‘Perhaps we should parley again, discuss your surrender.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Darrick and behind him, his men cheered. ‘After all, you didn’t believe me last time and I do consider myself a man of my word.’

He gestured west, far across the Blackthornes where the rip had dominated the sky like a second menacing moon.

‘You see, The Raven were trying to save us all and I’ll be damned if I let them return to a land ruled by you, Tessaya.’

‘Brave words for a man in your delicate position,’ said Tessaya. ‘You are not in a position to make demands and even your best warriors have given up.’ He wafted a hand at the Protectors who, walking away towards Xetesk, had stopped and were looking into the sky even as he indicated them. He shrugged. ‘And how, might I ask, will your Raven return at all? The hole to your allies has been most effectively plugged.’

An alien sound echoed distantly. It was a sound Darrick had heard before but, this time, he gambled it did not signal an enemy.

‘There are ways, Lord Tessaya.’

The Protectors had not moved on, their masked faces still scouring the sky. Three dots had appeared on the horizon, high up and closing incredibly fast.

‘I do believe they are coming now.’

‘As if it would make any difference,’ said Tessaya. ‘Meet me in the middle and we will discuss your surrender. Refuse and I shall bleed every last one of you.’

‘The Raven might not make a difference. Their friends, though, might.’ He turned to his nearest Captain. ‘Gods, I hope I’m right. Those are dragons coming this way. Pray The Raven are aboard them or we’ll all be dead momentarily.’

He walked towards the waiting Tessaya.

In no man’s land between the opposing armies, the two men met, their bows respectful, the distance between them deferential.

‘It is a complex situation, is it not?’ noted Tessaya, his face smug.

‘Not particularly,’ responded Darrick. ‘Your armies have invaded our lands, we have stopped you every step of the way and now you seek to negotiate a surrender to ease what would otherwise be a very uncertain path.’

Tessaya folded his arms across his broad chest. Darrick could see drying blood on his forearms and furs. ‘An interesting view but, given the fact that I have already forced the surrender of the pitiful band you sent through my forest yesterday, I feel you are both outnumbered and hold no cards. I hold many lives and I will not hesitate to crush them.’

Darrick risked a glance to his right and saw the dots increasing in size. He wouldn’t have long to bluff now.

‘Very well,’ he said, allowing his head to drop very slightly. ‘State your terms. Let me hear your version of honourable surrender.’

Tessaya chuckled, a breeze ruffling his hair, the rain easing to a stop as he spoke. He spread his hands wide.

‘Even the rains await my words,’ he said. ‘I do not wish to see any more fighting. All those standing behind you will lay down their arms and place themselves under the control of my Captains. They will be held here until suitable work can be found.

‘You will accompany my victorious army to Korina where you will negotiate the surrender of the city to me. You and all of your soldiers will be well treated. Third—’

A ripple of consternation ran through the lines of Wesmen and Balaians. Tessaya half turned, a frown crossing his face. Now it was Darrick’s turn to look smug.

‘Sorry, my Lord but those terms and any that follow are unacceptable, ’ he said. His heart was pounding and again he sent a silent prayer that it was Kaan dragons approaching.

‘You are under no—’

‘Be silent!’ thundered Darrick, the power of his voice rolling over Tessaya, who flinched visibly. ‘You questioned my word, Wesman, and now you are about to regret that decision. You asked where The Raven might come from. Look to your left and look in the sky. There you will find your answer.’

Without looking himself, he pointed, seeing Tessaya’s head turn as if against his will. He watched the Wesman Lord pale and his mouth drop open. All around them, the consternation turned to shouts of warning and fear. On both sides, men broke and ran, the Balaian commanders shouting for calm; their Wesmen counterparts fleeing with their men.

To his credit, Tessaya did not bolt, choosing instead to back away to where his men once stood.

Looking at last, Darrick saw the dragons losing height as they rushed in, still coming at extraordinary speeds. And there was no doubting the flashes of colour against the radiant gold that he could see on each neck.

He opened his mouth and roared with laughter.

The Wesmen had launched arrows, they had made dummy charges and they had taunted, denouncing the courage of the Easterners. But the four-College cavalry, with Blackthorne and Gresse at its head, had faced them down, knowing they could wheel and outdistance their enemy at any given moment.

Eventually, as Blackthorne had guessed, the Wesman commander’s curiosity had got the better of him and, under the red and white Wesmen flag of truce, he had come forward alone. Blackthorne and Gresse had ridden out to meet him. The conversation had been short.

‘I am Adesellere. I would have your names.’

‘Blackthorne and Gresse, Barons,’ Blackthorne had replied.

‘Where are the rest of your forces?’ Only then had Gresse worked out Blackthorne’s theory and why the Wesmen hadn’t simply charged in, putting the cavalry to flight.

‘Well now,’ Blackthorne had said, his tribal Wes all but faultless. ‘It is possible that they are dispersed around this camp, waiting to strike at you as you advance. Alternatively, they may have marched from here in the dead of night, north across the crags to fight your army at Septern Manse.

‘You can find this out by advancing in here and you know we will ride out of your way. But then you might die. Or, you can march towards the Manse. You should be there before dark. Which is it to be? I know which I’d choose.’

Behind them, tent flaps snapped in the breeze. The rain still fell. Adesellere had looked past him to the rows of tents. All silent but all potentially containing sudden death.

‘You will not halt the march of the Wesmen forever,’ Adesellere had said. And he had turned and led his warriors from the battlefield.

Half an hour later, Blackthorne and the cavalry still sat on horseback. The odd scout had ridden out, reporting back that the Wesmen were indeed marching east at a healthy pace.

‘Well, my friends,’ said Blackthorne. ‘I think it’s time we went to collect our wounded. They would be so much more comfortable here.’

He wheeled his horse, the cavalry following suit. It was then the cries went up. Forging towards them, three shapes came out of the shadow of the sky over the Blackthorne Mountains, travelling at extraordinary pace. Gresse thought to turn to ask an elf but it was clear to them all what was coming.

‘Dismount! Dismount!’ The Captain roared as the horses, sensing new and awful danger, began to stamp or buck. The order was obeyed immediately and the horses, once free of human control, took flight, scattering in the face of the threat from above.

‘Dear Gods,’ said Gresse, a painful lump in his throat, his heart beating wildly. He was sweating. The backs of his hands, his forehead, his back and his breath stuttered in his lungs. He couldn’t move and beside him Blackthorne didn’t either.

The dragons closed, the gold of their bodies sparkling in the muted rainswept sky. Lower they came, and lower, and one emitted a piercing bark as they raced overhead, swooping by. Gresse spun around, almost losing his footing. He could have sworn he heard laughter as they passed.

He shuddered as they disappeared behind the hill line and turned back to Blackthorne. The Baron’s smile split his face and he clapped a trembling hand on Gresse’s shoulder.