Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

‘A new friend, Hirad?’ asked Talan, managing a smile.

‘I don’t think so.’ The cat meowed loud and long. ‘We’re going, we’re going, all right? We’ll find him.’

The cat looked away past Hirad up the valley. The mist was a little clearer, though rain and approaching dusk kept visibility poor.

‘Think he understood you?’ asked Richmond.

‘Probably.’ Hirad shrugged. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

Chapter 14

‘Nasty spell, this. Planning a little surprise for someone, were you?’ Travers had leaned in close to Denser’s cut and bleeding face, dangling the amulet from its chain so it knocked gently into the mage’s left ear. Denser could smell alcohol on Travers’ breath.

He hoped the shock he’d just experienced didn’t show on his face. Right at the time he thought things couldn’t get any worse, he’d been betrayed by another mage. And one working for Travers. The Witch Hunter.

Ever since their capture at the overhang, Denser had been wondering why he was still alive. It wasn’t Travers’ way. The assassin was his way, but now he couldn’t understand why one had been sent. Presumably they’d wanted him dead that night in The Rookery, so what had changed in the days following to make Travers so eager to question him?

He supposed it didn’t matter much. At least while he was alive there was still a chance, however slim. It was obvious, though, that rescue was his only option; and that meant Hirad had to be alive, because if he was, he’d try to rescue Ilkar, no question about it.

But for now he was helpless, and it was clear the Black Wings were expert in keeping captured mages subdued. Their hands had been tied from the moment they’d been taken and the ride to the castle had been under the unending scrutiny of four men. At the castle they’d been pushed to the ground and walked straight through the gates, courtyard and main doors into a large hall, bare but for a few chairs, two low tables and a fireplace that was as cold as the room.

And then a beating, delivered professionally and, curiously, without malice. Its purpose was plain. Blows to the head, chest, stomach, upper arms and legs had left his body aching and throbbing and had sapped what little energy he had. Never mind that his arms were tied, he couldn’t have cast a spell if his life depended on it and they knew it.

‘Saying nothing, Denser?’ Travers drew back. ‘Plenty of time. And of course you don’t know what we know, do you?’ Travers stood up. Men stood to either side of him. There were eight of them in the hall. And Ilkar. He hadn’t said one word since they’d been taken, not even to confirm his name. His beating had been more vicious. Denser wasn’t sure why, but Travers looked at the elf with a mixture of disappointment and disdain. Tarred with the Xeteskian brush, perhaps.

Denser found himself wondering who had read the amulet and betrayed him. The fact was that it had to be a mage from either Xetesk or Dordover. Septern’s name, the location of the rip and an allusion to what lay beyond it only appeared in Dordovan lore script.

He still couldn’t quite believe it, and his feelings were swamped by disgust that a mage from either college would work for the Black Wings. It had to be a Dordovan. A Xeteskian would choose suicide first.

He breathed in and let his head fall forwards. There was a pain under his right arm and his mind turned to his missing Familiar. He presumed it was at the overhang. It was certainly alive, but unless it found him soon, it would weaken and die. Denser wasn’t sure his brain could stand the pain right now.

A slap to his cheek brought him back to his grim here and now. He looked up into Travers’ face.

‘Let me tell you a little of what I know,’ said the Captain. ‘Please pay attention. I’d hate to think your mind was drifting.’

He pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Denser. One of his men brought over a small table, bottle and glass. The Captain poured himself a generous measure of what looked like a spirit, and took a long sip before leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him.

‘My sources tell me something big and very worrying is happening. ’

‘We agree there.’

A complete silence followed Denser’s words. Travers locked eyes with Denser and drilled him with a baleful stare.

‘Never interrupt me again or I will cut your tongue from your mouth and nail it to your forehead as a reminder.’

‘Perhaps you should do it anyway, Captain,’ said one of his men, a tall, rangy swordsman with a harsh face. ‘Not much of a mage if he can’t speak, eh?’

Denser and Travers both turned to him, the Xeteskian barely avoiding a smile. How wrong could a man be?

