Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 94 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

‘That’s going to hurt later,’ he said. ‘Your ankle all right, Denser?’

‘It’ll last,’ whispered Denser. ‘What’s next?’

‘We listen,’ said Hirad.

They listened to the shrieking of the wind, the odd word that came to them on the gale and the protesting of the ship’s timbers. It told them nothing of who was on deck, or how many, but after their silence it was at least obvious that there were no patrols. At least, not to the stern.

‘If this is anything like the Sun, we’ll have to get in through the aft doors,’ said Denser.

‘Very risky,’ said Ilkar.

‘Well, besides blowing a hole in the wood about here, I reckon that’s our only choice,’ said Denser.

‘And we have to exit that way anyhow,’ said Hirad. ‘Or you won’t be able to deploy wings unless you can cast underwater.’

‘Then let’s not waste any more time,’ said Ilkar.

Hirad nodded and drew two daggers, one for his right hand, one to be gripped in his teeth, leaving his long sword in its scabbard on his back. With Ilkar and then Denser in his wake, he edged down the port rail towards the main deck, keeping low, the pitching of the ship a constant threat. The wood beneath his feet was slick with water and the hail was turning to rain, mixed in with spray from the sea. His hands were cold, the ache in his left wrist growing as he gripped the rail.

Flattening himself along the wall behind him, he moved on slowly, letting more and more of the deck reveal itself. They were still in deep shadow but under the light of a few swinging lanterns he could see three Black Wing guards near the bow of the ship, their arms clutching the foremast for balance. Another was halfway up the port rail and he had to assume there would be more, probably starboard and on the wheel deck beneath which they were currently crouched.

He turned to Ilkar. ‘Got enough stamina for CloakedWalk?’

‘That, a shield and another set of wings, no more,’ whispered Ilkar.

‘We’ve got to know more about the situation in front of the aft doors.’

Ilkar nodded. ‘Just hope I don’t connect with the shield covering Erienne.’ He framed the shape for the spell, moved forwards and disappeared.

‘Denser, you all right?’

The Xeteskian nodded. ‘Just let’s get her away from here before I lose it.’

‘Revenge later, all right?’

Denser grunted, his eyes fixed forwards.

They waited in the shadows. The Black Wings barely moved though elves did, checking lines, climbing rigging and passing round hot drinks to their captors. Drifting down from above them in a momentary pause in the wind, Hirad could hear elven voices. He wondered what they were thinking and whether, with Erienne gone, their lives would be worth much to Selik. Perhaps he should go with Denser’s desire and try to kill all the Black Wings.

The slightest of rustling by Hirad and Ilkar reappeared.

‘Right, I’ve retained the Cloak so this better be fast. There’s a Dordovan on the wheel deck, along with two elves, and another one talking to a pair of Black Wings on the opposite side to us. We might be hidden from them, we might not. Our problems are the guards ahead who are looking back towards us and the one on the rail just here. They’re bound to see us so we won’t have much time.’

‘Time for what?’ asked Denser.

‘Just go with this because it’s our only chance. When I Cloak again, follow me at a run after a count of twelve. That gives me time to open the door on my way past. You run in, I follow and bolt it from the inside and we take it from there. We’ll be up against swords and magic but they won’t be expecting us. All right?’

‘That’s why The Unknown makes the plans,’ said Denser, a wry smile on his face. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

Ilkar nodded and disappeared again. Hirad counted out loud and deliberately, using the numbers to keep calm himself for the fight. This could be no Rage, it would be too tight.

‘. . . eleven, twelve. Go!’

He stood and ran for the corner of the deck, the ship pitching into a wave as he arrived, sending him sliding forwards into the light. There was a shout from ahead and he saw the Black Wings coming. Forgetting them, he turned and headed for the aft door which swung open as he approached it, a slight shimmering in the air telling of Ilkar on the edge of losing concentration.

‘Run, Denser!’ he pounded to the opening and jumped through it, coming to a crouch, head up, and looking down the corridor.

