One hundred and fifty men had journeyed into the Calaian rainforest, wreathed in mirror illusions of enormous complexity to obscure their progress from TaiGethen and ClawBound. And until they had reached the forward camp, it had worked. Now only two of those one hundred and fifty were alive to tell the tale and a further forty had perished in the defence of the estuary.
Success? He had failed. Xetesk could go hang. The Circle Seven would greet his return with broad smiles and grasping hands. He had no doubt Erys’s assessment of the importance of the documents he had retrieved was accurate.
No. It was Ben-Foran. Ben, who had trusted him so completely and believed in him utterly. And Ben who lay dead because right at the last, he, Yron, had believed they were safe and had failed to take into account how fast a panther could run.
Yron had never had a son, a family. He had never married. He was the classic soldier, too engrossed in his career to realise the swift passage of years. But in Ben he had seen a way to release the regret and frustration he felt. To take the boy and make him the man Yron knew he could be. To give himself something of which he could be truly proud.
But he had failed. And the boy who could have rivalled the Lysternan, Darrick, as Balaia’s most talented soldier . . . all that potential would remain tragically unfulfilled. The only thing that could possibly give meaning to his death was the stolen writings. Otherwise it would all have been a waste. And Yron hated waste.
The netting shifted to his right and he looked across. Erys had sat down next to him. He sat in silence, the only companion Yron would tolerate, the only one who could possibly understand. And he waited for Yron to speak, if he wished. After a time that was exactly what Yron wished.
‘It’s not over, Erys. Not by a long way.’
‘The guilt will pass,’ said Erys.
Yron shook his head. ‘That’s not what I meant and no, I don’t think it will. Not completely.’
‘Oh.’ Erys was silent for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about The Raven, Captain,’ he said, getting it at the second attempt. ‘We’ll be safe inside Xetesk before they’ve even set sail. Where’s their ship? Ysundeneth at best.’
‘How old are you, Erys?’
‘Twenty-five, sir.’
Yron chuckled. ‘Thought so. Still at the young-and-talking-bollocks-at-every-turn stage, then.’
‘Eh?’
‘Don’t look hurt, boy; we’ve all been through it.’ Yron turned to face the young mage. ‘Thing is, when The Raven got going you were only ten. I know you’ll have heard a few stories but, locked away in the college like you were, you missed the reality.’
‘So explain it to me then, Captain.’
Yron paused and looked at the mage to make sure he wasn’t being made fun of.
‘First thing you should have asked yourself is, why in God’s name are they here? And, more unbelievable, why did they show up at the Shorth Estuary fighting for the elves? I mean, you’re sitting there saying, “Oh look, it’s The Raven but we’ve escaped them”. You’ve got to think harder than that.’
‘I’ll concede it was a big coincidence, but the point remains that we got away, so it doesn’t matter.’
‘And that’s what I mean by missing the reality. It always matters what The Raven are doing. Everywhere they’ve gone and everything they’ve done in the last decade has changed things. Not always world-shaping but significant. Always significant. And they aren’t used to failing.’
‘Didn’t stop the Nightchild dying though, did they?’ Erys was still plainly sceptical.
‘Yes, but she died; she wasn’t killed by Dordovans. There’s a difference.’
Erys shrugged. ‘If you say so, Captain.’
‘You’re young, Erys. And you think old warriors like The Raven can’t hurt you. But you’re wrong. Ask the people who faced them yesterday. They are awesome. And they aren’t on our side. Mark my words, boy, it will worry the Circle Seven. When you report to Dystran, he will want to know what they were doing on Calaius. Because they sure as hell weren’t taking a holiday. You got an answer to that?’
Erys shook his head. ‘None of us have. But then none of us should lose sleep over it either. I’m not going to be barring my bedroom window.’
Yron sighed and pushed himself off the crates, feeling a growing sense of irritation. He’d thought more of Erys but he was just as blind as the rest.