‘And what do we do now?’ asked Sirendor.
‘Prepare,’ said Auum.
Someone took Sol’s arm and helped him move towards the edifice. There was comfort there amongst the thousands of souls that had survived the Garonin attack. The Raven gathered in front of him, Ilkar and Hirad helping him to a seated position with his back to the wall, directly under the finger of rock.
‘Who built this?’ he asked, though the answer was obvious.
‘They did,’ said Auum. ‘The souls. To focus themselves. To give them a place to congregate and a place where you would find them.’
Outside, the Garonin mustered. More and more were appearing. They stood still for a few moments as if orienting themselves before moving forward. Darrick was standing and looking out.
‘This is not a good situation,’ he said. ‘We may have a wall at our backs but we have an overwhelming number in front. How long will this all take?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sol, brightness again growing within and without him, his soul reaching out. ‘But we have to hold them off until we can bring our people to us.’
‘And what then?’ Sirendor spread his arms. ‘How can we stop them following us? How can we stop them doing exactly what they did on Balaia and following the dead to their rest and then back to the land of the living, wherever that is?’
‘Have faith,’ said Sol.
‘Faith isn’t going to be enough,’ said Sirendor.
Sol climbed to his feet and grabbed Sirendor’s shoulders before The Raven man began to fade.
‘No, Sirendor, it is everything. Believe. You must believe. Anything less and we are lost. We will find a way to prevail.’
There were tears on Sirendor’s face. ‘I cannot see it. A thousand against a handful.’
‘Trust me,’ said Sol. ‘Trust the Ravensoul. Just a little longer.’
Hirad put his arm around Sirendor’s shoulders, nodding to Sol to sit back down.
‘Stand by me,’ said the barbarian. ‘They can’t touch me and I will not let them touch you. More will come.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because we always find a way,’ said Hirad.
The ivory sky darkened. Garonin voices blared out across Ulandeneth.
‘Do not delay us. Open the door, Sol of Balaia. Your people are dying. Their suffering is on your hands. Let us into your new home. End the pain of your people.’
Sol sat down hard against the wall of the edifice, thrust there by unseen hands. The clamour of the mass of souls was renewed inside him. Fear swept them. The sky became black again. Thraun howled. He saw The Raven and the TaiGethen putting their hands to their ears, shutting out the sounds of a gale of suffering voices.
‘Now, Sol of Balaia. Now. End the agony. Bring us what we desire.’
The sky flickered. Flashes of light ran across it from horizon to horizon. Images appeared. Images to take the heart from any of them. Images to crush hope. Erienne was screaming. Ilkar was on his knees, hugging himself, his chin on his chest, body shaking. Hirad stood tall, thrusting out his chest and bawling some unintelligible cry at the waiting Garonin. Sirendor and Darrick were transfixed, gazing up at the sky and the horrors it displayed. Auum and the TaiGethen appeared locked in prayer.
Thraun howled again and Sol let the yearning in his body take him.
The east walls of the college blew apart for a stretch of over three hundred yards. Garonin soldiers poured in. Guards and mages who had been standing on the walls were lost in the cataclysmic failure of binding. At the ruins of the tower complex dome the binding work continued though the effort had become desperate.
Suarav stood with Brynar. The young mage’s shield, in concert with four others, held firm against the withering fire from the six vydospheres circling above. But they could no longer defend the entire tower complex. Bindings were weakening on the remaining towers while feverish attempts to shore up the walls of the catacombs were ongoing.
The noise was extraordinary. White tears flooding over the shields set up a resonating whine while the clattering of the vydospheres’ heavy weapons added a juddering roar that could be felt through the feet.
‘We’re surrounded,’ shouted Suarav. ‘Chandyr, we need swords to the east. Brynar, shields ahead and left.’
