‘I can’t . . .’ she began. ‘I don’t . . . want . . . this.’
‘I know, love, I know. Lean into me, let it out.’
And she did. She tried to talk but all that came were mumbles of her anguish. Her cries came out hard, tearing from deep within her and rasping in her throat. Her body quaked in Sol’s arms and she thumped uselessly at his chest.
‘Don’t make me . . . don’t make me. Don’t leave me alone.’
‘My darling, you will never be alone. I will live in you and the boys for as long as you need me.’
‘But I cannot reach for you in the night. I cannot feel you close to me.’
‘I know, I know.’
Sol’s chest was heaving and she felt dampness on her shoulder and the fall of tears on the side of her face. She forced the collision of memories, future fears and current pain from her mind and fought to regain a little control.
‘How will I know you have done what you go to do?’
‘Because a door will open next to you and you will walk through it and into a new world. A new home where you and the boys can be safe forever.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘I cannot say, my love. But trust me that I will succeed. Believe in me, and it will make me stronger on my journey. And stay hidden down here, far from the Heart and far from the surface. The enemy will not touch you here. Let Densyr keep you safe. He is returned to himself just in time.’
Diera nodded and let Sol go again. She wiped at her tears with the backs of her hands. Sol cupped her face and kissed her tenderly.
‘It was always you who was the true hero,’ he said. ‘Wherever I was and whoever I fought, you always stood by me, gave me faith. I need you to do that one more time.’
‘I will,’ whispered Diera.
She leaned to her right and picked up the goblet. Her hand did not shake any more. She sat down beside him, switched the goblet to her left hand and put her right arm about his shoulders. He let out a great shuddering breath.
‘I will not fail you,’ he said.
‘You never do,’ she replied.
Diera brought the goblet towards his lips. His right hand came across and held it with her.
‘Goodbye, my love. My life was ever sweetened by your presence,’ said Sol.
‘Goodbye, Sol. Until our souls touch each other again.’
They brought the cup to his lips and after the slightest pause he drank, not stopping until the last of the mixture was gone. Diera took the goblet and laid it on the ground. She put a hand to his cheek and turned his face towards hers. Sol placed both his hands on her, cupping her neck and she did likewise. They held each other’s gaze and a lifetime flowed between them.
Sol’s eyes blinked slowly. One of his hands fell to his side. She turned him then, leaning his head against her chest so that she could stroke his cheek. Her other hand lay on his chest.
‘Rest now, my darling. Rest.’
Above her, the mist cleared and a warmth entered the room, caressing their bodies. Sol’s chest rose and fell. It did not rise again.
‘Oh Sol. My strength, my brave heart. I love you. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.’
Diera held her to him and rocked him gently until she felt tender hands about her.
Chapter 36
He felt no pain and no regret. There was no fanfare within to mark his passing. He had no idea what to expect but the memories of words spoken by returning souls. He could see nothing and he did not feel as if he was moving. No sensations touched him and the fact of his solitude did not scare him.
Here was the place between life and death. He knew his soul had left his body, that all he was now was a soul. Slowly, his new awareness and senses, if he could call them that, brought him knowledge of his surroundings. Luminescence, like light seen through closed eyelids. Sound. A rushing, scourging noise, distant and contained. The void, he assumed.
He moved towards the luminescence. It was the only thing in his new reality. Anywhere else he cast his senses, there was nothing at all. He needed to know more. The closer he came, the greater his understanding. Here was a doorway. That meant he was floating in the chamber in the catacombs. The doorway was open. Through it, he could distinctly sense a pathway. That meant his death had indeed completed the spell.
He reached out further. Energy encased the door. Strands of it, keeping it steady while the void beating around outside it fought to snap it shut. He could sense the void more definitely now. A seething ocean of random energies revealed as flecks of yellow-gold and deep bronze in a sea of pale grey.
It was the flecks that added light to the passageway. They shone through its walls. Walls that were not solid, and if he had still possessed a body it would have been like walking on taut canvas. He came to the doorway and reached out.
For the first time he felt fear but it was ephemeral. A sudden clash of light and sound had startled him and he had no reference point for safety. But his act of reaching had triggered something. The pathway fled off to a point he could not make out. The chaotic sounds of the void became muted. And he heard voices. More shockingly, he could see his own hand and he stared down at the shapes it made as he trailed it in front of what he assumed were his eyes, or the soul’s equivalent.
‘Yes, yes, we all did that. Making blurry motions with our shiny new limbs.’
Sol - he thought of himself as Sol again - turned in the doorway. Shapes were approaching. Like silhouettes formed of a grey light. Slowly, they resolved themselves as they walked towards him. But even if he didn’t recognise their shapes yet, he knew the voice.
‘Hirad?’
‘Yes. Me. Us. Ilkar, Sirendor, Thraun. And a few others who might come in handy although I don’t really know how fighting is done here.’
‘Where are we?’ asked Sol. ‘Why do you appear to be walking? I thought souls had no physical form.’
‘Interesting, isn’t it? I think we’re still technically on Balaia at the moment, by the way.’ Ilkar. ‘It happened the first time I died too. I think the mind can’t stop working the way it does when you’re alive. Not for a while, anyway. When I got to my rest, this body stuff all faded away and everything changed to bliss.’
‘Same here,’ said Sirendor.
‘What now?’ asked Sol.
‘You opened the door and you must be the first through it. Then others can follow.’ Thraun.
‘And it leads to Ulandeneth?’
‘We’d better bloody hope so,’ said Hirad. ‘Or Diera is going to be seriously unimpressed with your sacrifice.’
‘That is where it leads, though the pathway is dangerous.’
