Ravensoul

Chapter 36

He felt no pain and no regret. There was no fanfare within to mark his passing. He had no idea what to expect but the memories of words spoken by returning souls. He could see nothing and he did not feel as if he was moving. No sensations touched him and the fact of his solitude did not scare him.

Here was the place between life and death. He knew his soul had left his body, that all he was now was a soul. Slowly, his new awareness and senses, if he could call them that, brought him knowledge of his surroundings. Luminescence, like light seen through closed eyelids. Sound. A rushing, scourging noise, distant and contained. The void, he assumed.

He moved towards the luminescence. It was the only thing in his new reality. Anywhere else he cast his senses, there was nothing at all. He needed to know more. The closer he came, the greater his understanding. Here was a doorway. That meant he was floating in the chamber in the catacombs. The doorway was open. Through it, he could distinctly sense a pathway. That meant his death had indeed completed the spell.

He reached out further. Energy encased the door. Strands of it, keeping it steady while the void beating around outside it fought to snap it shut. He could sense the void more definitely now. A seething ocean of random energies revealed as flecks of yellow-gold and deep bronze in a sea of pale grey.

It was the flecks that added light to the passageway. They shone through its walls. Walls that were not solid, and if he had still possessed a body it would have been like walking on taut canvas. He came to the doorway and reached out.

For the first time he felt fear but it was ephemeral. A sudden clash of light and sound had startled him and he had no reference point for safety. But his act of reaching had triggered something. The pathway fled off to a point he could not make out. The chaotic sounds of the void became muted. And he heard voices. More shockingly, he could see his own hand and he stared down at the shapes it made as he trailed it in front of what he assumed were his eyes, or the soul’s equivalent.

‘Yes, yes, we all did that. Making blurry motions with our shiny new limbs.’

Sol — he thought of himself as Sol again — turned in the doorway. Shapes were approaching. Like silhouettes formed of a grey light. Slowly, they resolved themselves as they walked towards him. But even if he didn’t recognise their shapes yet, he knew the voice.

‘Hirad?’

‘Yes. Me. Us. Ilkar, Sirendor, Thraun. And a few others who might come in handy although I don’t really know how fighting is done here.’

‘Where are we?’ asked Sol. ‘Why do you appear to be walking? I thought souls had no physical form.’

‘Interesting, isn’t it? I think we’re still technically on Balaia at the moment, by the way.’ Ilkar. ‘It happened the first time I died too. I think the mind can’t stop working the way it does when you’re alive. Not for a while, anyway. When I got to my rest, this body stuff all faded away and everything changed to bliss.’

‘Same here,’ said Sirendor.

‘What now?’ asked Sol.

‘You opened the door and you must be the first through it. Then others can follow.’ Thraun.

‘And it leads to Ulandeneth?’

‘We’d better bloody hope so,’ said Hirad. ‘Or Diera is going to be seriously unimpressed with your sacrifice.’

‘That is where it leads, though the pathway is dangerous.’

Another new voice. Other figures were approaching but a little distant yet.

‘Then we should go,’ said Sol.

He moved inside the pathway. All at once he heard a sigh as of a thousand voices finding comfort together.

‘What was that?’ he asked.

‘You will see,’ said the new voice. One he recognised but could not place. ‘But we must go. The enemy will be aware of this corridor. ’

Sol shrugged. Or he thought he did.

‘No time like the present.’

‘Raven,’ said Hirad. ‘Raven, with me.’

‘Hold it!’ roared Suarav and Chandyr. ‘Hold it. You can do it.’

Tower Prexys had fallen. Tower Laryon had fallen and there was little they could do to shore up Tower Nyer now. Suarav was damned if any more would tumble. The five machines continued hovering above them. The new weapons continued to fire. The detonation clouds continued to build and burst. The machines continued to grow.

But now Xetesk was fighting back again. Beneath a cooperative Ilkar’s Defence casting, thirty mages kept the weapons away from the tower complex. Another six were in reserve and supported a second shield above the working team. Twenty-five guards stood on the perimeter. The machines had fired again and again, each time leaching more strength from the casters. Even so, precious time was being bought and it was hoped fervently that people were escaping into the wild. Garonin were advancing on all sides. Perhaps because they had caught all who had tried to run. Perhaps because they had failed to do so and had been called back for the main prize.

‘Clear!’ shouted the lead mage, an elderly man named Gythar. ‘And steady.’

‘Great work, people,’ said Chandyr. ‘Machine four is building. Be ready.’

‘Guards, look to your fronts. Enemies closing on foot,’ said Suarav. ‘Mage reserve, we need shields on the ground and facing out. Let’s keep the dome wall at our backs.’

Inside the shattered complex more mages worked on binding what was left of the circle of seven towers and the superstructure of the dome. Suarav did not think the enemy had seen them move in.

‘Come on and have a go,’ muttered Suarav. ‘I’m sick of using my sword as a pointer.’

Forty or fifty were advancing carefully from across the width of the courtyard. It was littered with bodies and rubble. Their weapons were trained on the small knot of defenders but they had yet to open fire. From behind Suarav, he heard confirmation of shields dropping into place in front of them.

