Kerela placed a hand on Kard’s shoulder and every soldier and Council member immediately placed hands over his or her ears. Before any in the whistling crowd had time to react, Barras, his voice deep on the frequency of the mana stream, spoke.
‘Silence.’
The word clattered over the open space, crashing into unprotected ears to rattle skulls and stun voices to quiet. It rolled off the College buildings, a word from the Gods, deafening and irresistible. Metal resonated, glass rattled in frames and a sound like thunder, like stone shaking in its foundations, rolled around the square. Silence reigned.
‘We will talk or disperse, we will not shout or fight,’ said Kerela. Her voice, like Barras’, was augmented by the mana shape still being held firm by the elf, though much lessened in power. Still, it boomed out over the mob, now motionless but for hands rubbing heads and ears. The anger inside, though, still remained. ‘Do you not realise that this is precisely what Senedai and his band of murderers beyond our walls want? Gods in the ground, if we kill ourselves or divide ourselves so finely we cannot fight, we will have done his job far more completely than he could do it himself.’ Kerela shook her head. ‘We must remain one or we will be unable to function.’
‘But soon there will be no one left to fight for out there!’ shouted one. More joined the chorus and through it Barras plainly heard the word, ‘murderers’. The crowd closed again.
‘Please,’ said Kerela. ‘I beg your patience and your understanding a little longer.’
‘But how long. How long, eh?’ A face at the front of the crowd growled the words. He was a big man, muscles bunched beneath his shirt. He carried a mace. ‘My mother lies out there, the stench of her rotting body in my nose every time I draw breath. My heart is in tatters and yet I have to stand here and listen to you beg more time to save your own filthy skins.’
‘I understand your pain . . .’ began Kerela.
‘You understand nothing!’ spat the man. ‘How many of your family have died so far to protect mages who have grown fat off Julatsa for far too long.’
‘And who was it that saved you from death at the hands of the Wesmen?’ asked Kerela, and Barras could see her trying to keep herself in check. ‘The same mages who have already perished in the Shroud, waiting outside to give you the time to run in. Please do not judge us uncaring of our people.’
‘We are not your people,’ said the man, his voice carrying clear over the crowd that had paused to listen to the exchange. ‘And we demand you remove the Shroud and let us fight.’
‘When the Dordovans arrive, then we will fight. And where Kard’s soldiers lead, you may follow,’ said Kerela, heedless of the message that might be heard beyond the walls.
‘They should have been here days ago,’ said the man, his face reddening. ‘How long did you think we would swallow this lie? Drop the Shroud now.’
‘And if I refuse?’ asked Kerela.
‘We may be forced to make sacrifices of our own.’
Barras’ heart missed a beat and the sickness already in his stomach at the hideous sight beyond the North Gate intensified. Kerela, he could see, was unprepared for the response. He decided to talk himself, turning up the VoiceHail.
‘You would kill Julatsans to force us to action? Murder more innocents?’ he demanded.
‘Not innocents. Mages.’ A ripple ran around the crowd. Clearly, not all were privy to the plan being hatched before them. ‘Not all mages enjoy your security.’
‘And what difference do you think you can make outside if we do drop the Shroud? We are already too few. Fragmenting us more would harm us still further.’
‘You don’t care about Julatsa,’ said the man, and his voice rose in volume. ‘All you care about is the preservation of that!’ He pointed his mace at the Tower and the clamour grew again. ‘How many more must die in the thing you created before even your stuffed heads realise what is going on. We have to stop the killing.’ He took a pace forwards and was pushed back by a soldier. Hate in his eyes, he brandished his mace and brought it crashing down on the guard’s helmeted head, the man collapsing, blood running from the helm line.
Immediately, another soldier lashed out with a sword, taking the man in the midriff. He screamed and fell and the crowd erupted in fury. They surged forwards against the desperate defence of Kard’s well-marshalled troops. Barras yelled for calm but even his augmented voice had no effect. Around the edges of the mob, he could see scuffles breaking out among city folk and College guard and part of the crowd broke away to run towards the Mana Bowl where many mages were billeted.
