‘What’s happening?’ Hirad’s heart was thumping in his chest. ‘What is it?’ He felt a hand on his shoulder.

‘He’s poisoned, Hirad. It’s a nerve toxin,’ said The Unknown.

‘Get a healer, then!’ Hirad shouted. ‘Get one now!’ The hand merely tightened its grip.

‘It’s too late. He’s dying.’

‘No he isn’t,’ grated Hirad.

Sirendor turned a sweat-covered face to his friend and smiled through the shivers coursing his body, tears falling on his cheeks.

‘Don’t let me die, Hirad. We’re all going to live.’

‘Keep calm, Sirendor. Breathe easy. You’ll be all right.’

Sirendor nodded. ‘It’s so cold. I’ll just . . .’ His voice faded and his eyes slipped shut.

Hirad grabbed Sirendor’s face with both hands. It was hot and slick with sweat.

‘Stay with me, Larn. Don’t you leave me!’

Sirendor’s eyelids fluttered open and his hands covered Hirad’s. They were so cold the barbarian flinched.

‘Sorry, Hirad. I can’t. Sorry, Hirad.’ The hands slipped to his sides, his eyes closed and he died.

Chapter 6

‘Who was she?’ Sana’s eyes bore into Hirad’s, imploring him to help her understand. They were standing in the main bar just outside the back room; the Mayor and two bodyguards sat at a table near the door to The Rookery.

Sana was calm now but her red eyes and white face were the remnants of a tempest. The Raven had lain Sirendor on the table in the back room and covered him with a sheet. Sana had burst in and torn the sheet from him, screaming at him to wake up, to come back, to open his eyes, to breathe. She’d pumped at his heart, she’d raked the hair from his forehead, she’d kissed him long on his lips, she’d clung to his hands.

And all the while, Hirad had stood near by, half of him wanting to pull her away, the other half wanting to help her. To shake the life back into Sirendor, to see him smile. But all he did was stand there watching, fighting back his tears, his whole body quivering.

At last Sana had turned to him and buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing quietly. He’d stroked her hair and heard the silence of The Raven and could sense the passing of what they had been.

He’d moved her outside, and as she regained some composure, she drew back to ask her question. Hirad felt helpless. Useless.

‘An assassin. A Witch Hunter.’

‘Then why—’ Her voice caught.

‘She wasn’t after Sirendor. Sirendor just got in the way.’ Hirad shrugged, a stupid gesture, he knew. ‘He died saving another man.’

‘So? He’s still dead.’

Hirad took and held her hands. ‘It was a risk he took every day.’

‘Not today. Today he was retired.’

Hired said nothing for a moment. He smoothed away the tears rolling fresh down her cheeks.

‘Yes. Yes, he was,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll get the man behind this.’

‘That’s your answer, is it?’

‘It’s the only answer I can give.’ He shrugged again.

‘Night has come, Hirad. Everything has gone.’ And when he looked into her eyes, he knew it was true. She gave his hand the briefest squeeze, turned and walked to her father. Hirad looked after her for a second, pushed open the door to the back room and walked inside.

No one was talking. The fire crackled in the grate, they were all sitting holding drinks but no one was talking. Hirad moved to Sirendor’s body. The sheet had been replaced. He looked at the outline of his face beneath the covering and laid a hand on one of his friend’s, praying for the grasp of fingers he knew would never come. He turned.

‘Why do they want you dead, Denser?’

‘That’s what we just asked him,’ said Ilkar.

‘And what did he say?’

‘That he wanted you to hear it too.’

‘Well, I’m here now, so he can start talking.’

‘Come and sit down, Hirad,’ said The Unknown. ‘We poured you a drink. It won’t help but we poured it anyway.’

Hirad nodded, walked to them and sat down in his chair. The Unknown pushed a goblet into his left hand, and with his right, Hirad reached out and felt the arm of Sirendor’s chair though he wouldn’t, couldn’t, look at it.

‘We’re listening, Denser,’ he said, his voice just holding together.

‘I want you to know right away that what I am about to tell you was being kept from you in your best interests.’

‘You are digging a deep hole,’ said The Unknown slowly. ‘We decide what is in our best interests. The result of not being able to do that lies under a shroud for all to see. We want to know exactly what you have involved us in. Exactly. Then you will go and we will talk.’

Denser took a deep breath. ‘Firstly, I make no apologies for being Xeteskian. It is simply a moral code, and much of what is said about us is fabrication. Our past, however, is not blameless.’

‘You know something, Denser, you have a gift for understatement, ’ said Ilkar.

‘We could have such fascinating discussions, Ilkar.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Right,’ said Denser after a pause. ‘You heard what Gresse was saying, and his information is all too accurate. The Wesmen tribes are rising and uniting, the Shamen are running the organisation, the Elder Councils are working in concert and we are seeing subjugation of local populations practically in the shadow of the Blackthorne Mountains.’

The Unknown Warrior sat up straight. ‘Just how far east are we talking about?’

‘We’ve had an eyewitness account from a village called Terenetsa, three days’ ride from Understone Pass,’ said Denser.

‘Gods, that’s close,’ breathed Talan. ‘No wonder Gresse wanted Blackthorne warned.’

‘I fail to see what this has to do with the death of my friend,’ muttered Hirad.

‘Please,’ said Denser. ‘This is relevant, believe me. We’ve had mage spies in the west for several months now and the picture is grim. We estimate that Wesmen armies approaching sixty thousand already armed and training are gathered in the Heartlands. An invasion of the east is surely imminent and we have no defence. There is no four-College alliance and the KTA has a tenth the armed strength it had three hundred years ago.’

‘But what chance do they really have?’ Ilkar was dismissive. ‘A couple of thousand mages alone could stop their advance. They don’t have the Wytch Lords for magical support this time.’

‘I’m very much afraid that they do,’ said Denser.

The fire crackling in the grate was suddenly the only sound. Talan’s glass stopped halfway to his lips. Ilkar opened his mouth to speak but didn’t.

Richmond shook his head. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘I understood them to be destroyed.’

‘You can’t destroy them,’ said Ilkar. ‘We never knew how and we still don’t. All Xetesk could do was trap them without a means to escape.’ He switched his gaze to the Xetesk mage. ‘What happened?’

Denser breathed in deeply and knocked the bowl of his pipe against the fire grate. He filled it as he spoke, his cat sleeping on his lap. ‘When we destroyed Parve, it was to remove all vestiges of the Wytch Lords’ power base from Balaia. It was never intended that that action would end the Wytch Lords themselves. While their bodies burned, their souls ran free and we trapped them inside a mana cage and launched it into interdimensional space.’ The cat stirred. ‘We’ve been watching it ever since.’

‘Watching what?’ asked Richmond.

‘The cage. We and we alone have kept unfailing watch on the Wytch Lords’ prison for three hundred years. As others refuse to accept us, so we refuse to accept the word of those who claim ultimate victory.’ He shrugged.

‘Clearly, you were right,’ said Ilkar.

Denser nodded. ‘We’ve noted increased dimensional transference, probably through Dragonene action, for some time. One particular move damaged the cage. We thought it was rectifiable.’ He scratched his head, then lit his pipe from a flame produced on the tip of his thumb. ‘We were wrong. Mana must have entered the cage because the Wytch Lords are no longer inside. We believe them to be back in Balaia. In Parve.’