Ravensoul

Chapter 31

Garonin swung onto the balconies. White tears flashed into the chamber, smashing portraits hung on the walls and setting fire to a tapestry rescued from the library during the demon invasion. Nothing would save it now.

Densyr held an Ilkar’s Defence steady across the doorway. Garonin poured fire into it. Auum could see the sweat beading on the mage’s face. Next to him, Miirt ducked a swinging weapon and planted her elbow into an enemy gut. She jumped up and reversed her fist into his helmet, knocking him back. Auum straight-kicked into his face, sending him over the edge.

‘Sol, call out status,’ said Auum. ‘Direct us.’

‘Understood,’ said Sol.

The tower rocked above. Loose masonry fell past the balconies. The thud of Garonin fire could be heard and felt as it pounded into the upper floors of the tower. A volley of spells flew up from the courtyard. More Garonin lines dropped. Three more soldiers landed on the balcony in front of Auum.

‘Get down inside!’ called Auum.

White tears lashed into the chamber. Auum threw himself forward, cutting his blades across and out in front of him. He felt them bite deep into flesh through armour not designed to defend against blade attack. A Garonin howled in pain and fell across him. Auum rolled and kicked, shoving the wounded man aside, ramming a sword up under his chin.

A weapon was on him. Miirt’s blade flashed across Auum’s vision. The weapon fell, a dismembered hand still clutching it. Auum arched his back and sprang to his feet, burying his blades in the midriff of the same soldier. Miirt round-housed the third, taking him clean off the balcony.

‘Holding inside,’ said Sol. ‘Doorway secure. Left balcony holding. No casualties.’

Auum risked a glance behind. Prone on the table that dominated the centre of the chamber, Hirad was awfully vulnerable. To the left, Sol had turned Diera’s chair to the wall and she was hunched up in it, her arms covering young Hirad, who was abandoned to screaming terror. Jonas crouched next to them, sheltered by the mantel of the fire. His head was down and his hands were on his knees. Auum could see him murmuring, talking to Sha-Kaan.

Sol stood by his family. One hand rested on the back of the chair. He was finding it difficult to stand and equally difficult to be out of direct combat. The doorway was secured. Garonin moved beyond the barrier, which stretched on an arc covering the door and the entire area of wall the Garonin could attack if they chose.

Thraun stood sentinel, his wolves by him, waiting. Dystran was crouched by Septern, tuned into the mana spectrum. The master mage himself was absolutely still but for his mouth, which moved to form speech no one could hear in the tumult that echoed in the chamber.

And finally, opposite Auum, Ghaal and the ClawBound held the second balcony entrance. Sirendor was stamping the last of the embers from the tapestry, which he had ripped from the wall.

‘Sol,’ said Auum. ‘Hirad.’

The barbarian in a merchant’s broken body was stirring.

‘Sirendor, Thraun,’ said Sol. ‘Get Hirad safer. Under the table. Anywhere. Auum, on your right.’

Auum swung back to the balcony. A Garonin soldier was swinging towards them on a line. Others followed on the same calculated arc. Arrows flew into the air from below, all missing the fast-moving targets.

‘Miirt, monkey snare. Take low,’ said Auum.

‘Down on my mark,’ said Sol. ‘Enemies coming in right hand.’

Auum moved back half a pace, setting himself just behind the frame of the balcony doors. Miirt flattened herself on the floor, blades at her sides, arms ready in front of her.

‘Mark!’ shouted Sol.

Everybody crouched or dropped prone bar Auum. White tears flooded in, smashing into stone, punching straight through the walls in several places, leaving ragged holes that fizzed and cracked, the mana binding them ripped apart. The Garonin followed behind his fire, landing inside the chamber. He balanced quickly and raised his weapon but had no chance to use it.

Miirt reached out and grabbed both his ankles. Auum leapt onto his back, wrapping arms around his chest. He crashed to the ground. Just like bringing down a larger monkey in the rainforest. Sirendor, alive to the situation, grabbed the Garonin’s head, lifted it and thrust a blade deep into his throat.

