Hirad swung back. It had to be now. He limped down the stern rail. Ilkar was struggling.
‘Behind you,’ he said, approaching. ‘Duck on my word.’
Ilkar fielded a blow to the stomach and pushed the man away but he was strong and snatched his sword back, whipping it round and over his head.
‘Now!’
Ilkar ducked. Hirad’s sword powered round, blocking the downward strike and sending the guard off balance. Hirad stepped over Ilkar and thumped a fist into the man’s face. He staggered back a pace.
‘ShadowWings and go, Ilkar!’
‘They’ll come from behind us, Hirad.’
‘I’ll hold them. Go.’
‘No.’
Hirad slashed again, the Black Wing blocking but only just.
‘Trust me, and don’t lose sight of me. Now get lost.’
He stepped up and crashed his sword through the enemy’s neck. The man teetered and pivoted over the rail.
‘Fish food,’ growled Hirad. ‘Who’s next?’
Behind him, he heard Ilkar deploy the wings and leave the deck.
‘Hirad, they’re on you,’ he shouted.
Hirad put his back against the wall of the aft cabins. Black Wings were filtering down the rail from his right. He could see crossbowmen behind him.
‘Don’t you lose me, Ilkar!’ he yelled into the night, praying that the elf was watching him.
‘Drop your weapon!’ ordered a Black Wing.
Hirad smiled. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.
He stepped forwards and dived over the rail, sword ahead of him, and splashed into the sea.
The freezing water enveloped him, the waves huge and dark surrounding him. He broke surface briefly, kicking his legs, feeling his injured calf protesting as the salt edged in. He scoured the sky but could see nothing. The Ocean Elm moved gently away from him and he was lifted by another wave. The wind roared in his ears, he could feel more hail lashing down and he felt heavy. Very heavy.
He knew he should let go his sword and try to shed his leather but something inside him refused. He submerged again, water piling over on him, the storm singling him out as its next victim. He kicked again, feeling the air on his face and grabbing in another lungful.
‘Ilkar!’ he shouted into the gale.
He scrabbled at his back, sinking again, fighting to get his sword into his scabbard, knowing it was stupid, knowing he could afford to lose it, but having to free both his hands. He was going down but he refused to die. And there it was, like the feel of silk on the body of a woman, his sword slipping down into the leather. He swam for the surface, breaking clear and shouting again for his friend.
He looked up and there was Ilkar, diving out of the night with the hail.
‘Grab my legs. Don’t you let go.’
Ilkar hovered above him, trying to get close enough as the wind buffeted him and the waves splashed over his legs. Hirad grabbed and missed, kicked his legs and grabbed again, this time, catching hold with one hand.
‘Go!’ he shouted and Ilkar started to rise. He swung with his left arm and caught the toe of Ilkar’s boot as the mage climbed high above the waves.
Hanging on for his life he climbed up Ilkar’s legs inch by tortuous inch, stopping only when he had his head jammed just above the elf’s knees and his arms locked around his calfs. He could see other shapes around him. Denser and Erienne.
He took a look back towards the ship, searching for pursuit from the Dordovan mages but knew that they’d have been lost to sight almost instantly. They were clear and no one who left the deck would have any real idea where to fly to find them.
‘We did it!’ he yelled. ‘We bloody did it!’
Whooping his joy he hung on for the flight back to the Calaian Sun.
Chapter 31
The skipper of the Ocean Elm felt a deep satisfaction. His ship was not his own, too many of his crew had been murdered and he was trying to ride out the worst storm he’d ever experienced in the Southern Ocean, but he felt a sense of overriding peace.
He’d just witnessed a rescue that should have had no chance of success but for the fact that it had been carried out by The Raven. The man he had seen laying out Selik with a single punch had simply not believed he could fail.
And, in the midst of it all, on a ship occupied by Black Wings, he and his crew were free. With Erienne gone, they could choose their fate. And choose it, they would. Tryuun had seen The Raven mages clear the ship, pluck the warrior from the sea and disappear into the night, the crossbowmen and Dordovan mages having no targets to aim at as the blackness swallowed them up. And seven more Black Wings were dead. As the hail thundered down on to his thick leather skullcap, it was turning into a wonderful night.
