‘All right, you two bastards,’ he whispered, then almost laughed as he said words he never thought he’d hear himself utter. ‘Run for your lives.’
Chapter 32
Denser ran behind Hirad and The Unknown Warrior in what was surely the safest place on the battlefield. Beside him Ilkar and Erienne, minds deep in concentration, ran steadily, their consciousnesses divided using a skill only the finest truly mastered.
The Raven kept hard to the left flank, leaving the fight for the mage’s body and the bag he carried to the elves in the left centre. The mage had fallen close to the bank. While The Raven held the flank and pressured the centre, the elves would have to contend with the enemy in front of them and possible fire from across the river. So far, the elves on the right bank hadn’t moved to attack. Instead they continued moving up slowly, trying to flush out anyone that might be hidden there.
As he ran, Denser prepared again, this time the same spell as Erienne would choose once The Raven were engaged and she could drop the HardShield in safety. They would cast together so, for now, he fine-tuned his mana shape and scanned the enemy no more than twenty yards ahead as they splashed out of the swamp. More arrows came in, rattling uselessly on the HardShield, spots of HotRain fizzing over Ilkar’s rock-steady casting.
The scene had a distinctly surreal quality to it. The afterglow of spells burned a halo in the air above, the moon ebbed and strengthened as cloud passed across it, and the forest animals were silent under the sudden barrage of violence unleashed in their midst.
In the curious half-light, Denser saw the faces of those they were about to fight. Men who had been hiding for a pace too long, believing they would have the element of surprise but now having to charge at their enemy. And as they came Denser could see they recognised who they were about to fight. Mouths spoke The Raven’s name and more than one faltered in his stride while grips shifted on weapons and eyes betrayed growing fear.
They shouted orders and encouragement as they came, closing with Hirad Coldheart and The Unknown Warrior, The Raven’s heart for fifteen years. With Ry Darrick, Balaia’s most famous soldier and now deserter. With Thraun, the shapechanger. And with a blank-faced Protector. Men who gave you an edge even before a blow was struck.
Hirad roared to clear his mind, energise The Raven and inspire more fear, his sword crashing down right to left across his chest, his legs already moving to balance him for his defence and next strike. He sheared his enemy’s blade, sending the man stumbling back, then reversed his sword up into the unprotected chin, hurling his corpse back into his faltering comrades.
‘HardShield down,’ said Erienne. ‘Preparing offence.’
Next to Hirad, The Unknown caught a strike on the guard of his dagger, twisted the enemy weapon aside and swept his sword into the ribs of his opponent. Not waiting for him to drop, he stormed forwards, headbutting the man behind and punching his dagger into his temple.
Beside him, Aeb slashed a path, his wide-bladed axe scything through helmet and bone, his sword stabbing forward like a rapier. He made no sound, just exuded control and destruction. And at his side, Darrick ducked and twisted, his blade held in two hands, now in one, never letting a sharp edge get close to him, death and injury in every strike he dealt out. At the opposite end of the line, with Ren behind him firing shaft after shaft into the defending mages, Thraun powered his way into the line, his howls like those of the wolves he had left behind, his animal side allowed free rein.
‘Ready, Denser?’ asked Erienne.
‘I am,’ he replied. ‘On your command.’
‘Hirad, Unknown, Aeb,’ she shouted. ‘On my word.’
Denser saw each of them nod his understanding, never breaking the rhythm of their blows.
‘Down!’
The trio dropped as Denser and Erienne took a half pace and cast. IceWind savaged over their heads and scourged into the line ahead. The strangers’ SpellShields screamed as the cold hit, those under the Shields shrinking back, mist and gale filling the air in front of them. In the background a mage cried out in pain. Someone shrieked at him to hold firm. Still the IceWind raged, its edges reaching out and chilling everything it touched.
Ren’s bow sang, the screaming mage crumpled, the shield collapsed and the awful spell ripped into the helpless enemy, freezing flesh and bone, blinding, cracking and breaking. Cries cut off as mouths were paralysed. Metal shattered, men fell, the line fractured and The Raven ploughed on.
