Somewhere, The Raven would be trying to find a way to rescue them into an uncertain future. No one knew how long they would take, or indeed if they would succeed at all. Until then, Suarav and his people hung on grimly, just trying not to die.
The moment Brynar shifted his shield across to block the fire from the advancing soldiers, the focus of the vydospheres changed. Streams of pure energy slammed into the now-unprotected towers. Bindings flashed and flickered. Stone shifted. Dark blue light rippled up and down the length of Densyr’s tower. The Mount Tower. Suarav gulped in a breath.
‘We have to get more focus on the Mount Tower. We have to keep it standing.’
‘We aren’t enough,’ said Brynar. ‘The bindings will have to hold.’
‘They will not.’
‘Then move the catacomb binders to shore it up. We can’t help you here.’
As if to illustrate his point, Brynar gasped and dropped to his knees. The Garonin deluge was growing. More soldiers poured onto the courtyard, moved within range and fired their weapons. To their right a shield collapsed. White tears rampaged through the defenceless soldiers.
‘We’re just targets!’ roared Chandyr into Suarav’s face. ‘We have to move now.’
From above, a flat crack echoed out over the college. Suarav saw dust rip out from the Mount Tower about a third of the way up. Blue light flared briefly. The entire tower shifted violently to the right. More Garonin fire pounded the walls. The result was inevitable. Catastrophic.
The Mount Tower, the symbol of Xetesk, fell.
Grinding and shearing, stone, metal and wood failed and tumbled. The remaining upper floors collapsed inwards, the weight of material battering through the tower, bringing the whole sliding and crumbling. Tens of thousands of tons of ancient building sent clouds of billowing dust flooding out as it thundered down on the complex and the defenders below.
Suarav just stood and stared. There was nothing else to do. Around him, people were scattering but with nowhere to go. Some ran into the teeth of the Garonin advance. Others fled into the tower complex, directly beneath the falling stone of the Mount Tower.
He saw Brynar turn to him and open his mouth to speak, but a piece of debris struck his left leg and he fell. Chandyr cannoned into him, pushing him into the lee of one of the only piece of wall still standing at their backs. Suarav snapped out of his trance. Chandyr rolled off Suarav. Pieces of the tower dashed through the complex ruins, shattered on the courtyard stone. All around them it fell.
Suarav could see Brynar writhing on the ground with stone falling all around him. He was screaming and clutching at the stump of his left leg, gone below the knee.
‘Chandyr, we’ve got to—’
A shattered timber slammed end first into Chandyr’s head. His skull was crushed. His body jerked and was flung to the side. Suarav threw up his arms. Gore and splinters sprayed across his face. He breathed in gasping breaths. Every shield was down. Every binding spell not yet complete was gone. The defenders had been blasted away from their positions by the stone of their own college.
And beyond the clouds of dust that choked his vision and clogged his lungs, dragging wracking coughs from his throat and chest, he could hear the Garonin march on the catacombs. Suarav fought the urge to panic. He scrambled back to his feet and stumbled over to Brynar. The mage was unmoving but breathing. His ruined leg bled freely.
‘Hold on, Brynar. Hold on.’
Suarav ignored the pain in his body and the protestations of his weakening muscles. He picked the young man up. He turned and moved as fast as he could through the rubble and into the complex, hoping to find the entrance to the catacombs still open. Garonin weapons were firing again. Suarav coughed up more dust and hurried away, seeking brief salvation.
Chapter 44
‘Where are we going?’ asked Diera.
Densyr stopped and turned to Sol’s family. The three of them, and the wolves that flanked them, were scared witless by the astounding noise from above and the echoing organisation of Xetesk’s last defence all around them. The continued barrage had brought down various ceilings throughout the catacombs and the place where he had been keeping Diera and the children was no longer safe. Every corridor was full of smoke and dust to a greater or lesser degree. Wounded guards and mages left blood trails on the ground. The whole maze was awash with fear.
‘I have to get you to a place where we can get you out if we have to.’