But better was coming up the ladder to the wheel deck. The skipper was alone there at the moment, having sent his new helmsman from what could easily be harm’s way in the aftermath of the rescue. For himself, though, he felt no threat to his life and he smiled broadly as Selik dragged himself to the top of the ladder and limped towards him, a bruise growing on one side of his jaw and a lump the size of an egg dominating his temple on the other.
‘Need a hand?’ he asked, sparing Selik a quick glance and half smile.
Selik pushed an angry face into his.
‘Don’t forget who is running this ship,’ he spat.
‘No,’ said the skipper. ‘The Guild of Drech have always done so. All you had to do was guard one woman and you failed even to do that. How does it feel?’
Selik grabbed the neck of his coat. ‘Your taunting will get you killed, elf, slowly. You and your crew. Remember who has all the weapons and all the magic.’
The skipper sobered but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face entirely. ‘I will.’
‘Now you will keep this ship heading for Ornouth. Any deviation and your crew will suffer.’
The skipper laughed. ‘Oh, Black Wing, how little you understand. I have no intention of sailing anywhere else. Ornouth is where we belong. You will be the strangers there. And now Erienne is gone, the deal is different. Before I was taking you there to kill. Now, I’m taking you there to die.’
Though her mind still recoiled from memories of the Black Wings, Erienne worked through the rest of the night, her enforced rest from magic leaving her stamina strong. She was desperate for the warm embrace of Denser but there was one man who needed her more.
The Unknown Warrior’s hip bone had shattered like a vase dropped on stone. Bone splinters had invaded flesh and muscle, tendon and ligament were slashed and dying, and the joint was a lattice of cracks that would hold no weight and allow no movement. The pain, even through his spell-induced sleep, must have been terrible.
Tears had fallen from her eyes as she probed the appalling damage with mind and gentle fingers. She would have said there was nothing to be done, not even with a BodyCast but the look in Hirad’s eyes as he asked her if she could help would live with her forever. He had come to rescue her and she could not let him down. He wouldn’t even have the bolt removed from his calf until she had said she would try. He had kissed her then, his rough face against her cheek. It had been a display of emotion she thought beyond him but that was an unfair assessment. The barbarian hid his feelings beneath his tough warrior skin when he could, but they ran as deep as any man’s. Perhaps deeper than most.
She created the shape of the BodyCast, a spell of tremendous versatility but so difficult to control. It was heat-driven, it covered her hands in a beautiful warmth and, as she probed The Unknown’s hip again, tendrils snaked away to soothe infected flesh at her bidding while she concentrated on the main problem.
Using the mana to free each splinter in turn, she moved them back towards the top of the thigh bone, arranged in front of her as pieces in a child’s puzzle. She used the spell to examine them, define their edges and divine where they had come from. And any that were too small, she teased out to drop on to the bloodied sheet, hoping the bone would grow again in time.
But time was something in short supply. She was keenly aware that there was more fighting to come. Dordovans would soon find their way to Herendeneth and she needed The Unknown to be standing with The Raven when they did.
She bent to her task, the BodyCast forging, reforming, knitting and healing. It was slow, painstaking and desperately draining, using the hair-thin filaments of mana to guide shards and splinters back into position, to encase the cracks in his joint and to bring nerve endings and muscles back to bond.
It wouldn’t be perfect, that much was obvious. Perhaps if she’d been there immediately after he’d been struck it would have been different but now, too much time had passed and the body had its own imperfect ways of rebuilding itself. And some of those she could not undo. Too much of the bone was crushed useless to make her BodyCast anything more than a best fit. Some things magic could not reverse.
The Unknown would never be quite the same again. How he adapted would be up to him.
