Nightchild

Chapter 26

The pack bunched in terror as explosions thundered around them. Nearby, one of the human buildings was engulfed inflame and sounds like trees falling, the screams of men and the howling, evil wind fractured their collective spirit. They ran.

Thraun could see where they were going, to shadow and quiet, but knew it was the wrong way. No answers there, nor safety. That was only to be found with man-packbrother. But it was long before he could stop the pack, let alone make them obey him.

He barked and half-howled, urging them to slow their blind run and, one by one, they did, drawing into the shelter of a narrow passageway between the high human-built walls. Here, the sounds of destruction were muted and the scents of burning, blood and death were overpowered by those of rotting vegetation and stagnant mud churned up by the rains.

What filed Thraun's ears now were the harsh pants of the pack and what filled his eyes were their lolling tongues, their eyes white and wide and their ears flat against their heads. He knew they shouldn't be here, in the centre of the world of men. He understood their fear of the fire that fell around them, of the stench of burning and the screams of men dying and buildings falling, but knew he couldn't allow it to dominate them.

So he stood while they crouched in surrender. He watched while their breathing returned to an even pace and depth and he waited until all of them looked to him for support and the whines in their throats disappeared. And all the while the noises he made in his mouth and chest soothed them and gave them strength.

Tart of him wanted to take them back out to the forests and the surviving pups and bitches but they were so close now. Man-packbrother and the others would find the woman and the answers would be there

for them. He yearned for the forest but more than that, he yearned to stand with man-packbrother. To help the humans. It was not a feeling that was easy to accept but it was there and could not be denied.

It was something he wished he could express to the pack but there were no sounds or expressions to convey it. He knew they didn't understand why they were here, just that their pack leader was and they trusted him to be right. And so they would follow him again, back to the fires, the pain and the bad scent that covered everything. But they would return by another route and try to avoid the worst of the burning wood, to where man-packbrother had run with the strange humans whose faces were wood and who had nothing where their souls should be. He feared these humans. They were blank.

Thraun nuzzled each one of the pack in turn, feeling their soaking fur against his muzzle and easing their remaining fear. He would be with them. He would protect them. Now was the time to act. Tet they were so reluctant to go, cowering still in the dark, their eyes fearful. But he needed them with him, to give him strength.

He made to move back out into the horror but they wouldn't follow him. He padded back to them, standing above them where they crouched, heads low to the ground. They couldn't stay here and he struggled to make them understand that. Hiding in the dark was not the way of the wolf. The pack hunted, the pack ran free.

He growled, demanding they get up, requiring their obedience. He was the dominant male and they had to obey him. And slowly, their respect and fear of him overcame the need to escape what lay beyond the dark alleyway. Heads still hung, limbs still shivering, they rose.

The pack were ready again and he led them out of the dark place and back into the firelight and noise, the scent of the evil gale assailing his nostrils, the sounds of clashing metal and the cries of humans becoming loud again in his ears.

Howling to give them strength, he ran in front of them, searching the air for the scent of man-packbrother. Thraun knew where he had run to and as they closed on the place where the land met the water once again, he knew he would turn away from the terror the pack had suffered.

But the conflict had moved.

All along the waterside, the human dwellings burned, their heat crackling the air and making the rain steam as it fell, fizzing in the

sky. He couldn't see man-packbrother but knew he was there. What he could see were prey and the humans that rode them.

With a bark, he led the pack to attack, leaping and closing his fangs around the throat of a prey, feeling the warm gush of blood and its anguished movements as it sought to shake him off. The rider called out and swung his sharp which stung as it bounced from Thraun's impervious hide.

Thraun dropped from the neck of the prey and, in the same move, sprang to take the human, giant paws thumping into his chest and bearing him to the ground where the weak creature fought uselessly while Thraun tore at his throat.

The mingled blood tasted good but there was no time to feast on prey and human flesh was not to his liking. He lifted his head and saw the pack surrounding their prey, which reared, pawing the empty air while its rider clung to stay on. He watched as one circled to a flank and drove into the rear legs. The beast collapsed, its cry of pain loud, its rider tumbling to the ground, momentarily and fatally helpless.

With the human dead, Thraun barked them to him and looked for the next target. The riders and prey were aware of them now, and more turned to fend them off while the clashing and shouting continued behind them.

Thraun's heart froze as he saw a man with mist over his soul staring at them. He had no sharp and was all the more terrible for it. Thraun made to dart forward but was blocked by one of the pack. Barking to scatter them, he ran at the man, leaping as globes of fire erupted from his hands, sailed over Thraun's head and landed behind him. With his jaws clamped on the man's face and his paws raking his chest, he heard the awful yelps and whines of the pack.

