Armour was for a purpose, and in a pincer attack, more dragons died forgetting this simple fact that anything else. Sha-Kaan had no intention of trying to dodge both dragons. Accepting the fact of new pain but able to minimise its damage, he reverse-beat his wings to slow his forward movement, furled them, lay his neck along his belly and dropped straight down.

Above him, the Naik adjusted quickly, steepening the angle of his dive and sending flame rushing over Sha-Kaan’s back. Below him, though, the injured dragon failed to react and Sha-Kaan, lucky for the first time in the battle, struck the enemy’s body, his tail a whip for the unwary, lashing around the Naik’s neck where it established a choking grip.

A strangled gasp of flame coughed from the enemy’s mouth as he fought for breath but Sha-Kaan was in total control. Continuing his plummet, he dragged the young Naik off-balance, stretched his neck and beat fire into its face from close range. He dropped the corpse and dived away, wings spread, neck and back stiffening as the damaged muscle below the scales protested. He roared again but this time the enemy didn’t respond.

Seeing the battle lost, the one remaining Naik turned and fled, Sha-Kaan watching him dwindle in the lower cloud, a dark shape against the pale background. He didn’t follow, choosing instead to drive back into the heights where he flew, more slowly now, back to Teras, his Broodlands and, most importantly, the welcome dimensional streams of the Melde Hall.

The Raven didn’t move on until mid-afternoon. Hirad’s contact with Sha-Kaan had left him temporarily fatigued but extremely hungry. Thraun and Will had disappeared into the brush, returning impossibly quickly with a quartet of rabbits and a brace of wood pigeon. These, Will prepared and cooked on the stove’s hot plate, bulking the small animals with grain from The Unknown’s pack, root vegetables from the river’s edge and a fresh herb preparation.

It all made a decent stew but Hirad found himself missing the hunk of bread he’d normally enjoy it with. He also missed the ale and wine.

‘It’s a depressingly long time since I’ve had a drink,’ he said.

‘Yes, my profits are surely in tatters because of your absence from my inn,’ said The Unknown. Hirad looked at him, hoping this was an attempt at humour but seeing it was not. They all missed Korina and The Unknown certainly missed The Rookery, the bar he part-owned with Tomas, the resident innkeeper. And at this precise moment, Hirad would have given anything at all to have his feet up in front of the fire in the back room, a goblet of wine at his hand, a plate of meat and cheese in his lap.

But memories of The Rookery were tinged with sadness. The last time The Raven had been there, Hirad’s oldest friend, Sirendor Larn, had been murdered. The fact that he had given his life to save Denser was scant comfort despite the Dark Mage’s importance to the future of Balaia.

As he chewed a slightly gristly piece of rabbit, Hirad thought back to their fateful meeting with Denser in the grounds of Taranspike Castle and all to which it had led. So many had died, so much had been achieved and yet, as he sat hidden by the banks of the River Tri, Hirad felt their insignificance. The Raven were just seven people, and himself, The Unknown and Ilkar apart, not even particularly experienced people. But to them lay the task of closing the rip before the Balaian sky was flooded by dragons.

In normal days, it would have been difficult to persuade the doubters of the necessity of their task and their demands for open house in at least two College libraries. Now, with the invading armies of the Wesmen swarming all over the mage lands, it was a task rendered practically impossible. The Wesmen certainly wouldn’t believe them and that was no surprise. Despite the fact that they were as much at risk as any Balaian, why should they believe the stories of a band of mercenaries, albeit famous ones? No one could see the rip yet. When they could, it would probably be too late. The tale was just too far-fetched and even Darrick and Styliann’s words wouldn’t add the necessary weight.

So The Raven were left having to hide the reasons for their actions from all they encountered simply because they hadn’t the time or the patience to make people believe them. In fact, as far as Hirad could make out, the only people who would take their story seriously, besides those Styliann could convert should he choose to do so, were the Dragonene mages. But that sect was so secretive that their ear, sympathetic or otherwise, was of limited use. Not one among them would reveal themselves as Dragonene to the wider mage population, let alone to non-mages.

Hirad spat out the gristle. There was no doubting the injustice of their position but mulling on it solved nothing. The stew pot was empty and The Raven had all but finished the meal.

‘It’s time we were moving,’ said Hirad. ‘Will, cool the stove please. Unknown? A route if you would be so kind. Anybody needing to relieve themselves, now is the time. We aren’t stopping till nightfall.’

Denser grumbled, hauled himself to his feet and crackled away towards the water’s edge.

‘Cheerful soul, isn’t he?’ said Ilkar.

‘Hmm. Just like his old self, unfortunately,’ replied Hirad. ‘Erienne, are you sure you want to hang around with him when you’re old and grey?’

Erienne smiled. ‘Who says I’ll go grey? At this moment, he’s a little hard to love but, well, you know . . .’ Hirad nodded. ‘But I’ll tell you something,’ she continued. ‘You could help by being a little more tactful. His fuse is short.’

‘You’re telling me,’ said Hirad.

‘Him, tactful?’ Ilkar jerked a thumb in Hirad’s direction. ‘You might just as well ask Thraun to have slightly shorter fangs. It’s not going to happen.’

‘Thanks for your support, Ilkar,’ said Hirad. He turned his back on the mage and grinned over at The Unknown who didn’t respond in kind. ‘Which way, Big Man?’

The Unknown Warrior moved fluidly to his feet and helped Will kick dirt over the stove.

‘I could be flippant and say “east” but no one would laugh,’ he said. ‘If we’ve decided Triverne Lake isn’t an option, that leaves us with few alternatives. My view is that we should drive straight for Julatsa. Given Denser’s announcement of our dwindling time, we have to chance running into some Wesmen. Now the only reason I think that’s a risk worth taking is that Thraun will almost certainly give us ample warning. We should strike away from the river now and head for the city. The ground is flattish and the cover most of the time is adequate.’

‘Whatever you say,’ said Hirad. Denser came back into the small clearing. ‘Bowels empty?’

‘Yes, thank you, Hirad,’ he replied somewhat testily.

‘Let’s go.’ The barbarian gestured for The Unknown to show them the way. Thraun loped off on his own towards the river. Will, the stove tied into its leather, shouldered the burden for the time being and brought up the rear behind the trio of mages.

It was, Hirad thought, a long way to Julatsa on foot and he found himself hoping for an encounter with some unwary Wesmen.

Thraun lapped at the cool water of the slow-flowing river, feeling the liquid chill his throat as it rushed to his belly. His mind was confused but he didn’t remember a time when it wasn’t.

Earlier he had felt fear and he hadn’t enjoyed it. He could find nothing to strike out at so he had crouched, defeated, while the huge animal power caused such pain to the man who led. The man had cried out, the power in his head and filling the space around him, flowing over the ground and covering the leaves of trees and the flowers of the bush.

Thraun had felt it before any of the men had done. They knew too little even to show fear of the power but they should have done. Because it came from nowhere. It had no face, no shape and did not breathe. Yet it was still animal. Thraun knew that and knew also that because it had no form, it was to be feared.