Ravensoul

Chapter 33

General Suarav roared with frustration when the alarm sounded. The system had been put in place after the demon wars to ensure the populace was never ensnared again as it had been a decade ago. A line of wards had been set in the city, maintained by the merest trickle of mana. The key ward was in the catacombs and it triggered the energy to release the rest.

The alarm was simple. Four tones, rising in pitch over an octave and repeating quickly until the Lord of the Mount declared the emergency ended. Suarav crouched in the shelter of one of Xetesk’s long-room doorways and gazed balefully out at the Garonin machines hanging in the air above the college. He thought the alarm might well sound forever.

Every Xeteskian citizen knew what they had to do. Flee the city by whichever gate and by whichever means. Bring food, water and clothing. Bring weapons if you had them, particularly hunting weapons. Be prepared for a long time in the open and on the run. Head for your allotted rendezvous point. Do not return to the city if you value your life.

‘We can still fight,’ said Chandyr. ‘We lost none of our teams after the initial bombardment. The shielding works and the binding on the walls is strong. Let the population run. We are sworn to protect city and college. Let us not shirk that responsibility.’

Suarav nodded. ‘The Circle Seven are all still in the catacombs. I will not abandon them.’

He turned to the rest of those gathered with him. He saw fear and he saw determination.

‘Are you with me?’ asked Suarav. Five mages and twelve guards nodded. ‘With courage we can hold them long enough.’

‘Why do they wait?’ asked Chandyr. ‘Surely they presume their force to be overwhelming.’

The bombardment of white tears had ceased temporarily. Smoke drifted across the college from multiple fires.

‘They are cautious,’ said one of the mages. ‘Nervous even. That we could unleash such destruction without warning.’

‘The trouble is, none of us knows what the hell that blue spear was, do we?’ said Suarav.

‘But then, neither do they,’ said Chandyr. ‘And, like us, they have no idea if it is repeatable. Presumably that is why they’ve been targeting Densyr’s tower. And it still stands.’

Suarav faced his squad. ‘Then let’s waste no time. Mages, I need a shield. Let’s find every group we can and set up the defence of the tower complex as far as we can. You are brave people and I am proud to serve with you. Face whatever comes with spirit and we will see the enemy defeated yet or at least bring our masters to safety. And while we may all lose our lives, we must not be careless with them. Every moment we resist allows our citizens time to escape. Your loved ones and mine. For Xetesk, city and college of magic.’

‘For Xetesk!’

Suarav led his team out onto open ground. The five Garonin machines hung in the sky like giant insects waiting the chance to strike. Their drones combined to form a modulating bass over which the Xeteskian evacuation alarm rose in discord. Suarav saw people emerging from every door in the college to make their escape.

There was no move from the enemy to stop them. After their initial bombardment they were, without question, waiting and assessing their options. The city of Xetesk had been rich with mana but that was now largely collected or spent. The greatest prize on the continent was ensconced deep in the catacombs and any enemy, even one as powerful as the Garonin, should be wary of the task ahead.

Assuming they could not hack straight down through the-Gods-knew-how-much-rock to expose the Heart, an assault corridor by corridor, chamber by chamber was their only option. It meant a large number of soldiers were likely to descend at any given moment and try to gain access to the catacombs by the single entrance.

‘Bottleneck,’ he said.

‘Sir?’ asked a mage running along bedside him.

‘I’ve had an idea.’

The barrage had ceased but the tension was unremitting. Having released Brynar to a healer mage, Densyr had led them through numberless twists and turns until they stood as far from the entrance as it was possible to get while still being in habitable chambers. It felt cold and unfriendly so far from the surface.

The chambers he had brought them to were joyless. Hardly a picture hung. There were no coverings for the uneven floor, and while braziers could be lit to generate plenty of light, there was no heat here. No fireplace and flue. There were three workbenches ranged across the far wall underneath a set of blackboards. Chairs stood where they had been abandoned by mages in a hurry. A dark, heavy-timbered door was set into the right-hand wall.

‘You really know how to make your guests feel at home, don’t you?’ said Ilkar. ‘What was this, some sort of torture chamber or something?’

Densyr didn’t rise to the bait. ‘This was the dimensional research section. You won’t fail to see the scorch marks on the walls nor yet ignore the faint scent of blood that still hangs in here.’

Sirendor stepped into the centre of the dusty chamber, which measured perhaps thirty feet on a side.

‘I’ll take it. When can I move in?’

