Shadowheart

Chapter 27

Dystran stared up the ventilation shaft, dodging backwards when, predictably, the rope dropped down. They had escaped him for now and the thought made him as angry as he had ever felt. But he couldn't shake the grudging respect he also felt. They'd escaped from two colleges in the past four days, and he recalled they'd done something similar in Dordover when recovering a Dawnthief catalyst from the crypts there a few years back.

'Extraordinary,' he said quietly. 'Quite extraordinary.'

He wanted to shout, lash out, anything to ease his frustration. Uncharacteristically, he chose not to. Turning and looking at the men around him he saw fear, shock and relief. He saw trepidation too. He knew they were anxious about his reaction. They expected him to blame them. He found he could not.

Down at his feet, Myx lay dead. He'd known the Protector for a decade and had never seen his face until now. A man. How easy it had been to ignore that fact. He looked peaceful in death, his face relaxed, his eyes closed and the red marks fading from his face.

Part of Dystran feared the passing of the Protectors. Something of Xetesk's invincibility went with them into history. He knew the political will to reinstitute the order wouldn't exist and that he was weakened because of it.

He shook his head and took a last look up the shaft. How often had he heard that you should never underestimate The Raven? He should have listened. He blinked away the dust that was falling, dislodged by foot and rope. They were outside the city but not outside his control. Not completely, and not if he acted quickly and decisively enough.

There was so much to organise, so much to do. The war had taken a turn against Xetesk. His hand was about to be forced. Fortunately, it was a strong one. He turned back to his men.

'Let's get out of here. Any of you who feel able to help clean up this mess our friends have created gather in the dome when you've had a stiff drink. Suarav will organise you. Any who don't, stand yourselves down until dawn.'

'My Lord,' came the response.

'My Lord?'

Dystran faced the soldier, he didn't know his name.

'Speak.'

'We will get them, won't we? We've lost so many friends tonight.'

Dystran smiled sadly. 'I know,' he said. 'I'll do everything in my power to catch them. They've hurt us and I'm sorry for those of you who have lost friends. Tonight, we assumed no one could get in and get out and we were wrong. It's a hard lesson, isn't it? We can stand here and say we had no luck in catching them but The Raven would consider diere was no luck involved. We have to accept that they may be right. Come on, I'll show you the way out.'

Ark stood in the warm air of the early morning. He couldn't sleep. He thought perhaps he never would again. Herendeneth was quiet once more but everything had changed.

He felt the air playing over his face and couldn't resist the temptation to touch his skin. It itched where the mask had rubbed and the soothing balms worked to stop infection. He traced the contours of his features, fascinated. The freedom to stand in the open and let the night see him was so alien and he couldn't shake the thought that he would be struck down for experiencing it.

He wished the sensation was something he could enjoy. But the only enjoyment he had ever derived had been in sharing his consciousness with his brothers in the Soul Tank. That had gone forever. His soul was within him now. It had been the prayer answered but the price was a loss that dragged at the heart and left loneliness untamed in the mind.

Freedom to be as other men. He wondered what he would do with it and, for the thousandth time, sought contact with his brothers, only to find silence. He turned. Four stood behind him, hair blowing in the warm breeze, dark clothes and armour at odds with their unmasked faces. Faces that mirrored his confusion.

'We have work, my brothers,' he said.

They nodded. 'We are one,' they said.

They followed him back to the house. It stood stark against the deep of the night. The dragon, Sha-Kaan still sat on the torn roof, his great body still, his head inside, close to the surviving Al-Drechar. None came near her bar her elven servants.

They walked the corridors to the private rooms where blood had so recently been spilt. The dragon's eyes bade them approach. He knew their minds and their desires.

‘Iwill accept only peace,' said Sha-Kaan. 'There will be no more threat to Cleress or the family of Sol.'

The voice from the cavernous mouth brooked no dissension. He had killed to protect them already. He would not hesitate to do so again.

'We will stand with you,' said Ark. 'We are one.'

‘Iknow your loss,' said Sha-Kaan. 'But your gain is greater. Your brothers in my land enjoyed their freedom.'

'Cil,' breathed Ark, invoking the name of another who, like Sol, lived beyond the Soul Tank but was thought lost.

'Yes,' said Sha-Kaan. 'He is one of three.' He was silent for a moment though his breath like a roaring fire filled the space. 'There remain on this island those that would threaten me,' he said. 'Together, they are powerful.'

Axes snapped from back clasps.

'We understand,' said Ark. 'They are no longer our masters.'

Removal of threat. It was what Protectors did best.