Another new voice. Other figures were approaching but a little distant yet.
‘Then we should go,’ said Sol.
He moved inside the pathway. All at once he heard a sigh as of a thousand voices finding comfort together.
‘What was that?’ he asked.
‘You will see,’ said the new voice. One he recognised but could not place. ‘But we must go. The enemy will be aware of this corridor. ’
Sol shrugged. Or he thought he did.
‘No time like the present.’
‘Raven,’ said Hirad. ‘Raven, with me.’
‘Hold it!’ roared Suarav and Chandyr. ‘Hold it. You can do it.’
Tower Prexys had fallen. Tower Laryon had fallen and there was little they could do to shore up Tower Nyer now. Suarav was damned if any more would tumble. The five machines continued hovering above them. The new weapons continued to fire. The detonation clouds continued to build and burst. The machines continued to grow.
But now Xetesk was fighting back again. Beneath a cooperative Ilkar’s Defence casting, thirty mages kept the weapons away from the tower complex. Another six were in reserve and supported a second shield above the working team. Twenty-five guards stood on the perimeter. The machines had fired again and again, each time leaching more strength from the casters. Even so, precious time was being bought and it was hoped fervently that people were escaping into the wild. Garonin were advancing on all sides. Perhaps because they had caught all who had tried to run. Perhaps because they had failed to do so and had been called back for the main prize.
‘Clear!’ shouted the lead mage, an elderly man named Gythar. ‘And steady.’
‘Great work, people,’ said Chandyr. ‘Machine four is building. Be ready.’
‘Guards, look to your fronts. Enemies closing on foot,’ said Suarav. ‘Mage reserve, we need shields on the ground and facing out. Let’s keep the dome wall at our backs.’
Inside the shattered complex more mages worked on binding what was left of the circle of seven towers and the superstructure of the dome. Suarav did not think the enemy had seen them move in.
‘Come on and have a go,’ muttered Suarav. ‘I’m sick of using my sword as a pointer.’
Forty or fifty were advancing carefully from across the width of the courtyard. It was littered with bodies and rubble. Their weapons were trained on the small knot of defenders but they had yet to open fire. From behind Suarav, he heard confirmation of shields dropping into place in front of them.
‘What are they waiting for?’ asked Chandyr at his side.
Suarav shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Think we’ve scared them?’
‘Well, if it helps, I think we’ve worried them enough for them to want to wipe us out to the last man.’
‘Ever the voice of comfort, though I happen to agree.’
‘They fear the Cleansing Flame,’ said Gythar. ‘They’ve countered most offensive spells. Not that one.’
‘Then we should use it,’ said Chandyr.
‘No. They will sense the lessening of our shield cover.’
‘Gythar’s right,’ said Suarav. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world. It is they who are in a rush, it would seem.’
The enemy soldiers loped on, their big strides eating up the distance. At thirty yards, each slung his weapon back over his shoulder and drew what looked like a short sword though with an extremely thin blade. White light seemed to play up and down their edges.
‘Well, well, what have we here?’ muttered Chandyr.
‘They mean to take us on hand to hand. Inside the shield.’ Suarav raised his voice. ‘Not one of those bastards gets past our sword line. Protect the mages. Look to your flanks. They are playing in our world now.’
At twenty yards the Garonin broke into a run, taking Suarav by complete surprise. It was not just that this was the first time they had seen any Garonin do anything other than walk, they were fast too. Very fast.
‘Brace yourselves!’ called Suarav and he set his sword to ready, holding it out front and in both hands. ‘Blunt the charge.’
The Garonin loomed tall and powerful. The drum of their feet sent shivers through the ground and up through his body. He took his own orders and braced his feet as best he could. The Garonin soldiers struck.
Suarav ducked a flashing blade and buried his sword to the hilt in his opponent’s stomach. The momentum brought the Garonin clattering into Suarav and both men tumbled to the ground. Suarav’s blade was ripped from his grasp. Suarav shovelled the dying man from his legs. Right above him, a Garonin blade beat the defence of a young guardsman. It sliced straight through his neck, down through his ribcage and out of the side of his chest. The stink of cauterised flesh rose. The side of the guard’s body slid away and the rest of him collapsed.
‘Dear Gods falling.’
Suarav snatched up the fallen man’s weapon and swiped it as hard as he could into enemy legs. He felt it bite deep despite the flaring of the armour. He dragged it clear and hacked upwards as he came to his feet, his blade meeting chest armour and bouncing clear.
Suarav backed away a pace. The Garonin had torn the guard line to pieces. Chandyr blocked a weapon aside and struck high to slide his own blade into the eye slit of his enemy. Another guard near him lost his arm to an easy swipe of a Garonin blade.
‘They’re amongst the mages.’
Suarav saw some space and ran into it. He carved his sword through the back of enemy legs at the knee, feeling bone collapse. He kicked the Garonin in the calves and he fell backwards, arms flailing. A guardsman ran past him and leapt onto the back of another, ramming a dagger again and again into the side of his neck.
Suarav sensed danger and ducked. A blade buzzed over his head. He saw enough of it to know it was steel but edged in mana, pure and deadly sharp. Something Xetesk had been trying to perfect for generations. Suarav spun away. The Garonin followed him, stabbing straight forward. Suarav sidestepped, grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him off balance. The general brought his sword round high above his head and felt it connect with helmet and then bone.
Above him, the Defence spell flickered and steadied.
‘Gythar!’ he called.
The old mage was in the thick of the melee, defended by two guardsmen. One fell under a mana blade that stabbed clear through his body, spitting and smoking as it went.