Behind him, he heard The Unknown relax and he turned, a smile on his face.

'Calmer now, Unknown?'

'Naturally.' He frowned. 'Missed something, have I?'

Hitad nodded. 'Just a bit. I mean, we all know the mages have to go up there but who do you think's going to hold them on while they're casting?'

The colour drained from The Unknown's face and beside him Thraun's jaw dropped.

'Oh dear Gods in the sky,' muttered The Unknown. 'I wondered why you kept talking about yourself and flying in the same breath. Is there no other way?'

Hirad shook his head. 'Unknown, I am surprised at you.' He winked at Ilkar. 'And anyway, The Raven never fight apart, remember?'

The Unknown cleared his throat. 'I think I'd better go and find some rope.'

Chapter 36.

Darrick's men moved closer and his scouts reported via Communion that Senedai was again taking the fight to the Protectors. Dawn had cast its gloomy light across Balaia, illuminating a tableau of rock, brush and scrubland soaked by steady rain.

Darrick brought his men to a halt near the head of a gentle rise. And, with the sounds of many thousand Wesmen voices raised in chant just carrying on the wind, he jumped up on a rock and begged for attention.

'You all know why we're here, and I must first thank you all for the determination, faith and courage you have displayed ever since we came together on the shores of the Bay of Gyernath.

'Our march has changed from one of liberation to one of revenge. It is now one of defence. But not merely defence of Septern Manse to thwart the Wesmen and give The Raven and Styliann the time they need. There is far, far more at stake and I need you all to understand this before we march to battle.'

Darrick saw a ripple pass through the small army, a murmur like wind across calm ocean. He had them. Now he had to inspire them into fighting for the lives of every man, woman and child east of the College Cities.

'Consider our situation. Gyernath stands but it has no reserves. Blackthorne is gone. So too is Julatsa. The remaining Colleges face enormous threat from west of the Blackthorne Mountains and a Wesmen army stands ready to strike Korina. Unless we stop it.

'Korina has a pitiful regular guard. It has no walls. Baron Gresse might have mounted resistance but he is here with us. The other Barons hide in their castles, defending what is theirs and fragmenting our defence by so doing.

'Who is left? You. You are Balaia's final hope of victory and salvation. Nothing else stands in the way of the Wesmen. And if you believe in your land and your people - your family and those who you will never meet - we will be victorious.

'The Wesmen may have the greater numbers but we have the greater heart. We have the fire inside of us, we have the belief. We are fighting for our land and the people we love.

'The future of Balaia will not be decided at the gates of Korina, nor at the walls of Xetesk. It will be decided here at Septern Manse today.

'And I know that every one of you will play his part. I believe in you. Do you?'

The roar that greeted his question lifted Darrick's heart and made him very happy that the Wesmen had already begun their attack.

Great words, he thought, but the truth would be told by the stroke of the sword and the play of the mana.

Time to believe. Time to, fight.

'Sol?'

The Unknown spun round at the sound of his given name. It was Cil. He, He and Rya were standing over the mound of recently-rorned earth under which the remains of Styliann's blasted body now lay. There had been no reverence, indeed no interest from any but Denser who had felt a collegiate responsibility for the ex-Master's burial.

No grand ceremony for Styliann in the crypts of Xetesk. No lying in state, no train of mourning, no ritual entombment. No honour. Just a rude grave dug in the soft ground away from the river under a rock overhang in an alien dimension. Dug by Protectors using Vestare tools and infilled the same way.

The Unknown walked towards the trio. Vestare woven rope coils over his shoulders.

'What is it, Cil?'he asked.

'The decision has been made. We won't travel back to Balaia. We are staying here, to live among the Kaan.'

The Unknown nodded. 'I thought you might. Now, you are sure you can still feel your souls.'

"And should the loneliness become too much, we can return,' said Rya.

'The masks?' The Unknown touched his cheek, a painful memory returning unbidden.

'You are the one chosen to be first to see,' said Cil. 'The demons can't harm us here. They have no control in this dimension. Here, we are free.'

Without hesitation, each Protector unstrapped and lifted off his mask and clutched it in his hands.

The Unknown held his breath but the wonder in their eyes told him all he needed to know. They were feeling the air on their faces for the first time in months, maybe years. They took in huge lungfuls, shook their heads and drank in a world where their sight was unencumbered by the edges of their moulded eyeholes.

Rya, He and Cil were all young men, none of them older than twenty-five. Their faces, white but for the dark areas around eyes and mouth, were striped by red weals and marked by boils and sores that, though treated by Xeteskian healers to prevent infection, were never able to fully heal under the masks. Now they would and Cil's young, handsome face, strong-featured with deep green eyes, would be a loss to the women of Balaia. The Unknown smiled to himself; at least that was one less in competition with him when he returned.

