Each slash was edged in the deep blue of Xeteskian magic and inside darkness roiled, occasional flashes of a dull red spitting outwards. Another breeze rolled across them, and there was a rumbling like thunder as the air of Balaia came into contact with the raw energy of inter-dimensional space. With a crack that echoed across the battlefields, the blue edging brightened to a dazzling level and began to pull apart, the blackness growing.
Down on the field, the fighting had stopped almost before it had begun and wary Lysternans were beginning to back away, fearful of what they were seeing. It wasn’t going to be anywhere near enough to save them.
‘Dear Gods, they won’t stand a chance,’ said Denser.
He turned and began running towards his horse, Hirad and The Unknown calling after him. He yelled over his shoulder as he went.
‘Come on! We’ve got to make them clear the battlefield. Raven let’s go! Mount up, come on!’
‘Denser no!’ shouted Hirad. ‘You can’t expose yourself. They’ll catch you.’
Denser spun on his heel and ran back, grabbing Hirad’s collar and pointing over the barbarian’s shoulder. ‘See those people. They are going to die. Very soon. Maybe we can save some of them. Hide here if you want.’
Hirad growled but his face cleared. ‘That’s why I like you,’ he said. ‘Unknown, we’re going. Thraun, Darrick, get the elves moving. Let’s go.’
All around them there was noise. Mages shouting for more lattice-strength, soldiers demanding orders. Out on the battlefield, the Xeteskians were falling back fast, the allies, unsure, began a push forwards only for it to peter out with the rent in the sky above them yawning wider, the thunder louder, the blue edges fizzing and jumping.
Denser ran into the makeshift paddock in the elven camp, grabbed the reins of his horse from the hitch pole and mounted up.
‘Come on!’ He kicked the animal’s flanks and it shot forwards, jumping the rail. Elves scattered out of his way. ‘Get moving. North now!’
He didn’t know if they could understand him, he didn’t really care. He galloped down the muddy path that led to the battlefield, yelling for anyone who could hear him to clear the battlefield. He cleared the camp and the wooded area, flying down the slope, angling across to the Lysternan command position. He felt The Unknown and Hirad come up on his shoulders, driving their horses hard.
To his left and above, the rent was enormous. The edges flailed; Denser imagined the mages struggling to maintain cohesion. He prayed for one, just one, to fail. The Lysternan command was in turmoil, everyone shouting at once. A huge soldier sat on horseback bellowing for his men to advance, to drive home the advantage. A mage next to him was passing messages out via runners. None of it was going to help.
Denser dragged his horse to a halt in front of them.
‘Clear the battlefield,’ he shouted into their faces. ‘Clear it now, it’s your only chance. Signal the north gate. Make them do it too. Now, damn you!’
The soldier pointed at him, at them. ‘You’re wanted, Raven.’
‘Do you think I care, you bloody fool? Your men are going to die,’ he said feeling the blood run into his face. ‘Listen to me!’
‘Arrest these men,’ said the soldier. ‘Hold them.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ spat Denser.
He hauled on the reins and set off towards the front, hearing Hirad shout some abuse and The Unknown order him away.
‘Denser!’ called The Unknown. ‘Keep clear.’
‘Clear the field!’ Denser had never shouted so loud in his life and, even so, he knew they couldn’t hear him. The thunder was deafening, the air flattening against his face, the pressure growing beneath the rent. He carried on, an eye on the spell as it grew, determined not to be caught in whatever it was that was cast.
He rode directly behind the fragmented line, bellowing for people to run, to scatter, to make for the camps, anything. They were beginning to pay heed but were caught in two minds. The field lieutenants were watching the flags from the command post and were loath to disobey orders. The cloaked man riding along their rear exhorting them to flee was surely either mad or a spirit sent to save them. They didn’t know which it was, he could see it in their faces.
There was another crack, the sound whiplashing over his head, spearing pain in his ears. ‘We’re out of time!’ he shouted.