‘Go and warm a kettle or something, Isman. Our friend might care for a hot drink. It is cold in here.’ Isman left the room. ‘Idiot.’ Travers faced Denser once more. ‘He is slow to learn. Now, where was I?’ He drained his glass, then refilled it, picking it up to swirl the liquid around as he thought.

Denser watched him, his mouth firmly shut. Travers was well into middle age and it was beginning to show. Still, the sword at his side would be sharp and Denser had no doubt that he would carry out his threat. Travers did not have the reputation of a gratuitously cruel man, but he certainly had proved to be a man of his word.

‘Now then, big and worrying. Dawnthief, I understand, is the most powerful spell in existence, and this—’ he produced the amulet again – ‘is the first step in recovering it. What I also know is that you need three catalysts to make it work. Apparently, this amulet doesn’t list them.’ He put the amulet away again, drained and refilled his glass. ‘Well, that’s enough of what I know. Now I want you to tell me a few things and so you are free to speak. Indeed, I insist that you make use of the privilege.’

Isman returned with a few mugs and a large copper pot. ‘There’s soup,’ he said.

‘Very good,’ said Travers. ‘Pour a mug for Denser and his rather quiet elven friend. Release one hand each and see that they hold their mugs steady and with all fingers.’ Travers looked again at Denser. ‘Now then, to work. Will you speak?’

‘Don’t count on it.’

‘Maybe not immediately anyway.’ Travers smiled, leaving Denser cold. Isman ambled over with two steaming mugs. At a nod, a man behind Denser and Ilkar released one hand.

‘Thank you,’ said Denser as he was handed his soup. It smelt strongly of onions and tomatoes. Ilkar said nothing, but accepted the drink anyway.

‘Good,’ said Travers. ‘Now we’re feeling more comfortable. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what Xetesk was planning to do with Dawnthief.’

‘You won’t believe me.’

‘You could at least try.’

Denser shrugged and considered that the truth couldn’t hurt the situation any further.

‘The Wytch Lords are back. There are Wesmen armies massing on our borders even now, and with Shamen magic to support them, Balaia will be lost unless the Wytch Lords are destroyed. Dawnthief is the only way.’

Travers laughed out loud, causing Ilkar to start. He and Denser shared a look before he dropped his head and stared back into his soup.

‘That’s good. Very good,’ said the Captain. ‘But I do know my history very well, I am afraid. The Wytch Lords are long gone, and will never return.’

‘I did say you wouldn’t believe me.’ Another shrug from Denser, another laugh from Travers.

‘Of course, I’d forgotten how slavishly you believe your Xetesk Masters.’ He continued chuckling. ‘Yes, I can quite believe that is what they told you. And a grand reason on the face of it for one so eager to impress, eh?’ Denser didn’t reply. He sipped his soup and regarded Travers from over the rim of his mug, aware he was frowning.

‘Let me ask you this, Denser. Do you seriously believe that the Wytch Lords are not already destroyed by the forces of Xetesk?’

‘Your interpretation of history and mine differ, Travers,’ replied Denser. ‘We did not have the capability to destroy the Wytch Lords then. And they have now escaped their prison.’

‘Oh, yes, the . . . what was it? Prison between worlds or something? ’ Travers shook his head. ‘Nice story. Good for keeping the other Colleges in line, I’ll grant you. You believe that as well, do you?’

Denser said nothing.

‘Of course you do,’ said Travers. ‘Still, I can hardly expect you to turn against all your years of teaching and dogma, can I?’

‘You misunderstand the motives of Xetesk,’ said Denser. ‘Our image is slow to change but our ideals and morals already have.’

Now Travers clapped slowly and Denser could feel his anger rising. He fought to keep it in check.

‘Said with such feeling, but I am afraid you have been sadly misled. My knowledge of your researches paints a very different picture, and you must agree that Dawnthief is hardly a “moral” spell, eh?’

Another silence. Denser drained his mug and his hand was retied.

