‘Hirad, we need to talk,’ said Ilkar.

‘Now?’

‘If Denser and Erienne will talk to Styliann on behalf of The Raven, I think now is a very good time, don’t you?’

Hirad raised his eyebrows. ‘You think I’ve been a little insensitive? ’

‘You haven’t lost your gift for understatement, have you?’ said Ilkar. ‘Ride with me, Hirad Coldheart. Ride and listen.’

The Unknown Warrior slid from his horse well before the long barn and let the animal wander away to trail the others to the ruins of the Manse.

Memories flooded into his head and his heart beat loud and wild in his chest, neck and ears. He pictured the Destrana war dogs running at him, their teeth bared, their saliva dripping and their eyes rolling. He felt his sword biting their flesh, the hot breath on his face, the clamp of fangs on his shoulder and the blood pouring from his torn throat.

He clutched at his neck with a gauntleted hand, his vision dimming as it had done before, the taste of his death in his mouth, the sounds around him diminishing. He fell to his knees and forward on to his free hand, gasping for breath, tears fogging his eyes. He coughed and retched, took the hand from his neck and stared at it while his vision cleared. No blood.

No blood, no dogs, no death. He raised his head, saw the barn dimly but found his gaze locked solid on the raised mound of earth just to the side of its doors.

‘Oh dear Gods,’ he said. ‘Save me from this.’

But there could be no salvation. For while The Unknown lived and breathed, his body still lay there. He retched again, bile flooding his mouth which he spat to the cracked earth.

‘Why couldn’t you let me have my death?’ he growled, hauling himself to his feet. He cursed Xetesk. His home for his youth but the place that had stolen his death from him. Given him a hideous perversion of life behind a mask. He cursed the city and its masters, the mages who still retained the abominations that were his brethren.

With his every footstep like wading through thigh-deep mud, he ground his way to the grave, his eyes stuck on the dusty mound, unmarked save for the vague imprint of The Raven symbol burned into its surface - mostly gone now, eroded in a few short weeks by the incessant breeze.

And when at last he stood there, gazing down at his own lonely grave, his tears fell unchecked from his cheeks, patterning the dirt at his feet. He knelt down and brushed his hand across his grave, knowing he could touch his own bones, see his own body and face. Take a good look at the true Unknown Warrior, whose body lay where his soul wanted to be. At rest. Free.

He breathed deep and closed his eyes, placing both hands on the grave. He dropped his head to his chest.

‘By north, by east, by south, by west. Though you are gone, you will always be Raven and I will always remember. Pity me that I breathe while you do not.’ He fell silent, unwilling to move. Knowing he had spoken the mantra to a soulless bag of bones but finding a curious peace in the Vigil he held.

Eventually, reverently, he stood up and backed two paces from the grave before turning towards the Manse. In front of him stood a Protector, Cil, and behind him, all of them. Silent ranks of understanding and respect, impassive behind their masks but with their minds ablaze at the wrong The Unknown suffered.

Unable to speak, Cil placed a hand on The Unknown’s shoulder and squeezed, his head inclined very slightly. The Unknown locked eyes with him for a moment, then looked past him to those behind, a shiver running through his back at the power standing there in utter quiet. His eyes misted again, this time in gratitude.

‘You can escape your calling,’ he said. ‘But the price is high, believe me. The pain of separation is great. I can still feel you though I can’t be with you. Your choice will come.’

He walked through the Protectors who turned and followed him back to the Manse. His choice was made but, leaving his grave without another glance, he realised he had another but he had no idea whether he had the courage to make it. Time, as always, would tell.

‘If you think you’re taking hundreds of Protectors through the rip, you’re wrong,’ said Hirad once Denser had summarised thus far his fruitless discussions with Styliann. The former Lord of the Mount had flatly refused to let the Raven mages have sight of Septern’s texts and Hirad considered it was only a matter of time before Styliann decided he could create and cast the magic himself. Hirad, like the rest of The Raven, was uncomfortably aware that they were hopelessly outnumbered.

‘I would be keen to hear how you propose to stop me,’ said Styliann.

‘It isn’t a question of what I can do now,’ said Hirad. ‘It’s a question of what the Kaan will do when you arrive. They don’t need your Protectors and what they don’t need, they tend to destroy.’

Styliann gestured around him. ‘Destroying almost five hundred Protectors isn’t easy.’

Hirad stared at him. He felt a constraining hand on his shoulder. Ilkar’s. He nodded and breathed deeply before speaking.

‘You saw the size of Sha-Kaan, Styliann. He could do it on his own and you know it. I am just trying to save you wasting their lives, such as they—’

The Protectors moved, came to attention and marched slowly away towards the long barn, Cil at their head. Denser and Styliann stared slack-jawed. Hirad, when he realised where they were going, chuckled.

‘Perhaps they won’t listen to you anyway,’ he said, breaking the spell of silence.

‘Come back!’ ordered Styliann. ‘Now. Cil, you know your calling. Return to my side or face your nemesis.’

‘I don’t think you want to do that,’ said Denser quietly.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Styliann stared on at the retreating backs of his erstwhile Protectors.

‘You heard me,’ said Denser. ‘It would make The Unknown very angry. And right now, you’re very much alone. They’ll come back.’

And come back they did, with The Unknown at their head, his face set, his determination returned.

‘I take it we’re ready to go,’ he said. ‘Styliann, you may take six Protectors with you. The rest will guard the Manse.’

Styliann’s jaw moved but no words came. His face, flushed and reddening, quivered with rage.

‘Guard against what, exactly?’ asked Hirad.

‘I may? Who, by the Gods bleeding, are you to tell me what I can and cannot do with my Protectors?’

‘You will understand soon enough,’ said The Unknown shortly.

‘Unknown,’ said Hirad. ‘Guard against what?’

‘The Wesmen are coming here,’ said The Unknown. ‘They must not bury the entrance to the workshop or we will never get back.’

‘Why would they do that?’ asked Ilkar.

‘Julatsa has fallen,’ said Cil, breaking the conditions of his thrall. ‘They know everything.’

‘How could you possibly know?’ demanded Ilkar of Cil. ‘I have felt nothing.’ His voice was desperate, his eyes searching that mask for any clue and his ears reddening as he fought the emotion that washed over him.

‘And maybe you won’t,’ said Styliann. ‘Your mages fell one by one under the swords of the Wesmen; their mana ripples won’t combine. And we must presume the Heart was successfully buried. I am truly sorry Julatsa has fallen but perhaps you are the lucky one. After all, you are about to leave this dimension.’

‘Lucky?’ spat Ilkar. ‘Those bastards have destroyed the home of every living Julatsan. Lucky, my arse.’

Denser cleared his throat. ‘Styliann’s words were ill-judged but accurate, I suspect. Any ripples through your spectrum at all are unlikely to carry as much force where we are going.’

‘Well you’d better hope there’s some, otherwise this spell, whatever it turns out to be, won’t get cast.’ Ilkar stared meaningfully at the sheaf of papers in Styliann’s hands.