There was nothing more he could do. Knowing Hirad and the Unknown would follow him, he turned his scared horse and rode directly away from the battlefield, hunching over its neck, praying he wasn’t too late. A few hundred yards later, the spell was released.
A blast of air caught Denser on the back. His horse, terrified, bucked and threw him, too confused to know where to bolt. He rolled over on the ground, came up and watched as his worst fears were realised right in front of him.
From the dark mass of inter-dimensional space, sheets of deep red-tinged blue light flared out. They were shot through with forks of pure energy, the whole striking the ground with incredible force. Sheet after sheet slammed downwards, exploding on impact, sending out fingers of light which lashed away.
Great mounds of earth blew into the air, men were picked up like leaves and flung aside. Others caught the forks and fingers of energy directly. Some simply disintegrated where they stood, others burst into flames, saw limbs or torsos instantly burned or had their bodies torn apart. At least the screams didn’t last for long.
The shield lattices were not designed for such pressure. Denser saw them flare green, deflect the first wave but crumble under the second. And still the spell came down. Sheet after sheet, deluging the area in front of the gates where the Lysternans had stood. He could see survivors running, saw the dead collapse, saw men with their faces burned off walking blind, and others who became so much ash on the wind that howled down after the lightning.
BlueStorm. Those were the words he had read in the Laryon hub. That was what he was witnessing. And Dystran would be behind it all. All Denser could think of was that the same would be happening over the north gate. Xetesk had struck the most enormous blow. Hirad’s shout told him it was only getting worse.
The spell finished with a splitting slap of sound, the rents whipping shut, the BlueStorm cutting off, leaving an afterglow in the dawn sky, smoke and dust like a fog around Xetesk and the smell of smoke and carnage in the air.
But the fog wasn’t so thick he couldn’t see what was happening now. The gates had opened. Xeteskians were running out to join their forces, swelling their numbers and charging ahead east and north in an arc that would take in the camp. Above the walls, mages flew, safe from spells now, like the familiars that accompanied them. Dozens of them breaking away in as many directions, their chittering laughter on the breeze, their sense of delight at destruction clear in their cavorting.
‘Denser, let’s move.’
The Unknown and Hirad both had men across their saddles, snatched from the lines as they turned to run. The lucky two were pushed away, The Unknown trotted up and handed Denser his reins and the mage remounted.
‘We’ve got to join up with the elves,’ said The Unknown. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here.’
The Lysternan force at the east gate had been all but destroyed. The Raven trio rode hard through milling survivors and those who tried to come to their aid from the camp. The Lysternans were in rout, fleeing back into the trees and beyond. Denser prayed they would regroup.
The Unknown led them along the base of the slope that marked the edge of the panicked Lysternan camp. The command post was deserted as they galloped by, only a couple of hundred yards ahead of the Xeteskians who were advancing on foot, any horsemen riding behind the lines.
But above and ahead, the familiars circled, diving on any enemies they found, crushing skulls with their inhumanly strong hands, biting deep into flesh and goring cuts with their tails.
The Unknown turned them just east of north before they reached the corner of Xetesk’s walls. The roar of battle echoed from the direction of the nor
th gates, smoke and dust hung and blew above the gatehouse and Denser could clearly hear the thunder of a cavalry charge.
Breasting the corner, the situation became distressingly clear. The joint Dordovan and Lysternan force there was scattered, destroyed or in full retreat. No order existed and the Xeteskian forces were driving north fast, chasing down the injured, slow and shocked. More familiars flew, more mages in the air directed the battle but at least here they met some resistance.
Izack and his cavalry, their shield and offensive mages in their centre, were performing heroics in the face of the rout. In charge after charge, Izack broke the Xeteskian advance, targeting weaker areas of the slightly disorganised lines, getting out before the enemy could close around him. As he watched, a concentrated Orb shot out from one of the cavalry mages, catching a familiar full in the chest. It screamed and fell, its master by its side tumbling from the sky, his hands gripped around his head.
