Behind them, the Wesmen were broken. Without the Wytch Lord magic, the Shamen were helpless, and without the Shamen, the warriors had no focus. Individually ferocious they might be, but the tide had turned and Blackthorne’s men were alive once more.

Blackthorne opened his mouth and roared in jubilation. Today was going to be wonderful.

‘Shield down,’ whispered Ilkar into the silence.

‘Shield down.’ Erienne’s voice broke and she ran to Denser, dropping to her knees and picking up his head to cradle it, burying her face in his shoulder, rocking back and forth, crying and murmuring soft words.

‘What is it?’ Hirad started forwards.

Erienne’s tear-stained face turned to him. ‘He’s dead,’ she wailed. ‘He’s not breathing.’

‘No.’ Hirad slid down beside her. ‘Ilkar, come on, do something.’

‘There’s not a spell for everything, Hirad,’ said Ilkar, racing to join them. ‘He has no wounds. There’s nothing to heal.’

Hirad gazed up and down Denser’s body. There was not a mark on him, though his lips were blue.

‘Right. Lay him down, Erienne. Unknown, get over here and angle his head. Clear his throat.’

‘Got it.’

Hirad focused on Denser’s face. ‘Don’t even think about it, Denser,’ he said, and started thumping the mage’s chest above his heart with the base of his fists. ‘Don’t you dare die. Come on.’

Erienne stroked Denser’s hair. ‘Please, Denser,’ she sobbed. ‘I have your child within me. Don’t leave me alone.’

Hirad paused. ‘You’ve got what? Gods in the sky.’ He pushed harder. ‘Did you hear that, Denser? You’ve got responsibility now, damn you. Breathe! Breathe!’ Hirad slapped his face to either side, hard. The Unknown massaged his neck and worked his jaw.

‘Breathe!’

Denser’s mouth opened, his lungs seized air, his body heaved and he sat bolt upright, knocking Hirad aside. His hands clutched his chest and his throat gulped air. Erienne burst into fresh tears. Denser turned to her but fell back, and she cushioned his head from the fall. She ruffled his hair.

‘I thought you’d died, you bastard. I thought you’d died,’ she said, a tear falling on to his cheek.

Denser smiled and shook his head. ‘I tried my best, though,’ he said. ‘My chest hurts.’

‘Well, we had to do something,’ said Hirad.

‘It feels like you shook hands with my heart.’

‘No, no. Just persuaded it to beat.’

‘Thank you.’

Hirad shrugged. ‘You’re Raven. I can’t let you die when you’ve just destroyed the Wytch Lords. No glory in that.’ He followed Denser’s gaze up through the dust-clouded air into Balaia’s mainly blue sky. A rolling grey-flecked brown patch hung there.

‘Oh dear,’ said Denser. ‘I’m not sure that was supposed to happen.’

Hirad looked a little longer at the new rip before settling his gaze on Denser.

‘We’ll live with it,’ he said. He stood up and brushed dust off his tunic and leggings. The rip ate at the sky. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Tired. And sore.’

‘Well, this is a place of rest,’ said Ilkar, not able to take his eyes from the rip for too long.

‘It’ll do for now.’ Denser closed his eyes. ‘Wake me in a few days.’

‘Could you give us a little space?’ asked Erienne, her hand again idly stroking Denser’s hair.

‘Of course,’ replied The Unknown. ‘Gentlemen . . .’ He sheathed his sword, slung it across his back and made a shovelling motion with his hands.

‘What’s up, Ilkar?’ asked Hirad, coming to the elf’s shoulder.

‘That,’ said Ilkar, pointing at the rip. ‘I wonder where it leads. Somewhere harmless, I hope.’ He clacked his tongue and sighed. ‘What have we done, eh?’

Hirad put an arm round his shoulder and squeezed him.

‘We won. Come on, you’ll be able to see it better from outside,’ he said. He turned Ilkar from the rip to face The Unknown, Will and Thraun. ‘We won.’

‘At least we can collect on the contract,’ said Ilkar.

‘I thought you wouldn’t touch Xetesk’s filthy money,’ said Denser from his prone position.

Ilkar laughed. ‘It doesn’t do to be too proud where money’s concerned,’ he replied.

‘Spoken like a true mercenary,’ said Hirad. Erienne cleared her throat noisily. ‘Sorry, Erienne.’ He indicated the way to the sunlight.

‘Raven,’ he said quietly, crooking his finger. ‘Raven with me.’

No book is constructed in complete isolation and the path to this one contains many milestones, some way back in my youth. Here goes.

To my parents, who never once complained at the incessant tap of the typewriter throughout my school days and, well, for just being you. To Stuart Widd, an English teacher who encouraged imagination and expression. To Paul H, Carl B, Hazel G, Chris G, Robert N, and Ray C who unwittingly gave birth to The Raven many years ago, did any of us but know it at the time. To readers like Tara Falk and Dave Mutton who criticised and improved me at every turn. But most to Peter Robinson, John ‘George’ Cross and Simon Spanton (more Ravenites) for cajoling, bullying, ideas and encouragement all the way. It’s a cliché, I know, but without you, this wouldn’t just be only half the book, it wouldn’t be a book at all.

I thank you all for your love, help and support.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Contents

Dedication

Cast List

Map

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

For my parents, Keith and Thea Barclay.

Always there, always wonderful.

Cast List

Prologue

The intensity of vibration grew in his head. Within the dark of the Choul, deep beneath the jungles of Teras, those of the Brood-at-rest shifted in sudden nervousness, most of them unaware of what they were feeling.

Like an itch he couldn’t rub, the humming picked at his mind and worried him deep in the core of his being. He opened a huge blue eye, pupil widening to admit the dim light from the entrance high above, picking out the hollowed damp rock, the lianas creeping down and the lichen which covered every surface. It showed him the fluttering of a wing, the shaking of a neck and the shifting of clawed feet as the Brood moved to premature wakefulness. He felt the quickening of pulses, the rumble of lungs drawing in air and the creaking of jaws stretched wide.