Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

Ilkar shook his head. ‘I don’t know . . . oh, no.’

‘What?’ Hirad stopped halfway to resheathing his sword.

‘Thraun, Will, Erienne. The College are going to be expecting something, aren’t they? And those three are pig in the middle. How much chance do you reckon that gives them?’

‘But there’s no way they could link them with the cat, is there?’ said Jandyr.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ replied Ilkar. ‘The College’ll be on high alert once the capture of the Familiar is announced. They’ll think Xeteskians are about and no one will get in or out, believe me.’

Hirad rammed his blade home the rest of the way.

‘Oh, that’s just great. Not only will Denser have his brain fried when the cat dies, but we’re going to lose half our people without claiming the ring.’ He walked away a few paces and kicked at a tree, cursing under his breath. ‘Anyone got any bright ideas or do we just serve ourselves up to the Wytch Lords now?’

‘I’m going to get him,’ said Denser. ‘I can’t leave him in there. You don’t understand.’

‘There’s only one person who can try to find out what’s going on, and that’s me,’ said Jandyr. ‘I’ll saddle up and go.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ilkar. He switched his attention to Denser. ‘Remember why we’re all here and remember the people who have died so far. If you stamp off into Dordover you’ll just be committing suicide and all we’ve achieved will be wasted.’

He paused and glanced up at Sol. The Protector’s eyes were hidden by the gloom but Ilkar knew he was looking at them.

‘You understand all this. It’s up to you to see he stays put.’ He squeezed Denser’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I know the depth of the bond. I’m sorry for the pain you’ve suffered and for the pain you still have to face. But Dawnthief is bigger than any of us, you said so yourself. You are hearing me, aren’t you?’

Denser nodded and slumped against Ilkar’s body. He looked up into the Julatsan’s face, tears brimming in his eyes.

Chapter 20

Will and Thraun saw it happen, knew straight away that it wasn’t just a man snatching a stray cat, but didn’t know what it meant. Crouching deep in shadow outside the College and near the wall by the long room, they reached a decision quickly enough.

‘We said we’d go back,’ said Thraun. ‘She could be in trouble.’

‘I know you’re right but can we really help in there?’ Will jerked a thumb at the College.

‘We’d better hope so. We do have one ace up our sleeve.’

‘Hmm.’ Will eyed Thraun, a frown creasing his brow. ‘There’s always that, though I didn’t like the way that old man stared at you, like he knew something. And to be fair, there’s no way they would connect Erienne with the cat, it’s a Xeteskian beast. Still . . .’ He trailed off and shrugged.

‘I know,’ said Thraun. He studied the sky. ‘We’d better get inside. I’d hate to be late.’

Though smooth, the wall was no challenge. Will swarmed over it in seconds and it was low enough for Thraun to jump and catch the top edge. Within a minute, they were behind the long room.

The building was dread and sinister. The walls were scarcely taller than Thraun and the roof swept down either side, overlapping almost to ground level. Clad in iron, the strength and weight had to be immense, and when Will touched the wall he flinched. It was warm. But there was more; an aura similar to that they had experienced in the Tower, but uncontrolled somehow. Dangerous.

‘Can we move from here?’ His unease was heightened by a creak in the metal.

‘It would be a pleasure.’ Thraun started off along the length of the building, heading towards the Tower but shielded from it. His eyes, sharp and clear, picked out every twig and dry leaf. Behind him, Will, through long years of experience, concentrated solely on placing his feet in the imprints left by Thraun, which he could just make out in the darkness.

The two men moved like ghosts through the College, so quiet that someone two paces away could miss them with back turned. They stopped at the corner of the long room and studied the Tower. Light came from three windows and lanterns hung either side of the main doors. The ground floor was completely dark, but between them and more welcoming shadow were thirty yards of open space.

‘Any ideas?’

‘Just one,’ replied Thraun.

