'Because they… we are the best. Together, we have the best chance of finding Erienne and Lyanna and all coming back unharmed. This isn't for money, Diera. I owe Denser my life, you know that.'

'And what do you think you owe me and Jonas? Nothing?' Her expression softened a little. 'Look, I know why you're leaving. It's why I love you.

'But you didn't ask me, Sol. It feels like my opinion isn't important. You made promises to me and Jonas, and though you don't want to walk away from them, you are. And the thought that you might not come back at all is breaking my heart.' She gazed deep into his eyes. 'We are your life now.'

'What would you have me do?' he asked.

'Whatever I may feel, I do understand you. I would have you go and I will take comfort that should I ever encounter trouble, The Raven will help me. But I would also have you think about me and Jonas before everything you do. We love you, Sol. We just want you back.'

She moved forward and held him tightly and he was surprised to find tears on his cheeks. He clutched at her back, his hands rubbing up and down it.

'I will come back,' he said. 'And believe me, I never do anything

without thinking of you. And your opinion is important. It's just that I never had any choice that you could influence.'

Diera put a finger to his lips, then kissed him. 'Don't spoil it now. Just go.'

He broke away and mounted his horse, turning it towards the north and Julatsa. And as he spurred the animal on, Denser following close behind, he prayed to the Gods that he would see her again.

Vuldaroq sat at the centre of a long table. Flanking him, four to either side, were the humans and elves who made up the Dordovan Quorum.

In front of them stood one man, tall and proud, a semi-circle of fifteen College guards behind him. The small auditorium was chill, but not because of the icy wind that howled outside. It was the aura that bled from the man and the repugnance in which he was held that cooled the room. He was the most hated of men among mages and he was standing on the hallowed ground of Dordover, his wrecked face displayed now his hood was thrown back, the black tattoo on his neck a symbol of his reviled beliefs.

His arrival at the College gates had triggered a flurry of activity, culminating in the hastily arranged meeting; abhorrence of the individual was outweighed, at least temporarily, by incredulity and a desire to learn what had brought the man to a place from which he could never hope to leave.

'The risk you take is unbelievable, Selik,' said Vuldaroq. 'Indeed, I'm amazed you aren't dead already.'

'Lucky for you that I'm not,' said Selik to snorts of derision from the Quorum, his speech slow, thick and incomplete, the result of his horrific facial injuries.

Vuldaroq studied Selik's features and could barely suppress a smile of satisfaction. The left-hand side of his face appeared as if it had been smeared by the careless swipe of a brush on wet paint. The bald eyebrow angled sharply down, the sightless eye beneath it milky white and unmoving. The cheek was scored as if by the drag of heavy claws and it pulled the mouth with it, forcing Selik to speak through a perpetual sneer. It was a fitting expression, completed by left side upper and lower jaws slack and devoid of teeth.

And all caused by the spell of a Dordovan mage. It had been

believed that Erienne's IceWind had killed the Black Wing and number two to Captain Travers but somehow he survived it and the fire that The Raven had laid in the Black Wings' castle. And with him the Witch Hunter order. Less numerous now but no less zealous.

'I can never envisage a time when your not being dead would be lucky for any Dordovan mage,' said High Secretary Berian, his face curling into an unpleasant smile.

'Then envisage it now,' said Selik. 'Because, like it or not, we are after the same thing.'

'Really?' Vuldaroq raised his eyebrows. T would be fascinated to know how you reached that conclusion.' A smattering of laughter ran along the table. Selik shook his head.

'Look at you, sitting there so smug it nauseates me. You think no one is aware of what you do yet I know you have lost a great prize and you want it, her, back. And I am the only one who can really help you. And help you I will, because in this quest we are in accord. This magic cannot be allowed to prosper or it will destroy us all. I know the direction of their travel and I know at least one of those who helped them.' He stopped, studying their faces. Vuldaroq could taste the silence his words engendered.

'Got your attention now, haven't I? The Black Wings see all and always will. Remember that, O mighty Quorum of Dordover. As you are well aware by now, the Al-Drechar are no myth; we just don't know where to find them. But if we work together, we will, believe me.'

'Your front is extraordinary as is your blindness, if you think for one moment that we would suffer to join forces with Black Wings?' Berian's face was contorted and red with rage. 'Have you taken leave of what remains of your senses?'

Selik shrugged and smiled, a grotesque leer on his ruined face. 'Then kill me and never learn what we know. The trouble is, you haven't the time to risk me being right after killing me, have you? Late at night in Dordovan taverns, your mages are not always as discreet as you might wish. Much has reached our ears and it is very interesting. Very interesting indeed.'

'But you haven't come here to exercise your altruistic streak, have you Selik?' asked Vuldaroq. 'You want something. What is it?'

'Ah, Vuldaroq. Not always as fat in the head as you might look. It's quite simple. You want the girl back, to educate, control or dispose of as you see fit. You can have her and I will help you get her. But in return, I want the witch that did this to my face.' He poked a finger at his hideous scarring. 'Give me Erienne Malanvai.'

And in the storm of protest that followed, Vuldaroq allowed himself a small chuckle.

Chapter 4

Ren'erei took Erienne and Lyanna along a wide, picture-hung, timbered and panelled corridor. It stretched fully seventy yards to a pair of plain double doors flanked by Guild guards. Other doors ran down its left-hand side and windows to the right overlooked a lantern-lit orchard.

On seeing the outside, Lyanna had forgotten her fear temporarily and run over to the window, mesmerised by the lanterns which swayed in the breeze, sending light flashing under the branches and broad leaves of the trees in the early evening gloom.

It was still very warm and Erienne had chosen a light, ankle-length green dress and had tied her hair up in a loose bun to let the air get to her neck. Lyanna wore a bright red dress with white cuffs, her hair in her favoured ponytail, the doll clutched, as ever, in her right hand.

'Just how big is this place?' asked Erienne, standing behind Lyanna and looking at another wing of the house over a hundred yards away, across the orchard.

'That's not an easy question to answer,' said Ren'erei. 'It has been standing since the Sundering and building has hardly stopped, even now when there are so few living here. It must cover much of the hillside. You should take a flight; you can see it all if you stay beneath the illusion. Suffice to say that though it is now only home to four, it was home to over eighty.'

'So what happened?' Erienne turned Lyanna away from the window and they walked on, passing ancient, faded pictures depicting burning cities, great feasts and running deer. It was an odd collection.

'I think they were complacent about ensuring the line continued, until it was almost too late. As you're aware yourself, producing a

true adept is very difficult. Numbers soon dwindled and it was made worse by those that just didn't want to stay their whole lives here. Despite the importance of the order, the will ebbed away. Who can explain that?'