Two guards flanked a door about ten yards ahead and by them, two mages were seated. The guards looked round as he hit the floor, unsure for a second. Hirad wasn’t. He ran forwards, a cry ripping from his lips and threw a dagger as he approached, taking one of the guards in the shoulder as he turned. The man fell back, the other dragging his sword from its scabbard and stepping to block the corridor.

‘Denser, mages ahead,’ warned Hirad.

‘Yes,’ said a voice behind him.

The guard stabbed forwards, the corridor too narrow for a swing, Hirad stepping back smartly. The Black Wing came on, another stab, but this time Hirad flattened himself against a corridor wall, the blade missing him.

‘Now, Denser!’ he shouted, bringing his fist down on the guard’s sword arm and lashing forwards with his dagger, ripping through the man’s clothing and scoring his chest. He found purchase on the sword arm and dragged the man forwards and off balance, reversing the dagger across his face as he came. Into the clear space ran Denser, while behind him, the aft door shut and a bolt slid across.

‘Ilkar, help him,’ called Hirad. But, as he smashed his fist into the guard’s face again, he saw the Xeteskian needed no help, pouncing on the wounded guard and stabbing him through the chest. The barbarian lashed a kick into his victim’s stomach and as he fell, stamped down on his neck. They all heard it snap beneath his foot.

The two mages, coming round after deep concentration from the shield they had held over Erienne, were easy prey. Denser and Ilkar took one each, showing no mercy for the Dordovan betrayers. Denser said something to the mage he killed but Hirad couldn’t hear it.

Not waiting for them, Hirad kicked open the door and strode in, dagger ready. Erienne was crushed into a corner of her bunk, her mouth dropping open at the sight of him.

‘Hirad! How—’

‘No time, Erienne. Get prepared with ShadowWings. We have to get off here quick or not at all.’

Denser and Ilkar ran in.

‘They’re at the hatch,’ said the elf as Denser stormed across the floor and picked Erienne up into a feverish hug and a kiss.

‘And they’ll be through it in a moment. Ideas?’ He drew his sword, keeping the dagger in his left hand. ‘Denser, put her down. Time for that later.’

‘Killjoy.’

‘Ideas!’ he repeated.

A door was wrenched open nearby. Hirad stepped up to the corridor. As the guard’s face edged round, he backhanded his dagger straight into it, taking the man through the eye. He jerked the blade clear, the Black Wing falling without a sound.

‘Wrong place, wrong time. Ilkar?’

There was a heavy thud on the aft doors.

‘They’ll be ready with spell so we need a shield. Denser can take that. I’ll prepare a ForceCone. We have to drive them back to give us space to run aft, assuming that’s where we’re going.’

‘Agreed,’ said Hirad. ‘Everyone ready?’

‘I’ll HardShield,’ said Erienne, feeling a surge of exultation at having back her power to cast. ‘They’ve got crossbows.’

After a pause, Hirad nodded. ‘Good, thanks. But keep the ShadowWings shape in mind. All of you, for that matter.’

They moved back into the corridor, Ilkar ahead with his ForceCone ready, Denser and Erienne with their respective shields cast and Hirad bringing up the rear. Where one guard could have come from, there could easily be others. Ahead of them, the door still held. At the other end of the passage, a door opened. A man stepped out, a crossbow in either hand.

‘That’s far enough,’ he slurred.

‘Keep going,’ said Hirad to the others over his shoulder. ‘I can take him.’

‘Come on, you’re not going anywhere. I’ve got thirty men and a dozen mages on this ship. Good try, but it’s over.’

‘Selik, delighted to see what a mess Erienne made of you. Shame you survived.’

‘Hirad Coldheart, isn’t it? Yes. A lone swordsman. Give her up and I’ll let you live.’

They were nearing the doors. Another heavy blow and they creaked, the bolt part giving way. Nails squealing as they were forced clear.

‘Ready,’ said Ilkar. ‘Concentrate.’

‘Die then,’ said Selik.

He fired the crossbows together, the bolts flashing towards Hirad and bouncing off the HardShield, one burying itself in the wall by his head, the other clattering away across the floor.

