‘Your domain? I’ve heard from several reliable sources that it is no one’s domain but a transit to everywhere. A place you have infiltrated and where you can be beaten.’
Sol considered he might have shown too much of his hand.
‘The risk of such an eventuality is small. But we do not deal in small, we deal in nil. And so your journey ends here, Sol. As it will for all your people in this city, your other major population centres and for those you think are escaping beyond your western mountain range.’
Sol’s face must have betrayed him. One of the Garonin cocked his head.
‘Did you think we were not aware of those running west? Elves mostly. We concede that your people are brave and resourceful. We concede that we underestimated you and have been forced to move our vydospheres into the air, an inefficient use of vydos that we cannot afford but one that conserves our equipment.’
‘So why are you talking to me? If you intend to wipe us out, why bother to tell me all about it? Seems a waste of time.’
‘Not for us. Respect is a ritual.’
‘But all rituals are finite, aren’t they?’
Sol tapped the blade of the shovel on the ground, once, twice, three times.
‘It is time,’ said the concerted voices of the Garonin.
‘Yes.’ Sol ceased tapping the shovel. ‘Time for you to meet The Raven.’
Chapter 28
Sol was fast. Even at fifty-one, he was the better of most men half his age. The shovel blade whipped up and forward, Sol darting in a step simultaneously. The cutting edge struck under the chin of the centremost Garonin. Sol felt it bite into flesh. Blood poured down the shovel’s muddy face.
The Garonin reacted quickly. Weapons snapped up to ready. They spaced themselves for clear shots at Sol, who dived into the midst of them, bowling the stricken Garonin over. He pulled the shovel clear of his victim and rolled onto his back with the blade covering his face.
A Garonin soldier readied to fire. He jerked violently. Blood flew from his mouth and he slumped forward onto his knees revealing Sirendor behind him, bloodied cement trowel in hand. He did not pause. The crowbar in his other hand swung across the back of an enemy skull. The soldier’s head rocked forward but he did not drop, turning instead to backhand Sirendor across the face with his weapon. Sirendor tumbled back into the barrels, scattering them.
At the same time, Hirad leapt up from his hiding place and planted his pickaxe straight through the midriff of his nearest enemy, driving the man backwards from his feet. His weapon fired. Hirad screamed in agony.
‘Keep down.’
It was Ilkar. Winter’s Touch flew from his open palms. A howling, super-cooled blast of air that struck the Garonin square on. Two turned their backs, taking the force of the freeze on their armour on which the runes flared white. Two were caught in the helmet, burning cold drilling into their eyes, freezing them blind in moments. Weapons dropped from hands to clutch at faces and claw inside eye slits.
A weapon sounded close by Sol’s head. The half-built wall disintegrated into a shower of stone shard and cement dust.
Sol scrambled to his feet, thrashing the shovel blade in front of him, clattering it into the legs of one of the two Garonin still facing him. The enemy fell. Sol moved to finish him. A blow caught him on the side of the head, sending him spinning. He rolled into a pile of sand.
Sol spat grit from his mouth. He looked up into the darkening sky. The cloud framed the helmet of a Garonin soldier and his cruel weapon. Sol held his gaze. The weapon was raised. A black shape flew from left to right. Howls split the dawn. The Garonin’s fire flashed past Sol’s shoulder, kicking up sand.
Sol sat up. The ClawBound had arrived. The panther was ripping the throat from one enemy, the elf had enveloped another. Wolves streamed in. A solitary Garonin weapon traced teardrops through the air. One of the animals fell, soundlessly. The other three feasted in revenge.
From behind him Sol heard the thump of metal on leather. Again and again. He climbed painfully to his feet. Back, arms, legs and now the side of his head. Everything was bruised. He put a hand to the hinge of his jaw. It came away wet. Sirendor straightened up from behind the tumble of barrels. His nose was bent across his face and blood covered his lips and neck. His crowbar too was covered in blood, hair and gore.
