Ravensoul

Chapter 26

Auum led his Tai back across the rooftops, across a fifteen-foot gap to the next line of houses, along five pitched roofs and into the lee of a huge chimney stack at the east end of the square. Here the smoke from the cook fires of every dwelling in the tenement house was released to the sky. He wasn’t sure if the Garonin had seen them coming but he was sure they had hit the roofs and ground looking for him and his kind.

‘Ghaal, what can you see?’

The Tai peered slowly out around the edge of the stack.

‘They have stopped about two hundred and fifty yards from us. Something’s happening. Perhaps they aren’t after us after all. On the ground they have stopped too, as if they’ve formed a perimeter at the edge of where they cleared the wards earlier.’

Auum joined him, Miirt went the other way.

‘The vydosphere is collecting,’ she said.

And so it was. The cloud was darkening slowly above the malevolent shape hanging in the sky, which had begun a lazy spiral. Funnels were belching out smoke and the metal rods across its bulk were fizzing and crackling with energy as the reaction built to detonation.

‘Where is it getting the mana from?’ asked Ghaal.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Auum was sizing up the distance to the enemy. ‘We can strike here. They are unprepared.’

‘They will follow if we do.’

‘So much the better. We need to bring them further into the grid and away from the others. We can do both if we’re quick.’

Ghaal was smiling. ‘Like a decoy run in the rainforest.’

‘With the rooftops as our canopy,’ said Miirt.

‘Are we one on this?’ asked Auum. ‘Draw them to the south if you can.’

‘Yniss will guide us,’ said his Tai.

‘Split and run hard, my warriors. Keep low and loose. Tai, we move.’

Auum hurdled wall, low chimney and alleyway. He sprinted on a long gentle curve, his angle and the presentation of his body making it hard for any projectile weapon to take certain aim. Seventy yards into the run, the Garonin began to fire, the entire front line of over seventy enemy soldiers carving up the dawn with their white teardrops.

Tile and flowerpot exploded by him as he ran. He saw Ghaal turn, dive and forward-roll while energy bit into a loft window where he had been standing momentarily. He came up low and ran behind a decorative wall. The fire followed him but when the smoke and debris cleared, he was long gone.

Auum had time to acknowledge his Tai’s skill before he approached a wide avenue. Thirty feet wide at a guess. He needed speed. The wind was already behind him. Garonin weapons tracked him. In his wake the tiles of a pitched roof shattered and melted. He leaned forward, gathering pace, stepped onto the building’s edge and launched himself head first, arms tight by his sides, body axle-straight. The white tears flooded his vision. He felt heat as they ripped by underneath him and he angled his body to allow a stream to pass by his left-hand side.

Auum brought his arms in front of him, took the impact of landing on his right shoulder and turned into the direction of motion, coming to a stop on his haunches. The Garonin were just over the next roof apex. He could hear their footsteps as they advanced on his position. Beads of fire still swept into the sky, chasing Ghaal and Miirt. Auum unclipped his pouch of jaqrui throwing crescents, plucking one out and taking a short blade in his right hand. He moved diagonally up the slate-covered roof, heading for a cluster of chimneys at the centre of the building.

The Garonin felt no need for the same stealth, their tramping feet giving away the position of each of six soldiers. Auum put a mental picture of them in the forefront of his mind. He switched his blade and jaqrui around.

‘Yniss, spare my soul to do your work as dawn lightens tomorrow. Tual, guide my hand to smite my enemies. Shorth, hear my prayer; I commend my soul to you should I fall. Seek for me a path to my resting place. This I ask in the names of the great Gods of the Ynissul. Hear me, my masters. I am Auum, your servant.’

Auum reached the cluster of chimneys, stepped to the right and threw the jaqrui round-armed. The blade whipped across the rooftop, taking a Garonin under the chin guard and burying itself in his neck. He jerked backwards and fell, his weapon firing wildly into the sky. Auum dived back behind the chimney stack. He grabbed another jaqrui. Masonry and tile blew apart above his head under the wilting fire of the Garonin.

