‘We need numbers, stamina and sustainability estimates now,’ said The Unknown, bringing him back to himself.
‘We also need a way out,’ said Rebraal, wheezing.
‘First things first,’ said The Unknown. ‘Dila’heth, what have you got?’
Dila blew out her cheeks. ‘It’s not a good picture,’ she said, biting back her emotion. ‘We left Julatsa with one hundred and eighty mages not three days ago. And now’ - she began indicating as she spoke - ‘I have six mages keeping ForceCones on the ceiling. I have thirty investing the walls with WardLock constructs. I have nine ready to cast ColdRooms, five are on healing duty and the other seven are injured too badly to cast. That’s fifty-eight including me.’
‘We’ve all lost people,’ muttered Hirad.
Dila let the figures sink in. Hirad looked about him. It had seemed such a throng when they had run for the playhouse but now, in the enclosed space, the scale of their losses was all too clear.
‘And what about the warriors, Rebraal?’ asked The Unknown.
‘Less than a hundred,’ he said, face drawn and pained. ‘We can’t know the numbers Auum still has with him but at worst we’ve lost well over half our sword and two thirds of our mage strength. And it gets worse, I suspect. Pheone?’
The Julatsan High Mage looked up from her search of the wounded.
‘How bad is it?’
Pheone’s face was a picture of despair. Her face was streaked with fresh tears and she was shaking, the fear setting in to her body. She took a moment to compose herself and walked onto the stage, the mage Geren at her shoulder.
‘I’ve lost almost everyone. There’s only ten left. Pathetic isn’t it, but Geren and I are the only human Julatsan mages left. Everyone else is dead or a non-mage.’
‘There’ll be others, Pheone,’ said Hirad. ‘Hidden and scattered. Blackthorne has Julatsans in his employ. You can rebuild.’
‘From this?’ blurted out Geren. ‘You talk like it’s over and we’ve won. Look at where we are. We’ve just swapped one trap for another. There’s no way out, is there? Nowhere for us to go.’
‘There is always a way,’ said Hirad, his tone ominous and stilling Geren’s outburst. ‘That’s what we do. What you do is go back and get our people fit to fight again. And I will do the same with mine.’
Geren nodded.
‘And Geren?’
‘What?’
‘We’re all tired and scared,’ said Hirad. ‘But fear is a disease. And it spreads where it shows. Remember that when you look into the eyes of those you are healing or you’re no good to us.’
Geren backed away, Pheone laying a comforting hand on his arm as he retreated. The battering on walls and doors was incessant and intensifying. Loose plaster fell from the balcony-box carvings and from the pillars which were hung with dramatic deep red drapes.
The Unknown spread his arms. ‘So, what’s the prognosis? Presumably we’re at a stage where we can keep them at bay. The question is, how long can we maintain it?’
They all looked at Dila’heth.
‘There’s no easy way to say this. Even if I cycle the ForceCone mages and rest the WardLock casters now, we can’t keep this up until nightfall.’ She shrugged. ‘Three days in the open and under attack. We just didn’t come in here with enough stamina. Then they’ll break in and all that we’ll have are the ColdRooms. I’m sorry.’
‘Looks like Geren might have been right,’ muttered Pheone.
Hirad looked at her sharply but didn’t have the heart to rebuke her. Part of him agreed with her. He could still see walls collapsing and Darrick disappearing beneath them, helpless. He shouldn’t have died that way. Not him. Outside, the demons were baying for their souls, sensing the parlous state in which their captives found themselves. The endless thudding on the playhouse was giving Hirad a headache. There would be thousands of them out there, most of them just waiting for the inevitable while reavers picked at the roof and karron thrashed at the walls and doors. Far too many for them to hope to break through.
‘Anyone know a secret way out of here?’ he asked.
Rebraal shook his head. ‘We’ve checked. The trapdoors just lead to dressing rooms and closed storage. There are only four ways out and none of them is appealing.’
Over on the north floor, Denser slapped Thraun on the back, the ghost of a smile on his face. On the ground in front of them, Erienne was stirring.
It would probably have been better for her had she stayed unconscious.
