Hirad caught Darrick in time to bludgeon away a clutch of strike-strain poised to attack the General’s head. Reavers were coming in again too, but this time it was spells that stopped them. Rebraal’s wagon plunged out of the ColdRoom shell. Back in the world of mana, his mages cast quickly and efficiently. ForceCones drove rents through the demon clouds, scattering them through the air. Immediately, they were attacked from the rear, the Al-Arynaar fighting hard to keep them away.
‘Confident?’ shouted Hirad.
‘Never not so,’ replied Darrick.
They were twenty yards from the wagon and running straight for it. Maces were stowed in belt loops, strike-strain were free to snipe at them.
‘Good luck.’
Darrick timed his run to perfection. He angled into the galloping horses, caught the rein harness of the right-hand beast and swung up onto its back. Two paces later, Hirad leapt for the kicking board, impacting heavily on the frame of the wagon. Ignoring the flare of pain in his ribs, he turned to Rebraal, grinning and taking the reins from him.
‘Bloody elves. Never did understand horses.’ He looked ahead. ‘All right, General, let’s get this thing pointed the right way!’
He felt a blade whistle above his head. A reaver tumbled away, flaring a ghastly yellow.
‘Thanks.’
Rebraal shrugged and sought his next target.
Darrick, flanked by elves, was calming the horses. Commands mixed with soft words in one’s ears brought it back to its senses and it began to slow, bringing the other with it, suddenly aware of its peril and needing direction. Hirad provided it, turning them right towards The Raven and snapping the reins to maintain impetus.
His friends were in trouble. Strike-strain in their hundreds had gathered above them and reavers approached from all quarters. The Tai cell fought with grace and control at the head of the running pack, never seeming to break stride. The Unknown and the two Protectors were a power block, delivering shuddering strikes that battered a path clear. Thraun ran alongside Denser and Eilaan in their wake. The two mages clearly held ForceCones above their heads, sweeping them around and behind, denying the demons access to Thraun’s vital cargo.
‘We need more spells keeping the sky clear,’ said Hirad. ‘Darrick, get your arse up here. It’s going to get interesting.’
Rebraal called out the order. Al-Arynaar mages on the roof of the wagon turned their attention to The Raven. Two followed Denser’s example, deploying ForceCones ahead of the horses, using them as battering rams. Hirad waited for Darrick to step nimbly up the horse’s back before snapping the reins again, encouraging more speed from the tiring animals.
The two groups closed quickly, demons getting caught between them. Elven ForceCones drove the creatures left, right, up and forwards. Hirad saw the danger.
‘Move those Cones!’ he shouted, gesturing with his arm as he did so. ‘Above head height.’
Rebraal confirmed the order and The Raven could run in under temporary cover. Hirad threw the reins at Darrick.
‘Your turn, General. We need Erienne inside at the earliest.’
With that, he thumped to the ground and ran towards The Raven, the ice from his demon cuts stiffening his muscles, the sweat streaming from his forehead and the blood rushing in his veins. And at the periphery of it all, he kept at bay the fear that they all harboured. That these hordes were always within an ace of snuffing them out for ever. That one slip would end it all.
He roared to clear his head and dragged his mace out to smash it into the back of the first reaver he encountered. It felt good. It felt very good.
‘Unknown, get ready,’ yelled Hirad, voice carrying over the narrow press of demons separating them.
He saw The Unknown nod and thunder his mace into the skull of a reaver. The creature shrieked and fell backwards, shaking its head, its skin a blazing bright blue. Beside him Ark and Kas, operating with mace and axe, upped their pace. Demons flew from their path. Strike-strain carrying clear over Hirad’s head, reavers crumpling and falling, trampled as they tried to rise, shaking off the shock of the blows.
Auum’s Tai had dropped behind Thraun and the mages now and were operating with dreadful efficiency. Not for them the path-making power of the mace. Instead, feet and hands denied the demons the rear of the Raven line and, where they fell, they’d find a TaiGethen pounce to deliver the short-sword stab under the arm.