‘So, have you discovered the identity of the catalysts?’ asked Travers conversationally. He leaned forward, cradling his drink in both hands.

‘No,’ said Denser.

‘I see. Very well. Never mind.’ The Captain turned to Isman.

‘You may as well show Denser to his room.’ Isman nodded, untied the Xeteskian’s hands and pulled the mage upright. Tall and rangy he might have been, but he was also very strong. ‘You will find, Denser,’ Travers continued after topping up his glass, ‘that your soup was somewhat drugged. Unfortunately for you, Ilkar of The Raven, yours was not.’

The rain stopped slowly and the mist lifted from the hills to leave a dark layer of low cloud. Hirad felt as if he would never be dry again, or clear-headed for that matter. They’d been walking continuously for over three hours and the damp clogged his every pore. Worse, the lasting effect of the brophane was a headache that grew to a steady pulsing pain that covered his entire skull. Glancing left and right, he could see that Talan and Richmond looked as bad as he felt.

Earlier, before the light had gone and the talking had given way to the sullen but determined sound of boots on rock and mud, Richmond and Talan had agreed that they wouldn’t reach the Black Wings’ castle until perhaps two hours before dawn. A combination of their physical condition, the difficult ground underfoot and the dark deepened by the thick clouds dictated a slow pace. Steep crags rose to either side of them and stunted trees, windblown heather and thick-stemmed grass were all that clung to the bleak landscape. The rock-strewn mountains ran away east and west as far as the eye could see, and the gentle slopes of Pontois’ lands were already a distant memory.

As he trudged, head down, half a dozen paces behind his friends, Hirad was hit by a wave of hopelessness and anger. Less than a week earlier, The Raven, seven-strong and invincible, had stood on a castle’s battlements and overseen another victory. He had been proud, vital and alive, continually buoyed by what they had achieved over ten great years.

Now they were reduced to three tired swordsmen crawling blearily towards what would probably be their deaths. And it was all down to one man. Denser. The Xetesk mage and his plans had already taken Sirendor and The Unknown from Hirad. And now it looked as if he had taken Ilkar too. All in the space of a few days. Hirad found it almost impossible to believe.

He shook his head and forced his mind into focus. The only thing that mattered right now was the attempt to rescue Ilkar. Denser could go to hell, and the fight for Balaia would have to be fought another way. They had no plan, though, and when they stopped another two hours later in a sheltered grove, they turned their thoughts to the attack.

‘Has either of you seen the castle?’ asked Hirad, shivering from the moment he stopped moving.

Both Talan and Richmond nodded.

‘It was a Baronial seat before the fighting started,’ said Richmond. ‘It’s actually a walled mansion. I’m sure that Travers has attended to the defence but it shouldn’t prove too difficult to get in.’

‘Any ideas?’ Hirad himself had none. Try as he might, all he saw in his mind was the death of his friends, of The Raven, and of himself.

‘Well, we had a chat a little earlier, and despite whoever it was telling you to go home, I suspect Travers at least will be expecting a rescue attempt,’ said Talan. ‘He will also know about how long it’ll take us to reach him, that we’ll be tired and his men won’t. And we have no idea how many men he has, where Ilkar and Denser will be and what condition they’re in.’

‘Got any good news?’

‘We should be free of magical attack or defence.’ Talan half smiled.

Hirad brightened, seeing a glimmer of light.

‘We can Rage then,’ he said.

‘Exactly,’ said Richmond.

‘Interesting. So?’

Richmond shrugged. ‘So much depends on our getting into the house undetected, not just the grounds. If we do, a Rage might work. Neither of us has more than seen the place from a distance and it’s set in open land, as you’d expect.

‘If this cloud cover keeps low, we should be able to make the walls unseen. There is, or was, a stable block and a large kitchen garden at the back. Whatever, we’re walking into the unknown, Hirad.’

‘I only wish we were. Another blade, particularly his, and I’d be confident.’

