'On a day when we should have been working to secure all our futures, one brood has been rendered extinct and others will be so depleted they cannot hope to survive.'
Hirad felt the ocean-deep grief as if it were his own.
'In our pride we used to think it was other species so blind that they would fight each other over nothing though their mutual extinction was the only sure result. And yet we are worse. Our failure could extinguish so many lives because we have chosen to touch them without offering them the choice to refuse us.
'Tell me you are close to Xetesk.'
'Less than a day, Great Kaan. But there's one hell of a fight coming to get in there. The demons aren't exactly going to usher us in, are they?'
Sha-Kaan paused. Below, the centre of the fight exploded in appalling flame, engulfing fifty, a hundred even. 'When is the fight?'
'It's already begun. Julatsans and the Al-Arynaar are under attack as they approach Xetesk. We're joining them and we'll all enter the city early tomorrow morning.'
T will bring the Kaan to you.'
'No,' said Hirad. 'We shouldn't declare our hand and announce all our allies. Save your strength, save as many as you can and be ready when I call.'
Sha-Kaan rumbled. 'You could fail at the gates.'
'We won't fail,' said Hirad. 'We're-'
'Don't,' said Sha-Kaan. 'Don't say it.' Embryonic humour flared, gone in a wing beat. 'Time to go, Hirad Coldheart. I must pick through the ashes and rebuild what I can.'
'Good luck.'
'Skies keep you, my friend.'
Hirad opened his eyes, pain already a fading pulse in his head. Above him, a ring of anxious faces. Thraun's cracked a smile.
'Sha-Kaan?' he said and held out a hand.
Hirad grasped it and pulled himself up.
'Yes,' he nodded. 'More trouble, I'm afraid. Look, we need to get a move on when we get into Xetesk. I'll tell you on the way but it seems to me that every day we delay, fewer dragons will be alive to shield us.'
The cacophony surrounding the wagon train was so complete Rebraal could barely make himself heard. The demon attacks were incessant now and since the disastrous loss of two ColdRoom mage teams the previous night, the pressure on the Al-Arynaar warriors was acute. The humans were panicked now, losing their heads and then their souls when their discipline failed. Five of the eight wagons had elven drivers now and so few humans actually remained that Rebraal contemplated placing them all in wagons. Through his irritation at their failings, though, he couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer doggedness that they showed. And every time their numbers fell, they still found time to joke. The Al-Arynaar couldn't understand laughter in such dire circumstance but Rebraal had seen it all before with The Raven.
Right now, though, he was more concerned with the horses. All of them were tired and the accumulated stress was evident in trembling limbs and eyes that spoke of their confusion. His elves still spoke soothing words to them but eventually that would not be enough.
Above him, the demons were massing again. He didn't have much time. Rebraal ran down the line of surviving wagons. His limp was becoming more pronounced. The cloth tight around his thigh could do only so much. The claws of the cursyrd had raked deep during the last attack and of course he hadn't been able to rest
and so die blood still flowed. The wound felt frozen, his muscle damaged, but he could not afford to stop. Not until Auum and The Raven reached them.
But where were they?
The wagon train was passing to the south-east of Triverne Lake now. Before long, they could expect concerted attack from the Xetesk cursyrd, adding to the legions that had dogged them from Julatsa.
Two days of constant noise, repeated attacks and movement broken only to change horses was taking quick toll. They were all tired: the mages in the wagons with paper-dun concentration; the warriors running beside them with muscles burning and fatigued; attack mages with barely time to cast the simplest spell in the mana holes before the cursyrd were upon them.
In every face he passed, human or elven, he saw exhaustion growing. In humans, he saw belief wavering. He shouted encouragement, clenched his fists and demanded strength. He invoked Yniss and Tual. He muttered under his breath for Shorth to be ready to accept them all.
Over five hundred had left Julatsa, man and elf. They had lost over a hundred and the survivors needed fresh hope. The Raven would provide it. The Raven never joined the losing side.
He reached the head of the column. Elves drove the leading pair of wagons now. Tired horses flagged but he was loath to stop. He glanced up for the thousandth time. The sky was darkening with cursyrd, their voices clamoured ever louder.
