‘No,’ said Ilkar. ‘The nearest settlements that might just have escaped are Lord Jaden’s to the north but that’s two days extra over hostile country in the wrong direction. Our only chance without fighting or stealing is Triverne Lake, as Styliann said.’

‘Surely the Lake will be taken,’ said Hirad.

‘I wouldn’t be quite so sure,’ said Ilkar. ‘It’s the seat of ancient magic and a place of the most base evil if you’re a Wesman. There’s a standing guard of two hundred protecting the Shard at all times. They might still be there. And don’t forget, Triverne isn’t the most direct route to Julatsa from where the Wesmen landed a little north of here.’

‘Communion?’ suggested Erienne. Denser shrugged.

‘If I must. I need to rest first, though.’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Erienne. ‘I am capable.’

‘Whatever,’ said the Xeteskian.

‘Fine.’ The Unknown stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to push his own problems from his mind while clutching at the threads that held them all together. ‘I’m sceptical, I must say, but if we can find out through Communion, that’s fine. Otherwise, I’m not sure the detour is worth the risk. We also need to contact the mage outside of Julatsa, assuming she’s still there - get ourselves the latest position. But first, Denser’s right, we should rest. I’ll watch and so, no doubt, will Thraun. We’ll push on after midday.’

Dawn in Julatsa on the eleventh day of the siege of the College brought the first open conflict within its walls. Two hundred and fifty innocent Julatsans had just perished. Those first to die were rotting in the Shroud. Barras could feel the tension. It had been in the air since the first confrontation but now it had real menace to it as the Council stepped away from the gatehouse, saddened, disgusted and scared. This time there had been no show of strength or solidarity, no songs and no bravado. Just weeping, screaming and angry accusation before the agony.

The city’s people issued from the buildings all around the courtyard as the Council walked slowly to the Tower, heads bowed, each lost in their own thoughts. Kard had been alert, as always, and his shouted commands to his men ensured a significant protective guard for the Council by the time the mob had surrounded them.

‘Oh dear,’ muttered Kerela in Barras’ ear. The old elf Negotiator looked quickly about him. The clamour hurt his ears, the fury of the Julatsans edging towards the precipice of violence. Weapons were brandished, fists shaken and everywhere red faces spat anger and belligerence.

Kard’s shout for calm went unheard by all but those immediately around him and ignored by even them. With the mob beginning to press, despite a fragmentation of its edges caused by more soldiers pulling people away, the greying General turned a worried face to Barras.

‘Your turn, I think,’ he mouthed.

Barras nodded and leaned into Kerela. ‘Time for VoiceHail,’ he said.

‘Just a single word,’ she advised. ‘I’ll pass on your intention.’

‘Thank you.’ Barras drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, bringing the geography of the College to his mind. The mana shape was little more than a line, tracing and connecting every building. The Tower, the Long Rooms, the walls, Mana Bowl, lecture theatres, classrooms and billets. All were linked by the shape, all became receptors, conduits and amplifiers of Barras’ voice. He opened his eyes and nodded.

Kerela placed a hand on Kard’s shoulder and every soldier and Council member immediately placed hands over his or her ears. Before any in the whistling crowd had time to react, Barras, his voice deep on the frequency of the mana stream, spoke.

‘Silence.’

The word clattered over the open space, crashing into unprotected ears to rattle skulls and stun voices to quiet. It rolled off the College buildings, a word from the Gods, deafening and irresistible. Metal resonated, glass rattled in frames and a sound like thunder, like stone shaking in its foundations, rolled around the square. Silence reigned.

‘We will talk or disperse, we will not shout or fight,’ said Kerela. Her voice, like Barras’, was augmented by the mana shape still being held firm by the elf, though much lessened in power. Still, it boomed out over the mob, now motionless but for hands rubbing heads and ears. The anger inside, though, still remained. ‘Do you not realise that this is precisely what Senedai and his band of murderers beyond our walls want? Gods in the ground, if we kill ourselves or divide ourselves so finely we cannot fight, we will have done his job far more completely than he could do it himself.’ Kerela shook her head. ‘We must remain one or we will be unable to function.’

‘But soon there will be no one left to fight for out there!’ shouted one. More joined the chorus and through it Barras plainly heard the word, ‘murderers’. The crowd closed again.

‘Please,’ said Kerela. ‘I beg your patience and your understanding a little longer.’

‘But how long. How long, eh?’ A face at the front of the crowd growled the words. He was a big man, muscles bunched beneath his shirt. He carried a mace. ‘My mother lies out there, the stench of her rotting body in my nose every time I draw breath. My heart is in tatters and yet I have to stand here and listen to you beg more time to save your own filthy skins.’

‘I understand your pain . . .’ began Kerela.

‘You understand nothing!’ spat the man. ‘How many of your family have died so far to protect mages who have grown fat off Julatsa for far too long.’

‘And who was it that saved you from death at the hands of the Wesmen?’ asked Kerela, and Barras could see her trying to keep herself in check. ‘The same mages who have already perished in the Shroud, waiting outside to give you the time to run in. Please do not judge us uncaring of our people.’

‘We are not your people,’ said the man, his voice carrying clear over the crowd that had paused to listen to the exchange. ‘And we demand you remove the Shroud and let us fight.’

‘When the Dordovans arrive, then we will fight. And where Kard’s soldiers lead, you may follow,’ said Kerela, heedless of the message that might be heard beyond the walls.

‘They should have been here days ago,’ said the man, his face reddening. ‘How long did you think we would swallow this lie? Drop the Shroud now.’

‘And if I refuse?’ asked Kerela.

‘We may be forced to make sacrifices of our own.’

Barras’ heart missed a beat and the sickness already in his stomach at the hideous sight beyond the North Gate intensified. Kerela, he could see, was unprepared for the response. He decided to talk himself, turning up the VoiceHail.

‘You would kill Julatsans to force us to action? Murder more innocents?’ he demanded.

‘Not innocents. Mages.’ A ripple ran around the crowd. Clearly, not all were privy to the plan being hatched before them. ‘Not all mages enjoy your security.’

‘And what difference do you think you can make outside if we do drop the Shroud? We are already too few. Fragmenting us more would harm us still further.’

‘You don’t care about Julatsa,’ said the man, and his voice rose in volume. ‘All you care about is the preservation of that!’ He pointed his mace at the Tower and the clamour grew again. ‘How many more must die in the thing you created before even your stuffed heads realise what is going on. We have to stop the killing.’ He took a pace forwards and was pushed back by a soldier. Hate in his eyes, he brandished his mace and brought it crashing down on the guard’s helmeted head, the man collapsing, blood running from the helm line.

Immediately, another soldier lashed out with a sword, taking the man in the midriff. He screamed and fell and the crowd erupted in fury. They surged forwards against the desperate defence of Kard’s well-marshalled troops. Barras yelled for calm but even his augmented voice had no effect. Around the edges of the mob, he could see scuffles breaking out among city folk and College guard and part of the crowd broke away to run towards the Mana Bowl where many mages were billeted.