The sounds of birds, horses’ hoofs and men’s voices echoed from the walls, bringing with them an atmosphere that would have provoked discomfort in a lone rider but which a company, with the confidence of companionship, could ignore.

Sirendor Larn took another deep breath of the clean air of Taranspike Pass, revelling in the cool rush that filled his lungs and driving from his mind the smells and smoke of the castle and its surrounds. They would encounter no trouble along the pass. Gresse’s men kept the way safe enough and, to Sirendor’s knowledge, it wasn’t particularly dangerous anyway. With Korina less than a day’s ride away, his mood, never down, was lightening by the moment. The only cloud over him was the meeting, and he feared how Hirad would react.

He had kept up a light conversation with Denser for much of the ride, grinning at Ilkar’s scowls when he caught the elf’s eye. Denser seemed all right. It certainly wasn’t the first time Sirendor had fought a man one day and ridden home with him the next. Such was the way of mercenaries. He was clearly a capable mage and, cut from the rules of war, was just another man wondering where the next job would take him. The only difference was that this mage seemed a lot more certain than most. Sirendor took that to be a function of his upbringing in Xetesk and he reminded himself to ask Ilkar more about the Dark College.

Looking across once again at Denser, he smiled. That pipe was clamped between his teeth, gently smouldering as always, and the cat was balancing on the front of his saddle. The mage had been very reticent when pushed for details about the cat, mumbling only that it was an ideal companion for what was, for him, a life largely consisting of solitude. Denser himself was, not for the first time, trying to drill holes with his eyes through The Unknown’s back.

‘He fascinates me, too,’ said Sirendor. ‘Always has.’ Denser glanced around, his reverie broken.

‘What?’

‘The Unknown. I’ve known him ten years arid I still don’t even know where he was born.’

‘Or his name?’ Denser asked.

‘No. Nor his name,’ agreed Sirendor.

‘I thought you lot were the only people he told.’

‘Another rumour, I’m afraid. Not even Tomas knows.’

‘Who’s Tomas?’ asked Denser.

‘Landlord at The Rookery. Well, joint landlord with The Unknown. Tomas has known him more than twenty years. Looked after him at first when he turned up in Korina when he was thirteen.’ Sirendor shook his head. ‘You learn not to ask him certain questions. ’

‘So why do you call him The Unknown Warrior?’

Sirendor laughed. ‘Our most popular question. Tell me what you’ve heard, first, then I’ll tell you the truth.’

‘All I’ve heard is that he didn’t want to be found.’ Denser shrugged. ‘So he refused to tell anyone his name and took on the one he has now.’

‘Common but fatally flawed,’ said Sirendor. ‘I mean, if he was trying to lose himself from someone, calling himself “The Unknown Warrior” and fighting with The Raven is about the worst way he could have chosen, don’t you think?’ Denser nodded. ‘No. When we first formed The Raven ten years ago in The Rookery, it was after we’d met on a contract we’d taken as individuals out by Gyernath. By we I mean him, me, Hirad and Ilkar. I remember us all riding back to Korina and how he said he was owner of an inn and we could have lodgings and food because there was something he wanted to discuss.

‘The Raven name came up because of where we were drinking, then the code, and we all signed the parchment which Tomas keeps mounted in the back room. When it came to The Unknown’s turn, he wouldn’t sign, saying his name wasn’t important, and it was only then that the rest of us realised that through the week of fighting, he’d not once told us who he was.’

‘Why The Raven? Rooks live in rookeries.’

‘Same family of birds, better name. Can you really imagine us being called “The Rook”?’

Denser chuckled, the sound dying on the rock in front of him where the pass opened out a little. Sirendor continued.

‘Anyway, I remember what Hirad and Ilkar said like it was yesterday. The loudmouth said, “We don’t want any mystery man in the team, so either sign up or bugger off.” ’ Sirendor shook his head at the memory. So typical, so very, very Hirad. ‘And Ilkar said, “Yeah, what are you, some kind of mystical unknown warrior or something?” That was the name that went on the parchment, under the code. And it stuck.’ Sirendor shrugged. ‘It’s as simple as that.’

Denser chuckled. ‘Well, well, well. Of such things are legends made.’

‘We sincerely hope so,’ said Sirendor.

‘But doesn’t it fascinate you to know what his name really is and why he won’t tell you?’ asked Denser, his tone serious again. ‘I can’t imagine why any man should claim his name wasn’t important.’

Sirendor turned in his saddle and put a finger to his lips. He lowered his voice.

‘Yes it did, and I suppose still does in moments when my mind wanders. And don’t think we haven’t asked him, got him drunk and tried to trick his name from him, refused to speak to his face, anything. But he won’t let on, and if you press him, he gets angry. You learn to keep your fascination to yourself. He is our friend. If he wishes to be private about something, even his name, we respect it. He is Raven.’

‘But he’s hiding something from you,’ pushed Denser. ‘He’s not telling you—’

‘Enough,’ said Sirendor. ‘It is his decision. Let it rest.’ But the look in Denser’s eyes suggested he might not.

A flight of large grey-winged white gulls swept along the pass towards them, angling up away into the sunlight, their calls clattering into the clefts above. More birds, smaller, quicker, darker, rose in protest, their harsh calls scattering the flight, which re-formed high above to continue its journey west. With a loud fluttering of wings, the birds of prey returned to the cliffs, the nests and chicks protected from the marauding carrion gulls.

Gresse followed the exchange, straining his neck upwards before turning to The Unknown. ‘Tell me, did Blackthorne show any concern about the Wesmen rumours?’

‘I think you have an overblown view of our importance,’ replied The Unknown. ‘Mercenaries don’t get to talk to Baron Blackthorne. ’

Gresse turned in his saddle and fixed The Unknown Warrior with his bright eyes.

‘Unknown, I am the oldest Baron and I have overblown views about very few things. The Raven’s reputation and importance are not among them. I also speak to Blackthorne on occasion and know he enjoys your company.’

‘So talk to him again.’

‘He is two hundred and fifty miles south-west of here, so I am asking you,’ said Gresse testily. ‘You aren’t telling me everything.’

The Unknown glanced across at Talan, who shrugged his shoulders. The party were moving at an easy trot and Denser was some way behind them, still chatting to Sirendor.

‘Six months ago, when you say Arlen sold out to Blackthorne, we were in Eastern Balaia, assessing the Wesmen threat,’ said The Unknown. Gresse punched the pommel of his saddle.

‘I knew there was more. Sly bastard.’

‘It just made good sense,’ said Talan. ‘Let’s face it, if the Wesmen invade through Understone Pass and head south rather than north, Blackthorne will catch it rather than the Colleges, at least to begin with. The same goes for an invasion across the Bay of Gyernath, which would leave them only five days from the City itself and a couple of hours from Blackthorne Castle.’

‘And what did you see?’

Ahead of them, Hirad called a halt and the party reined in and dismounted for rest and food. It was shortly past midday and the pass was heating up pleasantly. They had stopped in a natural bowl where the rock was scooped out on either side, focusing the strength of the sun.

‘Nothing to back up anything you’ve heard.’ Talan shrugged, dusted off a rock with a gauntleted hand and sat down. To his left, Gresse’s bodyguards set about lighting a fire, gathering armfuls of the thick dry scrub that clung to the base of the pass the whole of its length. ‘We went through the pass as guard to a Blackthorne wine convoy heading for Leionu. We went south after the pass and tracked the Blackthornes for four days, eventually crossing the Bay of Gyernath. We saw no burning villages, no war parties, nothing to suggest the Wesmen were even raiding.