Sha-Kaan spat fire in sudden anger.
‘Skies curse you, Yasal, I wonder why I haven’t stayed at home to watch you die.’
‘Because, old Kaan, you need the strength of my brood; or at least to know that your lands are safe while you sort out the problems you say have afflicted your melde. You deny your lack of attention caused what you say we now face?’
‘You know the birthing cycle of the Kaan. Your attacks over my skies were not random events, after all. You know what happens around the time of our birthings. So, it appears, do the Arakhe. What they did, to use a human phrase, was give mages enough rope to hang themselves with, then sit and wait until we were not guarding Balaia’s fabric. Mages ripped the fabric and we were not there. The Arakhe were.’
‘You should have controlled your subjects more effectively.’
Sha-Kaan let the comment ride for a while. He wasn’t being goaded now. There was a gulf in the understanding between the two broods. It was as fundamental as their hatred for one another. After a long pause, he responded.
‘That is why you will never be the dominant brood.’
‘How so?’
‘Because you do not understand the relationship between your vitality and the independence of the minds in your melde dimension. ’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘I expect so.’
‘Dragons rule dimensional space. We take what we need,’ said Yasal.
‘I agree with the latter statement. I take issue with the former purely because if you don’t help me now, it will soon no longer be true.’
‘So you say.’
‘Kill me and find out for yourself,’ said Sha-Kaan.
It was a challenge but he knew Yasal could not afford to take him up on it. The Naik gave something approximating a laugh.
‘You intrigue me, Great Kaan. And I respect the risk you have taken travelling here alone. Foolhardy but still . . . Tell me exactly what it is you want the Naik to do. Agree a truce perhaps.’
‘You and every brood,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘And I am afraid a truce on its own will not be enough. The invasion of Balaia is far more advanced than you realise.’
‘Accepted. State your plea.’
Sha-Kaan told him and watched all that arrogance and humour fall from his scent, his eyes and his attitude on the glide. He saw genuine uncertainty and abrupt realisation. When he had finished speaking, Sha-Kaan waited as he knew he must. Yasal’s wings were twitching slightly, the skin around his eyes pinched.
‘Land with me,’ he said eventually. ‘I would take food and water. And so should you.’
Hirad landed hard on his backside and laughter rang out across the deck again. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked round at Denser.
‘Fancy a swim, Xetesk-man?’
‘Sorry, Hirad,’ said Denser, plainly nothing of the kind.
‘You should try having him as your practice demon,’ said the barbarian. ‘See how far you get.’
In front of him, Auum reached out a hand. Hirad pulled himself to his feet.
‘You saw my move,’ said Auum.
It was as close to a compliment as the TaiGethen leader ever came.
‘Seeing is one thing, reacting is another,’ said Hirad, the elvish easy on his tongue.
‘You are faster than the rest.’
‘That is small comfort.’
‘What’s he saying?’ asked Denser.
‘That you should take a turn and he’d wipe that smile off your face,’ said Hirad.
‘All right, enough,’ said The Unknown. ‘It doesn’t matter that Auum is faster than any demon, he’s found a flaw in the tactics. We’ve left a gap in the defence and it means we can’t make the space between us big enough for Denser to cast.’
‘How much does that matter?’ asked Hirad. ‘Assuming our souls really are safe.’
‘Just because a demon can’t take your soul doesn’t mean it can’t rip your arms off while I’m helpless to cast,’ said Denser.
‘Good point. So what do we do?’ asked Hirad.
The Unknown looked at Darrick. ‘Any ideas?’
‘I have,’ said Rebraal.
He along with Auum’s Tai and four former Protectors had been playing the part of demons, unarmed but carrying thick wooden crate lids to deflect The Raven’s blades - scabbarded though they were.
‘And?’
‘It has nothing to do with your tactics. The pushing roll is fine. The line defence is effective enough and tricky to pierce. The problem is there aren’t enough of you to repel eight of us.’
