He still couldn't quite believe it, and his feelings were swamped by disgust that a mage from either college would work for the Black Wings. It had to be a Dordovan. A Xeteskian would choose suicide first.
He breathed in and let his head fall forwards. There was a pain under his right arm and his mind turned to his missing Familiar. He presumed it was at the overhang. It was certainly alive, but unless it found him soon, it would weaken and die. Denser wasn't sure his brain could stand the pain right now.
A slap to his cheek brought him back to his grim here and now. He looked up into Travers' face.
'Let me tell you a little of what I know,' said the Captain. 'Please pay attention. I'd hate to think your mind was drifting.'
He pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Denser. One of his men brought over a small table, bottle and glass. The Captain poured himself a generous measure of what looked like a spirit, and took a long sip before leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him.
'My sources tell me something big and very worrying is happening. '
'We agree there.'
A complete silence followed Denser's words. Travers locked eyes with Denser and drilled him with a baleful stare.
'Never interrupt me again or I will cut your tongue from your mouth and nail it to your forehead as a reminder.'
'Perhaps you should do it anyway, Captain,' said one of his men, a tall, rangy swordsman with a harsh face. 'Not much of a mage if he can't speak, eh?'
Denser and Travers both turned to him, the Xeteskian barely avoiding a smile. How wrong could a man be?
'Go and warm a kettle or something, Isman. Our friend might care for a hot drink. It is cold in here.' Isman left the room. 'Idiot.' Travers faced Denser once more. 'He is slow to learn. Now, where was I?' He drained his glass, then refilled it, picking it up to swirl the liquid around as he thought.
Denser watched him, his mouth firmly shut. Travers was well into middle age and it was beginning to show. Still, the sword at his side would be sharp and Denser had no doubt that he would carry out his threat. Travers did not have the reputation of a gratuitously cruel man, but he certainly had proved to be a man of his word.
'Now then, big and worrying. Dawnthief, I understand, is the most powerful spell in existence, and this-' he produced the amulet again - 'is the first step in recovering it. What I also know is that you need three catalysts to make it work. Apparently, this amulet doesn't list them.' He put the amulet away again, drained and refilled his glass. 'Well, that's enough of what I know. Now I want you to tell me a few things and so you are free to speak. Indeed, I insist that you make use of the privilege.'
Isman returned with a few mugs and a large copper pot. 'There's soup,' he said.
'Very good,' said Travers. 'Pour a mug for Denser and his rather quiet elven friend. Release one hand each and see that they hold their mugs steady and with all fingers.' Travers looked again at Denser. 'Now then, to work. Will you speak?'
'Don't count on it.'
'Maybe not immediately anyway.' Travers smiled, leaving Denser cold. Isman ambled over with two steaming mugs. At a nod, a man behind Denser and Ilkar released one hand.
'Thank you,' said Denser as he was handed his soup. It smelt strongly of onions and tomatoes. Ilkar said nothing, but accepted the drink anyway.
'Good,' said Travers. 'Now we're feeling more comfortable. Perhaps you'd like to tell me what Xetesk was planning to do with Dawnthief.'
'You won't believe me.'
'You could at least try.'
Denser shrugged and considered that the truth couldn't hurt the situation any further.
'The Wytch Lords are back. There are Wesmen armies massing on our borders even now, and with Shamen magic to support them, Balaia will be lost unless the Wytch Lords are destroyed. Dawnthief is the only way.'
Travers laughed out loud, causing Ilkar to start. He and Denser shared a look before he dropped his head and stared back into his soup.
'That's good. Very good,' said the Captain. 'But I do know my history very well, I am afraid. The Wytch Lords are long gone, and will never return.'
'I did say you wouldn't believe me.' Another shrug from Denser, another laugh from Travers.
'Of course, I'd forgotten how slavishly you believe your Xetesk Masters.' He continued chuckling. 'Yes, I can quite believe that is what they told you. And a grand reason on the face of it for one so eager to impress, eh?' Denser didn't reply. He sipped his soup and regarded Travers from over the rim of his mug, aware he was frowning.
'Let me ask you this, Denser. Do you seriously believe that the Wytch Lords are not already destroyed by the forces of Xetesk?'