Auum ran left. He threw again. The holes in the body of the jaqrui caused it to make a keening, unearthly sound as it travelled straight and true. The target Garonin raised his weapon reflexively in defence. The blade sheared deep into the weapon, which exploded in the Garonin’s hands, taking off his arms at the elbows, ripping deep holes in his chest and forcing upwards to shatter his jaw.

Metal shards whistled as they flew. Auum flattened himself against the roof. The four remaining Garonin had turned their backs against any impact. Armour flared white. Auum was up and running left. He dragged his second short blade out with his right hand.

He leapt and spun in the air, his blades flashing left to right in quick succession buoyed by the power of his turn and the pace of his body. The first slashed deep into the helmet of his target, the second, adjusted lower, whipped through his throat, ripping free and carrying blood and gore with it.

Auum landed facing right. The remaining three were moving towards him. They could not see Miirt sprinting up behind them and the fire from their fellows nearer the vydosphere was tracking Ghaal.

He heard the howl of a jaqrui. The blade flickered past his left shoulder and embedded in the arm of the leftmost enemy. The soldier jerked back, but steadied and fired. Auum glanced back to see Ghaal duck and roll under the stream of white tears.

Auum rose and ran. He came under fire from the other two. He dived left, rolling and rising, the roof at his feet obliterated. He dropped a blade, reached for a jaqrui and threw. The Garonin ducked it, his head moving to track it just for a moment. More than enough. Auum picked up his blade, ran four paces and launched himself two-footed at the Garonin’s midriff. He caught the soldier square on. The enemy doubled over, and as he fell, Auum’s blades jabbed up under both his arms.

Auum shovelled the body aside and came to a crouch. Miirt had leapt up and backhanded her blade through the back of a Garonin neck. Ghaal had jumped and struck the other in the eye slit. Blood was running down the side of the roof, staining the red tiles a dark shade of crimson.

‘Yniss saves us for greater deeds,’ said Auum.

He turned to the vydosphere. More Garonin were advancing. Fifty-plus breaking from the main force. Above them, the sky darkened by degrees and the pace of the cloud spin increased.

‘Breathe the air, my warriors. And let us run like the jaguars are on our scent.’

The Tai cell touched hands briefly, stowed weapons and ran south, exhorting Tual to guard their every move. Behind them not every Garonin turned to follow. Auum watched eight carrying on forward.

‘The Ravensoul worries them,’ he muttered. ‘I hope it is strong enough to turn them aside.’

Baron Gresse settled into his chair on the rooftop garden of one of Xetesk’s premier mages, it didn’t matter which, to watch his last, glorious Balaian dawn. The house was well stocked and he had one of his servants find him some fresh leaf tea, a plate of bread and cold meat and some fresh fruit. The table was laid properly, with white cloth, napkins and crystal glasses. Wine would follow the tea. A little early perhaps, but when one was short of time, early was not in the lexicon.

Blackthorne reappeared from the house.

‘It’s mine,’ he said. ‘One of my finest vintages too. A pity to let it go to waste.’

Gresse had dismissed his servant but his and Blackthorne’s retinues were still loitering at the far end of the garden, unwilling to desert their lords.

‘Then join me, old friend. And take a look at this spectacular, if unfortunately unique, sunrise.’

‘There’s still time to get away from here,’ said Blackthorne. ‘We can enjoy this under a new sun.’

Gresse indicated over his left shoulder. Eight Garonin soldiers were making their languid way across the rooftops.

‘No, there isn’t, Blackthorne. And I’m tired of running. Tired of being hauled about like some chattel. I am a baron of Balaia. And that is how I will die. Better than straining to reach some foreign shore and having the cancer claim me anyway.

