Erienne found herself stunned for the second time in so many minutes. But this time her surprise was edged with real fear. If the Captain truly believed he could act as guardian for Dawnthief, he was even more deluded and dangerous than she thought. He clearly had no conception of its power, or the length to which some mages would go to own it.

‘Do you seriously think Xetesk, or Dordover for that matter, would agree to your holding the key to such power?’ asked Erienne, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

‘They will have no choice when I control the players of the game,’ replied the Captain.

Erienne frowned and shifted in her seat, a cold feeling creeping up her back. Just how much did this man know? ‘I’m sorry, I’m not with you,’ she offered.

‘Oh, come now, Erienne, do you think you were chosen at random? Do you think my knowledge is so limited? You are Dordover’s brightest lore mage and a known expert on the multi-lore nature of Dawnthief. I already control you.’ He shrugged. ‘All I need now is the man most capable of casting it.’

‘You’ll never take him. He is too well protected.’ Erienne was dismissive.

‘And there you are wrong. Again. Indeed, I almost succeeded in killing him very recently. In hindsight, a fortunate failure. Particularly for you.’

‘Why?’ But she already knew the answer.

‘Because yesterday, I had the mind to destroy the means to cast it. And you know rather too much than is good for you. When I have you both, I will also have the respect I deserve to see my work through.’

‘You know so little,’ grated Erienne. ‘We will not help you and you will not catch the Xeteskian.’

‘Really? I would advise caution before making such statements.’

‘He and I would both choose death over aiding you in your ridiculous scheme. Should your plan ever work, the walls of this castle would glow with the afterburn of so much destructive magic that they could be seen in Korina! You are not strong enough to hold such power.’

The Captain was silent for a time. He swirled the remaining liquid in his glass and downed it, immediately picking up the bottle to refill.

‘Of course, death is an option you can choose,’ he said, pulling at an ear. ‘But it’s not a choice you should be making for your children, is it?’ He smiled. ‘You need to give this matter some proper consideration. Your family depends on you giving the right answer. Isman will see you to your room. Isman!’ The door opened.

‘I want to return to my children,’ said Erienne.

With startling speed, the Captain reached across the table and grabbed Erienne’s chin and lower jaw, drawing her to him.

‘You are here at my pleasure. Perhaps some time alone might help you remember that, eh?’ He let her go. ‘When you have come to the right decision, please come and see me. Until then, enjoy the peace and quiet. Isman, the audience is over.’

‘Bastard,’ whispered Erienne. ‘Bastard.’

‘I need to protect the innocents of Balaia from the march of dark magic. I expect you to help me.’

‘I want to see my sons!’ she cried.

‘Then be of some use and stop telling me what a child could guess!’ The Captain’s face softened. ‘Until then, I don’t think I can oblige.’ He opened his book again and waved her away.

Everyone was speaking at once. Ilkar was shouting at Denser, whose hands were held palms outwards in an attempt to calm him. The Unknown was trying to get the Xetesk mage’s attention, while Richmond and Talan merely exchanged confusion.

Hirad floated above it all, his eyes once more fixed on the shrouded form of Sirendor Larn, the noise like the sound of the sea heard from a distance. Ten years. Ten years as founder partners of the most successful mercenary team ever formed. They’d fought together in battles they should have lost but had won. They’d walked away unscathed when blood ran thick in the battlefield massacre. They’d saved each other’s lives so many times it hardly warranted a nod of the head in thanks.

And now Sirendor lay dead. On the very night he’d sheathed his sword for love, he had been murdered by an assassin who struck out at the wrong man. And for what? Because the man now invading The Raven’s space had stolen the key to a dead mage’s workshop and the Witch Hunters didn’t want him to have it.

He seethed, his voice deadening the hubbub like cloud over the sun.

‘He died for a key you stole.’ The room fell silent. ‘That’s it, is it? Satisfied with your day’s work, are you?’ His voice cracked. ‘After all we survived, he died for a three-inch disc. For your sake, it’d better be unbelievably important.’ He sat back in his chair, all pretence at bravado gone, a knuckle rammed into his mouth and tears welling behind his eyes.

‘Oh, it’s important all right, Hirad,’ said Ilkar, the colour barely returned to his cheeks, his eyes narrow slits. ‘If he succeeds in recovering Dawnthief, Sirendor’s death could prove a mercy to him compared to what we’ll be facing.’

‘What the hell is this thing?’ demanded Talan.

‘Dawnthief is a spell. The spell, I think; and Septern is the mage credited with inventing it,’ said The Unknown. He looked to Denser for support.

‘Absolutely right, Unknown. The spell itself is very well known to all the Colleges of magic,’ said Denser. ‘Every magic-user knows of its power . . . its potential for catastrophe. Fortunately, although the words are common knowledge, Dawnthief will not work without three forms of catalyst, and no one has discovered what they are or even where to go to find out. That is, until now. This amulet will let us into Septern’s workshop and we are expecting to find the information there.’

‘You knew what you were looking for when we met you, right?’ asked Talan.

‘Yes,’ agreed Denser. ‘Look, I’m not about to go into detail on Xetesk’s recent research but it led us to believe that Septern was a Dragonene mage—’

‘What’s a—’

‘Later, Talan,’ said The Unknown. ‘Carry on, Denser.’

‘There were many other pointers to this conclusion but the important fact was that it directed our search for Dawnthief in a new direction - other dimensions, to be exact. As I explained to Ilkar, we have developed a spell which can detect the mana movement and shape needed to open a dimension door. We’ve been through many in search of Dawnthief, all of which have been opened by Dragonene. This time we found what we were looking for.’

‘And my friends are already dying because of it,’ said Hirad.

‘You do not know how sorry I am that that is the case,’ returned Denser softly.

‘I don’t need your sympathy, Denser, I need to know why the Witch Hunters wanted to kill you.’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘No, it is not,’ said Hirad. ‘I asked you why my friend died in your place and you haven’t told me.’

‘Very well. To spell it out, they want me dead because of who I am and where I come from.’

‘Why should it make a difference who you are?’ asked Ilkar.

‘I’m Xetesk’s principal Dawnthief mage,’ said Denser simply.

Ilkar’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, this just gets better and better,’ he muttered.

‘What—’ began Talan.

‘Hold on,’ said Ilkar. ‘Are you saying that you actually plan to cast it?’

‘It’s the only way to destroy the Wytch Lords, Ilkar, we both know that.’

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘They are coming back, and if we don’t find Dawnthief and use it on them as soon as we can, we will eventually be on the wrong end of it ourselves. Finding it and threatening them with it won’t be enough. They have to be destroyed or Balaia will be lost. There’s going to be an invasion, and this time we don’t have the strength to withstand the tide of Wesmen indefinitely. Not with the Wytch Lords backing them.’

‘The light-stealer. This is it.’ Ilkar’s words sat heavy in the air, his anxiety evident in the way he was poised, tense in his chair as if about to leap from it.