Hirad slapped his mace into the demon pack once more. He could hear the rattling of the carriage and feel the thud of hoof underfoot.
‘Break them, break them!’ ordered Darrick.
The wagon slewed hard right, dirt and grass flying up from under its wheels. Denser shifted the focus of his ForceCone, driving a wedge through the demons, dismissing the spell before it could threaten either Hirad or their transport. The barbarian battered his way towards Thraun, mace in both hands now. He felt a claw swipe across the top of his head and the blood began to run. He staggered and straightened, took two more paces and was knocked clean from his feet. Pain scorched into his side, winding him. Demons closed around him, their calls and shouts mixing with those of The Raven.
Rolling onto his back, he saw sky above him and the wings of demons closing in. He carried on rolling, a claw missing his face by a hair. A weapon whispered across his body. He heard a thud and a cry of frustration. A fist grabbed his collar and hauled him upright.
‘Get on board, Coldheart,’ said The Unknown.
Thraun had reached the back of the cart. Kas and Ark flanked him still, their weapons keeping the baying demon pack at bay. IceWind, bleak yellow and Julatsan, swept out from the roof of the wagon. The TaiGethen sprinted past him and vaulted to the wagon’s roof to join the fight. Denser and Eilaan paced backwards, the latter’s ForceCone still under control, still keeping the enemy back from the sky above.
‘The roof, Unknown. We need to get there.’
‘Not you,’ said The Unknown. ‘In the back. You’re hurt. I’ll take the bench with Darrick.’
‘Hurt?’
‘Yes.’
The Unknown’s mace struck again. He ducked a flailing tail, dragging Hirad with him into the lee of the wagon. He pushed the barbarian to the tailgate and thrust him at Ark.
‘Don’t let him go.’
Hirad frowned. His head was swimming a little but otherwise he was fine. He smiled up at Ark but the Protector’s face was impassive.
‘Get aboard,’ he said.
Hirad thought to disagree but he took one more pace and staggered, legs suddenly lacking strength. He glanced down and saw the blood from his side staining his leather. He began to shiver.
His last certainty was hearing The Unknown shout for Darrick to get the wagon going. But after Ark had picked him up and he thought he’d heard Rebraal order more ForceCones, everything else was a chill blur.
Chapter 31
Sharyr and Brynel knelt to prepare the ward. They were far from the gates of the college and could hear the sounds of demons whose attentions were mercifully still diverted elsewhere. Next to them stood Suarav. He was the only man they would have trusted to look over them. It was a curious strength they had gained from their ordeal in the library. None of them had truly recovered from it. They all still shivered intermittently and felt the chill of demon touch and proximity.
Yet it had instilled in them a fierce fatalism and brought the three of them together in a bond of mutual respect and belief. It was something that would be put to severe test in the hours to come.
‘Attach it to the corner there,’ whispered Sharyr.
Brynel nodded. The ward structure was simple and designed for a closely directed effect. Positioned on the junction of streets running away to the broken north gate, to the cloth market, and the college itself, it was a key focus of Chandyr’s plan to help the Julatsans into Xetesk. Another key part of that plan was the three of them.
Sharyr watched his charge meld the ward into the building. When it was fixed he fed in exclusions to its activation
to ensure no stray human or elven approach caused disaster. It was a quick process.
‘All right,’ he said, standing and helping Brynel up. ‘That’s our lot.’
‘Well done,’ said Suarav.
The three men looked at each other in the gloom of the street. The quiet was eerie and suffocating. Each knew what the others would be feeling. The desire to run back to the college. The dread at what they had volunteered to do. The pride at their own strength and the trust that had been bestowed upon them.
While other trios, some classic mage-defender structure, completed the ward lattice to Chandyr’s design, they would be leaving Xetesk to contact the approaching allies. No one had to tell them the risk they were taking. No one had to remind them of their chances of success. They already knew that Chandyr had a contingency for their failure. It wasn’t supposed to discomfort them, it was simple reality.