Sol led his family in and took Jonas and young Hirad to a couple of high-backed dining chairs that stood on the left-hand side below an artist’s impression of colliding dimensions.

‘I’m failing to see anything amusing about our position,’ he growled. ‘Densyr, get yourself sorted as quickly as you can. There is pain here for the living and the dead.’

Auum and his Tai moved silently across the chamber to the corner opposite the door and knelt to pray. Thraun laid Hirad on one of the workbenches and signalled Ilkar to look at him. Diera did not leave Sol’s side.

‘With every breath I dream you’ll return to your senses,’ she said. ‘Don’t do this, Sol. Don’t leave us here alone.’

‘If I don’t do this, there is no hope for any on Balaia,’ said Sol. ‘And, believe me, I would not be volunteering unless I felt we truly had no other choice.’

‘That’s not true. Any one can be the…’ Diera dropped her voice to a whisper with their sons so close. ‘… sacrifice. Please, Sol, think of us.’

‘I am, Diera.’ Sol closed his eyes. There truly was nothing else in his mind. ‘And there is no one else. This isn’t to be a walk through fallen leaves: it will be challenged by the Garonin every step of the way. A leader must take those steps. I am their king. It has to be me.’

Diera threw up her hands and turned her attention on Densyr, who was looking anxious and impatient.

‘And you. I thought you were on my side. You of all people know how selfish this is. How dare you change your mind and, worse, how dare you be prepared to aid my husband in his stupidity.’

Densyr let his shoulders sag a little. ‘But is it?’

The door opened. In walked Vuldaroq and Sharyr, arms laden with texts. Vuldaroq’s eyes blazed with curiosity.

‘You know it is,’ said Diera. ‘No guarantee of any kind of success. In fact the only certainty is that for him there is no turning back.’

‘But look outside,’ said Densyr. ‘We cannot defend against such force.’

‘So you’re prepared to take any chance to save your own skin even if it means pushing the head of a friend beneath the surface? Why aren’t you putting yourself forward, O Lord of the Mount?’

‘The caster cannot enter the opening.’

‘How convenient.’

‘You have me wrong, Diera,’ said Densyr. ‘I will not attempt to explain my errors of the past few days. It hardly matters now. But you should know that, succeed or fail, I am not leaving Xetesk. While anyone is left to fight the Garonin, I will stand with them. But I can no longer expect my people to do the same. I want them to escape.’

‘So noble,’ said Diera. ‘Offering the hand of salvation to strangers and the hand of a murderer to your oldest friend.’

‘Diera,’ said Sol. ‘Please.’

‘Please what? Shut up and sit primly by my sons and watch you die?’

A heavy sound struck through the catacombs. Like a giant fist had been slammed against the upper level. Dust was dislodged.

‘That doesn’t sound so good,’ said Ilkar.

‘We’re as safe as we can be,’ said Sharyr, spreading out texts on a bench and beginning to pull them open.

‘There is no comfort in that,’ said Diera.

Sol took Diera’s arm and turned her away from the awkwardness she was generating.

‘I cannot let you disrupt this. I need you to be strong for the boys. Make them understand.’

‘How can I make them understand what I do not?’

Sol smiled. ‘You understand perfectly well. You just don’t like what you’re hearing.’

‘Well we agree there.’

‘There will be time for us. Before I…’ Sol trailed away.

It wasn’t just for her he could not finish his sentence. He was only just clinging on to his own courage too. Diera sagged and let herself be drawn into his arms. Sol looked over her head and saw the mages getting to work.

‘What will happen afterwards? When you go into this opening or whatever it is?’ she asked.

‘I really don’t know. I know where we will end up but not how it will feel to travel.’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean what will you actually be able to do.’

Sol was silent just a heartbeat too long. ‘It’s all about belief.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? That is the lamest answer I’ve ever heard you give.’

‘But that’s the point, isn’t it?’ Sol began to find himself. ‘Those with the belief can function. Can achieve what they intend.’

‘So this is just one big leap of faith, is that it?’

Sol shrugged. ‘Yes.’

He saw Diera contemplate a retort but she changed tack instead. ‘How will they, you know…’

‘The Xeteskian library of nerve toxins is extensive. It’ll be quick and it’ll be painless, I promise.’

‘Promise me one more thing.’

‘Almost anything.’

‘That I give it to you. Give you the cup or whatever it is. It has to be me.’

‘Why?’›

She stared up into his eyes. ‘Because every moment with you is a lifetime’s worth.’

