Water. Lapping and bubbling, splashing off a stone. Wind, rain, water and cold. And pain. Thumping in his temple and howling in his ear.

Hirad moved, sending a wave of nausea through his body. His stomach lurched.

‘Oh!’ He opened his eyes. The mist was deep and disorienting. A light rain still fell.

He sat up gingerly, probing a swelling at the back of his jaw just under his left ear. He opened his mouth slowly and wide, feeling the dull ache in the bone but knowing at least that it wasn’t broken.

There was a strange taste on his tongue. A taste that reminded him of a smell that he couldn’t quite . . .

‘Damn.’ He’d been drugged. He slithered to his feet, firewood and water skins forgotten, swaying as his brain and stomach protested the sudden action. He put a hand to his temple. Another bruise, a big one, was forming. He felt groggy. Like a hangover but with none of the good memories. All he could remember was that helmet looming out of the mist and the force of the blows. And the voice. Familiar. Definitely familiar.

The path was slippery. Three times he fell painfully, retching the last time as his head connected with stone.

There were bodies outside the overhang. Inside, the fire guttered, almost dead.

‘No,’ he moaned through clenched teeth. He slid to a halt in front of a pile of gear, and relief flooded through him. The two bodies face up in the rain and mist were not Raven; and Richmond and Talan were both propped up by the fire. Talan’s eyes were open, and while Richmond’s were not, he was most certainly breathing.

Talan managed a limp smile. ‘Hirad, thank the Gods. I thought you must be dead.’

‘Where?’ Hirad gestured to the empty spaces by the dying blaze. Talan raised a hand to silence him.

‘The Black Wings attacked us. They just melted out of the mist. Denser must have sensed something, ’cos he smoked those two.’ He paused, breathing heavily. Hirad noticed his eyes blackening, and a trail of blood was dried under his nose.

‘They’ve taken them, Hirad. They’ve taken Ilkar and Denser.’

‘Alive?’

‘Yes, I think so. I was already down. Gods, that brophane is strong stuff. I feel awful.’ Talan opened his eyes and mouth wide, stretching his face. Then he shook his head hard, smacking his lips together. ‘That didn’t help. So, what now?’

‘We wake him up and get going.’ Hirad shrugged. ‘What else is there to do? Are you fit to ride?’ Talan gave a short laugh. ‘What?’

‘Hirad, you’re missing something.’

The barbarian’s shoulders sagged. ‘They took the horses.’

Talan nodded.

‘Bugger it! Why didn’t they just kill us? Have it done with?’

‘Their fight isn’t with us,’ said Richmond, opening his eyes at last. ‘It’s with the Colleges.’

‘Well, they got that wrong, didn’t they?’ said Hirad, feeling his anger gathering.

‘Yeah, they did,’ agreed Talan, levering himself to his feet.

‘How far to the Black Wings’ castle?’ asked Hirad.

‘Six hours on foot. Seven because it’s getting dark and we aren’t right just now.’ Talan’s face was pasty white in the gathering gloom.

‘That’s a long time,’ said Hirad. ‘Right. Ten minutes to chuck your guts up and be ready to leave. All right?’

‘What’re we going to do?’ Richmond’s mind was still confused. His legs wobbled as he pulled himself up the wall.

‘We’re going to get them back. Then we’re going to torch that place and everyone in it.’ Hirad’s head was clearing with every passing moment, though he could feel that his body was still weakened by the drug clotting his muscles. ‘If they didn’t kill them, it’s because they need them. It can only be for information, and you know how much mages hate talking.’

Richmond and Talan both looked at him, nodding their understanding.

A movement caught Hirad’s eye. It came from beneath Richmond’s cloak, which lay by the dead ash of the fire. As he watched, a black furred head poked out and tested the air. Denser’s cat looked up at him, then jumped clean on to his shoulders, turning quickly so it could look into his face.

‘A new friend, Hirad?’ asked Talan, managing a smile.

‘I don’t think so.’ The cat meowed loud and long. ‘We’re going, we’re going, all right? We’ll find him.’

The cat looked away past Hirad up the valley. The mist was a little clearer, though rain and approaching dusk kept visibility poor.

‘Think he understood you?’ asked Richmond.

‘Probably.’ Hirad shrugged. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

Chapter 14

‘Nasty spell, this. Planning a little surprise for someone, were you?’ Travers had leaned in close to Denser’s cut and bleeding face, dangling the amulet from its chain so it knocked gently into the mage’s left ear. Denser could smell alcohol on Travers’ breath.

He hoped the shock he’d just experienced didn’t show on his face. Right at the time he thought things couldn’t get any worse, he’d been betrayed by another mage. And one working for Travers. The Witch Hunter.

Ever since their capture at the overhang, Denser had been wondering why he was still alive. It wasn’t Travers’ way. The assassin was his way, but now he couldn’t understand why one had been sent. Presumably they’d wanted him dead that night in The Rookery, so what had changed in the days following to make Travers so eager to question him?

He supposed it didn’t matter much. At least while he was alive there was still a chance, however slim. It was obvious, though, that rescue was his only option; and that meant Hirad had to be alive, because if he was, he’d try to rescue Ilkar, no question about it.

But for now he was helpless, and it was clear the Black Wings were expert in keeping captured mages subdued. Their hands had been tied from the moment they’d been taken and the ride to the castle had been under the unending scrutiny of four men. At the castle they’d been pushed to the ground and walked straight through the gates, courtyard and main doors into a large hall, bare but for a few chairs, two low tables and a fireplace that was as cold as the room.

And then a beating, delivered professionally and, curiously, without malice. Its purpose was plain. Blows to the head, chest, stomach, upper arms and legs had left his body aching and throbbing and had sapped what little energy he had. Never mind that his arms were tied, he couldn’t have cast a spell if his life depended on it and they knew it.

‘Saying nothing, Denser?’ Travers drew back. ‘Plenty of time. And of course you don’t know what we know, do you?’ Travers stood up. Men stood to either side of him. There were eight of them in the hall. And Ilkar. He hadn’t said one word since they’d been taken, not even to confirm his name. His beating had been more vicious. Denser wasn’t sure why, but Travers looked at the elf with a mixture of disappointment and disdain. Tarred with the Xeteskian brush, perhaps.

Denser found himself wondering who had read the amulet and betrayed him. The fact was that it had to be a mage from either Xetesk or Dordover. Septern’s name, the location of the rip and an allusion to what lay beyond it only appeared in Dordovan lore script.

He still couldn’t quite believe it, and his feelings were swamped by disgust that a mage from either college would work for the Black Wings. It had to be a Dordovan. A Xeteskian would choose suicide first.

He breathed in and let his head fall forwards. There was a pain under his right arm and his mind turned to his missing Familiar. He presumed it was at the overhang. It was certainly alive, but unless it found him soon, it would weaken and die. Denser wasn’t sure his brain could stand the pain right now.

A slap to his cheek brought him back to his grim here and now. He looked up into Travers’ face.

‘Let me tell you a little of what I know,’ said the Captain. ‘Please pay attention. I’d hate to think your mind was drifting.’