How many hundreds of Garonin advanced on them was impossible to guess. They did not close for hand-to-hand fighting, not yet at any rate. They were content to bombard the shields that Xetesk’s tiring mages held against them. Not one offensive spell was being cast. There were no longer the numbers to do it. Suarav bit his lip.
‘We can’t hold out here,’ yelled Brynar. ‘We’re just waiting for the end. I can feel others weakening.’
‘Just a little while longer. Keep them away from the catacombs. Let Densyr complete if he can.’
Below them, the Circle Seven were placing defence around the Heart. Not enough mages remained to bury it out of the reach of the Garonin so their only chance was to booby-trap it to keep them away for as long as they could. Densyr had one last card up his sleeve, and if he meant to play it, it would be when he could inflict maximum damage on the enemy.
Somewhere, The Raven would be trying to find a way to rescue them into an uncertain future. No one knew how long they would take, or indeed if they would succeed at all. Until then, Suarav and his people hung on grimly, just trying not to die.
The moment Brynar shifted his shield across to block the fire from the advancing soldiers, the focus of the vydospheres changed. Streams of pure energy slammed into the now-unprotected towers. Bindings flashed and flickered. Stone shifted. Dark blue light rippled up and down the length of Densyr’s tower. The Mount Tower. Suarav gulped in a breath.
‘We have to get more focus on the Mount Tower. We have to keep it standing.’
‘We aren’t enough,’ said Brynar. ‘The bindings will have to hold.’
‘They will not.’
‘Then move the catacomb binders to shore it up. We can’t help you here.’
As if to illustrate his point, Brynar gasped and dropped to his knees. The Garonin deluge was growing. More soldiers poured onto the courtyard, moved within range and fired their weapons. To their right a shield collapsed. White tears rampaged through the defenceless soldiers.
‘We’re just targets!’ roared Chandyr into Suarav’s face. ‘We have to move now.’
From above, a flat crack echoed out over the college. Suarav saw dust rip out from the Mount Tower about a third of the way up. Blue light flared briefly. The entire tower shifted violently to the right. More Garonin fire pounded the walls. The result was inevitable. Catastrophic.
The Mount Tower, the symbol of Xetesk, fell.
Grinding and shearing, stone, metal and wood failed and tumbled. The remaining upper floors collapsed inwards, the weight of material battering through the tower, bringing the whole sliding and crumbling. Tens of thousands of tons of ancient building sent clouds of billowing dust flooding out as it thundered down on the complex and the defenders below.
Suarav just stood and stared. There was nothing else to do. Around him, people were scattering but with nowhere to go. Some ran into the teeth of the Garonin advance. Others fled into the tower complex, directly beneath the falling stone of the Mount Tower.
He saw Brynar turn to him and open his mouth to speak, but a piece of debris struck his left leg and he fell. Chandyr cannoned into him, pushing him into the lee of one of the only piece of wall still standing at their backs. Suarav snapped out of his trance. Chandyr rolled off Suarav. Pieces of the tower dashed through the complex ruins, shattered on the courtyard stone. All around them it fell.
Suarav could see Brynar writhing on the ground with stone falling all around him. He was screaming and clutching at the stump of his left leg, gone below the knee.
‘Chandyr, we’ve got to—’
A shattered timber slammed end first into Chandyr’s head. His skull was crushed. His body jerked and was flung to the side. Suarav threw up his arms. Gore and splinters sprayed across his face. He breathed in gasping breaths. Every shield was down. Every binding spell not yet complete was gone. The defenders had been blasted away from their positions by the stone of their own college.
And beyond the clouds of dust that choked his vision and clogged his lungs, dragging wracking coughs from his throat and chest, he could hear the Garonin march on the catacombs. Suarav fought the urge to panic. He scrambled back to his feet and stumbled over to Brynar. The mage was unmoving but breathing. His ruined leg bled freely.
‘Hold on, Brynar. Hold on.’