Erienne laid the unconscious body of the Tower Master in a far corner of the cavernous library, making him as comfortable as possible.

Her action had been swift and without error, her straight punch catching him square on the jaw. He’d crumpled into her arms and she’d dragged the dead weight into the library, panting at the sudden exertion. With the door closed, she’d shaped a gentle sleeping spell which would keep him under the entire night.

When she stopped moving, the enormity of what she’d done struck her like falling rock. She pulled out a desk chair and slumped into it, hands over her face, elbows on the desk and tears beginning to prick at her eyes.

That the Tower Master had heard her conversation with Thraun and Will was bad – his suspicions would be plenty enough to see her expelled from the College. But to have struck him and then disabled him with magic . . . they’d tear her brain to pieces. Her only hope now was to avoid capture and pray the circumstances of the deception would mitigate future punishment. Either way, she couldn’t ever see herself setting foot in Dordover or its College again.

After a few moments to gather herself, she moved to kneel by the Tower Master, and smoothed a strand of hair from his face.

‘I am sorry. But underneath it all, you are still just an old, old man. Please forgive me.’ She rose. ‘It is not a betrayal. I’m trying to save us all.’ The Tower Master lay still, his gently moving chest the only indication he was alive at all.

Twitching aside a heavy drape, Erienne checked the sky and frowned in surprise. Full dark had come. She’d had no idea she’d dallied in the library so long and there was one question she hadn’t answered. She hurried to a shelf and dragged off a large volume. She leafed through the pages quickly, scanning for the information she knew had to be there.

Denser turned the Understone Pass Commander’s badge he’d taken from Travers over and over in his hands. It was hard to see in the lessening light and he augmented his sight for a better look.

The badge itself was quite plain, though its importance to the survival of Balaia could not be measured. Formed from an amalgam of gold and steels it was about three-quarters the width of his palm and ringed with an embossed leaf design. In its centre, an intricate engraving of the southern entrance to the pass gleamed at him and on the reverse were etched the names of previous commanders.

It was the first time Denser had studied the badge, and he should have found it fascinating – particularly its constitution. But as he twiddled it absently, his thoughts were dominated by the fate of his Familiar. His mind was shorn of its touch and the loneliness he felt was merely the prelude to the agony of its death. He fancied he could feel its fear, anger and desolation; and the howls of despair ready to be unleashed at its demise. He couldn’t let that happen.

Sol stood near by, a statue of controlled power. His eyes, as ever, scanned everywhere, missing nothing that could prove a threat. Nothing until now. His eyes could not penetrate Denser’s mind.

‘Sol,’ said Denser softly. The Protector turned his head. ‘Catch.’ He tossed the badge and chain to Sol, who enclosed them in one gloved hand. ‘Keep it safe.’

Now Sol looked at what he held and his eyes widened. His gaze snapped back to Denser but the mage had already finished his incantation.

‘You know I had to do this.’ Wings of pure night appeared at Denser’s back, and with one lazy flap he shot into the air, orienting himself for Dordover.

‘No!’ Sol’s shout put birds to flight and shocked Hirad out of a doze for the second time. For a moment he was confused by the sound – it was the first word he had heard Sol utter. He sprinted to the Protector and, following the tilt of his head, could just make out a shape dwindling against the starscape.

‘What the—’

‘ShadowWings.’ Ilkar was at his shoulder.

‘That’s Denser?’ Hirad pointed at the smudge in the sky.

‘ ’Fraid so,’ said Ilkar.

‘Well, that’s just bloody great!’ Hirad hurled his sword to the ground at his feet, fury bringing heat to his cheeks. His hands clenched. ‘He threatens to kill Talan because of some imaginary risk to his precious quest and now he’s off to commit suicide in Dordover all because someone’s stolen his pet bloody cat!’ He flapped a hand in the direction Denser had taken, breathing out loudly through his nose. ‘I mean, just what does he expect us to do now?’

