Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 35 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

‘So be—’ she began.

‘No!’ shouted Deale, his face pale, his body shaking. ‘If she goes, saving the College is worthless. Don’t be bloody-minded, Heila. If you want an elf, then take me. When I entered this chamber I knew I would be chosen. And when you were summoned, you knew it too. Take your rightful victim. Take me.’

Heila spun to face Deale. ‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘But I fear you are in no position to bargain.’

‘We can always despatch you back to where you came from, empty-handed,’ said Deale evenly, his face slick with sweat.

‘Then you would not have your Shroud.’

‘And you would not have the soul of a Julatsan Council member, let alone that of the High Mage.’

‘Deale, I—’ began Kerela.

‘No, Kerela. He will not take you.’

Heila regarded Deale coldly. ‘I am not used to being challenged.’ Deale shrugged. ‘Very well.’ Heila began his rotation once more. ‘Hear me, Council of Julatsa. This is the bargain I offer you.

‘The soul of Deale the elf is not so highly prized as that of either Kerela, the High Mage, or Barras, the elder negotiator. But I will agree to take him over any of you on one condition. If, after fifty of your days, you still need the Shroud to keep your enemies at bay, either Barras or Kerela shall walk into the Shroud to provide new fuel. I leave it to you to decide who it should be. If neither of you approaches the Shroud, it will be removed and you will be left to die. Do we have a bargain?’

‘The price for a DemonShroud is only ever one soul,’ snapped Kerela. ‘If mine is prized enough, then . . .’

‘Kerela, the College cannot afford to lose you,’ said Deale. ‘Not at this time. We need a leader. You are it. You have to stay.’ Deale spun to take in his colleagues. Barras could see each of them struggling to avoid his eye. ‘Well, don’t you agree? I should be taken and Kerela should remain? Well?’

The old mage watched as first one, then another of them nodded. All reluctant, all knowing that by their agreement they saved themselves but none wishing to condemn Deale to death.

‘There,’ said Deale, his voice strong though his body still shook. ‘We have agreement.’ He faced Heila who was regarding him solemnly, one hand on his chin, lipless mouth partly open to reveal his tiny razor-sharp teeth. ‘Heila, Shroud Master and Great One, we have a bargain.’

The demon nodded. ‘Never before have I heard man or elf argue so strongly for his own death.’

‘When will the Shroud be raised?’ demanded Kerela, looking not at Heila but at Deale, her eyes brim with tears.

‘The moment I am gone and the portal is closed. It shall stand outside your walls and encompass the core threads of your mana as you require.’

Kerela nodded. ‘Be of your words, Heila. Our friend sacrifices himself for this. Deale, the blessing of the College shall go with you. I . . . Your sacrifice is such that . . .’ She trailed off and smiled at Deale. It was the saddest smile Barras had ever seen. ‘Find peace quickly.’

‘Time is short,’ said Heila. ‘You have fifty of your days. Count them, as I will.’ His gaze snapped to Deale. ‘For you, my friend, those days and any after them that I choose shall each seem an eternity. Come with me.’ His hand extended, stretched beyond the confines of the portal, passing through Deale’s chest and suffusing his body with blue light. At the end, Deale was calm. His face displayed no fear. He jerked once as his soul was taken, his body falling to the ground betraying no evidence of the violence of his mortal death.

Heila rotated fast and fell through the portal, Barras slamming it shut behind him. There was a momentary whispering, then all was still.

‘It is done,’ said Kerela, and her voice cracked. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she sank to the floor. Seldane walked quickly to Deale’s body and closed his eyes.

‘We must—’ The door to the Heart burst open and Kard staggered in, hands clutching at his ears, his face colourless, his eyes wide. He should not have been able to cross the threshold, such was the weight of mana in the Heart, but the clamour that followed him in told its own story.

The stifling pressure of the fuel of magic was as nothing compared to the screams of those, Wesmen and Julatsans, that soared over the noise of battle, silencing every blade. It was a sound quite unlike anything that could be associated with the Balaian dimension. Piercing, driven cries that emanated from the depths of human bodies as souls were torn from their living frames, echoing through the skulls of everyone who heard them, grinding teeth and freezing muscle.