‘What are they waiting for?’ asked Chandyr at his side.

Suarav shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Think we’ve scared them?’

‘Well, if it helps, I think we’ve worried them enough for them to want to wipe us out to the last man.’

‘Ever the voice of comfort, though I happen to agree.’

‘They fear the Cleansing Flame,’ said Gythar. ‘They’ve countered most offensive spells. Not that one.’

‘Then we should use it,’ said Chandyr.

‘No. They will sense the lessening of our shield cover.’

‘Gythar’s right,’ said Suarav. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world. It is they who are in a rush, it would seem.’

The enemy soldiers loped on, their big strides eating up the distance. At thirty yards, each slung his weapon back over his shoulder and drew what looked like a short sword though with an extremely thin blade. White light seemed to play up and down their edges.

‘Well, well, what have we here?’ muttered Chandyr.

‘They mean to take us on hand to hand. Inside the shield.’ Suarav raised his voice. ‘Not one of those bastards gets past our sword line. Protect the mages. Look to your flanks. They are playing in our world now.’

At twenty yards the Garonin broke into a run, taking Suarav by complete surprise. It was not just that this was the first time they had seen any Garonin do anything other than walk, they were fast too. Very fast.

‘Brace yourselves!’ called Suarav and he set his sword to ready, holding it out front and in both hands. ‘Blunt the charge.’

The Garonin loomed tall and powerful. The drum of their feet sent shivers through the ground and up through his body. He took his own orders and braced his feet as best he could. The Garonin soldiers struck.

Suarav ducked a flashing blade and buried his sword to the hilt in his opponent’s stomach. The momentum brought the Garonin clattering into Suarav and both men tumbled to the ground. Suarav’s blade was ripped from his grasp. Suarav shovelled the dying man from his legs. Right above him, a Garonin blade beat the defence of a young guardsman. It sliced straight through his neck, down through his ribcage and out of the side of his chest. The stink of cauterised flesh rose. The side of the guard’s body slid away and the rest of him collapsed.

‘Dear Gods falling.’

Suarav snatched up the fallen man’s weapon and swiped it as hard as he could into enemy legs. He felt it bite deep despite the flaring of the armour. He dragged it clear and hacked upwards as he came to his feet, his blade meeting chest armour and bouncing clear.

Suarav backed away a pace. The Garonin had torn the guard line to pieces. Chandyr blocked a weapon aside and struck high to slide his own blade into the eye slit of his enemy. Another guard near him lost his arm to an easy swipe of a Garonin blade.

‘They’re amongst the mages.’

Suarav saw some space and ran into it. He carved his sword through the back of enemy legs at the knee, feeling bone collapse. He kicked the Garonin in the calves and he fell backwards, arms flailing. A guardsman ran past him and leapt onto the back of another, ramming a dagger again and again into the side of his neck.

Suarav sensed danger and ducked. A blade buzzed over his head. He saw enough of it to know it was steel but edged in mana, pure and deadly sharp. Something Xetesk had been trying to perfect for generations. Suarav spun away. The Garonin followed him, stabbing straight forward. Suarav sidestepped, grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him off balance. The general brought his sword round high above his head and felt it connect with helmet and then bone.

Above him, the Defence spell flickered and steadied.

‘Gythar!’ he called.

The old mage was in the thick of the melee, defended by two guardsmen. One fell under a mana blade that stabbed clear through his body, spitting and smoking as it went.

‘Chandyr! To Gythar!’

Chandyr nodded. He brought the pommel of his sword down on the head of a Garonin trying to rise and smashed a knee into his faceplate for good measure. Enemy slaughtered mages but some fought back, having discarded the obsolete spell shields.

Suarav saw one calm young mage leap up and grab a Garonin faceplate to feed a superheated flame of mana inside it. The Garonin screamed. Three others turned and bore down on the youngster. Suarav diverted from his course and hammered his blade into the neck of one. The second went down under another tightly cast spell but the third sheared his blade left to right and opened up the mage’s back.

Gythar was still standing. Chandyr was near him. Garonin closed. A third of the defence mages were down. Above, a weapon cycled up to fire. Suarav knew they wouldn’t be able to resist the impact. Garonin blades halted in the act of falling. Faceplates turned skywards. A hideous sound rang out from the machines floating above.

Suarav saw an opportunity and swept the throat out of an enemy neck.

‘I didn’t agree a ceasefire,’ he growled.

And the next moment they were gone. All of them. The machines blinked out of existence, the detonation clouds dispersed and the foot soldiers simply ceased to be. Suarav turned a quick circle, looking for the counterpunch but there was no one to deliver it.

Xetesk was silent.

Densyr had wondered how, without screams from Diera, he would know when Sol was dead. But in the end it was as obvious as it got. Sirendor, Thraun and Ilkar dropped soundlessly to the ground, Thraun’s wolves howled grief and padded across to Diera’s boys, and there was an extraordinary explosion of sound from above. An alien sound like rage but metallic in tone.

