‘Hirad Coldheart.’

‘Yes, Great Kaan.’

‘Are you and The Raven ready?’

Hirad took a deep breath. ‘Yes. We are.’

‘Then let me introduce you to the Skies.’ Sha-Kaan’s deafening bark ripped through the relative peace of the Broodlands. From the high ledges, Vestare called back before setting off to the plains. dragon calls answered the Great Kaan, flights of the huge beasts took to the air and Sha-Kaan lurched to his feet, sending Hirad’s stomach tumbling end over end. The dragon’s wings swept out and extended with a noise like a wave dragging on a pebbled shore. Hirad clasped Ilkar’s shoulder, the mage’s hand covered his and, with a beat of those wings, Sha-Kaan propelled himself into the air.

Barons Blackthorne and Gresse stood by one of the forward watch-fires as dawn crept across the sky. The cloud kept the day dark but they could now just about see the shapes of Wesmen moving about. With the injured helped or carried to a hiding place deep into the crags to the north-west, Darrick’s cavalrymen divided themselves into saddling their horses and appearing to be many more than they actually were.

‘Ever feel like you’ve been left out, Blackthorne?’ asked Gresse, taking a swallow of coffee in the chill damp of the morning.

‘I’ve been given more exciting orders,’ agreed Blackthorne. ‘But I think he’s right. I’m too old to run through the night.’

‘What do you think they’ll do?’

‘The Wesmen?’

‘Yes. Stand or come on?’

Blackthorne scratched at his immaculately tended beard. ‘Well, they’re too late to join the fight at the Manse today so if I was them, I’d make sure we were definitely all gone before I tried to join my colleagues. Then I’d go.’

‘So saddling up’s a good idea for us,’ said Gresse.

Blackthorne nodded. ‘But I don’t think they’ll chase us down. We need to be visible enough to be counted but out of range of arrows.’

Wesmen were around a hundred and fifty yards distant and spread from crag to forest. And while those visible numbered less than three hundred, Blackthorne had no doubt that the weight of Wesmen would be positioned not far behind. Had Darrick made it through? He had to assume so. No alarms had been raised in the Wesmen ranks and no one had returned with news of disaster.

With light growing, he knew they couldn’t maintain the illusion much longer and he was relieved to hear that the horses were saddled and ready. His heart beat faster. It was going to be an exciting first half of the morning.

Beside him, Baron Gresse had swept the dew from a stone and sat down, a refill of coffee in his gloved hand. Every man and mage was ready. Packs were tied to saddles, swords cleaned and scabbarded. They’d have to abandon the forge, the armoury and hundreds of yards of canvas but it didn’t matter. Equipment could be replaced. Able Balaian fighting men and mages could not.

‘Ready to run?’ asked Blackthorne.

‘Absolutely,’ said Gresse. He placed his mug on the ground and pulled off a boot, emptying out an imaginary stone.

‘Gresse, I will not hesitate to leave you to die,’ said Blackthorne.

Gresse laughed. ‘Everyone else in this war is experiencing tension and fear like never in their lives. I didn’t want you to feel left out.’

Beside Blackthorne, a cavalryman cleared his throat.

‘Yes, Captain,’ said Blackthorne. The man, mostly hidden under nose-fluked helm, heavy cloak and leather armour, bowed slightly.

‘My Lords, I believe we should be ready to move.’ He gestured towards the main trail which was rapidly filling with Wesmen. Shouts rattled across the whole front with answers bouncing back, the anxiety and urgency clear in the tones though the language was alien.

The cavalry still patrolled as they had all night, moving in and out of sight behind tents, making great play of stoking perimeter watch-fires and calling out that all was well each half an hour.

‘Gresse, get that boot back on,’ said Blackthorne.

‘Trouble with the lace, old friend,’ came the reply.

‘Gresse, your boots have no laces. Get it back on. This game of chicken is fast reaching a conclusion.’ He looked down to see Gresse take a glance at the opposition and ram his foot into his boot and stand up, his drink forgotten.

Wesmen were advancing.

‘Cavalry!’ called the Captain. ‘Ready the retreat. Eyes backward. Slowly!’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Blackthorne as they moved slowly away, the Wesmen taking ground cautiously. ‘If we can, let’s mount up, keep a respectful distance and HardShield ourselves. I’d like to talk to whoever’s in charge.’

‘What by all the Gods for?’ asked Gresse.

‘Just trust me, all right?’

Gresse shrugged. The cavalry Captain issued his revised orders.

Hirad had vomited his stomach dry well before Sha-Kaan levelled out to fly directly for the rip. They would arrive there in no more than an hour, such was their speed, Nos and Hyn-Kaan tucked in behind, the mass of the Kaan dragons either circling the rip or flying on ahead.

The roar in his ears of the wind whipping past his head dragged all sense from him and it had been a long time before he had been able to open his eyes more than slits. Below him, the ground was impossibly far away. It was a mass of colours and textures fogging before his nauseated vision and the confusion of Sha-Kaan’s banks and turns as he oriented himself left Hirad with no idea where they had come from. Only the size of the rip ahead gave him any sense of direction and even the sight of that was punctuated by the clouds that he knew worried Sha-Kaan more than anything.

He felt a warming pulse through his mind and Sha-Kaan was there, cooling his blood flow and slowing his heart rate.

‘Calm, Hirad Coldheart. I will not let you fall.’

‘Small comfort,’ mumbled Hirad. He felt mirth, then seriousness.

‘The cloud will hide our enemies. We will have to be careful.’

In front of Hirad, Ilkar turned round, his face bright and alive and full of the excitement of the flight. But then, of course, if he fell he could cast ShadowWings before he hit the ground.

‘How are you, Hirad,’ he shouted, leaning back as far as he could. Hirad just shook his head and gripped harder at the rope the Vestare had looped around Sha-Kaan’s neck. ‘You’re doing fine.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it.’ He shouted back. He risked a glance behind him, seeing the other two dragons in close formation. Denser waved but The Unknown didn’t see him. His head was tucked in, his hands gripping his rope as hard as Hirad was.

Facing forwards again, he saw the gentle flying of the dragons around the rip change. Calls echoed distantly and trios of Kaan formed up and shot away. He followed their direction and felt his body quail at what he saw. Heading their way, the sky was black with hundreds of small dots quickly resolving into enemy dragons. Sha-Kaan roared and stepped up his pace, the sound rumbling through his body and shaking Hirad to his very bones.

‘Hang on, Hirad Coldheart. Soon it will start.’

Sha-Kaan powered through the air, the beats of his wings a thundering tumult assailing Hirad’s ears. His legs ached from their grip around Sha-Kaan’s thick rough neck and his hands were cold through his gauntlets, his grip on the rope that of a dead man. He only hoped he could lever his fingers free to hold Ilkar when the time came.

The cohesion was no longer there. The messages flew through their minds with the speed of the day before but somehow the thought was not converted to the instant action they had taken as right. And it cost them lives.

Within half an hour of dawn, Aeb heard twice the number of his brothers fall as in the whole of the previous day. He sported a deep cut on one arm, making his axe little more than a defensive pole while his sword arm worked double time just to keep him alive.