‘There is more, though,’ said Darrick. ‘The nature of what you are trying to have us achieve leaves us vulnerable. We aren’t going for killing thrusts, we’re going for weighted blows to drive them back. Swords aren’t balanced for that and our follow-throughs leave us exposed as Auum is so good at demonstrating.’
The Unknown nodded. ‘Agreed, I was wondering about our weapons. Should be relatively easy to accommodate. Blackthorne should have maces enough for us. Rebraal’s point, though, is more difficult, I fear.’
‘No it isn’t,’ said Rebraal. ‘Some of us will have to come with you.’
‘That won’t work,’ said Hirad. ‘We’ve already agreed we need you in Julatsa and Ark and his people in Xetesk. We have to have people in place to motivate and who know what is going on.’
‘And what is the point of that if you are overwhelmed by demons before you can achieve what you must?’ Rebraal shrugged.
‘You are only six,’ said Auum in halting, heavily accented Balaian. ‘Two mages, four warriors. It is too few.’
The Raven looked at each other. Thraun inscrutable as always, The Unknown calmly weighing up all he was hearing, and Darrick nodding. Hirad knew the elves were right. And it wasn’t as if The Raven hadn’t fought with others countless times before. Gods burning, they’d spent ten years fighting in mercenary lines. But this felt different. It was admitting before they really began that they weren’t up to the task. It left an unpleasant taste.
‘We can’t afford to be taken out,’ said Darrick.
‘Thanks, General, I had worked that part out,’ said Hirad.
‘I mean we have to be as prepared as we can be. Part of that is going in with the right numbers.’
‘Well let’s take an army,’ said Hirad. ‘Do the job right.’
‘What’s got into you all of a sudden?’ The Unknown was frowning.
‘Nothing.’ Hirad spat over the side of the ship.
‘The problem is,’ continued Darrick carefully, ‘that we haven’t sat and really thought this all through. The Unknown’s tactics play here has demonstrated that we can’t realistically hope to beat significant numbers of demons without Erienne to strip their protection from them. And we don’t have the time to raise an army. And if we did, their souls would have no protection.’
‘We could ask the demons only to come at us in groups of eight or less,’ said Denser.
The Unknown spared Denser a brief bleak look before turning to Hirad.
‘Well?’
‘You are our heart,’ added Thraun.
‘But none of you think we can do this alone, do you?’ said Hirad.
‘That’s about the size of it,’ said Darrick. ‘But ultimately, if you believe otherwise, we’ll be with you.’
‘So, no pressure then,’ said Denser.
Hirad smiled thinly at him. ‘Funny.’ But bad taste or not, he couldn’t blind himself to reality. He looked over at Rebraal. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘My heart says we should all go with you. I would consider it an honour to fight with you to save my brother’s soul. But my people are in Julatsa. I lead the Al-Arynaar. What other choice do I have but to be with them?’
‘Fine. So you’re going to do exactly what we agreed all along.’
‘Hirad, what is wrong with you?’ asked The Unknown. ‘This is impatient even for you. Just listen.’
Hirad closed his mouth. He hadn’t mean
t it to sound like it did. His mind felt unsettled. Like he was about to lose control. He nodded an apology. Rebraal acknowledged it.
‘The same is true to a certain extent of Ark and his men. Some of them have to remain in Xetesk to organise what must be done. But you need more blades. Auum’s Tai will come with you and, if they are agreeable, a pair of the Protectors.’
‘You’re practically doubling our numbers,’ said Hirad.
‘It isn’t meant to be a slur on The Raven,’ said Rebraal. ‘But the fact is, not all who go will come back. We have to give ourselves the best chance. You’re at the centre of this. The Raven, I mean. But even you need support and dragons can’t give you that on the ground hand to hand. Without it, one mistake and the demons win. We can’t take an army, as Darrick has said, or we leave Balaia defenceless. But we do have us.’
‘Spoken like Ilkar,’ said Hirad. ‘I know you’re right. It’s just hard to admit.’
‘None here would do The Raven disservice and you are still its core. While you burn, we can win. Don’t let pride extinguish you.’
