Hirad looked dubiously out over the walls and into the quiet streets. There was plenty of noise echoing around Xetesk. Plenty of light and smoke too.

‘Bit of an atmosphere out there, don’t you think?’

‘Hmm. Not everyone is pleased to see the dead walking about.’

‘I can’t say I blame them,’ said Hirad. ‘I just wish they’d see we have no choice. Come on, let’s go. Might get to the inn before closing time if we’re lucky.’

‘I think he might serve us after hours, Hirad.’

The two old friends in strangers’ bodies trotted down the stairway to the courtyard and out onto the apron before the college. The Thread ran left and right past the gates. They turned right, heading down a gentle slope along the narrow winding road towards Sol’s inn. The air was warm but carried a current of disquiet across the whole of the city. Three hundred and more dead had returned - figures were tricky to establish - and much of the living population had not taken to the events terribly well.

‘What do you think they’ll do?’ asked Hirad.

The Thread was quiet. A few individuals and small groups wandered here and there and the cloak of the night meant no one could tell if they were living or dead unless they came good and close.

‘You know what they’ll do. They’ll head out and try and fight.’

‘It’ll be carnage.’

‘Will it?’ Ilkar felt the pain in his body easing as they neared the inn. ‘We had no defence but we had no magic and weapons either. Perhaps Xetesk will turn them aside.’

‘You don’t believe that. None of us do. We have all felt their power and it translates into something simply too big to handle.’

Ilkar nodded and sighed. ‘You’re right of course. But we have to hope, don’t we?’

‘What we have to do is get the returned dead and their loved ones away from here. This place is a target. West is the only sensible option. Beyond the Blackthornes and into the Heartlands of Wes.’

‘Well, we’re going to the right man to get that sorted out.’ Ilkar shuddered. ‘Damn but that felt strange. Do you—’

Bull’s-eye lantern beams stabbed out from the left from one of the many side streets leading off The Thread. Temporarily disoriented, Hirad and Ilkar backed across the street to the right. Ilkar could just about see the shapes of men spilling into the street behind the lanterns. He shaded his eyes and immediately began casting to form the spell shape for a defensive wall. He heard Hirad drawing his sword.

‘Get behind me, Ilkar,’ he said. ‘This smells very bad.’

The two of them had stopped retreating, leaving space to their left and behind, where their shadows on the buildings gave away their status.

‘Want to run?’ asked Ilkar.

‘What do you think?’

‘Just asking.’

Hirad squared up. Ilkar could still see nothing but shadows of men behind the lanterns. The street was suddenly deserted of casual strollers.

‘Hirad Coldheart and Ilkar,’ came a voice, strong and powerful, commanding. ‘Members of The Raven deceased and you really should have stayed that way, don’t you think?’

‘You’re welcome to come out and try sending me back,’ said Hirad.

Ilkar shook his head. ‘That’s it, Hirad, work on defusing the situation. ’

Hirad glanced over his shoulder. ‘Just back me up.’ But the merchant’s face didn’t inspire the same confidence that the old Hirad’s had.

More people were pushing into the street and filtering around the lanterns. Ilkar counted twenty shapes. There didn’t look to be too many weapons on display but this was a college of magic. There didn’t have to be.

‘I intend on doing just that,’ said the voice, and the body from which it came moved in front of the lantern beams, which were hastily uncapped to shed a more general light. ‘But I wanted you to see me first. And know why I am here.’

The face of the figure was still cast in shadow but he was tall, broad-shouldered and thick of limb. He wore chain armour and carried a two-handed blade. Ilkar cursed under his breath. He was bigger than Sol. Much younger too, maybe mid-twenties. It was hard to tell due to the half-helmet that covered his eyes and nose, leaving only his mouth and chin visible. There was an ugly slash across his throat that had been crudely sewn.

‘All right, I’m impressed,’ said Hirad. ‘But clearly you’re a returned soul too so you are aware we had no choice in the matter. What brought you back, though, I wonder?’

‘You did.’

Ilkar frowned and saw Hirad pause, uncertain. The man moved a step closer.

‘But you aren’t Raven,’ said Hirad.

The man scoffed. ‘Hardly. I’m hurt you haven’t made a better guess. Perhaps if that bitch who froze my face were with you she might work it out.’

Hirad straightened then pointed his sword at the man. Ilkar knew there was a sneer on his face by the set of his head.

‘Selik? You returned because of me? I’m so touched.’

‘And here to put many wrongs to rights.’

‘Odd place for a Black Wing to show up,’ said Hirad. ‘You could lose your head in a place like this, you know.’

‘It is I who will be wielding the killing blade this time, Coldheart. First over you, and then your mage friend.’

‘Interesting choice of words for a man standing amongst the living population of Xetesk,’ said Ilkar.

‘Not all here are mages or mage lovers,’ said Selik, and he moved forward again. ‘These here want an end to the curse that is the allying of the college and the dead. This is magic of the very worst kind. And who better to help them achieve that?’

‘We all want the same thing, surely,’ said Ilkar. ‘An end to the torment that puts our souls in unwilling bodies and a safe place in which to rest.’

‘Dreams,’ said Selik. ‘I am happy enough. Happy that my time dead and wronged can now be cleansed from my soul by the blood of The Raven on my blade. Hold them.’

Men ran from either side of Selik. Ilkar, his spell prepared, cast and pushed his wall of mana to Hirad’s left and into the crowd, pressing them back to the right-hand side of the street. Hirad took a pace back and slashed hard at the space Selik’s lackeys were running into. Three of them pulled up short. Two, armed with broad blades, came on.

The street filled with the sounds of shouting and anger. The city guard would be here before long but they would not stop what was about to happen. While Ilkar edged left, taking in more of Selik’s crowd but leaving the man himself free as Hirad would want, the two men attacked.

They came in left and right. A good strategy but with one error. Hirad ducked the high blow and blocked the low hard, pushing the man back. Then he was up and striking out at the first, his upward cut slicing through arm and glancing off his opponent’s head, severing his ear. The man fell away, clutching at the side of his head. Hirad spun back, caught a blow from the second attacker on the hilt of his blade, straight-punched the man in the mouth and sliced back through his midriff, opening up a deep cut.

Hirad turned to face Selik.

‘Body of a merchant, mind of a warrior,’ he said. ‘How about you?’

Selik said nothing. He moved very quickly, his blade coming around at waist height with frightening power. The old Hirad, the barbarian, would have been able to deflect the blow and riposte. But the merchant’s body did not have the same strength. Hirad got his blade in the right place and avoided being cut in two but the force of the strike buckled his sword arm, jamming the edge of his blade against his body. He was sent sprawling to the dirt.

Ilkar began to move the mana wall but Selik was ahead of him. Hirad managed to turn onto his back but his arm was useless and the sword fell from his hands. He stared up into the face of the Black Wing. There was a smirk on Selik’s face. He placed his blade on Hirad’s throat.

‘I hear the void calling you, Coldheart. Pleasant travels.’