Chapter 37
They had run into the tower complex under a guard of ForceCones, Xeteskian warriors flanking them. The cursyrd had pulled away when they had entered the dome, shrieking their anger and frustration, promising lingering death.
Auum had barked for healers, for a place to lay Duele. Evunn shadowed him. The Tai was cut and bleeding, his eyes fierce and furious. Someone had shown them the path deep into the catacombs he remembered so well. Through multiple turns and antechambers to where the Xeteskian mages slept under guard to replenish their mana stamina. It was empty now. Just an anonymous chamber with bare walls, a single table and rolls of bedding.
Al-Arynaar had followed them through the maze and immediately began to prepare. Auum laid Duele on a bedding roll on the table. The Tai moaned feebly, blood bubbling from his lips. Auum smoothed his semi-conscious frown and kissed his forehead.
‘You have come so far, my Tai,’ he said. ‘Stand with us again and we will complete Yniss’s work.’ He turned to the elven mages. ‘Save him. And if you cannot do that, see he suffers no more pain. Evunn, we pray.’
The Tai knelt at Duele’s feet while the Al-Arynaar worked on him, doing whatever they could.
‘Yniss, our Tai lies before you, broken. His fate is in your hands. It is you who will call upon Shorth or keep him behind you. We are ever your servants and do your work without question. Keep Duele with us. Let Shorth wait for him. We will let your wisdom guide us and will never turn from the path. But . . .’ Auum breathed deep. Evunn’s arms were about his neck pulling him close, their heads on each other’s shoulders. ‘Do not take from us the best of us, we beg you. His soul is pure. He must run with us, not the ancestors, not yet. Save him. Do not let Shorth take him. We are your servants, Yniss. Hear us in our time of direst need. Hear us.’
Auum rose to his feet, Evunn supported him. He wiped the tears from his face and felt the weight of despair crushing him. He knew before he looked into the eyes of the healers what he would find. But Duele was still breathing. Indeed his eyes blinked open. Auum’s heart raced with brief hope.
‘He is dying, isn’t he?’
The mage nodded and Auum’s heart faltered. His mind was suffused with a rage he had little desire to control.
‘His chest cavity is crushed beyond repair. His lungs are ruined and his heart is pierced. He should have died when he was struck but his will is so strong,’ said the mage. ‘Had we been standing over him then, we could not have saved him. I am sorry.’
‘Do not be so,’ said Auum. ‘You are blameless.’
‘He feels no pain. You should talk to him now. There is little time.’
The mage moved aside, ushering the others with him. Auum and Evunn stood together in Duele’s eyeline, watching his deliberate movements. He raised his hand a couple of inches. Auum grabbed it and squeezed hard. Duele licked his lips, smearing drying blood. His eyes opened, lids flickering a little. He frowned again, trying to focus.
‘Yniss takes me for another purpose,’ he managed through wheezing breaths. Every word stung Auum with its optimism. ‘Shorth is waiting. I can feel him.’
‘So it is, my Tai,’ said Auum. He swallowed hard.
‘Don’t grieve,’ said Duele. ‘I go to the ancestors.’
‘It is a journey we had pledged to take together. All three,’ replied Auum. He gripped Duele’s hand harder. ‘You were always the best of us. Yniss sees it. Do this for me. Seek the one who seeks Rebraal and Hirad. Seek Ilkar. Shadow him. Protect hi
m. Show him the path.’
‘I will, Auum.’ Duele coughed blood and smiled. ‘Always orders.’
‘Not orders. A request. A hope.’ Auum leant in and kissed Duele’s lips. ‘Goodbye, Duele. Until we meet, be strong. Serve Yniss. Find Ilkar.’
He withdrew, letting Evunn take Duele’s hand.
‘Forty years TaiGethen,’ Evunn said. ‘Forty years as one.’
‘And not a day’s regret,’ said Duele, his voice faint and rasping.
‘There should have been forty more.’ Evunn’s voice quavered. ‘This is not right. This is chance.’
‘It is all Yniss’s design. We are his servants.’
‘Yes and we—’ Evunn paused. Auum saw his shoulders sag. Evunn leaned in to kiss the Tai. ‘Shorth show you the glory you deserve, my friend.’ He laid Duele’s hand by his side and turned to Auum, his voice breaking. ‘He is gone.’
