Barras walked around the Tower, taking in the totality of the Shroud, the shifting greyness of which lent everything beyond it a washed-out aspect, dimming colours and making movement seem indistinct. It had first been employed to make the College of Julatsa impregnable over seven hundred years previously and had served the same purpose as a moat but had been infinitely more effective.

There was no way to cross the DemonShroud until the spell was ended. Any who tried, whether friend or foe, would be taken. It couldn't be overflown, it couldn't be dug beneath. It took souls indiscriminately from man and beast. It was evil on the face of Balaia. Yet it would save Julatsa from the Wesmen and, despite the horror of the DemonShroud, the knowledge gave Barras comfort.

Inside the College grounds the Shroud was given the utmost respect, with no one who braved the walls venturing closer to its modulating edge than half a dozen paces. Those who had made it through the gates, and who now mingled with those to whom the College was their natural home, walked, stood or sat in groups, all dazed, all saddened and all affected by the dread calm that pervaded the whole grounds. Because the single hardest aspect of the Shroud casting to take in was the quiet.

Every sound the Wesmen made was dulled and far away. They had long since stopped sending arrows over the walls; it was a waste for them and an addition to the stocks of the Julatsans. Instead, they ringed the walls just beyond the edge of the moat, clustering and staring. But their clamouring at the edges of the Shroud, the hammering at the tower Barras could see them making, their living hubbub, their walking, running, cooking, talking, laughing, all of it was muted.

Barras dug a finger into each ear, unsure for a moment of whether he wasn't losing his hearing. But then Kard's voice, loud and invasive, struck up to his left.

'Good afternoon, Barras.' The old elf started and turned.

'Kard. Glad to see you are well.'

'All things are relative,' said the General.

'So they are. What brings you out here?'

'The same as you.' Kard came to Barras' shoulder. 'To see the Wesmen building their folly.' He nodded towards their half-built tower outside Julatsa's south gate.

It looked a rickety structure from where Barras stood but he knew better - the Wesmen were fine woodsmen. A lattice of crossed beams was strung around four tree trunks, at the base of which carved stakes would act as axles. Inside the lattice, ladders scaled thirty feet to a platform thick with Wesmen hammering feverishly at the next level of their tower, each strike muted as if heard through thick cloth.

To the left of the main structure, another team of carpenters was carving wheels while to the right, fires belched smoke into the cloudless sky. These were not cook-fires. Wesmen in thick hide aprons toiled with hammer and anvil while others made moulds.

'What are they making, more weapons?' asked Barras.

'No,' said Kard. 'If I'm right, it'll be cladding for the tower.'

'They think we'll try and burn it, is that it?'

'That and I believe they will try to push the tower across the moat, hoping the metal will deflect its power.'

'Oh dear,' said Barras. He shook his head. 'I think we should try to talk to them.' Kard looked at him askance.

'I see no reason to persuade them to stop committing suicide.'

'I understand your hatred of the invading force but they are not killing themselves in sufficient numbers to make a difference to the weight of their advantage,' said Barras. 'But more than that, I don't think you realise what a death in the DemonShroud means. I would wish an eternity of torment on no one. Not a Xeteskian, not a Wesman, no one.'

Kard shrugged. 'Talk to them if you must. I won't stand in your way but I certainly won't stand at your shoulder.'

'Your heart is hard.'

'They have slaughtered much of my army, untold numbers of Julatsa's people and more of your mages than you can count,' said Kard, his voice cold and harsh. 'For every one of them that dies in the screaming soul agony you say awaits them in the Shroud, I am a little more assuaged. Just a little.'

'You are happy to greet death with more death?'

'That's unfair,' said Kard sharply. 'It is human to seek revenge and we did not invite this. The Wesmen have chosen their path and so far as I am concerned, if they can't learn from their mistakes, that's their problem. I will have no part in putting them straight.'

Barras nodded. 'Perhaps I should consult my conscience further.'

'My old friend, I admire your conscience and your capacity for forgiveness but this is a war in which we have never been the aggressors,' said Kard. 'In fact, I still can't believe it's even happened but clearly the Wesmen felt that, with the Wytch Lords at their backs, they could destroy the Colleges just as they thought they could, three hundred years ago.

'And now they've come so far they believe they can win even without the power the Wytch Lords gave them. And they may yet be right. If you must speak to them you must, but consider this. The longer they believe they can breach the Shroud, the longer their minds are deflected from moving onwards and the better our chances of effective relief from Dordover. It may also deflect their minds from what I think is a rather obvious move they have so far overlooked.' Kard's face was grim.

'And that is?' But Kard's reply was left unspoken. From the North Gates, a cry went up. The two men ran around the Tower to see a dozen Wesmen walking towards the edge of the Shroud, a white and red flag of truce held in front of them. Shouts echoed up the Tower and the door opened. An aide ran out.

'Kerela requests your urgent attention, sirs.' The young man wiped long red hair from his brow as it blew in the breeze.

'The North Gate?' asked Barras.

'Yes, my mage.'

'Tell Kerela we will be there presently.' The aide nodded and ran back the way he had come.

