3

      Corbel rode hard. He knew not just his survival but the survival of many depended on his making his destination. He was riding to a place he had never seen, following directions his father had made him repeat several times over until the legate was sure his son could reach the meeting point.

      ‘Ride for your life, boy,’ his father had said, his voice gruff from the emotion he was controlling. Corbel had never seen his father cry and it seemed Regor De Vis had had no intention of allowing him to glimpse the depth of his sorrow at farewelling his child. Both knew they would never see each other again. ‘This will save Gavriel’s life as much as your own,’ De Vis had added. In his father’s eyes Corbel had seen the glitter of hope and for that alone he would ride to the curious coastal location and find the man they called Sergius.

      ‘But how will I know him?’ he had questioned.

      ‘He will know you,’ the king had replied.

      ‘And we trust him?’

      His father had nodded. ‘Implicitly.’

      He had waited. Neither had added anything.

      ‘You know this is madness, don’t you?’ Corbel had replied, keeping his voice steady. He was not prone to outbursts. He had wished Gavriel had been present to do the ranting.

      ‘And now you must trust us,’ his father had added, so reasonably that whatever objection Corbel had wanted to make had remained trapped in his throat.

      ‘Magic?’

      Brennus had looked at him sadly. ‘I envy you, Corbel.’

      ‘Really.’ In his fury — fury that no one but Gavriel might have noted — Corbel had wanted to demand of Brennus whether the king truly envied him the memory of killing a newborn child but his father must have guessed his son’s thoughts and had glared at him. ‘Why don’t you use it to escape, your highness?’ Corbel had said instead.

      The king had sighed. ‘What a surprise for the bastard warlord that would be. Go, Corbel. Nothing matters more than your safety now. Lo’s speed.’

      ‘Father —’

      ‘Go, son. We are as clueless to your future as you. But we trust that you will be safe and remember your task. It is something worth committing your life for. One day it might restore Penraven.’

      Corbel had begun to speak but his father held up his hand. ‘Not another word, Corb. I have always been proud of you and Gavriel. Make me proud now. Do as your king and your father ask.’

      Forbidden further protest, Corbel De Vis had bowed. And then Brennus and Regor De Vis had embraced him.

      Now Corbel’s mind felt liquid, spreading in all directions with nothing to hold it together but his aching skull and the determination to fulfil what had been asked of him, the burden heavy in his heart, its reality terrifying him.

      He sped northwest, changing horses at Tomlyn, where a stablemaster was waiting for him, giving Corbel a small sack of food that Corbel ate in snatches without stopping. Once again he changed mounts, this time at Fairley, as instructed, in an identical experience.

      Leaving Fairley village behind, Corbel swiftly began to follow the coastline. He rode hard, knowing only that a stone marker would tell him he had arrived. His eyes searched the side of the track, constantly roving ahead for the clue. Daylight was fast dwindling. He wondered if he’d make it in time. Minutes later, in the distance he saw a man. Slowing the horse, he finally drew alongside the figure.

      ‘Welcome, Corbel. I am told you are burdened with a heavy responsibility.’

      Breathing hard, Corbel nodded, said nothing.

      ‘Ah, my eyesight is so poor that I see little but I see enough. Come, help me down the track.’

      ‘Track?’ Corbel repeated.

      The man chuckled. ‘You’ll see it when you dismount. It leads to my humble dwelling. It’s treacherous only for me; I imagine you’ll find the descent relatively easy on your strong, young limbs.’

      Corbel swung off the horse and saw steps cunningly cut into the cliff face. He could see the hut and hoped they could get there before the wind became any more fierce. The sun was setting in a fierce blaze of pink on the horizon but it was not going to be a still night.

      As though he heard his thoughts, Sergius yelled above the roar of the wind, ‘Storm tonight. Bodes well for what we have to do. I think we’ll have some awakening.’

      ‘Is that a good thing?’

      ‘Perfect. This sort of magic works best when the elements are stirring, roaring their power.’

      Corbel wondered if anyone was telling Gavriel about this. Mostly he wondered if he’d ever see his brother again.

      ‘What about my horse?’

      The man pointed. ‘It’s going to be too fierce to leave it outside but your father took the precaution of leaving feed and water in that tiny barn — can you see it?’ Corbel nodded. ‘Good, because I can’t. It’s a blur at that distance. Anyway, tie your horse up in there. Arrangements have been made to collect it.’

      ‘Give me a few moments,’ Corbel said, the wind whistling now around his ears. He guided the horse to the barn and secured her inside with a bag of fresh feed and a pail of sweet water. He hoped she would be collected soon. He wished he could rub her down but there was plenty of fresh hay that she would no doubt enjoy rolling around in anyway. And this was not the time to be fretting over a horse. He secured the door and trotted back to his host. ‘It’s done,’ he said.

      ‘Let’s go,’ Sergius replied. ‘How pleasant to have someone to help me make that wretched trek back.’

      They moved in silence, concentrating on the descent.

      ‘When?’ he asked as they finally arrived at the door of the hut.

      The