Hirad breathed deep. He didn’t have to look back at his friends to know what they were thinking.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘We’ll do it your way. Now I’m going to rest. I don’t feel quite right.’
Hirad walked as quickly as he was able to his cabin, his mind aflame. It made him nauseous and unsteady. For a moment he wondered if he was seasick but the ship was making serene progress and it was not an affliction to which he was prone. Entering his cabin, he splashed water on his face and towelled it dry before lying on his bunk and closing his eyes.
He felt detached from his body though he could still feel it; as if touching it from a distance. His mouth was dry and his forehead lined with sweat. He swallowed hard, his heart racing in his chest. He’d have cried out but he wasn’t sure anyone would hear him.
The cabin was dim but behind his eyelids stark lights danced. Hirad felt himself slipping away from the creaking of ship’s timbers, the call of orders across the deck and the screech of gulls far from shore. He didn’t fight it, he had no defence. The last coherent thought he had was one of relief that he hadn’t collapsed on deck. He didn’t want anyone to worry.
There was a battering sound. It accompanied the lights that were so bright that Hirad couldn’t see beyond them though he was aware something was out there. The battering was frenzied and constant, the work of countless rams and cudgels desperate to break in. He didn’t pause to consider where. The tumult was accompanied by screaming. Faint at first but gaining in volume, getting closer.
He had heard the like before. It was the sound of a routed population driving headlong away from danger. It was disordered, panicked and terrified. He fancied he could see shadows behind the lights but it might just as easily have been a trick of his mind.
Pressure built behind his eyes. It grew quickly, in harmony with the screaming which dragged painfully in his head and the battering which dulled to a background clamour by comparison. Like the incoming tide it was inexorable and like rising flood waters it threatened to engulf him, drag him under.
Pain grew, blossomed across his consciousness. He thought he might have screamed but he couldn’t hear the sound over those of the masses behind the light. But with the pain was the warmth of recognition. A touching of minds like the meeting of old friends.
Could it be Sha-Kaan? Hirad opened his mouth to bid him welcome but then the spirit passed through him on the crest of a scream and he was shovelled to wakefulness. He blinked at the half-light of the cabin, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He carried with him the tender feelings of the encounter; all the energy, life and love of his oldest friend. Yet beneath it, the fear of oblivion. Real, almost tangible, shouting from each of his muscles and the dulling thud in his head like a warning siren.
He sat up quickly, felt darkness threaten to close on him and a hand on his shoulder.
‘Hey, not so fast,’ said Erienne. ‘Take your time.’
Hirad focused on her slowly. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Ever since you shouted Ilkar’s name the first time.’
‘I knew it!’
Hirad swung his feet out of the bunk and stood up, letting Erienne guide him.
‘Where are you going?’
‘On deck. Rebraal must have felt this.’
‘Felt what?’
Hirad moved past her and yanked open the door. ‘Ilkar. He moved straight through me. He was running. He was frightened.’
‘That’s not . . .’
Hirad didn’t stop to ease Erienne’s confusion. He trotted along the short corridor to the aft steps and up out into the fresh smells and bright light of the deck. The sun washed over the timbers, the sails flapped idly in the light breeze and the scent of the sea filled his nostrils.
Rebraal was in a seated position, leaning against a crate and surrounded by The Raven and TaiGethen. The Unknown passed a cup to him and he drank. His face was pale in the light and his eyes darted here and there, settling on Hirad.
‘You felt it too,’ said Hirad.
Rebraal nodded. ‘Through every fibre.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It means he is chased. It means the demons are breaking down the doors. It means they think they have found a way in.’ Rebraal paused and sighed. ‘It means we need the wind. I think the dead are running out of time.’
Chapter 16
Dystran made sure the survivors had space, warm food and blankets. He had taken them into his tower and sat the three of them in his chambers. They were chilly like the day outside but the chairs were deeply upholstered and comfortable. Dystran had often sunk into one of them himself to try and imagine what life had been like before the demons came.
