Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 175 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

Tessaya drew his blade and gripped it hard.

‘Don’t flinch,’ he shouted. ‘We are the Wesmen. We fear nothing. ’

He heard his words shouted back at him and he nodded, a fierce smile cracking his features. He watched the creatures which approached fast, on a wave of cold. The giant one settled onto its tentacles in front of him. It was completely odourless.

‘We are the new masters here,’ said the creature. ‘You will submit to our rule. You will not bear arms and you will offer all your subjects for sacrifice. We will take as we please. It is the way.’

‘No one rules the Wesmen. We will fight you and we will prevail.’

Tessaya struck out with his blade. He saw the sword cut deep, he felt the resistance of the creature’s flesh, but when he ripped the blade clear the wound healed while he watched. Pain flickered momentarily across its face.

‘You cannot fight us,’ said the creature. ‘You will be the first. Your people will learn to respect us. There is no other way.’

The creature reached out and touched Tessaya above the heart, gripping. A frown creased its face. It pushed harder. Tessaya stumbled a pace and was pushed back upright by the men behind him.

‘What is this?’ hissed the creature. ‘Your soul is mine. All your souls are mine.’

Tessaya laughed loud and in its face.

‘Demons.’ He spat on the ground, recollecting the Easterner word from the stories and rumours. ‘Do you really know so little? You cannot touch the Wesmen. The Spirits protect our souls.’

‘Then we will break the Spirits before we break you.’

‘It is a battle you cannot win.’

The demon stared at him for a moment, turned and floated away back to the college. An uneasy calm fell over the Wesmen. Tessaya looked back to the towers of Xetesk.

They were clever, these Xeteskians. The demons were susceptible to magic but stamina for offence was finite and the enemy had overwhelming strength. But they had worked out quickly what it was the demons feared and had set it in front of them as a barrier. And for all their force of numbers, the demons respected it and had backed off.

Whatever the casting was, demons died within it and so remained outside of it. There had been very few times in his life when Tessaya had wished he understood magic but this was one such. He envied the potential it gave them and he was filled with a curious impotence. The fact was that these Easterners could kill the demons, or damage them at the very least, while he with all his passion and strength could not.

The sun was dipping behind the towers before he had seen enough. There came a moment when the barrier had sapped the wills of the demons for the time being and they had turned their minds to the recently enslaved populace. Tessaya had no desire to join them.

‘The mages will not die easily or quickly,’ he said to his nearest lieutenant. ‘Our opportunity for today has passed.’

‘And perhaps for ever,’ said the warrior.

‘There will be other days and the demons fear us,’ replied Tessaya. ‘But for today, we are finished. Call the tribes. We will withdraw. The city belongs to the demons.’

‘Camp at Understone?’

Tessaya nodded. ‘But with a forward camp within sight of the walls. We must not lose touch. Something extraordinary is happening. Sound the fall-back.’

Dystran watched the Wesmen go and felt deserted. The ColdRooms deterred the demons for now but he needed his every ally and his erstwhile enemy had surely become one.

They had something, they must have. Because the demons didn’t, or more likely couldn’t, take their souls. Dystran was damned if he knew what it was. But their departure marked the passing of the last vestige of what could laughingly be described as normality on Balaia.

He wondered what they would do. How far they would go. However far, it would not be enough. Strange. He almost felt sorry for Tessaya. Know it or not, the Wesmen lord’s fate and that of all his tribes depended on whether magic survived. Another day, he would have laughed at the paradox. Today, though, he had lost his city and most of his college. His mages and soldiers had died and those that remained were few and scared.

Never mind Tessaya, he had to get his devastated people through just one more day. And then the next.

‘Gods, Ranyl, how I need you now.’

But Ranyl, like so many, could not hear him.

Chapter 8

‘Ilkar!’

