Rebraal drew his sword. In the same instant Sheth'erei cast with devastating effect. Standing to give herself a clear view of the group by the temple doors, she pushed her hands outwards, palms up. The ForceCone spread away, invisible, a battering ram of mana crashing into the front rank of shield-bearers who, completely unprepared, were hurled backwards into their comrades. The Cone pushed on, and while some scrambled clear of its influence, others were driven back, helpless, tossed head over heels. The result was inevitable. One of them fell into the temple doors.
The flash seared into Rebraal's eyes and he half turned away. The detonation shook the ground under his feet and the branches of the great banyans overhead. The temple doors exploded and a beam of fire scoured outwards like the breath of a great dragon, deluging everything in its path with super-heated flame. It reached halfway down the apron and the wall of air following it knocked the surviving Al-Arynaar from their feet.
Rebraal was bowled over but stopped himself quickly and drove back onto his feet, his bow snapped and useless. Nearby, Skiriin was up and had drawn his own slender blade. Sheth'erei was still down but moving, and from the other surviving platform Rourke and Dereneer were running to join them.
'Let's finish this,' said Rebraal.
He broke into a sprint, the three other swordsmen hard on his heels, forcing himself not to stop when he caught sight of the apron. The ward had wreaked appalling damage. Fires licked at stone where they had set undergrowth alight, bodies and parts of bodies, scorched and burning, lay scattered and twisted, and where a stranger had survived, he begged for death.
Of the group by the door, two were conscious and coming at them. One fired a crossbow, the bolt whipping by Rebraal to bury itself in Dereneer's stomach. The elf sprawled to the ground, sword skittering away. Rebraal leaped a fire and slashed his blade into the crossbowman's arm. The stranger dropped his weapon and staggered back and had no defence against the next strike, which tore across his throat.
Rebraal turned to see Rourke and Skiriin kill the other but behind them, away towards the path, more figures moved. Many more.
'Oh dear Yniss, save us,' he said. 'Sheth'erei, behind you!'
But the groggy mage couldn't react in time. Half turning in her crouched position she took a sword point through the neck, her scream turning to a gurgle before it and she died.
'No!' Rebraal ran at the enemy, sword raised in one hand, his other seeking a jaqrui. It howled across the closing space, bouncing harmlessly off a metal shoulder guard. A second followed it, this one whispering its danger, connecting with the sword hand of the same man, slicing through his thumb.
But still they came from the forest path. Ten, twenty and maybe more. Rebraal, Skiriin and Rourke took the fight to them, the elves' ferocity keeping them back from the apron and tight to the trees where they couldn't spread out. Rourke dragged his blade through the stomach of one man but the next was quick, jabbing into the elf's chest, and blood welled from the wound. Skiriin backed up, defending furiously, blade licking out at great speed, slashing and nicking. He downed one man with a rip across the neck but it couldn't go on for ever. There were too many of them and a blade split his skull.
Rebraal pressed an attack and prayed to Yniss for forgiveness and to Shorth for vengeance. He opened up the defence of his opponent and raised his sword to strike…
But his strike never came. He felt a violent impact in his left shoulder like someone had hit him in the back with a hammer. The pain was excruciating and he pitched forward, the dreadful orange glare of the fires greying to black.
Chapter 7
Baron Blackthorne was holding the latest report on the state of his lands handed to him by a trusted aide. He'd ushered the young man to a seat opposite him while he cast his eye down the summary sheet. It was a mild spring evening outside, though in the cool drawing room at Blackthorne Castle a fire roared in the grate between the fifty-one-year-old baron and his aide.
'Have a glass of wine, Luke,' he said, indicating the decanter of young Blackthorne red on the table in front of him. 'It's ageing well. We'll get a good price for it in a couple of years.'
'Thank you, my Lord,' said Luke.