Hirad joined Ren, Ilkar and Jevin on the wheel deck well after the sun had passed its zenith on the next day. He could still feel the pain of the bolt but Denser had done a good job with a low strength WarmHeal and the elves had soothing balms that caressed the flesh and numbed the pain. He’d be all right by the time they landed.
The ferocity of the storm the night before had diminished and the pitching and yawing of the Calaian Sun was calm by comparison. Above them, the cloud had thinned, allowing occasional watery sunlight between squally showers of rain.
Jevin had ordered full sail and they were moving well across the ocean, trailing the Ocean Elm by several hours though Hirad could still make out its shape on the southern horizon.
‘Why is he still going south?’ asked Hirad.
‘Because he’s showing us the way,’ said Ren. ‘And when we can’t sail any further in, he’ll let us know if he can and we’ll have to take to the boats.’
‘And if he doesn’t let us know?’ asked Hirad.
‘I won’t let this ship run aground,’ said Ren.
‘And neither will I,’ growled Jevin.
‘How long do we have to go?’ asked Ilkar.
‘Three days, maybe a little more. We lost time last night,’ said Ren.
‘Think I might sleep the rest of the way, then,’ said Hirad, smiling.
‘You deserve to,’ said Ilkar.
‘You too, Ilks. Good fun, though, wasn’t it?’
Ilkar stared at him for a moment. ‘No, it wasn’t. Unless you consider searching black, heavy seas for a fool in the dead of night, after a scrap on a ship miles from nowhere, good fun. What the hell were you doing in the water anyway? I almost had you and you sank, messing about with your scabbard.’
‘I was sheathing my sword.’
‘Oh, how stupid of me not to realise. Why didn’t you just drop the bloody thing? You could have drowned,’ said Ilkar. His voice softened and he punched Hirad on the arm. ‘I thought you had. Don’t take that sort of risk. I don’t want to lose you like that.’
‘I’m not losing that sword until I’ve driven it through Selik,’ said Hirad.
‘Think you’ll get the chance?’ asked Ren.
‘I know it,’ said Hirad.
The window in the bedroom blew in and Aviana screamed, her anguish echoing through the minds of all the Al-Drechar. Myriell had been dressing, preparing to take over as the dawn broke but now they were all awake, thrust to consciousness by a cry for help that went on and on.
Myriell called for her helpers and they ran into her room.
‘Get me there now. Carry me and run. Bring the others.’
‘Yes, Myriell,’ said one. The two picked her up in an armchair lift and hurried from the room, calling others from their beds.
The wind howled along the passages, driven by Lyanna’s mind, blasting into their faces. To their right an enormous crashing resounded in the air and across the orchard the west wing of the house shuddered and dropped, the roof caving in, wooden beams splitting, brickwork shattering and tumbling, the vibrations rocking the ground beneath their feet.
‘Dear Gods, she’s broken free. Faster, faster!’ urged Myriell.
The Guild elves ran on though the ballroom and into the dining room, not pausing on their way to Lyanna’s makeshift bedroom. They set Myriell down and opened the door into a howling gale. Aviana lay on the ground, Lyanna was upright, her hair twisting about her head, her doll clutched in her outstretched hands and her eyes open but seeing nothing.
‘Get the others here!’ shouted Myriell.
She moved into the room, sat on the edge of the bed and clutched the little girl to her, attuning her mind and eyes to the mana spectrum and seeing the horror laid out for her there.
Surrounding Aviana was a mass of dark grey, pulsing over her mind, attacking relentlessly, pushed there by what force Myriell couldn’t begin to guess. Something malevolent lurked deep in Lyanna and it had to be found and destroyed. The girl’s mind was encased in orange, flecked with dark brown. She appeared to be channelling perfectly, dragging in the random fuel of magic, creating vortex shapes and casting them out in a stream of destruction.
Myriell formed a light mind net and moved it gingerly towards Lyanna, hoping to separate her from the force attacking the helpless Aviana. She dimly heard movement behind her, knew her sister was helping, and pushed on. She got nowhere near. The moment Lyanna sensed her, coils of orange mana lashed out from the whole, slapping away the mind net and dragging in its mana energy. Myriell dispersed it moments before the unravelling reached her own damaged mind and snapped out of the spectrum, her head thumping, her vision ragged at the edges.