‘Come on!’ yelled Hirad, and Denser knew it was as much for the elves on their right as The Raven themselves. The barbarian hurdled a frozen body, chased into the vegetation and began the fight again, his friends left, right and behind as he knew they would be.
Denser glanced along the line, saw the TaiGethen weaving their swift death, the Al-Arynaar providing mage and blade support. More FlameOrbs soared out, casting their ghastly light. Across the river, he could see more of the enemy, looking on helplessly as their companions were taken apart. And there, splashing through the swamp and caught in the moonlight, were the other runners.
Almost straight away, Ben’s legs had given way. Erys and Yron scooped him into a chair lift, the lad gasping in agony as rough hands and leather scraped at his raw infected wounds. Yron had his arm high up around Ben’s chest, Erys supporting his lower back, as they splashed into the shallows of the swamp.
Yron tried to hear everything around him above the sound of his own breathing, of his feet hitting the water over and over. He strained for the sounds of pursuit, of the wail of jaqrui and the whistle of arrows. But with every pace he took he heard none of it. He began to dare to believe they might actually make it.
A hundred and fifty yards to go and he saw men standing up, beckoning them on, urging and encouraging. Others of the reserve ran to join them, some carrying bows. Shouts went up, increasing in their urgency as Yron and Erys pounded across the swamp, dragging their calves through the deepening water.
‘Keep going,’ gasped Yron.
‘I hadn’t thought of stopping,’ replied Erys.
Ben’s breathing was ragged and tortured.
‘Nor had I,’ he managed.
Arrows started to fly. The shouts of encouragement became a clamour for more pace and men ran towards them. Faces looked desperate now, exhorting them to greater effort. FlameOrbs soared high over their heads, heading for the pursuing pack. And now Yron could hear them. A flurry of feet rushing through the swamp. Not far behind. Perhaps not far enough.
More arrows arced over them. The elves replied in kind, shafts fired on the run hissing past, slapping into the water around them. Jaqrui wailed and whistled. Yron ducked reflexively.
‘Faster,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to go faster.’
Erys responded and the two men upped their pace. Yron felt the water become shallow again and relief flooded through him. He looked forward, seeing naked fear on the faces of those only seventy yards in front of them now and he thanked the Gods he had no time to look round. He didn’t need to. He knew how fast an elf could run.
‘Stay with us, Ben, we’re so nearly there,’ he said.
Ben’s words were little more than grunts of pain. ‘If our luck holds.’
‘It’s holding,’ said Erys. ‘Keep going.’
On they ran. More arrows splashed around them, others flew past seeking elven targets. Jaqrui fizzed and keened. A panther roared.
‘Oh dear Gods,’ muttered Yron.
He could hear his men now. Yelling at him, pleading. The second roar was close, so very close. Some of his men moved further forward and began to form a line. Thirty yards to go. Twenty.
A huge impact sent them all sprawling. Ben screamed. Yron felt his left arm torn half out of its socket. He rolled over and came to his haunches.
‘No!’ he bellowed. ‘No!’
The panther had leapt on Ben’s back and taken him down. Yron ran forward, hitching out his axe; the animal looked up, yellow eyes boring into him. It made to spring again.
; Erys was shouting. ‘Yron, no!’
Very deliberately, the panther bit down, snapping the boy’s neck. ‘Bastard!’ Yron made to move but felt arms around his shoulders, forcing him back.
‘We’ve got to go, now!’ Erys’s face was right in his.
Yron could see the elves closing in just a few yards away. He saw his reserve running in to block their path. He saw more arrows and spells, FlameOrbs lighting up the sky giving him a last look at Ben-Foran. His strength abruptly went and his men dragged him away, his gaze locked on the body.
‘I’m sorry, Ben,’ he said, the tears misting his vision. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Rebraal had seen the action on the right bank of the river and came running up from the elven line, which was driving the enemy inexorably back. The Raven were trading blows with more competent soldiers now, progress slow but still sure.
‘Runners are through,’ he shouted.
Denser turned, losing the shape he’d been creating. In front of him, Hirad blocked a strike to his chest, shoved his attacker back with a grunt and rained down blow after overhead blow, swearing as he bludgeoned.