He bit down to finish the human, turned and ran, pulling up short when he saw them. They hadn't scattered as he had asked, the proximity of prey and blood had been too much. And now three were down and one staggering. All were ablaze, all in agony, all dying. Thraun looked on helplessly as the unnatural fires ate at their fur and flesh, stole their voices and stopped their bodies. At the last, one found Thraun's eyes and as the wolfs gaze dimmed, he read the message in them.

Betrayal, wrong death.

Thraun sat by the burning carcasses and howled, heedless of the enemy around him and not caring whether he was attacked or not. He

had let them down. The pack were gone and it was his instincts that had cost them their lives. He had failed them just as he had failed-

A stab of long buried memory flashed through his desperate mind. Of a small human. Another man-packbrother, covered in white, his eyes closed, his chest not moving.

Confused, Thraun had neither the strength for revenge nor flight. So he lay where he was, last guardian of the dead pack, and watched the prey and riders flow around him as if through eyes that saw slowly.

And with every heartbeat a word, a word, gained in intensity and dominion. Deep inside, he knew he could not ignore it.

Remember.

Arlen turned this way and that in his saddle as he sought some way to enforce order. He and his men had spilled on to the dockside past raging fires and collapsed buildings to encounter a batde in full flow. College cavalry were set against Protectors, the violence of the fighting shocking as it flowed over the cobbles of his docks. Men roared, horses screamed, and spells crashed on all sides, flaring over shields or pouring their might over helpless victims.

The eye-watering odours of scorched wood and flesh filled the air through the pouring rain. Swords clashed together or against armour, the ringing echoing in all directions, and in the firelight great slicks of rain-diluted blood ran towards the sea, men and horses splashing dirough them as they engaged their enemies.

In the harbour, the Ocean Elm was sailing clear, sails full, driving her on to the lake while to his left, another batde near the Calaian Sun was taking place in front of tumbled and splintered warehouses and the flames that swept a hundred feet into the night sky. The noise was deafening, the sight appalling and Arlen had no idea how to stop it.

Around him, his townspeople had faltered, their energy draining away as they saw death surround them. Some of them had run away and Arlen couldn't blame them for doing so. Only his guards had formed up in proper defence and they had been attacked on two sides, some falling prey to Protectors beating a path back to the centre of the town, others by Dordovans determined to stop them. Eventually, he had withdrawn and now the survivors looked to him for help.

One of the men he'd sent to assess the spread of fighting through the town sprinted up to him, gasping for breath.

'Report,' said Arlen.

'It's everywhere,' said the youngster, not more than twenty years of age and scared half to death. 'There're fires burning right through to the jail and into the Salt Quarter. One side of Centenary Square is ablaze with fire carried on the wind and there's fighting in a dozen pockets.' He stopped, breathing hard. 'Protectors are marauding all through the town and the Dordovan mages are casting at them from rooftops and windows. Our people are on the run. There are hundreds heading north to the castle but I don't think they'll stop there. It's like the whole place is falling down. What will we do, my Lord?'

The young man looked at him, pleading.

Arlen wanted to yell at him that he didn't know. That nothing they did could stop the fight which raged out of control, as did the fires that ate the buildings. There were too many of them. Hundreds fought on the docks and through the town and he had less than thirty scared men at his disposal. There was nothing they could do but he had to force them into some sort of action. They had to be doing something.

'Listen men!' he shouted. 'Get off the docks. We'll set up a safe zone in the square. Give somewhere for our people to run, then stage them back to the castle. Forget these bastards, let them kill themselves. Let's save our own. Go!'

He turned his horse and led his men away, guilt lying like a lead weight across his shoulders. He'd saved a few for now but the awful realisation was that he'd lost control of his town. He wondered how many of them would realise it too when the relief of escape from the dock wore off. If the Protectors and Dordovans wanted to destroy Arlen, there was nothing he could do to stop them.

'Unknown!' roared Hirad. 'No!'

He launched himself at the cavalryman who had struck down his friend. Five paces and a jump that gave him the perfect angle to strike. The Dordovan was wheeling his horse and presented his body as a target. Hirad was in the air as he brought his sword through

right to left, cleaving the man's head from his neck, his body toppling back, blood spraying into the rain-drenched sky.

Hirad ignored the horse and dashed to stand astride The Unknown's body, not daring to look down in case he saw the big man was dead. He had already seen it once before and twice would be too much.

'Aeb! Protectors!' he shouted. 'Help me!'

