Dystran, dabbing his still bleeding nose, strode into the hub room behind a quartet of college guards, including Captain Suarav. He was met by the blank masked faces of over a dozen Protectors. One pace in, he slipped on the blood-slick floor, grabbing out at Suarav for balance and standing on a corpse while he regained it. He sighed.

‘Look at this. Look at what they have done.’ He shook his head. All his years as Lord of the Mount. All the years of near constant war and he hadn’t seen this much death close up.

It stank. Entrails and their contents were strewn over the floor, still steaming gently. Bodies lay in the twisted attitudes of their deaths. Eyes stared at him, sightless and reproachful. The course of the FlameOrb was marked in blackened, smoking gore. But it was the blood that really shocked him. How many people were there lying here? Twenty perhaps but even so, how could they disgorge so much blood? It spattered the walls and the ceiling and across the floor it was a slick that splashed with every footfall.

‘We didn’t even kill one of them. And they’ve got away. Temporarily. ’ He turned on the nearest Protector. ‘And what did you think you were doing, eh? Nothing. Standing like statues while real men were slaughtered by bandits. I don’t know what they have done to you but I will find out. Anything to say?’

Silence.

‘No, I thought not. Suarav, where are you?’

‘Here, my Lord.’

‘Extend the search. Split into six groups, it’s your only choice. One Circle Seven mage with each group to direct you. Who knows what they think they’re going to do? I also want every exit from here into the complex guarded. I—’ He clapped his hands together. ‘The vents.’

He walked towards the Soul Tank corridor. ‘Of course, how can I have been so stupid. Suarav, let me show you something in the map room.’ Protectors were standing in front of the corridor entrance. ‘Out of my way.’

The three masks turned to look at him. ‘Things have changed,’ said one.

‘Don’t I bloody know it. But I still have the magical power to obliterate you. Now move. In fact, get out of the catacombs altogether. ’

One of them shifted. ‘Let us talk of respect.’

Dystran closed his eyes. He was going to have to be very careful.

‘It’s a good distance and they will find us,’ said Myx.

He was keeping the pace high, trying to put a sensible gap between them and any immediate pursuit, but anything was going to be only a temporary breathing space. The Unknown and Hirad ran with him, Thraun and Denser behind with the unconscious Erienne. Darrick and the elves followed. Already, Denser had made them stop once to feed more energy into the spell around Erienne’s mind and he looked a tired man.

‘How big are the catacombs?’ asked Hirad.

‘Bigger than you know. It is mostly this.’ Myx gestured around them. ‘Interconnecting tunnels between each hub. We were in Dystran’s hub. We’ll slow at the next one. It has . . . history.’

The Unknown let the remark pass.

‘And you know all this because . . . ?’ asked Hirad.

‘I am . . . was, the Lord of the Mount’s Given. It was my job to know.’

‘Fortunate.’

‘I hope so.’

The Unknown had been a Protector such a short time but still he understood the method behind the apparent madness of the catacomb construction as if it had been bred into him. Generations of paranoia bred by violently short tenure in the Circle Seven had led to the chaotic maze of finished and unfinished passages that encircled every hub.

It was a twisted morality that had driven it. While assassination by poison or blade had been a recognised method of advancement in years past, the use of destructive wards in the catacombs had always been considered unethical somehow. Naturally, entering a chamber uninvited was a different matter but in the myriad corridors which were considered almost neutral territory, such traps were beyond the pale.

The Unknown had no doubt they would have tripped many alarms and reminders for anyone working down here but that was a risk they had to take. To avoid every one would have been tantamount to suicide, so long would they have had to delay.

At the rear of the group, Auum jogged along easily. His limbs could stand the activity indefinitely but he was very unhappy. For the first time in his life, he considered that he was not in control of the situation. Deep below ground in the fetid tunnels of a Balaian city, he was out of anything he understood. He could, though, feel the patterns of space in the rock. It was the only crumb of comfort he had.

He had been confused by the turn of events, as had all his people. Rebraal’s explanation did little to help. He understood that the woman, Erienne, carried an ancient elven magical power and that the enemy had murdered one of the Al-Drechar to claim her. It was typically human ignorance. The TaiGethen would attend to it another time.

He held up his hand and his Tai stopped with him, letting the echoing boots of the others recede. Marack turned but he waved her to continue. It would not be hard to find them again; the noise The Raven made would see to that.

‘We will pray and we will listen,’ he said. The Tai gathered on their knees. ‘Yniss, hear us. Tual, hear us. Guide our senses in this place. Where the air is bad, where no birds fly or animals walk. Where no tree could survive or river creature swim. Yniss, we ask that you look down on us as we complete your work and return that which was stolen to your bosom. We remain, as ever, your servants.’

They remained kneeling, ears straining for any clue. Auum could still hear the others moving away. He marked the direction which had not changed though their movement had slowed. He turned his head. Behind and to their left, the enemy were travelling. It appeared to be on a parallel path though it was difficult to be certain.

‘Do you hear them?’ he asked.

Duele and Evunn nodded.

‘Ready your bows. Mine was broken while we fought the wind.’ He stood up, motioning his Tai to follow him. ‘I am tired of running. We will hunt now. Tai, we move.’

Chapter 24

Myx slowed, The Raven and TaiGethen closing up behind him. Ahead, Hirad could see that the nature of the passageway was changing, or at least its decoration. He looked behind him to check everyone once again.

‘Where’s Auum?’ he asked, stopping.

‘Helping,’ said Rebraal. ‘He’ll find us again.’

‘Helping in what way?’

‘Hunting the hunters,’ said Rebraal. ‘It’s better for him this way. And for us.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

The change in décor was abrupt. The pastel shades ended and in their place wooden panelling, dark stained, lined the walls. It affected the quality of the light, darkening the surroundings.

‘What’s this?’

‘The next hub,’ said Myx. ‘Or rather, its borders. Not all of them are the same.’ He smiled for the first time. ‘Some former Masters had more style.’

He led them to the end of the passageway. Despite the magical augmentation, there was moss and mould in places on the wood. Hirad trailed a finger along it, feeling the slight dampness before replacing his glove. At a deep-blue painted door, Myx turned.

‘We could face trouble in here,’ he said.

‘Whose is it?’ asked The Unknown.

‘Laryon’s,’ said Myx. ‘Or it was. It is now an extension of Dystran’s empire.’

‘Well, it’ll be a delight to clear it of all the detritus,’ said The Unknown.

He drew his blade. Laryon. There was a name that would live with The Raven forever. Laryon had been the master mage who sacrificed his life to free The Unknown from his mask. He had long championed the release of the Protectors and among Xeteskian mages had been rare in being truly respected by them. Dead these six years, his spirit lived on.