'Don't be too long,' she said.

  He reached up and cupped her face in one hand. 'I'll see what I can do.'

  She flew away south, keeping low and out of the worst of the wind that blew hard above the cliff line, soon becoming a small dot in the dull sky. Denser watched her go, jealous that anyone should have the benefit of her love bar him. Even his daughter.

  'Tell you what,' said The Unknown, looking down on an increasingly green Ilkar. 'Fancy a look behind us, Ilkar? We need to know if there's anyone coming after us and how far they are away.' ij

  Ilkar nodded. 'Anything to get off this rickety assortment of bobbing logs.'

  'Don't get too close,' said Hirad.

  'Don't worry,' said Ilkar pointing at his eyes. 'These are very good.'

  Jevin sailed down the right of the channel as Ren had advised. His lookouts kept watch fore and aft and when the shout came and the sign was relayed from the crow's nest, he wasn't surprised. But the sight saddened him.

  There she came, emerging from the periphery of his vision in the lowering dark afternoon, the Ocean Elm slewing from side to side like some giant drunkard. At her helm, someone with no notion of the rudder in relation to the wheel, the strength or direction of the wind or the inertia of the beautiful vessel. It was no elf that steered and in that moment he and his crew mourned the dead on their sister ship.

  Jevin acknowledged their passing and led a prayer to the Gods of the Seas and the winds to keep their souls safe in the bosom of the ocean. And then he watched and waited for the inevitable.

  He shook his head time and again as he observed the Elm's progress. Saw her wander this way and that under full sail. No one stood ready in the rigging, no one swung lines. Not one of them would be ready and in that he would take some satisfaction. Perhaps most of them would drown and spend eternity in a twilight of pain, just too far from the surface to draw breath. He wished for it.

  He briefly feared collision but in truth, the fools on the Elm could not steer well enough to orchestrate any such thing. He wondered. whether they had paused to question why he travelled under such little sail, content to amble while his crew took soundings from every part of his ship. He wondered whether they had even seen him at all.

  So he watched, and when it happened he heaved a sigh. Beauty destroyed. The sight came to him before the sound. Perhaps only a mile distant, the Elm slowed suddenly as if the hand of a God had grabbed her prow. She rose up, still driving forward, then toppled sideways, still coming, the holes in her hull awful and mortal. It was a horrible sight.

  The sound came a heartbeat later, a rending, tearing, grinding sound. The death wail of a helpless ship. He imagined… he hoped, he could hear the screams of those onboard as they pitched into the merciless sea or were dashed against rock and timber. The water around her boiled as she foundered, sinking quickly.

  'Bows ready!' he ordered.

  A dozen crewmen lined the port quarter, arrows nocked, ready to draw and fire.

  They came like he knew they would. Cowards too scared for their own skins even to attempt the launch of a boat. And while their surviving ship-bound companions made desperate attempts to save themselves, the mages flew. He tracked them, his gaze skipping across the sky, one carrying another like Denser had done Hirad.

  'Don't let them close,' warned Jevin. 'None of them will touch my deck while they still breathe.'

  Strings were drawn, longbows bent, arms strained. Jevin waited while they approached, aiming to fly along the channel, presumably in the hope of finding their Dordovan friends. Jevin found that, although they presented no danger to his ship, he couldn't let them fly free from what they had done to the Elm or her crew.

  'Shoot them down.'

  The volley of a dozen arrows flashed away into the sky. Five dropped screaming, their magical wings gone, the sea closing over their thrashing limbs, the gods helping them to hell. Three remained, including the carrier, wheeling away. More arrows nocked, the thrum of bow strings again, the sight of the black shafts whipping out after their prey.

  Another mage fell and the carried man cried out. Jevin couldn't quite make out where the arrow had struck. He trusted the wound would bring him a slow death. Perhaps a lung. He nodded.

  'Stow the weapons!' he called. 'Lookouts to port. Let's see if any elves survived.'

  But the looks on the faces of his crew told him that they felt what he knew already.

  Ilkar flew back towards the skiff which carried The Raven. He'd seen all he needed to see. He let the wind blow full into his face and felt

  the first drops of new rain start to fall. At least he'd soon be on solid ground.