A more pressing problem, quite literally, was the surrounding throng that moved in from all sides. Temporarily, there was a yard space between them and Kard’s men, whose swords glinted in the dawn light, keeping back the front rank who had no desire to die. Behind them, though, there was no such risk.
‘Quick,’ ordered Kerela. ‘All of you. SunBurst. Cover the compass then be ready to run for the Tower. Kard, on the command word, shield your eyes. Pass word around the ring.’
‘Aye, my Lady.’ Kard circled quickly behind his men and the message was passed.
Dropping the VoiceHail, Barras concentrated on the new spell. Its shape was flat and, as he dropped his vision into the mana spectrum, he could see the yellow disc growing in intensity as more and more of the Council lent it their strength of mind and channelled ever-increasing mana into its expanding diameter. In a matter of moments, it covered the College and beyond, a slowly revolving disc of mana, swirling with many hues of yellow and shot through with black. One by one, the Council announced their readiness to each other by flagging the disc with their signature in its centre. When all were done, Kerela spoke.
‘Now Kard. Right now. Vilif, the command is yours.’
‘SunBurst,’ intoned the ageing mage. ‘Flash deployment.’ In an instant, the mana shape was gone. Barras closed his eyes and covered them with his hands. White light deluged the courtyard, bringing a temporary blindness to everyone not shielded. Even Barras could feel its force, knowing that, though temporary, the effect was both painful and frightening. They had taken a big chance.
Screams of shock and sudden pain echoed about the courtyard and a hundred weapons clattered to the stone. Barras opened his eyes to see people collapsed on the ground or running away to nowhere, sight gone for a few moments, anger supplanted by the urge to escape.
‘Let’s go,’ ordered Kard, and he led the Council across the short distance to the Tower, seeing them safely inside before turning to bark more orders that saw his men disperse in disciplined teams to defend the College’s crucial buildings. Barras closed the Tower doors and followed the Council up the long outside stair to the first rampart. There they gathered to witness the effects of their action.
Instantly, it had proved a success. The crowd’s collective spirit had broken for now and, as sight came back to them, people fled the courtyard. But some remained, and anger filled the air.
‘Just where are the Dordovans?’ asked Endorr, his face pale. He was gazing north from where the Dordovans would most likely approach, the swirling grey of the DemonShroud filling the air beyond the College walls.
‘I have no idea,’ said Kerela. ‘But that poor man was right. They should have been here by now. If they have turned back or been killed, I don’t think anything can save us. We are in the endgame for this College now, my friends. We have made enemies within as well as without and the time to act is soon. When calm is restored, we must meet with Kard and name the day we try to break the siege.’
‘But they will kill us and take the College,’ protested Seldane. ‘Nothing has changed but that more of our people are dead and the Wesmen better fortified.’
Kerela said nothing for a moment and Barras followed her gaze to the courtyard where the two fallen men were picked lifeless from the cobbles, blood slicks marking where they had rested.
‘We have waited as long as we can,’ she said eventually. ‘I do not believe that Dordover
will help us now.’ She turned back to them and the tears were beginning to run down her face. ‘We are going to lose our College.’
Sha-Kaan felt an emotion he’d thought was forever alien to him. Returning from the Keol, his Kaan in victory formation behind him - a single, curving line in the sky forming a quarter circle - he had considered the implications of the apparent union between the Naik and the Veret and didn’t like the conclusions he drew. His heart sounded heavily in his great chest. He was anxious.
First and foremost, the union meant that at least two Broods were actively talking to each other. Presumably, their initial goal, the destruction of the Kaan, was the same. Beyond that, though, he could see no future in any allegiance. For the waterborne Veret particularly, the extinguishing of Kaan life from Beshara would have little significant effect.
The Kaan and the Veret had historically tolerated one other’s presence simply because their Broodland desires were so different. Why then, should they ally with the Naik to destroy the Kaan? Perhaps they felt able to live in and around the River Tere. Sha-Kaan knew this would never happen. His Broodlands were as coveted by the Naik as they were secret and secure. The Naik would not slipstream aside to let the Veret into occupation.