‘We’ll do it, Hirad,’ said Talan, rising and stretching. ‘Or we’ll take as many of those bastards with us as possible.’

Hirad nodded. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Right.’ He too stood, a rush of energy hitting him. The cat moved in his cloak, making him start. He’d forgotten the animal was there. It poked its head into the open and Hirad scratched its ears, surprised to find that it was shivering and distinctly cool to the touch. They locked eyes but the cat’s had lost their strength – dulled by distance from its Master.

‘This thing isn’t well,’ said Hirad. ‘We need to get it to Denser quickly. C’mon, let’s not waste any more time.’

The pace for the next hour was fast. Trade trails were well worn in the area and Richmond asserted that they were on a more or less straight line right to Travers’ front door.

‘Time?’ asked Hirad as they slackened speed to a gentle lope to save themselves a little.

‘I’m guessing, but about four hours to dawn,’ replied Talan.

‘And the castle?’

‘One and a half, maybe two hours. No more.’

‘Excellent.’

They walked through terrain that eased noticeably, flattening and firming underfoot. The dark gave them little help, though their night-accustomed eyes allowed them to see the shapes of low hills, stands of trees and bushes mixing with shrubland and long grass.

The cat had ceased any movement in Hirad’s cloak, and though he thought it still alive, he could all but feel it weakening with every passing minute.

Perhaps an hour from the castle, and on a wide track which only went to one place, Talan brought them to an abrupt halt. The cloud had lifted ever so slightly and a brighter patch above them betrayed the position of a moon.

‘What’s up?’ asked Hirad, looking about him and loosening the sword in his scabbard. The wind was dying now, gusting and picking at his damp armour and clothes. He began to feel cold again.

‘Something’s not right. Spread left and right, you two, off to the sides, there are some odd marks on the path.’

Hirad nodded and motioned Richmond to the right. He took up station left, scouring the black and near-black outlines that made up their immediate position.

Behind him, Talan crouched to the ground, brushing a gloveless hand over it and putting his fingers to his nose. He edged forward, inch by inch, looking both immediately in front of him and perhaps two paces ahead.

‘I think there’s—’ he began.

‘Whatever it is, don’t say it,’ said a voice from the left, a good twenty paces distant by the sound. It was a man’s voice, low and gruff, as if its owner spent a good deal of time whispering. The Raven froze but the cat, suddenly very much alive, dropped to the ground and darted away into the dark.

‘Please don’t move,’ continued the voice. ‘My friend here has an itchy nose and if he were to scratch it, his arrow would fly.’

Hirad couldn’t believe it. His body tensed as he tried to decide what to do. Movement was out. If there was a bowman, he could take down two of them before they found his position. Calm and talk seemed the only option.

‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘You have something of ours and we want it back.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Hirad. ‘And if it’s money you’re after, I’m afraid—’

‘We don’t want your money.’ The voice betrayed disgust. ‘You are holding my good friend’s wife and we want her back. Now.’

‘You’re mistaken,’ began Talan.

‘Hardly,’ said the voice. ‘Your bastard Master, Travers, is interrogating her right now. And worse, I expect. Start moving over here and do it slowly.’

The Raven stayed put.

‘Gods, Hirad, they think we’re . . .’ said Richmond.

‘We are not Black Wings,’ growled Hirad.

The man laughed, and there was another sound, higher-pitched, confirming that there were indeed two men away in the dark.

‘Of course not,’ said the voice. ‘After all, all sorts walk this path in the early hours of the morning. Please move together and take your hands from your swords.’

The trio did as they were ordered.

‘We are not Black Wings,’ repeated Hirad.

‘So you said—’

‘We are The Raven.’

A short silence was ended by hurried whispering, then a snigger.

‘Not many of you, are there?’

‘No.’ Hirad barely kept himself in check.

‘Walk forward. There’s someone here reckons he’s seen you.’

The Raven looked at one another, raised eyebrows and walked forwards.

‘Stop,’ ordered the other voice. It had a gentler tone, less aggressive. There was another silence.