‘What are we running for, you and me? Are you really going to build another Blackthorne Castle? Do you have the energy? All those you protected have been swept away by these bastards. Just like my people. I’m going down with this ship and I’m looking forward to it.’

Blackthorne looked away towards the Garonin heading directly towards them and then to those making their steady way towards the college.

‘Go!’ he shouted to the servants still waiting at the end of the garden. ‘We’ll be along presently.’

Not one of their men moved. Instead, a show of hands resulted in them returning to the barons and forming a ring around them at a deferential distance. Blackthorne nodded his respect and thanks, pulled out a chair and sat down.

‘You know, you are absolutely right.’

‘It’s a common complaint.’

‘Can I pour you some more tea?’

‘I think wine more appropriate now.’

‘Good man.’

Blackthorne produced a corkscrew from his pocket and set to work. He drew the cork expertly and sniffed the end, nodding approvingly. He handed the cork to Gresse while he poured each of them a mouthful to taste. The two barons sniffed, sipped, rolled and swallowed.

‘A red to satisfy the desire for a full body, a head of blackcurrant and an aftertaste of dark plum,’ said Gresse. ‘Outstanding. We should have ordered the steak.’

A servant stepped in, took the bottle from Blackthorne and poured each of them a full glass with a remarkably steady hand. The sounds of the enemy approaching were growing louder.

‘A little late for steak. Even for something blue.’

Gresse shifted his legs on their footstool. ‘Do you remember that time when we brokered that agreement with the Wesmen for a supply of each vintage?’

‘Interesting negotiations. I’m not sure they were ready for the concept of laying down a wine for a decade.’

‘Who was that idiot who insisted on broaching a bottle of the thirty-eight vintage?’

Blackthorne chuckled. A detonation sounded away to the east. He paused while the echoes faded. ‘Riasu. Almost choked on it. Nothing so sharp and unpleasant as a young wine.’

‘As I recall, he was keen to have us both divided in two,’ said Gresse. ‘Remember what you said about trusting the vintage?’

Blackthorne laughed out loud this time. He held up a finger and wagged it as he spoke. ‘ “Patience is the province of the civilised man. A fine wine is the fruit of that patience just as it is proof of the wisdom of its owner. However, if you are not completely satisfied when you come to open the first bottle in ten years’ time, I promise to provide you with a full refund. Just bring the shipment back to the castle and I’ll authorise payment on the instant.” I recall it as if it was yesterday.’

‘Lucky that envoy of Tessaya was listening in, I’d say.’

‘They were good days, Gresse.’

‘Damn it but they were, Blackthorne.’

The two barons clinked their glasses and drank deeply.

The footsteps drew ever closer. Gresse ignored the thudding steps, the drone of the machine and the calls of wolves. When you put your mind to it, it was quite easy.

‘We have company,’ said Blackthorne. ‘I’m proud to have called you my friend, Baron Gresse.’

‘And you likewise, Baron Blackthorne. Good hunting in the forests of your fathers.’

‘I’ll send you an invitation should I ever find them.’

Gresse turned to see the eight huge figures looming over them and the men who had refused to leave their sides.

‘Join us, the red is a quite superb vintage. Oh. I see.’

‘One cannot simply turn it off,’ snapped Septern. ‘Not without taking down the whole eastern side of the city.’

‘Do you see anyone who cares if that happens?’ Densyr pointed out towards the Garonin machine and the malevolent shapes of soldiers bounding over his rooftops. ‘It is only enemies out there. Take down every wall if you like. I don’t care. But do it quickly. Meanwhile, our enemies are sucking the life out of the Heart of Xetesk. It is an unsustainable loss. They are killing us from a distance. ’

‘And your friends? The Raven?’

Densyr bit his lip.

‘Casualties of war,’ he said, the words ash in his mouth.

‘Yet they represent the best alternative should we fail to hold the city.’

‘We will not fail,’ said Densyr. ‘We cannot.’

Septern held his gaze for a moment and then nodded. ‘Very well.’