Hirad sat bolt upright in his bed, the sweat pouring from him. He was soaked in it. Just like in the early days of his life on Calaius. But this was nothing to do with acclimatisation. His heart was pounding so hard his throat hurt and he was quivering all over. He rubbed his hands over his face and into his hair. He closed his eyes briefly but the images replayed and he couldn’t control his breathing.

With a shiver playing down his back, he swung his legs from the bed and stood on the matting. He heard voices elsewhere in the house and craved their company. In two years he had learned enough elvish to get by. In fact it was a language he enjoyed and these days when Rebraal visited the village, the two of them spoke more in the elf’s tongue than Hirad’s.

He pulled on a shirt and loose trousers and walked out of what had once been Ilkar’s room in his parents’ house, heading for the veranda and what he hoped would be friendly faces. Outside in the cool but still humid air deep in the Calaian rainforest, Rebraal and Kild’aar, a distant aunt by some means Hirad couldn’t quite understand, were sitting and talking. Drinks steamed gently on a table between them. A fire burned in the pit in front of the house, smoke spiralling into sky that was clouding for more rain.

It was the middle of the night. Out in the rainforest, the noise of life and death went on as it always did. The air smelled of rain and fresh vegetation. Hirad sat on one of the three other swept-back chairs on the veranda, feeling the weave shift to accommodate his broad shoulders.

‘I’ll get you some tea,’ said Kild’aar, levering herself out of her chair and walking slightly stiffly down the steps to the fire pit.

‘Your shouting eventually woke you up too, did it?’ said Rebraal, a smile touching his lips.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Hirad.

Rebraal shook his head. ‘Tell me. If you want to.’

‘I’ve felt the same thing a few nights but not with this – uh – sorry Rebraal, I don’t have the words.’ He switched into Balaian. ‘This intensity. It’s like someone’s been battering on the door and now finally they’ve broken it down.’

‘Ilkar?’ asked Rebraal.

Hirad shrugged. ‘Well, yes. Daft I know. I still miss him, you know.’

‘What have you seen?’

‘Oh, that’s hard to say.’ Hirad pushed his hand through his hair, feeling the lank braids and the moisture left on his hands. ‘I know it’s him but I can’t quite make him out. His essence, I can feel that so clearly. Everything that made him. And I fill in the smile and those damned ears myself. But he’s in trouble. That’s why the dream is so bad. I got the feeling he was running but I don’t know where. That something was close that scared him. And though I reached out, I couldn’t help him. He was always just beyond my grasp and my vision.

‘Huh, speaking it makes it sound lame. Not scary at all.’

Kild’aar came back up the steps and handed him a mug of the herb tea that Ilkar had been so fond of. Deprived of coffee for more than a year now since his supply had run out, Hirad had developed a taste for the sweet aromatic teas of the elves. He’d had no choice really. The trade to Balaia had gone. No ships had come from the northern continent for three seasons now. Part of him worried about what that might mean. Most of him was glad they didn’t trouble to make the journey. There was only one man on Balaia that Hirad missed and Blackthorne had never relied on trade with the elves so he would be unaffected. And Jevin, the last time he’d seen the elven skipper, had said he preferred not to sail north any more. He didn’t say why.

‘Thank you,’ he said, once again speaking elvish. ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’

Kild’aar waved away his apology and sat down, her eyes on Rebraal. ‘You haven’t told him yet?’

‘We hadn’t got round to it,’ said Rebraal.

‘Hadn’t got round to what?’ asked Hirad.

‘You didn’t wake us,’ said Rebraal. ‘Or at least, not me.’

‘So you were having a late night, so what?’

‘So I’ve had the selfsame dream,’ said Rebraal.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Hirad felt cold despite the humidity of the night and clutched his mug tight between his hands.

‘I have felt him too. He was your good friend. He was my brother.’

‘Yeah, I know, Rebraal, and we’ve laughed and cried about him a good few times these last couple of years but, you know . . . He’s dead, and there’s nothing we can do about that.’

‘No, we can’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t help him.’

Hirad felt a growing unease. Rebraal and Kild’aar were both staring at him too earnestly. He frowned.