‘Nothing.’ Sol flicked the badge and chain to Ilkar, who caught it effortlessly. ‘Stay.’

‘Talking to me or to your dog, maskman?’ Hirad squared up, his blade still lying in the fallen leaves.

‘Hirad . . .’ began Ilkar.

Sol considered the situation briefly, Hirad half believing he could see the Protector frowning.

‘Stay, please,’ he said, then turned and sprinted for his horse. Hirad made to follow him, stooping for his sword on the way.

‘Don’t, Hirad.’

‘What?’

‘I think he’s right. We should stay.’

‘You’re agreeing with a Xeteskian?’

Ilkar grinned. ‘Unusual, I know, but yes.’

‘Why? Their recent record for decision-making is very poor.’ Another gesture in the direction of Dordover and the departed Denser.

‘Because if they all die, someone has to go on who knows the whole story.’

‘But without that flying prat no one can cast the spell, isn’t that right?’ Hirad pushed his sword back into its scabbard.

‘He’s the only chance right now, admittedly, but without any of us to report back to Xetesk, there’s no chance at all.’ Ilkar shrugged.

‘So we just sit and wait?’ Hirad was unused to being unwanted in what looked a certain fight.

‘No. We clear the camp and get ready for a quick exit. One way or another, we won’t be here long, I think.’

‘How will we know if he dies?’

‘We’ll know. Believe me, we’ll know.’

The library door opening shocked Erienne into dropping the book like a guilty child. Her heart hammered then missed a beat in relief as Will and Thraun stepped in and closed it behind them.

‘Gods, you scared me! How did you . . .’ She pointed vaguely to the outside.

‘By looking as if we owned the place,’ said Will. ‘You’d be surprised how often that works.’

‘Yes, but here?’ Erienne was dumbfounded.

‘I have to admit the College was pushing the point, but seeing is believing.’ Thraun smiled. ‘Our only bit of luck was avoiding your friend the Tower Master. I thought we’d have to deck him.’

‘I beat you to it.’ Erienne reprised the events of the past hour or so.

‘One thing,’ said Will. ‘Someone here’s got Denser’s cat.’

‘Fool!’ spat Erienne, slapping the table next to her. ‘I told him they would detect a Familiar. That man’s arrogance knows no end.’ She breathed in deeply but her eyes betrayed her thoughts. ‘The pain he’ll be suffering . . . poor man, it’ll be terrible.’ She paused. ‘Come on, we can’t stop to worry about that now. All in all, I’d say we’ve been luckier than we deserve. I’ve already lost my reputation pursuing this ridiculous folly, I don’t want to lose my life too.’

‘Reckon we can take the ring?’ asked Will.

‘I’m not sure,’ admitted Erienne. ‘There’s a ward down there I don’t know.’

‘So . . . ?’

‘So until I can plot the mana shape, I don’t know what it does or whether I can move it. To do that I need to get near it.’ She walked to the door. ‘Let’s get moving.’

Thraun gave the all clear and they padded quietly to the crypt entrance.

‘Will?’ asked Erienne.

‘It’s a standard through-bolt operating a latch on the other side. Heavy but crude,’ he whispered. ‘I need to know if it’s spell-guarded or conventionally trapped.’

‘Neither,’ said Erienne.

‘Good.’ Will bent to his task, inserting a metal rod the size of his little finger into the lock. He probed briefly for the latch assembly. ‘Very crude.’ He withdrew the rod and fished in a belt pouch, taking out a flat piece of metal about one and a half inches wide, welded to a cylinder which slipped over the rod and clicked into place. He pushed the makeshift key into the lock, angling it slightly and manoeuvring it back and forth. Presently he smiled, turned the key and heard the latch slide up on the other side of the door.

‘Want to go first?’ he asked Erienne.

‘I think I’d better.’ She stepped past Will as he stowed his tools and opened the door. Inside, the weight of mana was heavier than ever, causing her to pause for breath. It was also pitch dark.

