Chapter 4

Dystran sat at Ranyl's bedside, where he had spent every hour he could since the Circle Seven Master, and his close friend, had felt the cancer take its death hold. By the old man's head lay a black cat, an expression of human desperation on its features. Dystran wasn't surprised. When Ranyl finally died, the demon familiar would perish with him. The two had been melded for more years than he could remember. Certainly for longer than his tenure as Lord of the Mount of Xetesk.

Dystran sighed. He seemed to have been doing so a lot lately. He'd never really believed Ranyl would actually die. And now he had to face ruling without the man responsible for putting him there in the first place. It would be like losing a limb.

'Stop mopping my brow and tell me what happened today,' said Ranyl, voice still strong though punctuated by gasping breaths.

Dystran dropped the cloth back into the bowl by his left hand and smiled. 'Sorry. I don't mean to mother you. I just wish you'd let me ease the pain for you.'

'I have eternity to feel nothing, my Lord,' said Ranyl. 'Let me feel what I can for as long as I can, even if it is somewhat uncomfortable.'

It was far more than that. Ranyl's drawn white face, pasty skin and feverish brow were evidence enough. But he had been quite determined that when he could no longer numb the pain himself, no one else was to do it for him. Not even the Lord of the Mount.

'So tell me, young pup,' said Ranyl, face softening when he used the over-familiar expression. 'What taxes the mind of Balaia's most powerful man today?'

'Well, old dog.' Dystran responded in kind. 'We have witnessed an extraordinary event today. Something happened to Julatsan mana control. Every spell deployed failed at once during the morning's fighting. Quite suddenly and quite without warning. I have people working on the spectrum now, trying to assess the situation though I understand it was only a temporary condition.'

'But you took full advantage?'

'Without wasting resources, yes,' said Dystran.

'Result?'

'I've been able to recall a significant number to prepare for the press north.'

'But you're unhappy?' Ranyl's breath caught as he felt a sudden sharp pain in his stomach. He closed his eyes while it passed. He turned his head on his pillow. 'What's wrong?'

Dystran couldn't hold the stare. He'd never been able to. He chuckled and stood, walking in a small circle, his fears plaguing him again. At moments like these he wondered how he had survived so long on the Mount. Surely true leaders had more conviction, more strength. All he felt were palpitations, the skin crawling on the back of his neck and the anxiety that descended when his vision tunnelled.

'Am I doing right? Is what we plan the best path for Xetesk and Balaia?'

Ranyl breathed deep. 'It is natural to doubt your path,' he said, his voice soft. 'Because only by questioning your actions do you ensure you choose the right ones. And you have, my Lord. Xetesk must rule and you must preside over that rule. Don't be anxious if you doubt so long as your courage never wavers.'

Dystran sat back down, squeezed out the cold cloth and mopped his mentor's brow. The old man worsened by the moment.

'Who will guide me when you are gone?' he whispered.

'You do not need a guide. You can see the path, you know you can.' Ranyl cleared his throat, gasping at new pain. 'Now, enough soul-searching for one day. I am tiring and I want to know about the research on the elven texts. And the latest from Herendeneth.'

Dystran relaxed. 'The Aryn Hiil is a treasure, a real treasure. We have hardly started to understand its most basic secrets but it is clear the elves' linkage to all the elements is far more fundamental than any of us imagined. It is no myth, and one of those elements is magic. We were right. The Aryn Hiil has so much to give us. It's the central writing of elven lore and the words it contains are only part of its importance.'

Rany's watery eyes glittered with new energy. 'And how long before we have spells to exploit it?'

'I am awaiting an estimate,' said Dystran. 'But not imminentiy, unless the Aryn Hiil reveals information allowing us to adapt spell shapes we already know. You know the research time needed for anything we have to start from scratch.'

Ranyl managed a weak nod. 'But when you are not at my side, I suspect you are spending time with our Herendeneth team, yes?'

Dystran shrugged. 'The dimensions are where the power really lies. And what the Kaan and Al-Drechar have told us opens up so many possibilities. I can see a time when I could drown Dordover without having to leave the catacombs. But it is too far away for our current purposes.'

'Is anything useful now?'

'Oh yes. It is just a shame the One will die with the Al-Drechar. We will soon know about the realignment of the dimensions. On a whim I will be able to open a pathway and send Sha-Kaan home to his own world. On another, I could release all the Protectors. Or make more. The demons no longer have a monopoly on understanding.'

'Good,' said Ranyl. 'Then I can die confident.'

The familiar moved uneasily where it lay, half shifting to its repulsive demonic form. Dystran knew how it felt. Ranyl's time was near.

'Can we do this?' asked The Unknown, when The Raven reassembled at dusk to eat and talk.

The time since the verdict had been difficult and enlightening by degrees. Everything had hinged on Heryst accepting Hirad's apology for his outburst. And he had done so with little complaint, rescinding his earlier order for The Raven to leave by nightfall.

'It was strange,' Hirad had said, and The Unknown who had accompanied him had agreed.

'He wanted to apologise to us,' he'd said. 'His hands are tied. He feels as badly about this as we do but anarchy is a heartbeat away in this city unless he is seen to be even-handed in this most delicate matter.'

The Raven had been given leave to begin their Vigil by the cell block, which was attached to the barracks, and would also remove Darrick's body. In the time left, each of them had visited Darrick under observation, Erienne and Denser had taken the chance to study in the library and The Unknown had tested the feeling of the remaining cavalry and guardsmen in the college.

'It's possible,' said Denser. 'But it depends on getting inside the cells without casting. They'll be watching the mana shield over the college very closely for sure.'

'Find anything useful in the library?' asked Hirad.

'The odd snippet,' said Erienne. 'But as you can imagine, there were archivists taking a great interest in everything we read. The only truly useful fact is that the cells are outside the very heart of the Tower's mana focus.'

'Well, that's a relief,' said Hirad.

Denser chuckled. 'You never studied.'

'Bloody right,' said Hirad. 'Too busy trying to find enough food to live on when I was young. Unlike you pampered mages in your warm colleges.'

'The point is,' said Erienne, 'that there's something I've become aware I can do almost without thinking.'

The Raven shifted uncomfortably. There was something about the entity of the One magic that Erienne harboured so unwillingly that didn't sit well with any of them. They had all grown up with college-based magic and accepted it even if they didn't understand it. But the One, a myth made real, that took its power not just from the mana but all the elements, was a force about which so little was known.

Two ancient elves on the island of Herendeneth, far out in the Southern Ocean, were its last practitioners. For them, Erienne was the last hope of perpetuating the original magical force in the Balaian dimension. But for Erienne, every time she touched the power, savage memories resurfaced. Because her daughter had been allowed to die to effect the transfer of the One entity into her mind.