No words were needed to express their feelings. Their eyes said more than the longest text in Xetesk's library. The Unknown, Sol, walked to the men, free while they remained in the dragon dimension, and hugged each one. He looked deep into Cil's eyes, seeing the hope of every Protector reflected there.

'One day, we will all be free and you can return unmasked as you are now. Our brotherhood will never be forgotten and, though we all once again own our souls, we will never be parted. Believe me, I still feel you.'

Cil nodded. 'You'd better go. We're joining the second wave of ground defence with the Vestare.'

'Good luck,' said The Unknown.

'And to The Raven.'

The Unknown trotted back to where The Raven stood by the dragons that would carry them to the rip. Each stood in the shadow cast by an enormous body, looking along the neck and up to the head that was held high and proud. Ilkar and Hirad would sit at the base of Sha-Kaan's neck, the warrior behind to hold the mage in place when his casting took all his concentration. The Unknown and Denser would ride Nos-Kaan and Erienne would be held by Thraun on Hyn-Kaan.

'Ready?' asked Hirad.

'Yes,' said The Unknown, glancing back again to the free men. "There's a lot of work to do back in Balaia. Let's get going.'

There had been a feverish discussion about how best to attach themselves to the dragons. Sha-Kaan and Jatha had joined them and, in the end, the solution chosen was a relatively simple one. Each member of The Raven would have a rope looped and tied around their midriff, leaving both arms and legs free for grip and balance. The rope would then be tied hard around the dragon's lower neck.

The idea wasn't that the rope should hold them firmly in place but to stop them falling should they slip. The lower neck would move the least while still being narrow enough to sit astride. The mound of the body would provide anchor against slipping backwards and if the dragon dived . . .

'. . . we'll just have to hang on,' said Hirad. 'Right, let's be aware that communication's going to be very difficult. Sha-Kaan will lead the flight, keeping the dragons as close together as possible. We'll have as much defence as they can spare from the rip cordon. Denser, I think you should lead the casting. Thraun, Unknown, you know what you have to do. Don't let your mages go.'

'What if we're forced to break formation?' asked Erienne.

"Well, I'll know through Ilkar whether it breaks spell concentration, meaning a restart, and Sha-Kaan knows to bring the formation back together as soon as he can. We have to trust them to fly defensively as necessary. What can I say? Don't fall, any of you.'

With back-slapping, shaking of hands and hugs and a long, lingering kiss between Erienne and Denser, the three pairs split to their respective dragons, allowing Vestare woodsmen to fit their ropes. As they climbed on to the dragons' necks, laid flat on the ground, Hirad could feel the ire rise from the chosen Kaan carriers.

'This is most uncomfortable,' grumbled Sha-Kaan.

"Yeah,' said Hirad, 'and not just for you.' He adjusted himself behind Ilkar, feeling the rough scales against his trousers and stretching his legs around the broad neck. It was like riding a bull. I'l not father children after this.'

T don't understand,' said Sha-Kaan.

"Never mind,' said Hirad. Ilkar looked around at him and shook his head, 'You are quite unbelievable,' he said.

'Scared, Ilks. Very scared.'

The Vestare tired the ropes under necks, using nicks in bone and scale to provide anchor points. Hirad found he could move but, so far, not loosen the rope enough to slip. In front of him, a second loop of rope gave him something to hang on to.

Now astride Sha-Kaan, he felt a new sense of the immense power of the dragon. Breaths shuddered down his neck to fill his lungs; everywhere, muscles bunched and relaxed beneath his scales, rippling his entire body, and the rumblings and gurgles of the gargantuan internal system reverberated through his legs and up his back. Looking over his shoulder, Hirad saw the mound of Sha's body arch up, blotting out everything behind him. He couldn't even see its tail. Below and just to the rear of his feet, the roots of the wings sprang from the torso. They too twitched, the wings slapping quietly against his body. Sha-Kaan was a flying mountain and he was an ant tied to it. The notion didn't bear close consideration.

'Whose idea was this?' he muttered. He looked across at The Unknown, who sat silent and pale as he was fixed to his dragon. 'Hey Unknown!' he called.

'There's nothing you can say that'll make this better,' growled the big warrior.

'I'm looking forward to shaking your hand in Balaia,' said Hirad.

'What is it they say?' said The Unknown, and then a smile flickered for the briefest moment across his features. 'See you on the other side.'

'Hirad Coldheart.'

'Yes, Great Kaan.'

'Are you and The Raven ready?'

Hirad took a deep breath. 'Yes. We are.'