‘Never take a fallen man with a crowbar as beaten,’ he said.
‘Hirad,’ said Sol, starting to run across the roof.
He jumped the bodies of the fallen Garonin, those that had not already faded back to whence they came, and dropped to his knees by the barbarian in his merchant’s body. That body was broken. White tears had blasted through his right shoulder and all the way down his body to the hip. Clothing had been burned away and the flesh was smoking and cauterised. Hirad still clung on to the pickaxe handle, his face buried in the Garonin armour.
Sol rocked back onto his haunches. ‘Damn it,’ he breathed.
Sirendor placed a hand on his shoulder and crouched by him. ‘Don’t despair, not just yet. He’s still with us. Just.’
‘What does it matter? He will never survive a journey to the west like this. His soul will be lost. We can’t stop it.’
Sol’s mind filled with visions of Hirad’s outstretched grasping hands disappearing into the murk of the void, his mouth open in an eternal scream.
‘Not west. College.’
Sol looked up into the eyes of the ClawBound elf. Blood dripped from the ends of the sharpened nails on his long fingers. His black and white halved painted face was impassive and his voice, as with them all, was hoarse and unused to speech.
‘What do you mean?’ Sol searched the roof for Ilkar. ‘Sirendor, find our mage, would you? Assuming he’s alive behind that pile of broken stone, I need him to do whatever he can for poor Hirad.’
‘Thraun. Speak.’
The ClawBound elf pointed to where the shapechanger was kneeling by his downed wolf. Sol nodded and dragged himself away from Hirad. The barbarian’s soul could barely be breathing and Sol feared to move him lest he do more harm than good. Sirendor had made his way over to the shattered half wall and was kneeling behind it, already talking.
Sol made his aching way to Thraun.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
Thraun nodded. ‘They brought me back, you know? My soul had no direction when the Garonin ripped our resting place apart. They called for me. They needed my help. They knew something was wrong. And here they are, dying one by one. Three remain here. Four are lost in the city somewhere.’
‘We’ll save the rest. But tell me. Why does our ClawBound friend say we no longer need to go to the Wesmen? I’m presuming you know what we intend to do.’
‘I have spoken to Auum about it. The mage, Brynar. He is sure Septern knows the ritual of opening but is reluctant to perform it. Auum feels that he can persuade him.’
Sol felt as if a door to hope had just been edged open. ‘And I thought he was taking young Hirad into Xetesk purely to keep him safe. My mind is clearly not sharp. Thank you, my friend. Get ready to go.’
He straightened up and looked east. The black cloud swirling around the Garonin machine was growing deeper and spreading across the city. Dark blue light flashed within it. Ominous signals. So far, Xetesk appeared powerless to stop the drain on its Heart. But Sol could feel the pressure building. Densyr had already proved himself prone to desperate decisions and he would not allow this situation to continue.
The enemy soldiers were beginning to fan out along the rooftops of eastern Xetesk. They were readying for something. Sol had to assume it was the final assault.
‘Sirendor, have you—’
‘Yes, he has,’ said Ilkar. ‘Didn’t anyone hear me calling?’
‘Sorry,’ sad Sol.
‘Clinging on by my bloody, literally bloody, fingernails for ages.’
‘And still alive,’ said Sol. ‘Which is more than we’ll be able to say for Hirad unless you can do something fast.’
‘I know, I know.’ Ilkar knelt by the prone Raven warrior and studied his wounds briefly. He shook his head. ‘This is way beyond me, Unknown. He needs powerful focused magic. Only one place to get that.’
‘Then it’s fortunate that all our answers are within,’ said Sol. ‘The only question that remains is, how in all the hells do I get him to the college gates without killing him.’
A shattering, rippling detonation ripped the momentary calm apart. The foundations of Xetesk shuddered. Sol turned east to see flames and dust in the sky on an arc that stretched almost from south to north gates. The east gatehouse had gone. Buildings lining the walls were falling. Fists of stone ground their way into the sky. And up above them the machine wobbled and the detonation cloud above it flashed a dangerous white.
