‘When will we go home?’ Aron again.

Erienne sighed. ‘I don’t know, my loves. I don’t know what they want to ask me.’ She smiled to ease the tension. ‘I’ll tell you what. When we get home, I’ll let you choose what you want to learn about next. What will it be?’

The boys leaned forward, shared a glance, nodded and chimed in concert:

‘Communion!’

Erienne laughed. ‘I knew you’d say that. Bad boys! Just so you can talk without me hearing you.’ She tickled their stomachs, the boys giggling and squirming. ‘Bad boys!’ She fluffed their hair then held them close again.

‘Now,’ she said, eyeing their plates with distaste. ‘I want you to eat the bread on those plates but nothing else, do you hear? I’m going to go and see about getting us home. I’ll be back to teach you later, so I hope you haven’t forgotten what I told you last week!’ She made to rise but the boys clung on.

‘Do you have to go, Mummy?’ asked Aron.

‘The sooner I do, the sooner we’ll all be home with your father.’ She hugged them again. ‘Hey, I won’t be gone long, I promise.’ They both looked up at her. ‘I promise,’ she repeated.

She unlocked their arms and went to the door, pulling it open on a surprised-looking Isman. The rangy warrior lurched to a standing position from his slouch against the wall, the flaps of his leather tunic clapping together over his worn brown shirt.

‘Finished so soon?’ he asked.

‘Just in a hurry,’ said Erienne brusquely. ‘I’ll answer your questions now. My boys need their father and their own beds.’

‘And we are just as anxious as you to see you are held here for as short a time as possible,’ said Isman smoothly. ‘The Captain will question you shortly. Until then—’

‘Now,’ said Erienne, closing the door at her back with one last smile at her boys, who waved at her.

‘You are in no position to make demands of us,’ sneered Ismam.

Erienne smiled and moved close to Isman. As she did so, her face hardened, the smile seeming to freeze on her cheeks.

‘And what if I walk past you now?’ she hissed, her face paling. ‘What are you going to do?’ Their faces were scant inches apart, his eyes flickering over her. ‘Stop me? Kill me?’ She laughed. ‘You’re scared of me because we both know I could kill you before your sword left your scabbard. And we’re alone, so don’t tempt me. Just take me to your Captain right now.’

Isman pursed his lips and nodded.

‘He said you’d be trouble. We had you watched for months before we took you. He said your kind knew much but were arrogant. ’ He pushed past her and led the way down the spiral stairs. He turned at the bottom. ‘He was right. He always is. Go ahead, kill me if you think you can. There are three men outside this door. You can’t get far. We both know that too, don’t we?’

‘But I’d have the satisfaction of seeing you die,’ said Erienne. ‘And I’d see the fear in your eyes. Think on it. Unless you watch me all the time, you’ll never know if I’m about to cast. Never know when you’re about to die.’

‘We have your children.’ The sneer was back on Isman’s face.

‘Well, you’d better see you look after them, then, hadn’t you? Don’t turn your back, Isman.’

The warrior let out a contemptuous laugh, but as he turned to open the door, Erienne thought she saw him shudder.

Denser sat at the end of a bench table full of men who, not many hours before, would have killed him. The barbarian, Hirad Coldheart, was not there. Seeing to their horses, Sirendor Larn had said. Denser shivered inwardly, laid down his fork across his half-eaten breakfast of meat, gravy and bread, and sipped at his coffee. His cat purred as it lay on the bench beside him, luxuriating in the warmth cast by the range of fires in the kitchens.

They’d been prepared to die then, at the barbarian’s sword. Their inner calm had been complete. And had they died, he in a crush of bone and his cat in a screaming mental explosion, the whole of Balaia might have died with them.

Denser looked up at The Unknown Warrior. They all still had a chance because of him. Him and the simple code The Raven had always followed. The reason why they above all other mercenary teams remained in demand, successful and so very effective. While killing was legal within the rules of battle, and in witnessed defence of self and others, outside of these boundaries it was murder. And The Raven, perhaps alone, had stood in battle lines for ten years with robbers, bandits, bounty hunters and other hired men little better than murderers, with their collective conscience clear.

There were plenty who said it was the total adherence to their code that made them strong and feared by opponents; and Denser had no doubt that the perpetuation of this myth helped them enormously. Mainly, though, he considered it was because while as individuals they were outstanding, if not brilliant, as a team they were simply awesome.

Yet it was the code that swung the balance when the cost of their hire was considered. It meant that their employers could expect the contract to be upheld and the battle to be fought by The Raven within the rules.

The Code: Kill But Never Murder.

So simple that many tried to live by it on taking up the career as a hired warrior or mage. But most lacked the discipline, intelligence, stamina or skill to keep true in the heat of battle, victory or retreat, and aftermath. And certainly none had done so for ten years without blemish.

It would be easy to cast them as heroes, but Denser had seen them fight more than once and what they were was, to him, obvious. They were a team of terribly efficient killers. Killers but not murderers.

But as Denser looked around the table at the men eating in silence, each walking the privacy of his own mind, he thought they looked tired, and a pang of fear flooded his gut lest they should ultimately refuse him.

Because he needed them. Xetesk needed them. Gods, all of Balaia would need them if the information the spies were sending back proved to be the prelude to the rising of the Wytch Lords. But could he convince them of what had to be done, and would Xetesk try to bring the Colleges together?

Despite the knowledge of what could be to come, Denser wondered whether he wasn’t facing his most difficult challenge now.

The Raven.

Even if they heard the truth, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t make any difference. They didn’t take a contract because they believed in the cause. In fact the cause was largely irrelevant. The job had to be made worth their while, worth their reputation and worth their attendance. Worth the risk. That’s why the truth was pointless, at least until he could hide it no longer. No compensation could possibly be worth the risks he would be asking them to face.

Denser took another mouthful of food. It was a great pity he hadn’t met The Raven in Korina as planned. There he might have been able to conceal his College identity for long enough. Their being part of Taranspike Castle’s defence hadn’t figured in Xetesk’s plans. Now he was truly up against it and right now he couldn’t even persuade Ilkar to let him pay them to ride with him to Korina, the City they were headed for anyway.

He glanced up and caught The Unknown’s eye. The warrior calmly held his gaze, swallowed his mouthful and pointed his knife at Denser.

‘Tell me something,’ he said. ‘Ever see a Dragon before?’

‘No,’ said Denser.

‘No. And what would you have done had Hirad not managed to distract it so effectively while you stole your prize?’

Denser smiled ever so slightly. ‘That is a very good question. We hadn’t planned on a Dragon being there.’

‘Clearly. My guess is you would have died.’

‘Possibly.’ Denser half shrugged. Actually he thought he would have been fine but he could see where the line was leading and it gave him a chance.