‘You’ve lost me completely.’ He knew his tone was a little sharp but he was tired and this was just riddles. ‘That’s the trouble with dead people. It’s too late to help them ever again.’

‘Hirad,’ said Kild’aar softly and leaned forward to cover his hands with hers where they were locked around his mug. ‘I know it hasn’t always been easy for you here and that we, at least in the beginning, did not make it easy for you at all. But we have always respected why you wanted to come here. We know of your love for Ilkar and your desire to learn the ways that made him what he was.

‘And you and your Raven will always be friends of the elves because of your actions in stopping the Elfsorrow. Rebraal calls you a brother and Auum, well, Auum let you run with the TaiGethen for a season, didn’t he? And that is respect no human has ever had before.’

‘He still said I was slow and deaf and blind, though,’ said Hirad, smiling in spite of himself and the increasing feeling he was going to hear something he didn’t want to.

‘You will always be human,’ said Rebraal. ‘Some things not even Auum can teach you.’

‘Tell me about it,’ grumbled Hirad. ‘Never give me a jaqrui again. I think I scarred Duele for life.’

‘The point is this,’ said Kild’aar, stilling Rebraal’s next retort with a sharp glance. ‘Though we trust you, there are those facts about us that you as a human should never know. Secrets that could be used against us. We have already seen what humans do with such knowledge. ’

‘Not me, Kild’aar. Never me.’

‘I know, Hirad,’ said Kild’aar, releasing his hands so he could drink. ‘Even so, we are only telling you this because you have had the dream and that makes you closer to us than we could ever have thought possible. It makes you family.’

‘Telling me what?’ Hirad took a long sip of the tea.

‘The dead of an elven family are never truly lost,’ said Rebraal. ‘We can always hear them if they need us.’

Hirad felt a thrill through his heart. ‘And can you talk to them?’

Kild’aar’s smile extinguished his hope. ‘It isn’t communication as you would understand it because the dead do not exist in any way you can conceive. But messages can still be passed. It is one of the purposes of the temple at Aryndeneth.’

‘The Al-Arynaar have been the keepers of this secret too,’ said Rebraal. ‘No other order can hear the dead. We learn it over years, decades. And even then it is difficult and uncertain.’

‘What do they ask you? Why would they need you?’

‘That is a difficult question to answer,’ said Kild’aar. ‘Elves make life bonds of incredible depth and often the transition to death is difficult. The dead seem to have moments of clarity amongst so much else we cannot guess at. They seek support if they feel lost. News of loved ones. They impart knowledge they had no time to speak when they were alive. You must understand that any communication that comes through is broken and sometimes all but incoherent. The dead no longer have the rules that guide us.’

‘All right,’ said Hirad carefully, trying to take it all in. ‘But that doesn’t explain one thing. How come I heard him tonight, if indeed I did?’

‘Oh you heard him, all right,’ said Rebraal. ‘But you shouldn’t have been able to and that is what is worrying us. I shouldn’t have been able to do any more than sense him outside of Aryndeneth.’

‘So didn’t you ask him what’s going on?’

‘I couldn’t. It was like he was shouting for anyone to hear him, to help him. Anyone with a connection as strong as family. Hirad, other Al-Arynaar have had this same dream in the past days . . . this same contact I should say. But no one can communicate at the temple. Something is wrong in the world of the dead. Something is threatening them.’

Hirad made to speak and then stopped, at a loss. He sat back in his chair. ‘What can threaten someone who is already dead?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Kild’aar, sharing a guilty glance with Rebraal. ‘Or at least, we aren’t sure.’

‘Well we’d better find out and fast,’ said Hirad. ‘We’ve got to help him.’

Hirad was half out of his chair before Rebraal’s hand on his shoulder pushed him back down.