The storm across Xetesk had brought strong winds and driving rain but the air smelled fresh and vibrant after the confines of the catacombs. For long glorious moments, Hirad hadn't cared where they were. He had lain flat on the muddy ground, heaving in air untainted with the stench of death while rain washed over his aching body, pattering on his face and sluicing blood from his armour.

Eventually, he'd pushed himself up on to his elbows, his body a litde calmer, the pain throbbing down to a dull ache. Reality had intruded harshly. They were hidden in a bank of thick gorse, scattered with bracken as Myx had described. The thorny bushes offered a solid barrier around the small clearing in which the vent was situated and provided some break from the wind. Low tunnels ran away through the bank in three directions.

In the small space, Thraun cradled Erienne in his arms while Denser, Auum and Duele crowded round the prone Evunn. Paint was smeared and running over their faces, anguish plain beneath the spoiled camouflage.

Darrick was standing close by, his feet edging into the illusion that so comprehensively hid the vent grille that even close inspection might reveal nothing to the eye. Sian'erei sat under the gorse, trying in vain to keep herself dry. Of Rebraal and The Unknown, there was no sign though he could hear one or both of them approaching through the gorse.

'How far does it extend?' asked Hirad when The Unknown appeared.

'Well, this vent certainly wasn't positioned here by accident,' said The Unknown. 'Fifty or so yards east towards the city, there's a short crag. Twenty feet down, no more but no one's going to ride this way. South it extends probably a mile along a shallow slope, north probably the same and given that Rebraal isn't back yet, I'd say west, the way the Xeteskians bring in their supplies, the gorse will extend a couple of hundred yards. It's neat, I'll give them that.'

'Sounds like an ideal place to rest up,' said Hirad. Darrick didn't see his knowing smile.

‘Ithink that would be an extraordinarily bad idea,' said the general. 'Dystran knows our exit points. He wants to stop us. I can see us suffering familiar attacks any time. Just as soon as he gets organised.'

'So you think we should throw ourselves on the mercy of the Lysternans or Dordovans instead?' asked Hirad.

'No,' began Darrick.

'Or perhaps whatever's left of the Black Wings' army of the righteous.'

'Hirad you aren't helping,' said Darrick.

Hirad winked at The Unknown. 'Actually, we're probably strong enough to take them on. Couple of spent mages, several injured warriors and the seriously ill. No problem.'

'Hirad, stop now,' said The Unknown. He held up a hand to

Darrick. 'What our barbarian is trying to say in his bludgeoning, tacdess way is that we need a place to hole up, at least for a few hours. We're too sick to travel to the Al-Arynaar camp right now. But we can't afford to be behind die Xeteskians when they break the siege.'

'I know all that,' said Darrick rather testily.

'Yes,' said Hirad. 'And you're carrying a wound more serious than you are admitting.'

'I'll live,' said the general.

'That's not good enough,' said Hirad.

'Meaning?'

'Meaning you're no good to us crippled. You could help yourself by sitting down for a start. Then turn that mind of yours to where we can rest relatively safely.'

Darrick glared at Hirad but sat next to him anyway. 'A lot depends on Denser,' he said.

'Doesn't it always?' replied Hirad.

'And on Sian,' added Darrick. The elven mage looked up. 'Are you able to cast?'

'It is difficult,' she said, feeling for the words. 'The mana is dark. Weak.'

'That does not sound encouraging,' said The Unknown. 'Denser, what's your situation?'

Denser pushed himself to his feet, giving Auum's shoulder a consoling squeeze as he did so.

'I have nothing left,' he said, walking across to stand by The Unknown. 'Evunn is not as bad as I feared but he needs a mage soon who understands MindMelt to undo the damage. It's a senior spell. And my spell around Erienne's mind is bleeding away. I have to rest and I have to seek the demon gateway to get my stamina back quickly. But there doesn't seem much prospect of that. There's more. I did have some time to look at a few of the theories back there in the Laryon hub. It's dimensional connectivity and power they're looking at and I didn't like the look of the way the research was headed.

'We should warn the allies, because if you remember the Dimen-sionConnect spell Xetesk used at Understone a few years back, they'll need to be prepared. So, all in all, I'd say the situation is somewhere between dismal and desperate. The only bright spot is that the familiars won't be able to fly in this. There's too much power in this storm, it'll upset their senses.'

'So where do we go right now?' asked Hirad. 'None of us is fit to fight, we don't have a mage that can cast and we're carrying Erienne.'

