The travelling was easy. Steering clear of the few hamlets spread thinly across the gently undulating forested and grassed terrain, The Raven stayed mainly under the cover of the often dense woodland, taking animal or seldom-used hunter and trade trails. Elsewhere, riding at the edge of the trees, Talan's eye for the sun's position and Richmond's ground knowledge kept them moving in the right direction.
Hirad found his mind wandering ever more away from the events through the rip as they rode and he was able to dispel the memories with a lungful of pure Balaian air. He had never before appreciated its beauty. Not until he had tasted that of another world. Conversation rolled easily around The Raven as the mood lightened under a warm sky, light wind and rich forest vegetation, and talk around the camp fire led to exaggerated tales of fight and victory. Only the great absence of The Unknown brought a cooling of the spirit. As yet, stories of the big man brought only sadness and loss and were followed by long silences.
It was at worst a three-day ride to the Black Wings' castle through the rolling hills and woodlands of Baron Pontois' lands. They were lands well known to The Raven, and as they travelled further north-east, where the hills gave way to cliffs and rock-strewn barren peaks, and the verdant growth of trees and grass to tough shrub, bracken and moss, they'd know when they were nearing their destination.
On the afternoon of the third day, a change in the weather brought The Raven to a stop beneath a deep overhang on the right-hand side of a valley they had been climbing south to north.
In something less than an hour, the sun was eclipsed by dense thunderclouds blowing down the valley at them, whipped up by a wind made harsh and cold by the seas far to the north. The temperature plummeted and cloaks were thrown around shoulders, and then, as the deluge struck and the cloud obscured the apex of the valley, The Raven cantered to the shelter of the rock.
Dismounting, they moved as far back as they could, leaving the horses to gaze mournfully out on the dreary scene.
'Travers has sent us his welcome, then,' remarked Talan.
'Yes, I feel sure Hirad will find it in his heart to blame him for this as well,' said Ilkar.
'Too right I will.'
The rain fell yet harder, bouncing off exposed rock, gouging at close-packed earth and battering down vegetation which sprang back in mute defiance.
Talan poked his head out of the overhang and looked northwards. 'It's well set - it's got that feel to it,' he said, coming back inside and wiping a film of water from his hair.
He was right, thought Hirad. It was indefinable, but something about the smell of the air, the pace and weight of the rain and the feel of the wind told of a long soaking. Hours, probably.
'Well, we can't just stand here and watch it,' said Denser.
'Quite right,' agreed Richmond, shrugging off his backpack. 'We'll get cold. I'll get a fire going.' He pulled a tinder box from an outside pocket of his pack and unhitched a large roll of waxed leather from behind his saddle. He unravelled it and took wood from its centre.
'Tip for you, Denser,' he said. 'When the clouds come down, pick up dry sticks.' He waved the Dark Mage away from a space in the centre of the overhang amd started building the fire.
'So we're just going to sit it out, is that it?' asked Denser.
'That's about the size of it, yes,' replied Richmond.
'But the castle . . .'
Richmond shrugged. Finishing the pyramidal stick-structure, he pushed some tinder into a hole at its base. 'We're about half a day's ride away at a guess. Talan?' Talan nodded. Richmond continued.
'Yeah. So assuming the rain eases off towards dusk, we can rest up here, ride the rest of the way this evening and attack at night, which was, I presume, the original plan.' No one said otherwise.
Denser narrowed his eyes but made no further comment. Instead, he untied his bedroll, took the saddle from his horse and dumped both against the rock face at the southern end of the overhang.
'It'll be cramped,' he said.
'I wasn't suggesting we all laid down to sleep.' Richmond struck sparks with his flint and steel, blowing gently as a thin column of smoke rose from the tinder. 'Hey, Hirad. Make yourself useful and go and get some stream water and more wood we can dry out. Just in case.'
'Yes, Mother,' said the barbarian. 'Mind if I take this?' He pointed at Richmond's waxed leather. The warrior shook his head.
Hirad picked two waterskins from the nearest horse and put the leather over his head and shoulders, gathering it under his chin with one hand. He turned to Ilkar, who burst out laughing. Taking his lead, the others joined in.
'If I gave you a walking stick, you'd look just like my grand-mother, ' said the elf eventually, wiping his eyes.
'She must be spectacularly ugly, then,' said Talan.
Hirad tried to think of a witty reply, then a suitably obscene one, and failed. Instead he shrugged, smiled and left the shelter of the overhang.
He headed upstream for no other reason than to check out the route immediately ahead of them, though it fast became obvious that he'd gain little useful information from his walk.