‘There’s a lot of static mana here, keeping the wards sound. I can navigate by the trails. What about you two?’

‘I’ll follow him, don’t you worry,’ I said Will.

‘No light?’ queried Thraun.

‘Not until we’re down the first steps. There’s a light-sensitive ward about halfway down the flight which activates at dusk. It’s an alarm.’ She began to move carefully down the stairs, Thraun and Will behind her, the latter closing and rebolting the door behind them.

To Will, the darkness was impenetrable, the mana-laden atmosphere cloaked him in anxiety and the air was musty and stale. He hooked the fingers of his right hand into Thraun’s belt and traced the near wall with his left, relying on his friend’s directions for his every footstep.

He was concentrating so intently, he hardly heard Erienne as she advised them they were passing the first ward, but it registered and he was sure he could feel it: a deeper quality to the level of mana all around and a spike that sent fear into his heart and sent his sightless eyes probing desperately for something to anchor him. He stumbled.

‘Easy, Will,’ said Thraun, his own voice hushed by the power all around them. ‘There are maybe a dozen more steps and then we’re down.’

‘I’m not enjoying this.’

‘Nor me. Just take it steady. Step down now.’

The descent of the thirty steps ended with a right-hand bend in a narrow passage and another door through which Erienne ushered them before closing it and beginning an incantation. Will leant against the door, finding comfort in the wood and iron at his back while somewhere to his left, Erienne murmured on.

‘Illuminate,’ she said eventually, and light grew steadily. It came from a globe that expanded to a size approaching that of Will’s head, and at that moment it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He noticed the chamber next. It was long, narrow and cold, stretching away into the darkness beyond the throw of Erienne’s LightGlobe. And stacked three high to left and right, separated by shelves, were stone sarcophagi. Here as nowhere else, the mana beat down upon him. The moment’s relief he felt as the light flooded the chamber was extinguished by the reality of his position, which forced him back against the door. He gasped, looking vainly for help from Thraun, but he too was suffering, the bow of his shoulders telling a clear story.

‘Erienne . . .’ Will began. He could feel his face flushing. His legs were trembling with the exertion of keeping his body vertical.

The Dordovan mage nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Will, I had no idea it would be so strong. Take a few moments and it will ease enough for you to carry on. We’ve got a way to go yet.’

Will grimaced and levered himself from the door, forcing himself to concentrate on the darkness that enveloped the chamber a dozen paces ahead.

‘It’s all in the mind,’ he assured himself.

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Erienne. ‘Mana is a force that controls and adapts nature. It is physical and, as you are discovering, is tangible in concentration. Some people attract it and the ones who can welcome and harness it are mages, like me.’

‘Thanks for your help and support,’ muttered Will.

‘Just remember that in this state, it is harmless. It’s mages who shape it and make it unstable and dangerous. Let’s keep it going.’ She strode off along the lines of tombs, Lore Masters and Mage Lords, some centuries dead. The LightGlobe followed her, marking a smooth course slightly above and to the right of her head.

Will and Thraun followed as best they could, heads down and slogging as though labouring under heavy packs.

Jandyr thundered into the stables of the inn and slid off his horse. A quick word and a few coins exchanged with the stable lad gave him the information he needed, and a bag of feed for his horse.

Snatching his bow and quiver from their saddle straps, he jogged out into the Dordovan evening, following the directions given him and not having a clue what he’d do when he arrived. Something would suggest itself; it normally did.

To Denser, the mana flowing around the Dordovan College was a beacon of soft orange that swamped the lights of the City. The ShadowWings beat lazily, propelling him at good speed towards his goal. One hand was pressed on his skull cap, the other kept his sword from flapping against his leg, and he squinted through eyes half closed against the wind of his passage.

