Ravensoul

Chapter 20

‘It really is the only way,’ said Dystran.

‘Then why do I feel like I am the lowest form of life in this city?’ said Denser.

‘Feeling sorry for yourself won’t help you.’

‘It seems a good place to start, all right?’

Denser walked out onto the highest balcony of his tower. It afforded him unsurpassed views of his college, his city and beyond. It showed him the few remaining dead scattered about his city being rounded up and escorted to their desolate quarter of Xetesk. Easy enough to do. For the ones that weren’t displaying the manner of their deaths like a badge, all that was needed was to shine a lantern on them and their shadow gave them away. No hiding place. No exceptions. Well, one.

‘But you can feel the tension lifting, can’t you?’

And he could. It was quite something. With his guards erecting barricades across all exits from the area of parkland and abandoned homes in which the dead were effectively corralled, the living were regaining control of their city. Already, they were beginning to gather in the college courtyard, on the apron outside the college’s south gate and anywhere on the approaches. Denser was due to address them from the tower.

Denser turned. The exception, Septern, was at his shoulder. On the table behind them the master mage had overlaid a ward grid on a map of the city. It was a true work of art both aesthetically and technically.

‘You had to do something,’ added Dystran. ‘The dead were dividing us just by their presence and the more dangerous souls were sowing rotten seed. Feel the mood of the city when our defence is organised. Think of the support when you remind them that hundreds and hundreds of mouths to be fed are gone. Never underestimate the greed of the individual desperate to survive.’

‘I certainly won’t do that,’ said Denser.

Out in the city his mages were laying wards in locations matching Septern’s exact specifications. Beyond the gates the horizon was obscured from north to south by the Garonin’s expanding cloud of dust and burned mana. Korina was the only other major city still standing and was not as yet under concerted threat; it was as though the capital was being left until last.

What Denser really needed to know was when the new Garonin machine would achieve its critical mass and head back towards Xetesk. He had scouts tracking it and mages ready to fly in with any news. So far though, the Garonin were content to amble along in a seemingly random pattern about four days out. It was a hiatus that would not last for long.

More dead were moving along The Thread. Hirad, Ilkar and Sirendor were with them. He had acquiesced and let them say their goodbyes to Diera and her boys but had refused them leave to see Sol. At least they were causing no trouble. He bit his lip and swallowed a lump in his throat.

‘They were fine people when they were alive,’ said Dystran. ‘But something changed in them when they died. The manner of their deaths, the places they died. Something. They are different. Not The Raven you remember. Don’t be beguiled into remembering what you saw as your friends. They stopped being that the day they died.’

‘What do you think, Septern?’

‘If death changed me, then I do not remember my old life. But I care not for loyalties and guilt. Both are wastes of effort. I only care whether my grid will work. Let me take you through it.’

Denser moved to the table. Septern was right. And he was different from every other dead person that Denser had met. Completely consumed by himself and what he could do for magic on Balaia. Just like the stories about him when he was alive. And Hirad had been different from his old self, hadn’t he? The old Hirad would have wanted to fight to the bitter end. Save his country and all that. It was not and never had been his way to run from his enemies.

‘I’d better be right about this,’ Denser said.

‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Septern.

‘Nothing. Let’s look at your plan.’

The three men leaned over the map and its overlay. The city was picked out building by building, street by street. On top Septern had indicated the position of every ward, and had added a symbol as code for its exact construction, direction, exclusions and power. Each ward was connected to others by lines either dotted or solid. He had drawn arrows to indicate things like mana flow, energy spill and trigger direction.

‘The beauty of this is its simplicity and its perfect logic. As with all my finest creations.’

Denser smiled at him. ‘You haven’t lost your modesty, I see.’

‘What use have I for modesty? I suspect I still am the greatest mage ever to walk any dimension in this or any other cluster. And cut off in my prime too. Betrayed by my own students, agents of the Wytch Lords would you believe?’

‘Yes, but we got the Wytch Lords,’ said Denser. ‘I cast Dawnthief to destroy them.’

Septern choked on his next words and pulled back from the map. He grabbed Denser’s shoulders and turned him round.

‘You cast it? What were you, crazed? That spell was never intended to actually be used. It was a theoretical demonstration.’ Septern spluttered a little more then waved a dismissive hand. ‘But clearly you got it wrong or else none of us would be here, would we? This place would be a vacuum.’

