'Get lost, Styliann,' he spat. 'Don't presume to carp over our demise. You know nothing of how this feels.'

'On the contrary, Ilkar, and I forgive you your mood.' Styliann didn't pause in his stride, the shapes of six Protectors filling the space around him.

'Thank you so much,' muttered Ilkar, looking away. 'What do you want?'

'I've come to offer you my sympathy, my help if I can give it, and some hope.' The Lord of the Mount made no attempt to sit, seeming content to stand a few paces away, respecting Ilkar's need for space.

'Well, that's a first.'

Styliann sighed. 'I do understand how difficult this is for you to cope with,' he said. 'And I do know how it feels to face isolation, believe me. I won't ask you to respond, just listen to me for a moment.' He paused. Ilkar shrugged.

'I have no desire to see the balance of magic shift. That is dangerous for us all at the best of times but right now we need every mage we can get to have a chance of seeing off the Wesmen threat. My Communion tonight was inconclusive about the situation in Julatsa and all I know is what Darrick has just told me. I will, however, seek to clarify the situation tomorrow. I understand you're staying with the column for another day and if I can provide you with more detail, I will.

'Finally, the hope.' Now Styliann moved a pace closer and lowered his voice. 'You and I know the capacity of the Colleges for self-preservation better than any in this camp. To me, the report of the fall of the city while the College remained intact says Julatsa has found a way of holding off the Wesmen army. It is now a question of how long that situation lasts, hence your need for haste.'

Ilkar sucked his lip, nodding finally.

'Maybe. Maybe. And what are your plans?'

Styliann's eyes narrowed, his jaw set. 'I will travel south, separate from the column. My immediate future lies in other directions, though I will still set in motion moves to enable the release of Septern's works to you. I fear I will no longer be able to study them with you.'

That caught Ilkar off guard. His head jerked up, meeting Styliann's eyes and feeling the force of his anger.

'Why not?'

'I have a little local trouble,' he said. 'It seems that, temporarily at least, I am no longer the Lord of the Mount of Xetesk.' He turned and strode away.

'How long before you can cast, Denser?' The Unknown's question followed directly in the wake of Darrick's departure for his meeting with Styliann. Denser, who had recovered enough to spend more time sitting than lying, shrugged his shoulders and knocked out the bowl of his pipe against a log end protruding from the fire. Dislodged embers glittered briefly in the dark.

'There's not a simple answer to that,' said Denser, delving into his tobacco pouch for a refill. 'Damn. This is running low.'

'There never is, is there?' said Hirad.

'The situation is this,' continued the Dark Mage. 'I am still shattered by the Dawnthief casting in a mana stamina if not so much a physical sense and it is difficult for me to retain mana to cast. And I find myself unaccountably low in spirits though I'm sure that'll pass. Contrary to popular belief, however-' he looked half-smiling at Erienne, '-I am able to light my own pipe.' He clicked his right thumb against its forefinger and a deep blue flame appeared with which he set alight the weed he had tamped into the bowl of his pipe.

'Very good,' said Erienne, pushing his face away. 'Now bring down HellFire.'

'You see? Never satisfied,' said Denser, his smile broadened but it was hollow and bereft of real humour. 'You offer a woman one country and she immediately demands the world.'

'Hardly,' said Erienne. 'Merely proof of your reserves beyond the immediate.'

'HellFire is a little more than proof.'

'It was a metaphor, all right?' Erienne poked Denser in the chest.

'Well just give me a chance, all right?' snapped Denser, swatting her hand away. Erienne started and moved back, eyes moistening. He looked away from her into the fire.

'Take it easy, Denser,' said Hirad, startled by Denser's sudden anger. 'She was just fooling. How about you just answer the question. What exactly can't you do?'

'Everything else,' admitted Denser. He sucked his lip and reached out a hand to Erienne who pulled further away. He sighed, raised an eyebrow and continued. 'I'm empty. Given that we're riding not resting, Communion is two days away, Shadow Wings the same and HellFire about four to take a sample. Sorry if that's not good enough for some of you.'

Hirad regarded him evenly. T think we might find it in our hearts to forgive you,' he said.

'Most gracious,' Denser mock bowed from where he sat.

'Just relax a little, eh?' Hirad indicated Erienne. Denser cut off his reply, nodding curtly instead. A short silence was broken by The Unknown.

'Thraun?' Though The Unknown had not seen Thraun change, he had seen the drain on his physical being while he had been a Protector.

'No problem, but . . .'

T know,' said The Unknown. 'I'm just assessing our overall condition. We will never demand it of you. To change will always be your decision alone.' Thraun nodded.

'And what about Ilkar?' asked Erienne. 'What he's heard tonight could seriously damage his ability to concentrate.'