‘Wait, wait,’ said Diera, hugging her children close to her. ‘This is going back towards the main entrance, isn’t it? Back towards the Garonin.’
‘The only entrance,’ said Densyr. ‘I’m trying to give you the best chance if we’re compromised here. Do you trust me?’
Diera hesitated before inclining her head. ‘Do I have any choice?’
‘Nowhere is safe in Xetesk,’ said Densyr, feeling a weight of responsibility greater than any he had experienced in his time as Lord of the Mount. ‘But I will not put you at unnecessary risk. I’ve made mistakes. You won’t be another of them.’
Densyr looked into Diera’s eyes. And then into Jonas’s. He found the strength there that he needed. He turned and led them back into the centre of the catacombs. Another huge jolt shook the whole underground structure. Densyr lost his footing and stumbled into the wall at his right hand. Young Hirad had fallen and grazed his knees. Diera scooped him into her arms, letting him sob into her shoulder.
‘Where are we now?’ asked Jonas.
‘Map room just ahead and right. Old Soul Tank chamber this door on your left. The Heart is below us now and my tower a little way ahead. Let’s keep moving. Everyone all right?’
‘Still alive, anyway,’ said Diera.
Densyr moved on. There was a worrying groaning of stone above. Some part of the complex struggling under the Garonin assault. One of the wolves was whining. They were approaching a hub. Figures were rushing past the corridor and he could hear anxious shouts echoing down to them. A second, lesser jolt rattled through the catacombs. It was followed by a hideous cracking sound.
‘Oh dear Gods,’ breathed Densyr. ‘Run. Quickly. Follow me.’
Densyr grabbed Diera’s free hand and pulled her with him. Mages ran past them and away back towards the dimensional research chambers.
‘It’s coming down! Run, my Lord Densyr, run!’
‘What’s coming down?’ demanded Diera above the groaning, cracking sounds ricocheting down from above. Plaster fell from the corridor. ‘Denser!’
Densyr said nothing, dragging them into the hub room. To the right, the roots of his tower plunged deep into the ground. Passages ran down either side of the foundations. Gaping cracks had been torn in the stonework and the wall was vibrating. He led them left and away towards Dystran’s chambers.
‘Denser!’
‘It’s my tower,’ Densyr called over his shoulder. ‘Don’t look back.’
The corridor down which they now hurried was shaking violently. Debris and plaster fell. There were small cracks in the floor at his feet. Hirad was screaming. Diera tried to comfort him though her voice was trembling. Jonas kept up a running commentary, encouraging them, keeping them running. So much his father’s son.
A thunderous crash hurled them all from their feet. A torrent of stone and metal barrelled through the roof of the catacombs, sending dust rushing down all the passages away from the hub.
‘Down!’ yelled Densyr.
Diera covered Hirad’s head. Jonas was lying half on his mother. The dust howled past them, carrying with it shards of rock and wood. The wolves ran on, away from the avalanche at their heels. The sound of the falling structure, the noise of rock on rock, splintering timbers and the grind of twisting, tearing metal, boomed around their heads. On and on it went. Densyr felt debris cover his boots and the lower part of his legs.
As the din subsided, he could hear crying. He lifted his head, relief making him a little light-headed. Diera and Hirad clung to each other, tears streaking their grimed faces.
Jonas was shaking muck from his back, legs and hair. Densyr stood and held out his hands. Behind them, the hub and corridors were gone, filled by tons of rubble.
‘Come on. The enemy will be down here next. We have to make one short stop and then get out of here.’
Diera got shakily to her feet and looked behind her, gasping in a breath. Hirad had stopped crying but wouldn’t be put down. Diera nodded and gestured Densyr to lead on. Jonas came to his shoulder.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.
‘Light a fuse, in a manner of speaking. One long enough to allow us to get out.’ Densyr dropped his voice as they took a right turn then another left. ‘Can you use a sword?’
‘My father taught me a few things.’
‘Good. We’ll find you one. Just in case.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ said Diera.
