Caldason reassured her again. His frustration was starting to find an outlet; as in combat, he felt the creeping onset of a berserk. He couldn’t see that being helpful in the present situation and tried to calm himself. He turned to Kutch and Wendah. ‘How? How are we going to get her out of there? At the best of times it’d take a small army to clear all this. And at any minute the lot could slip and crush her.’

‘You’re going into one of your tempers,’ Kutch said. ‘I know the signs.’

‘I’m trying not to.’ He added crankily, ‘What the hell has that got to do with it anyway?’

‘No, no, no,’ Kutch replied, ‘it’s good. I mean…not good good but maybe it’s good for this situation.’

‘I’m not following this, Kutch. Does it have a bearing?’

‘We’ve discussed it, Wendah and me. Your rages are due to the Founder bit of your parentage, so it could be the best way to connect with that part of you.’

‘Why would I want to?’

‘Because of what happened in the stables today,’ Wendah told him. ‘Tapping whatever Founder magic you’ve got in you could help get Serrah out of there.’

‘How?’

‘We don’t know,’ Kutch admitted. ‘But we do know the Founders had really powerful magic. Who can say what it might be capable of? Surely it’s worth a try?’

‘I can’t believe I’m saying this but…yes, it’s worth trying. What do I do?’

‘Ah. That we’re not entirely sure about.’

‘Oh, great, Kutch.’

‘No, wait a minute. You’re already halfway to a berserk, so that kind of puts you in the right frame of mind. Now we need some kind of catalyst.’

‘What?’

Kutch shrugged.

‘Damn it! I’m out of my depth here, boy. If this was a swordfight I’d know what to do.’

‘That’s it.’

‘What is? You want me to attack this mess with a blade?’

‘Do you remember the times you talked to me about the no-mind technique you use in fighting? That’s a particular frame of mind, like the berserks. If you could combine them-’

‘I see where you’re going, but I’m not sure how easy it’d be trying to reach a meditative state while a berserk’s building. That’s a boat tossed on a very choppy sea.’

‘Try it,’ Wendah urged.

‘Maybe if you treated this as a martial exercise and drew your sword…’ Kutch suggested.

‘What’s happening up there?’ Serrah wanted to know.

‘We have to do a bit of…figuring out,’ Caldason replied. ‘Hang on!’

He crept away from the aperture, unsheathing his sword. ‘Wendah, Kutch; try to keep her occupied. I need to be able to concentrate.’

He moved a little way off, adopted a stance he knew to be conducive, then opened himself to no-mind. In his hand he held the same sword that had earlier saved his life. He had no real idea of what he was supposed to be doing, which in no-mind terms was an asset.

Wendah and Kutch were at the hole, comforting Serrah and letting her know what was happening.

Another rumble came, along with the sounds of splitting timbers and cracking glass. Serrah screamed. Kutch and Wendah didn’t look to her. As one, they turned and peered in Reeth’s direction. What they saw was awesome.

He came to them. Nothing about his appearance had changed, with the exception of his eyes, and they would have been hard put to say what was different about them. It was through the filter of their talents that they perceived the really important transformation. They saw something terrifying and inspiring in equal measure, and as he approached they realised that they had no privilege in their view. Anyone would be aware of the power Caldason now embodied.

There were no words. He simply gestured for them to move. Once they had, he took hold of the door and ripped it away like paper. He discarded it as easily as a plucked flower, sending it crashing halfway along the corridor. Then with no apparent effort he tore into the mass of debris imprisoning Serrah, tossing it clear.

Nothing impeded him, stone, wood, tile or glass. He snapped iron supports in two and swatted aside masonry chunks twice his size. In no time he was hoisting Serrah free and they were in each other’s arms.

She knew, too. No wild talent was needed to show her what was so obvious. ‘You’ve done it, Reeth,’ she said, mesmerised.

‘I feel…omnipotent,’ he told her.

She gazed into his now so atypical eyes and saw a story there. The war of good and bad, his divided legacy, each side struggling for dominance.

‘You’re full of contradiction,’ she told him.

‘Yes. I have to keep the balance. If I slip into the dark…’

They hadn’t noticed that the level of noise outside the redoubt had been rising. Now the sounds of battle were unmistakable, and they could hear the crash of more projectiles. Somehow, none of them doubted that Caldason could hear a lot more.

‘Don’t you see?’ Kutch said. ‘It’s what they were trying to hide! It’s what’s inside you! The Founders didn’t want you having what you’re feeling now. Your mixed heritage, it makes for something different to them. Perhaps more powerful, because you have their remarkable magical strength tempered with humanity.’

‘You can do something, Reeth,’ Serrah told him. ‘You can go against that horde out there before they kill us all, along with the dream.’

‘How?’

‘You’ll know.’

He looked up to the shattered roof and the dark clouds above. Then he looked to himself, and he understood.

Reeth Caldason was a lightning bolt. He streaked into the sky. It was like his visions. Exhilarating, hyper-real, filled with potential. He knew that the Dreamtime must have been something like this.

He floated far above the land and the petty affairs of men. Majestic, ethereal, he felt only contempt for them. Then his human reason countered and he saw distinctions, a golden divide between nobility and evil. He started to pay attention to what was happening on the ground, and swiftly picked his targets.

It only remained for him to become an avenging wraith, an exterminating angel, a force of nature.

He dropped like a stone, dived like a bird, moved from air particle to air particle like something other than a man.

The enemy’s great siege engines, catapults and glamour tubes were so much kindling for Caldason. He swept them from the plains and hills, and down onto the heads of the advancing armies. He caused fire to rain on the invaders. He turned their black clouds of arrows into silk scarves. He sent them needle-sharp ice slivers in their hundreds of thousands. He harassed their supply lines and spread contagious paranoia.

Then he moved to the ocean and set about their ships, burning and sinking them at random, strafing the crowded beaches with shards of quartz and raw diamonds. He sowed the sailors’ ranks with venomous serpents and downpours of blood.

The further reaches of the sea caught his eye. He soared high and saw another mighty, ill-assorted fleet there, unrelated to the empires’, which was heading for the island. And no sooner had he seen it than a surge of attraction swept over him. He wanted to go there.

But something changed. He began to experience a falling away of his power. The possibility of his corporeal existence became an issue again. He felt less indomitable.

He headed back to the ground, his energies bleeding. The island rushed in all directions to meet the horizon, became a rough map, then showed its detail. He saw the redoubt, a box surrounded by armies he’d only begun to decimate. The fortress’s inner square was visible, and shortly, the people in it.

Caldason, almost fully himself now, drifted down to land in a clearing the islanders had pulled back to create.

There was some cheering and applause. But just as much silent amazement or trepidation.

A little delegation pushed through the crowd. Karr led it, Disgleirio and Phoenix at his side. Kutch and Wendah were there, and best of all, Serrah. She embraced him.