As the din subsided, he could hear crying. He lifted his head, relief making him a little light-headed. Diera and Hirad clung to each other, tears streaking their grimed faces. Jonas was shaking muck from his back, legs and hair. Densyr stood and held out his hands. Behind them, the hub and corridors were gone, filled by tons of rubble.
‘Come on. The enemy will be down here next. We have to make one short stop and then get out of here.’
Diera got shakily to her feet and looked behind her, gasping in a breath. Hirad had stopped crying but wouldn’t be put down. Diera nodded and gestured Densyr to lead on. Jonas came to his shoulder.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.
‘Light a fuse, in a manner of speaking. One long enough to allow us to get out.’ Densyr dropped his voice as they took a right turn then another left. ‘Can you use a sword?’
‘My father taught me a few things.’
‘Good. We’ll find you one. Just in case.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ said Diera.
Densyr didn’t pause or look behind him. ‘Sorry, Diera, but you need to know what the collapse of my tower means. The outer defence has failed. We can assume no one has survived up top. The Garonin will be down here ripping the walls out to get to the Heart. We’re liable to run into some of them. Right turn, Jonas. Second door down on the left. Go straight in.
‘We have little choice but to arm ourselves. Just in case.’
‘Where are the wolves, Mama?’ asked Hirad.
‘They’ll find us again,’ said Diera. ‘Don’t you worry.’
She caught Densyr’s eye and he did nothing to hide the doubt he felt. He ushered Diera and Hirad intro Dystran’s chambers and closed the door on the disaster unfolding outside. Densyr cast his eyes around a dust-filled oasis of calm. A fire was in the grate. A servant was pouring tea and Vuldaroq was seated in front of Dystran, a hand on his wrist.
‘How is he?’ asked Densyr.
‘Fading,’ said Vuldaroq. The old Dordovan Tower Master took in Sol’s family. His face cleared and he smiled. ‘It’s time, is it?’
‘Yes,’ said Densyr.
‘He can’t speak but he can hear you,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘But he is proud of you and the decision you’re taking. As am I. It is a fitting end.’
Densyr knelt by Dystran. ‘We’ve had our battles, my Lord Dystran. But I like to think we’ve carried ourselves with respect. Most of the time, anyway. The Garonin are crawling all over this place. You know what to do. Don’t leave it too long. Don’t build too much. You will be remembered as a hero of Xetesk for this even more than the demon wars. May your soul find peace.’
The slightest of smiles crossed Dystran’s face. Densyr rose.
‘Come with us, Vuldaroq.’
Vuldaroq shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Densyr. I’ll stay with him. We both need the rest.’
The two men shook hands. Pain flitted through Densyr’s head. Dystran had begun his work.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Diera.
Densyr smiled. ‘The end of magic, Lady Unknown. Only way to make this world not worth further plundering. Come on, we’ve fresh air to breathe.’
The yearning was overwhelming. Sol knew there were tears falling down his cheeks. He knew he should feel the anxiety that the rest of his friends were experiencing as they awaited the inevitable attack. But he felt a joy that he could not confine. The hopes of every soul around filled him. Their lights shone so bright within him.
Sol reached out to gather in the strength of The Raven. He could touch each one of them. The huge presence that was Hirad. The determination that shone from Erienne. Ilkar’s stoicism through his frustration. Sirendor’s will buoyed by Hirad’s refusal to let him fade. Darrick’s calm purpose. Thraun’s animal power. He would have wished for more of them to be with him, but they were enough.
The weight of the body of souls was his foundation. The Raven were his keystone. Sol opened his soul to the void. Warmth washed through him. He had never paused to wonder how he would find their new home. The soul searches and the soul finds, so Auum had said. And it was true. He could smell trees and flowers, sea and stone.
Yet there was nothing to see. There was no passageway down which to travel, no door that needed to be opened. There didn’t need to be. Sol was all these things and he was the bridge to a place he would never see. A place where hope would be kindled by the fact of his death. Yet a place open to plunder unless the final battle was won.
Sol opened his eyes to find his vision changed. He could still make out the forms of his friends standing in front of him but they were altered. They were shadows again though now with a pulsing white soul energy that coursed around them. The Garonin too were changed. No longer the tall imposing soldiers he knew. They too were silhouettes though no energy shone from them. They were dark mist. No soul, no cohesion.
Sol breathed in the wonder of it all, forgetting for the moment that the enemy were massed to attack. The ivory of the land had gone too, so had the blackness in the sky. It was an even grey to Sol and there was what looked like dust in the air. Clouds of it. Not dust, he realised with a gasp. They were the marks of souls. Thousands, maybe millions. Travelling towards life or to their rest. Painting patterns in the comforting grey, like flocks of birds in flight.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he breathed.
‘Unknown.’ Hirad’s voice. Close. Sol looked and thought he could make out the barbarian’s shadow. ‘Unknown, can you hear me?’
‘Yes, Hirad.’
‘You’re sounding like you drank something way too strong, old friend.’
‘You can’t see or sense what I can, Hirad. It’s wonderful.’
‘I’m sure it is. But the Garonin are getting restless; we can see our people dying in the sky, though that might be a trick. We can’t see how we can stop them taking us, then you, and ripping the heart out of wherever it is you’ve found . . . You have found something, haven’t you?’
‘Oh yes, you could say that. And I can’t hold the door closed any longer. My soul desires to feel a new dawn. All these souls need a berth just as yours does. Keep strong, Hirad. You’re the heart of The Raven, don’t forget that. Trust me. Help is coming.’
‘From where?’
‘From everywhere. That’s why it had to be me that died for this.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Just be ready. We’re going home, Hirad. Home.’