Denser should have felt sympathy for the mage. He’d experienced the pain of losing a familiar himself. But all he felt was the lift of a tiny victory over the college that he had loved for so much of his life.
Even Izack couldn’t hold back the tide. Behind the soldiers and horsemen came wagons and carriages and mages on horseback. This breakout had been well-planned and executed with typical Xeteskian ruthlessness. It threw all the allied plans into chaos and, more urgently, made Julatsa incredibly vulnerable. The elves would have to travel fast to arrive with enough time to raise the Heart. But even if they did, would it matter? The Xeteskians wouldn’t stop. Somehow they had to bring enough defence to the college to keep them at bay and then drive them back. He wasn’t sure that was possible.
Denser switched his attention ahead of him. They were riding well ahead of the remnants of the Lysternan forces whom he could still see scattering east and north. The way before them was clear, across open fields and away towards the first cover on their run to Julatsa.
Before long, they had left the slaughter outside Xetesk behind them. The Xeteskian charge had slowed a little, as it had to if it was ever to become organised. Having won such a devastating victory and having dispersed their enemies beyond any immediate chance of renewed cohesion, they could afford to take time.
Half a mile beyond the battlefields, he saw what he’d been waiting for. Quick, disciplined and organised, the elves were moving north. Riders in the midst of the advance meant Darrick, and Thraun. He spotted him, carrying Erienne in front of him, holding her head against his chest.
They had scouts forward, ClawBound pairs ran the flanks and at the rear, TaiGethen marauded. They moved with purpose and represented Balaia’s best hope of holding the Xeteskians at bay. It was difficult to guess how many there were; their movement was fluid, they dropped in and out of sight against changing backgrounds and into trees and tall grass.
Whether the estimated requirement of two hundred mages were with them he doubted. His best guess was that he was looking at a total of less than four hundred warriors and mages. But that hardly mattered now. All that had to be done was to preserve the mages they had. Every one that fell on the run north was a blow against the survival of Julatsa.
But like Hirad and The Unknown, who rode ahead of him, Denser would not let Ilkar’s dreams die.
Chapter 31
Vuldaroq strode through the cloister corridor of Dordover, seeking out Heryst, whom he had been told was in the Chamber of Reflection, a room of polished granite slabs, fountains, small waterfalls and wicker furniture. The perfect place to relax. Or to contemplate disaster.
Heryst was sitting with his head in his hands. It had been a shattering blow, leaving Xetesk firmly in command of the battle. Unless fortune favoured the allies, the war was now Xetesk’s to lose.
Reports from outside the city were still sketchy but it was clear that both the eastern and northern siege fronts had collapsed completely. South and west, the allied lines had fallen back, fearful of a similar fate, leaving Xetesk unmolested. Xeteskian forces had also withdrawn inside the walls of the city, comfortable now that not enough force could be mustered to mount a serious threat, at least for the time being. They were right, too.
Heryst looked up when Vuldaroq’s sandalled feet slapped across the marble floor. The Dordovan lowered himself onto a two-seater bench, the wickerwork protesting at his weight.
‘Anything new?’ he asked, keeping his voice respectful and quiet. Though they had both lost men, Lystern had been the harder hit overall and Heryst, he knew, would take every death personally.
‘We had committed so much. Why did we have no clue what they were preparing?’
‘A message was relayed but none of us could have guessed the magnitude of what was cast at us. The Raven knew something. The word is, they tried to help.’
‘I heard!’ snapped Heryst. ‘Sorry. I heard. And when the spell was forming they tried to clear the battlefield and even saved two men. Damn but it’s hard to hunt them.’
‘We cannot stop now.’
‘I know.’ Heryst was silent for a while. ‘I have no real idea how many men and mages I have left in the field,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ve been in three Communions since dawn. Two of them with terrified individuals barely able to keep their concentration and talking about scattered bands of my people being hunted down by familiars, mage defender trios and come nightfall, no doubt, assassins too.