‘We’ll push hard,’ said Denser.
‘You must get to the estuary. We must catch them.’
‘Hirad!’ shouted Denser. ‘Runners broken through right.’
Hirad nodded. He crashed his blade down a final time, smashing the weakened defence aside and crushing his opponent’s skull, blood and brain spraying into the air.
‘Raven! Pushing right. Go!’
Darrick and Aeb responded immediately, arcing in, driving the defenders back towards the river. Aeb upped the rate of his strikes, delivering overhead with his axe and sweeping horizontally with his sword. Around the back of them TaiGethen came running, forcing themselves into the gap, sprinting away behind the strangers’ lines, dealing mayhem and death.
‘Let’s give them space!’ shouted Hirad. ‘Denser, the archers!’
‘Got you. Erienne, ForceCone. I’ll carry you.’
Denser uttered a short incantation. ShadowWings appeared at his back. Erienne nodded and he swept her into his arms and straight up into the night sky. He could see a group of half a dozen archers kneeling in a circle, loosing off shots at the TaiGethen elves.
‘Ready,’ said Erienne.
Denser angled his body horizontal to the ground and tightened his grip on Erienne, who hung below him, his arms clasped under her breasts, her legs locked around his. He heard her mutter and drag at the air with her fingers as she finished the preparation. He flew over the archers, just thirty feet above their heads. One looked up instinctively, shouted and angled his bow. Too late.
Erienne jerked her arms downwards. The ForceCone flared out, battering the archers to the earth. Bows and limbs snapped as the pressure of the spell beat relentlessly down, compressing everything beneath it into a six-inch-deep indentation in the soft ground, perfectly circular and ten yards across.
Denser circled while Erienne maintained the Cone until the pleading and crying out had stopped. She thrust her arms again, hard. Denser imagined, only too easily, the ribcages crumpling. He wheeled back towards The Raven before any fire could be brought to bear on them, magical or otherwise.
‘Angry about something?’ he asked.
‘You could say,’ she said. ‘My head is killing me.’
Denser cruised in low over the left flank. Below them The Raven and Al-Arynaar were breaking the last of the resistance. With TaiGethen in behind them, the enemy were cut off and frightened. And while the Al-Arynaar, unused to in-line battle, were able to make little headway, The Raven had no such trouble and corpses littered the ground in their wake. One massive strike from Aeb finished it. His axe smashed through an unprotected skull, top to bottom, the force of the strike taking the weapon through the man’s shoulder and shearing off his right arm. The survivors turned and ran.
‘Go, go!’ shouted Hirad, and The Raven charged after the fleeing enemy as they sought to dodge the TaiGethen, pursuing them through the gap in the cliffs, along a sandy beach and out into the flat, silt-filled estuary.
‘Stay up,’ said Erienne. ‘Assuming your arms are up to it. I’ll prepare again.’
‘Anything in particular?’
‘I thought HotRain.’
‘It’ll do the job.’
Denser swooped low. ‘Hirad, we’re going forward, see if we can’t disrupt the runners or the defence.’
‘Be careful.’
The mage pair headed up once more. Denser could see panthers in among the elves, joining the push forward, their enigmatic partners sprinting close behind, unarmed and unconcerned. The defenders on the other bank were falling back, trying to maintain an orderly retreat with the Al-Arynaar and the awesome TaiGethen pressing forward with increasing ferocity, though they were outnumbered almost three to one.
Denser flew on over the heads of the defenders and out into the estuary. A small knot of men was running towards one of ten or more rowing boats. Out in the bay, three ships were moored, flags fluttering atop mainmasts. One unfurled lazily as he watched, caught in a wash of pallid moonlight. It was unmistakable.
‘I don’t fucking believe it.’ He dived for the knot of men. ‘Let’s get those runners.’
‘Suits me.’
Denser flew in fast and low, keeping tight control of his concentration as his fury threatened to boil over. Erienne released the spell, sending a focussed cloud of HotRain spearing down, flaring in the sky as it fell, each drop of magical fire the size of her thumb.
Sudden blue light mixed with the orange of the spell as the HotRain crackled uselessly over the shield covering the runners.
