‘The Wesmen may have the greater numbers but we have the greater heart. We have the fire inside of us, we have the belief. We are fighting for our land and the people we love.

‘The future of Balaia will not be decided at the gates of Korina, nor at the walls of Xetesk. It will be decided here at Septern Manse today.

‘And I know that every one of you will play his part. I believe in you. Do you?’

The roar that greeted his question lifted Darrick’s heart and made him very happy that the Wesmen had already begun their attack.

Great words, he thought, but the truth would be told by the stroke of the sword and the play of the mana.

Time to believe. Time to fight.

‘Sol?’

The Unknown spun round at the sound of his given name. It was Cil. He, Ile and Rya were standing over the mound of recently-turned earth under which the remains of Styliann’s blasted body now lay. There had been no reverence, indeed no interest from any but Denser who had felt a collegiate responsibility for the ex-Master’s burial.

No grand ceremony for Styliann in the crypts of Xetesk. No lying in state, no train of mourning, no ritual entombment. No honour. Just a rude grave dug in the soft ground away from the river under a rock overhang in an alien dimension. Dug by Protectors using Vestare tools and infilled the same way.

The Unknown walked towards the trio. Vestare woven rope coils over his shoulders.

‘What is it, Cil?’ he asked.

‘The decision has been made. We won’t travel back to Balaia. We are staying here, to live among the Kaan.’

The Unknown nodded. ‘I thought you might. Now, you are sure you can still feel your souls.’

‘And should the loneliness become too much, we can return,’ said Rya.

‘The masks?’ The Unknown touched his cheek, a painful memory returning unbidden.

‘You are the one chosen to be first to see,’ said Cil. ‘The demons can’t harm us here. They have no control in this dimension. Here, we are free.’

Without hesitation, each Protector unstrapped and lifted off his mask and clutched it in his hands.

The Unknown held his breath but the wonder in their eyes told him all he needed to know. They were feeling the air on their faces for the first time in months, maybe years. They took in huge lungfuls, shook their heads and drank in a world where their sight was unencumbered by the edges of their moulded eyeholes.

Rya, Ile and Cil were all young men, none of them older than twenty-five. Their faces, white but for the dark areas around eyes and mouth, were striped by red weals and marked by boils and sores that, though treated by Xeteskian healers to prevent infection, were never able to fully heal under the masks. Now they would and Cil’s young, handsome face, strong-featured with deep green eyes, would be a loss to the women of Balaia. The Unknown smiled to himself; at least that was one less in competition with him when he returned.

No words were needed to express their feelings. Their eyes said more than the longest text in Xetesk’s library. The Unknown, Sol, walked to the men, free while they remained in the dragon dimension, and hugged each one. He looked deep into Cil’s eyes, seeing the hope of every Protector reflected there.

‘One day, we will all be free and you can return unmasked as you are now. Our brotherhood will never be forgotten and, though we all once again own our souls, we will never be parted. Believe me, I still feel you.’

Cil nodded. ‘You’d better go. We’re joining the second wave of ground defence with the Vestare.’

‘Good luck,’ said The Unknown.

‘And to The Raven.’

The Unknown trotted back to where The Raven stood by the dragons that would carry them to the rip. Each stood in the shadow cast by an enormous body, looking along the neck and up to the head that was held high and proud. Ilkar and Hirad would sit at the base of Sha-Kaan’s neck, the warrior behind to hold the mage in place when his casting took all his concentration. The Unknown and Denser would ride Nos-Kaan and Erienne would be held by Thraun on Hyn-Kaan.

‘Ready?’ asked Hirad.

‘Yes,’ said The Unknown, glancing back again to the free men. ‘There’s a lot of work to do back in Balaia. Let’s get going.’

There had been a feverish discussion about how best to attach themselves to the dragons. Sha-Kaan and Jatha had joined them and, in the end, the solution chosen was a relatively simple one. Each member of The Raven would have a rope looped and tied around their midriff, leaving both arms and legs free for grip and balance. The rope would then be tied hard around the dragon’s lower neck.

The idea wasn’t that the rope should hold them firmly in place but to stop them falling should they slip. The lower neck would move the least while still being narrow enough to sit astride. The mound of the body would provide anchor against slipping backwards and if the dragon dived . . .

‘. . . we’ll just have to hang on,’ said Hirad. ‘Right, let’s be aware that communication’s going to be very difficult. Sha-Kaan will lead the flight, keeping the dragons as close together as possible. We’ll have as much defence as they can spare from the rip cordon. Denser, I think you should lead the casting. Thraun, Unknown, you know what you have to do. Don’t let your mages go.’

‘What if we’re forced to break formation?’ asked Erienne.

‘Well, I’ll know through Ilkar whether it breaks spell concentration, meaning a restart, and Sha-Kaan knows to bring the formation back together as soon as he can. We have to trust them to fly defensively as necessary. What can I say? Don’t fall, any of you.’

With back-slapping, shaking of hands and hugs and a long, lingering kiss between Erienne and Denser, the three pairs split to their respective dragons, allowing Vestare woodsmen to fit their ropes. As they climbed on to the dragons’ necks, laid flat on the ground, Hirad could feel the ire rise from the chosen Kaan carriers.

‘This is most uncomfortable,’ grumbled Sha-Kaan.

‘Yeah,’ said Hirad, ‘and not just for you.’ He adjusted himself behind Ilkar, feeling the rough scales against his trousers and stretching his legs around the broad neck. It was like riding a bull. ‘I’ll not father children after this.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Sha-Kaan.

‘Never mind,’ said Hirad. Ilkar looked around at him and shook his head.

‘You are quite unbelievable,’ he said.

‘Scared, Ilks. Very scared.’

The Vestare tied the ropes under necks, using nicks in bone and scale to provide anchor points. Hirad found he could move but, so far, not loosen the rope enough to slip. In front of him, a second loop of rope gave him something to hang on to.

Now astride Sha-Kaan, he felt a new sense of the immense power of the dragon. Breaths shuddered down his neck to fill his lungs; everywhere, muscles bunched and relaxed beneath his scales, rippling his entire body, and the rumblings and gurgles of the gargantuan internal system reverberated through his legs and up his back. Looking over his shoulder, Hirad saw the mound of Sha’s body arch up, blotting out everything behind him. He couldn’t even see its tail. Below and just to the rear of his feet, the roots of the wings sprang from the torso. They too twitched, the wings slapping quietly against his body. Sha-Kaan was a flying mountain and he was an ant tied to it. The notion didn’t bear close consideration.

‘Whose idea was this?’ he muttered. He looked across at The Unknown, who sat silent and pale as he was fixed to his dragon. ‘Hey Unknown!’ he called.

‘There’s nothing you can say that’ll make this better,’ growled the big warrior.

‘I’m looking forward to shaking your hand in Balaia,’ said Hirad.

‘What is it they say?’ said The Unknown, and then a smile flickered for the briefest moment across his features. ‘See you on the other side.’