‘Neither could put a figure on the casualties but, conservatively, let’s say the reinforced line this morning lost eighty per cent. Say it’s the same north. It leaves us with a force of less than three hundred facing nearly a thousand Xeteskians just north of the city. And that’s assuming we include the walking wounded and can regroup to form a sensible defence. We’re finished, aren’t we?’
Vuldaroq surprised himself by reaching out a hand and laying it gently on Heryst’s arm.
‘Not until the last of our soldiers lies dead. Not until Dystran himself stands before me in my own Heart. Don’t lose hope. Not now.’
Heryst nodded. ‘I know, I’m sorry. Bad moment.’
‘Forget about it. Instead, tell me what you’re planning for those you still have camped south of Xetesk.’
‘You know, I haven’t planned at all. We’ve been trying to pull the pieces together.’
‘Join with me, then,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘Our belief is that Xetesk has only enough men inside the city to defend it, not strike out at any other targets. Move your men with mine north to Julatsa because the battle for Balaia will be fought there. If you have enough strength left in Lystern you must do it.’
‘I will direct them to your command,’ said Heryst.
‘Good. That’s a wise decision. And now, I’ll leave you. I think you have people to contact, fears to quell as best you can.’ He stood to go. ‘One thing. Your man, Izack. He saved a lot of Dordovans this morning. I won’t forget that.’
Heryst smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Vuldaroq nodded and left, the door to opportunity pushed a little wider open.
She understood her name but she could not recall it beyond her Loved speaking it to her. But she knew why she was here and who was friend and who was prey. She could sense that which instinct told her she should not. And she understood that which mere men did not. She was ClawBound and no one could break a bond forged since birth. No one.
She padded swiftly through the unfamiliar lands. Every scent was foreign, every pawfall unlike any other she had experienced before the journey. A brief shudder ran down her flanks. The ocean had been broad and the land had moved upon it. Small and stinking of men, though the Keepers were in charge. And her Loved had always been by her side.
The memory was distant and it passed quickly through her mind. Now, she protected. The Keepers were running. Threat was everywhere. It could not be allowed the freedom to strike.
So she moved beyond them, her Loved nearby, directing and calming her, stroking her mind. She sampled the scents that assailed her, distant and close. The plants, the flowers and the tr
ees, healthy and growing. The small prey animals, quivering and scared when she passed them, ignoring them for now.
Upwind, there was threat. It was not far. She let free with her emotions, her Loved understanding the change within her, the tightening of her focus ahead, the increase in her pace. He matched her.
A small animal appeared in the path. Fur black like hers, the size of a cub but sleeker. She would have termed it a relative but the scent told her it was not of her family. It radiated danger. Her Loved closed in to guard her while she investigated.
The animal stopped in front of her, waited for her to approach, didn’t flinch as she pushed her muzzle in very close. In every mannerism, it was a distant cousin, small and fragile. But it radiated a strength and a strangeness that she had never encountered before. It scared her. She withdrew a pace and growled low in her throat.
The animal mewled, darted in and pushed a paw into her face. It should have been playful but the claws bit deep. She bared her teeth and cuffed the animal hard. It tumbled over and over into damp leaf mulch beneath a tree. But as it fell, it became another. Bigger, with limbs like a monkey. The fur vanished and a head full of fangs and spitting anger looked at her, a long leathery tail whipping behind it.
She yowled in shock, leaping away unsure, her Loved coming to her side. The creature rushed at her, making a chittering sound. Confused and fearful though she was, instinct took over. She crouched low, waited her moment, and sprang.
The creature was fast but she was faster. It had looked to bite her but instead found her front paws, claws exposed thumping into its chest and bearing it to the ground backwards. It screeched and spat, tried to work its arms and tail free, its legs scrabbling just beneath her belly but far enough away. She clamped her jaws around its skull, looking for the crushing grip. She flexed the muscles in her face, pressing and pressing but there was something wrong. Although it was helpless under her weight it was not trying to struggle and her teeth were making no impression. She released and bit again, striking hard. Again, no impression.
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