‘That’s why we’re talking to you now. It might have been better in the light of day but since you are awake, now is the right time.’ Rebraal levered himself out of his chair, took all three mugs and jumped lightly down to the fire pit around which insects buzzed and died. ‘There are other elements to this which are too convenient to be coincidence.’

‘Like what?’

‘The lack of trade from Balaia. I don’t think you’ve thought why it’s happened. Despite the war, it was beginning to pick up before we left to come back here two years ago. But it stopped abruptly. Merchants who travelled north didn’t return. Elven vessels have reported seeing lights in the sky and felt a sense of wrong that no sailor will ignore. Ship’s mages think they have felt the edges of Communion, but faint and desperate. That’s why they won’t land.’

‘Don’t expect me to cry if they’ve managed to destroy Balaia. We did what we could. Everything they suffer they have brought on themselves.’

‘The Al-Arynaar who stayed to help Julatsa have not returned. We sent others north a year ago to find out why and they are gone too but we can’t sense any of them among Shorth’s children.’

‘Who?’

‘Shorth’s children is the name we give to the dead. He looks over them.’

‘I thought he was a figure of fear,’ said Hirad.

‘Only to those who are our enemies,’ said Kild’aar. ‘A god of the dead is not necessarily vengeful on his own people. Ours is benevolent to those who serve our people well in life.’

‘I’m sorry for those you may have lost in Julatsa,’ said Hirad. ‘But it sounds to me like the college has fallen. Either to Dordover or Xetesk, it makes little difference.’

But both Rebraal and Kild’aar were shaking their heads.

‘Something else you’re not telling me?’

The two elves exchanged glances. Rebraal motioned the elder to speak.

‘In our mythology there is the belief that the dead face an enemy from whom they were sheltered in life. That death is a constant battle to achieve peace and sanctity of the soul. It is a belief shared with those on your continent Rebraal tells me, you call the Wesmen.’

‘I wouldn’t put yourselves in the same arena as them. Hardly worthy,’ said Hirad.

‘Do not scoff at what you do not understand,’ said Kild’aar sharply. ‘They have a link to Shorth’s children, this is certain.’

‘Oh, come off it. That’s all just primitive beliefs.’

‘At least they have beliefs!’ snapped Kild’aar. ‘That is the problem with humans. You have denied the teachings of generations and lost your religion and now it is coming back to haunt you. But like with everything you people do, you don’t think. And once again, you bring us trouble. This time to our dead.’

‘Gods burning, Kild’aar, calm down,’ said Hirad. ‘You’re blaming me for things I have no control over. Just tell me how I can help, that’s all I need to know.’

‘You need to know what all this is based on,’ said Kild’aar.

‘No I don’t,’ said Hirad. ‘Learning and me never went well together. Ilkar would tell you just to point me at the problem and tell me how to deal with it.’

Rebraal chuckled. ‘He’s right of course. But so is Kild’aar, Hirad. Look, this is what you need to know. You understand dimensions, you know the dragons have one and we have one. So do the dead, that is our belief, or else where do they go? No, don’t answer that. I’m not suggesting we could ever go there, it is hidden. But there are creatures who travel space and feed off the very thing that all creatures alive and dead hold. Life force, soul, call it whatever you want. Such is our belief.’

‘You’re talking about the demons,’ whispered Hirad, a chill stealing across him.

‘If that is what you call them,’ said Kild’aar.

‘We need Denser and Erienne,’ said Hirad. ‘They would know what to do.’

‘I think we will need the whole of The Raven. I have already taken the liberty of calling Thraun from the ClawBound patrols and messengers have been sent to Ysundeneth to find Darrick,’ said Rebraal. ‘I’m sorry, Hirad, but for such as yourself, there doesn’t seem to be any peace. Not for ever.’

Hirad shrugged. ‘But can even we do anything? I don’t understand, how can we help Ilkar?’

‘We aren’t sure,’ said Kild’aar. ‘And it will involve all of us. Humans, Wesmen and elves. But there is something about The Raven that burns brighter than life. Together, you can achieve that which as individuals you cannot. That none of us can. I can’t explain it. But Rebraal and Auum have seen it and all who meet you can feel it. If we are right the task is immense, perhaps impossible, but we must attempt it.’