Kerela raised her head and locked eyes with Barras, all the horror of their actions reflected there for the old elf to see.

The DemonShroud had risen.

Chapter 4

As it always does, curiosity eventually got the better of fear. The return of Sha-Kaan to his own dimension removed the immediate threat of death and, by the time The Raven walked slowly into the Central Square, a crowd was gathering around the body of the dragon.

‘Back in a while,’ said The Unknown, trotting away towards the corpse. Ever the warrior, ever the tactician, thought Hirad, watching his friend shoulder his way through Darrick’s cavalry. A knot of Protectors with their backs to him parted instinctively to let him through. He hadn’t gone to stare and shake his head at the enormity of it all. He’d gone to check closely for weak points; any chinks in the dragon’s hide that might help them.

Hirad wasn’t convinced he’d find any and for his part had seen enough of dragons for one day. For a lifetime, come to that, but that wasn’t a choice that was his to make any more. He trudged back towards Will’s spluttering cook-fire and the tunnel that led into the pyramid and the former tomb of the Wytch Lords. He needed something to calm his nerves and hoped there was at least a drain of coffee left in the pot balanced precariously on the shifting embers.

Ilkar had walked back with his arm around the shoulders of the nervy barbarian, not saying a word all the way. Hirad felt him tense as they neared the tunnel. Just in the shadow stood Styliann, above the prone form of Denser and the kneeling Erienne.

‘Can’t that bastard go somewhere else?’ muttered the Julatsan mage. ‘His presence offends me.’

‘I don’t think he’ll hang around long after he’s heard what we have to say.’

Ilkar snorted. ‘Well, I’d like to think he’d take the quick way back to Xetesk, too. Unfortunately, we’re all going the same way.’

Hirad was quiet for a time. ‘You know, I was looking forward to joining the war against the Wesmen,’ he said after a while and just as they stopped at the fire. ‘It seemed like a return to the simple things. But this . . .’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Ilkar. ‘C’mon, sit down. I’ll check the pot.’

Denser had heaved himself to his feet and stood leaning against Erienne, expectancy and anxiety radiating from his pale features in equal measure.

‘I think you’d better come out here and listen to this,’ said Hirad. ‘That includes you, Styliann. Things aren’t so good.’

‘Define “not-so-good”,’ said Styliann, emerging into the sunlight and absently adjusting his shirt collar.

‘Let’s wait till we’re all gathered, all right?’ said Ilkar, handing a half mug of coffee to Hirad and sitting beside the barbarian. He nodded in the direction of the dragon’s body, from which Will and Thraun were coming. The Unknown hadn’t finished his examination. ‘I don’t want to report anything inaccurately.’

No one had dared even to reach out a hand to touch the dragon’s cooling corpse until The Unknown crouched by its head and heaved back a heavy eyelid. From another dimension, it might have been, but The Unknown knew a dead animal when he saw its eye and this one was dead.

He let the lid snap back over the milky white eye rolled up in the skull of the beast and leaned back on his haunches, appraising the dragon, which lay on its side. Close up, he could see its rust-brown colour was due to two distinct scales, one a deep red the other, less prevalent, a dull brown. He let his eyes flicker over the head, a wedge-shape about three feet long from the nostrils, which overhung the jaws, to the base of the neck. One fang was visible beneath folds of tough hide that served as lips. Another, broken, lay a few feet away. The shard was about four inches long. The Unknown picked it up, turned it over in his hands briefly and pocketed it.

The bony skull wedge swept back to protect an apparently vital area of neck beneath it. Inadequately, The Unknown decided, given the multiple puncture wound inflicted so easily by Sha-Kaan.

He leant forwards again and attempted to open the jaws, levering against the huge muscles in his arms. They parted slightly but sprang back together as he sought to look inside the mouth. He glanced up and caught the eyes of two of the thirty or so men and Protectors prodding at the carcass.

