In the relative calm of the courtyard’s edges and even ascending the steps to the ramparts, it was possible to detach oneself from the reality of the siege. But first view changed all that. Because, standing out of spell range in the rubble of the buildings they had demolished to make their muster areas, stood the Wesmen. Thousands upon thousands of them. Waiting. Sometimes quiet, sometimes roaring their songs of victory and hate or just chanting and taunting, voices echoing harshly off the college walls.

They were a rippling sea, waiting for the storm to whip them into a tidal wave. They were locusts, poised to strip the ripe fields.

And yet they still feared the magic. It made them cautious, just as before. It was Barras’ only solace. Had they not been so, surely the first attack would have proved enough. But Senedai had not committed enough of his armies.

As a result, the Julatsans, though temporarily relieved, had to beat off jab after jab, forever weakening ever so slightly while they were forced to watch the rape and destruction of their city. Fires burned in dozens of places. The sound of falling rubble and collapsing timbers filled the air when the Wesmen’s voices did not, adding to the dead weight on the shoulders of every man, woman and child who heard or saw.

There was no way out but still Barras kindled the faintest hope. The Raven were inside the College, however temporarily, while outside—

‘When will the Dordovans arrive?’ he asked of Seldane who had recently returned from Communion.

‘Their progress is slow,’ she said. ‘There are Wesmen scouting and raiding parties all over the place, now they think the fight is nearly done. They’ve been forced into the woods three hours away. If they can make up the ground overnight, they’ll attack just after dawn. If not, well your guess is as good as mine.’

‘I must remember to wake early,’ said Kerela.

‘What’s your latest assessment of our magical strength?’ asked General Kard. He had stood with the Council between tours of the walls with one or other of them throughout the day. Kerela nodded for Vilif to speak.

The ancient, stooped and hairless secretary to the Council raised his eyebrows. ‘Not good,’ he said. ‘Not good at all. HotRain and FlameOrb, while effective, are draining over these distances and repetitions. Assuming a similar intensity of attack throughout the night, I should think we’d be largely exhausted by mid-afternoon tomorrow. And then, my dear friend, we will all be in your very capable hands.’

Night had fallen on Julatsa but, as expected, many of the Wesmen had not stood down. Still, the catapult rounds thudded against shielded walls or dropped sporadically beyond, causing occasional damage to buildings and those foolish enough to loiter in the open.

Denser, tired and yawning, sat by Erienne in the bare Tower chamber. Erienne had just completed Communion with Pheone who had joined the Dordovan force. Conversely, feeling fresh and eager, Hirad and The Unknown demolished plates of meat and vegetables and were planning to spar for an hour or two before resting with The Raven until near dawn. Thraun still slept.

‘We could go on searching for days,’ said Ilkar. ‘But I don’t think we’d turn up much more here. We’ve found some vital detail but the prize is in Xetesk and there’s no point pretending otherwise.’ He felt angry that Styliann had stolen a march on them but somehow was not surprised.

‘To be honest, it may be a blessing,’ said The Unknown. He took a long swallow of ale and wiped his hand across his mouth. ‘We’ve all identified that the diversion the Dordovans will cause is our best chance of getting out. Not only that, if they don’t manage to break the siege, this College will eventually fall and, sorry Ilkar, but what we’re doing can’t be interrupted to help save it.’

‘I know,’ said Ilkar. ‘We all know. We are prepared.’ There was a brief silence.

‘We have to brief Kard and the Council,’ said The Unknown. ‘We need horses, supplies, someone to open the North Gate at the right moment and, if we can get it, back-up to punch through the line.’

‘We’ll get it,’ said Ilkar. ‘Kerela is no fool. She can see the bigger picture. I’ll talk to her.’

‘Denser. Styliann?’ invited The Unknown. Denser dragged himself from his slouch and rested his arms on the table.

‘It was not an easy Communion,’ he said. A chuckle ran around the table despite the mood. ‘Styliann is clearly determined to come with us though he hasn’t said as much. He knows we have to have the texts he’s found and says he’ll meet us at Septern Manse to discuss them. We all know what that means.’

‘When is he travelling?’ asked Hirad, only vaguely annoyed at Styliann’s apparent plan. He’d gone way past being surprised at anything he saw or heard. Dawnthief and dragons did that to a man.

‘Tomorrow, same as us. He may even beat us there.’

‘Protectors?’

‘What do you think?’

‘How many?’ Hirad scowled.

‘He wouldn’t say.’

‘I’ll let you know,’ said The Unknown, finality in his tone. ‘Erienne, tell us about the Dordovan situation.’

‘There’s not much that’s new to tell you,’ she said. ‘The Dordovans are marching slowly towards the North Gate and have been joined by a few of the disparate groups of Julatsans hiding out in the wilds. I took the liberty of telling Pheone of our need to break out and she will pass that information on to the Dordovan commander. However, their first duty is the liberation of Julatsa. That’s it, really.’

‘Did she give you any indication of Dordovan attacking intent?’ asked Hirad.

Erienne frowned. ‘I don’t get you.’

‘Are they planning a broad attack front or a spear formation to drive a breakthrough?’

‘She didn’t say,’ said Erienne. ‘I seriously doubt she knows.’

‘It’s of no real matter,’ said The Unknown. ‘We know our task in either instance. Right. Rest. Hirad, come on, let’s loosen up and look in on Thraun. He needs to be ready at first light.’

Styliann sat with Dystran in the Tower of the Lord of the Mount, dismayed at the clutter the young mage had accumulated in just a few days. Order was everything. One day, Dystran might learn that. On the other hand, the time for his education may already have passed.

Styliann sipped from his Blackthorne red, not a classic vintage but sound enough, and took in the study. Dystran sat opposite him across the fire which burned low, its warmth already in the stone. Behind the new lord, two warriors and two mages sized Styliann up with open distrust while he had but Cil for a guard. Even so, he considered he held a considerable advantage.

‘So, what is your answer?’ asked Styliann, placing his empty glass in the hearth and feeling the fire warm his arm.

‘Your proposal is, frankly, unbelievable,’ said Dystran. ‘And since you refuse to submit to a TruthTell, I am sceptical of its veracity.’

‘Come, Dystran, my refusal to take TruthTell has its reasons entirely elsewhere as you well know. I am offering you everything you desire for a single sheaf of papers we both know must reach The Raven for any of us to survive.’

‘But you also demand the Protector army,’ said Dystran.

‘And for that one reason alone. Protection. In case it had escaped your attention, the Wesmen have invaded in large numbers and I must reach the Manse safely. You will be free to perform the Act of Renunciation within seven days and then they will be yours once more. Mine is a simple request and remember, when I leave the College, it is in your power to prevent me from ever returning.’

‘And you are promising no challenge to my Stewardship?’ Dystran shook his head in disbelief.

‘Correct. I will sign the deeds confirming your ascension immediately you have them prepared.’ Styliann poured himself another glass of wine. ‘I cannot see a single reason why you should refuse.’