Unless she could be in a position while she was with them to cast effectively, she couldn’t take the risk. But then there was the future, after he had no further need of her. Would he let them all go? Part of her wanted to believe that he wasn’t a murderer of innocents, that his intellect had a compassionate side, but that part was small. Erienne knew in her heart that he had no intention of letting them leave the castle. He surely knew her sons had great potential power, and that power would scare him. And that left her having to prolong their lives in any way she knew how and hope that he would drop his guard even for a moment to give her the chance she wanted. Until he let the boys out of their room, that chance would never materialise.

As the hours went by, her anger faded, to be replaced by the dread feeling of longing over which she had no control. She stopped being able to concentrate and the lore lessons were forgotten. Her heart pounded painfully in her breast and the tears were regular and prolonged as her happy memories of the boys gave way to nightmare visions of them cold and alone in a dusty room without anyone to protect them.

She knew the answer was simple. To see them was to call the guard and agree to help the Captain. But to help him was abhorrent to her every belief. And not only that. She believed him to be deeply misguided, and to lend assistance would place Balaia in greater danger than it appeared to be in already.

After two days, she couldn’t sleep, eat or wash, the longing was that great. All she could do was shuffle, head down, around the room, calling out their names and praying for their safe return to her. Her mind was full of them, her body racked with the need of them.

She called the Captain on the third day, when she feared she was losing her mind and when she was sure her boys would wither without her. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she wept tears through the dirt on her face. Her hair was lank and greasy, knotted and straggling over her scalp. Great dark circles under her eyes told their own story about the state of her fatigue, and her nightdress was torn at one shoulder where she’d caught it on a loose nail.

‘You have denied yourself,’ said the Captain. ‘The answer was forever in your grasp.’

She was too tired to defend herself, slumping instead into the chair. ‘Let me see them,’ she said.

The Captain ignored her plea. ‘I assume you have some news for me.’

‘What do you want from me?’ she said, her voice thick with exhaustion.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good. I knew you’d see sense. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. First, I want you to get some proper rest, and I’m going to make it easy for you by promising that you will see your sons very soon. And I never go back on my promises, as you are aware. Then we will talk about your role in saving Balaia from this appalling creation of Dawnthief.’

‘I have to see them now,’ said Erienne.

The Captain knelt beside her and held up her face. She looked at him, his smile softening his features into fatherly concern.

‘Erienne, look at yourself. They will be frightened if they see you like this. You must sleep, then you must wash. Now come.’ He rose and helped her out of the chair and across to the bed, moving the blankets over her as she lay down, unprotesting. ‘I’ll stay with you until you sleep. And dream happy, because when you awaken, you will see Thom and Aron and realise they are well.’ He stroked her hair back from her face, and though she fought it, sleep took her in an iron grip and she slipped into a deep slumber.

The Captain turned to Isman and smiled broadly. ‘You see, Isman? Deprivation can get the results that violence does not.’ He stood. ‘Now, one more piece to the puzzle. Let’s go and talk about how we might catch our most valuable prize.’

Ilkar just stared while he tried to compose himself. The quiet hurt his ears. Talan had kneeled and closed The Unknown’s eyes, and now he, Richmond and Ilkar stood around the big man’s body as the wind ruffled his bloodied hair and blew in through the open door of the barn. Hirad, having decapitated the last dog, had walked back two steps and collapsed. Denser was tending him.

Thoughts crashed through Ilkar’s head in a confused barrage but one kept rising to the surface of his mind. It was the view in front of him. The Unknown lying dead was a sight he had never believed he would see. And the idea that he would no longer be there to say the right words or make the correct decision to save them all was one that Ilkar was unable to take.

‘Why the hell did he do it?’ he asked.

Richmond shook his head; tears stood in his eyes.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We could have helped him. If he hadn’t locked the door, we . . . Why did he lock it?’

It was not a question Ilkar could answer. He dragged his attention to Hirad and caught Denser’s eye. The Dark Mage was worried.

‘Bad?’

Denser nodded. ‘Do you know WarmHeal?’

‘That bad, is it?’

‘Yes,’ said Denser. ‘He’s lost a great deal of blood. Well?’

‘I’ve never used it,’ said Ilkar.

‘I’m not asking you to use it. All I need you to do is to shape the mana flow for me - I don’t have the energy.’

‘You want me to channel mana for you,’ said Ilkar slowly. ‘How can you ask that of me?’

Denser scratched his head beneath his skull cap. ‘This isn’t the time to discuss morals and College co-operation.’

‘No?’

‘No!’ snapped Denser, standing and pointing down at the prostrate Hirad. ‘I don’t think you quite understand. If we don’t do something now, he will die. Now you can either try it yourself, use your energy and probably screw up, or you can shape the mana for me and I’ll make it work. I’m good at it.’ He was standing very close to Ilkar, and the elf could feel the cat squirming in Denser’s cloak. ‘So which is it to be?’

Ilkar looked away, straight into the stern gazes of Talan and Richmond. He held out his hands.

‘You don’t understand,’ he said.

‘We understand that if you don’t do something, Hirad will die,’ said Richmond. ‘And we’ve just lost one, so stop talking ethics and get on with it.’

Ilkar looked back to Denser and inclined his head. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

Denser removed Hirad’s leather armour and shirt. The tear in his lower back was ugly, full of blood and over twelve inches long. Denser probed the area around the gash and Hirad moaned his pain through his unconsciousness.

‘It’ll be infected,’ said Denser. ‘Destranas are never clean. Are you ready?’

Ilkar nodded. Kneeling, he placed his hands on Denser’s shoulders, index fingers on the base of his neck. He opened his mind to the mana, feeling a surge through his body before he began shaping the WarmHeal and channelling the energy through his hands. There was a jolt as Denser accepted the flow and something akin to pain as the two Colleges, Julatsa and Xetesk, met and melded. Focusing on the Dark Mage’s hands, Ilkar blotted out the barn around him and the ache growing in his head, seeing Denser’s gentle finger movements, hearing his quiet incantation and feeling the mana being dragged through him with greater force as the preparation climaxed.

He could feel himself beginning to weaken. Denser was hauling the stamina from him as he drew on the magical force with ever greater urgency. And then it was done, the flow shut off, the channel closed, and Denser’s hands were encased in a red-tinged golden glow. For Ilkar, the colour would have been a pure green, soft and pulsating but he couldn’t say that the feeling was any different than if the mage under his hands had been another Julatsan. Unable to move from his position, Ilkar watched as Denser moved his hands over the wound, his fingers kneading the skin and probing the torn flesh. Blood flowed briefly on to the floor of the barn, Denser breathed in slowly and, with his exhalation, the light dimmed and died.