  Although he hadn't actually been seasick after the first couple of days on the Catalan Sun, knowing he could avoid vomiting didn't make him any happier about sailing and he had no intention of landing on the boat.

  He came alongside, matching speed and flying next to The Unknown just as the intensity of the rain increased and began to sting in the blustery wind.

  'How's it looking?' asked The Unknown.

  'Well, there are three Dordovan ships still coming,' said Ilkar. 'They won't make it all the way down this channel by nightfall, they're going too slowly, but they'll make it to where we left our ship.'

  'Hmm.' The Unknown stared back, gauging distances. 'We can expect attack after dark, then,' he said at length. 'They can sail skiffs down here in darkness, particularly if there are any elves in the crews. They can also send mages in by air. Pity we can't shut off that bloody beacon.'

  'We don't know we can't,' said Ilkar.

  'No indeed,' replied The Unknown. 'Well, seeing as you're clearly not about to get back in with us, why don't you go and see what you can do?'

  'The thought had more than crossed my mind,' said Ilkar. 'I'd take one of you with me but I think I'd better conserve stamina.'

  'See you in a couple of hours, then,' said The Unknown.

  'Any sign of the Kaan?' asked Hirad.

  Ilkar shook his head. 'No. Nor Jevin, nor the Elm. Not from where I was, anyway. Sorry.'

  Glad to be heading for cover, Ilkar shot away towards Heren-deneth.

  Erienne's pulse was thudding in her throat by the time she neared Herendeneth. She had been away for less than fifteen days but so much had changed. So much had been damaged.

  The Raven's long view of the cliffs was more shocking close to. The illusion was decaying almost before her eyes. It swirled, fragmented and reformed indistinctly, almost mosaic-like at the weakest

  .

  but still existing points. Elsewhere, it had gone altogether as the extraordinarily complex mana structure unravelled and destabilised. There would come a critical point where it collapsed completely but that hardly mattered now.

  The fact was that to anyone the carefully laid illusory mask of angry-looking rock was compromised; and what lay behind it, beyond the harsh reality of the nestling reefs, was an eminently habitable island with a canopy of trees, pardy covering verdant steppes up to a central dormant volcanic peak.

  From above, it was yet more obvious. Erienne flew in at a height of around a hundred feet and could make out the house, gardens and graves immediately. Coming in closer, the damage to the house made her gasp.

  The whole west wing was gone; so much rubble and splintered wood collapsed into a tear in the ground that ran away up the slope behind eating into the beauty and sanctity of the steppes, scarring them forever.

  The gentle streams, pools and falls had become fast-flowing rivers, and where they had burst their banks water rushed up to and surely into the house at four points she could see at a glance. Holes speckled the roof in too many places to count and littering the ground was the debris of storms. Glass, wood, slate and stone. All carelessly smashed.

  But what dominated the house was the beacon of visible mana light that Lyanna, it had to be Lyanna, had created. It stood silent and stunning, shot through with the colours of the four Colleges, a deep calm brown and flares of black, a gentle swirl in its make up that spiralled faster as it rose.

  High above her, the cloud mass spun about it, rolling with thunder and crackling with lightning. There was a pale mist clinging to the underside of the cloud and around the column, spreading out across the island and beyond, coating everything beneath it in a cool, fine rain.

  Erienne took a brief pass around the light, which came from the centre of the orchard, and as she flew down to land, saw a sight that gladdened her pounding, nervous heart. A little girl had run from the ruins of the main doors and was staring up at her, eyes hooded with one hand, waving vaguely with the other.

  Lyanna.

  Erienne called out and curved in steeply, a strong backward beat of her wings stalling her so she could step off the air. She dismissed the spell as she crouched, pulling Lyanna to her in an embrace she had thought she would never enjoy again. She held it for a long while, the little girl clinging back, one of Erienne's hands moving up to stroke the hair at the back of her head.

  'Lyanna, Lyanna,' she whispered, the lump in her throat threatening to break her voice, the tears falling down her face. She sniffed. 'Oh my darling, how good it is to be with you again. Tell me everything. Have you missed Mummy? I've missed you, my sweet. What have you been doing? Do you remember very much? Mmm?'

