The Raven Collection Part 40

'I'm afraid your timings might be slightly awry.' Styliann's smile was laced with contempt. 'The two members of The Raven you are talking about witnessed the kidnap from their position outside the walls.'

'While they plotted an illegal entrance.'

'Their actions are not disputed,' said Heryst, his gentle voice cutting across the tension. 'The actions of your College are.'

'We are the victims here!' Vuldaroq stood and slammed his fists on the table.

'In that the ring was taken, yes, you are.' Heryst shrugged. 'But you are basing your objection to Xetesk's actions on the death of a mage. A mage who kidnapped a Familiar from outside the College walls.' He leaned into the light, a half-smile playing about his lips. 'The first crime of the evening was committed by Dordover.'

'Your point being?' Red-faced, Vuldaroq wiped sweat from his forehead, his shoulders sagging slightly.

'His point being that we have two separate incidents that you have intertwined. One Styliann has confessed to and given reasons for. The other, regrettable though it was, appears to have been instigated by a Dordovan, brought a Xeteskian and his Familiar to the College where they would otherwise not have been, and resulted in inevitable consequences.'

'Inevitable? When can murder ever be inevitable?'

'Enough!' Styliann rose again. 'You are well aware of the bond between a Xeteskian mage and his Familiar, and so was your foolish student. Another time he might have been successful in trapping both, though why he should wish to is beyond me. His great misfortune was that he chose to steal that belonging to a particularly talented man. Denser was bound to release his Familiar and then your man's life was over. I have little sympathy.

'Now. Two incidents, as Barras correctly deduced. We are talking about the theft. I have explained why it was carried out and why we were secretive. Vuldaroq has since demonstrated to me that our secrecy was entirely justified. We are facing catastrophe if we don't work together. I must have your support and you must believe, as I do, that Dawnthief is our only realistic chance of success.'

'I agree with you,' said Barras. 'But I, personally, am insulted that you kept such information from me.'

'I see.' Styliann scratched his ear. 'All right, let me put it this way. Let's a.s.sume for a moment that I opened up about Dawnthief at the last meeting, and we, as the four-College delegation, went to the Dordovan Council and asked for the Ring of Arteche. What would have been the result? Vuldaroq?'

'You know full well what the result would have been,' muttered Vuldaroq.

'Yes, I do, they would have initially refused.' Styliann threw his arms wide. 'Then, following pressure, they might have agreed to release the ring, but they would have demanded a senior mage in attendance at any use of Dawnthief, and to advise on the search as it continued. How long would all this have taken to agree? A month, two months? Gentlemen, I believed that we didn't have that sort of time, and the movement of the Wesmen invasion forces proves me correct.

'I apologise for misleading you all about our ideas for the destruction of the Wytch Lords, but we are now in an advanced enough state to stand a realistic chance of success. Now you all know that your councils would have delayed the recovery of the spell, perhaps critically. And you also know that The Raven as it stands contains members of three Colleges, and that, with Heryst's blessing, is a quorum.' Heryst inclined his head. 'Good. All that we need now is to facilitate The Raven's entry into the west.'

'And how might we do that?' asked Heryst.

'We'll have to take Understone Pa.s.s,' said Styliann.

Vuldaroq scoffed. 'Styliann, there are eight thousand Wesmen in that pa.s.s. Just how do you suggest we achieve this miracle?'

Styliann smiled.

Denser turned to Ilkar and Erienne, his message finished. 'I've done all I can. He will see them away from the farm and on their way to Triverne Lake, then return to me.'

'Will they make it?' asked Ilkar, uneasy at leaving The Raven to travel with no magical escort.

Denser nodded. 'And so will you if you leave now. One of Laryon's Protectors will take you to the City boundaries. If you ride through the night you'll be there by dawn. I'll join you as soon as I can.'

'And where exactly is Nyer?' Ilkar's eyes s.h.i.+fted up and down the corridor. He half expected the Master to loom out of nowhere and attack them.

'On his way to the farmhouse,' said Denser. He chewed his bottom lip. 'I can't believe he is betraying me.'

'Denser!' Laryon called from inside the spell chamber.

'I must go.' He kissed Erienne, holding on to the embrace. 'Be careful.'

'I'll bear it in mind.' She smiled and stroked his face.

'Get this right, Denser,' said Ilkar.

'If it is possible, I'll beat you to Triverne Lake and The Unknown will be with me.'

'Now that would be impressive.'

'Then I'll see it is done.' Denser held out his hand. Ilkar hesitated a moment before shaking it.

'Denser!' Urgently.

Denser raised his eyebrows, stepped into the spell chamber and closed the door. Ilkar and Erienne heard solid bolts slide home. No one else was getting in.

'Let's go,' said Ilkar. Erienne paused to stare at the door a moment before leading the way back from the catacombs and the suffocating press of Xeteskian mana.

Inside the armoured spell chamber, deep beneath the Mount, The Unknown, Sol, blinked into the candlelight. Denser and Laryon talked at the foot of the slab on which he lay pillowed, clothed in traditional dark tunic and breeches.