‘Oh dear,’ said Hirad as Selik backed off. ‘One lone swordsman. Three mages. No Raven is ever alone. Your turn.’

Hirad stepped back along the passage as Selik retreated towards his cabin, dropping the crossbows and reaching for his sword. In the same moment, the aft doors burst inwards.

‘Hirad, get back under the damn shield,’ hissed Erienne, her voice taut with concentration.

The barbarian paced back smartly, seeing Selik’s eyes widen. The Black Wing dived left and out of sight, into his cabin and an IceWind roared along the corridor. The air froze all around them, white enveloping the spell shield, the supercooled mana whistling through the gaps between shield and wood. The spell dragged at the timbers, covering them in a thick film of ice and pounded into Selik’s cabin, scouring through where his head had been and forging huge deep blue corners of frost on roof and floor. The shield held.

‘Good work, Denser,’ said Ilkar. ‘Let’s move, they’re readying to cast again.’

Hirad sensed the ForceCone deploy, carefully and under total control, and The Raven started on up the corridor.

‘Selik,’ said Hirad. ‘I can get Selik.’

‘No. We have to go now,’ said Ilkar. ‘Ready Raven?’

‘Ready.’

‘Heading left at the deck, keep those shields up. Run!’

Selik appeared at the frozen cabin door, sword in hand. Hirad waved, turned and ran, shouting over his shoulder.

‘Bye bye, Selik. ’Til next time. Push that Cone, Ilkar, there’s trouble at my back!’

The elf released the Cone, flinging it full spread at the casting mages and Black Wings, punching them from their arc by the door.

‘Ilkar sword, guard stern to starboard. Denser, Erienne, hang on to those shields. I’ve got the rear.’

The Raven burst on to the deck, Ilkar sprinting left, slithering on the greasy, wet timbers. Behind him came Denser, hand-in-hand with Erienne, daggers drawn, and finally Hirad, Selik at his back, the Black Wings dragging themselves to their feet in front of him.

The ship rolled and Hirad fell to his right, tumbling on to his back and around on to his knees, dagger sprung from his grasp and sliding away. Scrambling back to his feet, he raced back towards the port side. Selik’s head appeared at the aft doors. Hirad cursed, sword in his wrong hand to strike and instead lashed out with his left fist, catching the Black Wing leader on the side of the face, and hearing Selik’s head connect with the door frame as he ran past.

‘Yes!’

Steps behind him spurred him on, and ahead a Black Wing ran down the side of the wheel deck after the mages. Hirad slid into the rail to brake himself and charged after the soldier, striking overhead with his blade and slicing deep into the man’s exposed neck and back. He pitched forwards, sword flying out of his hands and flipping just over Erienne’s head and out into the raging ocean, his flailing hands catching her and dragging her over.

Denser slowed.

‘Go!’ yelled Hirad. ‘I’ll bring her.’

He kicked and hauled the body of the dying Black Wing aside, grabbed the elbow of the scrabbling Erienne and pulled her towards the stern.

‘Shield down,’ she said. ‘Shield down.’

To illustrate, a crossbow bolt hissed past and thudded into the rail. Hirad ducked reflexively.

‘Gods. Go!’ He pushed her ahead of him. ‘Go!’

Erienne turned the corner, Hirad right behind. As he slid to turn, a crossbow bolt tore into the flesh of his calf, the impact throwing him from his feet and he fell, hammering into the rail which cracked under the impact. He heard a cheer behind him and hauled himself out of immediate sight.

‘Fuck it!’ he said.

‘Hirad,’ said Erienne, turning back.

‘No time,’ he grated, dragging himself to his feet. ‘Keep away from those windows. Denser, Erienne, get your ShadowWings sorted and go. Ilkar, what have you got?’ The pain screamed through Hirad’s leg as he applied weight to it, feeling the blood flooding into his boot. The bolt was lodged, which was a blessing, and hadn’t struck his bone, which was close to a miracle. He hefted his sword.

‘Unknown numbers running towards us this way,’ said Ilkar. ‘I’ll keep them busy.’