Though the rain was easing a little, it was replaced by a cloying mist - the clouds sweeping off the hilltops to further obscure the valley and his visibility with every step. Still, at least the trail itself was solid, containing enough stone and gravel to limit the rain-driven erosion.
He trawled either side of him for likely looking sticks, eventually finding a coarse, thick bush whose central branches were ideal. A few quick slashes and some shaving with a dagger and he had all the firewood he was prepared to carry.
Ambling back in the direction of the overhang, he diverted to his right to fill the skins from the stream, which was already running quickly as the rainwater poured off the hills to swell the flow. Squatting on a flat rock, he held the neck of the first skin under the water, listening to the complementary sounds of the water clattering by in the stream and the rain pattering off Richmond's leather.
But that was all he could hear, and when he turned to switch skins, the hilt of a sword thudded into his skull just below his left ear.
He sprawled over the rock, trying to gather his senses as the mist, the river, the rain and the roaring in his head took him towards unconsciousness. A shape loomed above him. A man in full helmet and chainmail. He leant in close.
'Go home, Coldheart, The Raven is finished. Go home.'
The pommel of the man's sword swung again. Sparks flew across Hirad's eyes then everything went quiet.
There was a look of thunder in Alun's eyes. And betrayal.
'You told me we were going in tonight.'
'The situation has changed,' said Thraun. 'Something's going on in the castle. You saw the riders who came past here earlier. There's too much activity. We have to wait.'
Will had returned to the castle, tracking after the riders, and had returned in the late afternoon, reporting an air of excitement around the castle. Someone had been taken there, presumably as a prisoner and presumably important. Thraun had decided to hold a watching brief for the night and make a decision the following morning. Alun, as he anticipated, had other ideas.
'Every second we wait brings my family closer to death, and yet we're going to sit around the stove and sing a few songs, is that it?'
Thraun massaged his nose with thumb and forefinger.
'This isn't a deliberate ploy to delay us,' he said, keeping his temper in check, his voice a low growl. 'I too am anxious to see your family safe but we cannot risk all our lives, because that will help no one.'
'We have to do something!' Alun's voice was desperate.
Will huffed, Thraun waved him silent.
'We are.' He gestured around him. 'We are out here, waiting for the right time to make our move. You must understand that that time isn't now. We have to keep watching and let the situation settle. I know it's hard but please try to be calm.'
Alun threw off the hand that Thraun placed on his shoulder but he nodded all the same, getting up and moving further away from the path.
'He'll be all right,' said Thraun to Will's scowl. 'Just leave him be.'
'He'll be the death of us,' warned the little man. There was a low whistle from the direction of the path and Jandyr trotted into the campsite.
'Someone's coming,' he said.
Thraun got to his feet. 'I've had enough of this. It's like a busy day in Dordover market. What do you say we stop them?'
'What do we really have to lose?' asked Will.
'Not a lot,' said Thraun, checking Alun was out of earshot. 'If we don't go in soon, we'll find nothing but corpses.'
Water. Lapping and bubbling, splashing off a stone. Wind, rain, water and cold. And pain. Thumping in his temple and howling in his ear.
Hirad moved, sending a wave of nausea through his body. His stomach lurched.
'Oh!' He opened his eyes. The mist was deep and disorienting. A light rain still fell.
He sat up gingerly, probing a swelling at the back of his jaw just under his left ear. He opened his mouth slowly and wide, feeling the dull ache in the bone but knowing at least that it wasn't broken.
There was a strange taste on his tongue. A taste that reminded him of a smell that he couldn't quite . . .
'Damn.' He'd been drugged. He slithered to his feet, firewood and water skins forgotten, swaying as his brain and stomach protested the sudden action. He put a hand to his temple. Another bruise, a big one, was forming. He felt groggy. Like a hangover but with none of the good memories. All he could remember was that helmet looming out of the mist and the force of the blows. And the voice. Familiar. Definitely familiar.
The path was slippery. Three times he fell painfully, retching the last time as his head connected with stone.
There were bodies outside the overhang. Inside, the fire guttered, almost dead.
'No,' he moaned through clenched teeth. He slid to a halt in front of a pile of gear, and relief flooded through him. The two bodies face up in the rain and mist were not Raven; and Richmond and Talan were both propped up by the fire. Talan's eyes were open, and while Richmond's were not, he was most certainly breathing.
Talan managed a limp smile. 'Hirad, thank the Gods. I thought you must be dead.'
'Where?' Hirad gestured to the empty spaces by the dying blaze. Talan raised a hand to silence him.