'What I require from you is a mana channel to keep the DemonChain under control until the soul is returned.' Laryon flexed his fingers. 'They will resist you, and once the soul moves, they will try to break free. Do you understand?'

Denser nodded.

'Then let's begin. I am anxious for the safety of The Raven.'

Laryon moved to Sol's head, placed his hands over the Protector's eyes and muttered a short prayer. Sol's body relaxed, his eyes closed and his head fell to one side. He wasn't breathing.

'Time is short. Denser, prepare the mana channel. Hold it in readiness until the Chain is visible. You'll know what to do instinctively. Trust me.'

Denser breathed deeply and began to construct the shape of the channel. He tuned his consciousness to the mana spectrum, seeing Sol shrouded in a deep blue radiance - the static mana channelled by the DemonChain.

In essence, the shape was simple. It was tubular, with a spiral movement heading away from him. The difficulty was keeping both ends open and firm to accept and contain the DemonChain.

To Denser's left, the mana s.h.i.+fted, sharpened and deepened in colour. Laryon was casting.

Almost immediately, the radiance encasing Sol rippled, pulling towards the shape Laryon was creating. It s.h.i.+mmered and sparkled, coalescing into something Denser couldn't make out at first. But steadily, the form became clearer. The mana formed a conical shape, left Sol's body and settled, one end in the centre of his torso, the other splashed through the floor of the chamber beneath the slab. Energy lines ran up and down its length, and suddenly the DemonChain was there. Faces, limbs, bodies, mouths, fingers, hair. All distilled from the cone. Voices hissed and individuals writhed, but the whole locked together in chaotic form.

One had hands lost in another's chest. Another's head melded to a third's foot. Any combination, but all of them were alive, identical in every physical aspect and very, very angry.

From the centre of the chain, one locked its eyes on Denser and screamed its hate. Denser looked on unfazed.

He took in the beast with a body the size of a newborn child's, arms long and wiry, legs stubby and malformed and a face full of evil. Blue drool ran from its lipless mouth, tongue licking at its cheeks, fangs tearing rents in its own being. The eyes, huge and slitted, were orbs of dark malevolence and its ears ran high above the crawling skull to meet in a spire over its head.

'Time, Denser,' said Laryon, his voice distant with effort.

'Envelop,' commanded Denser in response, and his mana channel flashed towards the DemonChain, m.u.f.fling howls of fury as it opened for the merest moment all along its length and snapped shut around the whole.

'Excellent,' said Laryon.

Denser felt him release control of the DemonChain. They turned their attention to the channel holding them and battered at it with feet, fists, fangs and minds.

'They cannot break through. Keep your concentration steady. They aren't strong enough,' said Laryon. 'Attend to my voice. Now it gets difficult. Only remove the channel on my word.'

Laryon breathed deep and prepared the path for The Unknown's soul.

Chapter 25.

The Familiar alighted on Hirad's right shoulder. He winced involuntarily and pressed his lips together in irritation.

'How did they find us?' he asked.

'Someone has betrayed us. Someone powerful.' Anger and surprise edged its tone. 'You must leave for Triverne Lake. Evanson will guide you.'

'I'm not running,' said Hirad stiffly.

The Familiar ignored him. 'I will distract them while you get away.'

'Why don't we just stay and take them out?'

The Familiar regarded him blankly. 'You do not understand. They are too powerful for you. And for me. They will kill me.'

Hirad started, and frowned.

'Good luck, Raven man. Look after my master.' The Familiar flew from the open window, high into the night sky.

The Unknown juddered violently and his soul scorched along the DemonChain into his body. Laryon smiled but was totally unprepared for the backlash. He hadn't seen the possibility at all. The returning soul negated the DemonChain's fastening to The Unknown's being and the result was violent severance.

With howls of triumph, the Chain whipped away from The Unknown's body, slas.h.i.+ng in a wide arc at the two mages. Laryon was caught on the side of the head and slammed against a wall, groaning as he slumped, a trickle of blood running from his mouth.

Younger and quicker, Denser ducked the Chain, feeling the mana slice above his head and the unmistakable sensation of a draught through his hair as the demons began to gain corporeal form.

Dragging his concentration to himself, he fought to close the end of the mana channel but knew, as he watched the head of the Chain tearing at the very fabric of the mana, that it was futile.

And, with the Chain coiling like a snake for its next strike, Denser felt something he had never truly felt before. Fear. Fear because he hadn't the power to stop the DemonChain forming a corporeal state, and fear because he couldn't stop it killing him. But mainly fear because he didn't know how, and the gap in his knowledge was going to be fatal.

The Chain writhed, Denser's mana channel was torn apart and the sound of their hate a.s.saulted his ears. They promised him death. They promised him torment for eternity and they laughed at his weakness.

The Chain lunged at him, missing him by a whisker as he hurled himself to one side, landing heavily near the still form of Laryon. The mage was still alive. Denser shook him hard.

'Help me,' he said. Laryon groaned. 'Help me!' shouted Denser. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Chain whipping into a frenzy of speed and sound by The Unknown's head. The warrior lay, breathing slowly, oblivious to the horror above him.