‘You aren’t telling me anything I don’t know already. What I don’t know is what The Raven can do. Besides killing ourselves and standing by Ilkar, that is. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll travel to Herendeneth with Thraun and Darrick if they want to go. The Raven will talk and we will decide. That’s our way.’

‘It is all we ask,’ said Kild’aar.

Hirad nodded. ‘You know, I’ve understood almost nothing of what you have said and I’m finding it hard to believe the rest. But I do know what I dreamed and if you say that means Ilkar is in trouble somehow, I will not rest until he is saved, whatever it takes. But first, I’m going to return to my bed, talk to Sha-Kaan. Perhaps he can explain it to me.’

‘The dragons would be a useful ally,’ said Rebraal.

‘They call the demons “Arakhe”, you know,’ said Hirad, getting up and placing his mug on the table between them. ‘What do you call them?’

‘ “Cursyrd”,’ said Kild’aar. ‘The robbers of life.’

‘We should start first thing in the morning. Will Thraun be here?’

‘Yes,’ said Rebraal. ‘Hirad. Thank you.’

‘I’m not doing this for any of us. Not for Balaia or Calaius. I’m doing it for Ilkar because he is Raven and he needs us.’ He laughed, surprising even himself. ‘You know it’s incredible. What is it about that elf? Even dead, he can’t keep out of bloody trouble.’

Chapter 9

Thraun had heard the ClawBound communication and knew it concerned him. He had spent the last days running as a panther’s shadow while she worked. Her partner had welcomed the wolf and together they had shown him so much of the ways of the forest and he had learned to love it again.

Two years and the only other man he had seen in that time had been Hirad. He missed the barbarian sometimes but in the rainforest, away from all the prejudices of man and the memories of the pack, he had learned to understand himself just as he slowly understood the ways of the ClawBound.

Nothing was quite as alive as the Calaian rainforest. Its sights, smells, joys and dangers. He had thrilled to hunt as a wolf and delighted in tracking as a man. He spoke the language of the panther, knew the signs of the ClawBound elves and spoke easily with Al-Arynaar and TaiGethen. He had never felt more at peace with himself in either form.

He knew why he had been accepted so easily where Hirad, for all his strengths, had struggled for three seasons at least. It was because he was not pure human and because he was looking for a new way to live and had an innate understanding of the ways of the forest. Hirad tried hard, but in the end he would always be making the best of what he had and yearning for the life he did not.

Still, Hirad had become an accomplished hunter and tracker and the elves respected him.

The communication had the overtones of sorrow laid on it because there were some of Tual’s creatures who would be leaving the rainforest and none knew when they would return. He could not grasp the nuances but he was undoubtedly one of the subjects.

There had just been a prolonged downpour and the forest at night smelled fresh, clean and vibrant. Thraun stood and brushed water from his clothes. The panther lay beside him, her head resting on her front paws, her eyes fixed on him. The ClawBound elf was crouched a little further distant, but at the sound of the communication he had taken up the calls and had walked back to stand by his partner.

‘It is me, isn’t it?’ said Thraun.

The elf nodded, his white-and-black-halved face impassive. He pointed away down the trails that led to Taanepol, where Hirad lived.

‘Others too,’ he said, voice gruff and forced.

‘Lead on,’ said Thraun.

He bent down and kissed the panther on her forehead. She growled, pleased. ‘We will run as brother and sister again another day.’

The panther’s ears pricked and she shot to her feet, looking north into the rainforest. Thraun heard a low call and the ClawBound relaxed. He became aware of sounds that he would not have picked up two years before, not as a man at any rate.

Auum, Duele and Evunn emerged from the vegetation. He greeted them each with the bear-hug that had become his trademark.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

‘Shorth’s children need us,’ said Auum. ‘And they need you too.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Ilkar is among them and Hirad needs The Raven.’