In front of Hirad, the first Black Wings were coming down the port rail towards them. He hefted his sword, changing to his left hand for a better angle and waited, knowing every bought moment was vital.

‘I can cast Orbs,’ said Denser.

‘No, Xetesk man, get Erienne off this bloody ship!’ snapped Hirad. ‘Go before I pitch you over myself. We’ll be right behind you.’

‘You’d better be,’ said Denser.

‘Fly!’ The first Black Wing paced around the corner, sword swinging round at shoulder height. Hirad blocked it aside then swept his blade back left to right, the man swaying backwards to dodge the blow, bringing his sword back in front of him and stabbing forwards. Hirad blocked easily and backhanded the man across the face with his right fist and lunged forwards, pain flaring from his calf and spearing up through his back. He took the man in the midriff, skewering through his leather armour. He felt the sword grate against the Black Wing’s spine and wrenched it clear, the body collapsing to the deck.

‘Ilkar, how are you doing!’ Hirad thrust forward, seeing a crossbow edge around the corner. His blade ground along the stock of the weapon and smashed though the sight, burying itself in the eye of the Black Wing who screamed and fell, finger flexing on the trigger, the bolt scoring Hirad’s leather as it passed.

‘Holding them back,’ said Ilkar, out of breath. ‘Just.’

‘Keep going, watch for crossbows.’

He glanced over his shoulder. Erienne and Denser were gone.

‘Time to leave, Ilkar.’

‘How?’

Hirad crouched, waiting, his wound throbbing badly. The next attacker was more cautious. The barbarian listened closely, hearing a boot slide along a timber. And again. Gripping a stay with his left hand and ignoring the billowing agony from his calf, he leant out and struck low, his sword thrashing into the man’s ankle, biting through boot and into bone. The Black Wing howled and fell back. More bolts whistled by, missing comfortably.

Hirad swung back. It had to be now. He limped down the stern rail. Ilkar was struggling.

‘Behind you,’ he said, approaching. ‘Duck on my word.’

Ilkar fielded a blow to the stomach and pushed the man away but he was strong and snatched his sword back, whipping it round and over his head.

‘Now!’

Ilkar ducked. Hirad’s sword powered round, blocking the downward strike and sending the guard off balance. Hirad stepped over Ilkar and thumped a fist into the man’s face. He staggered back a pace.

‘ShadowWings and go, Ilkar!’

‘They’ll come from behind us, Hirad.’

‘I’ll hold them. Go.’

‘No.’

Hirad slashed again, the Black Wing blocking but only just.

‘Trust me, and don’t lose sight of me. Now get lost.’

He stepped up and crashed his sword through the enemy’s neck. The man teetered and pivoted over the rail.

‘Fish food,’ growled Hirad. ‘Who’s next?’

Behind him, he heard Ilkar deploy the wings and leave the deck.

‘Hirad, they’re on you,’ he shouted.

Hirad put his back against the wall of the aft cabins. Black Wings were filtering down the rail from his right. He could see crossbowmen behind him.

‘Don’t you lose me, Ilkar!’ he yelled into the night, praying that the elf was watching him.

‘Drop your weapon!’ ordered a Black Wing.

Hirad smiled. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

He stepped forwards and dived over the rail, sword ahead of him, and splashed into the sea.

The freezing water enveloped him, the waves huge and dark surrounding him. He broke surface briefly, kicking his legs, feeling his injured calf protesting as the salt edged in. He scoured the sky but could see nothing. The Ocean Elm moved gently away from him and he was lifted by another wave. The wind roared in his ears, he could feel more hail lashing down and he felt heavy. Very heavy.

He knew he should let go his sword and try to shed his leather but something inside him refused. He submerged again, water piling over on him, the storm singling him out as its next victim. He kicked again, feeling the air on his face and grabbing in another lungful.

‘Ilkar!’ he shouted into the gale.

