‘Well?’ demanded Denser.

‘It’s not magic. Not like you know,’ said Hirad. ‘It’s a piece of interdimensional material carrying the signatures of the Kaan and Balaia. No one outside of those groups can go through it. To them, it’s solid rock. Clever, these dragons, aren’t they?’ He walked through the wall.

Outside, the accuracy of Denser’s memories of the landscape was confirmed. They emerged into a vast valley of blackened earth and scorched trees, dead trunks reaching for the sky, fingers searching in vain for rescue. Only the most tenacious of undergrowth grew on the blasted ground and an acrid burnt smell permeated the air.

Behind them, the rock appeared like an area of tumbledown crag, indistinguishable from a dozen like it scattered along the valley slopes. Above, the sky was a deep and beautiful blue, blown through by wisps of high cloud. Nothing stirred. No animals nosed under the trees, no birds twittered in the boughs or swooped through foliage. The atmosphere was heavier here, thick and moist, every smell alien in their nostrils; and the air settled uncomfortably in their lungs, though there was no ill in it.

‘It’s so quiet,’ breathed Erienne. The Raven stood together a few paces distant from Styliann and his half dozen Protectors, the latter seeming just a little distracted; a fact not missed by The Unknown. To the left, Jatha stood with two dozen of his people, all small men by Balaian standards, similar in height to poor Will but stockier, powerful in the shoulders and legs, their bodies used to hard physical labour. All were men and all wore beards of varying lengths tied with braiding, Jatha’s being the most complex.

While The Raven studied the devastation, Jatha’s people scoured the sky or held their ears to the ground, listening for attack, never letting their hands stray too far from their weapons; flat-bladed stubby broadswords and short maces, weapons designed to deliver uncultured power in battle.

‘What now?’ asked Ilkar.

‘Now we travel to Wingspread. To the Kaan homeland,’ said Hirad.

Jatha came to Hirad’s side and turned an anxious face in his direction.

‘Come,’ he said, uncomfortable with the speech. ‘Bad place.’ He gestured away along the valley floor with his left arm. In the distance, hills shimmered in the sun’s haze. ‘Home,’ he said.

‘It’s time to go,’ said Hirad. ‘Looks like we’re walking it.’

‘No dragons to give us a lift?’ asked Denser.

‘Never,’ said Hirad, his face stony.

They set off after Jatha and his people, the Kaan’s servant race setting a brisk pace, their eyes always tracking the sky above. Underfoot, the ground was baked hard by sun and fire and, here and there, as they crossed the valley floor, the white of bone showed bright against the earth.

‘How far is it?’ asked Erienne, her hand on her belly, eyes troubled. Hirad shrugged.

‘We’re very short of time,’ said Ilkar. ‘We have a great deal to learn if we are to cast an effective spell.’

‘Or anything at all,’ agreed Denser. He placed an arm around Erienne’s shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Tired, I think.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’ll be fine.’

The party continued along the valley floor for over an hour before Jatha turned left and scrambled up a dried-up watercourse that wound up the slope, alternately steep and shallow in the climb. He and his men halted at the top where the line of blackened trunks thinned out. The sight that greeted The Raven was breathtaking.

In front of them, and sweeping away for mile after unbroken mile, lay a softly undulating plain of tall grass that whispered in the breeze. Gusts of wind played across its red- and blue-flecked straw yellow surface, driving dark colour in swirling patterns that ebbed and flowed like eddies on the sea. Here and there, unmoving dark scars spoiled the totality of the plain and the land rose and fell in gentle rolls until it butted against the foothills of a cloud-shrouded mountain range that ran across the horizon, its ends lost in mist.

But it was the scene above and ahead of them that caused hearts to flutter. Staining the cloud-flecked blue of the sky like a monumental smear of dirt on fine cloth, was the rip. Around its edges, cloud bubbled and roiled; across its surface, red lightning flared and coursed and the whole rippled, its periphery agitating ceaselessly at the blue.

And then there were the dragons. Hirad counted forty flying in complex but ordered patterns in front of the rip while two dozen more circled in groups of three at wider distances, plunging through the thin cloud, wheeling left and right, their cries echoing faintly to the ground.

Jatha pointed. ‘Kaan,’ he said.

‘Can it be done?’ asked The Unknown with another glance at the Protectors, none of whom stood ready to defend Styliann, their eyes also fixed on the rip and its guardians.

Styliann let out a long hissing breath. ‘Magic has an answer to everything.’

‘Eventually,’ added Ilkar. ‘But time is something we don’t have. I suggest we get moving and work every break. Just look at the size of that thing.’

Hirad looked, and the short time they had pressed on him like never before. He almost believed he could see it growing as he watched. Perhaps he could.

‘Hirad?’ It was The Unknown.

‘Hmm?’ He tore his eyes from the rip and its attendant Kaan to focus on the big warrior. ‘What?’

‘It’s time to go.’ He gestured at Jatha who was staring at Hirad reverently. Hirad nodded.

‘Jatha. Wingspread?’ The Great Kaan’s attendant frowned then beamed.

‘Wingspread,’ he said and pointed away across the plain to the distant mountains. His smile faltered a little. ‘Careful.’ He indicated the sky and made swooping motions with his arms. ‘Careful.’ He indicated his eyes then pointed in all directions around him.

‘Got that, Raven?’ Hirad asked. Their silence told him they had. The party set off down the slope towards the seductively swaying plains grass.

The grass was taller even than Cil and The Unknown but its dense growth made travel tortuously slow. It smelled of fresh fields but also contained a beguiling sweetness, like ripe fruit on a hot day. And while it gave them good protection from ground threat, none of them were under any illusion about how the path they left appeared from above.

Jatha had been more optimistic, gesturing to them how the strands sprang back. But even his expression turned to worry as he saw the damage the heavier Balaians were causing.

He kept them moving at as fast a pace as was possible for the entire afternoon, stopping only briefly for food. As the evening drew on, Jatha and his men began to look for something, though to Hirad there was no break from the monotony of the grass.

At a signal from one of his men, Jatha brought the line to a halt. He turned to Hirad and made exaggerated tiptoe. The barbarian nodded and turned to The Raven.

‘Try not to break too much grass, eh?’

Jatha led them from their path, moving very slowly, watching his every step as he handed the grass aside. His men mimicked his careful movement, Hirad shrugging and doing likewise, knowing The Raven would follow his lead. The deliberate movement continued for a good half hour but again the result was obvious - it would take a tracker of Thraun’s skill to find them.

As it had been for much of the day, their destination was unclear until they were on it. Hirad, following the last of Jatha’s men, almost walked into the back of him as he stopped abruptly. In front of him, four of them crouched in a loose half-circle. Each man grasped at the earth, lifted and moved back a soil- and grass-covered wood and sacking lattice some three feet on each side. Without pause, Jatha led his men down into the gloom.

‘Neat,’ said Ilkar, standing by Hirad.

‘I’m amazed they could find it,’ said Hirad.