Denser bridled. ‘I didn’t get it wrong, thank you very much. I adapted it. Luckily you left enough room in the lore for Dawnthief to be cast at less than its complete power using an altered structure. So it destroyed the Wytch Lords and left us, well, nearly intact.’

‘Nearly?’

‘There were… consequences. Side effects.’

Septern shook his head. His eyes were twinkling and there was a smile on his face. ‘Fascinating. So tell me. What did it feel like to actually cast?’

‘Painful, if I remember rightly. I stopped breathing for a while, I know that.’

Septern looked crestfallen. ‘Not engorged with power or elated or something like that?’

‘Possibly, but the pain blotted it all out.’

Dystran cleared his throat. ‘Much as I would love to hear more, can it wait until later? We need this working and understood or the Garonin will do to us what Dawnthief didn’t.’

Septern chuckled. ‘It is turning into quite a day. We must dine together, Denser.’

‘I think that is a very good idea. So. The grid.’

‘Yes. Now, when I was constructing the grid for my own house, a somewhat smaller task I admit though the principles are the same, I was concerned to build outer deterrents followed by inner cells designed to kill everything that ignored the first warnings.

‘Here I’ve dispensed with the deterrents as I think they will be of little value. I’ve concentrated on feeder cell formation and causing maximum damage when a given ward is tripped.’

Denser may not have felt elation when he cast Dawnthief, nor when he was throwing his old friends out of the college to face the Garonin. But he felt it now, listening to the man whose genius remained, as he had guessed, unsurpassed.

‘So, to illustrate. Take this cell here.’ Septern circled a group of about fifty wards positioned by one of the outer grain stores and covering some of the south-eastern streets leading onto The Thread. ‘Now, all the wards will be active when the enemy move into the area but only one has a physical trigger. This one here.’

He pointed at a central ward at the head of the grain store where the Garonin would have to pass if they were to access any of the surrounding streets.

‘When this ward is triggered it dominoes mana through every second ward in this cell and they all go off simultaneously. HellFire, FireGlobe, FlameOrb, EarthHammer. I don’t know your fancy new names and I care less about them. The area is deluged in flame and levelled by earth movements in less time than it takes me to drain a glass of wine.

‘But that’s not all. Because we expect the Garonin to be determined and adaptable, we can expect them to come through the same area again, assuming the danger has passed. So the triggering of the first set of wards also passes mana to the other half. The trigger ward becomes this one here and the process begins again.

‘And that’s not all either. The fact of a detonation of a set of wards feeds mana back up through the chain to the adjacent cells, bringing them to a ready state. The point of that is that we leave as little mana floating about as possible, making it very hard for the wards to be detected. Dormant wards last for ages if they are set correctly.

‘And the final thing is this. Right here, above the gates of the college, is your master ward. Master switch, if you like. The whole system lies dormant until this ward is completed. Once it is, the mana circuit is active and we sit back and watch the Garonin getting destroyed while we manage our mana stamina for any close combat.’

The twinkle remained in Septern’s eyes. ‘Good, eh?’

It was a while before Denser could speak. He stared at the map, the cells and the connectivity and could do nothing but shake his head.

‘Good? It’s genius.’

‘That’s all I ever deliver.’

‘This would have saved us a whole lot of bother when the demons came knocking,’ said Dystran.

‘Yes, but it will level the city,’ said Denser.

‘Which is no more than the Garonin will do anyway,’ said Dystran.

‘Thank you, Septern. That is truly amazing.’

‘I can do nothing but agree with you,’ said the master mage.

‘Can we bring all the population within the college walls?’ asked Dystran.

‘I have designated safe areas to the west as well,’ said Septern. ‘Plenty enough for those who remain.’

‘And the dead? They are going to be right in the middle of the grid. Murdering them wasn’t in my plans,’ said Denser.

Septern waved a hand to quieten him.

‘If you look more closely, you’ll see that I have excluded their area from the main grid but left a defensive line on their borders. Your guards will not need to stand there once the grid is activated. And, in addition, we can expect any Garonin stumbling into the dead’s area to be damaged and demoralised. Easier to fight. A positive outcome, wouldn’t you agree?’

Denser nodded, feeling just slightly less guilty at his actions.

‘Yes, thank you. Though I’m not sure my former friends will feel the same.’

There was a knock on the door. After a brief pause, Brynar entered.

