'Hold him, I'm trying to write,' he said.

He bent back to his task, dragging the dagger in letter shapes, keeping the mage's chest and stomach skin taut with his other hand. Soon it was done. He backed up, wiped and sheathed the dagger and looked at his handiwork, which was a little lost in the streaming blood. With a flick of his hand, he waved his men away. The mage drew in shuddering breaths, his face dripping sweat and pale. He swallowed.

'You'll die at the hand of a mage, Selik,' he managed. 'And when you do, my death will seem painless by comparison.'

Selik ignored his words. 'I expect you're curious to know what I've written.'

'I couldn't care less,' said the mage, regaining some control over his wracked body. 'You are worthless vermin, Selik. I'm surprised you can write at all.'

'It says, "Mages: fear the Black Wings." Succinct, I think. To the point, if you will.' He laughed. 'Of course it isn't easy to read but I expect whoever finds you will fathom it eventually. And if you are very lucky, you'll be able to tell them yourself.'

He swung away and strode back to his horse. 'Mount up, Black Wings; we've a long way to go and a mage to educate.'

'Burn in h.e.l.l, Selik!' roared the mage, straining at his lashings.

Selik laughed again. 'No, dear mage, I will not. Because the righteous are blessed, not cursed.'

He kicked his heels into his horse's flanks and led the Black Wings away, the mage's shouts growing ever fainter in his ears. It had been a truly uplifting day.

Chapter 11.

The Calaian Sun sailed slowly into Ysundeneth shortly after midday on the third day after leaving the Ornouth Archipelago. Even Jevin had declared himself surprised at the speed they'd made. A steady southerly wind had driven them through a light swell and the dolphins that had swum with them most of the journey added to the idyll.

Standing next to Ilkar as they cruised towards their berth at the heart of the docks, Denser could sense the relief in the Julatsan mage, shot through as it was with nerves. It mirrored Denser's own feelings, though his reasons were very different. The voyage had not been easy. Erienne had barely left her bunk the entire time, her heart re-broken by the ever-increasing distance from Lyanna's grave. And when she had walked the deck, the set of her body kept everyone away from her.

Denser could understand her reaction but was frustrated he wasn't being allowed to help. She had withdrawn into herself completely, ate little and said less. Ilkar had given voice to his concern the day before. Calaius and its climate were not like Balaia in any way. It drained and fatigued the fittest of bodies and sickness was so easy to contract, particularly for those not born there. Erienne, he said, would be seriously risking her health if she refused to keep up her strength for much longer. And if her capacity for casting was impaired, she could be risking the health of The Raven too.

As he had so often in the last three days, Denser had sighed and hoped she'd come back to herself once they landed. But, with the sun beating down hard from a clear blue sky, Denser found he could forget for a moment by simply looking straight in front of him at his first clear view of a new land. When they had first sighted Calaius and The Raven had run on deck to see, he'd felt vaguely disappointed. All he could make out were cliffs, the outline of the land where it met the sea and the very distant shapes of buildings.

Now, much closer to, it was stunning in its vibrancy and beauty. In front of them, Ysundeneth, the capital port city of Calaius, filled his eyes. Translating as 'Ocean Home', or so Ilkar had said, Ysundeneth was a vast sprawling place whose dock area stretched for four miles along the winding coast; and whose buildings spread half as far back. It was almost the size of Korina but looked so utterly different. Where Korina's skyline was filled with low, st.u.r.dy brick and stone structures built against the gales that swept the city's estuary, Ysundeneth was a riot of spires and tall buildings, slim and sinuous but with an air of solidity. And every single one of them was made solely of wood.

Denser was astonished at the wooden buildings but Ilkar had only laughed and pointed beyond the city. Surrounding the port on all sides and covering the land for as far as he could see was a thick mat of green. Trees everywhere, punctuated by sharp rises, great sweeping cliffs and plunging soaking lowlands, but trees all the same.

Denser had stood and stared at it all for what seemed an age, only emerging from his reverie when Ilkar nudged him. He looked round to see the Julatsan arm in arm with Ren, both smiling at him.

'What do you think?' asked the elf.

Denser shrugged. 'It's extraordinary. I can't believe how big this port is. I didn't think many of you lived in cities. More to the point, what do you think? Been a long time for you, hasn't it?'

Ilkar nodded, his smile fading. 'It's odd, no doubt about that. But I still feel like I'm coming home. I mean, I hardly recognise this place, it's grown so much, but I was born here.'

'Ysundeneth?'

'Well, no, not here exactly. About three days upriver by boat, but I spent a lot of time here when I was growing up and it was never this big.'

'So how does it sustain itself?' The Unknown had come to the rail and was leaning out, his shaven head tanning deep brown.