‘It’s been a lot of years, but you’re Hirad Coldheart, no doubt about it.’

‘That’s right, now can we stop—’

‘Where is Ilkar?’

‘You know him?’ returned Talan.

‘I’m from Julatsa. Where is he?’

‘Travers has got him,’ said Hirad. ‘He’s in the Black Wings’ castle, that’s why we’re going there. You’re holding us up and it’s pissing me off!’

The first man laughed, relieved.

‘Come on in and join us. We have a stove and you look as if you could do with a hot drink.’

‘Any reason we should?’ asked Talan.

‘Well, I happen to think we could be of great help to each other. Let’s face it, it can’t hurt to find out.’

Erienne was still shaking. She had no doubt that what the Captain had shown her was Septern’s amulet. How could it be anything else?

The lore in three College languages. The Dordovan code that revealed the location of Septern’s workshop.

That the Captain held the amulet set her in the grip of fear, and she had been able to do nothing but confirm what he thought he already knew. That indeed there was a search for Dawnthief, that it was advanced and that he had, in all probability, managed to capture the Xeteskian mage, Denser.

Her skin crawled and for the first time she began to believe that the Captain was not just a man whose dreams matched her nightmares. There was now the possibility that he might actually be able to assemble the catalysts and control the spell. And if he could, the Colleges would tear each other apart to get it. There would be another war and she was very much afraid that Xetesk would win it.

‘You see, I really am determined to find out all you know about Dawnthief, and I will hurt you if I have to.’

Ilkar raised his freshly bleeding face to Travers but said nothing. After Denser’s departure, they had manacled his wrists to a wall and beaten his body with the flat of a shovel before leaving him on the wall for what had to be the best part of an hour. Then another, shorter beating, during which one wild swipe had caught his face, splitting his nose and lips. The pain was intense but he could handle that. What he was scared of was internal rupture. In his state, he didn’t think he would be able to hold that type of wound at bay. Certainly not if he was drugged. Another thing he knew was that he couldn’t buy any more time by keeping his silence.

‘Come now, Ilkar,’ said Travers. ‘This is all so unnecessary.’ The Captain had begun to slur his words just a little. ‘It is Ilkar, isn’t it?’

‘You seem to think so,’ said Ilkar.

‘He speaks!’ Travers clapped his hands. ‘Bravo! I have to say, we were confident of your identity. After all, not too many elven Julatsans ride with The Raven, eh?’

‘Not many,’ agreed Ilkar.

‘Indeed.’ Travers smiled and laid a hand on Ilkar’s shoulder. ‘I expect you’d like to sit down now, eh?’

‘Good guess.’ Ilkar’s manacles were removed and he was put back in his chair, arms once more tied behind him. The difference in comfort was enormous and the mage had to quash an unwanted smile at the thought that he could ever feel good battered, bruised and bound to a chair. A sense of perspective was going to be important.

The Captain sat himself down, poured another large drink and took a long sip. He had to be drunk, yet he seemed in complete control of his thoughts. In fact, the only outward signs of any intoxication were his flushed face and slightly disabled speech.

‘So, now we’ve begun at long last, Ilkar – and I do commend you on your resistance. But that must be over now, so please answer my questions and you can rest. I would hate to have to employ any further punitive measures but please understand that I will not shy from so doing should the need arise.’

Travers smiled again. Thinly this time. Ilkar gave no reaction.

‘I assume we understand each other,’ said Travers. He finished his glass and poured the last drops from his bottle. He waved the empty at a soldier, who took it away. Ilkar watched as he threw back the small measure.

‘Think I might pass out?’ This time, the smile was broader. ‘You’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid. What’s my record, Isman?’

‘Four bottles, Captain.’

‘Four,’ repeated Travers. ‘Bottles.’

Ilkar just let him get on with it. Travers examined his empty glass but his frown turned to yet another smile as a full bottle was placed on his table. He unstoppered it immediately.

‘Now, before we get on to Denser’s delightful spell, I’d be terribly grateful if you told me why you, a Julatsan, were travelling with a Xeteskian.’