‘Give me a hand here, would you?’ he asked. The cavalrymen practically fell over themselves in their haste to aid not merely a member of The Raven but The Unknown Warrior to boot. Together, the three of them laid the dragon’s head flat on its side and, while Darrick’s men held the upper jaw, The Unknown levered down the lower and looked inside, gasping at the foul stench from within.

There was nothing too unusual about its teeth. Four large fangs, two up, two down, were the mark of a predator, as were the rows of shorter, conical incisors at the front of each jaw. Crushing molars lined up as the jaw went back but it was the gum below and inside the jaws that interested The Unknown.

He counted half a dozen angled flaps of skin, each covering a hole. Working at one of the flaps, he could feel the retractor muscle move and, as he did so, a drop of clear liquid spilled on to his palm, evaporating quickly. It was all he needed to understand about where the fire came from.

He nodded his thanks to the two cavalrymen and stood up, letting go the lower jaw which closed with a wet squelch. He looked along the dragon’s length and began walking slowly down it. Slightly kinked, the neck was perhaps eight feet long, letting into the bulk of its belly. It was an altogether more slender beast than Sha-Kaan, built for speed but, thought The Unknown, given the ease with which it was killed, inexperienced. Young. Elbowed forelimbs ended in small claws, an evolutionary trait that suggested a move towards a need for relative delicacy. Each claw was hooked and sharp and forged from bone, not a hardened material like nails.

Just above the forelimbs were the roots of its wings and The Unknown didn’t have to get close to see the immense muscle groups that powered the animal through the sky at such speeds. At another request, ten willing men dragged the free wing wide against the strain of its contracted muscles.

The outside arc of the wing covered a length of around thirty feet and was a flexible bone as thick as The Unknown’s thigh. A further twelve bones led from a complex joint at the end of the bone and stretched between them all was a thick, oily membrane.

‘Hold it taut.’ The Unknown drew a dagger and stabbed down at the membrane, drawing a scratch which yielded a little dark fluid. Not blood, more of the oil. He dragged a finger through it and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, feeling its smooth texture. ‘Interesting,’ he said. But the membrane, although perhaps only a half inch thick, would not tear. ‘Thank you,’ he said. And the men let it go. It snapped back against the body, a protective mechanism that transcended death, creating a breeze that kicked up more dust, merely emphasising the incredible power of the beast.

The length of its neck was a fifth of its main body. With the dragon on its side, its bulk was taller than The Unknown and he traced his fingers along the softer, paler underbelly scales, feeling the rasping roughness of those that armoured its sides and back. Again he drew a dagger, this time squatting by the belly. But again, his stabbing made no impact.

He frowned and turned his attention to the scorch mark along the flank which ran for twenty or so feet. Here, the skin was blistered and blackened, deep wounds showed in half a dozen places and a gory black ooze filled the tears and hard burns. But even this had not been a fatal wound. Not even the full force of Sha-Kaan’s breath could inflict that in one strike.

‘Gods, but you’re tough bastards,’ he murmured. The search for a weak point went on.

‘What the hell is he doing?’ asked Denser dully. The Unknown could be seen striding along the dragon’s upper flank towards the twenty feet of thin, balancing tail, poking his sword in here and there, striking hard in other places and always shaking his head.

‘Working out how to kill one, I expect,’ said Ilkar.

‘Fat chance,’ said Hirad.

‘So why does he bother?’ asked Denser, pursing his lips and lying back, his interest gone.

‘Because that’s what The Unknown does,’ replied Hirad. ‘He has to know, for better or worse, the enemy he’s facing. He says knowing what you can’t do is more valuable than knowing what you can.’

‘There’s sense in that,’ said Thraun.

‘This is all very fascinating,’ said Styliann. ‘But do we really have to wait for him?’

‘Yes,’ said Hirad simply. ‘He’s Raven.’ The Unknown was walking back towards them. He rammed his sword back into its scabbard, having first unlinked the chains that held it in place, hilt over his right shoulder, point below the back of his left knee, and dropped it at his feet as he reached them. He sat, frowning.

