‘Since before dawn this morning,’ replied Dystran.

Styliann bit his lip. He would have to hurry or they’d pass through into the dragon dimension without him, something he could not allow. And then the mists cleared in his mind and the answer to his problems was there before him.

‘Let me make you a proposition,’ he said, seeing Dystran frown and make a reflexive move backwards. ‘I think it will be to your advantage.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Naturally.’

Chapter 27

On the walls of Julatsa, the battle raged. Spells swept across the cobbled apron around the College, detonations shook foundations. The ring of metal, the shouts of men and women, the dull thud of catapult, the wash of mana flow as spell barrages ebbed and flowed; all of it filtered down into the Heart where Ilkar sat.

With one ear constantly tuned to the fight outside, and ever ready to react should the quality and atmosphere of the sound change, he flicked through text after text, searching for note, reference and passage discussing Septern’s work.

Nearby, in the Library, Denser and Erienne taxed the librarians and archivists Barras had spared them, hoping for a breakthrough that looked increasingly unlikely as the day progressed to a blustery late afternoon.

And in a chamber as far from the sounds of death and momentary glory as the College confines would allow, Hirad and The Unknown slept. Not that they needed the quiet. Part of the career warrior’s art was the ability to sleep practically behind the front line. Hirad was particularly adept at snatching rest as the blood spattered his face, his innate sense of danger always waking him before his life was threatened. No, they didn’t need the quiet but Ilkar was anxious to see they rested deeply. There were hard times to come.

Ilkar rubbed his eyes and stared gloomily at the mass of books, scrolls and bundled papers he had still to sift through, next to the relatively small pile he had completed. He had known it would be difficult. Complete texts by Septern were rare and that pile of five bound volumes already sat at his right elbow, having been among the first brought to the Heart by Barras when the Wesmen threat grew. But all three Raven mages knew that much of Septern’s wisdom, scribbled down on scraps of parchment, annotated on other texts or sketched on the backs of scrolls, was either lost, hidden or transcribed. All they had was reference, cross-reference and the incomplete knowledge of the archivists. Following another vague lead offered by the preceding parchment, he frowned, sighed and read on.

In Julatsa’s Library, the hours crawled, though the work had a deadline neither could forget. Erienne and Denser’s arrival had, despite Barras’ assurances of good faith and assistance, been greeted with total suspicion by the archivists; three old men and a young student, who stared down their identically long noses and sniffed at every request.

‘It takes a certain sort to organise a library, don’t you find?’ Denser had said soon after they arrived.

‘They could be brothers of those in Dordover,’ Erienne had agreed.

‘One magic, one mage,’ Denser had said, covering her hand with his. Erienne had smiled and placed a hand low down on her stomach, imagining her child moving within her though in truth she could feel nothing.

‘I hope so,’ she had said.

The archivists’ frosty attitude had warmed over the following hours as it became obvious that The Raven’s mages had no intention of pillaging Julatsan secrets. Curt responses, thumped-down books and half-thrown scrolls had given way to slight smiles, words of help and encouragement and, eventually, to direct research assistance.

The archive student sat at the desk with them, poring over a referential text of Julatsan lore, every now and then lifting a nervous head as the sounds of fighting reached his young ears.

‘We’re in no immediate danger,’ said Denser.

‘How do you know?’ asked the student, Therus, his freckled face displaying his awe of the Dawnthief mage next to him.

‘Because Hirad Coldheart hasn’t appeared to order us up to the walls,’ replied Denser. ‘Keep calm. Your soldiers have great hearts. They won’t crumble.’

Mollified, Therus went back to his reading. Erienne smiled and Denser leaned back and stretched his aching neck, taking in the vast shelves of magical text, theoretical research, casting analysis and lore - the latter incomprehensible to him and passed to Ilkar if any potential use was indicated.

They were seated at a desk near the door to the Library, facing an aisle flanked by five-tiered shelves that, studded by more desks, ran away fully two hundred feet. Five more such aisles made up the lower level and further shelves ranged around the walls, their highest texts accessible only by ladder. Two galleries held yet more of the accumulated wisdom of Julatsa and her allies, their ornate polished balustrades reflecting the gentle illumination cast by static Light-Globes. Below he knew, but hadn’t seen, older and more delicate texts were stored in carefully controlled atmospheres where the light seldom shone.

Julatsa’s Library, like that of Xetesk, was heavy with age and history, its dry paper-dust mustiness a delight to the bookworm’s nose. But, curiously for a building containing so much latent knowledge and power, the Library bore no mana weight. No yoke-like mass hung on the neck and, as Denser kneaded the taut back of his own with one hand and Erienne’s with the other, he was very glad of the fact.

‘Where are we at?’ he asked of anyone who cared to answer.

‘Nowhere particularly useful,’ replied Erienne, nodding her thanks as further ribboned parchments were edged onto the desk at her right hand. ‘We have established a possible link between Septern’s contained rip-building and the DimensionConnect used at Understone but nothing so far on the lore to combine the two into a closing pattern.

‘Therus vaguely remembers a note in the margin of a Julatsan text pertaining to mana flow and dimensional disruption caused by rip construction but can’t find it and you have discovered a way to maintain your pipe bowl at a temperature that burns the weed more effectively.’

‘And very important it is too,’ said Denser, a glint in his eye. Erienne thinned her lips.

‘It’s a disgusting habit.’

‘It’s my only vice.’

‘Hardly.’

Therus cleared his throat. ‘Sorry to interrupt but I’ve found something.’

‘Good?’ asked Denser.

‘Not entirely.’

‘Well, let’s hear it.’

The dreams chased themselves across Thraun’s mind with a clarity he would be unable to forget on waking. All the thoughts, feelings, scents and urges of his lupine half played out in his human mind and, for the first time, he would remember everything.

His consciousness fought to surface through the morass of his exhaustion and grief. A pit was open in his heart, and the protestations of his strained muscles, and bruised and stretched sinews and tendons merely added symphony to his sorrow.

He lifted his lids on a reality he had previously seen only through other eyes. The white, he remembered. It was the colour of the walls, the sheets and the bandages. The people too, some lying still, others moving amongst them. Here there was comfort but it was mixed with death.

Thraun mumbled the first of a thousand apologies to the friend he had failed and whose eyes, closed forever, no longer saw the world. The sound he made moved from whisper to growl and almost immediately he felt a hand on his brow, then the cool touch of a damp cloth. He focused, looking up to the face of an elderly woman whose lined skin surrounded eyes of stunning clear blue. She smiled down at him.

‘You do not have to fear retribution for what you are here,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘Here you can rest secure.’