Auum moved back to Duele, standing opposite Evunn. He took the pouches of paint from his belt and the two of them re-applied the hunting colours to Duele’s face, taking exaggerated care over every detail, leaving no part uncovered. Auum drew Duele’s twin short swords and placed one in each of his hands while Evunn unsnapped his jaqrui pouch and laid a whisper crescent high on his broken chest.
‘Where you go now, you go armed,’ said Auum.
‘Fight well,’ said Evunn. ‘Fight strong.’
In silence, the surviving Tai painted each other’s faces, speaking quiet prayers to Yniss to watch over them all, for Tual to keep them strong and for Shorth to take their enemies quickly. Eventually, Auum addressed the chamber; three Al-Arynaar mages and a Xeteskian warrior.
‘No one will touch him until we return. He will remain as he is with no covering. He is of the TaiGethen elite and he still performs the work of Yniss. Evunn, come. We have the memory of our Tai to honour. There is cleansing to be done.’
They ran through the maze, their direction unerring. In the dome, Dystran moved to stand in front of the great doors. Outside, Auum could hear the shrieks of countless demons. Their calls of triumph and mastery; and their promises of failure and enslavement. Auum recognised Dystran instantly. He had no quarrel with the man. Not now in the moment of the greatest need of all Balaian races. Another day he would have killed him for his crimes against the elven nation.
‘Move,’ he said.
Dystran smiled indulgently. ‘I understand your pain . . .’
‘No you do not, human.’
‘. . . but I cannot let you out there. You will be killed.’
Auum felt the blood drain from his face. He took a pace forwards.
‘Move,’ he repeated.
Dystran held up a hand to stop his guards closing in. ‘Idiots. How close do you think you will get?’
‘We have prayed,’ explained Auum, fighting for the words and to retain his calm. ‘Now we honour our dead and cleanse our minds.’
‘How?’ asked Dystran. ‘There is nothing outside but death and demons.’
‘Leave open the doors and watch,’ said Auum. ‘Move.’
Dystran clearly knew he would not ask again. He shook his head and stepped aside, nodding to his men. The doors swung gently open.
‘Tai, we move. Tual will guide our bodies.’
Auum walked calmly out into the cold fresh air. Cursyrd cavorted in the air over the courtyard. Karron had beaten down the gates and were gathered by their shattered remains. A tentacled master floated serenely overhead. All eyes fixed on the TaiGethen pair moving into their midst.
Auum walked to the edge of the steps, well beyond the periphery of the ColdRoom shell. He spread his arms wide, his head was cocked to the heavens. He felt the desire then, the craving for absolution. Duele would be watching them.
‘I am Auum of the TaiGethen. I stand with Evunn and in the presence of Duele. You know us and you know our calling. Today, you took from us. And for such action, there must be recompense. Which of you will offer yourselves to honour our dead? Which of you will journey with Duele to face the judgement of Shorth? Which of you will send us before him? I, Auum, am waiting.’
‘I, Evunn, am waiting.’
Screeching with pleasure, the cursyrd descended.
The pressure on the ForceCones was intensifying. Reavers had torn away windows and ripped timbers and stone from the roof. Only the spells kept them out now. At ground level the situation was no less difficult. WardLocks and investitures bowed under the incessant hammering of the karron. Yellow mana light crackled across groaning joints. Plaster castings cracked and crumbled, thudding to the floor.
The Al-Arynaar waited, their calm spreading to all but one corner of the playhouse. Hirad wasn’t hearing the roar of the demons gathered outside, baying for their souls. He was stalking around Rebraal, whose leather and shirt lay on the floor nearby. Denser and Pheone were studying him. Both had hands on his right arm and chest, their eyes closed as the mana probed his badly bruised body.
‘You didn’t think it something we needed to know?’ Hirad couldn’t believe it. He fought to keep his temper, aware that they needed focus for what was sure to come. ‘What if we needed you in the line?’
Rebraal faced up to him, expression set. ‘Organisation had to be done. We had to be secure above anything.’