'Like I said…' Denser glanced across at Erienne. Thraun was hunched over her, keeping the rain from her face. 'Erienne is the real worry. She's battling the One on her own until Cleress wakes. This storm will seem like nothing if Cleress can't help her and I dread to think what damage is being caused to her mind.'

'She is strong,' said Thraun, looking up for a moment. 'She fights.'

‘Iknow Thraun but I can't be there with her. It's not…' Denser trailed off and the desperation he'd been trying to hide burst on to his face. He stood helplessly, the rain pounding down harder now, and gestured uselessly. 'She's alone in there. What if I've lost her?'

Hirad scrambled to his feet and stood in front of Denser, grabbing his shoulders.

'No one's losing anyone,' he said. 'Not this time. We can beat this, all of it. We're-'

‘Iknow,' said Denser, his smile weak but genuine. 'The Raven.'

'And don't you forget it. She's not alone and neither are you.'

Rebraal had returned during the exchange and was checking on Evunn.

'Here's what we do,' said The Unknown. 'The elves go back to their lines. Evunn needs help and maybe he'll get it there. We have to get ourselves away from here and hidden. Darrick, how far can you walk? Hirad, Thraun, you too. No exaggeration.'

'It's a question of where, not how far,' said Darrick. 'We're the opposite side of the city to where we need to be. And we're too close to the walls. I'd say the walk back for us under normal conditions would be about three hours. It's four 'til dawn. There's nothing I'd call good cover without taking a massive detour. We either head for the Al-Arynaar, or burrow in here. Getting halfway and being captured in the daylight won't help us.'

He was right and they all knew it. Hirad felt his chest. The bleeding had stopped but he'd lost a fair bit of blood. He couldn't fight again until the cut was at least partially healed. Darrick's limp was pronounced and Thraun's trouser leg was stained dark with blood. Four hours wouldn't be enough.

'Then we have to stay here.'

'No,' said Rebraal, joining them. 'It's too dangerous here. Supplies come here every night.'

'So what do you suggest?'

'We will run back with Evunn. Sian will stay with you and you walk as far as you can. The ClawBound will find you. We will send help. Elven help.'

'We can't afford to be caught in the open,' said The Unknown.

'The ClawBound will find you first.'

Hirad shrugged. 'What choice do we have?'

Dystran had changed his blood-soaked shoes and washed the sweat and grime from his face and hands before joining the survivors of his top team. None of them looked any better than Ranyl who had also made the early-hours meeting in the minor banqueting hall.

He surveyed the tired, drawn pale faces in front of him. The Circle Seven was broken. Two had died, one in the corridors under attack from the TaiGethen, one by The Raven. Kestys was dead too, so was Gylac, removing his most senior dimensional and elven archive expertise. The mages who had been researching the connectivity spells were gone too, slaughtered in Laryon's hub. The Gods knew how many others had fallen. Suarav and Chandyr had yet to confirm the number of dead college guard and reservists but it had to run close to three figures.

The shock around the table was understandable. All this damage, and caused by so few. Dystran took them all in one by one. Suarav and Chandyr sat together, backs to the door, which was flanked outside by guards. The oval table was only half full. Ranyl, with his cat in his lap, was the only one exhibiting calm. For the remainder of the Circle, Dessyn, Prexys and Hyloch, the night in the catacombs had shattered their belief in their own security. Each of them knew that they were alive only because they had not run into The Raven or the TaiGethen.

'Gentlemen,' began Dystran, once a servant had poured him a mug of sweet herb tea and withdrawn. ‘Iam aware of how you must all be feeling. I am aware that it is tempting to cast about for blame.

We will not fall to that temptation. The purpose of this gathering is to assess the damage to our operation quickly, agree what actions will follow and so allow us, those that can, a few hours' rest before dawn.'

'We must examine the failings of our security,' said Dessyn, the Soul Tank Master. He was a middle-aged man of massive magical ability but no real strength of will.

‘Ithink I have already made myself clear,' said Dystran. 'The time for such an assessment is in the future. May I remind you that outside our city, there are a considerable number of enemies determined to win the war. It is our duty to stop them and examining our security lapses will not do that. Besides, we know how they got in and where they got out.'

Dessyn opened his mouth and had half-raised a finger to point at Suarav when Dystran cut him off.

'Enough. Dessyn, if any of us had foreseen that Denser and The Raven were not only at Xetesk but with the elves in the raid, we would not be having this meeting. Do not point at others except in so much as to blame yourself. After all, Suarav knew nothing of the passage from the warehouse. No non-mage did until tonight. Instead, tell me this. Where are the Protectors?'

