Hands were about his face. He was sitting up but there was no Dragon, no blackened land. The fire was roaring in the grate. Ilkar put down the poker he’d been using to whip up the flames. Hirad thought it must be cold but he felt hot. Very hot. Talan and The Unknown were sitting up in their beds and it was Sirendor who was cupping his face.

‘Calm down, Hirad. It’s over. Just a dream.’

Hirad looked the room over again, breathing deeply, his heart beginning to slow.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

Sirendor patted his cheeks and rose to his feet. ‘Scared the life out of me,’ he said. ‘I thought you were dying.’

‘So did I,’ replied Hirad.

‘You and the rest of the castle,’ said Ilkar, stretching and yawning.

‘Loud, was I?’ Hirad managed a smile.

Ilkar nodded. ‘Very. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?’

‘I’ll never be able to forget. It was Dragons. Thousands of Dragons. And Sha-Kaan. But it wasn’t here. Wherever it was was dead. Their world, I think. Sha-Kaan told me they were destroying it. It was black and burned. And Sha-Kaan burned me but I didn’t die. I just sat and screamed but there was no sound. I don’t understand. How can there be another world? Where is it?’ He shivered.

‘I don’t know. All I do know is, I’ve never been so scared. Those things don’t exist.’

‘Yes they bloody do.’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Sirendor. ‘You’ll have to talk to Ilkar. But later. Maybe we all should. All this talk of dimensions and Dragons. I don’t know.’ He stopped. Hirad wasn’t really listening.

‘What time is it?’

‘Dawn’s about an hour away,’ said The Unknown after hitching a drape aside.

‘I think I’ll pass on more sleep,’ said Hirad. He got up and started pulling on his breeches and shirt. ‘I’m going to the kitchens for some coffee.’ A look passed between Sirendor and the other three. Hirad couldn’t fathom it. ‘No problem, is there?’

‘No,’ said Sirendor. ‘No problem. I’ll join you.’

‘Thanks.’ Hirad smiled. So did Sirendor, but it seemed an effort for him. They left the room.

The castle kitchens never closed and heat filled the cavernous rooms from six open fires. Work and eating tables covered much of the floor space, and on racks around the walls hung pots, pans and utensils, some of which defied understanding. Smoke poured up chimneys and steam through open windows high above. The heat of the fires gave the kitchens a consoling warmth, and the sounds of orders mixed with laughter and carried on the smells of roasting meat and the sweet aromas of freshly baked bread brought back memories of a home life long lost.

On one of the fires a huge pot of water was kept boiling. Mugs and coffee grounds sat on trays near by. Ensconced at a table away from the clatterings of cooks and servants, the two men talked across their drinks.

‘You’re looking glum, Sirendor.’ The friends locked eyes. Sirendor’s seemed sorrowful. His brow was furrowed and his whole face wore trouble like an ill-fitting shirt. Hirad wasn’t used to it.

‘We’ve been talking.’

‘Who?’

‘Who do you think? While you were asleep earlier.’

‘I don’t think I like the sound of this.’ Whatever it was, it was serious. He hadn’t seen Sirendor like this for years.

‘We’re not getting any younger.’

‘You what?’

‘You heard.’

‘Larn, I am thirty-one! You’re thirty and the big man’s just thirty-three and he’s the oldest! What are you talking about?’

‘How many hired men do you know who are over thirty and still front-line quality?’

Hirad drew breath. ‘Well, not many but, I mean . . . we’re different. We are The Raven.’

‘Yes, we are The Raven. And we’re getting too old to fight.’

‘You’re kidding! We hammered that lot yesterday.’

‘That’s the way you saw it, is it?’ Hirad nodded. Sirendor smiled. ‘I somehow thought you might. The way I saw it is we didn’t have our edge.’

‘That’s because we spend too much time standing and watching. Like I said, if we don’t do it, we’ll lose it.’

‘Gods, Hirad, you’re stubborn in the face of the facts. Do you think it’s a coincidence that we’ve slowly taken fewer front-line contracts and more advisory and back-up jobs over the last couple of years?’ Hirad said nothing. ‘What we had, that edge, has gone. When we were called in yesterday, we almost weren’t up to it.’

‘Oh, come on, Larn . . .’

‘Ras died!’ Sirendor looked around, then lowered his voice. ‘You could have died. Richmond made an unbelievable mistake and Ilkar lost the shield. If it hadn’t been for The Unknown we could have been wiped out. Us. The Raven!’

‘Yeah, but the explosion . . .’

‘You know as well as I do that two years ago we’d have been through them and at the mage before he had time to cast that spell. We have to adapt . . .’ Sirendor trailed off. He took a gulp of his coffee. Hirad just stared at him.

‘Hirad, I want us to be able to look back on the good days in another ten years’ time. If we try and keep The Raven going as it is, there won’t be any ten years.’

‘One dodgy fight and you want to give up.’

‘It’s not just about one fight. But yesterday was a warning of what could happen any time. We’ve seen the signs these past two years. We all have. It’s just that you chose to ignore them.’

‘You want to disband The Raven, the rest of you?’ asked Hirad. He was only half surprised to find his eyes moistening. His world was dropping to pieces before him and he couldn’t see a way out. Not yet.

‘Not necessarily. Perhaps just a rest to take stock.’ Sirendor leant back a little and spread his hands wide. ‘God knows, none of us needs the money any more to be comfortable. I sometimes think we must own half of Korina between us.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Look, the reason I’m bringing this up is that we want to have a meeting when we get back to the City. We need to talk it through, all of us, when we’ve had a little time to think.’

Hirad stared into his coffee, letting the steam warm his face. Silent again.

‘If we go on pretending it’s still like it was a few years ago, one day we won’t be fast enough. Hirad?’ The barbarian looked up. ‘Hirad, I don’t want to lose you the way we lost Ras.’ Sirendor sucked his lip, then sighed. ‘I don’t want to see you die.’

‘You won’t.’ Hirad’s voice was gruff. He swigged back his coffee and stood up, having to push his lips together to be sure they wouldn’t tremble. ‘I’m going to see to the horses,’ he said at length. ‘We may as well make an early start.’ He strode out of the kitchens and through the castle to the courtyard, where he stopped, staring at the place that might have witnessed The Raven’s last fight. He wiped angrily at his eyes and headed for the stables.

Ilkar too decided against further rest and went instead to Seran’s chambers. The mage from Lystern, smallest of the four College Cities, had been moved to a low table in his study, a sheet covering his body. Ilkar pulled the sheet back from Seran’s face. He frowned.

The dead mage’s skin was taut across his skull and his hair completely white. He hadn’t looked that way the previous evening. And the cut on his forehead, now it was clean, looked as if it had been made with a small claw.

He heard movement behind him and turned to see Denser, the Xetesk mage, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. His pipe smoked gently in his mouth and the cat was in his cloak. Ilkar found the pipe incongruous. Denser was by no means an old man, though his exertions had given him an appearance well beyond his mid-thirties years.

‘An unfortunate result, but inevitable,’ said Denser. He looked terribly tired. His face was grey and his eyes dark and sunken. He leaned against the door frame.

‘What happened to him?’

Denser shrugged. ‘He was not a young man. We knew he might die.’ He shrugged again. ‘There was no other way. He wanted to stop us.’