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

Septern was pale, even for a dead man.

‘Whatever it is the Garonin are doing, it affects the souls of the dead or, rather, the mana surrounding them. The call to the void is strong and painful to resist. But don’t worry; I won’t let you down.’

Densyr let his eye wander out over his city once more. Way to the east, not far from the gate and in the shadow of the machine, he could see a fight going on. Garonin weapons were firing. At who? he wondered. It had to be Auum and his TaiGethen. A shame the elf had taken the wrong path. He would have been a useful ally today.

‘How long will it take you?’ asked Densyr.

‘That is hard to quantify right now. I need to understand the nature of the mana flow and the volume being dragged through the grid. There will inevitably be some risk attached to the shutdown procedure.’

Densyr’s eyes narrowed and he felt a chill anxiety in his gut.

‘Risk?’

‘Well, simply put, if I snap off the flow, two things happen. First, as I said, every ward will trigger because there is no longer a circuit, and hence no way to channel the mana away safely. But second, there will be far more mana in the grid than it was intended to support because of the Garonin action. There could be feedback.’

‘Feedback?’

Densyr’s anxiety had coalesced to dread.

‘Into the Heart. That’s why I have to know the level of the depletion. Because enough mana feeding back into the Heart all at once could, theoretically, destroy it.’

‘Theoretically?’

‘Well this has never been tested, as you can imagine…’

‘Stop blustering. What is your view? And let’s say for the sake of argument that the Garonin are dragging away half of the Heart’s power at any one time.’

Septern shrugged. ‘Theory would become practical reality.’

Ilkar had concentrated like he never had before and yet forming the shape of the spell had still been torturous. The pain in his chest was a constant drain on his concentration and the howling of the void echoed around his head. Yet here it was. An Ilkar’s Defence construct. Conical, formed of a lattice of yellow lines of mana, tightly bound. Slightly modulating but nothing serious, and rotating a little quickly. It would have to do.

With eyes and mind tuned to the mana spectrum, Ilkar could see the ward in front of the door through which The Unknown wanted to go. FlameOrbs would fly from it when it was triggered, he could see that now. On a spread that would cover a hundred men in flesh-dissolving mana fire. Best not to think about it.

‘Are you ready, Ilks? The Garonin will be tapping us on the shoulder if we wait much longer,’ said Hirad.

‘I’m not sure why I bothered,’ said Ilkar. ‘I completely forgot that all you have to do is open your big fat mouth and the FlameOrbs will get sucked right in. Idiot. And yes, I’m ready.’

Ilkar nailed his concentration back down to the spell. He made sure he was standing square in front of the door. He checked again that the spell diameter would cover the spread of the ward. He took a deep breath.

‘Tuck in behind Ilkar, Jonas,’ said The Unknown. ‘Sirendor, behind me.’

Ilkar glanced over his shoulder. Hirad winked at him.

‘You could have chosen a wider body,’ said Hirad. ‘You’re a bit weedy for us all to cower behind.’

‘You know that in all the years I was dead, all I ever dreamed about was being an elven shield for your filthy carcass.’

Hirad laughed. ‘I knew you always loved me best.’

‘All right,’ said Ilkar. ‘On the count of three. I’ll cast and move the spell to the door. Everything else, I leave to your imaginations. One, two, three…’

Ilkar cast. The Defence hung in the air in front of him. Solid, shot through with yellow, rotating gently about its axis. He pushed out his arms slowly. The conical shape lengthened, the flat circle expanded to take in the door and then the entirety of the wall of the building. He could see the pulsing of the ward as the Julatsan casting neared it.

‘Be ready,’ he said, voice distant with effort.

‘For what?’ asked Hirad.

‘To sweep me into an ash bucket if this goes wrong.’

Ilkar crabbed his hands to better grip the spell and thrust it against door and wall. The ward triggered. Blinding blue light flashed across the surface of the Defence. Ilkar leaned his weight against his spell while the FlameOrbs, or whatever fancy name they had these days, formed and crashed into it again and again.