All thoughts of Dawnthief and the salvation of Balaia had vanished from his mind. Somewhere in the College was his Familiar, an integral part of his mind and consciousness. No one could be allowed to take that away. He pulsed a thought of calm and relief in the hope it might penetrate the mana cage the Familiar had to be in.

He dived towards the College and its centrepiece, the Tower – an ugly squat house not worthy of the name given to the greatest of mage structures. But then, Dordover misunderstood the focusing power that a tower conferred upon its incumbent, just as it misunderstood many things. Like the reaction from the master of a stolen Xetesk Familiar.

Circling the Tower at a height of fifty feet above its highest point, Denser knew that whoever held his Familiar would be waiting, that they could feel his presence but would not know where he was. Experience dictated that man will rarely look up to find other men. Denser had an edge.

He dropped silently towards the roof of the Tower, hovering scant feet from its slates, pulsing the same search message all the time. He moved slowly to all corners of the roof, hoping for some signal, some clue as to the direction he should take. He was close, he could feel it, but a wrong move now would mean disaster.

In its mana cage, the Familiar abruptly stopped struggling and cocked its head. It grasped the bars with its hands and strained forwards, a grin cracking its hairless face.

The mage flinched involuntarily from the sight but managed to smile through his revulsion.

‘Excellent. I take it he has arrived,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said the demon, in a voice like footsteps on wet gravel. ‘And you are mine.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said the mage. He turned his chair to face the door, the smug expression on his face hiding the huge effort he was making to ignore the taunts of the beast in the cage behind him.

‘Stay back around the corner, I’m at the next ward.’

Erienne’s voice brought Will back to himself. He’d been staring at the floor, filling his mind with thoughts of freedom as his body fought the constant pressure of the mana.

He looked up, past Thraun’s back, to where Erienne stood at the centre of a cross-passage, the globe bright over her head. Behind her, the passage led on into darkness, and to Will’s left and right, the shelves of caskets had given way to blank walls as the passage narrowed.

‘Where are we?’ he asked.

‘Arteche’s vault,’ said Erienne, indicating to her right. ‘The door down here is the entrance. It’s guarded. No one is allowed in there bar the present Council of Lore Masters. They are excluded from the ward.’

‘But you can get round it?’

‘Sort of. It would be more accurate to say I can move it.’

‘Then why—’ began Will.

‘They’re just a deterrent to Dordovan mages and moving them’s not without risk even if you know the structure. People like you, though, ordinary people, you wouldn’t stand a chance. What was left of you I could scrape into the palm of my hand.’

‘Nice,’ muttered Thraun. ‘So what is it, exactly?’

‘Essentially, it’s a bubble of mana which covers the door and inside it is the trap spell. If you’re careful, you can make the bubble slide; if not, it will burst . . . I’ll call you when I’m ready, but tread slowly.’

‘Good luck,’ said Thraun.

‘Thanks,’ she said, and walked away around the corner.

At the ward, she refocused her eyes, tuning in tight to the mana spectrum. It was exactly as she had described, a bubble of mana which bulged out some five feet from the door and was anchored flush with all four edges. It was a gentle orange – the static mana which kept it active didn’t have the bright force of focused mana – and inside, the trap spell pulsed blue, cold and deadly.

She reached out her hands to the bubble and pushed very gently against it. The surface gave like a full water skin. It was a good sign. The give afforded her some margin of error which a taut ward did not. It had clearly not been maintained for some considerable time.

Erienne dropped her hands and concentrated, beginning the process of creating a mana shape to completely isolate the ward. She built out from the centre, drawing on the reserves of her body only slightly as the crypts supplied almost all she needed. The shell grew, expanded and reshaped. A circle at first, it soon took on the outline of the target ward, matching its shape utterly in every detail. In form, though, it was entirely rigid.