‘Well?’

‘Sha-Kaan was right. Even assuming we could get near it, the only soft tissue is inside the mouth and I can’t see it opening its jaws and showing off its throat to help us out. Our one chance is to dry out the wings. They secrete some form of oil and, without it, I think they might crack under heat. But again, covering the area they do, that much flame is only going to come from another dragon.’

‘Eyes?’ Hirad shrugged.

‘Small target. Not viable if the head is moving. One of those things in this dimension could kill anything and any number it wanted.’

‘You’ve forgotten the power of magic,’ said Styliann stiffly. The Unknown ignored him.

‘The hide is incredibly tough. Even on the underside and the wings. Acid might have an effect, so will certain flame– and perhaps ice-based magics. But, as with all these things, our real problem will be getting close enough.’ The Unknown breathed out through his nose. ‘The bare fact is that if one attacks and you’ve nowhere to hide, you’re dead.’

‘That’s not the answer we were looking for,’ said Ilkar.

‘So going there will be suicide,’ said Hirad.

‘So will staying here, apparently,’ said Will.

Denser raised a hand. ‘Hold on, hold on. What are you talking about now?’ The Dark Mage was staring straight at Hirad.

Ilkar nudged the barbarian. ‘Go on then. Sha-Kaan’s your friend, after all.’

‘He’s not my friend,’ said Hirad.

‘Closest thing to it,’ returned the elf.

‘Oh, right, yeah. I noticed how he went out of his way to not actually burn my skin off or bite me clean in two. If that’s not friendship, I don’t know what is.’

Ilkar chuckled. ‘See,’ he said. ‘Bosom buddies.’

‘So just because—’

‘Must you?’ Denser’s voice cut across Hirad’s next remark. ‘We just want to know what’s up.’

‘You don’t,’ said Hirad. ‘But here goes anyway. The situation, I think, is this.’ He breathed in deeply and pointed behind him. ‘That rip in the sky is a direct corridor to the dragon dimension. Apparently, there’s a similar mess in the sky on the other side. The trouble is, Sha-Kaan’s family, he called it a Brood, the Brood Kaan, has to defend the rip to stop other Broods coming here to destroy us.’ Hirad nodded at the dragon’s corpse. ‘That’s because they have no way to close the rip. Sha-Kaan says we have to close it.’

‘Oh, no problem,’ said Denser. ‘We’ll just snap our fingers and the job’s done. How the hell are we supposed to achieve that?’

‘That was pretty much our reaction,’ said Ilkar. ‘Sha-Kaan pointed out rather bluntly that it was our problem and we’d better not fail.’

‘Or else what?’ asked Erienne.

‘Or else, ultimately, another Brood will get in here in sufficient strength to do exactly what it wants,’ said Ilkar. ‘And those of us who travelled through Septern’s rip have a good idea what that means.’ For the Julatsan mage, the scenes of blackened devastation, the chaotic weather and air of violent death were all too easily recalled.

Movement caught Hirad’s eye. Darrick had ridden back into the square, his cavalry once more under his command. He made for the dragon but changed direction at a wave from the barbarian.

‘I think he ought to be in on this,’ said Hirad. Once apprised, Darrick’s face was as gloomy as The Raven’s.

‘Now,’ said Styliann, who had remained silent and withdrawn thus far. ‘I accept that this rip, as you call it, represents a significant threat. I also accept that dragons are powerful creatures and we need to develop means of disabling and destroying them from distance.

‘What I don’t see is why other Broods would want to come here to destroy everything and why, by all the mana in the Mount, does this Sha-Kaan care if they do?’

‘Now that’s a good question,’ said Darrick.

‘Ilkar?’ asked Hirad. ‘This was where I got a little shaky in my understanding.’

‘Unknown, help me out if I get too vague.’ Ilkar rubbed his face while he thought. ‘There is a link between our dimension and the Brood Kaan. The very existence of certain elements here helps the Kaan to live and breed. These elements feed their psyche and that is as important to them as feeding their bellies. Their existence depends on the base fabric of our dimension remaining intact. If we go, they go. That’s why they care.’

