang on the wall like a picture, less than a hand’s width thick.

All around was the debris of a life. To his left as he descended was a table covered in papers, and near it, another scattered with implements, flasks and powders. A chest was lodged against the right wall. A layer of dust faded sharp outlines and at the bottom of the stairs was the answer to a riddle.

‘Septern,’ said Hirad.

‘Undoubtedly.’ Denser moved past the barbarian to examine the body. ‘Three hundred years and he could have died yesterday.’

The body, head forward, eyes closed, dark hair thinning and close-cropped, was crumpled against a wall in a half-slouch, hands partially covering a bloodied tear in an otherwise white shirt. As the lantern-light swept away the shadows, it revealed a large, dark and dusty stain on the flagstones.

Denser looked up at Hirad. ‘Think how close they came to ultimate victory. Septern escaping down here saved everyone. I wonder if he knew that?’ He moved to the paper-strewn table, sat in a chair and began to leaf through the mass of documents.

Hirad moved off the stairs and was followed into the workshop by Ilkar, Talan and Richmond. The elf repeated his earlier spell and the hole closed above them.

‘Ilkar?’

‘Yes, Hirad?’

‘If you’ve got the amulet there and you need it to open and close the door, how did he do it?’

The mage straightened. ‘Good question. Any ideas, Denser?’

Denser, who had just uncovered a leather-bound book, turned. ‘I don’t know, what did you do?’

‘It’s similar to a FlamePalm but you have to be holding the amulet so that the flame is directed straight into it.’

‘Whatever the amulet’s made of will be the catalyst, then. Have you checked his neck?’

‘His neck?’ Ilkar’s scowl was momentary. ‘Oh, I see.’ He bent to Septern and put his hand inside the dead man’s collar. Hirad could see the shudder from where he was standing.

‘Feel good, Ilkar?’

‘Clammy and cold, Hirad. Waxy too. Really, really unpleasant. He is wearing a chain, though.’ Ilkar took the chain over Septern’s head and nodded as he looked at the blood-stained copy amulet hanging from it. ‘The faces are largely blank, it’s just the edging that has the same design.’

‘Good,’ said Denser. ‘I wouldn’t like to think he’d made several copies of the way in here.’ He went back to his reading.

Hirad turned his attention to Talan and Richmond who had been poking idly at the glassware on one of the tables but had now begun to examine the chest. Ilkar came to his side, wiping his hands down his armour.

‘What do you think of this?’ He pointed at the rip, its gentle swirling still slow and rhythmic.

‘It gives me the shivers. I wonder what’s on the other side.’

‘Well,’ said Ilkar, ‘I have a strong feeling that you’ll be finding out.’

‘No question of it,’ said Denser. ‘There’s some incredible stuff in here.’ He tapped the book. ‘It’ll bring dimensional research on hundreds of years. And it answers a few other questions too.’ He stood up and walked over to Ilkar, handing him the book and indicating a passage. ‘Read it out, will you? I’ve got to try something. Have you got any rope, Talan?’

‘Outside.’ Talan was gazing at the rip, Richmond at his shoulder.

Eventually he turned to find Denser looking at him. ‘Do you want some?’

‘No, I was just passing the time.’

‘Well, I’m not a bloody mind-reader, Denser.’

‘No, you’d need a mind for that,’ muttered the Dark Mage. ‘Just get the rope, will you?’

Talan strode towards him. ‘In charge now, are you? Tell you what, go and get it yourself, or have you lost the power of movement? ’

‘I only want some rope, Talan,’ said Denser. ‘I’m not asking you to open the gates of hell or anything.’

‘It’s on my horse if you want it.’ Talan turned and stalked to the other end of the rip and took up his gazing again.

‘Gods alive,’ said Denser. ‘FlamePalm, you say?’

Ilkar nodded and tossed him the original amulet. ‘Just leave out the command word and substitute whatever it is you say for mana-meld. ’

Denser followed the Julatsan’s instructions, and soon wan daylight appeared above them.

