Ilkar opened his mouth to speak but found he couldn’t be bothered to try and engage Denser in any further conversation. Nothing was coming back but the lethargic utterings of a man searching for a reason to keep on fighting. The elven mage shook his head. Surely Erienne and their unborn child were enough. But even she had found his mood impenetrable and their physical distance on this small boat was stark indication of the difficulties they faced.

At the bow lay the most immediate problem. Will had not taken his hand from Thraun’s back nor his eyes from the wolf’s head for hours. A deep anxiety crowded his face and his whisperings in the ears of his friend did nothing more than bring twitches and low growls. Thraun didn’t want to listen.

What would they do if he never changed back? Ilkar almost laughed at his own question but feared the noise of his fleeting good humour. It was, of course, not their decision to make. They could not order the wolf to leave them or to stay with them. They couldn’t tell him what to do. They couldn’t control him. The longer he stayed a wolf, the more wild he would become. Eventually, Ilkar presumed, he would cease to recognise them. At that point, they would become as much prey as the next man and they would have to try to kill him.

Ilkar knew that was the fear that drove Will’s anxiety. It was one that should drive them all.

And for his part, Ilkar himself was scared of what they would find in Julatsa. He would know if the College fell and the Heart was destroyed as would every Julatsan mage - those that lived through the experience. He was aware his city might well be in ruins. He knew the Wesmen were an occupying force. He knew the Council would not give up the College until every last one of them had perished in its defence.

But if The Raven couldn’t get into the Library, if they couldn’t find what they had to find, then the Wesmen, in the moment of their triumph, would have condemned most Balaians to death at the hands of dragons. Ilkar would derive no pleasure from telling them so.

He sighed deep in his chest and watched the shore unfold its detail before him, praying dry land would kindle some hope in his heart but knowing it probably would not. The destiny of Balaia was not in good hands.

Keeping far upstream from the Wesmen staging post, The Raven landed in a small cove bounded on both sides by crags and steep slopes. Above them towered the dark mass of the Blackthorne Mountains, cascading precipitously towards the Inlet, while immediately in front of them, the land angled sharply away from the rocky cove towards Triverne Lake, whose waters flowed into the sea not far from them as the mouth of the River Tri.

Splashing through the shallows, The Raven set foot back on dry land to an audible sigh of pleasure from Ilkar. He looked up at the climb into the lightening sky with what Hirad took to be pleasure.

While The Unknown made fast the boat and Denser furled the sail under his instruction, Will and Thraun scrambled away up the slope of grass-covered thinly soiled rock and crumbling clay. Will, clutching Thraun’s clothes in his bag more in hope than expectation, hung on to a fistful of fur and thick hide low on the wolf’s back, to help him on up.

‘Why are you bothering to learn all that?’ asked Ilkar, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them.

Denser stopped and straightened. ‘What?’

‘If you care so little for the future, why bother to learn to sail?’ Ilkar had no option but to carry on. Denser’s eyes narrowed.

‘Well maybe I’m trying to establish some normality. Maybe I’m making a bloody effort. Is there something wrong with that?’

Ilkar smiled, trying to defuse the situation he’d created, aware that the eyes of The Raven were on him.

‘It just struck me as a little incongruous, that’s all. Don’t worry about it.’

Denser strode towards him. ‘Yes I will worry about it. Your ignorance of how I feel doesn’t give you the right to make sneering little comments like that. What are you trying to say?’

‘I’m trying to say that you are totally unpredictable and it’s causing us all a problem. Furling that sail you are totally normal, just like the Denser we know so well. But in the next heartbeat you could close up and disappear inside yourself. We don’t know where we stand.’

‘Is that right?’ Denser’s face was reddening. ‘And you think I know, do you? My head’s a complete bloody mess and I’m trying hard to make sense of what I have left. What I want is a little patience, not clever comment, from people like you!’ He stabbed a finger into Ilkar’s chest. The Julatsan pushed it away and pointed at Erienne.

‘And she’s not enough, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Ilkar, that’s enough. Just leave it,’ said Erienne.

But Denser moved in until their noses all but touched. ‘Don’t you dare to question the way I feel about Erienne. You don’t understand. ’ He pushed Ilkar firmly backwards along the shingle. ‘Keep away from me, Julatsan, until you have something good to say.’ He stalked over to the rise and began a solitary, angry climb, Erienne behind him.

‘Good work, Ilkar,’ said Hirad, shaking his head. He climbed up slowly behind the mages, noting the clear sky and the light forging towards them from the east. They would need to find cover soon. Fortunately, the River Tri’s course was lush and wooded and far enough from likely Wesmen occupation to make quick travel possible. They would still have to be careful, though, aliens in their own land.

What taxed Hirad’s mind, apart from Ilkar’s surprising outburst and Denser’s altogether predictable one, was where they would find horses. Without rides, journey time to Julatsa would be trebled or worse and give them no fast escape option. He dug in his heels and climbed faster.

The scent of home was everywhere, bleeding from the very ground on which Thraun trod. The colours of the forest and of his packbrothers filled his head as he bounded away from the water’s edge, taking care that man-packbrother should not slip from him by moving too fast.

Cresting the rise, he put his snout high into the air and sniffed. Untainted by the saltwater smells from below, the scents of the land and its inhabitants unfolded like a map before him. He turned to man-packbrother, aware he was making sounds. Man-packbrother knelt in front of him and held his face in his two hands. He growled, amusement and mild irritation mixing in his mind.

Man-packbrother spoke a word to him. He was aware it was a word without comprehension of language. It tolled in his head but the doors didn’t open. Instead, a confusion of thought plundered his consciousness.

He was standing on his hind legs and there was no hair covering his face. His howl had gone and he could run upright without falling. But there was no joy in his senses, no feeling of the pack around him. He felt clumsy if strong, awkward in his understanding of the land and prey and threat around him. The memories were dim but he knew they were memories. They hurt him inside, dragged at his body and punished his being. He knew there was a way to make the hurt stop but he fought that way.

The hurt scared him, he reacted.

Thraun barked once and recoiled from Will’s grasp, crouching low, yellow eyes fixed on him, fangs bared. He growled, deep, low and menacing. Will stood up in shock and backed away a pace, hands outstretched.

‘Thraun, it’s all right. Calm. Calm.’ He backed away further.

Hirad had reached the top of the slope in time to see the end of the exchange and Thraun’s sudden move backward, taking him perilously close to tumbling over the edge back to the cove. Hirad held his breath. The wolf was tensed to spring, its eyes on Will’s face. But to his eternal credit, Will remained what he urged Thraun to be. Calm. And Thraun eventually relaxed his crouch, shook his head, stood up and trotted away towards a stand of trees.