friends presumably wanted him dead and the fate of Balaia rested squarely on his shoulders. And it felt now as if not a single stitch were out of place. Birthright, Dystran had just called it.
‘Destiny,’ said Brynar, who had been given a chance to redeem himself.
The word didn’t matter too much. The three of them clinked their cut crystal glasses, full of the finest Blackthorne red from the cellars, and drank.
‘You know the most amazing thing of all is the energy I feel. I really can do all that I have promised. I can rule here and make Xetesk a power to rival any other in any dimension, known or not. Birthright? More like reborn.’
‘But to be complete, to truly own Xetesk and by definition now, Balaia, to have the unwavering loyalty of the Circle Seven for long enough, there is one more thing you must do,’ said Dystran.
‘And what is that?’ asked Denser, mind bright with opportunity and hazy with authority. Damn it if he didn’t feel a little drunk.
Dystran indicated the three huge and ancient leather- and brass-bound books he had brought with him from the catacombs.
‘You have always been something of a rebel. Accommodated by such lords as Styliann because of your rather unique aptitude for Dawnthief. But the time has come, my Lord Denser, to write your name indelibly into the lore of this college. You must take the “y” into your name. Let it speak for the power you wield as it has done throughout the generations of our great college. Become a true Lord of Xetesk.’
He patted the book. Denser felt a frisson of discomfort. Ever since he could remember, he’d fought against this. Seen himself more as a fighter against the system. For a moment it was difficult to admit he now was the system.
‘It is not a big change,’ continued Dystran.
‘Wrong. It changes me forever.’
‘Surely that has already happened,’ said Dystran.
Denser considered briefly and then nodded. Dystran opened the book to display a double spread of pages. On the left-hand page, wrapped in ornate decoration, was his own name and beneath it those of the Circle Seven and other named mages and officers of influence or particular bravery or commendation. The page opposite was blank. Brynar had inked a pen and he gave it to Denser. Dystran turned the book to face him and held the page flat.
Denser bent to write then let the pen hover. He closed his eyes and fought his doubt. So many years about to be washed away. So much youthful anger and righteous thought. And it had brought him full circle. He suspected that Styliann, Nyer, Laryon — all of those who had nurtured and schooled him — had known all along. Presumably it was why they had tolerated him at all.
Denser put the pen to the heavy parchment and wrote in careful, Xeteskian lore script:
D-e-n-s-y-r
He leaned back when it was done and looked. Fitting. Entirely fitting.
‘You are so named,’ said Dystran. ‘I, Dystran…’
‘And I, Brynar.’
‘… witness the taking of “y by the mage Denser, who shall now be remembered in perpetuity through the lore of our college.’ Dystran took the book back and blotted Denser’s work expertly.
‘The scribes will do the rest. I think a full ceremony is out of the question until we are safe from the Garonin. Do you agree?’
Densyr nodded. ‘I do.’
‘And what are my Lord’s next wishes?’ asked Brynar.
Densyr looked out on a quiet Xeteskian evening. His people scurried about, doing his bidding, securing his city and seeking out the few dissenters.
‘Where are we with our — ahem — high-profile handful of rebels?’
Densyr had taken the news that the dead had departed en masse inside a dragon’s Klene with some relief. He didn’t much care where they had gone though he presumed it would not be far from the city. But what it did mean was that the blood of the dead, and more importantly The Raven, was no longer on his hands. And it might still deflect a portion of the enemy’s attention from the college.
‘We are yet to find where they are hiding this time,’ said Brynar. ‘General Suarav is confident they are scattered about the city.’
‘That is no basis for confidence and you can tell Suarav from me that I believe he is wrong. Blackthorne, Gresse, our TaiGethen friends
… scattered, no. They are together and plotting something stupid, I have no doubt. I want them caught and incarcerated. Killed if they resist. They are taking precious resource from the city’s defence. Tell me you still have Diera and young Hirad under close observation?’
Brynar paused just a little too long. Densyr sighed.
‘My last report is of her in conversation with Auum of the TaiGethen. They were followed from the college but I have had no reports since.’
‘Terrific,’ said Densyr. ‘And you know why that is? It’s because anyone who followed them is undoubtedly dead. Did no one listen to me when I said the TaiGethen were dangerous? This isn’t steep-stairs dangerous. This is get-slaughtered-in-a-heartbeat-unless-you-are-unbelievably-careful dangerous. Am I clear?
‘And so Auum has Diera too. All I need now is Sol to come riding in on a white charger and my day will be complete.’
‘Um…’ began Brynar.
‘You’re about to tell me that’s already happened?’
‘No, but there were other reports following your speech and the instructions from General Suarav. Guards have reported people saying that there are wolves and panthers in the city.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Wol-’
‘I heard you. Go away. Dystran go with him. He clearly needs an older, wiser head to help him.’
‘Of course, my Lord Densyr,’ said Dystran. ‘Do you have any other requirements?’
‘I trust you, Dystran. Do what you consider needs doing. And send me Septern. I feel in need of good news. At least he won’t let me down.’
Densyr watched the two mages leave. The door closed behind them. He stood up, drained his glass and refilled it. He stood over the Book of Names. It held the name of every Lord of the Mount since the sundering. And now it held his. Living up to this was not going to be easy.
Densyr took his glass and walked out onto his balcony. Panthers. That meant ClawBound were loose. Not good. And wolves. Wolves just had to mean that Thraun was back and had found Diera too. Their bond would certainly be strong enough after all their shared time on Herendeneth. The years when Thraun was lost to himself.
Panthers or wolves. He found himself wondering which would be better and quicker at tearing out his throat. He was still itching at his neck when the door opened to admit Septern.
The Klene was being buffeted again by the void of inter-dimensional space. The dead had been left outside the walls of the city, no more than a mile distant, and asked to trust that The Raven could deliver their loved ones to them soon. The Raven, returning to Xetesk, had no idea how they were to make good on their promise.
Sha-Kaan’s and Jonas’s minds were locked together while the dragon sought Diera through him. All The Raven quartet could do was hang on and hope purchase was found soon. Sha-Kaan would be unable to make absolute connection with Diera so their landing was going to be hit and miss but it was better than nothing.
Sol, hanging on to one of Sha-Kaan’s forelimbs, couldn’t take his eyes off Jonas. His back throbbed and occasionally sent shooting pains throughout his body but Ilkar had done enough to give him some movement and had staunched the bleeding.
Jonas looked so terribly small where he lay in the crook of Sha-Kaan’s other forelimb. He was not conscious though he burbled and cried out from time to time. His face was pale and sweating and his breathing was too shallow and fast.
‘How long can he keep this up?’ asked Sol.
‘I will not let him suffer harm,’ said Sha-Kaan, opening one of his huge blue eyes, its centre a flat black slit. ‘He is strong. In his father’s image.’