He shuddered. Nausea gripped him. The spell shimmered. Ilkar grunted defiance and forced more strength into the head of his casting. The Defence steadied again. Blue light rippled across its surface, fizzed into the ground and slapped back against the building. Fire leaked around the edges of the spell and lashed at the air and the ground at Ilkar’s feet. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

Ilkar could see the end coming. The effort of dragging in so much unfocused mana told eventually. There was not enough flow to keep the construct steady for long. The sides of the cone wobbled. The lattice unpicked from front to back. Another orb slammed into the cone and the spell collapsed.

‘Down!’ yelled Ilkar.

He angled his hands up. The final orb deflected off the remnants of his spell and arced away into the dawn sky. He followed its lazy movement up until it reached its zenith and began to fall back down.

‘This is not good,’ he said.

The Unknown had seen it too. ‘Up! Up! Get inside. Move it, Raven.’

He picked up Jonas by the back of his collar and charged through the wrecked entrance of the building. Sirendor and Hirad were scrambling to their feet, the barbarian cursing at the pain from his burned foot. But still he stopped to grab Ilkar and help the tired mage up.

The orb fell to the ground on the right-hand side of the street. Hirad and Ilkar dived inside the house, rolling away from the opening and heading for the stairs up which The Unknown was already running. The orb splattered across wall and street, triggering wards all around it.

Flame lashed inside the building, reducing broken timbers to ash and engulfing the stairs in fire. Ilkar dived headlong onto the landing from the top step. A whoosh of heat behind him and a crackling of paint on the walls told him how close he had been to incineration.

The ground heaved beneath them. Great rending sounds of stone on stone, rock smashing into rock and the splintering of wood sounded far too close. Ilkar came back to his feet and grabbed Hirad’s arm, helping him along. The others were ahead, stampeding up another stairway towards the roof. A massive column of stone broke through the floor and carved its way up through the bedrooms on Ilkar’s right.

‘EarthHammer!’ he shouted into the tumult but no one could possibly hear him.

Plaster dust and debris filled the air. The house rocked. Detonations of more columns of stone breaking upwards could be heard surrounding them. Hirad made the stairs and took them three at a time, wounded foot almost forgotten in his desperation to escape. Ilkar was right on his heels, pushing him faster.

Light poured in from above. A great swathe of the roof slipped and fell into the street, showering shattered tiles down on the fleeing Raven. Up ahead, Ilkar saw The Unknown battering down a door with his feet and running into clear sky. The front wall of the house cracked along a jagged horizontal, the upper portion teetering and falling outwards, dragging roof and beam with it.

Ilkar gave Hirad a mighty shove and rolled out of the top door after him. Hands grabbed him, almost lifting him from his feet and running him towards the shuddering building’s edge. He cried out as he left the ground, cycled his legs and landed on the other side in a heap. He turned to watch Hirad make the jump. The barbarian’s poor foot gave way beneath him. He didn’t have the height to clear the balustrade. His hands grabbed at guttering and he disappeared from view.

Behind him, the house crumbled to the ground, sending up clouds of dust that glowed in the blue flame of Xeteskian wards. As the sound of the collapse rolled away, Ilkar could hear Hirad swearing. The Unknown ran to the building’s edge and hauled the barbarian to safety

Ilkar felt someone’s gaze on him. He looked round. A man was standing by him, four wolves at his feet. He recognised those hands as the ones that had helped him escape. Others were there too. A woman and a boy who would bring joy to The Unknown’s heart and, oddly, Brynar, Densyr’s apprentice.

The man with the wolves was smiling. The sun on him projected his shadow onto the wall of a dormer window behind him. It was of a tall, powerful man with hair tied in a long ponytail at his back. Ilkar felt a comforting warmth.

‘Hello, Thraun,’ he said. ‘Glad you happened by when you did.’