Laryon said something. It was a mumble Denser didn't catch.

'What?'

'Lymimra,' said Laryon.

'I don't understand.'

Laryon's eyes opened and he looked past Denser before grabbing the mage's head in both hands and pulling his ear close. 'Light-Mirror, ' he whispered before clutching Denser's head hard to his chest. Above Denser, the DemonChain ploughed into Laryon's face, his cry of pain cut off abruptly, his grip dropping.

Denser looked behind him. The DemonChain writhed, still attached through the floor of the chamber, its laughter echoing off the walls, its triumph all but complete. Scrabbling to his feet, Denser paused briefly to look at Laryon. He shuddered. Though the Master was unmarked, his eyes were open in death, and through them Denser could see into his soul. Only it wasn't there.

He turned back to the DemonChain and formed the mana shape for the LightMirror. It was a simple rectangular structure and he had it in seconds. The Chain began to coil again, winding in on itself like paper in a whirlwind. Then it was still, poised, but the noise of its fury hammered ceaselessly on Denser's ears.

As it moved to strike, he cast. A thin, horizontal beam of light about eight feet wide cut the candlelit room in front of Denser at floor level. The Chain flashed forwards and Denser brought his hands up sharply in front of him. The LightMirror deployed like a blind moving up a window to let in the sun.

A brilliant light flooded the room, gathering the pinpoints from the candles and casting them back a hundredfold brighter. The DemonChain shrieked in terror and tried to swing away, but its blue mana light was victim to the mirror.

Denser s.h.i.+elded his eyes as the light was stripped from the howling demons being dragged ever closer. The light speared into the mirror with increasing intensity and speed, the mana creatures howling as their life-force was ripped away, and then they were gone, leaving silence, the echo of violence and a gentle blue in the mana spectrum.

Denser refocused to normal light and saw The Unknown sitting upright.

They left the lights burning in the farmhouse. Hirad didn't like it but it made sense. Triverne Lake was the only place of sanctuary for both The Raven and, more importantly perhaps, the two catalysts he held. With strong presence from all four Colleges, there should be no threat. And yet he was uneasy. He needed Ilkar. Ilkar would know what to say to smooth the pa.s.sage of their arrival. Without him and his knowledge, Hirad felt exposed.

As they spurred their horses northward into the gathering gloom of evening, a confused but compliant Evanson leading the way, Hirad scanned the sky for the Familiar. He couldn't see it, knew he wouldn't, and felt a pa.s.sing regret. It was not something you could ever like, but respect was something else. Unlike Ilkar, he couldn't see the Familiar as inherently evil, and its a.s.sertion that it would die causing a diversion represented a sacrifice he couldn't ignore.

Presumably Denser knew it too, and the knowledge that the mage was genuine in his determination to see Dawnthief used to save Balaia and not to further Xetesk made Hirad feel guilty he'd ever doubted him. He dug his heels into his horse's flanks and made up the ground to Evanson, wondering what their reception at the lake would be.

They hadn't sensed him and he grinned. They were riding over open ground, still an hour from the farmhouse and keeping away from any trails. Twelve of them in cells of three, one mage and two Protectors, close formed against attack from the ground but completely exposed to anything from the air. High up in the darkening sky, he circled, pulsing his warning cry through the mana to his master as he selected the target that would produce the most mayhem.

There he was, and the sight sent a warm thrill of fear through his body. Nyer, the Xetesk Master. The man with whom his master had communed for so long. A traitor. And about to die.

He flew higher, a silent death about to unleash itself on an oblivious victim, and circled still unnoticed behind his target.

He dived, suppressing the urge to scream his laughter and gurgle his delight. Eyes fixed on the back of Nyer's head, wings swept back, he tore through the air. At the last, he extended wings to brake his descent, swung his taloned feet in front of him and buried them in the Master's unprotected neck.

Nyer grunted and pitched off his horse to tumble and sprawl in the dirt. The Protectors shouted warnings but were way too late. Even as they halted, wheeled and closed, the Familiar arched its back and slammed its fists into Nyer's head, crus.h.i.+ng his skull.

Now it laughed and turned for its next quarry. With a beat of its wings it took to the air and shot past a bewildered Protector, who swung his sword hopelessly wide.

Chittering in exultation, the Familiar arced back into the sky, scanning below as the enemy halted and the three remaining mages prepared spells to bring him down. But he knew he would be safe. His master had answered his call and was already on his way. A warmth stole over his heart, which beat faster with new energy, and he turned a lazy somersault.

The spell caught his left leg and seared along his tail.

Pain.

Flas.h.i.+ng over the ground, ShadowWings shaped for raw speed, Denser wailed as the jolt from his Familiar's wound thundered in his head. He clung to his concentration, held the wings together, kept flying, tears rolling down his cheeks, vision a blur.

He looked over his left shoulder. The Unknown was close behind him and Denser still had the energy to admire the way he had accepted the use of the ShadowWings. The ability to hold mana placed in his body was a given ability of Protectors and he no longer was one. The trouble would surely start when he had time to think and remember.

'What's wrong?' called The Unknown.