James Barclay - Shadowheart

'Can't you tell by tuning into the mana spectrum?'

'Unfortunately not. We're not trained in monitoring. Put it this way. Dipping into the spectrum in a college is like standing in a rainstorm and trying to see if it's not as torrential fifty yards away.' Erienne shrugged.

'Any risk in this for you?' Hirad leaned forward.

Erienne raised her eyebrows. 'With the One, everything's a risk right now. But I think I can contain it. The Al-Drechar will help.'

'Right,' said The Unknown. 'Thank you, Erienne. We'll use that skill if we can but that leaves just Denser as cover. Once we're inside, SpellShield, all right?'

Denser nodded.

'Now, I understand there is to be a protest outside the cells and barracks,' said The Unknown, leaning across the table conspir-atorially. 'It's exactly what we need.'

'Why?' asked Denser.

'Because I think it's going to give us our way in. Help yourselves to more food and drink, then Hirad and I will tell you all about it.'

Nyam had always been suspicious of the old women. Outwardly compliant they might have been; very willing to help and to explain the finer points of their considerable dimensional knowledge. But whenever he talked to them, he got the feeling that at least one of them was, well, elsewhere. Not physically, he'd explained to the others more than once, but inside her mind.

But apparently he was making far too much of it. They were old, he was told, borderline senile. Hardly surprising their minds wandered away now and then. He couldn't make them understand. They might be ancient but the light in their elven eyes was as bright as that in the eyes of the son he had left behind in Xetesk. So he decided to watch them. One day, something would give.

He smiled to himself as he ambled in the warm sun outside the house of the Al-Drechar. High up in the sky, the surviving Kaan dragon, with whom they maintained an uneasy peace, circled. It had threatened them all with death if they stepped out of line and none of them doubted its capacity to carry out that threat. They had seen all too clearly the results of its anger. That was why the five mages and fifty Protectors left on the island all wished they'd been chosen for the ship home thirty-odd days before.

Nyam walked a little way up towards the beautifully arranged terraces which housed the long dead of the Al-Drechar. There was Diera with the laughing little boy, Jonas. She was tending the Nightchild, Lyanna's, grave while he sat, face upwards, pointing at Sha-Kaan's circling.

Nyam smiled again and found a conflict of emotions running through him. He yearned for his wife and family; another part reached out and understood Diera's loneliness and yet he couldn't escape the fact that he was attracted to her. They all were. She'd been the subject of ribald conversation more than once but none of them would so much as touch her. You didn't try it on with the wife of The Unknown Warrior, no matter how far away he was.

That part of him that sympathised so much with the helplessness of her exile was strongest. She cut a forlorn figure at times, standing on the rocks overlooking the channel into which a returning ship would sail, or spending hours wandering the little island with Jonas wrapped in her arms or experimenting with walking beside her.

Yet she wouldn't reach out. She shunned the Xeteskians completely, never spoke a word to any Protector and didn't seem interested in the Al-Drechar, whom she spoke to like old aunts rather than powerful mages. She ate with the few Drech guild elves who tended the dying mages but only really spoke regularly to Sha-Kaan so far as Nyam could tell. Outwardly bizarre but actually eminendy reasonable. The dragon had a telepathic link with the barbarian, Hirad Coldheart. All to do with the Dragonene order. He'd have to read up on it.

Nyam turned at the sound of his name. His turn to sit with the Al-Drechar again and see if he could get clarification on a couple of points, no doubt. Another smile. Perhaps today was the day something would give. He'd be waiting.

They began to gather at dusk. Heryst and his closest adviser, Kayvel, watched them from a window high up in the Tower. He had always known Darrick was incredibly popular but this, following his desertion, was surely unprecedented. Posts were abandoned, meals went uneaten, families didn't see their menfolk at the time they expected. With much of the army committed to the north and east of Xetesk, it was never going to be a huge gathering, but its import was not lessened by that fact.

'There will be no one patrolling the streets or our walls,' said Kayvel.

Heryst nodded. 'But it's a respectful gathering. They all know the law.'

'They all love Darrick,' observed Kayvel. 'Don't expect their respect to extend to you.'

'We must have order,' said Heryst.

He glanced behind him. His personal guard, four senior soldiers, stood waiting. Not every member of the military shared the prevailing mood.

'So what action will you take against this?' Kayvel indicated the crowd which now numbered in excess of one hundred and was growing steadily.

'None,' said Heryst. 'They must be allowed to express their feelings. So long as the protest remains peaceful.'

'So you feel they are justified?'

'Of course I bloody do.' Heryst's voice was quiet. He turned his attention back on the cavalry and soldiers outside the barracks. He felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach, ifhis was comfortably the worst day of his tenure. 'What choice do I have? He isn't the first to he executed for desertion in this conflict. You know the feeling in the council and out in the city. We're on the brink here. Our decision to ally again with Dordover is very unpopular.'

'And you think executing our most famous son will help you?'

'We must maintain the rule of law. None can be seen to be above it. That way lies anarchy.' Heryst sighed, searching for a way to change the subject. 'Where are The Raven?'

'In their chambers,' said Kayvel. 'Eating.'

'Good.' Heryst turned from the window. 'Keep them under close scrutiny. I won't have them whipping up the crowd. We can't afford that sort of disorder. And tell the watching mages they have to be vigilant.'

'You don't trust them?' asked Kayvel, his tone edged with surprise.

'The Raven?' Heryst smiled. 'Oh, I trust them all right. Enough to know they'll try something. Can you see them knocking meekly at the door to collect Darrick's body?'

'Then why did you not have them escorted from the college?'

Heryst breathed deep and sucked his lip, regarding Kayvel until understanding creased his features. He stepped in very close to Heryst and leaned so close their faces all but touched.

'You are playing a very dangerous game, my Lord,' hissed the adlviser, voice barely audible.

'On the contrary, there is very little risk,' whispered Heryst. 'The Raven are not murderers. They are, however, very resourceful.'

Kayvel clicked his teeth. Heryst continued.

'I assure you I will do everything in my power to stop them should they attempt a rescue. However, I don't believe I can spare the men for a pursuit.'

'You must order the gates closed,' said Kayvel.

'I cannot do that,' said Heryst. 'You know our constitution and there is no external threat to the college. We must and will remain open to all who need our help. That is Lystern's way.'

Kayvel shook his head and turned away, moving a step towards the window. When he turned, his expression was deliberately neutral.

'You are making a mistake,' he said.

Heryst moved to stand beside him again and looked down on the crowd which stood in almost complete silence in the courtyard.

'If it is a mistake to let The Raven pay their respects to one of their own with dignity, then it is one I am happy to make.'

'You know what I mean,' snapped Kayvel.