'Then let me introduce you to the Skies.' Sha-Kaan's deafening bark ripped through the relative peace of the Broodlands. From the high ledges, Vestare called back before setting off to the plains. dragon calls answered the Great Kaan, flights of the huge beasts took to the air and Sha-Kaan lurched to his feet, sending Hirad's stomach tumbling end over end. The dragon's wings swept out and extended with a noise like a wave dragging on a pebbled shore. Hirad clasped Ilkar's shoulder, the mage's hand covered his and, with a beat of those wings, Sha-Kaan propelled himself into the air.

Barons Blackthorne and Gresse stood by one of the forward watch-fires as dawn crept across the sky. The cloud kept the day dark but they could now just about see the shapes of Wesmen moving about. With the injured helped or carried to a hiding place deep into the crags to the north-west, Darrick's cavalrymen divided themselves into saddling their horses and appearing to be many more than they actually were.

'Ever feel like you've been left out, Blackthorne?' asked Gresse, taking a swallow of coffee in the chill damp of the morning.

'I've been given more exciting orders,' agreed Blackthorne. 'But I think he's right. I'm too old to run through the night.'

"What do you think they'll do?'

'The Wesmen?'

'Yes. Stand or come on?'

Blackthorne scratched at his, immaculately tended beard. 'Well, they're too late to join the fight at the Manse today so if I was them, I'd make sure we were definitely all gone before I tried to join my colleagues. Then I'd go.'

'So saddling up's a good idea for us,' said Gresse.

Blackthorne nodded. 'But I don't think they'll chase us down. We need to be visible enough to be counted but out of range of arrows.'

Wesmen were around a hundred and fifty yards distant and spread rrom crag to forest. And while those visible numbered less than three hundred, Blackthorne had no doubt that the weight of Wesmen would be positioned not far behind. Had Darrick made it through? He had to assume so. No alarms had been raised in the Wesmen ranks and no one had returned with news of disaster.

With light growing, he knew they couldn't maintain the illusion much longer and he was relieved to hear that the horses were saddled and ready. His heart beat faster. It was going to be an exciting first half of the morning.

Beside him, Baron Gresse had swept the dew from a stone and sat down, a refill of coffee in his gloved hand. Every man and mage was ready. Packs were tied to saddles, swords cleaned and scabbarded. They'd have to abandon the forge, the armoury and hundreds of yards of canvas but it didn't matter. Equipment could be replaced. Able Balaian fighting men and mages could not.

'Ready to run?' asked Blackthorne.

'Absolutely,' said Gresse. He placed his mug on the ground and pulled off a boot, emptying out an imaginary stone.

'Gresse, I will not hesitate to leave you to die,' said Blackthorne.

Gresse laughed. 'Everyone else in this war is experiencing tension and fear like never in their lives. I didn't want you to feel left out.'

Beside Blackthorne, a cavalryman cleared his throat.

'Yes, Captain,' said Blackthorne. The man, mostly hidden under nose-fluked helm, heavy cloak and leather armour, bowed slightly.

'My Lords, I believe we should be ready to move.' He gestured towards the main trail which was rapidly filling with Wesmen. Shouts rattled across the whole front with answers bouncing back, the anxiety and urgency clear in the tones though the language was alien.

The cavalry still patrolled as they had all night, moving in and out of sight behind tents, making great play of stoking perimeter watch-fires and calling out that all was well each half an hour.

'Gresse, get that boot back on,' said Blackthorne.

'Trouble with the lace, old friend,' came the reply.

'Gresse, your boots have no laces. Get it back on. This game of chicken is fast reaching a conclusion.' He looked down to see Gresse take a glance at the opposition and ram his foot into his boot and stand up, his drink forgotten.

Wesmen were advancing.

'Cavalry!' called the Captain. 'Ready the retreat. Eyes backward. Slowly!'

'I've got an idea,' said Blackthorne as they moved slowly away, the Wesmen taking ground cautiously. 'If we can, let's mount up, keep a respectful distance and HardShield ourselves. I'd like to talk to whoever's in charge.'

'What by all the Gods for?' asked Gresse.

'Just trust me, all right?'

Gresse shrugged. The cavalry Captain issued his revised orders.

Hirad had vomited his stomach dry well before Sha-Kaan levelled out to fly directly for the rip. They would arrive there in no more than an hour, such was their speed, Nos and Hyn-Kaan tucked in behind, the mass of the Kaan dragons either circling the rip or flying on ahead.

The roar in his ears of the wind whipping past his head dragged all sense from him and it had been a long time before he had been able to open his eyes more than slits. Below him, the ground was impossibly far away. It was a mass of colours and textures fogging before his nauseated vision and the confusion of Sha-Kaan's banks and turns as he oriented himself left Hirad with no idea where they had come from. Only the size of the rip ahead gave him any sense of direction and even the sight of that was punctuated by the clouds that he knew worried Sha-Kaan more than anything.