‘Why don’t they just station enough dragons around the rip to guard it?’ Styliann said sniffily.

‘Well, because, strangely, they’ve got better things to do with their lives than die in our defence for the rest of time,’ snapped Hirad. ‘They aren’t our servants.’ Ilkar laid a hand on Hirad’s arm.

‘The point is, my Lord, that they are already forced into that action,’ said the Julatsan. ‘But Sha-Kaan was insistent that, one, they couldn’t guard the rip indefinitely and, two, we caused the problem and though the Kaan would help, it was up to us to sort it out.’

‘How long do we have?’ asked Darrick.

‘We don’t know,’ said Hirad.

‘That’s not helpful,’ said Denser.

‘I think the straight answer is, Sha-Kaan himself doesn’t know. He just said that when the shade covers the city, it will be too late.’ Hirad shrugged.

‘What’s that, then, some kind of dragon time-keeping code?’ Erienne was nonplussed.

‘We’re not sure yet,’ said Ilkar.

‘Then you should open your eyes more,’ said Styliann.

‘What?’ Hirad bristled.

‘Calm down, Hirad Coldheart,’ replied the Lord of the Mount. ‘I appreciate how difficult it must have been out there. But now is the time to think. There are no shadows at noon because the sun is at its highest point in the sky. Normally. But that rip will cast a shadow. No way is it big enough to shade the whole of Parve yet, but . . .’

‘Oh Gods,’ breathed Denser. ‘He’s saying it’s not static. It’s not contained. It’s going to grow.’ He turned from them, his face fallen.

‘So we’ve got a time-limit but we don’t know what it is,’ said Will, glancing up at the rip.

The Unknown nodded. ‘Yes, but we can work it out, can’t we? Measure the rate of growth of the rip’s shadow. It’ll be rough but it’ll give us an idea.’

‘Indeed we can,’ said Denser bitterly. ‘But there are bigger issues to settle as well.’

‘Like how the hell do we close it,’ said Erienne.

‘And what is happening east of the Blackthorne Mountains,’ added The Unknown.

‘To name but two,’ said Denser.

‘Not being funny, but the starting point has to be your casting of Dawnthief,’ said Hirad.

‘Absolutely,’ said Denser.

‘Sha-Kaan termed it “inaccurate”.’ There was a smile on the barbarian’s face which grew broader as the slight sank in, turning Denser’s pale face to an angry red.

‘And that great fat lizard would know, of course,’ he stormed, shaking off Erienne’s calming touch. ‘For his information, my casting of Dawnthief saved his precious psyche-feeding dimension from its biggest ever threat. I trained my whole life for that moment . . . inaccurate. Bastard.’

‘Denser, you don’t have to convince us. We know what you did,’ said Hirad. ‘But Sha-Kaan doesn’t see it that way. He doesn’t much care who runs Balaia so long as its fabric remains intact and there are enough dragonene to serve his Brood.’

‘But he can’t expect us not to try to save ourselves,’ protested Denser.

‘I tried that one,’ said Hirad. ‘No dice. He just accuses us of not understanding the power of the spell.’

‘Well, tough.’

‘For the Kaan and for us, yes,’ said Thraun.

‘Right,’ said Will into the pause that followed. ‘So what are we going to do?’

Sha-Kaan emerged from the gateway into a blizzard of wings, fire and snapping jaws, the noise of a hundred cries of exultation, pain and command mingling with the whoosh of wings and the whiplash of tails. The battle covered as far as he could see in any direction, the sky full with scale and claw and enough wing to shroud Parve from the sun. It was impossible to estimate the number of dragons in the vicinity of the rip or the number of Broods involved in the battle. All he was sure of was that, barring skeleton defence of their lands, structures and peoples, the entire Brood Kaan was fighting for its collective life. There were in excess of four hundred Kaan in the sky and they were outnumbered.