'The Black Wings attacked us. They just melted out of the mist. Denser must have sensed something, 'cos he smoked those two.' He paused, breathing heavily. Hirad noticed his eyes blackening, and a trail of blood was dried under his nose.
'They've taken them, Hirad. They've taken Ilkar and Denser.'
'Alive?'
'Yes, I think so. I was already down. Gods, that brophane is strong stuff. I feel awful.' Talan opened his eyes and mouth wide, stretching his face. Then he shook his head hard, smacking his lips together. 'That didn't help. So, what now?'
'We wake him up and get going.' Hirad shrugged. 'What else is there to do? Are you fit to ride?' Talan gave a short laugh. 'What?'
'Hirad, you're missing something.'
The barbarian's shoulders sagged. 'They took the horses.'
Talan nodded.
'Bugger it! Why didn't they just kill us? Have it done with?'
'Their fight isn't with us,' said Richmond, opening his eyes at last. 'It's with the Colleges.'
'Well, they got that wrong, didn't they?' said Hirad, feeling his anger gathering.
'Yeah, they did,' agreed Talan, levering himself to his feet.
'How far to the Black Wings' castle?' asked Hirad.
'Six hours on foot. Seven because it's getting dark and we aren't right just now.' Talan's face was pasty white in the gathering gloom.
'That's a long time,' said Hirad. 'Right. Ten minutes to chuck your guts up and be ready to leave. All right?'
'What're we going to do?' Richmond's mind was still confused. His legs wobbled as he pulled himself up the wall.
'We're going to get them back. Then we're going to torch that place and everyone in it.' Hirad's head was clearing with every passing moment, though he could feel that his body was still weakened by the drug clotting his muscles. 'If they didn't kill them, it's because they need them. It can only be for information, and you know how much mages hate talking.'
Richmond and Talan both looked at him, nodding their understanding.
A movement caught Hirad's eye. It came from beneath Richmond's cloak, which lay by the dead ash of the fire. As he watched, a black furred head poked out and tested the air. Denser's cat looked up at him, then jumped clean on to his shoulders, turning quickly so it could look into his face.
'A new friend, Hirad?' asked Talan, managing a smile.
'I don't think so.' The cat meowed loud and long. 'We're going, we're going, all right? We'll find him.'
The cat looked away past Hirad up the valley. The mist was a little clearer, though rain and approaching dusk kept visibility poor.
'Think he understood you?' asked Richmond.
'Probably.' Hirad shrugged. 'Come on, let's get out of here.'
Chapter 14.
'Nasty spell, this. Planning a little surprise for someone, were you?' Travers had leaned in close to Denser's cut and bleeding face, dangling the amulet from its chain so it knocked gently into the mage's left ear. Denser could smell alcohol on Travers' breath.
He hoped the shock he'd just experienced didn't show on his face. Right at the time he thought things couldn't get any worse, he'd been betrayed by another mage. And one working for Travers. The Witch Hunter.
Ever since their capture at the overhang, Denser had been wondering why he was still alive. It wasn't Travers' way. The assassin was his way, but now he couldn't understand why one had been sent. Presumably they'd wanted him dead that night in The Rookery, so what had changed in the days following to make Travers so eager to question him?
He supposed it didn't matter much. At least while he was alive there was still a chance, however slim. It was obvious, though, that rescue was his only option; and that meant Hirad had to be alive, because if he was, he'd try to rescue Ilkar, no question about it.
But for now he was helpless, and it was clear the Black Wings were expert in keeping captured mages subdued. Their hands had been tied from the moment they'd been taken and the ride to the castle had been under the unending scrutiny of four men. At the castle they'd been pushed to the ground and walked straight through the gates, courtyard and main doors into a large hall, bare but for a few chairs, two low tables and a fireplace that was as cold as the room.
And then a beating, delivered professionally and, curiously, without malice. Its purpose was plain. Blows to the head, chest, stomach, upper arms and legs had left his body aching and throbbing and had sapped what little energy he had. Never mind that his arms were tied, he couldn't have cast a spell if his life depended on it and they knew it.
'Saying nothing, Denser?' Travers drew back. 'Plenty of time. And of course you don't know what we know, do you?' Travers stood up. Men stood to either side of him. There were eight of them in the hall. And Ilkar. He hadn't said one word since they'd been taken, not even to confirm his name. His beating had been more vicious. Denser wasn't sure why, but Travers looked at the elf with a mixture of disappointment and disdain. Tarred with the Xeteskian brush, perhaps.
Denser found himself wondering who had read the amulet and betrayed him. The fact was that it had to be a mage from either Xetesk or Dordover. Septern's name, the location of the rip and an allusion to what lay beyond it only appeared in Dordovan lore script.