He scrabbled at his back, sinking again, fighting to get his sword into his scabbard, knowing it was stupid, knowing he could afford to lose it, but having to free both his hands. He was going down but he refused to die. And there it was, like the feel of silk on the body of a woman, his sword slipping down into the leather. He swam for the surface, breaking clear and shouting again for his friend.

He looked up and there was Ilkar, diving out of the night with the hail.

‘Grab my legs. Don’t you let go.’

Ilkar hovered above him, trying to get close enough as the wind buffeted him and the waves splashed over his legs. Hirad grabbed and missed, kicked his legs and grabbed again, this time, catching hold with one hand.

‘Go!’ he shouted and Ilkar started to rise. He swung with his left arm and caught the toe of Ilkar’s boot as the mage climbed high above the waves.

Hanging on for his life he climbed up Ilkar’s legs inch by tortuous inch, stopping only when he had his head jammed just above the elf’s knees and his arms locked around his calfs. He could see other shapes around him. Denser and Erienne.

He took a look back towards the ship, searching for pursuit from the Dordovan mages but knew that they’d have been lost to sight almost instantly. They were clear and no one who left the deck would have any real idea where to fly to find them.

‘We did it!’ he yelled. ‘We bloody did it!’

Whooping his joy he hung on for the flight back to the Calaian Sun.

Chapter 31

The skipper of the Ocean Elm felt a deep satisfaction. His ship was not his own, too many of his crew had been murdered and he was trying to ride out the worst storm he’d ever experienced in the Southern Ocean, but he felt a sense of overriding peace.

He’d just witnessed a rescue that should have had no chance of success but for the fact that it had been carried out by The Raven. The man he had seen laying out Selik with a single punch had simply not believed he could fail.

And, in the midst of it all, on a ship occupied by Black Wings, he and his crew were free. With Erienne gone, they could choose their fate. And choose it, they would. Tryuun had seen The Raven mages clear the ship, pluck the warrior from the sea and disappear into the night, the crossbowmen and Dordovan mages having no targets to aim at as the blackness swallowed them up. And seven more Black Wings were dead. As the hail thundered down on to his thick leather skullcap, it was turning into a wonderful night.

But better was coming up the ladder to the wheel deck. The skipper was alone there at the moment, having sent his new helmsman from what could easily be harm’s way in the aftermath of the rescue. For himself, though, he felt no threat to his life and he smiled broadly as Selik dragged himself to the top of the ladder and limped towards him, a bruise growing on one side of his jaw and a lump the size of an egg dominating his temple on the other.

‘Need a hand?’ he asked, sparing Selik a quick glance and half smile.

Selik pushed an angry face into his.

‘Don’t forget who is running this ship,’ he spat.

‘No,’ said the skipper. ‘The Guild of Drech have always done so. All you had to do was guard one woman and you failed even to do that. How does it feel?’

Selik grabbed the neck of his coat. ‘Your taunting will get you killed, elf, slowly. You and your crew. Remember who has all the weapons and all the magic.’

The skipper sobered but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face entirely. ‘I will.’

‘Now you will keep this ship heading for Ornouth. Any deviation and your crew will suffer.’

The skipper laughed. ‘Oh, Black Wing, how little you understand. I have no intention of sailing anywhere else. Ornouth is where we belong. You will be the strangers there. And now Erienne is gone, the deal is different. Before I was taking you there to kill. Now, I’m taking you there to die.’

Though her mind still recoiled from memories of the Black Wings, Erienne worked through the rest of the night, her enforced rest from magic leaving her stamina strong. She was desperate for the warm embrace of Denser but there was one man who needed her more.

The Unknown Warrior’s hip bone had shattered like a vase dropped on stone. Bone splinters had invaded flesh and muscle, tendon and ligament were slashed and dying, and the joint was a lattice of cracks that would hold no weight and allow no movement. The pain, even through his spell-induced sleep, must have been terrible.

Tears had fallen from her eyes as she probed the appalling damage with mind and gentle fingers. She would have said there was nothing to be done, not even with a BodyCast but the look in Hirad’s eyes as he asked her if she could help would live with her forever. He had come to rescue her and she could not let him down. He wouldn’t even have the bolt removed from his calf until she had said she would try. He had kissed her then, his rough face against her cheek. It had been a display of emotion she thought beyond him but that was an unfair assessment. The barbarian hid his feelings beneath his tough warrior skin when he could, but they ran as deep as any man’s. Perhaps deeper than most.

