Immediately, he dropped his reins and raised his hands head high to signal peaceful intent, indicating his men should do the same.

'No sudden moves,' he said, breathing deep and slow while his heart pounded in his chest. Seeing the structure ahead of him, he was acutely aware of the folly of their position. Just seven men who could so easily be snuffed out. And who would miss them? Few barring those trying to hold the army together near the walls of Xetesk. How in all the hells did he expect to persuade the Wesmen into alliance?

'Tough it out,' said one of his men as if hearing his thoughts. 'Act like Selik would have done and we'll ride back heroes.'

Just what he was thinking. Carrying it out, now that was something else.

A crack appeared in the doors, and daylight flooded into the pass followed by the sweet smells of spring. Devun shielded his eyes. Three men stood silhouetted in the glare. They began walking when the gates had opened fully, revealing many more behind them. They walked with total confidence, one slightly ahead of the others who both carried unsheathed swords. Moving as slowly as he could, Devun dismounted to meet them.

He faced a shortish man, heavy set, bearded and dressed in light furs. His small eyes scowled from his face and his voice carried no warmth.

'Who are you?' he asked in heavily accented western Balaian.

‘Iam Devun, leader of the Black Wings. I would know your name.'

'Lord Riasu. You are far from home,' he replied, struggling for the right words.

‘Ineed your help,' said Devun simply, trying to pick terms Riasu might know. ‘Icome to offer a deal to the Wesmen.'

Riasu raised his eyebrows. 'A deal? We want nothing from you.'

'You want what I can offer. But I must speak to Lord Tessaya. He is your leader still, is he not?'

Riasu shrugged. 'Yes. But I can tell him what you tell me.'

Devun shook his head. 'It must be face to face. Talk to him. Ask him. I will await your reply.'

‘Iwill think on it.'

'Thank you,' said Devun.

Another shrug from Riasu and he turned to go.

'Lord Riasu,' said Devun, and waited until the Wesmen lord looked back at him. 'We are hungry and thirsty. Can you spare food and water?'

Riasu barked out a laugh. 'You should be dead. This is our land. Be happy you still breathe.' He paused. ‘Iwill think on it.'

Devun watched him go, seeing the gates close on him before blowing out his cheeks and turning to his men.

'Well, what do you think?'

‘Ithink we're still alive and that's as much as we could hope for,' said one. 'What now?'

Devun scratched at his head. 'We have no choice. We wait.'

Pheone awoke with the sun streaming through her unshuttered window in the newly built room in the south of the college of Julatsa. If she chose to look out she could see much of the college spread out before her but the last thing on her mind was enjoying the view despite the brightness of the new day.

She felt nauseated. Her head felt thick and heavy and her stomach churned like she'd eaten something bad the night before. She knew it wasn't food and a wry smile dragged briefly across her face. For the first time in her life, she was wishing sickness on herself because at least it would mean the problem wasn't infinitely more serious.

Pheone tried to relax and focus inwardly, switching into the mana spectrum. That was where the source of her nausea was, she was sure of it. For one terrifying moment, she couldn't tune in at all but then there it was before her mind's eye. The gende flux of focused mana that was the signature of the spectrum at the core of a college.

Yet it was far from right. The flux was weak. She could see that as clear as day. There was a random edge to the overall focus and that was indicative of the failing of the Heart. She frowned. They'd been seeing the slight breakdown for a while now and that wasn't why she was feeling off. There had to be more. She followed the flux focus into the deep core of concentrated mana that flowed around the Heart. The pulsing core of the college, the centre of its power. Buried from normal sight but visible on the mana spectrum.

It was there as it had always been but displaced by its burial those few years before. Years that had seemed like an eternity. A displacement that had stopped the college in its tracks. Julatsans were no longer called to the college because the pulse was not loud enough. But those that remained had kept faith that the pulse still beat as strong. Not true. Not any more.

Pheone searched harder, probed the core and soaked up the mana streams that to a mage were like standing in a warm spring breeze. She felt comforted for a moment but it was false.

A chill shot through her body and her eyes snapped open. The Heart was losing its colour. Julatsan mana was a glorious warm yellow. Gold if you were romantic. It was the colour of life, of vibrant, exuberant pure magic.

Or it should have been.

What Pheone could see through her experienced attuned senses was dulled. Tarnished. Just slightly but there. If a shadow passed across the land it dulled the beauty of its colours. So it was with the Heart of Julatsa. A shadow was across it, dulling its beauty, hiding its power. It hadn't been there yesterday but it was there this morning. Hardly noticeable.

But if it grew it would take their power from them. Hide it behind impenetrable shade. And then the college would surely die. She couldn't allow that. Not while she had breath in her body. Dammit, if only Ilkar were here. How she needed his strength right now. At least their message should reach the battle lines outside Xetesk soon. The Al-Arynaar would have to help them, surely they would. Their mages stood to lose just as much.

She tuned back to normal light. The nausea was subsiding now she had its cause. She sat up and began to pull on her clothes, wondering if others had felt and seen what she had. She hadn't reached the door to pull it open before the first shout of alarm reached her ears.

Chapter 8

Hirad relaxed and let Sha-Kaan's dominating presence into his mind. He noted a resignation in the great old dragon's feelings. Acceptance of fate, perhaps. Weariness, certainly.

'I am lonely, Hirad Coldheart,' he rumbled. 'Lonely, old and tired.'

'I'm doing everything I can,' said Hirad, heart skipping a beat at die melancholy edge in Sha-Kaan's voice.

'I need my own kind. I need the healing winds of inter-dimensional space. I need my home.'

He sounded so old. The will was waning. Almost six years in exile since the violent realignment of dimensions following the closing of the Noonshade rip. Six years with his life energy ebbing away, day after tortuous day.

'What's happened, Sha-Kaan?' There must be something to force this change for the worse.

'The Kaan birthing season is now. Our greatest joy and our time of greatest risk. They have looked to me for so long to protect them.' Sha-Kaan grumbled deep in his throat. 'And this time I will not be there. If I was, I wonder if I would have the strength to truly help.'

‘Ifeel your loss,' said Hirad. 'But please have faith in us. I made you a promise and I will keep it.'

Warmth flooded Hirad's mind. 'You are my friend, Hirad, and I trust you. But you are a rare breed of man, it seems to me. Most of your race are without honour or true soul.'

'Lucky I'm on your side, then,' said Hirad, both moved and embarrassed by the unbidden compliment from the most unlikely source.

'Listen to me, Hirad. There is danger here. Erienne has employed the One magic, has she not?'

'Yes.'

'Xetesk felt it. They have passed their knowledge here through the Protectors and their mages are pressing the Al-Drechar for answers. So far Erienne's identity remains a secret but these men are strong and I cannot stop them all, should they choose force to uncover it.'