It took perhaps five minutes, leaving Erienne nervous about possible discovery. She moved her shell over the ward, forcing it home and feeling a satisfying mental thud as the ward accepted and bonded with her creation. She probed for weak points and there were none. Now, she unlocked the rigidity of the shell and used her mind to press against the whole left-hand side. The ward-shell slid gently back into itself, freeing first the handle of the door, then more, until half of it was out of the ward’s influence. Satisfied, she stood with her back to the shell and called Will and Thraun.

‘Will, there’s the lock, it needs picking,’ she said as they appeared. ‘On no account attempt to move behind me. Only walk in front of me. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said both men.

The lock was so easy that Will felt vaguely insulted. At Erienne’s nod, he turned the handle and pushed the door ajar.

‘Go inside and move to the left. Lean against the wall, you’ll be safe enough. You too, Thraun, I’ve got to let the ward back.’

The two men moved inside. By the partial light cast by Erienne’s globe, they could make out a dim shape in the centre of the room, long and low. The light brightened as Erienne stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The globe illuminated a simple chamber, panelled in stone with its ceiling at around eight feet.

The shape in the centre was a single stone sarcophagus. It was flat, wide and featureless but for an inscription at one end. On top of it lay a sword, a deep blue and orange robe in a glass case, and an ornamental ring. The atmosphere was easier in the chamber, and Will breathed in deeply, gratefully. He looked around again. The walls were plain and they’d entered by the only door.

‘Is this it?’ Will was singularly unimpressed.

‘What did you expect?’ asked Erienne, walking to the sarcophagus, her eyes fixed on the ring, frowning.

‘Something a little grander, frankly.’

‘A Lore Master may be ostentatious in life, but in death he needs nothing but mana to cloak him. Oh, dear.’ She made a slow circuit of the casket, hands deep in her robes.

‘What is it?’ asked Will.

‘The ward surrounding the ring. I . . . hold on.’ She breathed deep and looked again at the extraordinary mana shape. It was small, perhaps the size of a human skull, but two factors set it apart. It had three bands of rotating colour – orange, blue and a deep green – and the shape itself was spiked, giving the whole the appearance of an oversized mace.

Erienne had never heard or read of anything like it before, and when she moved her mana-shielded hands towards it, the ward’s colours shifted and darkened, threatening to break the shield. She withdrew, arms tingling in the aftermath of the encounter.

‘You’d better lock that door, Will,’ she said. ‘This may take some time.’

‘What’s the problem?’ asked Thraun.

Erienne favoured him with a sympathetic smile. ‘I don’t think it’s something you’d understand.’

‘Try me.’

‘All right then. The ward shape and construction isn’t of purely Dordovan origin. It contains lore from another college and I can’t read it. Does that help?’

‘Not really,’ said Thraun. ‘Have you any idea what will trigger it?’

‘Someone breaking the shape, I expect,’ said Erienne a little petulantly.

‘I need you to be more specific,’ said Thraun. ‘What exactly passing through the shape will break it?’

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘Remind me how a ward works,’ said Thraun.

‘Why?’

‘Humour me, please.’ His tone was insistent.

‘A ward is a shape of static mana positioned to protect a target,’ quoted Erienne. ‘The base lore of the shape allows the caster to include or exclude any class of object or being, living or inanimate. So what?’ There was an edge to her voice.

‘Do you think you can match the mana shape?’ asked Thraun.

Erienne sucked her lip and shrugged. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Not without considerable risk to us all.’

‘In that case, I suggest you concentrate on finding out if there are any exclusions to the ward,’ said Thraun quietly.

Erienne stared at Thraun as if he had slapped her, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. ‘You suggest?’ She reddened. ‘What are you, all of a sudden, some kind of ward constitution specialist? No, I’ll tell you what you are, you’re a walking slab of muscle who shouldn’t presume to speak on subjects you have no knowledge of. How dare you try to teach me?’

‘It was just a suggestion. A simple no would have done.’ For all Thraun’s voice remained calm and quiet, there was an animal menace in his very slight change of stance.

Will, who had been happy to watch the exchange from the door, now stepped forward, anxious to calm the situation and only too aware of the precarious position they were in.

