This Aryn Hiil was so much more than the history and practice of a religion expressed in ancient elvish. He was sure of that now though in truth, Dystran and Ranyl had always suspected it.

His initial theorising had been backed up by independent research from another member of his staff. It built on the centuries-old notion that the elves were inherently and dependently magical. All of them. The Elfsorrow had proved that beyond question but had run its course before they could synthesise it as a spell.

Now it looked as if they wouldn’t have to worry about the loss of that opportunity. Because if he was right, and the magical theory supported him, there was a way of unpicking an elf from the mana that made him vulnerable. The elven nation would become Xetesk’s new thralled race. Never mind Protectors, this would be a weapon infinitely more powerful. And it would be infinitely less risky than making pacts with demons.

He wouldn’t sleep ’til he had the answer. After all, Ranyl didn’t have long to live.

Gylac heard the door behind him open. He turned in his high backed chair, placing his quill on his note book.

‘So, have you—’

What he saw in front of him was impossible. Laughable almost. He wasn’t sure if he smiled or not. He felt a hot, incredibly hot, lancing pain in his throat. His body was flung back, connecting with the edge of the table. He scrabbled at the pain, trying to look down. He saw the shaft of an arrow and felt the hot pumping blood on his hands. There was a roaring in his ears.

They were all around him now, soundless like spirits. He was pushed aside, heard a short exclamation. They had the Aryn Hiil. His prize. His safe passage to power. He grabbed at an arm.

‘You can’t,’ he gurgled, or thought he did.

A face stared down at him, so cold. The eyes held a hatred that made him shudder. He heard some words.

‘Shorth awaits you.’

His grip slackened.

Ranyl barely had the strength to be scared, the pain in his stomach had intensified and his breath shortened. But even he could not help but respect the tenacity of this most deep of the thorns in Xetesk’s side.

‘You are persistent, I grant you that,’ he said. ‘We had thought you hidden outside Lystern somewhere.’

‘Hiding is not in our nature,’ said The Unknown Warrior.

Ranyl nodded and craned his head. ‘Why don’t you all come round here so I can see you. It isn’t often one is confronted by The Raven in its entirety.’

‘This is not the entire Raven. Ilkar died because of you.’ Ranyl felt the touch of steel on his neck. ‘Don’t try anything. You aren’t quick enough to beat me.’

Ranyl chuckled. ‘Oh, Hirad, I am long past casting spells. I cannot muster the focus even to numb my own pain.’

‘Gods’ sake, Hirad, put it away,’ said Denser.

‘No,’ said Hirad. ‘No chances. Not in here.’

‘My Lord Ranyl, we mean you no harm—’

‘Right . . .’

‘Hirad!’ snapped Denser.

‘He is Circle Seven. He is guilty of Ilkar’s death. Mean him no harm if you like. I feel different.’

‘We should have factored you in,’ said Ranyl. ‘Never ignore The Raven, eh?’

‘My Lord.’

‘Denser, yes, I’m sorry. What is it you want?’ He felt for the bond with his familiar but it was weak. The demon was lost in sleep. He tried to pulse it awake, cursing his fading ability.

‘Your dimensional researches. Tell us where they are,’ said Denser. ‘We need them.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s our business.’

‘Hirad, please,’ said Denser. ‘We have a friend to send home.’

‘Ah, of course,’ said Ranyl. ‘The great Sha-Kaan. He will be repatriated when we have the capacity.’

The blade pressed harder. ‘Wrong,’ said Hirad. ‘Every day, he dies a little more. If you can do it, you’ll help us do it now.’

Ranyl waved a hand. ‘It is a fairly simple casting. We just don’t have the time. Now if you could persuade your friends to lift their siege, we could help you.’ He pulsed again. The familiar didn’t respond.

‘Where is the research held? And who is in charge of it?’ demanded Denser. ‘I know you. Nothing is left unrecorded. Which catacomb houses it?’

Ranyl shrugged. ‘I haven’t been down there for sometime, Denser. It could be anywhere.’

‘He’s stalling,’ said another voice. Female.

‘Erienne,’ he said. The prize had walked into his bedchamber. ‘I grieve for your loss.’

‘Liar.’

‘But a greater loss to the world would be you,’ said Ranyl. ‘You have such potential. Stay with us.’

‘I’ve had enough of this.’ The Unknown Warrior stepped in and grabbed Ranyl’s jaw in one huge hand. He squeezed. ‘No more games. No more delay. Let’s get one thing straight. We can get in here undetected any time we want to so I suggest you take what I am about to say very seriously.’

The Unknown’s face was very close to Ranyl’s and he could see in the ex-Protector’s eyes, the truth behind his words. There was more to this than capturing research. The warrior continued.

‘Already, the Aryn Hiil will have been taken by its rightful owners but that isn’t the only crime of yours we are halting here tonight. You will tell us where the dimensional alignment research is held so that we can end Sha-Kaan’s imprisonment on Balaia, a trivial action unworthy of your urgent attention or not.’ The grip on Ranyl’s jaw tightened and The Unknown’s face darkened further.

‘There’s something else. You and the rest of the Circle Seven will see to it that no harm comes to my wife and son on Herendeneth. They are there to keep them from the wreckage of this country. They are not your pawns. You will not suffer them to be threatened, used as any kind of ransom or even allow them to be touched by any Xeteskian.

‘Do not fool yourself I will not find out. You know we are in contact. If anything . . . anything . . . happens to my family through one of your power games, you will wish your sickness had taken you earlier. And the Circle Seven will wish fervently that they had listened to you relating my words.

‘Do you understand me?’

Ranyl was silent. No one had ever talked to him that way. His first reaction was to counter-threaten but he was in no position right now.

‘I—’ His mouth would barely open, such was the pressure from The Unknown’s hand.

‘Do you understand me?’ He relaxed his grip.

‘I hear you.’

‘Good.’

‘What a shame, though,’ said Ranyl.

‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Denser.

‘You could have been so much more.’

‘Who?’

‘You, Denser. The Circle Seven needs you. And you, Sol. You could have been the leader of the Protectors.’

The Unknown leaned in further, his smile carrying no humour.

‘I already am.’ He straightened. ‘So talk. The research.’

Ranyl breathed in deeply. They had handed him control though they appeared not to realise it. Anything to keep them here a little longer.

‘We are testing our theories night and day in the catacombs below my Tower. I am the Circle Seven mage sponsoring dimensional research. Kestys is my lead man.’ He shrugged. ‘You know where to go, Denser. Take it, if you think you’re able.’

‘Do we need to know anything else?’ asked Hirad.

Denser shook his head. ‘No. He’s telling the truth.’

‘Why would I do otherwise?’ said Ranyl. ‘I have so little still to lose.’

‘Let’s go,’ said The Unknown. ‘Denser. Ranyl looks tired.’

‘No problem.’

Denser began to cast. Ranyl knew he would. There was no point in raising an objection and, in truth, a large part of him looked forward to a few hours of blissful, pain-free rest. He felt a twitch in his mind. He smiled.

The Raven prepared to leave. Their big, blond, silent and clearly troubled warrior put an ear to the door and shook his head. Lystern’s greatest loss, Ry Darrick, went to his shoulder, others followed him.