Auum nodded and rolled away. Three more Garonin came in, one after another, dropping and rolling. Auum jumped above one but was caught by the second. The third landed on his feet, brought his weapon to ready and fired in an arc right to left. A wolf blew apart, smearing gore across the chamber. The ClawBound pair reacted just too late. White tears ripped into panther and elf as they dived at the enemy, shielding Raven warrior and TaiGethen elf from the same fate.

Auum bounced back to his feet and knocked the weapon from the Garonin’s hands. Miirt lashed her blades into the enemy’s back and he crumpled in a welter of blood. The air stank of burned flesh and fur. Thraun and the remaining wolves pounced on one of the remaining two Garonin, exacting grim revenge.

Auum turned from the sight. The second Garonin had risen. His weapon thudded butt first into the back of Ghaal’s head while the Tai was fighting another on the balcony. Auum moved to strike, but Sol was ahead of him, thrashing his blade through the Garonin’s lower back.

The Garonin spun round, weapon limp in his hands. His gaze fixed on Septern and he raised a hand to point.

‘You,’ he said, and tried to bring his weapon to bear.

Dystran rose, stretched to place a hand up to the soldier’s eye slits and let mana flame gout from his palm.

‘You will not touch him.’

The Garonin screamed, clutched briefly at Dystran’s hand and fell, his helmet ablaze with mana fire.

‘Sirendor. Fires. Get them out. Thraun. Thraun!’

The shapechanger looked up at Sol, his eyes rimmed with tears.

‘So much pain,’ he said.

‘Hang on, Thraun. See to your wolves. See to the ClawBound. Auum, back to your watch. I’ll check Ghaal.’

The intensity of Garonin fire on the tower increased as if a message had been relayed. The structure shook as raw energy spewed into it from all sides. Slate and stone blistered, broke and fell. Huge chunks of intricately carved work teetered and fell from the highest floors, tumbling down to the ground hundreds of feet below.

On the ceiling above, the paint was darkening.

‘They’re coming through the roof,’ said Sol. ‘Densyr, we need your Defence up there if you can do it. Thraun, Sirendor. The doorway. You have to hold it.’

‘I hear you,’ said Densyr. ‘Tell me when.’

‘Now. Right now.’

Densyr moved the Ilkar’s Defence spell upwards. Thraun and the two wolves rushed straight through the door. Xeteskian guards came from the left up the stairs. The Garonin fell back before the onslaught.

Sol limped over to Ghaal. The TaiGethen was moving but groggy. Sol dared a look through the balcony doorway. For now the lines were empty but the Garonin in the floors above were free to take the tower apart piece by piece.

‘What the hell are they after?’ asked Sol, swaying back in as more stone tumbled from the roof. ‘The Heart is nowhere near here.’

‘But Septern is,’ said Dystran. ‘And we need to bind the walls to stop the tower falling. They want him because of where he is and what he’s doing.’

A thunderous crash rattled the tower to its foundations. Light flooded in from above. Densyr gasped and dropped to his knees. The upper floors of the tower concertinaed, dumping hundreds of tons of stone, furnishings and timbers onto the Defence.

‘Tilt it!’ yelled Dystran.

Densyr moved his right hand. The Defence moved up a fraction on that side. Enough to dislodge a mountain of ruined stone. Garonin swarmed around the outside, trampling on the Defence, dodging debris as it slipped and slid. They fired incessantly at the spell, each tear splashing white and blue as it impacted.

‘Whatever Septern’s doing, I suggest he does it quickly,’ said Sol.

Up above, they could see the Garonin machine. It was massive, bulging under the pressure of mana stored within its bell. The clouds above it were swirling but slowly, as if something was interrupting the sucking in of fuel to the detonation area.

In his chair Septern sighed, long and feeble.