‘Do you need to rest?’ asked the gruff guard captain.
Both mages shook their heads.
‘We should go,’ said Sharyr.
‘Just remember to follow my lead and keep yourself moving. To stop is to die,’ said Suarav.
Sharyr chuckled. ‘Only that?’
‘Strength,’ said Suarav.
‘Let’s go,’ said Brynel. ‘It’s cold standing here.’
Denser looked down at his wife and a tear dropped from his cheek onto hers. It was the deep of night. The demons were attacking again. He could hear their calls echoing across the wagon train as it rolled inexorably on towards the gates of Xetesk. Feet skipped across the roof struts overhead and he could see the stress in the canvas in the half-light that permeated the wagon.
Rebraal had said the night would be the worst and so it was. Because the demons, indefatigable, lit up the sky with the colours of their bodies. They set up a stunning array of lights, at once terrifying and undeniably beautiful. Shifting patterns across the rainbow of colour, bright washes and gentle tones that were quite extraordinary, almost mesmerising. But they denied man, elf and horse any rest. Their calls gnawed at the nerves. And periodically, they would swoop into attack. Not with the intention of destroying the convoy, but in the knowledge that with the dawn would come new fear.
Denser tried to put it from his mind while he considered the folly of what The Raven would soon be attempting. Next to Erienne, Hirad lay sleeping fitfully, his many scratches and wounds bound and treated and his body shivering. He was strong. He would come back. But Erienne was a different case. Denser tried to believe that she was as strong-willed and determined as the woman he had met all those years before. But tragedy had dogged her and the pressure to be what she did not want to be was tearing up her soul.
Her façade cracked often yet still she tried to achieve what The Raven desired and what Balaia and all its linked dimensions needed. Out there in the fields as they had run towards the ColdRoom shell and the security it represented, Erienne had attempted something new, something awesome.
Denser understood what it was. She had created a structure that expanded on encountering the air and had evacuated the space it covered of any vestige of mana. But this super-ColdRoom wasn’t the end. She had then stripped an element from demons that they could not survive an instant without. Something that bound their flesh. It would be like taking water from a human body. Whatever it was she had seen in their make-up, she had used to devastating effect. But as with all the castings of the One, there was risk in the new idea.
And the second time she had cast, she had let too much of the power flood her body. Her collapse had been her body’s defence mechanism against a complete disaster for her and for Balaia. They had been lucky. The storms Erienne would unleash if out of control would make those that Lyanna had triggered seem like puffs of breeze.
But when would she awake from this latest trauma? And when she did, what would she be like? He could only hope that somewhere in her mind, Cleress was with her.
‘Why did you try it, love?’ he asked, stroking her warm cheek, wiping away his tear. ‘There’s nothing you need to prove to us. Nothing.’
Around him in the wagon, resting Al-Arynaar mages and humans including Pheone kept their thoughts to themselves, respecting his need for whatever privacy of mind he could eke out. A strong hand rested on his shoulder.
‘Deep inside, she knows even that. But she cannot deny that part of her that desires to experiment. To find her limits.’
Denser turned his head to look at Thraun. The big blond shapechanger was seated behind them, sword across his knees. He would not leave her side while she was helpless. He never would. Thraun had known her longer than any of them. He’d seen her twins grow and had buried them alongside her first husband. Theirs was a bond that comforted Denser. Something he knew would never fail.
‘What makes you say that?’
A smile touched Thraun’s lips. ‘A shapechanger drives his body when he is not a human. He desires to push it further than he ever could his human frame. It is something he never truly controls but in that lack there is such life and excitement. It is to be feared as it is to be loved.’
The wagon bounced across a rut in the ground. Above there was a shifting of feet and the multiple impact of weapons. Bodies hit the ground, death cries fading to nothing.
‘You know, you might be right but I think there’s more to it,’ said Denser. ‘The One is Erienne’s only link to Lyanna. When she lets it thrive it’s like life.’
