Aeb’s position was unique. Officially he was the Given of Denser, the Dawnthief mage. A high honour in itself. But in reality he was more the defender of Sol, The Unknown Warrior, the only man to have been a Protector and returned from the calling, his soul repatriated to his body.

If Protectors could genuinely feel pride, then Aeb would have been proud. But it didn’t change the fact that he could hear the agitation of the souls of his brothers in his head. They weren’t scared. They were bred to fight and defend. But when they were split they were inevitably weakened, and so anxiety filtered across the Soul Tank.

Aeb had been sitting silent in his room, having bathed his face and let the air play across his maskless features in the dark, calming those he could and listening to the thoughts of others. But now, with the voices still whispering in his head - he could never shut them out and would never want to - he strapped the mask back over his face, ignoring the discomfort, and went to find Sol.

The Unknown Warrior was standing alone but turned when the Protector approached.

‘Aeb,’ said The Unknown, nodding to him.

Aeb could see immediately that he could sense something. It had been a mystery long cherished in the Soul Tank. How Sol, with his soul in his body and not in contact with his Protector brothers any more, could still sense them all and pick up on feelings, though not fully grasp them. It gave them hope that should they ever be released from thrall they would still be joined in some indelible way. It was what they prayed for.

‘I apologise for disturbing you.’

The Unknown shook his head. ‘You are still close to me,’ he said. ‘And something’s worried you. You should be at rest.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then speak freely. Denser has granted you that freedom gladly.’

‘It is still difficult,’ he said. ‘All these years . . .’

‘You’ve heard something in the Soul Tank,’ guessed The Unknown.

‘Yes,’ said Aeb. ‘It is not information I can volunteer, Sol. You know the strictures of the calling.’

‘But you cannot knowingly lie to a direct question from your Given,’ said Denser, joining them. ‘Sorry to overhear.’

Aeb swung to face the mage.

‘So ask,’ said The Unknown.

‘Aeb, take The Unknown’s questions as coming from me. Answer us both,’ said Denser.

‘Yes.’

Denser looked across at The Unknown to speak.

‘The Protectors are engaged in combat?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘Arlen.’

‘And Xetesk are in control of the town?’

‘Yes.’

‘How far have the Dordovan forces been pushed back?’

‘They have been eliminated.’

‘What?’ The Unknown gaped and looked across at Denser.

‘Were they given the option of surrender?’ asked the mage.

‘No.’

‘And the Protectors were ordered to kill them all?’

‘All that survived the magical attack. Cavalry were despatched to deal with outlying forces.’

The Unknown and Denser exchanged another glance. Aeb was comforted by it, seeing in their expressions a reflection of his own unease. He would relay this to his brothers later.

‘Describe the spell and its effect,’ ordered Denser.

Aeb paused, consulting with the Soul Tank.

‘A cooperative FlameOrb. Mages called it a FireGlobe. Large area effect. It destroyed the north-western quarter of Arlen. At its splash point, the heat is still too great to bear, even after a day.’

The Unknown cursed. ‘They’re clearing a path,’ he said. ‘And riding roughshod over the rules of engagement. It’ll escalate the conflict.’

‘Clearing a path for who?’ asked Denser.

‘The mage researchers and my brothers on Herendeneth,’ said Aeb immediately. ‘They will return to Balaia soon.’

‘So,’ said Denser, staring at The Unknown. ‘Which of us gets to tell Hirad that Xetesk has no intention of helping his dragons?’

The Unknown raised his eyebrows and walked back into the house.

Chapter 23

Ben-Foran was asleep. It was born of exhaustion, both mental and physical, and the knowledge that Yron wanted more of the same from him the next day. For the Captain himself though, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. He wasn’t sure how long they’d clung to the log. Two hours, maybe more. All he knew was that when the tributary eventually emptied out into the River Shorth, he’d never been so glad to feel the ground beneath his feet.

They’d been swept through gorge after gorge, across rapids, their bodies grazing rock and sandbar, through swirling currents and over one mercifully low waterfall. Yron’s only consolation during the whole bruising ride - apart from the knowledge that they were putting good distance between themselves and the elven hunters - was that no serious predator could be after them.

And the whole time Ben hadn’t said a word, just clung on to the log, keeping his head above water and his legs stretched out behind him as well as he could. His teeth had chattered from chill and fear but he hadn’t complained. And even though the journey must have drained every ounce of energy from his body, as it had from Yron, when the waters suddenly slackened and they joined the two-hundred-yard width of the Shorth, it was Ben who had kicked for the bank harder.

They had barely stopped even then until, with the evening beginning to close in and the light fading fast, they sought a place to rest. Yron hadn’t liked the look of the forest where they’d landed. It was very dense and heavy, the ground rising sharply away, and neither he nor Ben wanted to climb. So they’d walked along in the shallows, mindful of crocodiles but seeing none except those basking on the mud of the opposite bank.

With night almost upon them and an evening deluge keeping them drenched, they’d come to a section of bank where rock rose sheer from the water to a height of some two hundred feet. Opposite, the forest tumbled away up a long, gentle and beautiful slope, revealing the full glory of the rainforest canopy. Thousands of birds flocked above it, filling the air with their cries, while closer to the bank the trees rustled with a troop of monkeys, on their way to a new feeding ground.

Ben had seen a ledge up in the rock face and they’d pushed themselves to one more climb. It was about thirty feet but worth it. There would have been enough space for six men on its flat surface, and once they’d swept its crevices for snake, spider and scorpion, they settled down to rest, safe from most that the forest could throw at them.

The unyielding rock had clearly been to Ben’s liking and he was almost instantly asleep, but Yron had no desire to lie down and instead rested his back against the rock face and looked out over the river and into the vastness beyond. Above him the clouds rolled over incessantly, keeping in the heat of the day - for which he was grateful despite the rain they brought. They couldn’t have risked a fire. To those following, it would be an unmissable beacon.

Through occasional gaps in the cloud, moon and starlight filtered down, illuminating the forest with a grey light. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Yron could make out the herbivores that came to drink at the water’s edge, hidden by the night. He could see the nocturnal birds soaring and swooping overhead. It was a truly stupendous land. Primeval in so many respects but so close. Everything worked together. The elves were right to call it harmony. It was like perfectly arranged music and dancing. The greatest show nature could provide. He wouldn’t upset it for anything and, as he had done many times since they’d landed, he regretted the necessity of their actions.