‘Twocanbeone,’ he said.

Binding spells were strengthening the walls and the damage was being limited for now. Brynar ran with Suarav and Chandyr, away from the tower complex. With them a dozen guards and six mages, all under a spell shield. Up in the machine weapons fired down. More powerful versions of those held in the hand, they tore great rents in buildings, ground and exposed walls. Anyone caught in their fire simply ceased to exist.

But on the ground the tide was going against the enemy. Fifteen groups of shielded mages and soldiers moved in and out of combat areas as the Garonin landed. The focus of the assault was the base of the tower complex, as the enemy sought access to the catacombs and hence the Heart of Xetesk.

High up above, Densyr’s tower was taking a dreadful pounding. Slabs of stone were falling to the ground, dealing as much damage to enemy as to ally. Suarav wondered what it was they wanted from up there.

‘Hold,’ said Suarav. ‘Use the angles. Garonin on the deck.’

Mages crouched and prepared. Surrounding them, guards watched outwards. Time slowed. A section of wall a hundred yards to the left burst in. Chandyr cursed.

‘There next,’ said Suarav.

‘Ready,’ said Brynar.

‘Cast at will,’ said Suarav.

Twenty Garonin were walking through the gap in the wall. Their weapons sprayed death in a wide arc around them.

‘Wait,’ said Suarav. ‘New target. Our left.’

‘Got them,’ said Brynar. ‘Cleansing Flame. Cast.’

Multiple columns of super-heated mana flame roared down from the sky. Each one sought a single target. Armour flared white, twenty suits trying to ward off the power of Xetesk’s most powerful individual offensive spell. They had no chance. The deluge of fire reached inside their bodies and destroyed them in an instant. No screams, no flailing limbs. The Garonin were driven into the ground. One moment walking, the next burning and still.

‘Back towards the tower complex,’ said Suarav. ‘Good work, Brynar.’

The group moved quickly. Across in front of them, a stretcher party of civilians wearing blue armbands ran to deal with wounded on the walls. Others in yellow, green and orange bands brought up replacement weapons, got water to any who had the chance to drink but mainly tried to patch up the wounded and clear away the dead.

Xetesk had learned from the mistakes of Julatsa and Lystern. Suarav was pleased. A long way to go yet but so far they held. Frontal defence was not the way. Fight them hand to hand. Spread your force. Keep moving and keep alive. And invest mana in your walls to stop the enemy flooding over you like a spring tide.

‘General, look!’

Brynar was pointing up at Densyr’s tower. A mass of Garonin fire was trained on it. As Suarav watched, he saw the pinnacle and upper floors buckle and fall. His breath caught in his throat. The weight of falling stone accelerated the collapse of the floors below. The pinnacle itself tumbled almost gracefully down on a cloud of debris, smashing into the dome of the tower complex and breaking through it.

He began to run but knew he was already too late. Nothing could save those within. And as quickly as he had started, he slid to a stop. The collapse halted right above Densyr’s dining chamber. A spell flared deep blue beneath the piles of rubble, broken furniture and flapping clothing and drapes. Suarav breathed again.

‘He’s good, our Lord of the Mount,’ said Chandyr.

But Suarav was not smiling yet. He saw the spell and the rubble begin to shift.

‘Clear the complex approach. Move, move. Shields above you now!’

He was running again, waving his arms and yelling over and over for people to get out of the way. Timber and stone fell in a torrent. Where it didn’t beat straight through the roof of the dome, it bounced and rolled, thundering onto the courtyard and steps in front of the complex doors.

Suarav saw men crushed, others diving and rolling away. He saw mages trying to get shields in place and he saw, from above, more Garonin dropping to the broken roof of the tower.

‘Brynar, see to the wounded. Take three guards with you and get blue team to help. The rest of you, Chandyr, Densyr needs us.’