‘I won’t be long.’ Denser trotted up the steps.

‘Are you going to read that book, or keep it to yourself?’ asked Hirad.

‘Sorry,’ said Ilkar. ‘Do you two want to hear this?’

Richmond shrugged and walked over, Talan glowered at Ilkar then did likewise.

‘It’s a diary of sorts. A research log as well, though I won’t go into that. Listen to this:

‘It is only four days since I revealed my creation of Dawnthief and already the Wytch Lords are searching for me. I can feel the shock waves through the mana even here. I cannot leave this house and I am left hoping that the four Colleges will defeat the evil from the Torn Wastes, for the spell I created to destroy them myself I cannot unleash on Balaia. It was folly to tell the Colleges of my discovery. I have since found that Dawnthief is infinitely more powerful than I had imagined. While it would be an unstable spell to work, should it be cast with the right preparation, concentration and, of course, catalysts, it could plunge Balaia into eternal night. It would mean the end of everything.

‘But I also find I cannot destroy the knowledge I have unearthed. Is that terrible when that knowledge could obliterate us all? I don’t think so – you can never hope to unmake what has been made. So I have taken the information containing the names of the catalysts through the rip and into a place where those who guard it have sworn to do so though death take the breath from their bodies and the flesh from their bones.

‘The key amulet has been left with the Brood Kaan in the Dragon dimension and they of all creatures know the price of Dawnthief falling into the wrong hands. Perhaps some day they will give the key back and this journal will be found and my actions understood. For myself, having hidden what had to be hidden, I must destroy the rip, closing the door for ever. To do so, I must remain on this side and will take my own life. No one must find Dawnthief. No one.’

The next page was blank.

Ilkar looked up from his reading, finding all eyes on him. Above them, Denser came back down the stairs, took the amulet from Ilkar and closed the slab once again.

‘So what happened?’ asked Hirad, indicating Septern’s body. ‘He didn’t kill himself, that much is obvious. And he didn’t destroy the rip either.’

Ilkar shrugged. ‘Well, it looks to me as though the Wytch Lords got to him earlier than he expected. Like Denser said, he saved Balaia by getting down here before he died.’

‘And we’re about to do what he feared most,’ said Denser. ‘We’re going to get that information. Now then.’ Denser walked over to the closed chest, slapped open the clasps and opened the lid, finding clothes, boots and a pair of lanterns inside. He turned to the others. ‘A going-away chest, if I’m not very much mistaken.’

‘What is it you’re going to do, Denser?’ asked Hirad.

‘A little test of what exactly is behind the rip, that’s what.’ He closed and clasped the chest again. Taking the coil of rope from his shoulder, he quickly bound the chest with it, leaving a length of perhaps twenty feet in his hands.

‘Hirad, would you?’ asked Denser, pointing at the chest.

Hirad frowned but walked over to the Dark Mage.

‘What do you want?’

‘Pick up the chest and throw it through the rip, if you don’t mind.’

‘Oh, I see. Good idea.’ He knelt and wrapped his arms around the chest, picked it up and took a couple of paces backwards. ‘Anywhere in particular?’

‘In the centre, I think.’

Hirad nodded and moved to the middle of the rip. He hefted the trunk so that his hands were beneath it and it rested on his chest. A couple of bounces and he threw it straight into the rip, where it disappeared as if swallowed by thick mud.

All eyes switched to the rope as it moved gently through Denser’s hands. After no more than ten seconds, the rope gathered speed briefly, dipped, fell to the bottom of the rip and went slack.

‘I see,’ said Denser.

‘I wish I did,’ muttered Hirad.

‘It’s quite easy. The rip itself is quite deep, maybe six feet, and travel through it is slow. Just beyond the rip is a short drop which we’ll have to be ready for.’ He paused. ‘Now then, who’s for a journey into the absolute unknown?’