But they already were, pouring into a frontal attack while those behind stayed the rear advance. Dual weapons scorching through the air, the Protectors stormed into the cavalry, axes carving into horse flesh, swords blocking desperate swings before savaging into the riders.

Dordovans came at Hirad, hoping for an easy target; a man relatively defenceless as he attempted to help a downed friend. The first lost his left leg as Hirad swayed under a roundhouse blow, the second had his horse killed under him. After that, the Protectors were with him, Aeb to his left, forming a circle of steel that gave The Unknown sanctuary.

'Ilkar, check him!' he called as he blocked a sword thrust aside, caught the rider's arm and pulled him from his horse, where Aeb crashed his axe through the unprotected stomach.

'Right behind you, Hirad. Keep going,' said Ilkar

Hirad's heart was thudding wildly as he fought to keep perspective. Every sinew begged him to dive into the cavalry headlong, let his blood instinct take over and see how many he could bring down before they killed him. But he denied the urge, forcing himself to remember the man he was defending.

'He's still alive but it's bad. I need Denser, Hirad. Quickly.'

'Leave it to me,' said Hirad, his body awash with sudden vital energy. 'Aeb, we have to break them now. Front and rear.'

'Yes, I understand. We will move with you.'

Hirad nodded, looked up and saw the Dordovans organising for another run. Twenty bodies were scattered on the ground and, forming more barriers, horses, dead and in distress, lay on the dock. It would be a broken charge and Hirad determined to use that to his advantage.

Along die line, the Protectors waited, silent and unmoving. Their casualties were light but couldn't be ignored. The time was now.

'Come on!' Hirad sprang away, running full tilt at the Dordovan horsemen, and hearing the footfalls of the Protectors as they made their progress. A shout went up from the cavalry, who began to move, riders struggling with horses unwilling to ride into the face of the masked killers Hirad led. Their heads down, they could smell the blood of the dead and dying and their hooves were uncertain on the crowded, slick ground.

Hirad raced on. Running straight at a cavalryman, Hirad saw the man heft his blade. He hurdled the body of a still-twitching horse, landed and rolled to the left, coming to his haunches behind the rider. He was up, spinning and jabbing into the rider's kidney before he could turn his horse.

Turning again, Hirad took in the Protectors, a perfect picture of organised savagery. Arranged two and three to an opponent, horse and rider were attacked simultaneously, giving the cavalrymen nowhere to turn, no meaningful defence and no clear target. No chance at all.

With no immediate opponent, Hirad watched, for a few mesmerised heartbeats, a trio of Protectors in action. One crouched and sank his axe into the horse's hindquarters, another slashed his sword into the animal's neck while the third fielded the rider's desperate swing on his axe before slashing through a disembowelling strike with his blade.

It was over before Hirad had drawn second breath and reminded him of nothing more than a pack of wolves.

Thraun.

Dimly, Hirad recalled howling as he stood over The Unknown's body. With the Protectors occupying the Dordovans, Hirad did a full circle, searching for evidence of the pack, but could see nothing. To the west along the dock towards the berth vacated by the Ocean Elm, the Dordovan and Lysternan cavalry had scattered, pockets being hunted down by Protector groups run by mounted mages.

Towards the target ship, the scene was of carnage all over the ground. Protectors had swiftly beaten away any lingering resistance and were already checking every body, crouching to finish off any that were still breathing. Otherwise, the dock was empty and that was very bad. Hirad came to himself with a jolt and knew why The Unknown was lying so close to death. The Raven had allowed

themselves to be split and scattered. Something they had sworn never to do.

Thraun would have to look after himself.

'Denser!' shouted Hirad. 'Darrick! Where are you?'

His voice was whipped from him by the wind and further diminished by the steady rain that pattered stone, timber and water, and the crackle of flames from the still raging fires spreading towards Centenary Square fanned by the gale.

'Denser!' Hirad swung around. 'I need you now!' He looked at the target ship, frowning. It was very still on board. The crew that had lined its rails had gone. All that was left were the lanterns swinging wildly and illuminating the empty deck.

Hirad marched towards the ship.

'Denser!' he roared a third time. 'Please! The Unknown's hurt. Denser!' Gods, where was he? He turned and began to walk back to Ilkar and The Unknown. 'Ilkar how're we doing.'

'Not well, Hirad. Find him quickly.'

'D-' There was movement on the ship. A door opened and a figure emerged. Denser. 'Get down here now.'

'What's up?' Denser surveyed the docks, the scattered cavalry and the Protectors who chased them, and raised his eyebrows.