Densyr didn’t pause or look behind him. ‘Sorry, Diera, but you need to know what the collapse of my tower means. The outer defence has failed. We can assume no one has survived up top. The Garonin will be down here ripping the walls out to get to the Heart. We’re liable to run into some of them. Right turn, Jonas. Second door down on the left. Go straight in.
‘We have little choice but to arm ourselves. Just in case.’
‘Where are the wolves, Mama?’ asked Hirad.
‘They’ll find us again,’ said Diera. ‘Don’t you worry.’
She caught Densyr’s eye and he did nothing to hide the doubt he felt. He ushered Diera and Hirad intro Dystran’s chambers and closed the door on the disaster unfolding outside. Densyr cast his eyes around a dust-filled oasis of calm. A fire was in the grate. A servant was pouring tea and Vuldaroq was seated in front of Dystran, a hand on his wrist.
‘How is he?’ asked Densyr.
‘Fading,’ said Vuldaroq. The old Dordovan Tower Master took in Sol’s family. His face cleared and he smiled. ‘It’s time, is it?’
‘Yes,’ said Densyr.
‘He can’t speak but he can hear you,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘But he is proud of you and the decision you’re taking. As am I. It is a fitting end.’
Densyr knelt by Dystran. ‘We’ve had our battles, my Lord Dystran. But I like to think we’ve carried ourselves with respect. Most of the time, anyway. The Garonin are crawling all over this place. You know what to do. Don’t leave it too long. Don’t build too much. You will be remembered as a hero of Xetesk for this even more than the demon wars. May your soul find peace.’
The slightest of smiles crossed Dystran’s face. Densyr rose.
‘Come with us, Vuldaroq.’
Vuldaroq shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Densyr. I’ll stay with him. We both need the rest.’
The two men shook hands. Pain flitted through Densyr’s head. Dystran had begun his work.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Diera.
Densyr smiled. ‘The end of magic, Lady Unknown. Only way to make this world not worth further plundering. Come on, we’ve fresh air to breathe.’
The yearning was overwhelming. Sol knew there were tears falling down his cheeks. He knew he should feel the anxiety that the rest of his friends were experiencing as they awaited the inevitable attack. But he felt a joy that he could not confine. The hopes of every soul around filled him. Their lights shone so bright within him.
Sol reached out to gather in the strength of The Raven. He could touch each one of them. The huge presence that was Hirad. The determination that shone from Erienne. Ilkar’s stoicism through his frustration. Sirendor’s will buoyed by Hirad’s refusal to let him fade. Darrick’s calm purpose. Thraun’s animal power. He would have wished for more of them to be with him, but they were enough.
The weight of the body of souls was his foundation. The Raven were his keystone. Sol opened his soul to the void. Warmth washed through him. He had never paused to wonder how he would find their new home. The soul searches and the soul finds, so Auum had said. And it was true. He could smell trees and flowers, sea and stone.
Yet there was nothing to see. There was no passageway down which to travel, no door that needed to be opened. There didn’t need to be. Sol was all these things and he was the bridge to a place he would never see. A place where hope would be kindled by the fact of his death. Yet a place open to plunder unless the final battle was won.
Sol opened his eyes to find his vision changed. He could still make out the forms of his friends standing in front of him but they were altered. They were shadows again though now with a pulsing white soul energy that coursed around them. The Garonin too were changed. No longer the tall imposing soldiers he knew. They too were silhouettes though no energy shone from them. They were dark mist. No soul, no cohesion.
Sol breathed in the wonder of it all, forgetting for the moment that the enemy were massed to attack. The ivory of the land had gone too, so had the blackness in the sky. It was an even grey to Sol and there was what looked like dust in the air. Clouds of it. Not dust, he realised with a gasp. They were the marks of souls. Thousands, maybe millions. Travelling towards life or to their rest. Painting patterns in the comforting grey, like flocks of birds in flight.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he breathed.
‘Unknown.’ Hirad’s voice. Close. Sol looked and thought he could make out the barbarian’s shadow. ‘Unknown, can you hear me?’
‘Yes, Hirad.’
‘You’re sounding like you drank something way too strong, old friend.’
