And so he knelt by Hirad, his hands on that awful wound, ignoring his own pain as he fed mana directly into his friend’s broken, mercifully unconscious body while his tears dampened his cheeks and dripped to the cold stone floor. It would keep him alive for now, but Ilkar was so weak himself he knew it was ultimately hopeless.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

‘Ilkar, I share your pain.’ He hadn’t heard Denser move. He’d assumed him already deep in restoring sleep.

‘I can’t save him, Denser,’ said Ilkar. His voice, cracked by his sobs, was rendered unsteady from sheer fatigue. ‘He’s going and I can’t save him.’

‘There might be a way.’ Denser’s voice too was barely recognisable. His battered face stopped him framing his words with anything close to accuracy.

‘And what would you suggest, Xetesk man? There’s no magic wand we can wave!’ Ilkar jabbed the words out, coughed and spat blood.

‘But there is another mage in this castle.’

‘Erienne,’ said Jandyr.

‘The bitch that betrayed us,’ said Ilkar.

‘No,’ said Jandyr firmly. ‘She was forced. Travers took her sons too. We came to get them all.’

‘Erienne Malanvai?’ asked Denser. ‘Dordovan Lore Scribe?’

‘Yes.’

‘That could prove a very useful piece of fortune.’ He frowned. ‘What the hell did he want with her?’ He shook his head and turned his attention to the elf. ‘How long before you die?’ Ilkar looked up at Denser and shook his head. ‘How long, Ilkar?’

The elf shrugged. ‘Three hours, perhaps a little more.’

Denser grunted and immediately sat behind Ilkar, his legs straddling the Julatsan.

‘Lean into me,’ he ordered. Ilkar lay back. Denser turned them so they were both facing the same way as Hirad, Ilkar having to reach to his right to touch the barbarian’s wound.

‘Now stretch out your legs,’ said Denser and, with wincing stiffness, Ilkar did.

Jandyr gazed on, confused. There sat Denser, his hands now on Ilkar’s shoulders, while Ilkar himself lay propped in Denser’s lap, his hands probing Hirad’s stomach ceaselessly.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘I’ll explain later,’ said Denser. ‘Bring a chair. Place it supporting my back. Now, Ilkar, exactly what is it that’s going to kill you?’

‘A combination. My right lung is punctured, it’s filling with blood and may collapse. My kidneys are too bruised to function correctly and I believe my liver is also bleeding.’

‘Very well.’ Denser adjusted his hand positions, moving one to the base of Ilkar’s skull and placing the other over the right side of the elf’s chest. ‘Release control to me. Feed your mana into Hirad.’

‘And you?’ Ilkar’s wave of gratitude was tinted by a virgin worry over the Xeteskian’s condition.

Denser managed a chuckle. ‘They beat every inch, but little is broken except toes and fingers. I am in no danger.’

‘Thank you.’ Ilkar’s voice shook.

‘There is a wider purpose.’

‘Thank you anyway.’

Denser said nothing, merely squeezed Ilkar’s neck a moment before turning to Jandyr. ‘We need the other mage. Every second is critical.’

Jandyr nodded. ‘They’ll have her by now. I’ll bring them in.’ He made to move, but the far doors opened and in walked Travers, the cat perched on his head. The Captain’s eyes were glazed, his stance bent and stooped as if he had aged twenty years in the few minutes he was out of the room.

Denser smiled. ‘I see you found my pet.’

Travers came to his senses as the cat jumped to the ground and trotted to Denser. He took in the scene, his eyes travelling over Isman’s body and the strange tableau presented by The Raven trio. He frowned.

‘I thought—’

‘You are no longer important, Travers, you are nothing. The chain you are wearing, however, is everything.’ Travers groped inside his shirt, his frown deepening. Denser caught Jandyr’s eye. ‘I think you should stand outside, you don’t want to see this.’ Jandyr paused, a dubious look on his face, then walked from the room, another arrow ready in his bow.

‘Please . . .’ Travers took a pace towards Denser, who ignored him, locking eyes with the cat.

‘Kill him.’ The cat changed, and Travers’ pleas turned to a blubbering fear. Denser looked at him a last time.

‘You thought to tame The Raven. So did I. But it can’t be done. At least I will be alive to atone for my error.’ There was a slavering sound next to him. ‘Thank the Gods we beat you. At least Balaia still has a chance to save itself.’

Denser’s demon streaked across the space between him and Travers.

‘Close your eyes, Ilkar,’ said Denser.

The Captain screamed.

Jandyr fought the desire to open the door. Travers’ cries sourced from a fear deeper than any man should touch but, thankfully, were cut off quickly. The elf heard a sound akin to a melon hitting the floor. He fought equally hard not to vomit.

He turned at the sound of hurrying footsteps descending the stairs opposite. He stretched his bow but relaxed it as he saw a woman, Erienne surely, moving towards him flanked by Thraun and Will.

‘Get out of my way,’ said Erienne, trying to push past him. Jandyr grabbed her by the upper arms and restrained her.

‘You can’t go in there. Not yet.’ He looked past her at Thraun. ‘Stop her while I check what’s happening.’ Thraun took Erienne, who made just one attempt to break his grip.

‘You can’t protect Travers for ever.’ She grated the words out, the fire in her eyes bright and hard.

‘I can assure you we are not protecting him,’ said Jandyr.

‘What’s going on, Jan?’ asked Will.

‘The Raven are in there, three of them at any rate. So was Travers, but I think he’s dead now.’

‘Think?’ hissed Erienne.

‘They wouldn’t let me remain to see.’ He paused. ‘Hirad’s hurt. He’s dying. The Raven mages want you to help.’ He nodded at Erienne, then turned to the door. ‘Wait a moment.’

He peered inside. All was still save the pool of blood expanding slowly from beneath the blanket that covered Travers’ head and upper body. Denser and Ilkar hadn’t moved from Hirad’s side and the cat lay curled on the chair supporting Denser’s back, cleaning its paws and whiskers.

The elf walked back into the room, holding the door for the others. As one, they stopped to take in what they were seeing. Only Erienne understood, and she walked slowly towards Denser. She paused, sampling the movement in the mana.

‘Well, well, well. A Julatsan and a Xeteskian joined in a mana drip for a dying man. I’ve surely seen everything now.’ Her voice was cold but the dampness on her face gave away a fraction of what she felt inside.

‘I wish we could have met under easier circumstances,’ said Denser.

‘Easier!’ she screamed. ‘My children are dead, you bastard! Dead. I should bleed the lot of you where you sit.’

Denser looked up and around, catching Thraun’s eye. The man nodded.

‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘One of the guards cut their throats.’

‘And all because your people wanted to save you,’ managed Erienne, sobs now racking her body. ‘My life has been taken and there was nothing I could do.’ She sagged into Thraun’s strong grasp. He supported her to a chair. ‘I wasn’t even there . . . they died alone.’

‘Take your time, Erienne,’ said Thraun. ‘Take your time.’ He smoothed her hair.

‘Please,’ said Denser. ‘We don’t have long. Hirad is dying.’ Erienne dragged her hands from her face, her eyes, red and swelling, driving into his.

‘And you think I should care?’ She stood and walked over to him, looking down in disgust. ‘You know why I was taken? Because Xetesk started a search for Dawnthief and Travers thought I could help him control it. My boys are dead because of you and your College. Well, Denser the great Dawnthief mage, I might just sit and watch your friend die. At least that’s a choice I can make, unlike the one to save my children.’ Her chin wobbled again and fresh tears sprang into her eyes. She turned away.