Barras breathed deep and faced General Kard, raising his eyebrows as he saw the other man's expression, dark and fearful.

'Kard?'

'I think the obvious move may have just occurred to them.'

'What is it?'

'Hear it from them, Barras, if they care to tell you.' Kard moved to the Tower's door. 'I'm still praying I'm wrong.'

Chapter 7.

The camp was quietening, the cooling wind biting into clothing and conversation as the night darkened to a star-lit black, when Darrick made time to visit The Raven's fire at the behest of Hirad and, subsequently, The Unknown Warrior. In carefully plotted lines across the hillside and plateau, the cavalry tents flapped gently, lantern light from within a few casting exaggerated shadows on the inside of canvas.

The General, his curly hair pressed flat across his head and his travel-stained leather armour hidden beneath a heavy cloak, sat between Hirad and Denser, nodding at Will as the wiry man gave him a very welcome mug of coffee.

'I must apologise for the time it has taken me to respond to your invitation,' said Darrick, his eyes shining from his ever-enthusiastic face. 'I've been in conversation with mages and scouts and you may be very interested in what I've heard. But you had something you needed to speak to me about first.'

Hirad smiled privately. Darrick's tone and bearing, now that he was leading his cavalry across enemy lands, was very much that of the man in charge despite the company in which he now sat. It was easy to see why he was held in such regard by soldier and civilian alike. He simply oozed assurance, confidence and authority.

'Indeed we do,' said The Unknown Warrior. 'Although we might be influenced by what your mages have discovered about conditions in the East.'

Darrick scratched his nose. 'Tell me your thoughts and I'll match them with what I know.'

The Unknown Warrior detailed The Raven's concerns and plans while Hirad watched Darrick for reaction. He shouldn't have bothered. Throughout the big man's speech, the General betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Nodding occasionally, he took everything in with a calm detachment. When The Unknown had finished, there was a pause in which Darrick drained much of his coffee, threw the dregs aside and handed his mug to Will for a refill. The thief obliged.

'Thank you, Will,' said Darrick as he accepted the mug. 'The first thing to say is that much of what you have said has occurred to me already, and I thank you for confirming my thoughts. I was already planning to split us above Terenetsa, sending you north and taking my men to the Bay of Gyernath. The reports of the Communion mages this evening have convinced me that I was right.' He took a sip of coffee.

'The situation around the Colleges and in Understone is grave. We could make no contact with a mage in the four-College force at Understone so have to assume the town has fallen to the Wesmen. Fifteen thousand Wesmen crossed Triverne Inlet and marched to Julatsa.' Ilkar started at the mention of his College's name, Hirad seeing sweat forming on his forehead despite the cool of the night. 'Notwithstanding the fact that the Wytch Lord magic was taken from them by your actions in Parve, the invasion force didn't stop its march.' Another sip.

'The College,' managed Ilkar, his voice little more than a whisper. 'Has it fallen?'

'Ilkar, you must understand that these reports are coming via Dordover and are at best inaccurate, at worst mere rumour.'

'Has the College fallen,' said Ilkar deliberately and Hirad could feel the chill from his body.

'We think not,' said Darrick.

'Think? I've got to know. Now.'

'Take it easy, Ilkar,' said Hirad, putting out a hand. Ilkar shook his head but it was Erienne who spoke.

'Hirad, only a mage can understand what this means to Ilkar. General, please, tell us anything you know.'

Darrick raised a hand for quiet and calm.

'There are reports that the city of Julatsa has fallen but that the College itself has not, but I must stress, these are unconfirmed. There is a Dordovan force on its way to assist the Julatsans but it won't be able to report for a day at best.'

Ilkar stared into the fire, eyes flat slits, cheeks sucked in, ears pricking furiously. Hirad watched as the elf composed himself, swallowed hard and turned to Darrick.

'Is there no clue as to how long they can hold out?' he asked, voice steady but the shake was there, just under the surface. 'Has no one from Dordover held Communion with the mages of Julatsa?'

'There has been no direct contact since the Julatsans asked Dordover for assistance. That was two days ago,' replied Darrick. 'The report of the city falling was given by a mage outside of the College grounds sometime yesterday, I believe. That's why I caution you to take what I'm saying with a pinch of salt.'

'Why?'

'Because the Communion was broken off before it could be finished and the Dordovan mage suffered backlash. His thoughts aren't yet clear and he doesn't remember everything that passed between them yet. When I know more, you will be the first to hear.'

Ilkar nodded and rose. 'Thank you, Darrick.' His face was white, even in the firelight, and tears stood in his eyes. 'Excuse me. I need some time alone.'

'Ilkar, wait,' said Hirad, half-rising.

'Please, Hirad. Not right now.' Ilkar walked slowly away into the rows of tents and was lost in the night. Hirad shook his head.

'But if the College hasn't fallen . . .' he began.

'But it might have done by now,' said Denser, quietly, his tone rising briefly from its emotionless state. 'The one report is a day old. If the Wesmen sacked the city so quickly, why would they be stopped by the College? That's what Ilkar is thinking. Believe me, besides his own death, the destruction of Ilkar's College is the worst thing that could happen to him. To any Julatsan mage. It would mean the end of Julatsan magic and it's been unthinkable for hundreds of years that such a thing might happen. Leave him be.'