'Gods, you must have cloth in your ears. It's The Unknown, he's hurt. Ilkar needs you.' Hirad pointed to where the elf knelt over the prone form, his face white in the firelight. 'Quickly.'

Denser nodded, cast, and flew from the ship on ShadowWings. Hirad watched him fly through the smoke that blew overhead like low cloud over Arlen. He began to trot back towards the Big Man, not pausing to wonder why Denser was aboard, or where Darrick was. For the moment, it didn't really matter.

The fighting had all but finished on the dockside but he could hear the sounds of violence further back into the town as the Protectors sought the last of the Dordovans. Hirad could see what were probably some of Arlen's guards, wandering aimlessly around the bodies or staring at the fires that heated the chill of the night. The rain hadn't eased at all and the wind howled its force onshore.

Hirad felt drained. It was a long time since he'd run and fought like that and, though the battle had been quick, it had been intense. But more, he'd seen The Unknown cut down and he could see by

Ilkar's urgent gestures as Denser landed that the injury was bad. Probably fatal if spells couldn't help him.

Hirad sheathed his sword and slowed to a walk.

'Hirad!' It was Aeb. The Protector was striding towards him, weapons on his back mounts.

'What is it?'

'Come with me.'

Hirad glanced over at Ilkar and Denser, both men still, concentrating as they cast. There was nothing he could do. He shrugged. 'Lead on.'

Aeb turned on his heel. As he approached a smouldering mass of black, two other Protectors rose from next to it and withdrew.

Hirad frowned and looked harder, quickening his pace, the smoking bodies resolving themselves as wolves, rain hissing on seared flesh.

'I don't believe it,' he muttered but Aeb restrained him with a hand.

'You can do nothing for them. But you can for the shapechanger.'

Hirad stared into Aeb's blank mask.

'Say that again?'

'The shapechanger.' Aeb pointed to a form which Hirad had assumed was just another body, white face staring at the sky.

'Gods falling.' Hirad ran, sliding to a stop and dropping to his knees, heedless as he splashed down into blood and water.

Beneath the cloak, the figure was hunched in foetal position. Protectors had lain another cloak beneath him and had tucked the loose edges in to keep the chill from his body.

A mass of brown-flecked blond hair flowed from the exposed head and the face was covered in a fine fur perhaps half an inch long, with only his nose and closed eyes hairless. His skin seemed old, somehow, his ears long and more elven than human. Hirad laid a hand on the quivering body and bowed his head. Thraun.

'Never thought we'd see you again, old friend,' he whispered. 'Gods, how you must be suffering.'

The barbarian considered for a moment and looked up to Aeb, who was staring over at The Unknown, his Protector's stillness broken by an uncharacteristic repetitive clenching and unclenching of a fist.

'If anyone can save him, it's Denser and Ilkar,' said Hirad.

'We have failed him.'

Hirad nodded, a sweep of guilt washing through him. 'We all have.'

Yet again Hirad scanned the dockside, its cranes smashed, its warehouses gutted and its walkways and paths swathed in death. It was not a place for sick men.

'We need to move them both,' he said.

'Arlen has medical facilities.'

'And they'll be full if they aren't destroyed,' said Hirad. 'No. Thraun can't be cured like that and besides, they're both Raven. I won't leave them here.'

'I understand.'

The barbarian looked at the ship. It was still quiet. Unnaturally so. What had Denser done? And then, of course, it clicked.

'Help me with Thraun and bring your brothers. It's time to get aboard that ship.'

Aeb said nothing, just nodded and crouched. He picked up the cloak-wrapped Thraun and set him gently over his right shoulder, standing with the slightest hint of effort.

'Are you all right with him?'

Aeb nodded and began walking.

'Are you sure?' Thraun was a big man.

'Yes,' agreed Aeb. 'Xye will help carry Sol.'

Hirad trotted over to Ilkar and Denser, vaguely registering the sound of horses' hoofs which still echoed through the town above the noise of the gale and fires.

'Can you…?' He gestured uselessly at the prone form, seeing for the first time the horrible injury just below The Unknown's waist, where the Dordovan axe had smashed his hip.

'He'll live,' said Denser, his breathing deep as if he'd run ten miles. 'But I doubt he'll walk again.'

'But he can't be-' He broke off, cocking his head. There were hoofs getting louder, much louder and quickly. He turned towards the sound and out of a pall of smoke between two ruined warehouses charged a single rider, Dordovan. He was heading for the Caiman Sun but swung around when he saw Aeb, yelled in anger and rode for the Protector instead.