‘You, my young mage, have just missed a master class,’ said Denser.

‘But don’t worry,’ added Septern. ‘I’ll be walking the grid with Sharyr later, checking the accuracy of today’s work. Why don’t you attend me?’

Brynar looked at Denser, who inclined his head.

‘It would be an honour, my Lord Septern,’ he blustered.

‘Then it is settled,’ said Septern.

‘Brynar, you have something to report? No doubt our king is still ranting about dragons?’

Denser chuckled at his own cleverness. Something about Septern and his effortless genius was infectious and energising.

‘Yes, my Lord Denser. He is adamant that he must speak to you because he says the entire melde is in crisis, and should it fail, we will be yet further weakened.’

‘I see. And what have you told him?’

‘That you will see him as soon as you are able. As soon as the city defence is complete. He said that wasn’t good enough.’

Denser chuckled. ‘I’m sure he did.’

‘But he was a little more cheerful when I left,’ said Brynar brightly. ‘His son had come to see him.’

Denser went cold and clammy. ‘You didn’t let him in, did you?’

Brynar’s face had paled. ‘W- well yes. He’s thirteen years old. What harm can he do.’

‘Idiot!’ stormed Denser, his mind tripping over a thousand things as he ran for the door and sprinted down the stairs yelling for guards to follow him.

‘What have I done?’ asked Brynar.

‘You have much to learn, youngster,’ said Dystran. ‘Jonas may only be thirteen but he is also Dragonene to the Great Kaan.’

Brynar mouthed the word before speaking. ‘That matters, doesn’t it.’

‘Just a bit,’ said Dystran. ‘Just a bit.’

At least Denser had seen fit to provide him with comfortable accommodation for his incarceration: a bedroom and living area with decent furniture and even a fireplace. The decoration was somewhat austere but that was the way of many of the catacombs beneath Xetesk’s tower complex. Since his abduction Sol had ignored the food brought to him and had found no time to sit. He had preferred to pace between the rock walls of his limited domain.

His last conversation with Jonas nagged at him and his anger flared ever more brightly every time his demands to speak to Denser about the dragons were rebuffed. He cared little right now about the Garonin, travelling to the west or the dead. His boy was at risk and he was impotent to do anything about it.

The door to Sol’s rooms was unlocked and opened. Sol ceased his pacing and turned to glare but his frown turned to a smile.

‘Jonas!’

Sol ran to his son and hauled him into an embrace. Jonas hugged him back.

‘Are you all right, Father?’ he asked.

‘Never mind me, how are you? Anything more from Sha-Kaan?’

Sol glanced back to the door. Two guards stood in the doorway, watching.

‘No. I feel fine, really.’

Sol put an arm around Jonas’s shoulder and both turned away from the guards and walked towards the armchairs and sofa.

‘I have to get out of here quickly,’ said Sol quietly.

‘It’s why I’m here, Father.’

‘Those guards won’t move so they’ll see a doorway appear. Whatever happens, don’t break contact. Go with me when I talk to you. I’ll divert their attention somehow, all right? Sit here.’

There was a chair with its back to the door. Jonas sat on it and Sol took the one at right angles to him.

‘So, how’s your mother?’

Jonas shrugged. ‘Angry and panicking. Lord Denser has closed the gates of the city and forbidden any of the living to leave. The dead have been herded to the eastern parks and the mage quarter.’

‘What?’ Sol’s eyes widened. ‘Dear Gods falling, he really has lost his mind. This is madness. When did it happen, all this?’

‘Straight after they took you away. He’s speaking to the city in an hour or two, I think.’

‘Really?’ Sol stopped himself saying more. He raised his eyebrows to Jonas, who nodded and settled back into his chair. ‘A drink, Jonas? I’m afraid the cellar isn’t well stocked. Water?’

‘Thank you, Father,’ said Jonas, voice a little distant.

Sol smiled, pressed his shoulder and stood up. Standing beneath a mirror near the door was a table carrying drink and food. Sol walked towards it, nodding at the guards and making sure he was interfering with any sight of Jonas beginning his contact with Sha-Kaan.

‘Thank you for letting me see my son,’ he said, pitching his volume just a little high. ‘It means a lot that I can calm him myself. Perhaps you’d like to remind Lord Denser he needs to speak with me if we are not to get into even more precarious a position very soon?’

