The Raven Collection

By his calculations, Stylia

Admittedly, there were a number of good reasons for any delay. A horse throwing a shoe, lack of organisation at the western end, a longer than expected rest break, his guards deciding to press on through the pass rather than report, Stylia

Tessaya stopped walking and sat on a flat rock looking south over Understone. The setting sun washed a beautiful pale red light over the town, firing the light cloud cover with anger and shooting its beams to the earth. From his right, the softened sound of hammer and saw drifted on the light breeze. Below and to his left, the door to one of the prison barracks opened and a line of bowed and defeated easterners trudged away for evening exercise, flanked by axe-carrying guards.

Listening to the breeze, he could pick out the sound of voices from all corners of the town, talking, ordering, arguing. In three days the stockade, which already controlled the main east-west trail, would encircle Understone. Then he could begin work on the pass defences, so far neglected.

The small town had sprawled like oil over water in the wake of the Wesmen’s occupation. Gazing across the shallow dip in which Understone’s original buildings lay, Tessaya was greeted by the grey canvas that covered every inch of the gentle southward slope and the plateau to which it led. Standards from a dozen tribes and a hundred minor noble families stood proud above the massed semicircles of tents, each standing around a firepit.

For himself, he had chosen lodging in the i

He scowled and stood up, straightening his jacket. Stylia

‘I need a scout,’ he demanded of the duty watch Captain.

‘My Lord.’ The brown-bearded Captain hollered a name, the sound booming from the nearby buildings. A man came ru

Tessaya nodded and turned to the athletically built Wesman who wore pale brown leggings, a shirt and lightweight boots and carried a small single-bladed axe in his belt. He was young and clean-cut, a product of a lesser noble village, no doubt.

‘Can you run?’ asked Tessaya.

‘Yes, my Lord.’ Kessarin nodded vigorously, fear of Tessaya overcome by his eagerness to please.

‘Then go into the pass. Take a hooded lantern but use it sparingly. I need you to find the fools I sent in this afternoon. Do not make contact with anyone. Report directly back to me on your return.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘Go now.’ Tessaya looked towards the black maw of the pass blending into the deepening shadows. He was loath to stand against Stylia

Stylia

The Communion bridged the divide to Xetesk in an instant, a little smile playing around Stylia

Stylia

Stylia

The Communion arrowed in, jerking the slumbering mage to a sudden and intensely uncomfortable wakefulness. A token resistance was broken almost immediately.

‘My apologies for the lateness of the hour. My Lord.’ Stylia

‘St-Stylia

‘Yes, Dystran, Stylia

‘Where are you?’ Dystran was fully awake now.

Stylia

‘No need to WardLock your doors,’ said Stylia

‘What do you want?’ asked the new Lord of the Mount.

‘Apart from the obvious? A little assistance to ensure our inevitable meeting is more amicable than it is likely to be at present.’

‘You’re coming back?’

‘Xetesk is my home,’ Stylia

There was a pause. Stylia

‘What is it you want?’ he asked again.

‘Muscle,’ said Stylia

‘You’re talking about Protectors?’ Dystran’s thought was disbelieving.

‘Naturally,’ replied Stylia

‘But you are not the Lord of the Mount,’ Dystran’s mind-voice sneered. ‘I am.’

Stylia

‘But you will grant me the Protector army nonetheless,’ said Stylia

‘And if I don’t grant them, perhaps you will not return. Then the situation will have sorted itself out.’

‘Fool.’ Stylia

‘When there has been time,’ said Dystran.

‘Yes. The pressures are great, are they not?’

Dystran relaxed, Stylia

‘Hmm.’ Stylia