Lyanna pushed against her and Myriell released her. The child was looking at her intently, recognition in her eyes. Myriell almost shouted and then Lyanna spoke.
‘Hello Myra. Why are you keeping me in the dark place?’ It was the child’s voice but it was laced with foreboding and echoed through the room on the back of the gale.
‘Oh, Lyanna, we aren’t keeping you there, your mind has taken you there and we are guarding it to stop you being hurt.’
‘But I don’t want to be in the dark any more,’ said Lyanna, clutching her doll close and stroking its head.
Myriell frowned. Her Night wasn’t over. There was no calmness in the mana. Her control only went as far as stopping hurt to her own mind. What she released she had no way of understanding or controlling. She should still be under, learning, modulating and accepting.
‘But you know you can’t stop the wind in your mind, don’t you? I know being in the dark place is lonely but it will help you to be happy.’
But Lyanna shook her head. ‘No. Ana wanted me to stay and I didn’t and something from me hurt her.’ Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone. So I don’t want you to be with me in my mind any more.’
Myriell looked round. Ephemere was deep in concentration around Aviana’s too-still form but Cleress was watching her and could only shrug in mute incomprehension.
‘And anyway,’ continued Lyanna, ‘Mummy’s coming soon and I have to brush my hair.’
She swung her legs out of the bed, then dropped to the floor and walked out into the dining room, the doll in one hand. Myriell watched her go.
‘Clerry?’ she pleaded.
‘I don’t know, Myra. I think we’ve lost her.’
Deep in the Southern Ocean, two hundred miles off Balaia’s southern coast the seabed cracked and moved, sending pressures to the surface the like of which hadn’t been felt for a thousand years. They surged upwards, creating a single, mountain-high wave backed by many lesser waves, minions in the wake of majesty.
The wave rushed northwards, an unstoppable force a dozen miles wide. It moved effortlessly across the ocean, its noise thunderous, its energy undiminishing. Beneath it, water shifted on the sea bed, creatures large and small fled behind it and swam from its influence as it stormed on, looking for a place to break. That place was Gyernath. The water towered over t
he land as it came, like a predatory animal preparing to strike down at its prey.
The port had sea defences, the finest of any port in Balaia. They were built to deflect the ferocity of the waves the winter gales threw up and to channel the floods from the town’s streets and outlying fields. They were the pride of the port’s council leaders. But no defences could hope to counter a wave a hundred and fifty feet high and a half mile deep.
By the time they had begun to run, it was already too late for the townspeople. And by the time the last ship had been dashed against the ground at the top of Drovers Way, almost a mile inland, there was nobody left at all.
The Calaian Sun drove on through the steadily calming waters of the Southern Ocean, two days out from the first islands of the Ornouth Archipelago. The mood on board had lightened considerably. Blue sky had been seen through breaks in the clouds, the winds had become steady and dependable from the west and the hail was a distant, painful memory. They were keeping pace with the Ocean Elm, Jevin convinced that the skipper was dragging his heels, and the break in the elemental battering gave rise to real hope that the Al-Drechar had exerted real control over Lyanna.
Hirad lay alone in the cabin he and Ilkar shared, the elf up top and actually enjoying a sea voyage for the first time. Hirad was happy for him. He was happy for them all. Erienne’s BodyCast had done as well as it could, she had said, and The Unknown could now be allowed to waken naturally. How he reacted would tell them what work still needed to be done and what he would just have to live with. Hirad prayed for a miracle.
As for Thraun, well, he remained under magically-induced sleep. Ilkar said he had lost some of the hair and that his clawed feet were resembling toes again but within, the picture was not so hopeful. He was another reason why the Al-Drechar must survive. They were all hoping, though none of them would say it, that the ancient elven mages could help because there was precious little else The Raven could do for their friend.
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