‘You weren’t there,’ said Hirad.

‘Hirad,’ warned The Unknown.

‘No, hear me out.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I could feel the waves of need in Sha-Kaan. He needs me, us, as much as we’ll need him. And in case you’d forgotten, Denser, if he and the Kaan die, so do we all. It is our duty to help protect him. And for that, I need your help. There was no time to consult you. I did what I had to do. What was right in here.’ He tapped his chest.

Denser took his place by the fire, exchanging sharp glances with Erienne.

‘Well, you’re right about the time thing anyway.’

The Raven looked at him with virgin interest. His Communion had been forgotten.

Ilkar cleared his throat. ‘I ask this with all due dread, but why?’

‘Because we’ve only got eight days to close the rip.’

Darrick’s heart was soaring. Eight days of exhilarating riding had brought the cavalry to within striking distance of the Bay of Gyernath staging post. His scouts reported a small force of Wesmen warriors and workers, perhaps as few as one hundred and fifty, and an intermittent stream of traffic moving in from the Heartlands trail which ran away to the west and the Southern Force, the river which ran from the Garan Mountains to the sea and guarded the eastern edge of the Wesmen’s ancestral home.

It had been a ride of power and discipline, hard paced by day, resting by night. He knew the horses hadn’t much left but journey’s end was in sight and the destruction of the staging post would herald a short sea journey and perhaps a day’s rest.

The four-College cavalry, one hundred and ninety swordsmen and archers and eighteen mages, was gathered an hour’s ride from the bayside encampment. The plans were laid. The most potent risk was from three watch-towers manned by three warriors each and to these Darrick detailed his full contingent of fourteen archers and enough mage support to provide HardShields. He would have preferred to launch a magical attack but the spells he needed were very hard to prepare and cast at a gallop. The main body of the camp, large store tents surrounded in a loose circle by billet canvas, was ripe for a cavalry charge with mage-fired torches as the first attack volley.

Darrick, at the head of the cavalry astride his mount, gave his final address as the late afternoon sun began to wane.

‘These people have invaded our lands and killed our people. You all know some of those who have already died. All those lost in the defence of Understone Pass, all those lost so far in the siege of Julatsa. The Gods only can know the state of Blackthorne, Gyernath and Arlen. Erskan, Denebre and Eimot.

‘They have shown us no mercy. You must do the same. Kill them or they will kill you. I want this encampment burned to the ground and the charred earth left as memorial and warning. The East shall not bend the knee to the West. The Colleges shall thrive. The Wesmen shall be driven from our lands, our homes and yes, our beds.

‘Are you with me?’

The chorus sent birds into the sky. Darrick nodded.

‘Then let’s ride.’ The cavalry galloped for the Bay.

The camp had quietened, The Raven sitting around Will’s stove, each drawing on their own thoughts, dwelling on Denser’s words. Will himself had stretched out next to Thraun, an arm carelessly thrown over the wolf’s prone form. Thraun remained alert, head up, ears pricked, tongue licking his lips as he scanned his new territory.

Erienne watched them both for a moment, seeing in them a closeness she no longer seemed to share with Denser. The Dark Mage was absently flicking at dried leaves on the ground while his pipe sat between his teeth, long since dead and ignored. She frowned and sent out a gentle probing in the mana but, as with so many times before, found only a blanket covering his mind. She wasn’t even sure if he was aware of his shield against her but then she wasn’t sure he was aware of much but his own memories of Dawnthief and what it had done to him.

She rose and went to sit by him; he acknowledging her with the slightest of smiles. It set her body tingling.

‘Do you want to walk a little way?’ she asked. ‘Down to the water’s edge? It’s dark.’

He looked her full in the face, forehead wrinkling, pupils dilated in the dim light. How she wished they were wide in longing for her.

‘What for?’ he asked.

‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ muttered Ilkar from nearby.

‘Keep out of this, Ilkar,’ said Erienne shortly. ‘Denser, please?’ Denser shrugged and dragged himself to his feet, a sigh escaping his lips.

‘Lead on,’ he said, his half gesture mirroring the lack of enthusiasm so plainly displayed on his face. She narrowed her eyes but said nothing, choosing instead to do as he asked.

‘Don’t stray too far,’ warned Hirad. ‘This area isn’t safe.’

Erienne handed aside a low branch, ducked right and moved off towards the River Tri. Despite the night, the moon gave enough light to see by and she walked briskly between tree and bush down a shallow slope that led to the water’s edge.

At the shore, a mixture of fine shingle, mud and overhanging plants, she turned left and, stepping over puddles and marshy ground, found her way to a flat patch of grass a couple of paces back from the river and covered by trees. She sat down on the slightly damp ground, looking out at the wide, sluggish course of the Tri as it drove inexorably to Triverne Inlet and then out to sea. In the dimness, it looked dark grey, like a slow-moving sludge, and did nothing to lighten her mood.

After a few moments, Denser appeared, striking light to his pipe. He seemed unsure what to do.

‘Sit down,’ she said, patting the grass next to him. Another shrug and he complied, leaving a small distance between them and only half looking at her.

‘Why won’t you talk to me?’ she asked, not sure how to begin the conversation but knowing she had to get through to him for the sake not just of herself, but of The Raven too.

‘I do,’ he responded.

‘Oh yes, and I really enjoy our “how are you, fine” conversations. Very meaningful. Very fulfilling.’ A light breeze rustled the leaves at her back and blew hair across her face.

‘So, what do you want me to talk about?’

‘You! God’s sake, Denser, haven’t you seen what’s happened to you since you cast Dawnthief?’ She felt anger welling up at his surly, deliberate obstruction.

‘Nothing’s happened,’ he said defensively. ‘I’ve just gained a clear knowledge of the true working of magic.’

‘Yes, and look what it’s done to you. Taken you away from us, from me, and given you this damned superior air. Like we are beneath your level all of a sudden.’

‘That’s not what I think.’

‘Well, that’s how it appears. You snap at Ilkar, you wind up Hirad and you just ignore me most of the time.’ Her eyes were filling with tears. Only a few short days ago, she’d sat with him lying in her lap, so proud of him, so happy he was alive and simply staggered by his achievement. But her surge of feelings had struck a hard wall of hidden emotion and now she felt helpless. ‘What is going on in that head of yours?’

‘Nothing,’ he said quietly.

‘Exactly,’ she snapped. ‘Ever since you regained your mana stamina it’s like you don’t care. Not for me, not for The Raven and not for our child.’

‘That’s not true.’ Denser still wouldn’t look at her. She wanted to reach out to touch him but her heart lurched as, in her mind’s eye, she saw him pulling away.

‘So talk to me,’ she urged. ‘Please.’

He sighed and she almost slapped him. But then their eyes met and she saw him fighting for the words.

‘It’s difficult,’ he said, a slight shrug following.

‘We have all night.’

‘Hardly,’ he said, a smile touching his lips for the briefest of moments. ‘You understand magic. You understand the energy it takes to control mana and the depletion of your stamina whenever you cast. And you know that every mage searches for new ways to minimise that depletion. But I’ve just been given most of it on a plate. And that’s just the half of it.’