Silence. And it had an odd quality about it. Hirad considered that they had always known they’d have to go through the dark swirling mass, but now the time had arrived, they were all thinking about what might actually be on the other side. Whatever it was, it was unlikely to be much like anything they had ever experienced.

‘Well, we don’t need to leave a guard, do we?’ said Richmond.

‘That we don’t,’ said Ilkar. ‘What do you reckon, Hirad, The Raven’s strangest ride?’

Hirad chuckled. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it.’ He clapped his hands together and drew his sword. ‘Lanterns, I think.’

‘Definitely,’ said Ilkar, picking up the one Denser had left on the table.

They lined up in front of the rip, each man staring deep into the gently moving picture in front of him. Hirad looked down the line one way then the other from his position in its centre. He breathed deeply, his heart rate leaping.

‘Ready, everyone?’ he asked. There were nods and murmurs of assent.

‘Hirad, I think you have the honour of the cry,’ said Talan.

‘Thank you, Talan.’

‘What’s this?’ asked Denser.

‘Just listen,’ said Ilkar.

Hirad drew in another huge breath. ‘Raven!’ he roared. ‘Raven with me!’

They hit the rip at a dead run.

Chapter 11

Styliann warmed his feet by the fire in his study and took tea from the mug on the table by his right arm. There was a knock at the door.

‘Come.’

Nyer and Dystran entered. He gestured them to the other chairs and poured them each a mug of tea. Nyer settled into his seat with the ease of one well used to such company. For Dystran, a man barely into his forties, the nervousness was apparent and he sat forwards in his chair, clutching his mug tight.

‘Is Laryon on his way?’

‘Regretfully not,’ said Nyer. ‘He has encountered a problem with certain of his staff.’

‘I see.’ Styliann’s eyes narrowed. People didn’t usually pass up one of his invitations. He made a note to speak with the Master presently. ‘Now, Dystran, the DimensionConnect research, it is in an advanced state, I trust?’

Dystran looked to Nyer, who gestured him to speak.

‘Yes, my Lord. We are testing in the catacombs.’ He smiled before he could help himself.

‘Something amuses you?’

‘Sorry, my Lord.’ Dystran’s cheeks suddenly glowed red beneath his short brown hair. ‘It is just that we had to improve drainage rather urgently after the initial, highly successful test.’

Styliann raised his eyebrows.

‘Keep to the report,’ said Nyer.

Dystran nodded. ‘We have made three successful tests of the DimensionConnect spell, linking our dimension with that of another. Having made the correct calculations, we were able to steer a course of water between the two, unfortunately flooding one spell chamber.’

‘Excellent,’ said Styliann. ‘How long before we are ready for a live test?’

‘Any time,’ said Dystran. ‘The only question remaining is one of mage linkage. We assume that the more mages casting, the wider the channel. However, there are risks involved.’ He paused. ‘Finally, dimensions are not always in alignment, and although we can calculate when they will be, we have no control over exactly when it is possible to cast.’

Styliann frowned. ‘What are the alignment windows?’

‘Between several hours and several days. We are still searching for a pattern.’

The Lord of the Mount nodded. ‘That will do. Dystran, I need you to bring your team of mages up to speed for a large-scale live test. How many do you have?’

‘Thirty,’ said the mage.

‘Your view, my old friend?’ asked Styliann.

‘It is the ideal offensive weapon for the pass,’ said Nyer.

‘Naturally.’ Styliann smiled. The door to victory opened once again.

Later, Styliann held communion with Laryon and what he heard took the smile from his face. It was sad when old friends began playing power games with him. It made him angry.

Flesh was being sucked from his bones. Blood was pouring into the skin of his face. He could feel it swell until his cheeks burned with pain, and then swell yet more. Hirad’s hands tightened reflexively, right hand attempting to crush the hilt of his sword. Eyes open, unclosable, seeing nothing but blackness mottled with grey. If he could have turned his head he was sure that he wouldn’t have been able to see any of the others. Were they even there?