Hirad started to run but it was obvious he wasn't going to make it in time and that Aeb was stranded, Thraun quite literally a dead weight. Other Protectors were running too but they would all arrive after the event. Aeb stopped, knelt carefully and slid his charge to the ground, cushioning his head, though he must have known the action would cost him his life. But then, Hirad realised, perhaps death was a release for his soul.

Closing in, the rider raised his blade, straightened suddenly and clutched at a crossbow bolt in his neck before pitching from the saddle. With no direction, the horse veered sideways, avoiding the kneeling Protector and galloping straight on along the dock. Aeb looked briefly at his_ erstwhile attacker, hefted Thraun again and walked on, other Protectors now around him.

Hirad turned on his way to the downed Dordovan. 'Ilkar, this place isn't safe. We need to get him on board.'

'On board?' Ilkar's weary voice wafted back.

Hirad heard Denser say something he couldn't catch.

'Oh,' said Ilkar. 'All right, we're coming.'

Hirad smiled. Xye was standing by them and the barbarian turned his attention to the cavalryman. He was twitching as he died, his blood pumping sluggishly over the stone. The bolt had taken him a couple of inches below his ear.

The barbarian nodded and looked back along the likely angle of fire.

'Show yourself,' he called, not expecting anything.

Immediately, a figure emerged from the shadows, arms wide, the crossbow dropping to the ground. The elf moved fluidly, the grace identifying the race well before Hirad could make out the shape of the face and ears.

'It was a good shot.' Hirad raised a hand and the elf stopped.

T was aiming for his eye,' said the elf, the voice female. 'Damn Black Wing crossbow. Badly calibrated.'

'Thank you for missing so well, in that case,' said Hirad. T need your name and what you're doing here. You're not Arlen's, are you?'

'No.' The elf smiled but there was no humour. 'I am Ren'erei. I am of the Guild Of Drech and I've just lost Erienne to my worst

enemy. We came looking for you, Hirad Coldheart. You, Denser and The Raven.'

Hirad stepped forward and offered a hand which Ren'erei took.

T think you'd better come and meet the others.'

It was like someone had thrown a lever and it was all over. One moment, the cursed Protectors were running amok in his town, hunting and slaughtering cavalrymen from Dordover and the next, they had reformed into an orderly line and trotted out of the town, leaving their dead maskless, their mages not turning their heads once at the devastation they had left behind.

That, they had left for Earl Arlen to face. The thought of what was on his docks was too horrific to even contemplate and now, with the rain still lashing down and the rumbling of thunder promising no respite, he was standing in a circle of hell'.

Centenary Square was ringed by fire and echoed to the sounds of the wounded and the terrified. Arlen's horse lay dead at his feet, his arm was broken and his face bloodied and bruised. Behind him, he knew, more fires raged than he could hope to contain and now he had ordered the pulling down of some more buildings in an attempt to stem the tide of flame driving north towards the castle.

Everywhere he looked, his townsfolk drifted by like ghosts, staring open-mouthed at the ruin that had become of their liyes. College men and mages had invaded his town and, in less than an hour, had reduced it to a burned out shell.

Darrick had been right; the Protectors were to be feared. But he had not made his case strongly enough. They were not human. Nothing could be that savage. The demons that controlled them had seen to that. And the mages that rode with them were worse. These were men in possession of their own souls yet he had seen them unleash such horror in the name of magic and so many innocent people had died frozen or in flame, with blood gushing from ears or eyes. He had seen them igniting buildings to frighten horses, he had seen hail drive horizontally across streets to rip man and beast to shreds and he had seen fire like rain fall from the sky to spread panic and more agony.

'Why here?' he muttered. 'Why my town?'

Arlen's sword dropped from his fingers and he sagged to the

ground in the middle of his square, wishing for the night to be eternal so he wouldn't have to look on the ashes of the morning.

How dare they visit such destruction? What presumption that they could take his land as a battleground for their squabbles? He put his head in his hands and wept, his energy gone, his humiliation complete.

But at least he knew where to lay the blame.

Magic had started the rot in Balaia and magic had sparked the batde that had destroyed everything he had worked for all of his life. There would be a reckoning. Not today, not tomorrow, but there would be a reckoning. And the wielders of magic would be made to suffer for what they so easily wrought and with such contempt.

Perhaps that bastard Selik and his Black Wings were right after all. The Colleges had assumed superiority for too long and they had to be shot from their pompous towers.

Sitting in the mud with rain lashing down from an unnatural sky and his town burning around him, Earl Arlen swore to himself that he would take the first shot.