So, the following conclusion was that the Veret were under threat and had allied to stave off that threat. Why then, had they not come to the Kaan? And who posed a threat of substance to them? No Brood wanted the Veret’s vast expanse of Shedara Ocean. They had eliminated all other marine-based Broods many cycles before.
Finally, it dawned. The Naik were capable of destroying the Veret, should they so desire. It would be an act of pure vindictiveness but it could be done. Knowing a little of the psyche of the Naik, Sha-Kaan thought it not beyond them to promise extinction if they weren’t aided. And if they could promise it to one Brood, they could promise it to others.
An alliance of fear it might be but an alliance of any sort would quickly prove fatal for the Kaan. Indeed, Sha-Kaan had been relying on inter-Brood hatred and mistrust to gain The Raven as much time as possible - even up to the moment the critical size of the gateway was reached, when he knew they would be overwhelmed. An alliance, though, would bring that day of defeat much closer.
As he approached the entrance to the Broodlands, Sha-Kaan dismissed the thoughts from his mind, revelling in his moment of pleasure as he and the victory curve swept along the mist-filled valley.
Later, in the quiet of Wingspread, he mulled over the growing spectre of Brood alliance, cursed its vengeful nature but understood its necessity if the Kaan were to be defeated quickly. Unlike his forebears, Sha-Kaan would not debate openly, choosing to announce decisions and invite criticism and further options. He found it hastened the process.
There were two actions he felt he had to take. First, talk to the Veret and find out the manner of their alliance. Subsequent to that, he had to break it, forge his own perhaps, or seek out weaker allied Broods and destroy them if he could. The latter was not a palatable prospect given the stretching of the Kaan forces.
The second action was far more personal and one which he should not have neglected so long. He was out of touch with Balaia. He had no inkling of the way its struggles leant and, more crucially, was without the healing stream that inter-dimensional space could provide him. He had to select another Dragonene.
But this was not a simple operation. With the battles raging near and in Balaia’s College Cities, the chances for his Brood’s existing Dragonene to recruit a mage capable of dealing with the demands of Sha-Kaan had been few. No suitable candidates had been seriously discussed.
And in itself, this presented a critical problem. The bonds he had enjoyed with Septern so long ago and the subsequent mages that had served him up to the death of Seran were all known quantities, selected with both their blessing and in the knowledge that their minds possessed the necessary strength. To force his mind into that of an untried mage, however highly recommended, risked confusion in his mind and the death of the subject.
That left one possibility. One man who he knew could withstand the power of his mind and whose colleagues could provide the necessary magic. It was a break with over four hundred Balaian years of tradition but the time to be more selective was gone - if he was to fly to speak to the Veret, he had to have the means to heal and, without a Dragonene signature in Balaian space, he had none.
He reached forward with his neck and grabbed a bale of Flamegrass, tossing it around in his great jaws as he chewed and swallowed.
‘So be it,’ he said. ‘So be it.’ He stretched full length across the warm wet floor of Wingspread and opened his mind to search for his new Dragonene.
It was an hour after noon on a day that had chilled as the sun fled west over the Blackthorne Mountains and cloud bubbled up on the prevailing south-easterly wind. In their sheltered space, The Raven had slept, enjoying the gentle warmth of the stove. The Unknown had watched without break while even Thraun slept, his flank a pillow for the anxious Will’s head.
Shortly after midday, Erienne had conducted a Communion, making contact with the refugee mage in the hills to the north of Julatsa. The spell had been relatively short and, as Erienne opened her eyes, Ilkar could see that she didn’t know whether to smile or frown. It was a while before she could meet Ilkar’s eye.
‘Are you stable?’ asked Ilkar. Communion, or rather the breaking of it, left channelled mana suddenly without focus but lying still in the mind. Its return to a more normal randomised state sometimes disoriented both caster and contact.
Erienne nodded and gave Denser a little smile. He smoothed some hair that had fallen over her face back behind her ear. Her smile broadened at the small show of affection.