He could hear no sound but for the blood thrashing through his veins and his brain shouting at him to make sense of it all. Was he walking? He thought not, but he was certainly moving. Where didn’t matter. He just wanted it to stop before the flesh was torn from his body and his blood surged into the void. Even then, he found himself thinking that he would still be moving. He felt a pulsing spread through his body. It began in the pit of his stomach and moved swiftly to enmesh his entire being. It was hot. Very hot. The blood felt as if it would boil his veins, melting them away.

Light.

The end of eternity.

A fall. Hard ground. A dimming of the light.

Hirad was sitting in an open space and it felt high up. No reason for that. It just felt that way. He looked left and right, counting the rest of The Raven off in his head. They were all there, all sitting, all looking at each other. Behind them, the rip hung in the air a couple of feet from the ground. The end of the rope that bound the chest hung in a slight bow. Hirad tracked it to the chest, which was lying on its side next to Ilkar. And behind the rip, a sheer drop into nothing.

Hirad stood up on juddering legs, quickly subsiding to calm, and drank in his first sight of another dimension. With the blood settling back to a normal pace through his veins, he felt the hairs all over his body stand as he breathed. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this. The air tasted different, dry and tinny, and the whole atmosphere was strange and cloying, slightly irritating to the skin and eyes.

The sky above them was dark, filled with cloud boiling across the sky, though he could feel only a light breeze on his face. He could see no break in the cover yet a half-light spread from the horizon where the black of the cloud met the black of the land.

And they were standing very high up. The feeling was confirmed by simply looking down a few feet behind and to his right. The rip was positioned at the very edge of the plateau on which they had landed and the drop was sheer immediately to both sides. Lightning, red and harsh, flared and sheeted across the land, illuminating nothing, only reinforcing the impenetrable dark. Almost as one, The Raven paced further from the edge, each man noting the small margin for error when they made to return to their own dimension.

But he knew what it lacked. Sound. Apart from the breeze sighing in his ears, he could hear nothing at all. No voices, no animals, no birds. No sound of any life whatever. Even the lightning behind them was silent. It made him uneasy. It was like standing in the land of the dead.

Hirad tracked the land to his left until his line was broken by a building. Of sorts, anyway. Gazing straight ahead across the open ground – and it was ground; soil and vegetation ruffling in the gentle wind – he saw a jumble of ramshackle structures. Broken timbers, crumbled stone and cracked slate littered the area and he could see the dereliction stretching away for what had to be five or six hundred yards until it stopped abruptly, presumably at the farther edge of the plateau.

Beyond that, another rip hung in space. And as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see all around them, but scattered distantly, rough columns of rock which expanded at their heads to form more plateaux, disc– and oval-shaped. Clearly, they were on a similar structure and the realisation unbalanced him briefly. He thought he could just make out more buildings on the other discs, some towering like palaces. But no more light. Nothing moved but that under the sway of the breeze.

‘Nice place,’ muttered Talan, his voice sounding loud in the quiet.

Hirad started. ‘Gods in the ground, what is this place?’ The barbarian wished fervently The Unknown were there. It would have calmed him just a little.

‘It doesn’t make sense to my mind,’ said Denser. ‘How did they come to be up here, and how do they get from this platform to any of the others, and how do they get these buildings up here . . . ?’ His voice trailed away, his hand still pointing vaguely in the direction of the derelict village on the platform, if that was what it was.

‘And who were they?’ asked Ilkar.

‘That’s assuming they’ve all gone,’ said Talan.

‘You’ve all thought that far, have you?’ asked Hirad. ‘Personally, I’m still debating jumping straight back. This place makes my skin crawl.’ He could feel his heart beating fast again.

‘But isn’t it fascinating?’ said Denser. ‘This is another dimension. Think what that means.’