He reached forward and grabbed the decanter, topping up Blackthorne's glass before filling his own. Blackthorne watched Luke sit back down on the hard armchair and a smile crossed his lips. The transformation in Luke had been remarkable. Blackthorne had encountered him first in the midst of the Wesmen wars as a scared sixteen-year-old who had lost all his family. He'd been struck then with the youth's pragmatism and straight talking and had made good on a promise to develop him. Luke's farming days were behind him but his experience on the land and his remarkable head for figures and organisation had made him absolutely indispensable.
Blackthorne was used to making people nervous. He was aware of his stature and the stern air lent him by his black hair, beard and hard angular face, and he exploited his advantages. Luke, though, had no fears and was one of the few who would challenge him. Blackthorne respected and admired him for it.
He took a sip of wine and looked down the page. 'Am I going to like this?' he asked.
'Yes, Baron,' said Luke. 'Very much. Mostly.'
'Quick precis then,' he said. 'I'll read the detail later.'
Luke ordered his analytical mind before speaking. Blackthorne relaxed into his chair to listen, a finger idly scratching at his beard, which contained an irritating amount of grey these days. But then it had been a hard winter, even in Blackthorne.
'Grain supplies are holding up well and will see us through to first harvest at current population levels. We're still monitoring two bakeries for possible black market sell-on but the others are clear. The scurvy outbreak has been contained. The mages are confident of no further spread and our shipment of oranges began to offload in the bay yesterday.
'We've taken in two hundred more refugees, all families with children, and have now closed the town to more. Out in the fields, the planting is almost complete and spring crops should be ready for harvest in ten days or so. That'll help vegetable supplies. By your order, mounted militia are patrolling the ripening fields, but since the first theft we've had no trouble and the refugee areas are being closely watched.
'Livestock isn't so good, though it's not awful. The dairy herds are fine but we saw a marked depletion in breeding stock during the last two seasons, as you know. New calves, piglets and lambs are all down by up to seventy per cent. You'll see I've made a recommendation in the report that we sell on all excess at the premium it'll command and use the money to buy whatever surplus breeding stock we can find and start aggressively rebuilding our herds. If we play it right, we can establish a very strong market position when this thing blows over.'
'But eat bread and vegetable stew in the meantime, eh?' Blackthorne grimaced.
'Not entirely, my Lord. We've had some success with the rabbits of late.' Luke smiled.
'Ah yes,' said Blackthorne. 'Those.'
It had seemed a grand idea at the time. Capture a few rabbits and breed them. Quick and easy meat, so they thought. Minimal effort and the children of the town had been excited at the prospect of helping. But they had proved susceptible to disease, and they dug. My, how they dug, forcing the fencing to be hammered ever deeper. Blackhorne had been about to abandon the whole project.
'What's different?'
'Well, the mages have isolated the most common disease and devised a treatment for their drinking water that keeps them healthy. And they've also placed a border ward around the fence to a depth of twenty feet. Apparently, it's a low drain spell and is harmless. Just undiggable.'
'Good. Excellent.' Blackthorne smiled. Where would they be without mages?
'The figures are all inside. Shall I wait while you read them?'
'No, no. Thank you, Luke, that's excellent. I'll come to you with any questions.' Luke made to rise. 'Take your time. Finish your wine.'
'Thank you, my Lord.'
'And think on this, as
I am. Now the colleges are at war, will the conflict spread here? And if it does, how many refugees will be pushed ahead of it? And when you've made that guess, tell me how you think our defences should be aligned and how our stores would be best protected.'
'That possibility hadn't occurred to me,' said Luke. 'We seem so far away.'
'My job to think ahead, yours to tell me how we deal with it. Take your time.'
Luke stared into his wine. Denser walked with his head bowed despite the beauty of the morning. Time was short and The Unknown didn't really appreciate what he'd asked him to do: try and get Erienne to see reason beyond her grief. There was seldom an instant when he wasn't pained by memories of their daughter, but he had chosen not to torture himself with the type of guilt with which Erienne had become so familiar. He didn't want her to stop grieving; he just wanted her to understand that Lyanna's death had been beyond their control. But today wasn't quite like every other day. Today he had to persuade her to leave Herendeneth.