'Your interpretation of history and mine differ, Travers,' replied Denser. 'We did not have the capability to destroy the Wytch Lords then. And they have now escaped their prison.'
'Oh, yes, the . . . what was it? Prison between worlds or something? ' Travers shook his head. 'Nice story. Good for keeping the other Colleges in line, I'll grant you. You believe that as well, do you?'
Denser said nothing.
'Of course you do,' said Travers. 'Still, I can hardly expect you to turn against all your years of teaching and dogma, can I?'
'You misunderstand the motives of Xetesk,' said Denser. 'Our image is slow to change but our ideals and morals already have.'
Now Travers clapped slowly and Denser could feel his anger rising. He fought to keep it in check.
'Said with such feeling, but I am afraid you have been sadly misled. My knowledge of your researches paints a very different picture, and you must agree that Dawnthief is hardly a "moral" spell, eh?'
Another silence. Denser drained his mug and his hand was retied.
'So, have you discovered the identity of the catalysts?' asked Travers conversationally. He leaned forward, cradling his drink in both hands.
'No,' said Denser.
'I see. Very well. Never mind.' The Captain turned to Isman.
'You may as well show Denser to his room.' Isman nodded, untied the Xeteskian's hands and pulled the mage upright. Tall and rangy he might have been, but he was also very strong. 'You will find, Denser,' Travers continued after topping up his glass, 'that your soup was somewhat drugged. Unfortunately for you, Ilkar of The Raven, yours was not.'
The rain stopped slowly and the mist lifted from the hills to leave a dark layer of low cloud. Hirad felt as if he would never be dry again, or clear-headed for that matter. They'd been walking continuously for over three hours and the damp clogged his every pore. Worse, the lasting effect of the brophane was a headache that grew to a steady pulsing pain that covered his entire skull. Glancing left and right, he could see that Talan and Richmond looked as bad as he felt.
Earlier, before the light had gone and the talking had given way to the sullen but determined sound of boots on rock and mud, Richmond and Talan had agreed that they wouldn't reach the Black Wings' castle until perhaps two hours before dawn. A combination of their physical condition, the difficult ground underfoot and the dark deepened by the thick clouds dictated a slow pace. Steep crags rose to either side of them and stunted trees, windblown heather and thick-stemmed grass were all that clung to the bleak landscape. The rock-strewn mountains ran away east and west as far as the eye could see, and the gentle slopes of Pontois' lands were already a distant memory.
As he trudged, head down, half a dozen paces behind his friends, Hirad was hit by a wave of hopelessness and anger. Less than a week earlier, The Raven, seven-strong and invincible, had stood on a castle's battlements and overseen another victory. He had been proud, vital and alive, continually buoyed by what they had achieved over ten great years.
Now they were reduced to three tired swordsmen crawling blearily towards what would probably be their deaths. And it was all down to one man. Denser. The Xetesk mage and his plans had already taken Sirendor and The Unknown from Hirad. And now it looked as if he had taken Ilkar too. All in the space of a few days. Hirad found it almost impossible to believe.
He shook his head and forced his mind into focus. The only thing that mattered right now was the attempt to rescue Ilkar. Denser could go to hell, and the fight for Balaia would have to be fought another way. They had no plan, though, and when they stopped another two hours later in a sheltered grove, they turned their thoughts to the attack.
'Has either of you seen the castle?' asked Hirad, shivering from the moment he stopped moving.
Both Talan and Richmond nodded.
'It was a Baronial seat before the fighting started,' said Richmond. 'It's actually a walled mansion. I'm sure that Travers has attended to the defence but it shouldn't prove too difficult to get in.'
'Any ideas?' Hirad himself had none. Try as he might, all he saw in his mind was the death of his friends, of The Raven, and of himself.
'Well, we had a chat a little earlier, and despite whoever it was telling you to go home, I suspect Travers at least will be expecting a rescue attempt,' said Talan. 'He will also know about how long it'll take us to reach him, that we'll be tired and his men won't. And we have no idea how many men he has, where Ilkar and Denser will be and what condition they're in.'
'Got any good news?'
'We should be free of magical attack or defence.' Talan half smiled.
Hirad brightened, seeing a glimmer of light.
'We can Rage then,' he said.
'Exactly,' said Richmond.
'Interesting. So?'