‘We’re capable, Rebraal. Or hadn’t you noticed? I can speak elvish.’
‘I wanted to be sure.’
Hirad shook his head. ‘How bad is it?’
‘Ribs, arm, shoulder . . .’ Rebraal shrugged and half smiled. ‘The rest just aches.’
‘Anything broken?’
‘Of course there is,’ said Denser, opening his eyes. ‘And of course he also knows that to fix it we’ll have to put him to sleep. Fractured collar-bone, three cracked ribs and one broken and leaning on his lung.’
‘Bloody hell, Rebraal,’ said Hirad. ‘What good do you think you’re going to be like that?’
Rebraal’s eyes flared. ‘More than if I’m lying over there asleep. I am not in your Raven. I will fight beside you and with my people if I choose.’
‘Perfect,’ growled Hirad. ‘Want to tell me how you propose to tie up the right-hand side when you can’t hold a mace?’
‘I have two hands,’ snapped Rebraal. ‘I’ll fight on the left instead.’
‘And who’s on my right, Sirendor Larn? Only he’s been dead for eight years. Want to be joining him today?’
‘Hirad, enough,’ said The Unknown, striding over from the healer mages. The cut on his forehead had been closed by a WarmHeal. It glowed unnaturally red and was edged dark yellow, almost gold in the Globe light. ‘Let’s get thinking.’
‘That’d be a novelty.’
‘Coldheart, stop it.’
Hirad leaned into Rebraal. ‘Fight with us, but withdraw if you’re weakening. Promise me. We can’t afford to lose you too.’
Rebraal nodded, a reluctant gesture. To their left, a six-foot section of the outer wall gave way to the accompaniment of roars from the massed demons outside. Above the tear, a balcony box teetered and collapsed, thundering to the ground and sending up clouds of plaster dust. Karron moved in, wading through the rubble.
‘Get a Cone on that hole!’ ordered Rebraal.
‘Gheneer, do it,’ said Dila’heth.
Gheneer moved forwards quickly and swung his spell from the ceiling to the ground.
‘Clear!’ he shouted.
Elves ran left and right. The Cone caught the karron, driving them back outside.
‘I need another Cone on the roof now,’ said Dila. ‘Afen’erei. Sorry but I need you.’
The weary Al-Arynaar mage dragged herself to her feet. There was not the slightest hint of discontent in her expression. She began to cast.
‘Whatever we’re going to do, it had better be fast,’ said Hirad. ‘These investitures aren’t going to last.’
As if to confirm his words another gap, longer this time, was dragged in the walls. Dila’heth called for more mage back-up. Healers left their charges and ran
to the defence. Pheone moved up to the stage once again, urging greater concentration and efficiency.
‘Thraun, all of you, get over here,’ called The Unknown into the growing din. ‘We’re forming up. Someone help Rebraal on with his armour.’
‘Gods falling,’ said Hirad. ‘They’re going to bring this place down on top of us.’
‘The ForceCones will keep the roof up,’ said Dila’heth.
‘Not for long,’ said Pheone. ‘That’s a lot of weight and pressure.’
Thraun led Erienne, Denser and Ark over. Around the playhouse, elven warriors readied themselves. Mages prepared offensive spells and led prayers. Demons howled and shrieked. Reavers gathered in the sky, visible through the tears in the roof. Strike-strain clustered. Another gash was ripped in the playhouse wall. Timbers collapsed bringing more balcony boxes down.
‘We’ve got to make a decision here,’ said Denser. ‘When to drop the spells and use the ColdRoom so at least we can kill some of them.’
‘Only when we have nothing else. We’re holding for now,’ said Pheone.
‘Raven, form up,’ ordered The Unknown. ‘Rebraal, my left. Thraun, switch to the right by Hirad. Ark, far left. Denser, you know where you need to be. Erienne can you cast?’
‘I don’t have much choice, Unknown,’ she replied. ‘I’ll be all right.’
‘Use the weakening casts,’ said The Unknown. ‘We’ll do the rest.’
‘Whatever you say.’ She sounded tired. Frail.
‘Ready to move, Raven,’ said Hirad. ‘Where’s Eilaan?’
The Raven Collection Page 301
