Blackthorne folded his arms and frowned. ‘Against what?’

‘Well, magic of course. The scourge that has brought this great country to its knees, that threatens to destroy our land and that must be stopped from regaining its dominance over the people.’

‘A country that you would clearly like to see flat on its back with its eyes staring sightless at the sky,’ said Blackthorne.

‘No, one that I would see return to rude health without the ever-present fear of magical devastation.’

Blackthorne exchanged a quick glance with Gresse, who raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

‘You want me, us, to ally with you to throw down the colleges, is that it?’

‘It is a crusade of the righteous,’ said Selik. ‘You are respected men. Your presence could stop unnecessary bloodshed.’

‘Respect that alliance with you would destroy in a moment,’ said Gresse. ‘The Gods only know what bullshit your supporters swallow, but don’t treat us as fools. Your ultimate goal is the murder of every mage in Balaia. There is no unnecessary bloodshed for you, and while I have breath I will oppose you.’

Selik’s eye narrowed and his expression clouded. ‘The people are sick of magic. They want rid of it, they want it exterminated or controlled. And those who support it are the enemies of Balaia.’

‘And these people are the same ones who wallow in filth right now while their families die of hunger and disease and the only thriving creatures are rats,’ said Blackthorne.

‘And all brought upon them by magic.’

‘And magic will save them,’ snapped Blackthorne. ‘My town is free of vermin. It is free of disease. The people are fed. They can see an end. But only with the help of magic. Who will save these people should you succeed in your sick aim?’

‘Healing is a natural process and cats can catch rats,’ said Selik smoothly. ‘Breed more cats.’

Blackthorne walked forward. He was a head taller than Selik. He looked down at the Black Wing captain and saw a brief fear in his eyes that undermined his air of confidence.

‘You will not hasten an end to the college war by intervening. I want to see magic returned to balance, not exterminated. We must end this war by negotiation and strength of will. And while I am angry that there is war and disgusted at the actions taken by Xetesk and Dordover, I will not condone opportunists like you attempting to weaken the colleges to the point of collapse. Balaia must have magic.’

‘The colleges have no will other than to tear each other apart and damn the consequences for this country,’ said Selik, the fire back in his eyes.

‘And I and the barons that are with me will pressure for peace at every stage. You well know Heryst is a force for that peace and my allegiance is with him. Meanwhile, my borders are strong and my mages are loyal to me and wish the conflict ended as fervently as I do.’

‘The righteous will prevail,’ said Selik.

‘Yes, they will,’ said Blackthorne. ‘And you are not among them. This country has magic running through its veins. It is part of all of us. It makes us strong. You will never end magic, Selik, but I sincerely hope you die trying and before you consign more innocent men and women to their deaths. Now, leave my lands immediately. Any further incursion and you will be taken. Do I make myself clear?’

Selik laughed, a rattling unpleasant sound. ‘I have made my point, I have offered you alliance and now I know your allegiance. The people will not forget where you stand, Blackthorne. Nor you, Gresse. And when the army of justice rides south, remember my words.’

‘Leave.’ Blackthorne turned away to his sergeant. ‘See he leaves our lands and pass the word. They are not to be tolerated here again.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

Blackthorne and Gresse walked to their horses.

‘So why didn’t you arrest him then and there?’ asked the older baron.

‘My dear Gresse, there are times when you must gamble and this is one of those times. Something must be done to draw the colleges together, for them to unite as they did when the Wytch Lords threatened. And I can think of nothing better than a Black Wing attack, can you?’

‘And the innocents that die in the process?’

Blackthorne sighed. ‘Regrettable. Regrettable but inevitable. Come, Gresse, we have places to be and I want to wash the taste of that meeting away with a good drop of ale.’

Chapter 22

Ilkar’s quick summary of his conversations with Kild’aar and Rebraal had given Erienne new focus. Leaving Hirad to berate the Julatsan for never revealing he had a brother, she, Denser and Ren hurried over to the house Ilkar had indicated, wary of the panther and its extraordinary keeper who sat silent outside. They were stopped at the door by Kild’aar. The elven woman spoke briefly. Ren turned to them.

‘She says you’re not welcome. She says you will not defile the body of the Al-Arynaar.’

‘Tell her I agree, I will not defile his body,’ said Erienne. ‘But if she wants us to help save her village, she’d better let us through now.’

It was late and Erienne was tired. The ache in her head was growing and it pulsed like a reminder, nudging her to do something, fulfil an obligation she didn’t feel. Ren was talking to Kild’aar. It was a curt exchange. At one point the older elf pointed meaningfully at the panther who so far, like its keeper, had paid them no heed whatever. Eventually, she stepped from the doorway, her contempt clear in the set of her body and expression.

‘She says the panther will claw out your eyes if you do wrong to the body.’

Denser looked at Ren with the expression Erienne recognised whenever The Raven were threatened. Utter disdain.

‘It wouldn’t get within five yards,’ he said, and stalked inside.

They went left as directed into a candle-lit and chokingly scented room containing a single bed on which lay the shrouded figure of Mercuun. Kild’aar followed them in and stood to watch, arms folded in silent disapproval.

Erienne knelt by the bedside and Denser pulled the shroud gently from the body, folding it back to expose his head and bare chest. In the flickering light, Erienne could make out a young, angular face. No bruising was evident on the dark skin.

She placed her hands on his chest, hearing a hiss of indrawn breath from Kild’aar. The skin was cold, hard and waxy. She ignored the unpleasant sensation and tuned herself to the mana spectrum, directing a sheet of mana across the body slowly from head to toe, her fingers picking up everything it touched and penetrated.

Almost immediately she felt a surge of nausea, like gulping rancid air. She fought to keep her concentration, focussing hard on her task, driving her mind to analyse what the mana stream fed back to her. The construct she was using borrowed heavily from the Body-Cast spell, but Mercuun couldn’t have been saved even by this most powerful healer casting. It could knit bone, repair muscle and organ, stop bleeding and soothe bruising. But it couldn’t reverse rot and decay.

She withdrew from Mercuun’s body, nodding at Denser to replace the shroud. For a moment she remained on her knees, rubbing her hands slowly down the top of her thighs. She breathed deeply to clear her head of the fetid sensations she’d experienced and returned her mind to its normal state.

‘All right, love?’ asked Denser, squatting down beside her and stroking her cheek.

‘Yes,’ she said, and looked across at Ren. ‘I need to know some things. Ask her how long he’s been dead.’

Ren nodded and asked the question.

‘Two days,’ she relayed. ‘They are waiting for Rebraal before they commit his body to the forest.’