She created the shape of the BodyCast, a spell of tremendous versatility but so difficult to control. It was heat-driven, it covered her hands in a beautiful warmth and, as she probed The Unknown’s hip again, tendrils snaked away to soothe infected flesh at her bidding while she concentrated on the main problem.

Using the mana to free each splinter in turn, she moved them back towards the top of the thigh bone, arranged in front of her as pieces in a child’s puzzle. She used the spell to examine them, define their edges and divine where they had come from. And any that were too small, she teased out to drop on to the bloodied sheet, hoping the bone would grow again in time.

But time was something in short supply. She was keenly aware that there was more fighting to come. Dordovans would soon find their way to Herendeneth and she needed The Unknown to be standing with The Raven when they did.

She bent to her task, the BodyCast forging, reforming, knitting and healing. It was slow, painstaking and desperately draining, using the hair-thin filaments of mana to guide shards and splinters back into position, to encase the cracks in his joint and to bring nerve endings and muscles back to bond.

It wouldn’t be perfect, that much was obvious. Perhaps if she’d been there immediately after he’d been struck it would have been different but now, too much time had passed and the body had its own imperfect ways of rebuilding itself. And some of those she could not undo. Too much of the bone was crushed useless to make her BodyCast anything more than a best fit. Some things magic could not reverse.

The Unknown would never be quite the same again. How he adapted would be up to him.

Hirad joined Ren, Ilkar and Jevin on the wheel deck well after the sun had passed its zenith on the next day. He could still feel the pain of the bolt but Denser had done a good job with a low strength WarmHeal and the elves had soothing balms that caressed the flesh and numbed the pain. He’d be all right by the time they landed.

The ferocity of the storm the night before had diminished and the pitching and yawing of the Calaian Sun was calm by comparison. Above them, the cloud had thinned, allowing occasional watery sunlight between squally showers of rain.

Jevin had ordered full sail and they were moving well across the ocean, trailing the Ocean Elm by several hours though Hirad could still make out its shape on the southern horizon.

‘Why is he still going south?’ asked Hirad.

‘Because he’s showing us the way,’ said Ren. ‘And when we can’t sail any further in, he’ll let us know if he can and we’ll have to take to the boats.’

‘And if he doesn’t let us know?’ asked Hirad.

‘I won’t let this ship run aground,’ said Ren.

‘And neither will I,’ growled Jevin.

‘How long do we have to go?’ asked Ilkar.

‘Three days, maybe a little more. We lost time last night,’ said Ren.

‘Think I might sleep the rest of the way, then,’ said Hirad, smiling.

‘You deserve to,’ said Ilkar.

‘You too, Ilks. Good fun, though, wasn’t it?’

Ilkar stared at him for a moment. ‘No, it wasn’t. Unless you consider searching black, heavy seas for a fool in the dead of night, after a scrap on a ship miles from nowhere, good fun. What the hell were you doing in the water anyway? I almost had you and you sank, messing about with your scabbard.’

‘I was sheathing my sword.’

‘Oh, how stupid of me not to realise. Why didn’t you just drop the bloody thing? You could have drowned,’ said Ilkar. His voice softened and he punched Hirad on the arm. ‘I thought you had. Don’t take that sort of risk. I don’t want to lose you like that.’

‘I’m not losing that sword until I’ve driven it through Selik,’ said Hirad.

‘Think you’ll get the chance?’ asked Ren.

‘I know it,’ said Hirad.

The window in the bedroom blew in and Aviana screamed, her anguish echoing through the minds of all the Al-Drechar. Myriell had been dressing, preparing to take over as the dawn broke but now they were all awake, thrust to consciousness by a cry for help that went on and on.

Myriell called for her helpers and they ran into her room.

‘Get me there now. Carry me and run. Bring the others.’

