you are depriving your children of the father they worship? Can your sacrifice really be worth such loss?’
‘What I cannot do is follow a path in which I do not believe and have that cause your deaths. This isn’t about being a hero, Diera. It never has been. It’s about doing the right thing. The only thing.’
‘Oh dear me, they really have done a number on you, haven’t they?’
Sol spun round. Denser had appeared from nowhere and was walking the last couple of paces to the front door.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ demanded Sol.
‘Determining the state of mind of my king,’ said Denser. His hand rested on the door bolt. ‘And I don’t like what I hear.’
‘I don’t have to explain myself to anyone who eavesdrops from behind a cloaking spell.’ Sol turned to Diera, sure she had knowledge of Denser’s presence, but the look on her face told him otherwise. ‘I suggest you leave, my Lord of the Mount.’
Denser nodded. ‘I will, Sol. And I’m sorry, I really am.’
He opened the door, stood back and began to cast. Six men were running in. Big men.
‘What the-’
Diera screamed Sol’s name. No time to think. Sol picked up a chair and threw it at Denser. It caught him around the waist and knocked him into the wall just below the painting of Hirad, disrupting his casting preparation. Sol strode towards the six, reached above his head and grabbed the cudgel from the beam mounts on his way past.
‘Come on then, boys. Let’s see you take an old man, eh?’
The college heavies fanned out, shoving tables and chairs aside to give themselves clear space. Sol moved into the centre of the room and tapped the end of the cudgel on the timber floor of the inn. To his left, Denser was getting back to his feet.
‘Diera, keep on poking that bastard; don’t let him get a spell off.’
‘With pleasure.’
‘Who’s first? You?’ Sol pointed his cudgel at a squat man with a barrel torso. Pasty skin, flabby arms and a thick powerful neck.
The man grunted but didn’t move forward. Sol cursed under his breath. He knew what was coming. They rushed him as one. Two dived forward, aiming to grapple his legs. The other four went for his upper body. Sol jumped, bringing his legs up under him. He swung the cudgel, feeling a satisfying thud as it connected with a long- haired skull.
He landed on top of one of the divers, forcing the air from his lungs. He brought the cudgel round again, meeting the gut of a third man. Below him the diver moved, sending Sol off balance. He fell backwards, already beginning to turn before he hit the floor. He thrashed the cudgel above his head, missing this time.
Someone was on his legs and he kicked out hard, feeling his boots pummel soft flesh. But the arms clung on. Three others dived on top of him. Sol dropped the cudgel and smashed his left then right fist into the face of the closest heavy. The man’s nose and lips burst, showering blood everywhere. Sol took a punch to the stomach. And another. Someone else was on his legs now and he couldn’t move them.
He heard the splash of water, plenty of water. Denser swore. Sol managed a smile. He cocked his fists again but this time his shoulders were forced back onto the ground and his arms pinned by his sides. Sol bucked and twisted under the weight of the men on top of him. He glared up at the nearest, who set his fist above Sol’s face.
‘Don’t make me, Sol. Relax. Relax.’
Sol let the tension flow out of his body. The college men did not let up their pressure and they would not. He was beaten. For now.
‘Stand him up,’ said Denser. ‘And one of you get Diera off me, please?’
A slap of hand on face. Another expletive from the Lord of the Mount.
‘Don’t any of you so much as lay a hand on her,’ growled Sol. ‘Diera, it’s all right. It’s over.’
Sol allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. He pushed the college men away and tried to shake off restraining hands. Diera retreated towards the bar. He saw her hand go over the counter but he shook his head and she withdrew it. He let his eyes play over the six in front of him. One had blood pouring from the side of his face where the cudgel had struck him. Another was resting on a table, hands on his belly. A third stared balefully at him while the blood continued to run from his nose and mouth.
‘Don’t worry, you were ugly already,’ said Sol.
‘Don’t push your luck, my King,’ slurred the man.
Sol turned his head to stare at Denser. The Lord of the Mount was soaked through.
‘And you.’ Sol spat on the ground. ‘You have betrayed me, Xetesk, Balaia and most of all The Raven. I no longer know you.’
Denser stalked in to stand a few feet away.
‘I am doing what is right for our city and our country. You will not be allowed to fragment our defence by running off on your fool’s errand. No one is leaving Balaia. No one needs to. I know what Auum and those foolish old men are planning even if you don’t, and they will be stopped. We have the power and the strength to beat these Garonin. Xetesk will prevail.’
‘You will all die and I will laugh in your faces,’ said Sol.
‘Lystern has fallen. Julatsa is under attack. Dordover is long gone. And that leaves Xetesk as the one power on this continent. Do you think I or any mage of my college would pass up the opportunity for us to take up our natural position as rulers of Balaia?’
Sol felt numb. He stared at Denser and searched his eyes.
‘What’s happened to you, Denser? All that we’ve done in the last ten years. Does it really mean that little to you? The deaths of your friends?’
‘Until the Garonin came, it meant everything. But it’s all been washed away now and I cannot have dissension. There is a single purpose, and it is the protection of this city and its college. You need to spend some time alone thinking about that and about why you should be protecting the living, not seeing them into the hands of the dead and a fool’s march west.’
Sol shook his head. ‘I would rather protect the dead than the living like you.’
‘Right,’ said Denser. ‘Time for you to rest. We don’t want a scene when we return up The Thread, now do we?’
Denser began to cast, Sol’s eyes burning into him the whole time. And when the spell was done and the hands laid on him, Sol slipped quickly into unconsciousness, his head falling to one side and his eyes flickering closed. But not so quickly that he didn’t see the door to the yard, which had been open a crack, closing quietly.
Above the mage college of Julatsa a dense, dark cloud exploded and evaporated. Rebraal stood with his primary mage, Dila’heth, five miles from the city yet still they could feel the heat and the vibrations through the ground. Their horses, bought from a farmer on the coast of Triverne Inlet, grazed nearby, showing little sign of nervousness.
Julatsa sat like a pearl on flat open ground below them. Even from this distance the elves could see the dust of the Garonin approach, the flash of spells and the damage the city had already taken. At its centre the college still stood proud. Banners from her masts fluttered and a constant stream of spells fled out from her walls, tower and other high places.
‘The Garonin are in the city,’ said Dila. ‘It will soon be over.’ Rebraal turned to her. ‘I am sorry, Dila. Tual will give you strength. Ix will not desert you nor your brothers and sisters.’
Dila’heth fell to her knees.
‘Tual help us,’ said Rebraal. He crouched by her. ‘Dila?’
She was not looking at him but past him. Down across the plain the sky was dark. A cloud wider and deeper than any they had seen before was building over the centre of the city. It was spiralling slowly and its core was dense with the yellow of Julatsan magic.
Dila retched and groaned. Rebraal put an arm about her shoulders and held her to him, feeling her trembling and gasping for breath as if her chest was constricted. The cloud was spinning and growing. The cracks of lightning sent echoes across the plain. Spells still flew from the college but nothing would save them now. A stillness fell, emanating from the centre of the cloud. The pressure built, pressing on Rebraal’s ears like he had dived too far