Moments later, another line of wards exploded and the next concentric ring of buildings was demolished under the force of Orbs, walls of blue fire and the Hammers deep in the earth. The rumble did not die away. More quickly than the second ring, the third triggered.
Massive mana energy burst into the sky, far more than Septern would have planned. Garonin soldiers were consumed in the roar of flame and the collapse of buildings. The machine rose higher into the air, the cloud moving up with it. there was huge energy within it. Unstable. The drone intensified and the flat tone of horns sounded over and over.
‘This is not controlled,’ said Ilkar.
‘Yep. And heading our way. Oh, Densyr, what have you done?’
‘Help me,’ gasped Septern.
‘What the hell have you done?’ shouted Densyr. Once again, the balcony doors were open and this time they showed the crumbling of Xetesk. ‘The outer wards are collapsing. The stream is heading this way.’
‘Polarity. Reversed,’ managed Septern. ‘No control. Please.’
Densyr tore his eyes from the ruination of the city.
‘Inside out, I said.’ He sat down next to Septern and put a hand over the great mage’s clawed fingers where they grasped at the arm of his chair. ‘Must I do everything myself? I . . . Oh dear Gods drowning.’
Densyr had tuned into the mana spectrum, and saw the disaster rolling towards them with the speed of a tidal wave being forced up a narrowing channel. Flares in the grid described wards triggering with ridiculous power. Every line on the complex lattice was throbbing with barely controlled mana energy. The loose ends of the unpicked grid flailed in the chaotic maelstrom of unsuppressed mana, sending bursts of fire into the sky.
Densyr could see the shape of the Garonin machine and its cloud, depicted by the dense, dark roiling blue that seemed to hang over the entire spectrum. The blue deepened with every detonation, and the spinning of the cloud intensified. They were causing this, he knew, but couldn’t see how. All he could see was a chain reaction with an inevitable conclusion.
‘We have to break the cycle,’ said Densyr.
‘I have not the strength,’ said Septern. ‘The flow of mana is too great.’
‘Then let me help you. Tell me what to do.’
Densyr had lent his strength to Septern and the mage’s voice steadied but remained full of panic.
‘Have to block the feedback. Break the linkage and place your mind in front of the Heart. Deflect the pulses away.’
‘You’re asking me to render myself helpless in front of this assault.’
‘Not helpless,’ gasped Septern. ‘Hero.’
Into Densyr’s eyes sprang unforeseen tears. He closed them and entered Septern’s failing construct.
Sol, with Hirad slipping ever nearer towards death in his arms, ran headlong at the next intersection. His hip protested, his back was bleeding again and his arms screamed for relief. But behind them the rattle of explosion and demolition grew louder, the space between each set of wards firing grew shorter and the surge and shake beneath their feet grew more violent.
Already, the dust clogged their lungs and threatened their vision ahead. Loose roof tiles slipped and crashed underfoot. Balustrades wobbled. Every landing point was a shuddering accident waiting to happen.
‘Hang on, Hirad,’ said Sol. ‘That soul of yours has never given up on anything. Don’t you dare start now.’
Sirendor hit the edge of the building and leapt into space, circling his arms and coming down for a slithered landing on the sloping tiles across the alleyway. He turned as soon as he’d stopped and stood a little to the left of Thraun.
‘Six feet maximum,’ he called. ‘We’re ready.’
‘Sorry for the jolt, Hirad. Over soon.’
Sol ran harder and faster, the dead weight of Hirad a terrible drain on balance and strength. He leaned his body forward, caught the very edge of the building and pushed off with everything he had. He tried to work his body a little more upright as he flew but time was so short. He was falling fast. Too fast.
Sol sought forward with his left leg and prayed. His foot snagged the edge of the building’s balustrade. Sirendor snaked out an arm and gripped his collar. Thraun’s arms took the weight of Hirad. Sol blew out his cheeks, steadied and stepped off the balustrade.