Sha-Kaan roared to rally his Brood, the answering barks and cries tearing the air from all points, a surge of strength filling his mind. Sha-Kaan arced sharply upwards to gauge the situation in the skies around and below him, a phalanx of guards flew with him, defending his back.

The immediate area around the gateway was charged with battle. Better than fifty Kaan flew a defensive network across its surface, denying any attacker even the slightest chance of an entry. And for those that tried, small packs of Kaan, eight or nine strong, flew attack waves, ready to drive off portal divers.

Not for the first time in his long and fertile life, Sha-Kaan had cause to thank the intensely familial nature of dragon Broods. Together, they could overwhelm the Kaan in a matter of days, but they would never hold peace long enough to organise a concerted assault. What Sha-Kaan saw were disparate groups of attackers, none with the individual strength or guile to beat the Kaan’s defence which was well drilled and properly executed. It was no secret why the Kaan were the strongest Brood. They had order.

Even so, too many beats of this battle and the Kaan would weaken. He hoped he had instilled a sense of urgency in the humans and prayed to the Skies that they had the skill to close the gateway. If not, the Kaan would inevitably perish. All of them.

But for now, more immediate concerns crowded his mind. Below and to his left, three of the Brood Naik had isolated a Kaan from his attack phalanx. As he watched, helpless, the young dragon, twisting through every evasion move he’d been taught, caught blast after blast of flame. Eventually, the heat ignited one wing, the thin membrane gushing to fire as the oils which both lubricated the wing and provided a barrier against dragonfire were driven off, scorching bone and breaking sinew and muscle.

With a cry of mixed pain, defiance and fear, the young Kaan fell from the sky, spiralling out of control, one wing trailing smoke, the other beating in a vain attempt to steady its tumbling body, the tail coiling and straightening reflexively, head twisting as it sought aid. None would come. Sha-Kaan did not look to see the end but he knew what to do.

‘With me,’ he pulsed to his wing-guards. He dived steeply, silent, wings angled back and in, bulleting through the air, reaching a velocity at which he would kill or be killed. The three Naik had no inkling of what was coming. Sha-Kaan’s jaws latched on to the right wing of one, pulling it wildly off balance and dragging it groundwards, his huge body barely in check as it collided with his enemy, the sound of the impact clattering dully across the sky, scales grating together. The smaller beast, flailing talons, tail and free wing, barked its fury and fear, unable to turn its head fast enough to see its assailant, flame wasted on empty sky.

Sha-Kaan’s momentum took them in to, for him, a controlled tumble, dragon falling slowly over dragon until with a sharp twist of his jaws, Sha-Kaan freed his victim. But the freedom was short and agonising. The Great Kaan opened his mouth again and unleashed a torrent of fire, taking the disoriented dragon across the head, neck and along the left wing.

Half-blinded, the Naik breathed a choking gout, scorching nothing but air. Sha-Kaan’s jaws snapped open again and this time the fire dragged the Naik from head to tail, critically injuring wing and tail muscle. Unable to fly, the Naik dropped to its death.

Sha-Kaan barrel-rolled, bellowing triumph and vengeance. He twisted his neck to assess the progress of the battle, picked another target and flew.

‘The question really is, was rip formation an unavoidable side-effect of the Dawnthief casting?’ Styliann’s question was not criticism but observation and Denser’s reactive tensing eased when he saw the Lord of the Mount’s expression.

The four mages still sat around the fire. Denser’s pipe smouldered in his mouth and it was an effort even to suck to keep it vaguely alight. He rested in Erienne’s lap, she absently stroking his hair, and Ilkar sat with them, poking at the embers with a hardwood stick. Styliann, his dark hair brushed back into its more usual tight ponytail, sat alone on the opposite side of the fire.

Out in the square, the rest of The Raven stood with Darrick, discussing the most accurate way to measure the noon shade. They hadn’t long to come up with a solution. It would soon be midday.

