Sol smiled. ‘You understand perfectly well. You just don’t like what you’re hearing.’

‘Well we agree there.’

‘There will be time for us. Before I . . .’ Sol trailed away.

It wasn’t just for her he could not finish his sentence. He was only just clinging on to his own courage too. Diera sagged and let herself be drawn into his arms. Sol looked over her head and saw the mages getting to work.

‘What will happen afterwards? When you go into this opening or whatever it is?’ she asked.

‘I really don’t know. I know where we will end up but not how it will feel to travel.’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean what will you actually be able to do.’

Sol was silent just a heartbeat too long. ‘It’s all about belief.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? That is the lamest answer I’ve ever heard you give.’

‘But that’s the point, isn’t it?’ Sol began to find himself. ‘Those with the belief can function. Can achieve what they intend.’

‘So this is just one big leap of faith, is that it?’

Sol shrugged. ‘Yes.’

He saw Diera contemplate a retort but she changed tack instead. ‘How will they, you know . . .’

‘The Xeteskian library of nerve toxins is extensive. It’ll be quick and it’ll be painless, I promise.’

‘Promise me one more thing.’

‘Almost anything.’

‘That I give it to you. Give you the cup or whatever it is. It has to be me.’

‘Why?’>

She stared up into his eyes. ‘Because every moment with you is a lifetime’s worth.’

Densyr watched Sol and Diera’s embrace. He saw the pain and the tenderness, the strength and the fear. His own mind was in turmoil. The appearance of the five Garonin machines had sent him into a spiral, he could see that now. He had rushed here, defaulted to the wisdom of The Raven and Auum as so often in the past.

‘This is reckless,’ he said. ‘Surely it cannot work.’

Vuldaroq’s shaking hands paused in the act of turning a page.

‘When all other options have been exhausted, what else is there but desperation?’

‘I arrested him for his own good. To stop him walking to his death with his eyes closed. Now I’m about to give him a helping hand along the road. Diera is right. I am weak.’

‘What difference does it make now?’ said Ilkar, moving close to him and dropping his voice. ‘No way out but this. You do see that, don’t you?’

‘I don’t really know what to think. I still don’t see how doing this will get you to a new cluster of dimensions or anywhere but oblivion. I can see the conviction in your eyes and in his but I can see the sorrow in Diera’s too, and I will have to face that once the ritual is complete. What can I say to her?’

‘Nothing,’ said Ilkar. ‘Except to trust that we are right.’

‘But this isn’t like Sol marching off with his sword strapped to his back. He is going to die and she will never know his embrace again.’

Ilkar bowed his head, unable to hold Densyr’s gaze.

‘Yet it is the only way for her and the boys to live.’

Densyr’s heart was pounding painfully. ‘I have to be sure that is true.’

‘What’s done is done, Densyr, and you cannot undo what you did to us and the cost of delay. But know that we are not changing our position. We have not ever since we were thrust back here. The pain grows every day. The longer we are kept here the more attractive the prospect of letting go and disappearing into the void becomes.

‘We have never looked to defeat the Garonin and we are not suddenly seeing this as our last option. It has always been the only option for the populations of Balaia and Calaius. We were never here to live again on Balaia.

‘Densyr . . . it’s me. Ilkar. And it’s Thraun, Sirendor and Hirad too. We need your help. You’ve come so far down the road. Don’t turn away from us again.’

Densyr looked beyond Ilkar and saw Diera. Her gaze implored him to step back. Outside, the pounding was relentless. It echoed through the catacombs and sent vibrations through the stone beneath his feet. He fancied he could hear screaming but that was surely a trick of the mind.

‘We are ready, my Lord Densyr,’ said Sharyr quietly, his voice clanging like a bell in the silence that had fallen.

Densyr acknowledged him with a curt nod. He bowed to Diera and looked square at Ilkar.

‘Let’s get started,’ he whispered.

Dystran sought the purity Septern had achieved. He was only dimly aware of the pounding of weapons against the walls of Densyr’s tower. In all his years he had never been so deep in the mana spectrum. He felt almost as if he were swimming, his mind was so free. It was as frightening as it was uplifting. He was unsure if he would be able to find his way back to himself.

Perhaps that should not scare him. Returning to his body was probably pointless. He could cruise here in the embrace of the Heart of his beloved Xetesk or he could die as the tower inevitably collapsed. Here he felt safe though he could not entirely divorce himself from his physical bonds.

And that was what Septern had been able to do. His soul had been clinging on to an alien body, always in pain, always at risk of being swallowed by the void. But he had found a new place to go and had used himself to focus the Heart as a weapon.

‘Are you still here?’ asked Dystran. ‘Are you truly gone or are you part of the Heart now?’

Silence.

The Heart of Xetesk was beautiful. The hourglass shape of infinity. Glorious deep blue mana coalescing and moving in the dance of power around the dark stone. A sight only a mage could ever see. Hundreds, thousands of lines disappeared from the core. Links to everywhere and to mages drawing on the bedrock of their talent to cast. And all in defence of their college.

Dystran felt a gentle buffeting. The remains of Septern’s grid were still dangerous. The power held within was not bleeding away as he had hoped; rather it was building up at critical nodes. It was an irritation in his search for a way to repeat what the master mage had done.

The fluctuation from the Heart took him completely by surprise. A mass of mana, like a skull trailing fire, burst from its centre, upsetting the dance of power. It scorched the edges of his mind as it plunged deep into the ground. Dystran tried to track its movement but it was gone so quickly. Someone was casting something ancient and terrible.

The Heart had not regained its placidity before huge shapes appeared on the periphery of his senses. Spasmodic with clashing mana and reaching towards him with tendrils that became arms ending in claws, opening and closing, grabbing. Five of them.

They were seeking him and soon they would find him.

Dystran retreated within himself and called out for aid.

Chapter 34

The next impact cast Suarav from his feet and sent him rolling down the shattered steps of the tower complex. He scrabbled upright and backed away a few paces. His team had been scattered but all seemed to be moving. The brief hurricane of air had been forced out of the broken doors, catching them square on. Left and right, other teams still stood under their shields while mages tried desperately to shore up the weakening bindings of the towers that made up the circle of six and the seat of the Lord of the Mount.

Tower Prexys was teetering. A hole had been driven through it on a diagonal from upper chambers to servants’ quarters. The pinnacle was rocking. Slate and stone was tumbling onto what remained of the complex’s dome.

‘Oh dear Gods burning,’ breathed Suarav. He began to run. ‘Cover. Cover! Prexys is falling! Shields now.’