'Ready!' he called.
The word was passed down the line. Elves rode wagons, clustered by their sides, defended mages running close to mana holes. All felt their hearts quicken.
'Dila'heth!'
The lead elven mage answered him. She was out of sight on the other side of the wagon. He jogged round to her where she talked with Pheone. The Julatsan leader was still strong, hanging onto the threads of human courage.
'Gyal's tears, Rebraal, you should be resting.'
Rebraal grinned fiercely. 'You know I can't.'
'Where are they?' asked Dila. She like him was shouting to make herself heard above the din of the cursyrd above.
'Close,' he said. 'They have to be.' He caught Pheone's eye. 'They'll be here.'
She smiled. 'I'm sure.'
'Where's your position?' asked Dila.
'I'll be with the second pair of wagons. Keep the horses straight. Try that move outside the shell if you get the chance. Anything to disrupt them.'
She nodded. 'They are so many. And think of the hundreds we have already killed.'
'No, don't think that way. Think only that Xetesk will be in sight before dark and that we will be inside before noon tomorrow. They'll be expecting us.'
T hope so.'
'Yniss watches over us.'
'He needs to do more than that.'
'I hear you, Dila. Run strong.'
He turned to Pheone. 'Get on the wagon.'
'No,' she replied. T need to be seen.'
'You need to live,' said Rebraal. 'There are greater fights to come. Please. I don't want to have to put you on there myself.'
Pheone bit her lip but nodded. 'I guess you're right.'
Rebraal inclined his head and jogged away back towards the second pair of wagons. He could barely see the horses for the elven escort. The human drivers though, he could, and they were terrified, eyes up not ahead. He breasted through the flanking guards, shouting his confidence and hearing it reflected back. He leapt onto the kicking board of the left-hand cart.
'We go forwards, not upwards,' he said, his hand on the shoulder of the driver.
'Yeah, but death comes from upwards not forwards,' growled the middle-aged man, Brynn. He had a face latticed by the cuts of the strike-strain, a bandaged head and a belligerent belief in his right to survive. Rebraal liked him. He was Hirad, ten years hence.
'Let me watch the sky, Brynn. Just keep these animals in a straight line.'
'They know better than to deviate with me behind them,' said
Brynn, face softening by a degree. 'Ride with me this time, eh? See what it's like from up here.'
'I intend to,' said Rebraal.
And the sky fell in.
Strike-strain poured into the back of the line, reavers to the front. It was a tactic they had worked before, attempting to drive the train at different speeds front and back, creating a chaotic middle ground.
'Keep your form!' called Rebraal into the din, his words carried up and down the line. 'Hold your pace! Hold your pace!'
Like the locusts that plagued the southern dry plains of Calaius, the strike-strain flooded the rear wagons. For a few moments, Rebraal watched the clamouring cloud descend. Blades flickered in the sudden half-light. An IceWind howled a tear in the enemy and the wagons were obscured from view.
/> But Rebraal had problems of his own. A large number of reavers, well into three figures, was rushing at the front wagons from both flanks, from ahead and, inevitably, from above. Taunting and laughing, they dove into the ColdRoom shell whose effects clearly lessened by the day.
'Keep those horses forward. Blinkers tight!'
The lead wave swooped over the front wagons and drove on headlong.
'Yniss preserve us,' muttered Rebraal.
His sword in his right hand, his left squeezed Brynn's shoulder and they were engulfed.
'Brace!' he yelled.
The cursyrd struck the wagon, more of them than he could quickly count. He placed his body in front of Brynn, turning his back to the impact and feeling claws rake his armour and teeth graze the top of his head.
'Still here,' said Brynn.
In front of them, the horses bucked and Brynn struggled to control them, demanding calm. Al-Arynaar carved the air around them, beating back the reavers intent on ripping out their eyes and throats.