‘Yes, Myriell,’ said one. The two picked her up in an armchair lift and hurried from the room, calling others from their beds.

The wind howled along the passages, driven by Lyanna’s mind, blasting into their faces. To their right an enormous crashing resounded in the air and across the orchard the west wing of the house shuddered and dropped, the roof caving in, wooden beams splitting, brickwork shattering and tumbling, the vibrations rocking the ground beneath their feet.

‘Dear Gods, she’s broken free. Faster, faster!’ urged Myriell.

The Guild elves ran on though the ballroom and into the dining room, not pausing on their way to Lyanna’s makeshift bedroom. They set Myriell down and opened the door into a howling gale. Aviana lay on the ground, Lyanna was upright, her hair twisting about her head, her doll clutched in her outstretched hands and her eyes open but seeing nothing.

‘Get the others here!’ shouted Myriell.

She moved into the room, sat on the edge of the bed and clutched the little girl to her, attuning her mind and eyes to the mana spectrum and seeing the horror laid out for her there.

Surrounding Aviana was a mass of dark grey, pulsing over her mind, attacking relentlessly, pushed there by what force Myriell couldn’t begin to guess. Something malevolent lurked deep in Lyanna and it had to be found and destroyed. The girl’s mind was encased in orange, flecked with dark brown. She appeared to be channelling perfectly, dragging in the random fuel of magic, creating vortex shapes and casting them out in a stream of destruction.

Myriell formed a light mind net and moved it gingerly towards Lyanna, hoping to separate her from the force attacking the helpless Aviana. She dimly heard movement behind her, knew her sister was helping, and pushed on. She got nowhere near. The moment Lyanna sensed her, coils of orange mana lashed out from the whole, slapping away the mind net and dragging in its mana energy. Myriell dispersed it moments before the unravelling reached her own damaged mind and snapped out of the spectrum, her head thumping, her vision ragged at the edges.

Lyanna pushed against her and Myriell released her. The child was looking at her intently, recognition in her eyes. Myriell almost shouted and then Lyanna spoke.

‘Hello Myra. Why are you keeping me in the dark place?’ It was the child’s voice but it was laced with foreboding and echoed through the room on the back of the gale.

‘Oh, Lyanna, we aren’t keeping you there, your mind has taken you there and we are guarding it to stop you being hurt.’

‘But I don’t want to be in the dark any more,’ said Lyanna, clutching her doll close and stroking its head.

Myriell frowned. Her Night wasn’t over. There was no calmness in the mana. Her control only went as far as stopping hurt to her own mind. What she released she had no way of understanding or controlling. She should still be under, learning, modulating and accepting.

‘But you know you can’t stop the wind in your mind, don’t you? I know being in the dark place is lonely but it will help you to be happy.’

But Lyanna shook her head. ‘No. Ana wanted me to stay and I didn’t and something from me hurt her.’ Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone. So I don’t want you to be with me in my mind any more.’

Myriell looked round. Ephemere was deep in concentration around Aviana’s too-still form but Cleress was watching her and could only shrug in mute incomprehension.

‘And anyway,’ continued Lyanna, ‘Mummy’s coming soon and I have to brush my hair.’

She swung her legs out of the bed, then dropped to the floor and walked out into the dining room, the doll in one hand. Myriell watched her go.

‘Clerry?’ she pleaded.

‘I don’t know, Myra. I think we’ve lost her.’

Deep in the Southern Ocean, two hundred miles off Balaia’s southern coast the seabed cracked and moved, sending pressures to the surface the like of which hadn’t been felt for a thousand years. They surged upwards, creating a single, mountain-high wave backed by many lesser waves, minions in the wake of majesty.

The wave rushed northwards, an unstoppable force a dozen miles wide. It moved effortlessly across the ocean, its noise thunderous, its energy undiminishing. Beneath it, water shifted on the sea bed, creatures large and small fled behind it and swam from its influence as it stormed on, looking for a place to break. That place was Gyernath. The water towered over the land as it came, like a predatory animal preparing to strike down at its prey.