He knew where he'd find her; it was where she spent most of her time. Either tending the grave or lying by it, perhaps singing Lyanna a song or crying into the grass. Sometimes, mercifully, she slipped into sleep.
This morning, Erienne was watering the flowers as Denser approached from slightly behind and to her left. She had a bucket and a cup and was gently pouring water on to the vibrant blooms and into the earth around them, occasionally reaching in to pull up a weed or pick out a dead leaf. Finishing her task, she filled the cup again and poured the contents over her head and face, the water splashing onto her light-weave clothes and running in rivulets down her face. Three times she refilled the cup, then shook her head to send a fine spray of water into the air. She pushed her hands over her face and through her hair.
Gods falling, but she was beautiful. The water had soaked her shirt; the material clinging to the curve of her breasts and the wet hair hanging down her back were bewitching. Denser sighed. For now, he consigned such thoughts to his dreams. He knew Erienne felt desire too but it was up to her to come to him; she knew he would be waiting.
As always, she heard him approach and half turned, the corners of her mouth turned up just slightly.
'I'm sorry I closed the door last night,' she said.
Denser smiled and shook his head. It hadn't been the first time he'd slept elsewhere. 'Don't worry, love.'
'I missed your breathing.'
'Did you?' Denser sat beside her, surprised at her willingness to talk. So often, this was the hardest thing for her. Seeing the grave brought everything back so clearly.
'Everyone has to have something real,' she said, pushing a strand of hair away from her mouth. 'Something that's there the next time you want it.'
'And I'll always be there.'
'But I know why you're here now. Right now.'
'I assumed you would. You know he's right, don't you?' asked Denser, looking for the flash of anger in her eyes. It wasn't there. At least, not yet.
'But no one asked me, did they? You all just assumed I'd go along. That I'd leave her here alone.' She reached out a hand to pat the ground and the tears were there so suddenly. 'How can you ask that of me? She's my daughter.'
Denser put out an arm but Erienne shied away, wiping at her face with her fingers.
'She'll never be alone. She'll be safe until you return, I'll see to that.'
Erienne made a derisory sound in her throat. 'Going to have one of the Protectors look after this bed, are you? It'll be ruined in a day.'
Denser wasn't sure if she was joking or not. 'There are the Guild elves.'
'If I'm not here, those witches will meddle. Spoil what I've done.' There was the flash and it saddened Denser's heart.
'Erienne, they haven't even the strength to walk here. Nerane can do it. She has the right touch, don't you think?'
Erienne shrugged but said nothing, just stared down at the grave.
'Erienne?' She looked up at him. 'Please? We need you. The Raven isn't complete without you.'
'You'd leave me, would you? If I said no?'
'I'm Raven,' said Denser.
'You're my husband first, you bastard!' she snapped out. 'But The Unknown snaps his fingers and you go running. Fine.'
'When I asked for his help, he was there. For both of us,' said Denser quietly. 'And he left his family to do it. Balaia needs what we can give it.'
'I've lost everything,' said Erienne as if engaged in another conversation.
'Not quite. There's me, there's The Raven and there's Balaia. You'll never lose me but we have to fight for our country.'
Erienne looked hard at him then, trying to discern any insincerity. 'You really think The Raven can help, don't you?'
'Don't you?' replied Denser, and shrugged.
'We don't always win, do we?' said Erienne, her voice threatening to break again.
'No we don't. But we're there nonetheless.'
'And you will go whether I do or not?'
'Oh, love, it's not a choice I want to make. But we've our lives together for ever and I want us to have a country to live in that's worthy of you.'
'Denser, you're so honourable sometimes,' she chided gently, a smile brief as a blink on her lips. 'But you're asking me to leave her and I don't know that I can do that.'
'You'll be among your most trusted friends,' said Denser, and this time she didn't shy away from his arm but allowed him to draw her close. Denser felt a thrill at her beautiful wet hair smell so close to him. 'Here, you'll be alone. With us, you'll never be so.'
'I'll be a burden. Hardly the Raven mage you all remember. I haven't got concentration enough to heal a cut.'