Hirad pursed his lips. 'But he's Raven. We can help him.'

'Yes, but not at this instant. Right now he's Julatsan only and he's facing the loss of everything he knows. We'll help him when he comes back,' said Erienne.

'If the College falls, will he lose his abilities?' asked Will.

'No,' she replied. 'He will always be able to shape mana to cast spells. But what will be lost is the totality of Julatsan Lore, the teaching of ages. And with the destruction of the Tower would go the centre of Julatsan magic. You can't just build another one and be back where you were. The mana imbues the Tower with magical power over centuries and it would take that long for the Julatsans to recover themselves, if they did at all.'

'And how much of Septern's work is kept in the library there?' Thraun's voice brought a shiver to the company around the fire.

'Exactly,' said Darrick. 'Which is why you and you alone must cross at Triverne Inlet as soon as possible. You've got to get into and out of the College before it falls, if it's going to, and travelling alone will give you the best chance. The sooner you leave the column and ride north-east, the better.'

'We'll stay with you another day,' said The Unknown. 'Ukar won't leave until he knows the facts and those will only come with the Dordovan relief force.'

'I can hold Communion with them,' said Denser.

'You can't light your own pipe yet,' replied Erienne sharply. 'And I'm not expert enough to commune over this distance. I agree with The Unknown.'

'Very well,' said Darrick. 'One more day and night.'

'And wbat about you, General?' asked Hirad.

'To the south, things are slightly more promising, but only slightly,' he said. 'We believe that Baron Blackthorne has had some success in holding a Wesmen force from reaching Understone. His Town has fallen and he is, as far as we can make out, riding to Gyernath to swell his numbers. It makes sense for me to attempt to join with him and try, as I assume he will, to disrupt the Wesmen's southern supply lines and take back his castle. If we can make a base, we can begin to beat them back.'

'Good old Blackthorne,' said The Unknown. 'Give him our regards when you see him.'

'Be glad to.'

'And Styliann?' Denser's question had Darrick blow out his cheeks.

'He also has requested to see me and I will recommend he travels south with us. Ultimately, though, he is my commander and can do as he wishes. I believe I can persuade him that his best chance of returning in triumph to Xetesk is to attack from the south with us, avoiding Understone.'

'No chance,' said Denser, shaking his head a little contemptuously. 'He wants in on Septern's research and coming with us is how he'll do it.'

Darrick drained his coffee and stood up, brushing himself down with his free hand.

'Well, no time like the present,' he said.

'Good luck,' said Denser. 'You'll need it.'

Darrick smiled. 'I never count on luck. Get some sleep. We're leaving at first light.'

'If you see Ilkar . . .' said Hirad.

'I'll give him a wide berth,' said Darrick. 'Good night.'

Ilkar strode away through the precise rows of tents. He stared straight ahead, ignoring the acknowledgements of cavalrymen, the staccato sounds of laughter and talking from within which broke the quiet.

He knew his eyes were full of tears and his teeth were clamped around the soft inner tissue below his bottom lip in a vain attempt to halt its trembling. Eventually, he slowed, reaching the edge of the tents and the open area between the cavalry and Styliann.

Sitting on a flat-faced, lichen-covered rock, he fought his mind into what passed for order and breathed in the ramifications of all he had just heard. The potential end to Julatsa's seat of magical power, the slaughter of untold numbers of his brother and sister mages, and the isolation of the survivors - still Julatsan but without a focus for their energy, power or study.

And it could all have gone already. While he thought he would feel the destruction of the Tower through the mana trails, this far from Julatsa, the deaths of so many, one by one, would barely cause a ripple. He knew of none who had a ManaPulse targeting him to warn of their death.

And if the Tower fell, what then? Who would rebuild the College? Mages like him, he supposed. But where would he and those like him find the resources and sheer strength to accomplish the mammoth task that was the construction of a new Tower? And how could they hope to attract mage students to a College that had fallen to an army without magic? Surely, to lose the College in these circumstances would mean the slow end to Julatsan magic forever as its ever dwindling number of practising mages aged and died.

He wondered if The Raven could reach Julatsa in time, or whether they would be left picking over the rubble and corpses. And getting there before the College fell would serve what purpose? What could The Raven hope to achieve as the sole fighting force of the East outside of its gates? Perhaps it would be better it they weren't around to see the end.

Ilkar bowed his head and let the tears flow, hands on his knees as the sobs wracked his body. There was no hope for Julatsa. If the Wesmen had sacked the city, the College, whose walls were not designed to repel an invading army any more, would soon follow. Then he would be truly alone, with only The Raven to support him. He wondered whether that would be enough.

'It's not necessarily over, Ilkar.' The voice came to him from out of the gloom. He wiped his eyes, feeling the chill and realising he'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting alone. His backside was numbed. He shivered, cleared his vision and strained to identify the figure that approached him, outline blurred by the half light of dying fires against the background of night.