One of the guards shrugged. ‘I’ll mention it to Brynar, I suppose.’

Sol filled two goblets with water, picked them up and sauntered towards the door. The two guards straightened a little and hands dropped to sword hilts.

‘You think I’m going to make a break for it? Old man, dodgy hip, son in a chair by the fire? Come on, relax. I’m merely offering you some water.’

‘You should come no closer,’ said a guard, sweating under his helmet, his expression anxious and embarrassed, as it had been ever since Sol had been here.

‘Fine. Be thirsty.’ Sol stopped moving.

From behind him Jonas emitted a brief moan of pain as he made contact with Sha-Kaan.

‘What’s that?’

‘Toothache,’ said Sol. ‘Funny thing, isn’t it? About me being in here rather than in a cell.’

‘Why?’›

The question dripped suspicion. Both guards were looking past Sol, or trying to as his powerful upper body was in the way.

‘Well it’s the door, isn’t it?’ he said. He stepped forward and threw the goblets at the guards, who brought their arms up reflexively. ‘It opens the wrong way.’

Sol dived for the door and slammed it in their faces. He sat with his back to it and jammed his hands and feet as hard as he could onto the stone floor, bracing himself for the inevitable.

‘Jonas, as quick as you like,’ he said.

There were shouts outside the door. He felt the first impact against it. The door opened maybe an inch before his weight shut it once more. He had little time.

Next, a double impact. One high, one low. Sol was shovelled across the stone a good way. Hands came around the frame. Sol put his shoulder to the door and forced it back hard. There was a pained cry and he heard his name being taken repeatedly in vain.

‘Jonas…’

A thin white line had appeared in the air above Jonas’s chair. It described a horizontal about eight feet long before beginning to draw down both sides to form an opening into Sha-Kaan’s Klene, his corridor and resting place within the healing streams of inter-dimensional space.

Sol heard a flurry of conversation outside the door and, echoing down the corridor, the unmistakeable sound of Denser’s voice. Sol braced himself for another impact but there was quiet instead.

‘That can’t be good.’

The door shattered, its timbers cracking and bursting inwards. Sol was hurled across the floor, rolling and tumbling. Pain flared in his lower back and he felt the warm slick of blood at his waist. He came to a halt and tried to stand. The pain in his back intensified and he stopped, having to be satisfied with a stoop.

In the doorway stood the guards and a mage. They had taken a pace but stopped. None of them was looking at Sol but beyond him. There was the sharp smell of wood and oil. Sol craned his neck. Sha-Kaan’s golden-scaled head was thrusting from the opening to the Klene. Inside the chamber it looked massive. It was as tall as a man on its own, suggesting the enormity that could not be seen beyond the portal. A bone ridge ran from between Sha-Kaan’s eyes and away down his body. That mouth opened lazily, revealing twin rows of fangs and molars.

‘Lie down, Sol, you’re in my way,’ he rumbled.

Sol gladly complied, the pain in his back easing. Jonas was standing next to Sha-Kaan’s head, one hand resting on that portion of his neck that was visible.

‘Damn you, Sol, don’t do this.’

‘I have friends in all sorts of places, Denser.’

‘You will not obstruct our departure,’ said Sha-Kaan.

‘Xetesk and Balaia need their king,’ said Denser.

‘Locked up in the catacombs. I don’t think so,’ said Sol. ‘What they need is a way out. What you’re building is a mass grave.’

Sol shuffled away from Sha-Kaan’s line of sight and got gingerly to his feet. The blood was flowing fast from the wound in his back and soaking into his breeches. He felt a little light-headed.

‘You will come back,’ said Denser. ‘Need I remind you that your wife and younger son are still here.’

‘Need I remind you that if one hair of either head is so much as breathed upon, I will rip your fucking head off.’ Sol glanced at Jonas. ‘Apologies for my language.’

Jonas shrugged. ‘We need to go.’

Sol nodded and moved to the portal. Denser stayed the hand of one of his guards with a shake of the head and a knowing look.

‘One last chance for redemption, Denser. Come with us. We are stronger with you.’

‘Sorry, Sol. Xetesk is where true strength lies. I think I’ll stay where I’m likely to stay alive.’

‘If you remember one thing, remember this,’ said Sol. ‘The Raven never get it wrong.’

Sol and Jonas stepped past Sha-Kaan’s head, the dragon withdrew it into the Klene and the portal snapped shut.