  She pulled away to look at Lyanna and saw a quizzical look on her face.

  'What is it darling?' she said, tracing a finger down the outline of her jaw. 'What's wrong?'

  Lyanna frowned. 'You know what I've been doing. I've been in the dark place. The ladies kept me there and that's why you went. Because you thought I wouldn't know. But I did and I made a light for you to help you come back. Why did you go?' Her voice began to tremble.

  Erienne resisted the urge to hug her again. 'Oh, sweet, you know why I went. You waved me from the beach, didn't you? Don't you remember? I went to get some help for us because the Al-Drechar were getting so tired. I went to get Daddy.'

  Lyanna considered for a moment and nodded. 'Yes, but I didn't want to be in the dark place and the old ladies made me stay until I made them let me wake up.'

  Erienne's heart missed a beat. A suddenly shaky hand swept hair away from Lyanna's forehead. 'What do you mean?' she asked.

  'I hurt Ana.' Lyanna's chin was wobbling. T don't know what happened. Please don't be angry Mummy, I didn't mean it. I was scared.' She started to cry and Erienne held her close, rocking her and shushing gently into her ear.

  'Of course I'm not angry.' Erienne looked around her, the wreckage so much easier to understand. She feared for the state of Aviana's mind, if indeed the mage was still alive. But sorry as she was for Aviana, that wasn't the real problem. If Lyanna was telling

  the truth, it presumably meant that her Night wasn't actually over. That her acceptance and control of the mana would not be complete. And that she could relapse any time, unshielded, wreaking untold damage to herself and Balaia.

  She steeled herself and tried to keep her voice light and friendly. She couldn't afford Lyanna to see how scared she was.

  'And how do you feel, darling?' she asked.

  Lyanna smiled a little smile. 'All right. My head hurts and I think I made the light a bit bigger than I should. The wind is still in there and the ladies said they'd help me stop it and they didn't.'

  Erienne pushed herself to her feet and held out a hand which Lyanna took.

  'Shall we go and see where the Al-Drechar are?'

  'I don't think they like me,' said Lyanna. 'They don't talk to me anymore.'

  'Oh I'm sure that's not true,' admonished Erienne gently. 'Come on, I'll show you they're still your friends.'

  'Then can we go and watch for Daddy?' asked Lyanna. 'I've got a special place where I stand to look. I looked for you every day.'

  'Thank you, darling,' said Erienne. 'That helped me come back sooner.'

  Reluctandy, Lyanna allowed herself to be led back into the house. Erienne walked over the soaking timbers, passed shattered, flapping windows, smashed vases, broken pictures and torn tapestries and drapes, trying not to react. Lyanna didn't seem to notice any of it and chattered away about her friends in the orchard and the nice soup she had for lunch.

  She slowed as they approached the Al-Drechar's rooms. Already anxious that the only sound in the house was the wind whisding through the empty frames and holes in the roof, Erienne feared the worst when she pulled open the doors to dieir corridor. No one stood guard, no one was waiting. She didn't even need to look in dieir rooms to know they were empty.

  Erienne picked up Lyanna and hurried along to the ballroom, hoping against hope that they were all seated around the dining room table, smoking the pipe. Lyanna looked back over her shoulder as she ran. She didn't resist being carried but shifted uncomfortably as Erienne pulled open the doors to the ballroom and stood

  staring at the great chandeliers lying like ancient, whitened animal skeletons on the cracked floor.

  'Who's that man, Mummy?'

  Erienne spun around, Lyanna turning in her arms so as not to lose sight.

  'Ilkar, thank the Gods. Lyanna, this is one of Mummy and Daddy's friends. He's going to help us. Are you going to say hello?'

  Lyanna shook her head and turned it half away.

  'Never mind,' said Ilkar as he jogged up. 'Gods falling, Erienne, but this place is a mess. What the hell happened?'

  Erienne nodded her head at her daughter. 'Guess,' she said. 'Look, I can't find anyone. There should be Guild elves all over the place, there are four Al-Drechar as well and the place feels like a morgue. Come with me a moment, will you? I've got the creeps.'

