‘I say I love the images you paint.’ He planted another kiss on her mouth and shoved her gently towards the path to the landing. ‘So you’ll always know where to find me, won’t you? Right here, looking for sails on the horizon.’

Diera turned. ‘Never leave me again. Promise.’

‘Never. I promise.’

Ry Darrick put his head in his hands and sighed long. ‘Gods, this is like pulling teeth,’ he muttered.

It was another ridiculously humid day though he’d been assured of fresher air on the coast. And last time he looked, Ysundeneth was still on the coast. It had been like this ten days straight now. He couldn’t sleep, he had no appetite and it was grating on his nerves. And in the paddock in front of him, his apprentice was deliberately misunderstanding everything he was saying.

The young elf stood up and brushed himself down, turned to see the stallion standing irritably on the opposite side of the ring, its tail swishing. It snorted.

‘What did I tell you just now?’

‘Don’t approach from the back?’ he ventured.

‘Right. So could you confirm by pointing which end is the front?’

The boy pointed. That was something else. No sense of irony. Clearly Ilkar had learned his over long years of exposure to Hirad.

‘Correct, the end with the teeth and the rolling eyes. Now, I’ll tell you once more, and go carefully this time. Approach steadily and calmly from the front and let him see you all the way. If you surprise him you’ll end up flat on your back again if you try and mount him.

‘Let him get used to you before you get a hold of the bridle and then move down his flank slowly. Make sure you keep in physical contact. Only then put your foot in the stirrup. Do it slowly and calmly and should be skitter, back off and try again. I’ll tell you when to be more forceful, all right?’

‘Yes, General,’ said the boy.

‘Go on then, he won’t bite.’ Actually, he might, thought Darrick.

Dear Gods drowning, would he ever be able to let the boy loose on a horse not already broken in? Stupid thing was, when he was up in the saddle, the boy was a natural, which wasn’t something you could say for many elves.

And it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. He had brought half a dozen horses with him from Balaia when The Raven had left the continent, all courtesy of a very generous Baron Blackthorne. His idea had always been to breed them and introduce them to the elves after a short stop on Herendeneth. The elves knew precious little about horses and, if nothing else, learning to ride could be an expensive gift for rich children.

From a business point of view, it worked very well. Blackthorne’s horses were good stock and he was anticipating a third generation. They should be the calmest yet, now he didn’t have to rely on the old stallion. Great horse to ride. A bugger for passing on his bad temper, though.

He watched the boy approaching the horse. It eyed him warily but made no move away. Better. The lad held out his hands and the horse obliged, nuzzling them before giving him a playful butt in the chest. The boy hesitated.

‘Keep going, lad,’ said Darrick. ‘You’re doing fine.’

He turned away at the sound of a cart rattling along the street behind him, pulled by mules. He waved at the owner, who nodded back. And that was all it took for it all to go wrong again. When he returned his attention to the paddock, the boy had his foot half in the stirrup and his hand clutched the loose rein tight.

‘No,’ shouted Darrick. ‘You’re dragging his head round. He won’t . . .’

The lad tried to mount. The rest was inevitable. He gave a sharp tug on the rein, forgetting he was holding it, so much was he concentrating on the stirrup, his footing and the pommel where his other hand was planted. The stallion nickered and pulled back sharply. The boy didn’t know which to let go of and in the end released the pommel not the rein and still tried to get up in the saddle.

The horse trotted a pace and unbalanced his would-be rider who fell flat on his back in the dirt with a shout of frustration.

‘Give me strength,’ muttered Darrick.

‘You look like a man who needs a change of career,’ said a voice he recognised very well indeed.

He swung round. Hirad was standing a couple of paces away. Darrick gave a shout of surprise and embraced him hard. ‘Gods, Hirad, it’s good to see you,’ he said.

‘Steady,’ said Hirad, pushing him back. ‘People will talk. All going well is it?’

‘That depends on what you’re really asking. I’m making money. I’m working with horses and other dumb animals.’ He spared the boy a glance. ‘Again! Bruising is good for the character. And don’t think that about me. You’ll thank me later.’

Hirad was laughing. ‘Glad to see you’ve kept your cool.’

‘Hirad, I have to tell you something. I am so bored.’

The barbarian’s smile broadened. ‘So if I was to suggest something with rather more potential for excitement what would you think?’

‘I’d think you were a blessing from the Gods,’ said Darrick. ‘So what is it?’

He’d been ignoring the other figures spread around the paddock fence while he spoke to Hirad but now he looked more closely.

‘Isn’t that—?’

‘Rebraal, yes. And Auum. And Thraun’s around here somewhere too.’

‘What’s going on?’ Darrick chewed his lip. Auum had sworn never to leave the forest again and his presence with his Tai was drawing attention. Hirad’s smile had disappeared.

‘We’ve got a problem. I’ll explain on the way.’

‘The way where?’

‘Herendeneth. Listen, Darrick, do what you need to do here and I’ll see you on the docks at nightfall. There’s a tide and Jevin is going to be on it.’

Darrick stiffened. ‘Tell me what is going on before I get more irritable.’

‘You know how I said The Raven would never ride again? Seems I was lying.’

Chapter 10

Dystran, Lord of the Mount of Xetesk, though the title rang hollow now, stared out at another dawn and shed a tear as he had almost every day for the past two years. It was going to be another beautiful day. That was one of the things the demons had not taken from them though they had done their best. The air was perpetually cold and the quiet made late spring a sham. No birds sang, dogs barked or children played. There was no sound outside at all but the keening of despair on the breeze.

Like every day, he wondered at the conditions on the outside where the demons ruled practically unopposed. How much worse it must be for those kept alive out there; though much of the time he wallowed so far down in his own desperation that the possibility others could be in a deeper plight was inconceivable.

So little news came in from the outside. Less and less as the seasons turned and resistance inexorably weakened. At first it had been relatively straightforward. They had unsealed the catacomb vents and been able to get people into the countryside. In the early days, the demons had only attacked a few population centres. Food and water in the wilds had been plentiful and survivors had been brought into the security of Xetesk’s ColdRoom network. They’d even driven the demons back from the walls of the college at one stage and taken back some of the city.

But the situation hadn’t been sustainable. The use of magic was like a beacon to any demon and he had lost mages in sudden overwhelming attacks across the mage lands. Mages he could ill afford to lose.

Slowly, they had retreated as numbers dwindled as a result of demon attack and, ever increasingly, illness and a breaking of the spirit that left no room for life. There was only so much a healing spell could do and regaining mana stamina was fraught with danger. Xetesk had had just three small areas of the catacombs the demons had still not found where a mage could sleep outside a ColdRoom, replenish and cast. And always under the eyes of guards ready to pull them the few inches back to relative sanctuary should they be discovered.