The Unknown intoned The Raven’s words of parting. ‘By north, by east, by south, by west. Though you are gone, you will always be Raven and we shall always remember. Balaia will never forget the sacrifice you made. The Gods will smile on your soul. Farewell in whatever faces you now and ever.’

Will nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Your respect and honour are truly appreciated. Now Thraun and I need time alone with him.’

‘Naturally,’ said Ilkar. He moved away.

‘I’ll stay a little longer,’ said Erienne, disentangling herself from Denser. ‘After all, he came to rescue my family.’ Will nodded and she knelt by the graveside, joining the thief and Thraun, the shapechanger, in their regrets and hopes.

The Unknown, Hirad and Denser caught up with Ilkar and the quartet sat in the lee of the pyramid tunnel, the rip above and behind them, its presence huge and menacing. Further out in the central square, Darrick’s men continued piling bodies ready for the pyres. Great slicks of dried blood swathed the paving stones and here and there, pieces of torn clothing blew and ruffled in the warm breeze. Styliann and the Protectors remained inside the pyramid, no doubt dissecting every rune, painting and mosaic.

General Ry Darrick walked over and joined them as The Unknown finished passing around mugs of coffee from Will’s bubbling pan. There was a brief quiet.

‘I almost hate to bring this up,’ said Darrick. ‘But great as the victory is, we number perhaps three hundred and there are a good fifty thousand Wesmen between here and our homes.’

‘Funny isn’t it?’ said Ilkar. ‘You think about all we’ve achieved and the result is that we’ve given Balaia a chance and no more. Nothing is certain.’

‘So much for basking in glory,’ said Hirad.

‘Don’t understate what we’ve done,’ said Denser from his prone position, hands under his head. ‘We have removed the certainty of the Wytch Lords’ triumph and their dominion over Balaia. And more than that, we’ve destroyed them and given ourselves real hope. Bask in that.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Hirad, the smile returning to his face.

‘Remember,’ said Denser. ‘The Wesmen have no magic.’

‘And we have no armies,’ said Ilkar.

‘I wonder if there’ll be anything left to return to?’ mused The Unknown.

‘A Communion would help to clarify a few things,’ agreed Denser.

‘Thanks for your input, Denser,’ said Ilkar. ‘Why don’t you sleep it off?’

‘Just saying,’ said the Xeteskian Mage sharply.

‘I think we’re a little far from Understone, don’t you?’ Ilkar patted him on the shoulder.

‘Selyn did it.’ It was Styliann. The Raven started and turned. The Lord of the Mount of Xetesk walked out of the shadow of the pyramid tunnel. The Protectors remained deep inside. He looked pale and tired, his hair lank about his shoulders, the braid holding his ponytail long since gone.

‘May I?’ He gestured at the pot. The Unknown shrugged and nodded. Styliann ladled out a mug of coffee and sat with The Raven.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said.

‘Is there no end to your talents?’ muttered Denser.

Styliann’s eyes flashed. ‘The Dawnthief catalysts may be destroyed, Denser, but I am still your commanding mage. You would do well to remember that.’ He paused. ‘Selyn was a Communion specialist. She reported large forces of Wesmen leaving Parve in the direction of Understone just before she entered the city. They will not have reached Understone yet so we have them to face before we reach the pass.’ Styliann’s jaw set as if his next words were battling not to be heard. ‘For now, we should work together.’

The atmosphere cooled. The Unknown spoke. ‘Your last intercession, though welcome, was hardly a determined effort to help. Before that, you tried to kill us all. Tried to turn the Protectors against me. Now you want us to work together.’ The Unknown looked away into the pyramid, his face troubled.

‘We got here without your help. We’ll get back without it,’ said Hirad.

Styliann regarded them calmly, the hint of a smile playing over his lips.

‘You’re good, I’ll grant you that,’ he said. ‘But you are overlooking the severity of your situation. The Raven will never reach the East unaided. Remember, Understone Pass was opened for you but is now almost certainly closed. I have the Communion range and contacts to organise passage. You do not and Darrick ultimately reports to me and the four Colleges.’

‘Doesn’t sound like you need us at all,’ said Hirad. Styliann smiled.

‘One can always use The Raven.’

The Unknown nodded slightly. ‘You have an idea, I presume?’

‘A route, yes; the tactics I’ll leave to the General.’ He looked across at Darrick who had remained silent throughout the exchange, his expression changing only by a hair at the reminder of his position in the chain of command.

‘Perhaps you’d better tell us your route, my Lord,’ said Darrick.

Hirad’s head was thumping. He needed a drink. Alcohol, preferably, to chase away the pain for a while. He lurched to his feet, making for the fire.

‘You all right, Hirad?’ asked Ilkar.

‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘My head’s killing me.’ A cold sensation cascaded through his back, like snow shaken from the bough of a tree, gone as soon as it had come. There was a change in the air, a movement that had nothing to do with the breeze blowing warmly about them.

Hirad stopped, looking up into the sky, clear blue but for the huge rip modulating gently. As he watched, the mottled brown surface rippled violently, bubbled, punched outwards and tore for a split second. A barking roar shattered the relative peace of the afternoon. Triumphant, apocalyptic, terrible.

Hirad screamed, turned and ran away blindly in the direction of the eastern forest miles away, every fear he had harboured since his encounter with Sha-Kaan realised in an instant.

So soon after victory, they faced ultimate defeat and total destruction. There was a dragon in the skies of Balaia.

It was the way he liked it best - the way of the sword. Wesmen were warriors, not mages. And though the Wytch Lords’ power had seen them to victories more quickly than he had dared hope, the Lord Tessaya was confident they would have triumphed even without the white and black fires.

Now that magic, borrowed, stolen, gifted, call it what you will, was gone. The Shamen no longer held sway and the Wesmen belonged to their tribal lords once more. It was at once terrifying and exciting. Should the unity crumble, they would be swept back across the Blackthorne Mountains by the armies of the four Colleges. If he could hold them together, Tessaya believed they could take Korina and with the capture of the capital city would come the heart, soul and wealth of Eastern Balaia.

But he had to fear the Colleges against whom they now had no defence. His dream of seeing the Towers of Xetesk burn had gone, at least for now. A wry smile touched his weather-worn, deeply tanned face. There were other ways of fighting mages.

Defeat was never an option for Tessaya. Particularly when he was drinking in the glow of recent victory. And victory against mages.

Panic had threatened to engulf the thousands pouring through Understone Pass as word had spread that the Shamen had lost their link to the Wytch Lords. But Tessaya, in unwitting mirror to Senedai far away in Julatsa, had stilled the unrest, choosing to run at the head of the Wesmen pack as it exploded into the sunlight of the East.

The College army knew they were coming but was hopelessly outnumbered. Wave after wave of Wesmen had torn into the lines, their howls drowning the screamed orders, the cries of fear and the wailing of the dying. With Tessaya leading, they were unstoppable, the blood of victory pounding in their heads, their swords and axes slicing flesh and splintering bone. The front line had been stubborn but, with their bodies littering the mud in front of the pass, and the mage support destroyed, it was little more than an organised slaughter, which left Tessaya disappointed.