‘This mage Styliann contacted. Do we have his position? He could prove invaluable,’ said The Unknown.

‘She,’ corrected Ilkar. ‘She wouldn’t give an exact geographical position but Denser knows the mana shape to contact her.’

‘Good, we’ll need to meet people like her when we get across the Inlet.’

‘I can see it all now,’ said Ilkar. ‘The Raven leading a band of rebel Julatsans in an audacious attack on the Wesmen, The Unknown Warrior at their head.’ He reached across the patted the big warrior’s arm. ‘I think that may be beyond even us, but thanks for the thought.’

The Unknown Warrior stretched and yawned. ‘Don’t dismiss it. If a good number have escaped and the word of Dordovan relief forces arriving turns out to be true, we could liberate your College ourselves.’

‘I still think you’re in dreamland, Unknown.’

‘Well, you certainly should be,’ said Darrick. ‘Get your heads down, I’ll wake you in four hours.’

The rout of the Wesmen back to his town gave Baron Blackthorne and his guerrillas one major advantage. The trails to Gyernath were empty and safe. He had despatched a dozen fast riders to the southern port to alert the Council of their arrival; the Communion mages, he kept refreshed against the possibility of Wesmen attack. His sealed note also set out basic needs and requirements of men, horses and supplies. It did not say why.

Baron Blackthorne sat with the slowly recovering Gresse in a camp six days from Gyernath. The morale of his people was rising, their action was specific and no longer mere damage limitation. Now they had a goal and it was one all could believe in. They were going to reclaim their homes.

‘When we’ve retaken Blackthorne, Taranspike is next,’ said Blackthorne. Gresse smiled and looked across the fire at him.

‘I think our priorities may keep us near the Bay of Gyernath,’ he said. ‘Taranspike will wait. Pontois won’t destroy it, after all. Just a shame he didn’t place his considerable weight behind the fight for his own country.’

‘Damn him,’ muttered Blackthorne. Baron Pontois had always been smug and arrogant. Blackthorne could just imagine him laughing with his cronies as he sat at Gresse’s table, having swept into the undefended Taranspike Castle to claim it as his right.

It wouldn’t last. Whether it was because of the Wesmen or a force led by Blackthorne, the Baron could at least look forward to the day when Pontois grovelled in terror. Blackthorne didn’t consider himself a gratuitously violent man but, as he looked over at Gresse and saw the pain and bitterness behind the bravado, he knew he could cheerfully cut out Pontois’ heart and serve it to him on a bed of his own entrails.

‘We need to send messengers to all the Barons and Lords, not just those within the Korina Trade Alliance,’ said Gresse.

‘All but Pontois,’ said Blackthorne. ‘I’d rather die than have him fight beside me.’

‘My sentiments exactly.’

‘I’ll attend to it when we reach Gyernath. We’ll have a better idea of the numbers we need then.’ Blackthorne stared away into the dark, tasting the air, his lower teeth irritating at his top lip.

‘What is it?’ asked Gresse.

‘It’ll be ten to twelve days before we reach Blackthorne,’ said the Baron. ‘In that time, they can choose to reinforce or raze my town. One thing is certain, they won’t wait around doing nothing. We need to cut two days off our travel or we could be too late. I don’t want to crest the Balan Mountains only to see my world burning.’

The candles burned late into the night in the Tower of Julatsa. The College’s Council had sat in unbroken session for three hours, debating their diminishing options in the face of Senedai’s threat and the spectre of disaffection among those within the sanctuary of the DemonShroud. In a break from Council tradition, General Kard had joined the meeting, his knowledge making his exclusion unthinkable.

‘It comes to a mere handful of questions,’ Kerela summed up after hearing much pious debate concerning the vital necessity of preserving Julatsan magic and the balance it gave Balaia; the debt of gratitude the people of Julatsa owed its mages; and the long term good of the masses - Balaians in general - coming ahead of the immediate needs of those soon to be sacrificed in the DemonShroud.

‘Will the Wesmen carry out their threat? Can we stop those inside witnessing what goes on outside? If we can’t, how do we justify our refusal to surrender the College to save loss of life? Should we, in fact, surrender the College to save loss of life? And would surrendering the College actually cost more lives than it saved?’

‘Good summation,’ said Barras. ‘I think Kard can answer the first two. General?’

Kard nodded. ‘First, I’ll repeat for all ears what I told you as we walked from the gates earlier. Senedai will be true to his word. I think it’s a moot point, though, because, unless I’m badly mistaken, all around this table are prepared to find out the hard way, in any event. I would expect nothing less. To surrender immediately to such a threat would be a poor capitulation.’

Barras, who with Kerela flanked Kard at the head of the table, tried to gauge the reaction of the Council. What he saw was a hardening of focus, a resolution of minds and a determination to proceed. He was a little surprised. Compassion was a trait in plentiful supply among the Council during normal times. But then, he reflected, these times were a very long way from being normal.

‘Secondly,’ continued Kard. ‘We can stop anyone seeing the murders. We already limit access to the walls for safety reasons and there are no buildings positioned to see the base of the Shroud, not even the Tower. If we ban all access to the walls, we can practically deny anything is happening.’

‘Unacceptable,’ said Vilif shortly.

‘I didn’t say it was acceptable,’ said Kard. ‘I said it was possible.’

‘You can cut out the sight but never the sound,’ said Stefane. ‘By the time Senedai is slaughtering one hundred and fifty each third of the day, the cries will be heard throughout the College. Think of the backlash when they find out the truth.’

‘And there will be rumours from tomorrow morning,’ added Cordolan. ‘In fact, I’d be surprised if there weren’t already. No disrespect to the professionalism of your soldiers, General, but at least a dozen of them heard Senedai’s first threat. People talk.’

‘I assure you I have no illusions,’ said Kard.

‘Very well,’ said Kerela. ‘I think the point is, we couldn’t keep this quiet, even if we wanted to, and to try would serve only to alienate our people. So, we are left with this. How do we justify our refusal to surrender?’

There was a shifting of bodies in chairs and concerted glances at anything but another Council member. Kard spoke into the awkward silence.

‘A refusal to surrender sends out a very clear signal that we believe that, ultimately, magic is more important than life. And that is hard to justify. Gods, I’m not a mage so you can imagine how I struggle with this.

‘But we have not yet discussed the consequences of the alternatives on a personal basis. Surrendering the College is not only wrong on a magic-balance front but on a human and elven level too. Walking into Senedai’s hands means two things. The slaughter of every Julatsan mage inside these walls and the enslavement of all surviving Julatsan people. Personally, I’d rather be dead.’

It was, Barras reflected, a common sentiment but for differing reasons. Kard wanted the life he knew, the Council desired the continuation of Julatsan magic and were prepared to stake almost anything to get it.

‘There is something else,’ said Torvis, his old face carrying none of its usual humour. ‘Our guests, as Kerela so appositely describes them, cannot force us to remove the Shroud. Even killing us will not alter that. Unless we agree to dismantle it, the Shroud remains active for fifty days when Heila will no doubt come to call.’