‘Yeah,’ said Hirad. ‘It’s totally different, it makes me feel bad and I get the feeling we shouldn’t be standing here.’

‘Different but in so many respects the same,’ said Ilkar. He bent down and grabbed a handful of earth. ‘Look. Soil, grass, buildings . . . air.’

‘But no noise. Do you think they’re all dead, whoever they are?’ Denser started walking towards the remains of the settlement. Reluctantly, Hirad followed with the rest of The Raven, chewing his lip, the sword in his hand providing no comfort whatever. The place was oppressive despite the lightness of the air, and the lack of noise made him dig repeatedly in his ears with the forefinger of his left hand, searching for the reason why he couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of their feet and breathing.

‘What is it we’re looking for, Denser?’ Richmond turned to the Dark Mage as they tramped across the dry earth, its crumbling texture crunching underfoot.

‘I haven’t a clue, to be honest. It’s information we need, not pieces of this, that or the other, if you see what I mean.’

‘So, some parchment, maybe?’ suggested Richmond.

Denser shrugged. ‘Maybe. Or another amulet. Perhaps even some sort of carved jewellery. Whatever, it ought to stand out amongst all the rubbish over there. It’ll be Balaian, of that I’m sure.’ He gestured again at the buildings. Collapsed though they largely were, it was plain that their design bore only nodding acquaintance to anything the races of Balaia might build. Many had openings that were probably doors. But they were oval and did not sit flush with the ground. And of those that were still partially roofed, all had a similar oval opening towards the apex of the domed structure.

In a way, they reminded Hirad of kilns, though they were wood and stone, not shaped stone like the Wesmen built. They were, or would have been, tall, each maybe twenty or more feet high. For a single-storey structure, that seemed high, although the absence of anything recognisable as a window meant he could be mistaken. There were other levels inside.

‘I don’t like this,’ said Hirad. He shivered.

‘So you’ve said, but I agree,’ said Ilkar. ‘It’s not right. I feel as if I might fall any moment.’

‘The less time I spend here the better.’ Hirad shook his shoulders to relieve sudden tension. ‘What the hell could Septern have wanted to come here for?’

A sheet of lightning flooded the night below the platform, illuminating everything it touched with a momentary mauve radiance. Shadows were plunged into even sharper relief and the after-effect lingered in Hirad’s eyes for a few seconds. It was then that he saw the movement. The Raven moved as one, dipped sword points suddenly at the ready.

From inside and around the edges of the buildings, walking and half stumbling, came the inhabitants of the village. In a few moments they had filled the space in front of the buildings and had begun a ponderous move towards The Raven. Hirad tried to make a count, but at fifty their movement fooled his eyes, and surely there were many times more than that.

From this distance, they looked thin and pale, a confusion of limbs, but within a few strides, what they were became plain.

‘Gods in the ground, I don’t believe it,’ whispered Hirad. The Raven, again as one, stopped.

‘ “Though death takes the breath from their bodies and the flesh from their faces”,’ quoted Denser, his voice a mutter.

There was something wrong with the way they balanced – or rather, didn’t. Not that there should be a right way for a dead creature to balance, thought Hirad. He shuddered. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but as the villagers continued their painfully slow approach, he thought he could see their backs twitching, almost with every stride.

One of the leaders stumbled over a rock and reflexively unfolded wings to steady itself. But they were nothing more than bone connected with shredded membrane, and it fell. The others moved on, now only seventy paces away.

It was impossible to take in. A force of dead avian people, rotted cloth covering bones, oval heads centred with huge empty eye slits, and all walking at the same dull pace. They were moving to fill the space to either edge of the plateau. And they were closing remorselessly.

‘Any suggestions?’ asked the barbarian, a cool feeling of panic edging around his heart. The dead would be on them in a couple of minutes.

‘They’ve got no weapons. What are they going to do?’ asked Talan.