Rebraal straightened, sword whipping out in a wide arc. He felt it catch the wing of a cursyrd which squealed and twisted upwards, colour flaring a bright red. He took in the quick view. The roof of
the wagon was threatened. The cursyrd's charge had taken three elves from their precarious canvas perch to a fight in the dust and grass behind. Two remained. Rebraal glanced across Brynn.
'Gheneer, keep him safe.'
The Al-Arynaar nodded, not breaking from the fight. Rebraal jumped onto the canvas, felt for a strut and balanced instantly, the wagon bucking beneath him. The Al-Arynaar with him fought hard and fast. A sword sliced high into the chest of a cursyrd. A kick to the stomach saw it from the wagon. Another lost an arm to a downward slash and took off, wailing and cursing.
Rebraal took in three, two others flying to join one with its claws already rending canvas. The Al-Arynaar leader took a pace to the next strut and smashed his left foot into its head. The creature somersaulted backwards, wings flailing to break its fall and propel it back into the air. The other two flew on, back-beating their wings, wary of the elf barring their way. Rebraal stood over the tear, sword in two hands, waiting.
They came in left and right. Rebraal smiled and feinted left, ducking low. He jabbed upwards, his sword driving deep between the cursyrd's legs. It screeched, dark gore pouring from the wound. Rebraal twisted the blade and dragged it clear, surging upright and in the same moment beating his right foot into the midriff of the second creature. Off-balance, it couldn't drag its arms back quickly enough to stop the elf s blade puncturing its chest.
Keeping himself moving, Rebraal headed down the wagon towards the rear. The remaining two Al-Arynaar were heavily engaged, strike-strain adding to their problems. He pulled a reaver back by the neck, his sword grating against its spine on the way through its body. He threw the corpse aside. The elf in front of him nodded his thanks, backhanded his blade into the face of another enemy and turned for the next.
Reavers filled the air above them. Al-Arynaar were climbing back up the sides of the wagon. Rebraal looked into the body of the carriage, saw the upturned faces of the guards and the bowed heads of mages. So far, the shell remained protected and intact. But with the air full of cursyrd and The Raven nowhere to be seen, they would have to fight well to keep it that way.
Chapter 30
Dystran had felt it like they all had. The demons' extraordinary withdrawal to gather at the periphery of Xetesk the day before had allowed them not just to relieve the library of a mass of texts but to go among the people and reassure them of their intentions; bring in fresh food from the farms within the city; gain information about the demons and their ways; and most importantly, bask in the mana stream in the open air and sample the spectrum.
But they had been reluctant to move too far out. Over two years of imprisonment had taken their toll and each mage and soldier could see danger and death in every shadow and corner they passed.
The Lord of the Mount stood on the walls of his college above the main gates and looked out over the city. He could see demons in the sky way to the south where the spectrum was in complete turmoil. The Julatsans were coming.
'What do you think it means?' asked Prexys, one of the surviving members of the Circle Seven.
'Opportunity or desperation. Probably both.' Dystran smiled, luxuriating in the fresh air. 'But I still can't work out why they have left us so alone.'
'Perhaps they are under more pressure out there than they expected.'
T can't see it,' said Dystran. 'There are so many of them. But even those coming out of the tear are heading straight out there. Whatever the size of force that's heading this way, they certainly don't want it arriving.'
Prexys shook his head. 'Julatsa. What must have happened to drive them out?'
'Be a shame not to find out, wouldn't it?' said Dystran. He turned to Chandyr and Vuldaroq. 'Gentlemen, are we not honour-bound
to help our people under duress? Tell me, Chandyr, do you think they are heading this way?'
'There's no doubt about it but they are in a great deal of trouble. I've had mages in the sky over the college and they can see the dust cloud but it's almost covered by a cloud of demons. I don't recommend we leave here to help them but we can plan to smooth their progress through the city.'
'Wards, waymarks and mage defender trios, those we can spare,' said Dystran. 'But do not compromise the defence of the college, that would be foolhardy in the extreme.'
'I'll see to it.'
'Good. I want sight of your plans so be quick. We have limited time.' He turned to Vuldaroq. 'Meanwhile, I think you and I would be well used looking at a few more texts. There has to be more we can discover.'