Richmond shrugged. 'So much depends on our getting into the house undetected, not just the grounds. If we do, a Rage might work. Neither of us has more than seen the place from a distance and it's set in open land, as you'd expect.
'If this cloud cover keeps low, we should be able to make the walls unseen. There is, or was, a stable block and a large kitchen garden at the back. Whatever, we're walking into the unknown, Hirad.'
'I only wish we were. Another blade, particularly his, and I'd be confident.'
'We'll do it, Hirad,' said Talan, rising and stretching. 'Or we'll take as many of those bastards with us as possible.'
Hirad nodded. 'Right,' he said. 'Right.' He too stood, a rush of energy hitting him. The cat moved in his cloak, making him start. He'd forgotten the animal was there. It poked its head into the open and Hirad scratched its ears, surprised to find that it was shivering and distinctly cool to the touch. They locked eyes but the cat's had lost their strength - dulled by distance from its Master.
'This thing isn't well,' said Hirad. 'We need to get it to Denser quickly. C'mon, let's not waste any more time.'
The pace for the next hour was fast. Trade trails were well worn in the area and Richmond asserted that they were on a more or less straight line right to Travers' front door.
'Time?' asked Hirad as they slackened speed to a gentle lope to save themselves a little.
'I'm guessing, but about four hours to dawn,' replied Talan.
'And the castle?'
'One and a half, maybe two hours. No more.'
'Excellent.'
They walked through terrain that eased noticeably, flattening and firming underfoot. The dark gave them little help, though their night-accustomed eyes allowed them to see the shapes of low hills, stands of trees and bushes mixing with shrubland and long grass.
The cat had ceased any movement in Hirad's cloak, and though he thought it still alive, he could all but feel it weakening with every passing minute.
Perhaps an hour from the castle, and on a wide track which only went to one place, Talan brought them to an abrupt halt. The cloud had lifted ever so slightly and a brighter patch above them betrayed the position of a moon.
'What's up?' asked Hirad, looking about him and loosening the sword in his scabbard. The wind was dying now, gusting and picking at his damp armour and clothes. He began to feel cold again.
'Something's not right. Spread left and right, you two, off to the sides, there are some odd marks on the path.'
Hirad nodded and motioned Richmond to the right. He took up station left, scouring the black and near-black outlines that made up their immediate position.
Behind him, Talan crouched to the ground, brushing a gloveless hand over it and putting his fingers to his nose. He edged forward, inch by inch, looking both immediately in front of him and perhaps two paces ahead.
'I think there's-' he began.
'Whatever it is, don't say it,' said a voice from the left, a good twenty paces distant by the sound. It was a man's voice, low and gruff, as if its owner spent a good deal of time whispering. The Raven froze but the cat, suddenly very much alive, dropped to the ground and darted away into the dark.
'Please don't move,' continued the voice. 'My friend here has an itchy nose and if he were to scratch it, his arrow would fly.'
Hirad couldn't believe it. His body tensed as he tried to decide what to do. Movement was out. If there was a bowman, he could take down two of them before they found his position. Calm and talk seemed the only option.
'What do you want?' he asked.
'You have something of ours and we want it back.'
'I doubt it,' said Hirad. 'And if it's money you're after, I'm afraid-'
'We don't want your money.' The voice betrayed disgust. 'You are holding my good friend's wife and we want her back. Now.'
'You're mistaken,' began Talan.
'Hardly,' said the voice. 'Your bastard Master, Travers, is interrogating her right now. And worse, I expect. Start moving over here and do it slowly.'
The Raven stayed put.
'Gods, Hirad, they think we're . . .' said Richmond.
'We are not Black Wings,' growled Hirad.
The man laughed, and there was another sound, higher-pitched, confirming that there were indeed two men away in the dark.
'Of course not,' said the voice. 'After all, all sorts walk this path in the early hours of the morning. Please move together and take your hands from your swords.'
The trio did as they were ordered.
'We are not Black Wings,' repeated Hirad.
'So you said-'
'We are The Raven.'
A short silence was ended by hurried whispering, then a snigger.
'Not many of you, are there?'
'No.' Hirad barely kept himself in check.
'Walk forward. There's someone here reckons he's seen you.'
The Raven looked at one another, raised eyebrows and walked forwards.