‘Just walk on, I should think,’ said Denser. ‘After all, we’ve got nowhere to go except back through the rip and we can’t hope to stand up to that number. They’ll just keep on coming and eventually you won’t have the room to use your swords. And if you aren’t careful they’ll push you straight off the edge.’

‘But how can they be moving?’ demanded Hirad. ‘They’re just bones, they’re dead.’

‘Is it some sort of spell?’ asked Richmond.

‘Perhaps something that tied their lives and deaths to that promise they made Septern,’ said Ilkar.

‘Let’s worry about it later. We have to get behind them somehow, ’ said Hirad. ‘Whatever it is we’re looking for and they’re defending has got to be in that village somewhere.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Denser. ‘Want to hear it?’ Hirad nodded. ‘Ilkar casts a ForceCone at them and punches a hole in the line. Me and you run through to search the village. Everyone else keeps them occupied as long as possible, then gets through the rip before they’re pushed off the edge of the platform.’

‘Why don’t we all go?’ asked Richmond.

‘Because they’ll just turn around. Or I think they will,’ replied Denser. ‘I’m hoping if there are people in front of them, they’ll keep coming and you can delay them, give us time to look. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’

There was a brief silence, punctuated by the ominous dry brushing noise of the approaching dead, now only a minute away, their density increasing as the plateau narrowed towards its edge, forcing them closer and closer together.

‘It’ll do,’ said Ilkar.

‘Make it a good one,’ whispered Denser.

‘It’ll be nothing less,’ Ilkar said coldly.

Hirad came to stand by Denser and just to Ilkar’s left. ‘Talan, Richmond, when Ilkar’s cast the spell, make sure you all stand in front of the rip. At least when you get pushed back you’ll have the best chance of falling into it instead of down there . . . wherever there is.’

Talan nodded. ‘And what about you?’

Hirad shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just keep your fingers crossed, all right?’

‘Sure.’

‘Just a couple of things,’ said Ilkar. Hirad turned to him. ‘I’m going to put a colour in the Cone so you can see it, and when I cast it, get down there quickly. When I can see you next to the villagers, I’ll let it go. Then it’s up to you.’ Ilkar closed his eyes and began to shape the mana. An initial stab of alarm when he felt nothing was washed away by relief when a jolt shook his body as the base fuel of magic in Balaia breached the dimensional divide, drawing on the static power source that held the rip in place.

Ilkar wobbled on his legs, steadied and formed the ForceCone, adding speed and what he expected to be a swirling green to the spell’s innate power. A short intonation followed, then Ilkar opened his eyes and chose an area close to the left-hand side of the platform.

Speaking the command word, he jabbed his hands forward and the Cone crashed into the advancing villagers, shattering three on impact, their bones hurled in ail directions. It ploughed on, driving a wedge through the ranks of the dead, pushing bodies to either side and causing mayhem. Skeletons fell like dominoes left and right. Bone wings flapped uselessly as legs were swept away by falling comrades, and at the edge of the platform, some slipped over the edge and into oblivion.

The Cone held firm, Ilkar edging it back as the villagers slowly re-formed and advanced. Hirad turned to Talan and Richmond.

‘Don’t risk yourselves, don’t come back and don’t let him do anything stupid.’ He jerked his thumb at Ilkar. The warriors said nothing, inclining their heads in tight-lipped acknowledgement.

Hirad placed a hand on Denser’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go. Stay behind me.’ The barbarian hefted his sword and trotted off down the clearly defined Cone. As he closed, the sight of the villagers was shocking. Collections of bones shambling forwards, some with hands missing, others with ribs, hips or shoulders smashed, all with black streaks discolouring the white of their bones. But it was the lifeless heads which never moved that caused Hirad to flinch as he looked deep into the black caverns that were eye sockets.

Inside was nothing. No light, no life, nothing. Yet still they moved. Still they had purpose. If one had spoken, the barbarian would have turned and fled.