‘The College is still standing. The Heart is still intact,’ she said and paused. ‘I’m not sure which order to say this in.’
‘Does the mage know how many Wesmen are in and around Julatsa?’ asked The Unknown.
‘Yes,’ said Erienne, glad for direction. ‘She, that is Pheone, says that somewhere around ten thousand Wesmen are occupying Julatsa and erecting a stockade to defend it. They have reinforced since the initial victory and further tented areas to the west hold about five thousand. They haven’t yet moved south-east towards Dordover.’
‘And what about those who escaped into the hills?’ The Unknown ladled himself a mug of coffee.
‘They’ve been ignored so far, Pheone thinks, because the College is still resisting.’
Ilkar felt at once proud and devastated. His city, occupied by invaders; his people, those who escaped, forced to scavenge in the hills. But his College somehow stood against the tide.
‘There’s more,’ said Erienne. ‘There are knots of Julatsans all around the city, hiding in the hills and woodlands. She doesn’t know how many though a group to the south-east intercepted the Dordovan force that Darrick mentioned, over three thousand foot and cavalry, and stopped their scouts running into the Wesmen lines.’
‘So, there is a military leader out there,’ said The Unknown. ‘Did Pheone say anything about an organised attack being planned?’
‘I’m surprised there hasn’t already been an assault,’ said Hirad. ‘Surely they can talk to the mages left inside the College and set up something.’
‘No, because no one can talk to the College,’ replied Erienne. ‘Besides, it’s tough to co-ordinate disparate groups all around the city. Communion isn’t that easy.’
‘Well, why can’t anyone Commune with Julatsa?’ Ilkar’s heart raced. ‘Is she sure the Wesmen haven’t taken it.’
‘Yes, she’s certain, because they have magical protection which blocks Communion.’ She drew in breath deeply. ‘Ilkar, they’ve erected a DemonShroud.’
‘A what?’ asked Hirad.
‘Gods in the sky, have they really?’ said Ilkar, eyes widening in surprise. And now he’d been told, the solution was obvious as the only one that could keep at bay an army of fifteen thousand, no matter how great their fear of magic. But wit
h the knowledge that the Wesmen could not hope to enter the College while the Shroud remained, came the connected problem. Ilkar quickly outlined the workings of the Shroud before giving voice to the issue of which both Erienne and Denser were already aware.
‘So how in all the hells do we get in?’ demanded Hirad.
‘We don’t, not until the Shroud is dropped,’ replied Ilkar.
‘I’d worked that bit out,’ said Hirad, tapping his head. ‘It isn’t hot like yours but it does go round. I mean, when and if the Shroud is dropped, how do we beat ten thousand Wesmen into the Library?’
‘We don’t,’ said The Unknown. ‘We have to get them away from the College before that happens. I know that sounds ridiculous but we’ve got ourselves, God knows how many Julatsans aching for revenge and three thousand professional soldiers, and the Wesmen don’t even seem to realise it. There’s time enough because the Shade isn’t growing that fast and I think we could make something work for us.’
‘Really? What exactly?’ Denser wasn’t alone in his scepticism. But The Unknown didn’t have time to explain. The Dark Mage grunted and shook his head. ‘Communion,’ he said, frowning. ‘It’s Delyr, I think.’ He lay down and closed his eyes to accept the contact from Parve.
It was a contact that would change everything.
Chapter 17
The Council Chamber was bleak and cold. Outside the College, an eerie silence had fallen. Two men lay dead, dozens would have wounds and Kard had placed instant curfew on the courtyard and grounds. Every non-essential person, was confined inside and the guard on certain doors - two of the Long Rooms in particular - was heavy.
A cordon, eighty strong, secured the base of the Tower and for the first time the remaining guard on the walls looked inward, not out.
Barras, his heart heavy, anticipated, as they all did, the battle that would ensue inside the walls if they kept up the Shroud. He didn’t like it and, despite the knowledge of the College’s demise, could see the fight couldn’t be allowed to happen.
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