Already he had people looking at the texts they had brought back with them but he was more concerned with the condition of the raiders right now. They had lost one swordsman in the library, which still burned though it was clear the demons were trying to extinguish the blaze. Slaves had formed a bucket chain that snaked and split to six wells in and around the college.
One of his archivists had also perished, right at the moment he must have thought he was safe. It was ironic that the raiders’ escape route back into the dome should be that first trodden by The Raven when they broke in. A time of life that seemed so distant now.
Suarav had survived by sheer force of will, holding off demons to give his mages enough time to get through the window and away into the ColdRoom lattice. But he was suffering for it now. He sat hunched in a blanket, staring down at his quivering hands. His fingers were blue and the twitching of his muscles meant he could barely hold his mug. Dystran pressed his hands around it and helped it to his lips.
Suarav’s hands were so cold. Unnaturally so. His face bore the scars of a dozen demon’s claws, his lips were cracked and pallid. The soldier had trouble taking the drink. Much of it dripped down his chin.
‘Take your time,’ said Dystran. ‘You can relax now, you’re safe.’
‘They couldn’t take my soul,’ said Suarav. ‘They couldn’t take it.’
‘No indeed.’ Dystran had been genuinely surprised by the fact.
‘And do you know why?’ Suarav’s face cracked into a pained smile. The cuts on his face crinkled, spilling fresh blood. ‘Because not all of them can do it.’
‘What?’ Dystran started and had to remind himself not to take his hands away from Suarav’s.
‘Some of the lesser castes clearly don’t have the ability or I would not be here.’
Suarav took another sip of his drink and coughed. A shudder ran the length of his body and he sighed, collapsing in a little on himself.
‘All right, enough now,’ said Dystran. ‘Build your strength. Rest easy. We will guard you here.’
‘It’s cold,’ said Suarav.
‘Yes it is,’ said Dystran, though not cold enough to account for the captain’s condition. ‘I’ll get you another blanket. Maybe some gloves.
’ He snapped his fingers at one of the guards. ‘See to it.’
He pressed Suarav’s hands to his mug once more and turned to Sharyr who sat on a small sofa with the other archivist, Brynel. Both men were lapsing into shock. Bodies trembling, eyes staring. Brynel swallowed repeatedly. He was going to need attention quickly. Sharyr was only marginally better. At least he raised a smile and was able to drink.
‘You’ve done a marvellous thing,’ said Dystran.
‘If the texts we took reveal anything.’ He tried to laugh but it came out a splutter.
‘Even if they don’t, it shows we are still fighting. That we still believe we can beat these bastards.’
‘Without him we’d all be gone.’ Sharyr nodded at Suarav. A glance told Dystran he’d closed his eyes, his breathing was laboured but at least it was even. ‘He was immense. He saved us all so many times.’ Abruptly, tears streamed down Sharyr’s face and a heaving sob shook his body. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ Tea slopped over his hands and he dropped the mug which shattered in the empty fireplace, making him flinch violently.
‘Shh,’ said Dystran. He placed a calming hand on his shoulder and stroked his upper arm. ‘Let it out. It’s all right, you’re safe now.’
Sharyr clutched Dystran’s robes. ‘They kept on coming and we were too frightened to cast. They clicked their jaws, they reached for us with those hands. They got so close. We just ran and he kept them away though they bit him and scratched his face. They wanted his soul but he was so strong and they couldn’t get round him to get to us. But they taunted us, they taunted us and they reached out for our souls.’ He gripped harder. ‘I looked deep in their eyes and there was nothing there. Nothing. It’s what we face if they take us. Emptiness.’
Dystran gripped Sharyr’s wrists and gently eased his hands away. ‘But they won’t take us, will they? Because in this room, three men of incredible courage have given us a chance. You Sharyr, and Suarav and Brynel.’
‘They were so close,’ moaned Sharyr.
‘And that is as close as they’ll ever get. Think on it, Sharyr, and remember you’re safe now. They can’t get you in here. I promise.’
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