Thraun shrugged. ‘Yes. It is why I have to live part of my life with the pack. It is a link to something I cannot deny.’
‘Do you remember any of the years you spent as a wolf after the Noonshade rip?’
Thraun’s face darkened. ‘No. It is at best like scent on the breeze. Fleeting reminiscence, soon dispersed. I’d rather it was that way.’
Erienne shifted in her sleep and Denser caressed her brow. ‘It’s all right, love. You’re safe.’
Denser hated himself for saying it but it was the only way he could feel any worth at all. He glanced up at Thraun but the shapechanger wasn’t looking at them. He was sniffing the air, sword clutched in his hands and his muscles tensed.
‘Thraun?’
The shapechanger’s eyes glinted yellow in the swimming lights reflected from the demons’ bodies as they flew outside. ‘Threat,’ he said.
He stepped over Erienne and Denser and stood at the covered rear of the wagon, silent and unmoving. Denser could see him balancing with the shifts of the axles and could hear The Unknown shouting instructions from where he was riding with Darrick at the front.
There was an impact on the wagon’s tail board. Thraun stiffened, crouched very slightly. The canvas rippled. Thraun’s right hand shot out through the opening and dragged a reaver in by the throat. He held it down by his knee and growled, sword cocked and ready.
The demon screwed its head round, its body flaring yellow, bathing the wagon with an alien light. Both Hirad and Erienne moaned. There was a concerted movement towards the front of the carriage.
‘Shapechanger,’ grated the demon, voice strangled through Thraun’s grip.
‘And the reason you will never take what you want so badly,’ he replied.
He jerked the creature further into the wagon. It spat and struggled, wings beating against the canvas, arms clutching Thraun’s wrist. Thraun merely tightened his grip.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look at what you are so close to but can never touch.’
His sword drove through the demon’s chest. Within the ColdRoom shell, there was no defence against that. The creature convulsed and died. Gore drained onto the floor timbers. Thraun flung the body from the wagon and thrust his head out into the open air.
‘Any more of you come right in.’
Denser had never seen him this animated. The big warrior withdrew and retook his seat.
‘Glad you’re on my side,’ said Denser.
‘Always,’ said Thraun.
‘What’s got into you?’
Thraun’s eyes bored into
his. ‘I have watched her these years, only leaving her side when I thought her to be safe. I have seen her grow in strength even as her heart broke. She can save us all. It is best that they know it.’ He gestured outside.
‘You’re baiting a trap,’ said Denser.
‘And The Raven are its jaws.’
Hiela was unused to resistance. But the incompetence of the aggressor strains over an insultingly long time had forced his early appearance in Balaia. It had not been in his plans for this time. The orderly transfer of mana energy from their home of the last generations needed careful marshalling and he was particularly schooled in the linkage between their land and Balaia.
Hiela, of course, was the designated Shroud Master. He had overseen the capture of so many souls from the Balaian mages when their petty squabbles had forced them to come to him for protection. He understood how they thought. How anything was better than that which they had just faced.
He still remembered how the Julatsans had capped and dismissed the shroud around their college almost at the moment he had forced a breach that would have made all that had happened since an irrelevance. Balaia had been so weak at the time. One rabble had been fighting the other and breaking the spirit of the whole. How easy it would have been to invade at that moment.
But dragons had become embroiled in the dispute. And so had this group of humans and elves that so went against all their teaching about the weakness of the spirit of those from Balaia’s northern continent. This Raven. To find they were still a thorn in the side of conquest and dominion had hastened his departure.
And so, rather than sit basking in the warmth of the mana flow and see to the needs of the masters who maintained the gap and focused the stream, he was here. In the heat of the Balaian dimension. Smelling their foul air and hearing the pathetic excuses as to why the land they had identified was not yet sanctified for habitation. Why so many humans, elves and damned Wesmen ran free to cause them trouble rather than build, breed and die at their pleasure.
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