‘Do you have an alternative idea if, indeed, you can’t match the ward shape?’ he asked.

‘With one sweep of my hand I could end all this, how about that?’ she said coldly, lifting an arm.

‘I mean a sensible one. There’s no point in losing everything.’

‘Not for you. In case you’ve forgotten, I already have.’ Erienne moved her arm closer to the ring. She sneered. ‘Look at you. Big man Thraun and clever little Will. I have the power of life and death over you both. How easy it is to snuff out life.’ Abruptly her eyes were full of tears.

Will and Thraun shared a glance. Thraun nodded.

‘Erienne, you know how much we grieve for your loss,’ said Will, moving towards her. ‘We loved your children and we loved Alun and no one can compensate for their deaths. But right now, we need you to help us. We need this ring and we don’t have much time before we’re caught.’ He laid a hand on her arm to draw her to face him. ‘Please, Erienne. There is time to cry when we’re out of this tomb.’

Erienne stared at Will while tears rolled down either cheek. She shook off his hand and wiped at her face.

‘The answer to your question, Thraun, is that, like most Dordovan wards, it excludes people by being triggered by human brain activity, and anything inanimate that passes through it will trigger it too.’ Her voice was shaking but she appeared to have regained rationality. ‘Not that knowing that does us any good.’

‘On the contrary, it means your work is done,’ said Thraun.

‘Apart from finding and training an animal to take the ring.’ The fire was back in Erienne’s eyes. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, there are none in here.’

‘That’s not strictly true,’ said Thraun.

‘What do you mean, not strictly true?’

‘Thraun—’ Will had tumbled to Thraun’s thoughts. He walked over and stood close to the other man. ‘You retain a critical part of your sentience. I don’t think that qualifies you as an animal,’ he hissed.

‘We don’t have time for anything else,’ said Thraun evenly. ‘And Erienne can’t move the ward. It’s our only option.’

‘Will you two stop talking riddles? What are you suggesting?’

‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Will. Thraun nodded. ‘Then you can explain.’

‘I wish one of you would,’ said Erienne, irritation edging her tone.

Thraun took a deep breath. ‘It’s quite simple.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m a shapechanger.’

In its cage, the Familiar chittered loudly, like a monkey. It hopped from claw to claw, unfurled its wings as far as the bars allowed, hissed, spat and taunted.

‘Close to death, Dordovan, close to death.’

For his part, the mage kept as calm as the situation allowed, never taking his attention from the door, his chosen mana shape part-prepared and quick to complete.

The taunting stopped.

‘Now,’ hissed the Familiar. It turned its back and covered its head with its wings, actions the mage didn’t see. Perhaps if he had, he would have been prepared. Perhaps.

The windows at his back blew in, glass and wood splinters showering the room. Next came Denser, ShadowWings sweeping back as he shot feet first into the middle of the floor.

The mage, disorientated by the sudden explosion behind him, was only halfway up and turned when Denser’s fist caught him full on the jaw. He staggered back, concentration broken, spell lost and unable to raise a defence to the next punch to his nose or the boot in his gut. He collapsed on to the floor, sliding down the door by which he’d been so sure Denser would enter.

The Xeteskian stood over him, hauled him to his feet, dark eyes burning into him with uncontrolled hatred.

‘More will arrive, you can’t beat us all,’ said the Dordovan.

Denser’s laugh was pure scorn. ‘Too late for you.’ A headbutt split the Dordovan’s lips open, spattering blood. Denser dragged him towards the mana cage.

‘You’ll never open it,’ said the Dordovan defiantly. ‘And I’ll die before I help you free that thing.’

‘So foolish.’ Denser, his voice suddenly quiet, held the other’s face close to his. ‘So very, very blind. One magic, one mage.’ He dropped the man back to the floor and simply flipped the latch. The mana cage dissolved and a ball of fury came boiling out.