Thraun stopped in his tracks. The rain began again, pounding on the canopy above and searching towards the ground, spattering leaves and trunks, quietening the wildlife. Duele touched his arm. Thraun looked into the TaiGethen’s face, saw the fading scar there from Hirad’s accident with the jaqrui.

‘You will understand,’ he said. ‘We will explain on the way. But now we must go.’

‘Tai,’ said Auum. ‘We move.’

‘Now release the power gently into your mind and channel it through your construct,’ said Cleress. ‘Feel how the elements stay around you, nipping at your fingers, but they can’t release their energies because you have the control.’

‘It hurts,’ grated Erienne. ‘Gods, woman, it hurts.’

‘Hang on to it for a moment longer. Feel the pressure points and know you can eliminate any part of the elemental structure at any time for the effect you desire.’

‘The effect I want is not to have every muscle screaming at me.’

‘I think you might be exaggerating slightly but still, time to relax. Let it go but in control. See the power release harmlessly. Now stop. The shape you have, what will it do if you release hard and close off earth and stone as you do?’

‘It’ll rain won’t it?’

‘Find out. And don’t worry, you won’t do any harm.’

Erienne drew a breath, looked across at the ancient, stooped elf bathed in beautiful warm sunlight under a cloudless sky and scowled.

‘I wish you wouldn’t make me do this,’ she said.

‘Go on. I’ll keep them off you.’ She picked up one of the sticks she’d been leaning on and waved it minutely.

‘I feel safer already,’ said Erienne. She released the construct.

Elemental energy surged out of her mind and into the air. Broken from its shell, it fed on that around it, seeking equilibrium. As instructed, Erienne had shut off the energy from earth and stone, keeping it within her to bleed harmlessly back to its natural state.

What was left reacted immediately in the air above Herendeneth. Cloud boiled from nowhere, forming a dense black covering in moments. Mana light flashed within it, setting off the anticipated reaction. The deluge was brief but intense, drops the size of her thumb thundering into the ground, driving up spats of dirt and flattening leaves and grass to the earth.

Erienne laughed at the result and the relief in her body and clapped her hands. She looked down at the beautiful bed of flowers at her feet, soaking up the moisture.

‘See that, Lyanna, see what Mummy can do!’

She knelt as she always did after they had finished a session and spoke words only Lyanna could hear.

‘So much we owe to you, my darling,’ she said, moving specks of wet earth from yellow and blue petals. ‘So much we still have to learn. Remember I always love you and so does your father though I can hear him shouting even now. It’s not at you. It’s at me. Lie and rest.’ She trailed her fingers through the blooms covering the grave. ‘See what your beauty makes grow?’

She stood up. Cleress, bedraggled but smiling, was watching her, leaning heavily on her sticks. Behind her, Erienne could see Denser marching towards them, shaking his head.

‘Here comes the complaint,’ said Erienne, wiping rain and a tear from her face and smoothing down her soaking hair.

Above her, the clouds dispersed as quickly as they had come and the sun got to work drying out the ground.

‘Was that really necessary?’ called Denser. ‘I had been reading. A little warning would have been nice.’

‘The pages will dry out quickly enough,’ said Cleress. ‘And we are done for the day. I need a rest before dinner.’

‘Wait a moment and I’ll help you in,’ said Denser. He walked to Erienne and gave her a kiss. ‘Feel better for doing that?’

‘Actually, yes,’ said Erienne. ‘Today was a breakthrough day.’

‘I can see where that would be useful. Deserts and such.’

‘As ever you miss the point,’ said Cleress, swapping a conspiratorial glance with Erienne. ‘You see, the secret of the One lies not in learning individual castings for individual effect but understanding the nature of the elements and the nature of your problem. Then, all you have to do is bring the two together. Erienne has all but grasped it, but for a few control exercises that need more work.’

‘Then what?’ asked Denser.