Densyr watched Sol and Diera’s embrace. He saw the pain and the tenderness, the strength and the fear. His own mind was in turmoil. The appearance of the five Garonin machines had sent him into a spiral, he could see that now. He had rushed here, defaulted to the wisdom of The Raven and Auum as so often in the past.

‘This is reckless,’ he said. ‘Surely it cannot work.’

Vuldaroq’s shaking hands paused in the act of turning a page.

‘When all other options have been exhausted, what else is there but desperation?’

‘I arrested him for his own good. To stop him walking to his death with his eyes closed. Now I’m about to give him a helping hand along the road. Diera is right. I am weak.’

‘What difference does it make now?’ said Ilkar, moving close to him and dropping his voice. ‘No way out but this. You do see that, don’t you?’

‘I don’t really know what to think. I still don’t see how doing this will get you to a new cluster of dimensions or anywhere but oblivion. I can see the conviction in your eyes and in his but I can see the sorrow in Diera’s too, and I will have to face that once the ritual is complete. What can I say to her?’

‘Nothing,’ said Ilkar. ‘Except to trust that we are right.’

‘But this isn’t like Sol marching off with his sword strapped to his back. He is going to die and she will never know his embrace again.’

Ilkar bowed his head, unable to hold Densyr’s gaze.

‘Yet it is the only way for her and the boys to live.’

Densyr’s heart was pounding painfully. ‘I have to be sure that is true.’

‘What’s done is done, Densyr, and you cannot undo what you did to us and the cost of delay. But know that we are not changing our position. We have not ever since we were thrust back here. The pain grows every day. The longer we are kept here the more attractive the prospect of letting go and disappearing into the void becomes.

‘We have never looked to defeat the Garonin and we are not suddenly seeing this as our last option. It has always been the only option for the populations of Balaia and Calaius. We were never here to live again on Balaia.

‘Densyr… it’s me. Ilkar. And it’s Thraun, Sirendor and Hirad too. We need your help. You’ve come so far down the road. Don’t turn away from us again.’

Densyr looked beyond Ilkar and saw Diera. Her gaze implored him to step back. Outside, the pounding was relentless. It echoed through the catacombs and sent vibrations through the stone beneath his feet. He fancied he could hear screaming but that was surely a trick of the mind.

‘We are ready, my Lord Densyr,’ said Sharyr quietly, his voice clanging like a bell in the silence that had fallen.

Densyr acknowledged him with a curt nod. He bowed to Diera and looked square at Ilkar.

‘Let’s get started,’ he whispered.

Dystran sought the purity Septern had achieved. He was only dimly aware of the pounding of weapons against the walls of Densyr’s tower. In all his years he had never been so deep in the mana spectrum. He felt almost as if he were swimming, his mind was so free. It was as frightening as it was uplifting. He was unsure if he would be able to find his way back to himself.

Perhaps that should not scare him. Returning to his body was probably pointless. He could cruise here in the embrace of the Heart of his beloved Xetesk or he could die as the tower inevitably collapsed. Here he felt safe though he could not entirely divorce himself from his physical bonds.

And that was what Septern had been able to do. His soul had been clinging on to an alien body, always in pain, always at risk of being swallowed by the void. But he had found a new place to go and had used himself to focus the Heart as a weapon.

‘Are you still here?’ asked Dystran. ‘Are you truly gone or are you part of the Heart now?’

Silence.

The Heart of Xetesk was beautiful. The hourglass shape of infinity. Glorious deep blue mana coalescing and moving in the dance of power around the dark stone. A sight only a mage could ever see. Hundreds, thousands of lines disappeared from the core. Links to everywhere and to mages drawing on the bedrock of their talent to cast. And all in defence of their college.

Dystran felt a gentle buffeting. The remains of Septern’s grid were still dangerous. The power held within was not bleeding away as he had hoped; rather it was building up at critical nodes. It was an irritation in his search for a way to repeat what the master mage had done.

The fluctuation from the Heart took him completely by surprise. A mass of mana, like a skull trailing fire, burst from its centre, upsetting the dance of power. It scorched the edges of his mind as it plunged deep into the ground. Dystran tried to track its movement but it was gone so quickly. Someone was casting something ancient and terrible.

The Heart had not regained its placidity before huge shapes appeared on the periphery of his senses. Spasmodic with clashing mana and reaching towards him with tendrils that became arms ending in claws, opening and closing, grabbing. Five of them.

They were seeking him and soon they would find him.

Dystran retreated within himself and called out for aid.