Sol closed his eyes again. Everything had become very clear. The only risk now was that the Garonin would overwhelm the defenders before he was ready. But if he trusted anyone, it was The Raven. Sol let his soul fly. The scents of life suffused him. A breath played over him, gentle caressing growing to a breeze. It was the passage of souls, flooding forward into their new lands, there to find their resting place, there to find the paths back to their loved ones. There to end the torment of those marooned on Balaia.
Yet not all the souls that flowed over Sol passed through. Again and again he felt the touch of familiarity amongst the mass. And each one responded to his call to arms. To turn from sanctuary and defend the resting place none had yet seen.
‘My brothers, the world is forever in your debt,’ said Sol.
‘We are one,’ they responded.
Sol, the bridge between worlds, the director of the souls of the dead and the seeker of the paths back to the living, opened his eyes once more and he smiled.
Rebraal smashed his sword into the unguarded flank of a Garonin soldier. The Al-Arynaar bludgeoned into the enemy force holding the valley mouth. TaiGethen attacked with renewed vigour.
‘Down in front,’ said Dila’heth.
Rebraal ducked, bringing his warriors with him. IceBlades whipped over their heads. From somewhere, she had found another casting. The slivers of ice as hard as diamond sliced into the helmets of the Garonin. Seventy and more held the valley mouth. Before them, the dead of the TaiGethen lay, the enemy’s corpses long since claimed back to whence they came.
It sickened Rebraal to look at the dead but they gave him more energy for the fight. He surged up and chased in after the IceBlades. Dila’heth’s spell had wreaked havoc in the Garonin line. They had been unable to adapt to the out-of-tune Julatsan casting. Blood poured from the split helms of dozens of soldiers. Those nearest the impact were down. Others were pierced but still standing, unsteady on their feet.
The Al-Arynaar ploughed on. White fire ripped through their ranks. Rebraal swayed outside a stream of tears, leapt high and brought his sword down onto the helmet of a Garonin soldier. The man’s head broke apart under the force of the blow. Rebraal landed, rolled and came upright, in the thick of them now. He stabbed left and right.
His warriors were with him, driving a wedge deep into the enemy line. A white-edged blade came at him. He parried and thrust out, knocking his man back. The Garonin came on again. A jaqrui tore into his neck. Blood spurted from the wound. Rebraal stepped up and finished him.
Elves poured down on the diminishing knot of the enemy. Behind, further up the valley, the vydosphere’s weapons were useless during the melee. And on the ground the TaiGethen and ClawBound defence kept the balance of the Garonin from joining the fight.
Rebraal punched straight out, feeling his fist crack against stomach armour. There was a flare of white. Rebraal ducked instinctively. Something had lashed out from the armour. He heard elves scream. Rebraal chopped down hard on the Garonin’s right arm, battering the weapon from his hand. He reversed his blade and slashed up into the helmet, denting it deeply and sending his opponent sprawling.
Rebraal glanced behind him. Dila’heth lay on the ground, blood pouring from a gash across her face. Mages were running to her aid. Rebraal turned back. Still the Garonin fought. A TaiGethen warrior fielded a blade on his short sword but a second came round and carved the top of his skull clean off. His Tai brothers spun, leapt and kicked, feet driving into chest and gut. The two Garonin went down. Rebraal turned from the kill.
‘Break their line,’ called a voice from behind him. ‘You’re close. You’re so close.’
Rebraal faced a new enemy. The soldier raised his weapon to fire. Rebraal turned sideways and grabbed at it, feeling the heat along its length as it discharged. He forced the weapon down. White tears rattled into the dirt. Rebraal bounced on the balls of his feet. He jabbed his left elbow into the soldier’s faceplate and his blade through the eye slit. The man fell soundlessly.
Al-Arynaar surged around him. A ClawBound panther from the rear defence leapt over elf and enemy. She flattened a Garonin soldier, her jaws closing on his neck as he struck the ground. Rebraal followed up, hacking through the thigh of the last man in front of him as he struggled to find his blade, unable to fire for fear of hitting his own.
Rebraal was clear. He tore down the path to the abandoned village. From ahead he could hear screaming and shouting and the detonation of weapons. Spells lit up the sky in desultory fashion, impacting both the ground and the vydospheres hovering over the bay.
He rounded the last bend, ran through the village and slithered to a stop, his heart thrashing in his chest.
‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Dear Yniss, preserve your people.’
The sea was aflame. He watched a Garonin heavy weapon fire from the carriage of a vydosphere. The ship beneath it disintegrated in a ball of flame. Timbers and planking were reduced to ashes in moments. Those aboard were incinerated in the blink of an eye.
Rebraal could not see beyond the fire and smoke to the open sea and the remainder of the fleet. He could not see the Calaian Sun and could only pray that Jevin had escaped to deep water and away to preserve the bound statue of Yniss. But he could see the staging point on the beach. Or what was left of it.
Smoke trailed over blackened sand. Remnants of marker flags blew across the shore. Three thousand he had left there. All gone, their souls cast into the void. Rebraal fell to his knees. The only thing left now was to pray.
Chapter 45
Densyr took them at a dead run on a circuitous route back towards the catacomb entrance. All around them the sounds of fighting echoed through the corridors, replacing the earlier bombardment. It was hard to hear. His guards and mages defended the Heart while he ran for his life, hoping they could delay the Garonin long enough for Dystran to complete his final task.
Diera was struggling under the weight of young Hirad. The lad wouldn’t touch the floor to run or walk now. Densyr brought them to the junction of two corridors and stopped before making a right turn.
‘Do you want me to take him?’ he asked.
‘You need your hands free to cast,’ said Diera, blowing hard. ‘Hirad darling, please, will you run if Jonas runs with you?’
‘I can’t, Mama. I’m frightened. Why aren’t the wolves here?’
‘They must be ahead somewhere, checking the way is clear for us. It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.’