'Above everything else, he's the best front-line defensive mage in Balaia,' said Hirad. 'His ability to concentrate in the middle of battle is one reason The Raven has survived so long. When push comes to shove, he'll be as able to cast as you.'

T hope you're right,' said Erienne. 'But, if you'll take my advice, you'll keep a close eye on him for a while.'

'Of course.' Hirad spread his hands wide. 'He's Raven.'

The Unknown cleared his throat for attention.

'I'm glad everyone is feeling confident because this is going to be very tough,' he said. 'Quite unlike anything we've ever faced. We won't be joining a line, we'll be on our own in lands swarming with Wesmen. We can't afford slip-ups and we can't afford to carry anyone. If any of you have any doubts about yourself, you should stay with the cavalry.'

'So, we'll be facing odds no different than those we've just faced except going in the other direction,' said Hirad flatly. 'And you're asking us if we're confident we can pull it off?'

A smile tugged at the corners of The Unknown's mouth. 'I had to,' he said.

'I think what you need is sleep,' said Hirad, patting the big man's shoulder. 'That sort of speech belongs ten years ago. I'll take watch and wait for Ilkar.'

Barras and Kard joined Kerela at the North Gate of the College, the three elder Julatsans standing shoulder to shoulder as the gate was opened. To either side of them stood men with yellow and white flags of truce on short poles and, ringing the area by the gate, archers and defensive mages waited to respond to any projectile threat. Kard thought it very unlikely there would be an attack of any kind and had shunned the offer of a HardShield, advising the mage to conserve his mana stamina.

The gates swung back to reveal the DemonShroud, wide, grey and flaring blue-tinged yellow along its visible base. Beyond it, a trio of Wesmen. They had no archer support though the two flanking warriors were clearly a bodyguard for the man in the centre.

He was a man in his late thirties, mid-height and powerfully built. Furs ran across his shoulders and down his back, fixed below his neck with a polished metal clasp. He wore cracked black leather armour padded with furs around the shoulders and leather greaves covered his thighs. His arms were exposed down to fur-edged gauntlets and heavy, strapped ankle boots covered his lower legs and feet. His hair was long, dark, shaggy and unkempt, framing a heavily tanned face boasting large eyes and a chin that had felt steel in the not too distant past.

I am Senedai, Lord and General of the Heystron Tribes and I demand your immediate surrender.' His voice, though loud and deep, echoed dully against the Shroud. Kerela turned to Barras.

'You are our Chief Negotiator, perhaps you would like to establish our position.'

'I fear you are passing me a poisoned chalice,' said Barras grimly.

'In all probability, my old friend. But delegation is one of the few joys I have left.'

Barras composed himself and took three measured paces towards the open gate and the Shroud, its innate evil sending shivers through his body, his skin crawling. It was all he could do to stand tall and keep his voice steady.

T am Barras, Elder Council member and Chief Negotiator of the College of Julatsa. You will appreciate that we are unwilling to surrender the homes and buildings you have not already taken by unprovoked force. What are the conditions you propose?'

'Conditions? I promise you nothing but your lives, mage. And that is generous, having seen the pyres of thousands of my kinsmen burning.'

'We were bound to defend our city from your groundless attack,' said Barras.

'You were bound to conduct battle like warriors, using blades, not spells.'

Barras laughed; he couldn't help it.

'A preposterous suggestion from one happy to use the magic of the Wytch Lords to devastate my people.'

'The Tribal Lords were against such weapons.'

'And that is how history will be rewritten, is it?' Barras' voice dripped contempt. 'That the Wesmen Lords called a halt to the magic of the Wytch Lords to do steel-on-steel battle with the forces of Julatsa, only to be met with a barrage of cowardly magic?'

'And yet triumph,' said Senedai. 'And triumph we will.'

'This is a city of magic. Even in your most muddled dreams did you really believe we would not respond to your aggression with every means at our disposal? And may I remind you that we still have those means.'

'Magic is an evil force and it is the sworn pledge of every Wesman to see your Colleges burn and your Towers lie in rubble.' Senedai abbed a finger at Barras.

'Lovely imagery,' said Barras. 'But I think you'll do well to see it.'

'You think so?' Senedai smiled. 'There is a pitiful number of mages within your flimsy walls, even fewer men at arms and a handful of terrified women and children. All you have is this devil's barrier and I know enough that you cannot keep it standing forever. We will not even waste our arrows on you; there is no need.'

'A wise choice. Our roofs are slate, our walls are stone. We left mud and grass behind us generations ago.'

'Your insults are as old as your body, mage,' said Senedai. 'And your posturing has got you nowhere. Now listen to me, Julatsan Council member, and listen carefully.

'I have offered you, and all those within the walls of the College, life if you surrender now. That promise dies as you all will if another drop of Wesmen blood is spilt in removing you.'