Suarav felt every one of his fifty-nine years. The breath was pained in his chest and his lungs felt clogged with dust. He lengthened his stride. The violent heaving of the courtyard under his feet took him completely by surprise and sent him sprawling on his face.

For a moment he thought he’d imagined it, but when he got himself back to his feet, he saw cracks in the courtyard cobbles and people everywhere brushing themselves down. A curious quiet fell across the whole college. The Garonin weapons had fallen silent and all that could be heard was the wheezing of the machine and the cracks of lightning in the detonation cloud.

It was a quiet short-lived. A wailing blare came from the floating machine and a melodious call from the mouth of every Garonin. As one, their weapons turned on Densyr’s tower and an extraordinary weight of fire deluged the ancient bound stone.

The courtyard rippled again, and this time, from beneath the stones, he saw a flash of blue light.

All three mages had Ilkar’s Defence spells running and spread on as broad a front as they could manage. The intensity of Garonin fire scorched paper inside the wrecked chamber as the heat spiralled.

Sol tried to protect his family as best he could. Auum and his Tai had fled the chamber to join Thraun’s attack on the Garonin directly above. Sirendor was trying desperately to keep Hirad from suffocating. Ilkar, Densyr and Dystran, faces drawn into rictus grins by the strain, were clinging on but the Julatsan was struggling. Ilkar was quivering all over and a strangled choke was being dragged from his throat.

‘Can’t do this,’ he croaked.

‘Hang on, Ilkar. Hang on.’

But Sol didn’t know what for or for how long. In his chair Septern twitched and muttered. They had felt the heaving of the floor beneath them and Dystran had shouted something about the Heart but that was all.

‘Re. Re. Pel.’ Septern’s eyes opened briefly, fluttered and closed again. ‘Fo… usss.’

Blue flame encased the tower. Denser and Dystran screamed and clutched at their heads. Defence spells failed. Enemies dropped into their midst, followed by the feet and blades of the TaiGethen. A wind howled through the tower, threatening to pluck them all from their precarious perch and throw them down to their deaths.

Sol crouched and laid his arms across his family. The flame gathered density; it curled and twisted into a spire above them, wreathing and pulsing. The pressure built quickly. Septern was juddering in his chair as if shaken by unseen hands. Densyr was flat on his back, tears streaming from his eyes. Dystran was unconscious.

The Garonin fire increased but every tear that hit the mana spire deflected harmlessly away. The spire’s blue deepened almost to black and a spear of mana punched upwards and crashed into the underside of the machine, knocking it sideways through the air. The carriage hanging beneath it disintegrated in a ball of flame, scattering debris and bodies to fall to the earth.

Briefly, the colour of the spire lightened. Septern squeezed his eyes shut. Another spear shot up. This one skewered the machine’s bulbous bell.

‘Oh dear God’s falling,’ whispered Sol.

The machine exploded. White, blue and grey light flashed like hot sun into a blackout room. Flame ripped across the circumference of the bell. Repeated detonations rippled its hide, sending fresh flame clawing at the sky. The shock wave reflected down, rattling the tower and sending a great swathe of heat across the college. Flame dispersed over the cylinder of mana encircling the tower.

The machine hung in tatters in the air for a moment, flaps of burning skin clinging to the ribs of its skeleton, before dipping left and crashing down onto the east walls. Sol could hear the screams of Garonin soldiers. Melodious no more but a lament just the same.

Spells still fell, taking out the remaining invaders. Sol slowly dragged himself to his feet. He could hear cheering from the courtyard. And barked orders. Suarav and Chandyr were still cautious. Sol looked down on his family. Diera was cuddling young Hirad, whose shocked white face stared into his.

‘It’s all right now, little one,’ said Sol. ‘It’s all over for now.’

‘We’ve won,’ breathed Densyr. ‘We’ve actually won.’

Jonas stirred from his slumber in the mind of Sha-Kaan and his face was full of regret.

‘No, Lord Densyr, I’m afraid we haven’t.’