'Which is?' asked The Unknown.

'Sha-Kaan,' said Hirad. 'There's a casting to get him home. That has to happen before the battle. Denser?'

Denser turned a carefully neutral face to him. 'Why must it be done before the battle?'

'Because we can't take the risk of dying and leaving him stranded here. Not now we have the knowledge.'

'Old friends dying is a risk of war, as you so ably pointed out yesterday morning,' said Denser. ‘Ineed my stamina to protect this college. He'll have to wait.'

Hirad stood quietly for a moment, Izack watching his face. It betrayed no anger though his body had tensed.

'That isn't acceptable,' said Hirad.

'Rough justice,' said Denser. 'If he can wait six years, he can wait another few days.'

Hirad thumped the table. 'No!' he shouted. 'He has to go now, today. I spoke to him last night. The flight nearly killed him. He has so little left that a few Xeteskian mages could take him down. Think, Denser. And do the right thing.'

'Hark at you, Coldheart.' Denser shook his head. 'The right thing is what you think at the time, isn't it? Well, no dice. This time, I'm in the chair and I decide. And there's nothing you can do about it.'

Hirad breathed in deeply. His shoulder muscles bunched then relaxed and he held up a hand. 'Denser, please. If there is one innocent in all this it is Sha-Kaan. Gods, he was trapped here saving us and now he has to go home. He's not a part of this war. If you want to take out your anger about what I did, then do it on me. Don't use him as a pawn. He deserves better than that from all of us. He deserves to live and if you don't send him back now, you might be condemning him to death. Please, Denser.'

Denser looked at Hirad askance and then turned fully to face him. 'You know, Hirad, I'm genuinely impressed by that. And I'll not often say that after hearing you talk. Look, let's get this meeting over with and I'll go and check the texts I took from the catacombs. If I'm right, it shouldn't take too long. All he needs from me is a line to follow, after all.'

Hirad beamed but then remembered himself and nodded solemnly.

'Thank you, Denser.'

Denser shrugged.

'And I'm sorry, all right?'

'Later, Hirad. Let's discuss it later.'

Hirad slapped the table. 'So, General, what's the big idea?'

Erienne listened to them for as long as she could. Men standing round maps discussing the futures of other men. Who lived and who died being tossed around like an orange stolen by children in a market. She wondered if they ever actually stopped to think about what they were doing. That positioning that man there and that man there actually condemned one man and saved the other.

Probably, they didn't. And a part of her didn't blame them because they made the same decisions about themselves and lived or died by them. But the larger part thought of them as playing gods because they mentioned her name and assumed her compliance without knowing any longer what she was capable of doing. They remembered her Dordovan magical skills. She didn't think she could use them any more.

She tried to tell them but they wouldn't listen. All they could find to say was that they would help her, that they would be there and that they were The Raven. So instead she walked out into the sunlight to watch the attempt to raise the Heart. She didn't feel much of the warmth of the sun and everything seemed a little detached. She knew why. The One was probing her senses, keeping her away from the people she needed in any way it could. It was trying to deprive her of her humanity. Her hearing, her sight and her touch all seemed to be under attack.

Erienne watched the elven and Julatsan mages gather around the Heart. Almost two hundred of them in two concentric rings coming no nearer than forty feet. Though she might not be able to feel the warmth of the sun, she could certainly sense the atmosphere. She had never known one so tense around a casting. They should all have been confident. Instead, they feared a dropout of the mana focus, a darkening of the shadow. It would be catastrophic.

Pheone stood next to Dila'heth, the elf relaying the human's instructions. A thought clear as spring water came to Erienne's mind. She probed the Heart of Julatsa. The sight jerked her back to herself. She should not have been able to view the mana with such clarity, almost as if she were Julatsan herself. Another thought. Of course, she was every mage now. Magic was just one element. For her it was no longer split along the lines of college and lore.

Feeling an almost voyeuristic excitement, Erienne tuned back into the Julatsan mana spectrum and watched, expanding her viewpoint to take in the mages congregated around the Heart pit.

The Heart itself exhibited all the signs of a mortally sick organ. It pulsed rather than flowed at its deepest level, sending vibrations into the flow around it. Its energy was low, constricted by the shadow that sought to crush the life from it altogether..

What should have been a brilliant yellow oval, imbuing every Julatsan mage, was in reality a stuttering tarnished teardrop. The desperation to raise the Heart was all too easy to understand. It had to be returned to its exact previous position to stop it deteriorating further. Like a sundial partially hidden in shadow, it had to be moved to where its effect could be maximised. And then enough Julatsan mages had to be trained to build its strength. Pheone had asked her opinion on Geren's theory. She had thought him almost certainly right. That meant raising the Heart was only one step on a long trail back to strength.

Erienne noted with great interest, the effect of the mana flow on the elemental power streams about it. The pure magical force dragged them into similar shapes, upsetting their own rhythm. The free energy of the air and earth around the Heart were weak in its presence and she could feel the solidity of the buildings surrounding the courtyard.

The combination of the elements was so potent. Beguiling almost. She knew she could draw on any of it, all of it. That the failure of all the colleges would not stop her practising magic. She could be the only mage, giving true title to the name of her magic. One.

Erienne clamped down on the thought and felt the pressure of the One entity ease. She fought her breathing back to near normal and refocused, seeing the structure for the raise begin to form.

Like so many core castings, the structure was inherently simple.

To Erienne, it looked like nothing more than an eight-sided splint. Each panel of the splint was linked to those adjacent by cords of pulsating mana and inside it, there were as many links into the Heart itself as there were mages to cast the spell.

All of these links were mirrored by poles of mana on the outside of the splint, one representing each mind. The formation was quick and without error, each mage feeding in as much energy as the next to keep the balance perfect.

When it was done, they paused. Erienne heard Pheone issue a series of quick commands, tidying up a slightly tattered edge here, filling in a striation in one of the splint panels there. When Pheone was finished teasing at the few imperfections, they waited again, all watching the dull-coloured but powerful shape, making sure it was settled.

Now it got tricky. Slowly, on a single command, all the mages tensed their minds in unison, clenching their fists for emphasis and raising their arms gradually as their minds gripped, dragging the Heart upwards, agonisingly slowly. But move it did. Inching upwards, the mages taking the strain.

Erienne sampled their minds, felt the draining effects of the expense of such levels of energy. So much poured in to keep the shape true through the shadow that covered everything they did. She could see the delicacy of their operation. Every mage had to push at precisely the same rate, the balance had to remain perfect. Each was responsible for making sure their rate of input placed no lateral strain on the structure. And where they did, Pheone linked in, cajoling or smoothing, evening the flow. She was a natural.