'Not all are accounted for,' replied Dessyn, his face reddening from the rebuke. 'Some have disappeared into the city, others tried to leave Xetesk altogether. Thirty-seven are currently inside the college. We are holding them in the barracks.'

'Leaving how many loose?'

Dessyn looked at Chandyr. 'Commander?'

'Given I don't know if any, other than Myx, were killed in the catacombs, though I doubt it, that would leave sixty-eight at large. I am assuming they are not necessarily loyal but not necessarily a threat, either.'

'Very well,' said Dystran. 'Chandyr, you need to assess those we hold. I suspect like you that they will not fight with us. Make sure they are treated well. They are a problem of our own making and they will be respected. None will be hurt or forced to do anything against their wills. Ensure they understand that and see that word gets out into the city. Don't waste resources searching for the lost; let's hope they choose to come to us.

'Next, research.'

Faces around the table became, if anything, longer than before. Dystran tried to ignore them.

'Elven translations?'

'Unfinished,' said Ranyl. 'And with Gylac and his assistant dead, we would struggle to confirm any theory, or indeed complete our researches even if the Aryn Hiil and associated writings hadn't been taken.'

'Right, so that's a disaster,' said Dystran. 'Let's scrub it for now, there's nothing we can do about it in the short term. Dimensional connectivity and inter-dimensional focus?'

'Well, Kestys demonstrated the Soul Tank linkage was divisible without risk,' said Prexys, dryly. 'At least it suggests our calculations of dimensional alignment are correct.'

Dystran rather liked Prexys. He was ancient, older than Ranyl, and trustworthy because he had no desire to rule. Not any more. His age had refined his acerbic wit, though this time, Dystran was the only one who smiled.

'That's something, I suppose. Did anyone check the research rooms in Laryon's hub?'

'Nothing has been damaged there, my Lord,' said Prexys. 'Unlike your own base. Much of the information there has been destroyed or taken.'

'And what has gone?'

'Oh, nothing much,' said Prexys, eyebrows rising. 'The latest map, the seeker-spell routines and the gateway structure research.'

'Nothing much,' muttered Hyloch. 'The damage they have done.'

'It is not terminal,' said Dystran. 'It is a setback, nothing more. It changes nothing except the speed of our actions.'

'They have taken the basis for everything,' said Hyloch.

'But not the method for that which we need most urgently.' Dystran could see that they didn't understand. He leaned back. 'Let's go back a little way. The vents. Suarav, tell me your plan.'

Suarav looked surprised. 'Well-'

'For the benefit of us all,' added Dystran.

'Oh, of course, my Lord.' He composed himself. 'They are being blocked as we speak. We must assume the supply chain is compromised and the vents do, or did, represent a potential point of enemy entry.'

'So, you see the extent of our problems. However, we can strike back but it must be sure. I believe we have one option only. Stop me if you disagree.' He spread his hands. 'You're tired so I'll try and be brief. To swing the war back in our favour and ensure our plans for the rulership of Balaia and Calaius are not irreparably damaged, we must reclaim the elven writings. We must also, given the likely and immediate destination of both The Raven and the remaining elven mages, break the siege quickly.

'I would remind you all that though Julatsan magic is weak it is far from dead. To irrevocably shift the balance our way, it must be suffocated. That means thwarting any attempt to raise the Heart. Am I clear so far?'

He saw nods, lips moving and the gesture of a hand.

'Good. My friends, it has come to this. Our adapted magics are not fully tested, nor fully theorised. But we do not have the time to wait. We have to confess to being outthought by the elves and outfought by The Raven. This means that occupying the siege forces for a moment longer while we research is rendered pointless. We will also begin to suffer quickly with vital supplies now being denied us.

'So, Commander Chandyr, you will put into operation the advance plans we have been working on so diligently. Please report to me as soon as you can about the state of the familiars, mage-defenders and assassins. When this blasted storm dies down, we can send the familiars out; I feel they may be a potent weapon. Captain Suarav, you will assist, in addition to activating the backward college defence plans. You know how long you might have to defend us. The numbers against you will only become clear when the siege is broken. Commander, you haven't as long as I wanted to give you. One day and one night, to be precise.

‘Iwill personally oversee the final hours of work on the dimensional spells and will make a decision which spell to employ nearer the time. You, my Lord mages, will rest. Gather your wills and your strengths. Advise those trained of what is to come and relieve them of their duties in order to rest. I will not look kindly on failure.

'At dawn the day after tomorrow, we will show those bastards what a big fucking mess is really all about. Any questions?'