That they should be aware of his other form had not impinged on Thraun but he was calmed by the reassurance nonetheless. He didn’t have the energy to frame the words of thanks but the woman seemed to understand.

‘Do not hide your grief,’ she said. ‘It is human to cry. Your friends paid him great respect and he is at peace. Rest now. There is water by your bed. I am Salthea. Call me when you need me. Rest now.’

Thraun nodded and turned his face away, unwilling to let her see the first of his tears.

While waiting for Ilkar to arrive, Denser read and reread the entry Therus had found, Erienne doing the same. Its meaning was clear enough. There were other writings; important ones, detailing the living construct of interdimensional rips, how they sustained themselves against the buffeting of the void they travelled; how they affected the space around them, the implications of linking two dimensions and the implications of dissolving that link. To devise some kind of answer quickly enough to the problem staining the sky over Parve, they were writings The Raven needed.

Septern, said the entry in a report made to the Julatsan Council over three hundred and fifty years before, had delivered a series of lectures to a high-level symposium at Triverne Lake covering a good deal of his theoretical understanding of dimensional magic. His lecture papers he had bequeathed to the sponsoring college. It was a typically Septern-like act - he had never felt allegiance to any college despite his Dordovan birth.

It was just a pity the sponsoring college on that occasion had been Xetesk.

‘Would you believe it?’ said Erienne.

‘Given Styliann’s desire to get to Xetesk alone and unaided, yes I’m afraid I would,’ said Denser.

‘You think he knows about these texts?’

‘Without a shadow of a doubt. He and Dystran both.’

The door to the Library opened and Ilkar strode in, hands massaging his neck to relieve tension. Denser briefed him.

‘Next move?’ asked the Julatsan, shaking his head. ‘What’s your reading of Styliann on this one?’

‘He knows what we have to do and he’ll be aware of the importance of these writings. The fact that he didn’t tell us about them back in Parve tells me one thing. He wants to come to the dragon dimension with us.’

‘What for?’ asked Ilkar.

‘Well, it’s possible that he doesn’t trust us to find the solution alone but, given our respective talents, I rather doubt that. No, I think he’s curious, which doesn’t worry me, and I think he wants to eye up potential gain for himself and Xetesk, which does.’

‘Gain?’ Erienne was dismissive.

‘All I’m saying is, if he can do a deal with the dragons, or get some guarantees that aid Xetesk, whatever, he will.’

‘But he can’t get there without us, can he?’ said Ilkar.

‘Why not?’ asked Erienne.

‘Because we hold both the keys to Septern’s workshop,’ said Ilkar. ‘So he still needs us to help him get to the dragon dimension. And frankly, I’m confident the Kaan won’t just roll over to his demands. I’m not sure he quite understands how powerful they are.’

‘Such is the arrogance of the Lord of the Mount,’ said Erienne. Denser shot her a sharp glance but said nothing.

‘So we’ll take him with us?’ he said.

Ilkar shrugged. ‘To be honest, I don’t see we have much choice. And I’m sure Hirad and The Unknown will see it that way. We have to close the rip first and worry about Styliann’s motives later.’

Denser nodded. ‘In that case, and returning to your original question, our next move, or rather my next move, is to commune with Styliann. Since we appear to need each other, we’d better at least know each other’s position.’

‘All right,’ said Ilkar. ‘And then we’d better wake the others and put our heads together and think of a way to get out of here.’

‘How’s the battle going?’ asked Erienne. All three of them became aware again of the noises outside.

‘Exactly as you might expect. The Wesmen are making thrusts towards the walls but are being knocked back by arrows and spells. Their catapult rounds are being held off the walls by our shields and they aren’t really trying to get them over and into the College proper. They know what they’re doing and so do we but there’s nothing we can do about it. They’ll wear the mages down and they know it. And then they’ll mount a serious offensive and eventually take us.’ Ilkar’s face was impassive but Denser knew the turmoil he’d be feeling inside. Not only was he witnessing the probable sacking of his College, he also knew he’d be forced to leave before it fell.

‘And the Dordovans?’ asked Denser.

‘Well, clearly they represent our only real chance. Estimates are they’ll reach us sometime tomorrow morning but it’s critical they attack in the right place. That may also present us with our best opportunity of getting away from here unscathed.’ Ilkar paused and scratched his head. ‘Anyway, I’m going back to the Heart. Erienne, any news on Thraun?’

‘He’s woken once but is sleeping again. Physically, he’s just tired. Emotionally, who knows?’

‘Keep me posted, will you?’ He turned to go. ‘See you a little later.’

Denser watched the door close behind him. ‘I’m going to rest, love. I’ll commune after dark.’ He leaned forward and kissed her. ‘Don’t forget to replenish yourself. We need you.’

Erienne reached up and ruffled his hair. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine on a night’s sleep. But you be careful. Communion with Styliann is dangerous.’

Barras stood with the Council on the north walls of the College as he had done for much of the day, safe under a static HardShield and on ramparts secured by binding spells against the threat of catapult and battering ram. Even though the Wesmen hadn’t laid one hand on the walls, he watched the progress of the battle with an increasing sense of hopelessness.

The day had started with an outrage, the Wesmen dousing the Julatsan dead with oil flung from heavy crossbow and light catapult and setting the corpses on fire with flaming arrows.

With pallid skin and clothing tinder-dry, the bodies caught and burned quickly, removing from their loved ones the chance to honour and dignify them in death. And even as the choking, vile grey-black smoke boiled up the walls, sending ash and soot to cloud the early morning sky all around the College, the Wesmen had mounted their first attack under cover of the dreadful fog they’d created.

Though a predictable move, it was nonetheless the most difficult of the day to repel. From a breathable distance away from the choking, blinding smoke, mages blanketed the area outside the walls with FlameOrb, HotRain, and DeathHail. Forced to Spell-Shield the walls themselves against the inevitable inaccuracy and flashback, it was an expensive and wasteful barrage, called to a halt only when cloth-masked soldiers signalled Wesmen retreat.

And thus, as the smoke cleared, was the tone set for the day. Sporadic but sustained attack on any of two dozen points around the walls. Never enough to mount a serious threat to the integrity of the walls but enough to force continued spell deployment. Senedai knew what he was doing and he kept his own casualties at a minimum while he did it.

Had Barras heard Ilkar’s swift assessment of the siege, he would have agreed with every succinct point. The Wesmen had time, or thought they did, and the Julatsans would tire eventually just like they had on the city borders. And one break was all the Wesmen really needed.

Barras rubbed at his eyes. Unusually for Wesmen, he was certain they would attack all night, probably with greater ferocity, forcing more mages and soldiers to remain on the walls while keeping those stood down from true rest. And all who stood guard faced the morale-sapping enormity of it all.