‘You can’t see or sense what I can, Hirad. It’s wonderful.’
‘I’m sure it is. But the Garonin are getting restless; we can see our people dying in the sky, though that might be a trick. We can’t see how we can stop them taking us, then you, and ripping the heart out of wherever it is you’ve found . . . You have found something, haven’t you?’
‘Oh yes, you could say that. And I can’t hold the door closed any longer. My soul desires to feel a new dawn. All these souls need a berth just as yours does. Keep strong, Hirad. You’re the heart of The Raven, don’t forget that. Trust me. Help is coming.’
‘From where?’
‘From everywhere. That’s why it had to be me that died for this.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Just be ready. We’re going home, Hirad. Home.’
Sol closed his eyes again. Everything had become very clear. The only risk now was that the Garonin would overwhelm the defenders before he was ready. But if he trusted anyone, it was The Raven. Sol let his soul fly. The scents of life suffused him. A breath played over him, gentle caressing growing to a breeze. It was the passage of souls, flooding forward into their new lands, there to find their resting place, there to find the paths back to their loved ones. There to end the torment of those marooned on Balaia.
Yet not all the souls that flowed over Sol passed through. Again and again he felt the touch of familiarity amongst the mass. And each one responded to his call to arms. To turn from sanctuary and defend the resting place none had yet seen.
‘My brothers, the world is forever in your debt,’ said Sol.
‘We are one,’ they responded.
Sol, the bridge between worlds, the director of the souls of the dead and the seeker of the paths back to the living, opened his eyes once more and he smiled.
Rebraal smashed his sword into the unguarded flank of a Garonin soldier. The Al-Arynaar bludgeoned into the enemy force holding the valley mouth. TaiGethen attacked with renewed vigour.
‘Down in front,’ said Dila’heth.
Rebraal ducked, bringing his warriors with him. IceBlades whipped over their heads. From somewhere, she had found another casting. The slivers of ice as hard as diamond sliced into the helmets of the Garonin. Seventy and more held the valley mouth. Before them, the dead of the TaiGethen lay, the enemy’s corpses long since claimed back to whence they came.
It sickened Rebraal to look at the dead but they gave him more energy for the fight. He surged up and chased in after the IceBlades. Dila’heth’s spell had wreaked
havoc in the Garonin line. They had been unable to adapt to the out-of-tune Julatsan casting. Blood poured from the split helms of dozens of soldiers. Those nearest the impact were down. Others were pierced but still standing, unsteady on their feet.
The Al-Arynaar ploughed on. White fire ripped through their ranks. Rebraal swayed outside a stream of tears, leapt high and brought his sword down onto the helmet of a Garonin soldier. The man’s head broke apart under the force of the blow. Rebraal landed, rolled and came upright, in the thick of them now. He stabbed left and right.
His warriors were with him, driving a wedge deep into the enemy line. A white-edged blade came at him. He parried and thrust out, knocking his man back. The Garonin came on again. A jaqrui tore into his neck. Blood spurted from the wound. Rebraal stepped up and finished him.
Elves poured down on the diminishing knot of the enemy. Behind, further up the valley, the vydosphere’s weapons were useless during the melee. And on the ground the TaiGethen and ClawBound defence kept the balance of the Garonin from joining the fight.
Rebraal punched straight out, feeling his fist crack against stomach armour. There was a flare of white. Rebraal ducked instinctively. Something had lashed out from the armour. He heard elves scream. Rebraal chopped down hard on the Garonin’s right arm, battering the weapon from his hand. He reversed his blade and slashed up into the helmet, denting it deeply and sending his opponent sprawling.
Rebraal glanced behind him. Dila’heth lay on the ground, blood pouring from a gash across her face. Mages were running to her aid. Rebraal turned back. Still the Garonin fought. A TaiGethen warrior fielded a blade on his short sword but a second came round and carved the top of his skull clean off. His Tai brothers spun, leapt and kicked, feet driving into chest and gut. The two Garonin went down. Rebraal turned from the kill.
‘Break their line,’ called a voice from behind him. ‘You’re close. You’re so close.’
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