Densyr opened the door and was first through it, the boys and Sharyr hard on his heels. Wolves and a more stately Vuldaroq came along behind. Diera was sitting on the floor, cradling the still form of Sol. His head was against her chest and she stroked the side of his face. Her weeping was quiet, reverential, and Densyr found a lump in his throat that would not swallow away.

Above her, the doorway was plainly open. Its properties had changed. The grey mist had cleared and a wan light shone out. He could see nothing within but there was a very slight breeze heading up into it. He found the thought that it might be returning souls a comfort.

Jonas and Hirad had run to their mother and were clinging to her. Densyr and Sharyr walked around to crouch in front of her. The sight of Sol, King of Balaia, the Unknown Warrior of The Raven, lying dead, was truly shocking. As close to an immortal as Densyr had ever considered any man. And to think he had betrayed this great man’s trust.

‘Diera?’ said Densyr.

Both of her boys were crying too and the three of them put their faces close to one another, sharing their grief, gleaning what strength they could from each other.

‘Diera, we should move him. Somewhere safe. Now more than ever he deserves our protection and our respect. Diera?’

Diera opened her eyes. They were red-rimmed and puffed.

‘So brave,’ she said. ‘So determined and so full of belief. We must all believe that he has done the right thing. He said it would help.’

Densyr nodded. ‘And I do. Belatedly, I do. I mean that. He is Raven. And they are not prone to wasting their efforts. We should remember that.’

Diera moved the boys aside just a little bit and the two wolves padded over. She looked at them briefly but realised they were no threat and laid Sol’s head on a rolled-up cloak which Sharyr had placed on the ground. Diera kissed his lips and smoothed his cheek one more time.

‘Don’t cover his face. Let him see. Let the air pass over him. He always loved the breeze on him. When you have to take him, take him where you must but still don’t cover him.’

She turned back to her sons and Densyr heard her ask a question though he only heard Hirad’s over-loud reply.

‘Thraun told them to take care of us. And he told us to make sure they got home,’ the boy said proudly.

‘What now?’ asked Sharyr.

Densyr gazed about him. There seemed to be bodies everywhere. Hirad and Sol in here, the other three in the antechamber. His gaze alighted on Vuldaroq, who was bending over the kneeling forms of the TaiGethen cell.

‘Poking them isn’t usually advisable,’ said Densyr.

Vuldaroq looked round. ‘I don’t think they’ll notice. They’re dead. All three of them.’

Densyr started. ‘They’re what?’

‘Dead,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘Check if you doubt me.’

‘What happened to them?’

Try as he might, Densyr couldn’t get himself around this. First Sol and now Auum. Two of the finest warriors ever to grace Balaia. Both gone in moments.

‘They are Ynissul,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘The long-lived of the elves. Immortal, actually. I mean that in its literal sense. They can be poisoned and die of an arrow or a sword thrust but, left in normal health, they do not ever have to die.’

‘Well they’re dead now,’ said Densyr.

‘Because, and this is a presumption but an educated one, they chose to die.’

‘Why?’ asked Sharyr.

‘Presumably they felt they could be more help to Sol than to us,’ said Vuldaroq.

‘We could have done with them here,’ said Densyr. ‘Their sort of fighting is always useful.’

‘But haven’t the Garonin gone?’ asked Sharyr. ‘That sound we heard. And it’s quiet above.’

‘They’ve gone after Sol,’ said Jonas. ‘Haven’t they? It’s why Father wanted Sha-Kaan to know what he was doing.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Densyr. ‘All I do know is, the Garonin came for our mana. They want to rip out the Heart of Xetesk. That is why they are at our gates and in our skies. And whatever Sol has done, that won’t change. They may have gone for now but they’ll be back and we have to be ready for them.’

‘We’d best get ourselves outside then,’ said Sharyr. ‘See what’s left.’

Densyr nodded. ‘Vuldaroq, if you would be so good as to see Diera and company to more comfortable quarters and organise the moving of our departed to the Master’s Morgue, I’d really appreciate it.’

Vuldaroq inclined his head. ‘Of course, my Lord Densyr. And anything else I can do… Um, one favour though?’

‘Yes?’

‘Dystran’s condition is a concern.’

‘He’s top of my list,’ said Densyr. He moved to go but brought himself up short before Diera. ‘My Lady Unknown.’

‘Only Hirad calls me that.’

‘I know but… well, you know. Sol’s sacrifice. It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever known anyone do. And I have seen some truly stunning acts.’

Diera nodded but could not raise a smile. She had a son under each arm and the wolves flanked them.

‘It doesn’t stop him being dead though, does it?’

‘No, of course not. I just wanted you to know, that’s all.’

‘Thank you, Densyr. Really. It is bearable, just, to know the reasons why he has done what he has done. What would be truly unbearable, would be for it to be a waste. That means you and your college have to try and save as many souls as you can.’

‘That’s exactly where I’m going now.’

‘And one more thing. We haven’t got along well in the last few days but I won’t forget what you’ve done for my family in the last ten years. Dismal shame though it is, you’re pretty much all I’ve got of the old life barring my two wonderful boys. So when you go out there, be sure not to die.

‘We need you. The old you. Denser.’