Those of Darrick’s cavalry and Styliann’s Protectors not involved in guard and sentry duties had been detailed grimmer tasks. The city had to be cleared, corpses burned and every building searched for hidden enemies. Parve had to be returned to its dead state. Not a soul could remain save the volunteers Darrick would have to find to measure the shadow day by day and commune their findings.

For the quartet of mages, their talk was the heart of the problem. How could the rip to the dragon-dimension be closed before the Kaan strength collapsed and Balaia fell victim to a deluge of fire?

‘To answer your question, my Lord, we’ll have to pull out every text of Septern’s held by the Colleges,’ said Erienne. ‘It seems obvious now that the basis for Dawnthief’s power is the creation of a rip into a vortex in interdimensional space. Presumably, the complete casting opens a rip big enough to suck everything in, hence “light-stealer”.’

‘And my training focused solely on control of the casting parameters, not on withdrawal,’ said Denser with a shrug.

Ilkar ceased his prodding of the fire. ‘So what you’re saying is that there could have been a way to close off the vortex as you shut down the mana shape.’

‘Yes, but that was not detailed in the main casting texts. It might be in the Lore somewhere. Septern’s understanding of dimensional magic was very deep.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t ever be in the casting texts,’ said Erienne. ‘If you think about it, closing the vortex at both ends, which is what you’re talking about, requires a new spell.’

‘You’re assuming that nothing in the Dawnthief text and shape formation produces the same effect,’ remarked Ilkar.

‘Well, there isn’t.’

‘And what makes you so sure, Dordovan?’ Styliann stared at Erienne straight down his nose.

‘Oh, please, Styliann, we can do without your pious condescension, ’ snapped Ilkar, surprised at his tone with the Lord of the Mount. ‘This is far bigger than any one College. Just listen to her.’

Styliann bridled but Denser cut across any words.

‘My Lord, Ilkar is right,’ he said. ‘Erienne is an Arch Research Mage.’

‘You have studied Septern?’ asked Styliann.

Erienne shrugged. ‘Of course. He was Dordovan.’

‘By birth alone,’ said Styliann.

‘Dordovan,’ affirmed Erienne. ‘But you don’t need research to get my point, just common sense. Listen, and don’t interrupt. I’m not criticising anybody.’ She laid a hand on Denser’s arm. ‘All right?’ Denser nodded, frowning.

‘Good,’ said Erienne. She breathed deep. ‘Sha-Kaan was right in that, technically, Denser’s casting of Dawnthief was inaccurate.’ She squeezed Denser’s arm as he tensed. ‘But we mustn’t forget Septern’s original vision for the spell, though we might question why he created it.’

‘He was an experimenter,’ said Ilkar. ‘He just wanted to see how far he could go.’

Erienne nodded. ‘Probably. Dawnthief, properly cast, by which I mean at full creation, duration and power, would open a vortex capable of sucking in the whole of Balaia and that includes the Southern Continent too. Let me ask you this. Would you write into the spell a method of closing the vortex when you wouldn’t be around to use it?’

‘So what did you do, Denser?’ asked Ilkar.

‘I just dismantled the shape. Rather hurriedly, I admit, but the drain on my mana reserves was critical,’ said the Dark Mage. ‘I considered that to be safer than simply withdrawing from the spell and shutting out but there was a balance. Had I not dismantled as quickly as I did, there was a danger that the shape could have grown beyond my control and I couldn’t risk a backfire. Not with Dawnthief.’

‘And you’re sure there were no other ending options?’ asked Ilkar.

‘You’ve not studied the texts beyond the mana theory, have you?’ said Denser. Ilkar shook his head. So did Styliann. ‘No. When you examine the casting, it’s quite unlike anything else you’ll see. Every spell in your teaching deals with creation, catalyst if necessary, intonation, placement, duration and deployment. And that’s it. When the spell shape is released, it is stable because that is built into the lore construct.

‘With Dawnthief, it was different. Because there was no proper provision written for anything other than a full strength casting, limiting the power as I trained to do makes the mana shape inherently unstable. That meant I couldn’t release the shape because it would have collapsed, and that is what drained my mana stamina.