'You'll be fine.' Denser felt he was edging the argument. 'And if you're not with me, I'll fear for you here.'
Erienne tensed and pulled away. 'Another lever to get me off the island and away from my daughter. Convenient indeed.'
Denser cursed silently. 'Don't be angry, please. I don't think The Unknown had much choice. They'd have come here sooner or later anyway. At least now they'll do some good too.'
'Like forcing me from here, you mean.'
'Like freeing Protectors and helping dragons,' said Denser more sharply than he'd intended. He took a breath and softened his tone. 'Look, right now, no one but we and the Al-Drechar know what you carry. And one day I'm sure you'll be open to the hope it offers. But if Xetesk finds out you have the spirit of the One within you, they'll stop at nothing to exploit you. You know that.'
'You've got all the cards, haven't you?' Erienne stood up and brushed herself down, her stare cold. 'Bet you all think you're being very clever, don't you?'
'Erienne, this isn't about forcing you from Lyanna, surely you see that? It's about-'
'Fighting for bloody Balaia again. Yes, I know.' Denser all but flinched at the hardness in her tone. 'Well look where helping other people has got me. Three dead children. When's someone going to help me for a change? When's someone…'
She crumpled into a heap, her sobs shuddering her body, huge breaths heaving in and out. Denser pulled her onto his lap, stroking her hair and whispering close to her ear, biting hard on his own sorrow lest it overcome him too.
'We'll help you,' he said. 'But you have to let us in. And you have to start to let go. Please let me in, Erienne. Please.' 'How many of them were there?' Captain Yron wiped a hand across his face and looked over the scorched carnage in front of the temple. He had been very lucky, slipping round what was apparently a ForceCone and diving aside just as the doors exploded, killing thirty of his people in an instant. Even so, he'd had the hair scorched from his chin and half his head. It itched like hell.
'Nine, sir,' said his just-promoted second in command, a drawn and scared youth called Ben-Foran. The boy had smears of black over his face and a long burn down the left side of his chin and neck.
'Dear Gods, is that all? Are you sure there are no more?'
'As sure as we can be, sir. But they can just melt into the forest.' Ben-Foran's eyes were everywhere.
Yron couldn't blame him. In all they'd lost eighty-five men to wards, swords and poisoned arrows. Such ferocity he'd never known before. Yron was aware of the Al-Arynaar, of course, but they weren't supposed to be so fierce, unlike the elite TaiGethen. More a ceremonial guard. And if rumour and intelligence could be so wrong about the Al-Arynaar, what about their reportedly far more dangerous cousins?
'Well, let's make sure our perimeter defence is sound. As many as possible will sleep inside tonight,' he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the beautifully cool temple. 'We'll be all right.'
Ben-Foran looked past him. 'Are they nearly finished in there?'
Yron looked round at his two remaining mages, searching for more wards and traps. They'd been in there hours, and the sun had been unrelenting since the pre-dawn rains.
'Gods, I hope so, son,' he said. He clapped the boy on the shoulder and turned him round. 'Come on. Let's check the living and honour the dead, what's left of them.'
An insect bit into his arm. He slapped at the creature, the third he had felt in the last few minutes. Gods knew how many had gone unnoticed. He caught the expression on Ben-Foran's face. Both men scratched at their arms instinctively. He knew what the boy was thinking. Cuts, blisters and insect stings meant nothing in Balaia but everything here. And only two mages to keep almost fifty men well. They would have to be very careful.
The pyre was still burning on the centre of the apron when Yron finally got his first look inside the temple that had cost them so dear. All but the two mages and Ben-Foran were outside, awaiting the signal that meant relief from the oppressive heat and humidity of the early afternoon.
Inside, it was almost cool, chilly in comparison. The stone was deep and carried little heat, and the flow of cold water into the pool, undoubtedly from some underground spring, gave the temple a refreshing atmosphere. It was, Yron conceded as he looked up at the splendidly detailed statue, a very pleasant place to be. At that moment almost perfect in fact.
'The light is beautiful,' said Ben-Foran.
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