T concur,' said Vuldaroq.
'Good. Then let's be about our business. And Chandyr?'
'My Lord Dystran.'
'Arrange a delegation to visit the Wesmen, would you? I'll prepare a message. I think it's time we invited Tessaya to the party.'
'Slow that wagon!' Rebraal straight-punched a cursyrd on his way to the back of the canvas, seeing one of the third wagon pair closing too fast, driver smothered in strike-strain. 'Al-Arynaar to the rear.'
He swore under his breath. Behind him, Brynn called a warning. Swinging round, he saw the right-hand lead wagon veer sharply away, chased hard by a pack of some twenty reavers. It was the resting wagon, it had to be. No mage could have retained a Cold-Room structure at that pace. And Pheone was inside it. A cloud of strike-strain swooped overhead and plunged onto the roof, claws jabbing into die already damaged covers. Still standing, three Al-Arynaar laid about them with blade and knife, trying for Auum's trademark killing blow, but they'd surely soon be overwhelmed.
'Guard the casting wagon!' he yelled, kicking out at a lone strike-strain, catching it in the gut. 'Dammit.' He tugged the sleeve of an elf. 'Hold this roof
Rebraal dropped down next to Brynn. 'Straight on. Don't flinch.'
Brynn's face ran with blood. To his left, Gheneer kept two reavers
at bay. Rebraal snatched a strike-strain from Brynn's back and crushed it under his foot.
'Don't be too long,' growled the human.
Rebraal jumped to the packed earth and sprinted away towards the stricken wagon. Around him, a storm of noise and chaos was breaking. The wagon-pair captains roared orders. Al-Arynaar warriors tore into their attackers and amongst the thud of weapons, he could pick out the screams of those whom the cursyrd overwhelmed.
Ignoring the fighting that closed in around him, Rebraal focused on the wagon. The reavers had caught it and were engaged on its roof, at its rear and were tearing at its sides. Above, a ForceCone launched from one of the mana holes, battered brief respite into the horde of strike-strain that threatened the driver and his guards before it dissipated quickly within the shell.
Closing on the wagon, Rebraal saw an Al-Arynaar blade sweep into the neck of a winged soul stealer. The creature's grip on the roof strut was lost and it tumbled to the earth, b
ouncing and rolling. Rebraal hurdled its bright blue dying body. He increased his speed and leapt at the wagon's tail board. Pain lanced into his back from his injured leg as he landed. He grabbed hold of the rocking carriage and drove his blade into the back of a cursyrd, hurling it backwards and out of the entrance to the wagon.
Inside the light-shot gloom, the fight raged. Strike-strain and reavers battled with Al-Arynaar and desperate human mages. At least one lay dead among the cursyrd bodies and blood gleamed wet on tattered canvas. Pheone was still standing, covered by Al-Arynaar.
'We have them,' came a voice. 'Go forward.'
Rebraal nodded and hauled himself up onto the roof. Three warriors fought there, beating back the reavers storming in from all sides and above. Rebraal couldn't stop to help them. Running from strut to strut, he struck out at any that came into his path with blade, foot and fist. He felt bone crack and wing tear. Colours flashed in front of his face; dark gore and elven blood mixed underfoot, dripping onto the combatants below.
Carving his blade through the spine of a tall, thin cursyrd, he made the front of the wagon and looked down to the bench and kicking plate below.
'Yniss protect us.'
A dead Al-Arynaar sprawled half-off the right seat. The driver was still alive, his screams muffled by the strike-strain covering his head. A reaver was poised above him and Rebraal was going to be too late to save him. In front, Al-Arynaar warriors tried desperately to control the panicked horses under constant bombardment from around them.
The reaver plunged its hands up to the wrists into the driver's exposed back, delivering appalling pain in the moment before its theft.
'No!' shouted Rebraal.
He thudded down beside the startled cursyrd and snatched a strike-strain from the air, jamming it onto the point of his sword. The reaver's eyes met his, hands still buried in its victim's shattered rib cage. Its colour, a smug deep brown, swam to a bright purple. It knew what was coming and that it could do nothing about it.
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