Suarav ignored the pain in his body and the protestations of his weakening muscles. He picked the young man up. He turned and moved as fast as he could through the rubble and into the complex, hoping to find the entrance to the catacombs still open. Garonin weapons were firing again. Suarav coughed up more dust and hurried away, seeking brief salvation.
Chapter 44
‘Where are we going?’ asked Diera.
Densyr stopped and turned to Sol’s family. The three of them, and the wolves that flanked them, were scared witless by the astounding noise from above and the echoing organisation of Xetesk’s last defence all around them. The continued barrage had brought down various ceilings throughout the catacombs and the place where he had been keeping Diera and the children was no longer safe. Every corridor was full of smoke and dust to a greater or lesser degree. Wounded guards and mages left blood trails on the ground. The whole maze was awash with fear.
‘I have to get you to a place where we can get you out if we have to.’
‘Wait, wait,’ said Diera, hugging her children close to her. ‘This is going back towards the main entrance, isn’t it? Back towards the Garonin.’
‘The only entrance,’ said Densyr. ‘I’m trying to give you the best chance if we’re compromised here. Do you trust me?’
Diera hesitated before inclining her head. ‘Do I have any choice?’
‘Nowhere is safe in Xetesk,’ said Densyr, feeling a weight of responsibility greater than any he had experienced in his time as Lord of the Mount. ‘But I will not put you at unnecessary risk. I’ve made mistakes. You won’t be another of them.’
Densyr looked into Diera’s eyes. And then into Jonas’s. He found the strength there that he needed. He turned and led them back into the centre of the catacombs. Another huge jolt shook the whole underground structure. Densyr lost his footing and stumbled into the wall at his right hand. Young Hirad had fallen and grazed his knees. Diera scooped him into her arms, letting him sob into her shoulder.
‘Where are we now?’ asked Jonas.
‘Map room just ahead and right. Old Soul Tank chamber this door on your left. The Heart is below us now and my tower a little way ahead. Let’s keep moving. Everyone all right?’
‘Still alive, anyway,’ said Diera.
Densyr moved on. There was a worrying groaning of stone above. Some part of the complex struggling under the Garonin assault. One of the wolves was whining. They were approaching a hub. Figures were rushing past the corridor and he could hear anxious shouts echoing down to them. A second, lesser jolt rattled through the catacombs. It was followed by a hideous cracking sound.
‘Oh dear Gods,’ breathed Densyr. ‘Run. Quickly. Follow me.’
Densyr grabbed Diera’s free hand and pulled her with him. Mages ran past them and away back towards the dimensional research chambers.
‘It’s coming down! Run, my Lord Densyr, run!’
‘What’s coming down?’ demanded Diera above the groaning, cracking sounds ricocheting down from above. Plaster fell from the corridor. ‘Denser!’
Densyr said nothing, dragging them into the hub room. To the right, the roots of his tower plunged deep into the ground. Passages ran down either side of the foundations. Gaping cracks had been torn in the stonework and the wall was vibrating. He led them left and away towards Dystran’s chambers.
‘Denser!’
‘It’s my tower,’ Densyr called over his shoulder. ‘Don’t look back.’
The corridor down which they now hurried was shaking violently. Debris and plaster fell. There were small cracks in the floor at his feet. Hirad was screaming. Diera tried to comfort him though her voice was trembling. Jonas kept up a running commentary, encouraging them, keeping them running. So much his father’s son.
A thunderous crash hurled them all from their feet. A torrent of stone and metal barrelled through the roof of the catacombs, sending dust rushing down all the passages away from the hub.
‘Down!’ yelled Densyr.
Diera covered Hirad’s head. Jonas was lying half on his mother. The dust howled past them, carrying with it shards of rock and wood. The wolves ran on, away from the avalanche at their heels. The sound of the falling structure, the noise of rock on rock, splintering timbers and the grind of twisting, tearing metal, boomed around their heads. On and on it went. Densyr felt debris cover his boots and the lower part of his legs.