It all added to the bowstring tension they had endured every day for their two seasons on Herendeneth. Hirad found himself needing the very people Erienne hated with a deep and abiding passion. Yet, even within that hatred, there was a part of her that needed the Al-Drechar too. Lyanna had been a child of the One, the ancient magical order that had dominated Balaia before the establishment of the four colleges over two thousand years ago. Erienne and Denser, her husband, still believed in it and the Al-Drechar were its last practitioners. What Erienne carried in her mind was the last hope for the order, but she would have to accept help from the Al-Drechar. That knowledge merely added to her misery.

‘Her mind is clouded,’ said Sha-Kaan, looking down at Erienne.

‘Grief obscures rationality.’ There was no sense of any particular sympathy from the Great Kaan, who had been edging at the extremities of Erienne’s mind with his own.

‘That’s only natural,’ said Hirad.

‘For humans,’ returned Sha-Kaan. ‘It makes her dangerous.’

Hirad sighed. ‘Sha-Kaan, she’s seen all three of her children murdered; Lyanna by the Al-Drechar, her twin sons by the Black Wing witch hunters. I’m surprised she retains any sanity at all. Wouldn’t you feel the same?’

‘In truth, birthings are an increasingly rare event among the Kaan,’ said the dragon after a pause. ‘But when a young Kaan dies, we have to replace the infant. We don’t have time to mourn.’

‘But you must have feelings for the mother and the youngster that dies,’ said Hirad.

‘The Brood mourns and the Brood supports. The mother’s mind is warmed by the Brood psyche and her pain is lessened by sharing. That is the way of dragons. For humans, grief is solitary and so is prolonged.’

Hirad shook his head. ‘It’s not solitary. We’re all here to help Erienne.’

‘But because you can’t get into her mind, you cannot help where she needs it the most.’

A reptilian bark echoed across the island and Nos-Kaan flew around the thirty-foot-high stone needle, gliding in to land close to Sha and Hirad, his golden back scales glittering in the sunlight, the earth vibrating as his hind feet touched the ground. His mighty wings, a hundred feet and more tip to tip, beat once to steady him then swept back to fold along his long body, air whipping across Hirad’s face. Nos-Kaan’s neck half coiled to bring his head next to Sha-Kaan’s and the two dragons touched muzzles briefly. Even now, so many years on, Hirad found the sight awe-inspiring and felt a moment of pure insignificance in the face of such size and grace.

‘Well met, Hirad,’ said Nos-Kaan, his voice pained.

‘How did the flight go?’

‘Do you wish the truth?’ asked the dragon. Hirad nodded. ‘I must have the healing flows of inter-dimensional space or I will die. Before that I will be land-bound.’

Hirad was shaken. He had assumed the rest both Kaan had enjoyed these last two seasons in the warm climate on Herendeneth would cure them of the magical wounds they had suffered fighting the Dordovan mages.

‘How long?’

‘Another season, no more. I am weak, Hirad.’

‘And you, Great Kaan?’

‘I am in better health,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘But death is inevitable if I cannot get home before too long. Where are your Unknown Warrior and his researchers?’

‘He’ll be here. He said he would.’

But Hirad had expected him before now. So long out of contact with the big man and he was beginning to fear something had happened to him. They had little news from Balaia - what they did get was through the incomplete knowledge of the Protectors - but none of it was good.

‘Your loyalty is commendable,’ said Sha-Kaan.

‘He’s Raven,’ said Hirad, shrugging and standing. ‘Time to check the sea for ships anyway.’

The truth was, he wanted to be alone for a moment. Only a season and Nos-Kaan would be dead. With the best will in the world, the research wouldn’t have led to meaningful realignment spells by then. Nos-Kaan’s grave was going to be Herendeneth.

He walked quickly down the slope, giving Erienne a wide berth and breaking into a trot as he passed the shored-up front doors of the house. The Protector, Aeb, stood at the entrance, unmoving, staring out northwards. Hirad nodded to him as he passed.

The single path down to the island’s only landable beach wove through waving beech groves to the small, reefed inlet. It was a peaceful walk. The warm breeze through the trees rustled leaves; the calls of birds on the wing filtered through the branches as did the distant sound of waves on the shore. Despite what he’d just heard, Hirad found himself smiling. He turned a corner and it dropped from his lips.

‘Gods burning,’ he whispered, reaching instinctively for the blade he hadn’t worn in a hundred days. He backed up the path.

Coming towards him were robed and cloaked men. Two dozen, maybe more. Mages. And where there were mages, there would be soldiers.

‘Aeb!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Darrick! We’re under attack!’

One of the mages held out his hands towards Hirad. Casting, surely. Caught unable to run and hopelessly outnumbered, Hirad did the only thing he could. He attacked. Yelling to clear his mind, he flew at the mage, fists bunched, braided hair streaming out behind him.

‘Hirad! Gods’ sake calm down!’ came a voice from beyond the group of mages, who had stopped and were looking at him in some alarm.

Hirad slid to a stop a few yards from them, kicking up dust.

‘Unknown?’

He looked harder. The unmistakable shaven head was approaching, a woman at his side, Protectors around him. Lots of them. Relief flooded through Hirad and he blew out his cheeks.

‘Gods drowning, you had me scared,’ he said.

The mages parted and The Unknown walked through, his limp pronounced, a look of discomfort on his face.

‘It’s good to see you,’ said The Unknown, crushing Hirad in an embrace.

‘And you, Unknown. You’re looking pale though. Brought the family to pick up some colour, have you?’

The Unknown laughed as he released Hirad, stepping back. Diera, her long fair hair tied back and strong beautiful face pale, came up to his side, Jonas squirming in her arms as he tried to see everything all at once. He fixed Hirad with a wary stare which the barbarian returned with a chuckle. The Unknown enveloped his family in one arm, pulling them close.

‘Well, we’ve not had the luxury of relaxing in the sun these last two seasons,’ he said. ‘Unlike you, apparently.’

‘It’s not been quite like that,’ said Hirad.

‘I’m sure it hasn’t,’ said The Unknown.

‘I’m forgetting my manners,’ said Hirad. He leant forward and kissed Diera on the cheek then stroked Jonas’s head. ‘Good to see you, Diera. I see Jonas has got his father’s hair sense.’

Diera smiled and looked down at her son’s completely bald head. ‘Hirad, he’s not a year old, poor little boy. He had plenty of hair a season ago.’

Hirad nodded. ‘It’ll grow back, young man,’ he said to Jonas. ‘Probably. And how are you, Lady Unknown? Looking a bit tired if I may say.’

‘Sea travel didn’t agree with me,’ she said.

‘You should talk to Ilkar then. He’s our expert on shipboard vomiting.’

‘Hirad, you’re disgusting,’ admonished Diera gently. ‘I just need a place to sleep that doesn’t move about.’

‘I expect we can find you somewhere.’ Hirad looked back to The Unknown, tilting his head at the massed Protectors and Xeteskian mages.

‘So what’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Bit more than a research party, isn’t it?’

The Unknown’s humour faded and he shook his head.

‘Much more,’ he said. ‘Look, we can’t stay here. There’s work for The Raven on Balaia.’

‘Calaius first, I think.’ Hirad showed the way up the path with a last look at the Xeteskians. ‘Ilkar’s not going to like this. Come on; let’s get you up to the house.’