  Ilkar smiled. 'Which way?'

  In answer, Erienne walked on through the ballroom to the dining room, their footsteps echoing wetly around the open space. There was a hole in the roof the size of a cart and the decorative plaster had fallen down in chunks to scatter and blow to the sides of the room. She barely noticed, trying not to break into a run as she neared her last hope.

  She grasped the handle with her free hand and pushed the door inwards.

  'Oh no,' she said, stumbling to a stop and putting a hand to her nose and mouth. In her arms, Lyanna squirmed and made a revolted noise.

  Ilkar came to her shoulder and Erienne could hear him fighting not to gag.

  'Erienne, take Lyanna away. I'll see what I can do in here.' His strong arms turned her to face him. 'Look, Denser is only an hour or two away. We need you to try and persuade Lyanna to take the beacon down. The Dordovans aren't that far away and that thing will bring them in like moths to a lantern.'

  Erienne nodded, swallowing back the sobs that threatened to overcome her.

  'Please don't let them all be dead,' she said. 'Please.'

  'I'll do everything I can,' said Ilkar softly. 'Now go. Get outside and get some fresh air.'

  Erienne ran back through the ballroom, desperation welling up inside her.

  Ilkar looked into the dining room and could see what had driven them to come here. It was dry. Probably the only room in the house that was. There was a fireplace opposite which still put out residual heat and the windows had been battened shut, shutters over fractured glass.

  The dining room table had been pushed most of the way to the left and in the centre of the room, four beds, all occupied; at least one of which had to contain a corpse. He walked into the room, the stench almost overpowering. His eyes watered and he gagged suddenly.

  He had to get some air through. Hurrying to a door to his right, he pushed it open and found another bedroom, its single small window torn from its frame. He took in a huge deep breath, wedged the door open with a sofa and walked quickly over to another door which swung on creaky hinges, letting him into some kitchens. He was halfway back with a chair to wedge open the swing door when he stopped, straightening and frowning.

  He put down the wooden kitchen chair and walked back to the ovens. They were hot, flames flickering inside the grills. There was no food ready for preparation and no water ready to place on the hot plates but unless he was mistaken the ovens had been fired up recently, the flames were bright, and the grates looked full.

  'Hello?' he called, walking across the kitchen towards a pair of doors opposite the entrance to the dining room. 'Hello?'

  He drew his sword and put a hand on the leftmost door, pushing it open. A cold store. Empty of life. He let the door swing back and paced right, turning the handle of the other door which swung in. He took half a pace back.

  'What, by all the Gods, do you think you're doing?' he asked in low, plain elvish, not believing what he was seeing.

  A male voice came out of the mass of huddled bodies; he could count six and there might be more.

  'Waiting for the end. Praying for deliverance.'

  'From who?'

  'Lyanna.'

  Chapter 36

  Ilkar persuaded the group of elves to leave their hiding place and move into the kitchen. He had been forced to explain exactly who he was and what he was doing here before any of them would so much as look at him, let alone do his bidding. There were eight of them. He hadn't seen the two small children. While one of the young elf males put on water for hot drinks, Ilkar sat the others down, all the time mindful that in the next room, the Al-Drechar were dead and dying. He had to get these people moving.

  'I'm finding it hard to understand what's going on,' he said, addressing himself to a couple who seemed the most willing to speak. They were an old pair, had probably been with the Guild two hundred years or so and yet their confidence had been completely shattered.

  'You haven't been here,' said Arrin, the husband. His wrinkled face held piercing blue-green eyes and his hair, once black, was thin, grey and straggled. 'It's all happened so quickly.'

  'But what? You're the Guild of Drech,' said Ilkar.

  'And no power of this magnitude has ever visited us,' said Arrin's wife, Nerane, a slim elf, hair long and silver grey, tied back in a pony tail. 'Or become as uncontrolled.'

  'Ah,' said Ilkar. He'd had visions of Lyanna terrorising them somehow, a malign force bent on their destruction.

  'She's just a little girl,' said Arrin. 'And that's the problem. She doesn't understand what she's doing. She should still be enduring her Night under the Al-Drechar's shields.'

 

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