'What guarantee do I have that you will keep your word?' asked Barras as haughtily as he could muster.

T am Lord of the Heystron Tribes.'

'That does not impress me. And what will become of us if we do surrender?'

'You will be held as prisoners until suitable work is found for you building the new Wesmen empire. The alternative is death.'

'You are giving us nothing.'

'You are in a position to demand no more.' Senedai gestured around him.

'But you are forgetting that you cannot break in here. The devil's barrier, as you call it, is unbreachable.'

'Indeed, although our efforts are not over,' said Senedai. 'But we have the option of waiting for you to die of hunger, or thirst, or for the barrier to drop as you weaken. And there is further pressure we can bring to bear but I don't wish to be forced to use it. I am not a savage but, one way or another, we will bring down your College.'

T will die before I see you set foot on this hallowed ground,' said Barras coolly. Senedai threw up his arms.

'That is your choice mage, and everyone should be allowed to choose his own death. But perhaps your people are not so willing to follow you into death. It is up to you, all of you. You can either live as our prisoners and we will treat you well, or you can choose to die on our swords or from the slow death that follows an end to your food and drink. I give you until first light tomorrow to decide, when I will be forced to use other methods.' He turned on his heel and walked back into the heart of the fallen city of Julatsa.

Barras waved for the gates to be closed and walked back to Kard and Kerela.

'And that's what you call negotiation, is it?' asked Kerela, putting an arm around Barras' shoulder. The three began to walk back to the Tower.

'No. That's that I call winding up a Wesman Lord who had no intention of negotiating himself.'

'I take it surrender isn't an option?' said Kard.

'No,' said Kerela and Barras together.

'Why did you have to ask?' asked Barras.

'And what did Senedai mean by "further pressure"?' added Kerela.

'I know and that's why I had to ask,' said Kard, his sadness so complete it brought a lump to Barras' throat.

'What is it?'

T think we'd better go inside,' said Kard. 'We have a great deal of talking to do before morning.'

Chapter 8.

Sha-Kaan chose to leave the companionship and quiet of the Choul, flying instead to his own structure above the ground, the great Wingspread his Vestare had created under his guidance and direction.

Though the battle had been long and hard, the superior organisation of the Brood Kaan had limited the damage and losses and left them with enough strength to maintain sufficient guard on the gateway. But the enemy would be back. And they would keep on coming back until the Kaan were defeated or the gateway was closed. Already he could sense it widening, gnawing at the edges of the sky.

The most damaged of his Brood he had sent to the Klene, havens in interdimensional space connected to Balaia. There, the Dragonene mages would serve and heal them for the next fight.

For himself, he had no Dragonene. Since the theft of Septern's amulet and the death of his Dragonene, Seran, during his first encounter with Hirad Coldheart and The Raven, Sha-Kaan had not paused to make a selection.

The Great Kaan flew with his Brood the short distance to the Choul where all but he dived into its cool, dark depths to rest, choosing the companionship of a press of bodies over the solitude of heat as was the way after victory in battle for all but the sorely wounded. For him, though, there was still work to do and he wheeled away, taking in the state of the Kaan's territory.

From the edge of the blasted lands of Keol, past the dry wastelands and scarred mountains of Beshara and across the rolling hills and plains of Dormar and into the steam-hot forests of Teras, over which he now flew, that was the domain of the Kaan. A fitting tribute to their dominance and size, and one that would soon be lost if a way wasn't found to close the gateway to Balaia.

Much of the lands the Kaan held without contest but it hadn't always been so. For most of his young adult life, three generations and more past, he had fought the Brood Skar for control of the once-fertile lands of the Keol.

He still remembered the sheer cliffs protecting beautiful deep glades fed by spectacular waterfalls. The swaying long grass in the wetlands atop the old volcanoes and ice-cut plateaux. The burgeoning woodland where the Flamegrass grew from the rich soil beneath the canopy of leaves, harvested by the faithful to feed the Kaan's fire, its verdant blues and reds a beacon for the needy. And for those who would take it for themselves. The Skar.

The Kaan had been weakening through the long rotations of the battle, their numbers dwindling without the mind-support of a parallel dimension with which to meld the Brood psyche.

The Skar and the Kaan had fought in the skies, across the ground and in the lakes and rivers, banishing life from every wad of earth and swallow of water. People were slaughtered, those who did not run for the wastelands and beyond, the courses of waterways were changed forever by barrages of dislodged rock, by slides of burned earth and by the collapse of tunnels beneath the surface as Choul after Choul was found and destroyed.

On the surface, the vegetation was scorched to its roots and beyond, the richness and fertility driven from the soil and the ground baked and blackened by endless flame from the mouths of those who relied upon it for life.