Ilkar gritted his teeth and switched his attention back to the fight. Ras was lying curled and motionless. The Unknown hacked down another man, and to his right, Sirendor and Hirad killed with practised efficiency. Only Richmond’s blade flailed, the whole set of his body giving away his feelings. Ilkar strode forwards, forming the mana shape for a holding spell. It was enough. The remains of the enemy unit saw him, disengaged and ran back the way they had come.

‘Forget them,’ said The Unknown as Hirad made to chase the fleeing enemy. The barbarian stopped and watched them go, hearing the jeers of the castle garrison help them on their way. Elsewhere, cheers rose from the ramparts as horns sounded retreat across the battle ground.

For The Raven, though, victory was hollow.

A pool of silence spread across the courtyard from where they stood, and as it reached out, others fell quiet, turning to see what few had ever seen. When Hirad looked around, all but Ilkar were crouched by Ras. Hirad joined them.

He opened his mouth to ask the question but swallowed his words hard. Ras, his hands still clamped to the horrible wound in his side, was not breathing.

‘All day sitting around and now this,’ said Hirad. ‘We’re never taking a reserve force job again.’

‘I don’t think this is the time or the place for this discussion,’ said The Unknown softly. He was aware of a crowd beginning to gather.

‘Why not?’ Hirad rose, arm muscles bunching beneath his heavy padded leather armour, his braided russet hair bouncing as he jerked to his feet. He jammed his sword back into its scabbard. ‘How much more evidence do we bloody well need? If you spend a day up on the ramparts you aren’t sharp enough when it comes to the fight.’

‘There’s a few here that wouldn’t agree with you,’ snapped The Unknown, gesturing at the slain enemy.

‘We’ve lost three men in ten years, all of them in contracts we shouldn’t have taken on. We should be hired to fight, not to sit around watching others do it.’

‘This was a good money contract,’ said Ilkar.

‘Do you think Ras cares?’ shouted Hirad.

‘I—’ began Ilkar. He put a hand to his head, his eyes losing focus. He squeezed The Unknown’s shoulder.

‘This discussion and the Vigil will have to wait. The mage is still in here,’ he said. The Raven were on their feet in a moment, each man ready.

‘Where?’ growled Hirad. ‘He’s a dead man.’

‘I can’t see him,’ said Ilkar. ‘He’s under a CloakedWalk. He’s close by, though. I can sense the mana shape.’

‘Great,’ said Sirendor. ‘Sitting targets.’ His grip tightened on the hilt of his blade.

‘We’re all right. He’ll have to lose the Cloak before he casts again. I just want to know what he’s doing here.’ Ilkar’s face was set, his frown deep.

Hirad switched his gaze up to the keep and round the ramparts. A closing of the cloud hastened the setting of the sun and the fading light washed grey across the castle. A light rain had begun to fall. All activity had ceased and a hundred eyes stared at The Raven and at the body they encircled. Taranspike Castle was quiet, and even as victorious soldiers walked back into the courtyard, their voices caught and faded when they saw the scene.

The Raven’s circle moved gradually outwards, with Ilkar separate from it, always with one eye on the newly exposed wall.

‘How could he miss us with that spell?’ asked Talan, indicating the debris of wood and grain scattered about them. ‘He was practically standing on top of us.’

‘He couldn’t,’ replied Ilkar. ‘That’s why I’m—’

The mage was by the wall. He had blinked into view with both his hands on it. They probed briefly and a section of the wall moved back and left, revealing a dark passageway. The mage stepped into it and immediately the opening closed.

Ilkar ran to the wall and examined the section minutely, the others crowding around him.

‘Open it, then,’ said Hirad. The elf turned to stare at the barbarian, his leaf-shaped ears, pointed at the top, pricking in irritation.

‘Can you open it?’ asked Talan.

Ilkar nodded. ‘I’ll have to cast, though. I can’t see the pressure points otherwise.’ He switched his attention back to the wall and the rest of The Raven gave him space. Closing his eyes, Ilkar spoke a short incantation, moving his hands over the wall in front of him, feeling the mana trails sheath his fingers. Now he placed his fingertips on the stonework, searching. One after another, his fingers stopped moving, finding their marks.

‘Got it,’ he said. No more than half a minute had passed. The Unknown nodded.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘But you—’ he indicated the stocky figure of Talan, his short brown hair matted with sweat and the old scar on his left cheek burning bright through his tanned skin - ‘stay and get that cut seen to, and you—’ spitting the words at Richmond - ‘start the Vigil and think on what you’ve done.’

There was a brief silence. Talan considered objecting but the blood dripping from his arm, and his drained face, told of a bad wound. Richmond walked over to Ras, sighting down his long thin nose, tears in his pinched blue eyes. He folded his tall frame to kneel by the body of the Raven warrior, his sword in front of him, its point in the dirt and his hands clasped about the hilt guard. He bowed his head and was motionless, his long blond ponytail playing gently in the breeze. It was he, along with Talan and Ras, who had joined The Raven as an already established and respected trio four years earlier, after the only other battle that had seen the death of a Raven warrior; in this case, two of them.

The Unknown Warrior came to Ilkar’s shoulder.

‘Let’s do it,’ he said.

‘Right,’ said Ilkar. He pushed. The wall moved back and left. ‘It’ll stay open. He must have closed it from the inside.’

There was light at the end of the passageway, wan and flickering. The Unknown trotted into the passage, Hirad and Sirendor right behind him and Ilkar bringing up the rear.

As The Unknown Warrior moved towards the light, a shout of terror, abruptly cut off, was followed by a voice, urgent and loud, and the scrabbling of feet. The Unknown increased his pace.

Rounding a sharp right-hand corner he found himself in a small room, bed to the right, desk opposite and firelight streaming in from a short passage to the left. Slumped by the desk, and in front of an opening, was a middle-aged man dressed in plain blue robes. A long cut on his creased forehead dripped blood into his long-fingered hands and he stared at the splashes, shuddering continuously.

With The Raven in the room behind him, The Unknown knelt by the man.

‘Where did he go?’ Nothing. Not even recognition he was there. ‘The mage? In the black cloak?’

‘Gods above!’ Ilkar elbowed his way to the man. ‘It’s the castle mage.’ The Unknown nodded. Ilkar picked up the man’s face. The blood from his wound trickled over gaunt white features. His eyes flickered everywhere, taking in everything and seeing nothing.

‘Seran, it’s Ilkar. Do you hear me?’ The eyes steadied for a second. It was enough. ‘Seran, where did the Xeteskian go? We want him.’ Seran managed to look half over his shoulder to the opening. He tried to speak but nothing came out except the letter ‘d’ stuttered over and over.

‘Hold on,’ said Sirendor. ‘Shouldn’t that wall let back on to—’

‘Come on,’ said The Unknown. ‘We’re losing him the longer we wait.’

‘Right,’ said Hirad. He led The Raven through the opening, down a short corridor and into a small, bare chamber. In the dim light from Seran’s study, he could see a door facing him.

He moved to the door and pulled it open on to another, longer passage, the end of which was illuminated by a flickering glow. He glanced behind him.

‘Come on,’ he said, and broke into a run down the passage. As he approached the end, he could see a large fire burning in a grate set into the wall opposite. Sprinting into the chamber, he glanced quickly left and right. There was a pair of doors in the right-hand wall perhaps twenty feet away, set either side of a second, unlit fireplace. One of them was swinging slowly shut.