and run here worked in ways your fellow mages and elves could not possibly have imagined. The demons always meant to go back and consume the Heart after the battle here was done. They never made it. It makes Julatsa strong.’
‘Only potentially, Denser. I can’t imagine too many mages survived to begin the process of recruitment and training. You have numbers at least. But they won’t do you any good.’
‘So you all keep saying, and you’ll excuse me if I don’t immediately buy the opinion of people who have been dead for a good long time. We need to see this enemy for ourselves. Understand that I’m only just buying the idea that you can possibly be here at all.’
Ilkar nodded. ‘Then do it quickly. Being dead was good. Being alive again really isn’t.’
‘And that’s why Hirad has gone all emotional on me, is that it?’
‘No, Denser, it’s because he can feel something that he cannot explain.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come,’ said Denser.
A young messenger entered and bowed. ‘Please, my Lord Denser, Master Haldryn of the Communion Globe sends his urgent wish for your attention. Calaius has fallen silent.’
Ilkar watched the colour drain from Denser’s face.
‘I take it that’s not good, then.’
Denser shook his head.
‘And what’s a Communion Globe?’ asked the elven mage.
Denser rubbed a hand across his forehead. ‘Wait here, all of you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
They all watched Denser go, following the messenger out of the door and away down the long spiral stairway. Ilkar took a seat next to Hirad and smiled, squeezing his old friend’s healthy shoulder and regretting that he couldn’t see the barbarian in his original body. For all the awful reasons they were here at all and not floating in the timeless sanctuary of the dead dimension, there was still pleasure to be derived from being among friends. Even the different faces and bodies could not detract from the sense of well-being.
‘So what’s eating the Lord of the Mount?’ asked Hirad.
‘Not sure, really. One of his toys is broken and he wanted to show it off to us, I think.’
‘Oh, I see.’
As usual, it was plain that he didn’t see at all. Ilkar looked over at Sol. The big man was studying the edge of the table, kneading the carved knotwork with his thumbs.
‘It’s not just a toy, is it, Unknown?’
Sol shook his head. ‘It’s the first line of defence against any invasion of Balaia or Calaius. It’s the way we can talk over huge distances at any time. There are only two reasons for Calaius to fall silent. Deliberate cessation of the casting by the elves, and I dismiss that out of hand.’
‘Or…’
‘Or something overcame them so fast they had no chance to send a warning.’
‘Go and have your fight if you must but you need to believe us, Unknown,’ said Hirad. ‘You need to worry about evacuating west right now. There is no time for doubt.’
Chapter 10
Pain where there had been comfort.
Fear where there had been calm.
Loneliness from love.
He would have screamed but he had no voice with which to do so. It had been so long, it seemed, since he had ascribed any living sensations to how he felt or what was happening to him. The pain soared, ripping at his being. Unstoppable, rising all the time, scaling heights he could never have conceived existed.
Tearing. Like he imagined it would be should his flesh be torn from his bones while he still lived. And he could not cling on. Could not save himself from being thrown into the teeth of the gale that carried him away from his resting place.
Flesh and blood. Bones and breath.
The trappings of the living. He had forgotten them and how they felt. Why should he be reminded of them now? Dimly, he had been aware that those around him had moved or were gone. He had felt fear through the mass but had not known what it meant. Still he didn’t. Yet he was gone from where he had been content until now. But not adrift. There was something just beyond the borders of his awareness and slowly, slowly it resolved itself.
Direction.
He was travelling.
There was no reference. He could not see or feel his movement but there it was nonetheless. There was no scent to guide him, no light to show him a path. But there was something that dragged him onwards, that would not let him be lost to the chaos that surrounded him. And what coalesced from the confusion encasing him jolted through him with, he remembered, surprise.
It was need. That feeling of the heart reaching out to implore help, satisfy yearning and quench desire. To beg for attention. And to be reciprocated, meaning to love. All of this flooded through him and he thought that his speed, if he had one, increased. He had the sensation of flying headlong towards those that needed him the very most whether they were in trouble or just hoping without reason that he would return to them.
It was a feeling of the most basic kind. A necessity without which there was no life. And certainly no return to life. Because shortly before light blazed into the comforting darkness that had been his dead soul, that was what he was sure was coming.
He remembered nightmares from his living days when he was falling, falling. Always waking up just before he hit the ground. Yet though this was no nightmare, it was no less terrifying. The light was forming into vague shapes and he had the impression he was hurtling towards them at a speed he could not hope to arrest before he struck them.
There were many of them, grey and indistinct for the most part but surrounding a separate, familiar shape. And it was to this he was being dragged. Curious. The winds buffeting him were enough to blow him away like chaff in the wind but the draw to the shape was so strong. Like he was swimming down to an anchor.
In the next instant he was gasping in breath, opening his eyes and feeling the fear that had killed him. No, not him. The one who had inhabited this space before him. He lay on his back, barely daring to move. One at a time, he lifted his hands in front of his face, seeing strong, farmer’s fingers, calloused and thick. He was not young or, rather, the body was not. Over forty but not yet in decline. The lungs heaved in the wonderful scents of grass and pine and the thick, heavy odours of animals.
He sat up, his soul clinging hard to the body, feeding energy into the heart to steady himself. The heart was tight, the muscles still in spasm. He could not afford to let the body die again. The winds would take him and he had nowhere else to go. He could not go back, that much he knew, and the knowledge sent pain through his new body. Pain of loss. Grief, he supposed, for all that was gone and could never be recovered.
The wolves surrounding him were all old but still he recognised them. Elders of the pack, his pack. He reached out a hand and nuzzled the nearest under the chin, feeling a delightful warmth. Sudden anxiety gripped him and he withdrew the hand.
‘You have been waiting,’ he said, though he knew they could not understand. ‘This body. Waiting for me. You did this. How did you know?’
Words from his mouth. It seemed only a moment since he had spoken his last yet time had passed. Much time. He could see that in the whitening of lupine coats and he could feel it in the air around him.
The wolves, six of them, moved in to smell, lick and know him again. He could sense their relief but it was tinged with fear. Threat.
He stood. ‘I am Thraun.’
His name echoed around the valley in which he found himself and the laughter that followed it from his mouth hid the pain of his return just for a moment. He stretched his new body, feeling strong muscle in his chest, arms and legs. The wolves had chosen well. Thraun bit his lip.