‘Then I can at last die and join my sisters,’ said Cleress. Her smile was brief and Erienne didn’t like what was behind it. ‘I worry about them, you know. It is so long since I heard them. All there is now is a wailing. I do worry so.’

‘I’m not with you,’ said Erienne.

‘No, dear, of course not.’ Cleress turned to begin the slow walk to the house. ‘Denser, if you would be so kind.’

Erienne stood and watched them go, frowning. She wondered if Denser had been listening to the Al-Drechar. She knew he didn’t always. He felt her to be edging into senility and it was true she rambled from time to time. What it was she dreamed she heard from her sisters probably fell into that category.

‘But you don’t really believe that, do you Erienne?’ she said to herself.

Shaking her head, she knelt to tidy Lyanna’s gave.

The Unknown pushed Diera’s sodden hair from her face and kissed her lips. Caught in Erienne’s downpour, they could do nothing else but laugh under the warm rain and try to hide the bread and cheese. Unsuccessfully. Some of it washed over the rock on which they were sitting and into the ocean. The Unknown had pushed the rest after it.

‘I hope Jonas wasn’t caught in that,’ said Diera.

‘I doubt it,’ said The Unknown. ‘Anyway, he’ll be as wet as us but by choice. He’s still over at Sand Island swimming with Ark.’

Ever the doubt was in Diera’s eyes when she knew her little boy was with any of the ex-Protectors. Nothing The Unknown could do would completely convince her they were safe. She had seen them under the control of Xetesk and knew what they could do. Even now, two years on and with their masked, thralled lives and painful memories, she was unsure.

‘Will he be safe?’ she said.

‘Ark’s the best swimmer amongst them,’ said The Unknown.

‘You know what I mean, Sol,’ she replied.

‘Yes, which was why I answered a different question. You already know the answer to the other one. You ask it every time.’

‘He’s my son,’ she said.

‘Hey, I’m not criticising,’ said The Unknown.

‘Come on, let’s go down to the landing. Wait for them.’

‘You go.’ The Unknown helped Diera to her feet and crushed her to him. ‘Think I’ll walk the estate. Have a think to myself.’

Diera looked into his eyes. He held her gaze and tried to smile but it didn’t convince her.

‘You still miss it all, don’t you?’ she said.

‘It’s in my blood,’ he replied. ‘Balaia is my home. I’d so love to take you back one day, you and Jonas. Do what we set out to do.’

He looked past her at the house and the lands surrounding it on the small southern island of Herendeneth. They had worked miracles in their time here the last two years. He and the five remaining ex-Protectors had rebuilt the house, turned some of the land into fertile crop land and brought more animals to farm from Calaius. But it wasn’t his and he wanted that so badly. Something he could build and pass onto his family.

And of course, he wasn’t the only one itching for change. The Protectors needed their own lives. Gods, Hirad and Darrick had only lasted a season here before getting bored to the point of madness. Only Denser and Erienne seemed content. But then, they had everything they wanted.

‘And yes, I miss the loudmouth and I wonder what’s happened to Tomas, Maris and Rhob in Korina. We didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to them. But I know how much you love it here. It is so peaceful. And Jonas . . . he is the most beautiful child and I wouldn’t sully his innocence for anything. But one day he’ll be curious. He’ll know this isn’t it.’

‘So we’ll go back. But only when it’s safe,’ said Diera.

‘And when will we know that, I wonder?’

‘One day, Jevin and the Calaian Sun will sail into the channel and what you hear will tell you all you need to know. Perhaps we’ll all go back then. What do you say?’

‘I say I love the images you paint.’ He planted another kiss on her mouth and shoved her gently towards the path to the landing. ‘So you’ll always know where to find me, won’t you? Right here, looking for sails on the horizon.’

Diera turned. ‘Never leave me again. Promise.’

‘Never. I promise.’

Ry Darrick put his head in his hands and sighed long. ‘Gods, this is like pulling teeth,’ he muttered.