Ilkar looked up sharply, studying Travers’ face for a moment. ‘You really don’t know?’

‘Enlighten me.’

‘You sent an assassin to kill Denser, yes?’

Travers nodded. ‘Yes, she was evidently unsuccessful. Lucky, really, considering what I have to do now.’

‘She wasn’t entirely unsuccessful, your assassin.’

‘Really?’ Travers paused, mid-sip, and exchanged glances with Isman. The latter shrugged.

‘She killed Sirendor Larn.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. Isman. Oh.’ Ilkar turned to the tall swordsman. ‘So Hirad wants all the Black Wings dead. And what Hirad wants, the Raven want.’

‘Thank you for the warning,’ said Travers. ‘We really shall have to look out for ourselves, shan’t we?’ He leaned in close to Ilkar and patted his knee.

Ilkar turned up one corner of his mouth. ‘If I were you, that’s exactly what I would do,’ he said quietly.

‘Hmm.’ Travers sucked his top lip and leaned back in his chair. ‘Well . . . we’ll return to that later, eh? Now while your friend’s unfortunate demise explains why The Raven were on their way here, it doesn’t begin to explain why Denser is with you.’

Ilkar allowed himself what he hoped was a wry smile. ‘There will be precious few things on which we agree, Captain Travers, but I think our distrust of all things Xeteskian will be one of them.’

‘Hmm.’ Travers nodded. ‘It is a shame you are with him, Ilkar. Your kind of mage I could tolerate, I think. Continue.’

‘He owes The Raven money,’ said Ilkar simply. Travers raised his eyebrows. ‘Against my express wishes, we body-guarded him to Korina. The plan was to watch him until the money went into our account. When you murdered Sirendor, that meant bringing him with us.’

Travers was quiet for a while. He took a mouthful of drink and sloshed it around the inside of his mouth before swallowing it.

‘I am disappointed, Ilkar. You’ve had all this time and that is the best you can come up with? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you had no idea what Denser had in his possession?’

‘No,’ said Ilkar carefully. ‘I knew it was valuable by the amount of money Denser offered us for the job. What I’m saying is that I had no idea what the amulet was. I can’t read the inscriptions.’

Travers picked his bottle up by its neck, lunged and crashed it across the side of Ilkar’s head. In trying to duck the blow, the mage succeeded only in toppling his chair over. His right side hit the floor hard, his arm beneath him flared in pain and all he could see were the shattered remains of the bottle, slightly out of focus, as his head warmed with trickling blood. He could smell the spirit strongly.

‘Do not presume to insult my intelligence!’ shouted Travers. ‘Let me tell you what you were doing.’ He paced backwards and forwards, grinding glass underfoot.

‘You were after the Dawnthief catalysts. You know what they are. That amulet contains College lore in Julatsan as well as Xeteskian and Dordovan. You and Denser both need each other and your pact of evil is threatening the whole of Balaia.’

Ilkar was silent. He was aware Travers was well versed in spell theory, but this latest speech really confirmed what he knew already but hadn’t allowed himself to believe. There was a mage working for the Captain. At least one.

He was hauled upright, grunted as the pressure was lifted from his arm and was glad he couldn’t move it; he thought it badly bruised if not broken.

‘Isman, another bottle, please,’ said Travers in a fatigued tone. He took his seat but said nothing until the swordsman had returned and his glass was refilled.

‘You can’t lie to me for ever,’ he said.

No, but long enough, thought Ilkar.

‘There’s no one to save you. No one knows you’re here.’

‘They do, and they’re coming.’

‘Who, The Raven?’ Isman spoke with a sneer.

Ilkar turned to him. ‘It’s a pity, you know, Isman. Hirad thought you were Raven material. It was only because we’d never seen you fight ourselves that you weren’t invited to join.’

‘I’d have refused.’

‘No one ever refuses.’

‘At least I’m still alive,’ said Isman.