Five paces from the front rank of the villagers, Ilkar cut the ForceCone, leaving them a gap through which to run. Hirad pulled his sword in front of his face and increased his pace to a sprint, hearing Denser right on his heels. The cat streaked through his legs, on past the skeletons and into the village. For a moment, the dead continued as they had with the Cone in place, but as Hirad moved through the first of them, the line started to close. He shuddered as he ran, crying out as bone hands snagged his leather and slashing in front of his face as a skull appeared right in front of him. His strike swept it from its neck and the body collapsed.

It was tight. Denser’s breathing was loud in his ears, and he cursed under his breath. Hirad swung his sword through double-handed again and again at chest height, feeling it shatter bone and crunch into wing membrane, head and shoulder. And never once did a villager lift a hand to strike them.

They broke through the line, stumbling to a stop after a dozen or so paces and turning to see what they’d left behind. The gap was closed. The villagers walked on towards the rip, not looking back, advancing on The Raven trio who stood with their backs to the moving darkness that was the dimension gate, swords at the ready. Ilkar managed a wave and Hirad responded before turning a face running with sweat to Denser.

‘We’d better be quick,’ said the Dark Mage. ‘Once those three are forced through the rip, the villagers will be coming back, only we don’t have anywhere to fall except down or through the other rip.’ Hirad raised his eyebrows, nodding nervously.

The two men trotted into the village, where they stopped again, staring at the derelict settlement. All around, they could see the crumbling remnants of a civilisation. Buildings, blasted and blackened, scorched and falling to rubble; large pots, jugs, and cauldrons lying over the ground. What was once furniture, tables, chairs and pedestals, could be seen in the ruins of the houses. Cloth had rotted to dust, pottery was cracked and chipped, wood was splintered and burned, and all that was left was chaos.

‘How did they live up here?’ asked Hirad, picking up the handle piece of a broken jug. ‘I mean, it’s so small.’ He stared back the way they had come, looking afresh at the empty earth. From the settlement, he could see squares of darker ground meshed in a grid of lighter areas. Plots and paths. Gods, they had been farmers. Farmers who could fly. ‘And what’s down there?’ He threw the jug towards the edge of the plateau. It shattered on the ground a long way from its intended destination.

‘Nothing, at a guess,’ said Denser. ‘I expect that’s why they came up here to live.’

‘I don’t get it,’ said Hirad. ‘Why would there be nothing down there?’

‘You can’t use Balaia as a reference to explain this. Hell, I’m just stabbing in the dark. All we know is, this is how they ended up. Draw your own conclusions.’

‘But why did they die?’

Denser shrugged and turned away, scanning the village. ‘I have no idea and we haven’t the time to think it out just now. Start looking.’

Hirad peered inside one of the buildings, seeing a microcosm of the village itself reflected in its age-ridden remains. Bones littered the floor and a skull hung from the great oval hole in the roof. Black soot covered every surface.

‘What are we looking for?’

‘How many more times?’ said Denser, moving away in a random direction. ‘I don’t know. Look, let’s split up and see if anything is obvious. I don’t know. I’m expecting it to be different from the rest of this bloody mess: something brought here, not made here.’

Hirad glanced behind him before setting off away from Denser. The villagers were still walking and The Raven were still standing. Still waiting. At that moment, he felt a wash of pride. Those men, his friends and companions, would never turn their backs.

He picked his way at a run past ruin after ruin and everywhere he looked it was the same. Broken buildings, rotten furnishings, smashed pottery. And scorched, as if some monstrous fire had swept the village aside like dust in the wind. He moved through the village, taking in what had been the far side of the platform and the other rip hanging in the sky. Even as he wondered what lay beyond it and considered that he wasn’t in a hurry to find out, he heard Denser shout. Glancing to his left, he could see the Dark Mage running towards a building at the edge of the village on the way to the rip.