Elfsorrow

Yet beneath the agony she felt the purity of the force, the completeness of the One. She caught a glimpse of the world with the One as its keeper. It was the harmony. It was Yniss on earth. It was wonderful. Outside, The Raven waited nervously. The Al-Arynaar had closed the temple door, and even when Erie

Hirad stood with The Unknown as time dragged on, still feeling the bitter taste of fresh grief in his mind.

'All this death and we achieved none of the things we left Herendeneth to do.'

'Wouldn't have been anywhere else though, would you?' said The Unknown.

'No, I suppose not.' Hirad scuffed at the ground with his feet. 'You know, I'm starting to believe in destiny. For The Raven, that is.'

'How do you figure that?'

Hirad shrugged. 'Just look at the facts. Everything major that's happened has involved us right at its core. It's like we were supposed to be there when Denser found Dawnthief. Supposed to be there when the rip was torn in the sky. And the rebirth of the One magic? Could have happened to any two mages, potentially, but it didn't. It happened to Erie

'Up to a point,' said The Unknown grimly. 'So what's next? Not a quiet retirement.'

'No,' said Hirad. 'Aside from finishing what Ilkar started by coming here, there's the little matter of a college war going on. Reckon you're up for that? See, if it goes the wrong way before we're ready, there are things won't get done.'

'Ah. Well, I reckon I could stir myself,' said The Unknown. 'For a good cause or two.'

The door of the temple opened and Erie

'I take it this was a success.'

Rebraal nodded. 'Yniss is rebound. He will bless us once again. Can you not feel it? The harmony is growing again. It embraces us all.'

'And how do you feel, Erie

'Tiring,' said Erie

Auum moved in front of Hirad and bowed his head, speaking a few words.

'He is thanking you for all you have done. He salutes you and grieves for your loss. Among the TaiGethen and Al-Arynaar, you will always be welcome.'

'It's what we do,' said Hirad.

'I'm sorry we mistrusted you,' said Rebraal. 'I hope you will let us travel back to Balaia with you, to carry on the fight.'

'I was counting on it.'

Rebraal smiled.

'I'd give it all up to have him standing here,' said Hirad.

'Would it help if I told you that in death he saved all of this majesty for every elf ever born from now on?'

It was a different take to his own but a good one. Ilkar, father of the elves.

Hirad smiled. He rather liked the sound of that. There are those without whom writing a novel would not be the pleasure it (mostly) is. Simon Spanton, who is a great friend and an inspirational editor; Nicola Sinclair, who juggles a keen eye for publicity with Olympic class arguing; Sherif Mehmet, a production guru with a neat line in veiled threats; and Robert Kirby, an excellent agent who manages to keep smiling despite the football team he supports… Thanks also to Peter Robinson, John Cross and Dave Mutton, because you keep on criticising; to my nephew David Harrison for being this year's number one fan; to Ariel for ongoing website magic; to Caffe Nero on Edgware Road for providing the best coffee and most comfortable leather chairs in London; and to everyone who took the time to email me about The Raven. Turn the page for a sneak preview of Shadowheart LEGENDS OF THE RAVEN:

BOOK TWO

Chapter 1

The detachment of cavalry from the mage college city of Lystern wheeled and attacked again, charging hard at the defenders holding their positions outside Xetesk's east gates. Targeting the weakened left flank, they sped in, hooves churning mud, swords and spear tips glinting in the bright, warm afternoon sunlight. Thirty horses, sweat foaming under saddles, galloping under the steady control of crack Lysternan riders and led by Commander Izack.

'Come on, this time,' whispered Dila'heth to herself, watching the attack from a rise above the blood-drenched battlefield.

Down in the centre of the line, the bulk of the surviving Al-Arynaar and TaiGethen elves were engaged in a cat-and-mouse game, trying to lure the stubborn Xeteskians out of alignment. So far, their efforts had been fruitless. Protectors at the core of the defensive line, so disciplined, so deadly, remained unmoved.

A fusillade of spells erupted from the ranks of Xeteskian mages behind their warriors. FlameOrb, HotRain, DeathHail, homing in on the cavalry as they drove in. Lysternan shields glared and flashed, revealing the rich green depths of the manalattice that held them firm, deflecting the deep blue of the enemy castings.

Dila'heth could feel the pressure of the shields through the spectrum and respected their strength and the ability of the mages who rode while they cast.

Immediately, response came from the elven and Lysternan mages in the field behind the combat line. Yellow and green Orbs, burnished with flares of deep red and orange, soared over the warriors. Two dozen of them, wide as cartwheels, splashed down into the Xeteskian support. Shields creaked, blue light like sheet lightning seared the sky; but they held. It had been this way for twenty days. Probing, watching, feinting and attacking. The battle had barely moved.

'Keep up the pressure!' shouted Dila'heth, her words taken by ru

Izack's men struck, Dila'heth wincing at the impact. Horses snorted, men leant out left and right, swords and maces hammering down, their charge taking them deep into the defenders before they were halted. Even at a hundred yards and more, Dila's keen eyes could pick out individual suffering with grim clarity.

Leading his men, Izack, mouth open in a battle cry lost in the tumult, struck the helmet of an enemy, his blade crushing the metal. The foot soldier collapsed senseless and the hooves of the horse following trampled him into the mud. Further right, a lone Xeteskian pike skewered a horse's chest. The jolt threw the rider over his mount's head. The desperate, dying animal screamed, its hooves flailing. It fell, one shod hoof splintering the Xeteskian's ribcage, its body crushing its own rider. At the back of the charge, an enemy was knocked off balance by the press of horse flesh around him. He spun and staggered, his defence dropped and a spiked mace ripped off his face.

Swords flashed, horses reared, men roared. In the chaos, Dila watched Izack. The cavalry commander seemed to have so much more time than any of those around him. He pushed his horse through the throng, batting aside strikes to both him and his mount. She could see his mouth move as he tried to direct his riders to the point he sensed was weakest.

His horse kicked forwards, taking an enemy in the groin. Izack ignored the man's cries, fencing a strike away from his leg and cutting backhanded into his attacker's midriff. He was going to break through. The tide was with him and with those still in the saddle. Protectors were detaching from the centre of the line but they'd be too late. And waiting behind Izack, a hundred-strong reserve, made up of cavalry, Lysternan swordsmen and the Al-Arynaar. Enough to force the breach wide and open up the Xeteskian support mages to weapon attack. Dila's only concern now was the centre of the main fighting line. It absolutely had to hold.