‘Dammit,’ snapped Erienne.
Denser growled his frustration and wheeled once more, looking down on the faces that craned to see who it was that attacked them. Arrows came from the night, flicking close but harmlessly by. And from somewhere DeathHail sheeted up at them, forcing him into a desperate climb and turn. Too close. Gripping Erienne tighter still, he took a last look down, meeting the eyes of a man he recognised.
‘We’ll hunt you!’ he called, as he rushed skywards beyond sight and arrow range. ‘Don’t you realise what you’ve done?’
‘Calm down, Denser,’ said Erienne. ‘What’s got into you all of a sudden?’
‘Tell you when we land.’
The Raven were being left behind, refusing to sacrifice their discipline for a headlong charge. Not that it mattered. The TaiGethen and Al-Arynaar were outpacing everyone else.
Denser saw a TaiGethen come alongside a fleeing warrior, snap out an elbow and send him crashing to the ground, hands over his nose and mouth. The elf stopped and spun gracefully like a dancer, then stepped in to finish the man off, skewering his brain through an eye.
But they weren’t quite fast enough. Boats were already being pushed out into the bay, desperate oarsmen pulling hard, arrows fired at them sending the blue of HardShields flaring into the night. The Raven could see it all and slowed as one. Denser landed behind them and let Erienne out of his arms. Hirad, feet ankle-deep in estuary water, threw his sword down into the silt.
‘What did they think we were doing, fighting for the good of our health?’ he said, and directed a contemptuous gesture at the elves on the right bank.
All the boats were away now and the fugitives who hadn’t made it into one were plunging into the water and swimming out after them. Only a couple of bodies could be seen floating with arrows protruding from back or neck.
‘They aren’t used to fighting like this,’ said Ilkar. ‘It isn’t their way. SpellShield down.’
‘No? Well they’d better learn fast if they want their precious thumb and writings back,’ said Hirad.
‘Assuming those who escaped had anything.’
‘I don’t care about bits of parchment,’ said Ilkar. ‘I just want one of those we’ve killed to have the thumb in some inside pocket.’
Hirad nodded. ‘Me too, Ilks, me too.’
‘What now?�
� asked Darrick.
The Raven began to walk back towards the Al-Arynaar, searching for Rebraal. Behind them, they could hear the cheers of the enemy as their boats neared their ships and safety.
‘Let’s see what my brother has to say,’ said Ilkar.
Denser felt weary. He followed behind his friends in silence, hand in hand with Erienne. She wanted to know the cause of his anger but he ignored the questioning look on her face. All of them had to hear it together.
They found Rebraal in conversation with Auum, his fierce expression telling them all they needed to know about the results of the fight. They were standing by the bodies of the four strangers who had been running cloaked. Hooked from the swamp before the piranhas could do much damage, they’d been stripped and every stitch of clothing searched and torn to shreds before being scattered on the ground around them. Ilkar asked the question before reporting back to The Raven.
‘Parchment and texts only, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘The thumb is on one of those ships.’
‘How can we be sure?’ asked Erienne. ‘Any of them could have dropped it anywhere between here and the temple.’
‘Pray that’s not so,’ said Ilkar.
‘Put it this way,’ said The Unknown. ‘The men that escaped are the only clues we’ve got. Whether they have the thumb or not, we have to catch them.’
‘So we need our ship very fast,’ said Darrick.
Ilkar nodded. ‘And the elves are coming with us. The message will be sent. Every elf with a sword or bow is going to be heading north to Balaia.’
‘They’re going to invade?’ asked Hirad.
‘What choice do they have?’ Ilkar shrugged. ‘They don’t want to die. We don’t want to die.’
‘Right,’ said Denser, coming to a decision. ‘I’m flying back to Ysundeneth. Starting tonight. Jevin can sail round here, it’ll be quicker that way.’
‘Done,’ said Ilkar. ‘But I’m coming with you. You might just need a friendly elf.’
Denser smiled rather sadly and felt the blood pounding in his throat. ‘Friendly, eh? Well here’s a new test of our friendship, Ilkar. You want to know who it was attacked the temple?
The Raven Collection Page 193
