And then came the pain. From the tips of her toes to the top of her scalp, every nerve came alive and shrieked. The raw spirit of the One was surging through her, only kept in check by the strength of the Al-Drechar’s minds. The tendrils fattened to great twining ropes feeding into the structure that blossomed as it grew.

She knew she was juddering with the force of it all; her eyes and mouth flew open, spittle rolled over her chin and she heard a low wail that she didn’t realise at first was coming from her. The voices grew so loud in her head she feared she would pass out but the One kept her upright; it wouldn’t let her go.

The marble of the wrist, hand and thumb was moving, moulding and shaping. Like ants crawling on the forest floor, it shifted over itself, knitting together, the movement seething upwards, the stone feeling alive beneath her fingers. It pulsed and writhed, every shard moved to its place, every nick was covered and every crack smoothed away.

Her eyesight began to fade as the sound of the Al-Drechar’s voices dropped to a low bass. The floor under her began to vibrate, water in the pool splashed, dust filtered down from above, settling on her arms and head. She saw the sheath of mana pass over the hand, up the arm and then across Yniss’s body. And as it did, her body quivered, every muscle in minute spasm, her nerves still alive and open, her pain quite without peer.

Yet beneath the agony she felt the purity of the force, the completeness of the One. She caught a glimpse of the world with the One as its keeper. It was the harmony. It was Yniss on earth. It was wonderful.

Outside, The Raven waited nervously. The Al-Arynaar had closed the temple door, and even when Erienne began to wail they would not move. All Denser could do was pace.

Hirad stood with The Unknown as time dragged on, still feeling the bitter taste of fresh grief in his mind.

‘All this death and we achieved none of the things we left Herendeneth to do.’

‘Wouldn’t have been anywhere else though, would you?’ said The Unknown.

‘No, I suppose not.’ Hirad scuffed at the ground with his feet. ‘You know, I’m starting to believe in destiny. For The Raven, that is.’

‘How do you figure that?’

Hirad shrugged. ‘Just look at the facts. Everything major that’s happened has involved us right at its core. It’s like we were supposed to be there when Denser found Dawnthief. Supposed to be there when the rip was torn in the sky. And the rebirth of the One magic? Could have happened to any two mages, potentially, but it didn’t. It happened to Erienne and Denser. And now this. If we’d come here ten days earlier, we’d have known nothing about Elfsorrow until Ilkar caught it. But we were here. And we could help.’

‘Up to a point,’ said The Unknown grimly. ‘So what’s next? Not a quiet retirement.’

‘No,’ said Hirad. ‘Aside from finishing what Ilkar started by coming here, there’s the little matter of a college war going on. Reckon you’re up for that? See, if it goes the wrong way before we’re ready, there are things won’t get done.’

‘Ah. Well, I reckon I could stir myself,’ said The Unknown. ‘For a good cause or two.’

The door of the temple opened and Erienne emerged. Auum and Rebraal supporting her on either side, they led her over to Denser, kissing her cheeks before draping her in his arms. Across the stone apron, elves were offering prayers of thanks, their faces uplifted, light in their eyes, the haunting fear of imminent death removed.

‘I take it this was a success.’

Rebraal nodded. ‘Yniss is rebound. He will bless us once again. Can you not feel it? The harmony is growing again. It embraces us all.’

‘And how do you feel, Erienne?’ asked Denser, crushing his wife to him and stroking her back with his hands. ‘How does it feel to have saved the elven race?’

‘Tiring,’ said Erienne. ‘I think I need to lie down.’

Auum moved in front of Hirad and bowed his head, speaking a few words.

‘He is thanking you for all you have done. He salutes you and grieves for your loss. Among the TaiGethen and Al-Arynaar, you will always be welcome.’

‘It’s what we do,’ said Hirad.

‘I’m sorry we mistrusted you,’ said Rebraal. ‘I hope you will let us travel back to Balaia with you, to carry on the fight.’

‘I was counting on it.’

Rebraal smiled.

‘I’d give it all up to have him standing here,’ said Hirad.

‘Would it help if I told you that in death he saved all of this majesty for every elf ever born from now on?’

It was a different take to his own but a good one. Ilkar, father of the elves.

Hirad smiled. He rather liked the sound of that.

There are those without whom writing a novel would not be the pleasure it (mostly) is. Simon Spanton, who is a great friend and an inspirational editor; Nicola Sinclair, who juggles a keen eye for publicity with Olympic class arguing; Sherif Mehmet, a production guru with a neat line in veiled threats; and Robert Kirby, an excellent agent who manages to keep smiling despite the football team he supports . . .

Thanks also to Peter Robinson, John Cross and Dave Mutton, because you keep on criticising; to my nephew David Harrison for being this year’s number one fan; to Ariel for ongoing website magic; to Caffè Nero on Edgware Road for providing the best coffee and most comfortable leather chairs in London; and to everyone who took the time to email me about The Raven.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Contents

Dedication

Cast List

Map

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Acknowledgements

For my two oldest friends,

Peter Robinson and John ‘George’ Cross.

More than three decades and still counting . . .

Cast List

Chapter 1