He was coming down towards the third-level balustrade. It was a carved marble rail, as wide as his foot was long, off-white in colour and shot through with natural flaws in darker tones. Six feet plus from the woven rug-covered floor, he stopped, the rope played out to its full length. He pivoted again and dropped, landing lightly and crouching, eyes scanning the floor beneath through the balustrade rail.

Duele and Evunn joined him, splitting left and right and beginning to circle the floor. Marack and her cell came down behind Sian’erei and Vinuun, the other Al-Arynaar mage. Above them, the gap to the sky whistled and Auum spared it a look before moving off after his Tai towards the stairs.

Somewhere in here was the Aryn Hiil. Xetesk could keep the other writings if only they could reclaim that which contained so much that man should not discover about the elves and their genesis. Understanding of the Aryn Hiil would give Xetesk weapons against them. One had been unleashed unwittingly already. The others had to remain hidden.

Slipping silently down the stairs at the head of his people, Auum could feel the power of the work that surrounded them, as if each leather-bound volume, each protective parchment case and each glass display cabinet fought to contain the knowledge within. So much of Xetesk’s history was here. So much havoc could be wreaked by its destruction.

But that was for men to decide. Once the Aryn Hiil was retaken, the elves had but one more task on Balaia before they left it forever.

The Raven, bolstered by Rebraal and two Al-Arynaar mages, moved quickly through the block of administrative offices that bordered the Mana Bowl on one side and were accessed through doors set into the eastern arc of the central dome of the tower complex.

Rebraal had made short work of a locked window, allowing them into the building, and, with Denser able to advise on the position of locks, wards and alarms progress was fluid. Soon they were gathered by a door into the dome itself. In their wake lay a short corridor and six offices for the use of the Circle Seven’s private secretaries. Nothing useful had been gleaned from them, despite Denser having hoped they might gain clues as to who was in residence. Unfortunately, given the lights they’d already seen, it was likely every tower was currently occupied.

The Unknown Warrior took a moment to collect himself. He knew exactly what lay through that door. Last time he had seen it, it had been from behind the mask of a Protector. It was a majestic place. The bases of the six outer towers bordered it, the column of the central tower drove straight through its centre and down to the Heart. Its alcoves held statues of great masters long gone, the tower columns were carved with murals and warnings, the floor was spectacular tiled marble. And winding passages radiated out to a maze that led to the doorways to the towers and, ultimately, the catacombs.

He couldn’t help it, he shuddered. Down there, lost in the network of chambers, tunnels, caverns and hallways was the Soul Tank. Every Protector was taken there to see for himself where his soul was held and why his thrall was binding until death. He winced as a hand touched his arm.

‘Suffering, big man?’ asked Hirad.

The Unknown nodded. ‘I can feel them. No Protector likes to be this close to the Soul Tank. Standing outside your own prison brings a pain I cannot describe in here.’ He touched his chest above his heart.

‘And tonight the means to release them can be in our hands. We know it must exist,’ said Denser.

‘I don’t share your confidence,’ said The Unknown. ‘And I don’t know if we should release them, even if we discover how.’

‘That’s a question for later,’ said Denser. ‘There’s much for us to do here. One thing at a time, eh?’

Another nod from the Unknown. He swallowed, unable to push the visions from his head. He focused hard on what they’d agreed.

‘Go, Denser. Let’s get this over with.’

Hirad grunted. ‘Time to strike back.’

Denser crouched by the door. There was no conventional lock. What held the offices from unwelcome visitors was what Denser described as a magical door wedge. It was moved at dawn every day and replaced every night by the tower master, a mage with influence only bettered by the Circle Seven themselves. Not a difficult spell to overcome but, like everything in Xetesk, it could link to a hidden trigger that might do anything from setting off an alarm to firing a disabling spell.

‘Nothing here,’ said Denser. ‘No. Hold on.’ He fell silent again. ‘Ah. Clever. Very clever.’ He chuckled. ‘Hold on.’

He drew in a deep breath and held it. The Unknown looked on, brow creasing deeper and deeper. Denser was working his fingers at an extraordinary rate. All the movements were minute but there was an order and complexity at which he could only wonder. The casting, or teasing of mana as The Unknown suspected it was, went on far beyond the time Denser should surely have taken a breath. His face displayed no discomfort and his face defined his level of concentration, eyes screwed tight, jaw clenched, neck muscles corded.

At the last, he shuddered. ‘Release,’ he muttered and rolled onto his back, to exhale and heave in a fresh breath. They gathered above him, looking down as he recovered himself.

‘What the hell was all that about?’ asked Hirad. ‘You mages make things so difficult for yourselves, you know. Keys. They make sense.’

‘The whole point is that the Tower Master should be alerted if someone tries to break in,’ managed Denser.

‘I expect they’d just come in through the window like us, wouldn’t they?’ Hirad held out a hand and helped Denser to his feet.

‘Thanks. You see, what you don’t know is what we’ve triggered, coming through the windows and the office doors. It’s a clever system and I’ll explain it to you some other time.’

‘So what did you do this time?’ asked The Unknown, happy to be distracted.

‘The Tower Master had a single strand of mana attached to the holding spell on the door. I suspect releasing the spell would have the effect of a ringing a bell in his chambers. I had to put in a lattice that would keep the strand at the right focus - that’s tension to you, Hirad - and for that I had to calculate the focus. Not simple but not insurmountable.’

‘And you reckon you got it right?’ asked Hirad.

‘No, I’m just killing time until the Tower Master gets here.’ Denser shook his head.

Hirad suppressed a laugh. ‘Not bad, Denser. Not bad.’ He sobered almost immediately. ‘But not Ilkar. Not yet.’

‘Let’s form up, Raven,’ said The Unknown, taking the cue. ‘Hirad, with me, Rebraal, your bow behind us. Mages centre, Thraun, Darrick you get the rear. And no debate. We see someone, we kill them. With one exception. Everyone understand? Denser, we’ll do best with a SpellShield from you, I expect. Erienne, you and the others remember, no casting unless we’re caught. We can’t afford to be discovered through the mana spectrum.’

The Unknown indicated to Hirad to open the door. He stood to one side as the barbarian edged the gap wider. The domed hall was chill. Lanterns and braziers hung from wall spurs, the arcs of the outer towers and around the circumference of the dominating central stack that was Dystran’s seat of power.

It was a huge chamber. The dome wrapped the towers some thirty feet above their heads. Directly ahead and mostly hidden by Dystran’s tower, the massive gold-embossed arched wooden and iron doors kept out the night, reflecting the brazier and lantern light. Far left, a more sedate set of red-curtained doors led into the banqueting area while to the right, reception rooms were similarly shrouded, closed and empty.

But it was the unlit openings that set The Unknown’s pulse quickening. There were seven. They twisted around and down, led to blind alleys, wards, alarms and, for the mage or guard trusted enough to know, to the base of spiral stairs and the top of the entrances to the catacombs. Seven up to the towers, seven down to where, historically, the seat of Xetesk’s learning lay.