'Trade with Balaia is important,' said Ren. 'But the real money's made trading around the coast. So much of the inland is impa.s.sable to boats of any real size that it's quicker to go around. But this is the biggest port by far. None of the others are even half this size.'

'There have got to be well over a hundred thousand elves living here, haven't there?' said The Unknown.

'More,' said Ren.

'I'm amazed there are that many on the entire continent,' said Denser. 'Given the very few we see, that is.'

'Calaius is a very big continent, Denser, and you'd be surprised how many elves there are here,' said Ilkar. 'But as a race, we just like to keep ourselves to ourselves. No one's going to take you to their bosom when we land, I can tell you. And when I also tell you that the elves you'll meet in the ports are the most outgoing, well, I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions.'

'The place must burn a lot.' It was Hirad, standing just behind them. 'All that wood.'

Ilkar cupped a hand to his ear. 'Hark,' he said, a broad grin on his face. 'The lilting sounds of a barbarian making a daft comment.'

'b.u.g.g.e.r off.'

'Does the term "rainforest" not give you any sort of clue?' asked Ilkar. 'I mean it doesn't rain quite so much here on the coast but inland, well, you'll experience it soon enough.'

Ren nudged Ilkar hard. 'Tell him the truth. All of it.'

Hirad's face hardened. Denser clapped his hands. 'G.o.ds, I love listening to you two.'

'You could sell tickets to it,' muttered The Unknown.

Ilkar puffed out his cheeks. 'Fair enough, I was just taking a rise and am guilty as charged, although it does rain a lot.'

'So what is the truth?' growled Hirad.

'That all the buildings are coated with flame-r.e.t.a.r.dant resin. We just use nature's own defences out here. Smells a bit if you're not used to it but it's good against lightning and fire.'

'Make a simple statement, I don't know . . .' Hirad let his voice trail off but Denser could see his heart wasn't in his anger. As it never was with Ilkar. It was one of the joys of travelling with The Raven. Those two could be pure theatre at times.

'So what's the plan?' asked Hirad.

'Simple, really,' said Ilkar. 'We're landing in about an hour, I think. We'll find a place to stay tonight and while you lot take a look at the sights, Ren and I'll hire a boat to take us upriver tomorrow. '

'And you're quite sure your village is the place to start looking for these mages of yours?' The Unknown was frowning.

'It's as good a place as any. We used to send a lot of adepts to Julatsa at one time and there'll be people there who are sympathetic and, more important, who will know where to look for more. Just hanging up a sign here won't get us far. But of course I have personal reasons for wanting to go there, I'm sure you'll understand. You don't have to come if you don't want to.'

'The Raven never work apart,' said Hirad.

Ilkar smiled. 'You won't regret it,' he said. 'It's beautiful.'

'And flame-resistant,' said The Unknown.

The east gates of Xetesk opened and the ma.s.sed ranks of refugees stood, their movement an expanding ripple across a human sea. Ten thousand and more with hope renewed that this time food and not soldiers would be disgorged.

From where Avesh stood on a patch of churned mud with everything he loved and everything he owned, he couldn't see the base of the gates. Couldn't see what or who came out, but he could rely on the mood of the crowd to give him the information he needed.

He pulled his wife and young son to him, their bony frames pressed against his, and stepped away from their pile of filthy blankets and scant possessions. How they hadn't died of cold, starvation or disease through the winter, having lost their farm to the storms, he would never know. But they had been spared and that was all he cared about.

The family all knew the drill. If it was food they would split up and run because if you were slow you got nothing. But if you were lucky, you got three shares. At first Avesh had been against that but he'd been forced to harden his heart as the death toll from illness and hunger rose daily. Rather them than his family.

And now, with spring coming to ease the chill and the first colours of new life pushing through the thawed earth, it looked like their persistence might actually pay off. Though they were all haggard and thin they were still alive. Today, Avesh was daring to believe they would live to rebuild their lives.

The noise built around them. Those with the strength made ready to run or swallow their disappointment. But something was different. Avesh caught it in the air just before he heard the shouts. A cry of surprise. Another of indignant outrage.

He watched for a few moments, feeling the unease whiplash through the throng. His first instinct had been to move forward but he held his ground, his heart querulous. He bit his lip and stood on tiptoe.

'Atyo, hop up on my shoulders. Let's look see.' The scrawny lad scrambled up. 'What can you see?'

'Soldiers,' he said. 'And riders. Lots.'

'Coming along the path?'

They'd seen this a dozen times but the mood of the crowd suggested something new.

'No, all over. Everyone's moving.'