‘Oh, yes, I neglected to mention,’ said Travers. ‘Isman did have to kill your friends. After all, we couldn’t have them following us now, could we?’

But Ilkar wasn’t really listening because, as Travers spoke, he leaned right forward and there, visible inside his part-open shirt, hung the Understone Pass Commander’s Badge. He had one third of the key to unbelievable power around his neck and he didn’t even know it. Ilkar smiled.

‘Something funny?’

‘There’s humour in everything, Travers,’ said Ilkar. ‘You’re telling me something I don’t believe in order to get me to give you information I don’t have. And when I fail to tell you, you’ll try to extract it by force.’

Travers smiled too and poured himself another drink.

‘And so we meet on either side of our disagreement,’ he said. ‘From where I sit, your friends are dead and you do indeed know the answer to my very simple question. But I will ask it again. Do you know the identity of the Dawnthief catalysts?’

‘No.’

Travers stood up. ‘I think it’s time you were reminded of your predicament. Isman, put him back on the wall. Leave his head alone. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ The Captain strode from the hall, his walk steady, unhindered by his consumption of alcohol.

‘Oh, shit,’ muttered Ilkar.

‘Yes.’ Isman smiled. ‘Please don’t struggle. It only makes things more difficult. For you, that is.’

Ilkar allowed himself to be hauled to the wall chains, his right arm thumping with a strength that made him nauseous. Bracing himself for the pain, he fought to keep in mind that Denser had not let out a mana scream. And while that was true, it meant the Familiar was still alive. And while that was true, help was on its way.

But as the first shovel blow caught him just below his ribs, making him gasp as the air was forced from his lungs, he also knew that the cat wouldn’t last for ever without its master. If no help arrived by sun-up, none was coming.

‘So how long has Travers had her?’ Hirad remained dubious. The story he had just heard didn’t make much sense. He cupped his mug of steaming coffee in his hands and was glad of it. At least their meeting would not be a complete waste.

‘Just a few days,’ said Alun, the man who had been doing most of the talking. He was, he said, the husband of the Dordovan mage, Erienne, whom Travers had kidnapped. He looked a quiet man, and though he carried a long sword, Hirad doubted whether he really knew how to use it. He didn’t have the face of a swordsman.

‘What for?’

‘What does he ever take mages for? For questioning,’ Alun said, his voice muted, desperate.

‘Why don’t the Colleges do something about him?’ asked Talan.

‘Because enough senior mages are in grudging agreement that his work may have some use in taming dark magic,’ said the big man, Thraun.

‘But we’re talking about kidnap here,’ said Hirad. ‘Surely . . .’

‘It’s not that simple,’ said Alun. ‘Erienne is a maverick. She doesn’t live by College rules and they are pig-headed enough to let her suffer for it. Maybe even die.’ His voice was bitter, angry. ‘Look, it isn’t just her. They took our boys.’

Hirad caught Alun’s eyes and felt a pang of sorrow for the man. It was the same expression he’d seen in Sana: knowing he’d lost something but not really believing it was gone.

‘Boys?’ prompted Talan.

‘Twin sons. Four years old,’ answered Jandyr, the Julatsan bowman. He was an elf and claimed a nodding acquaintance with Ilkar. For his part, Ilkar had never spoken of him.

‘And you three are hired, I take it,’ said Talan.

‘You think we’d do this sort of thing for love?’

‘We are,’ snapped Hirad at the gruff-voiced man, Will. He was small, maybe five and a half feet, but he was wiry and well muscled, and his eyes were clever. He carried two short swords in a crossed back-mounted scabbard, wore dark-stained leather and had a small growth of stubble covering the jaw and neck of his thin face. Hirad didn’t like him.

‘I don’t have to justify myself to you,’ said Will. ‘We’re all hired men here. All but Alun. You choose to fight battles for the Barons; we recover things. And people.’ He shrugged. Quiet fell. The stove hissed and smoked slightly, aside from which, nothing but a dim glow from the coals gave notice that they were sitting round a fire.