And now Avesh could see it. The move forward had faltered, was already reversing. The noise of countless scared people was growing to a crescendo shot through with the harsh shouts of soldiers carrying on the breeze.

The boy climbed down and looked up into his father's eyes.

'What will we do?'

'Give me a moment, son,' said Avesh.

The crowd was rippling again. No, not a ripple, a wave heading outwards away from the gates.

'G.o.ds falling,' he breathed. He gripped Atyo and Ellin, turning them both to him. 'They're trying to clear the camp, the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. If we get separated, we'll meet back at the crossing of the River Dord to the north. Can you both find that?'

'Why would we be separated?' asked Ellin.

He didn't have to answer her. The wave hit them instead. He grabbed them each by a hand.

'Come on, we've got to go.'

The press was thickening but Ellin hesitated.

'Our things.'

'Leave them. Come on.'

Avesh could feel the surge through the ground now. A drumming like a thousand hoof beats. But this stampede was human. He swung them both around, stumbling against somebody who rushed past. He caught the briefest glimpse of an ashen face before it was lost in the throng.

They began to run. There was only one direction. To try and cross the path of the crowd would be suicide. Avesh held them firm, taking care to move at the same pace as his boy, but when the youngster tripped anyway, Avesh scooped him into one arm and ran on, his wife right beside him.

He could see nothing but flailing limbs, hair streaming and the backs of countless desperate people driven to run though they barely had the strength. It was a chase that would exhaust itself quickly, and already the weakest were falling, their legs powerless to keep them upright, their spirits unable to take them a single pace further. And those that fell were left. There was nothing anyone could do, not even family, as the packed horde fled on, dragging the crying survivors with it.

Avesh ignored the ache in his wasted left arm muscles where he clutched Atyo and dared a look down at his wife. Ellin's face was determined as she ploughed on, transmitting her fear through the painfully tight grip on his hand.

Through the screams, the shouts and the thrumming of feet across the ground, Avesh could hear horses and the rhythmic heavy thud of men running in unison, closing fast. The crowd gathered sudden extra impetus. Worse, it split. Avesh pulled left, Ellin went right. Their hands slipped agonisingly apart. Avesh tried to change direction and reached out his hand. Their fingers brushed but that was all and he caught only a glimpse of her gaunt face and despairing hand as the crowd swept her away from him.

Riders galloped through the gap, voices hoa.r.s.e, shouting orders to move.

'Ellin!' Avesh yelled. 'The Dord. Remember the Dord!'

'Mummy!' screamed Atyo, wriggling around, straining to see her.

Avesh saw her just once more, bobbing like a bottle in a stormy sea, helpless, unable even to struggle as she vanished from sight.

'Mummy!'

'It's all right, Atyo,' said Avesh, head down and running again, breath heaving painfully into his lungs. 'We'll find her. We'll see her soon.'

Right in front of him, a man tripped and fell. Reacting fast, Avesh hurdled the sprawling figure. His left foot came down on slimy wet mud and slipped sideways. Hopelessly unbalanced, he pitched right, holding hard on to his son as he went down.

The sound of horses was very close again. He rolled over, people scrambling past him cursing, shouts chasing them, that rhythmic thump of feet mingling with hoof beats reverberating through the ground.

Avesh clambered to his feet, presenting his back to the streaming mob threatening to knock him back down again. His muddied and terrified son was screaming, out of control, clutching handfuls of his clothing.

'We'll be all right,' said Avesh. 'We'll-'

He was standing in a s.p.a.ce that suddenly contained too much horseflesh to dodge. He turned left and right, his vision filled with black and brown flanks, greaved legs and riding boots. He felt a heavy impact as a stallion reared near him, its rider yelling at him to move, but he could do nothing more than fall flat on his back.

He lay still, hooves coming down close to his head and body on their way past, driving the wailing refugees further and further from Xetesk. The relative silence flooded him. He gasped a breath.

'We'll be safe now, boy, safe now,' he said, stroking Atyo's head. His hand came away wet. Blood. He froze.

'Atyo?' The boy was limp in his arms. 'Atyo?'

He scrabbled frantically into a sitting position and held the boy in his lap. Atyo's head lolled to one side, blood matting his face. And, just below the hairline, his skull was stove in, caught by a horse's hoof. He had never stood a chance.

'No.' The word was barely audible. 'No.'

Avesh rose to his feet, holding his dead child to his chest. After all they'd been through, huddling in the intense cold, saving sc.r.a.ps of food from the ground and going days without. The boy had survived it all, only to be murdered by those he'd begged for succour.

The tears began rolling down his face, smearing the dirt as they came. Avesh fought back the nausea that swept through him, the blackening of his vision and the clouding of his mind.