living, opened his eyes once more and he smiled.
Rebraal smashed his sword into the unguarded flank of a Garonin soldier. The Al-Arynaar bludgeoned into the enemy force holding the valley mouth. TaiGethen attacked with renewed vigour.
‘Down in front,’ said Dila’heth.
Rebraal ducked, bringing his warriors with him. IceBlades whipped over their heads. From somewhere, she had found another casting. The slivers of ice as hard as diamond sliced into the helmets of the Garonin. Seventy and more held the valley mouth. Before them, the dead of the TaiGethen lay, the enemy’s corpses long since claimed back to whence they came.
It sickened Rebraal to look at the dead but they gave him more energy for the fight. He surged up and chased in after the IceBlades. Dila’heth’s spell had wreaked havoc in the Garonin line. They had been unable to adapt to the out-of-tune Julatsan casting. Blood poured from the split helms of dozens of soldiers. Those nearest the impact were down. Others were pierced but still standing, unsteady on their feet.
The Al-Arynaar ploughed on. White fire ripped through their ranks. Rebraal swayed outside a stream of tears, leapt high and brought his sword down onto the helmet of a Garonin soldier. The man’s head broke apart under the force of the blow. Rebraal landed, rolled and came upright, in the thick of them now. He stabbed left and right.
His warriors were with him, driving a wedge deep into the enemy line. A white-edged blade came at him. He parried and thrust out, knocking his man back. The Garonin came on again. A jaqrui tore into his neck. Blood spurted from the wound. Rebraal stepped up and finished him.
Elves poured down on the diminishing knot of the enemy. Behind, further up the valley, the vydosphere’s weapons were useless during the melee. And on the ground the TaiGethen and ClawBound defence kept the balance of the Garonin from joining the fight.
Rebraal punched straight out, feeling his fist crack against stomach armour. There was a flare of white. Rebraal ducked instinctively. Something had lashed out from the armour. He heard elves scream. Rebraal chopped down hard on the Garonin’s right arm, battering the weapon from his hand. He reversed his blade and slashed up into the helmet, denting it deeply and sending his opponent sprawling.
Rebraal glanced behind him. Dila’heth lay on the ground, blood pouring from a gash across her face. Mages were running to her aid. Rebraal turned back. Still the Garonin fought. A TaiGethen warrior fielded a blade on his short sword but a second came round and carved the top of his skull clean off. His Tai brothers spun, leapt and kicked, feet driving into chest and gut. The two Garonin went down. Rebraal turned from the kill.
‘Break their line,’ called a voice from behind him. ‘You’re close. You’re so close.’
Rebraal faced a new enemy. The soldier raised his weapon to fire. Rebraal turned sideways and grabbed at it, feeling the heat along its length as it discharged. He forced the weapon down. White tears rattled into the dirt. Rebraal bounced on the balls of his feet. He jabbed his left elbow into the soldier’s faceplate and his blade through the eye slit. The man fell soundlessly.
Al-Arynaar surged around him. A ClawBound panther from the rear defence leapt over elf and enemy. She flattened a Garonin soldier, her jaws closing on his neck as he struck the ground. Rebraal followed up, hacking through the thigh of the last man in front of him as he struggled to find his blade, unable to fire for fear of hitting his own.
Rebraal was clear. He tore down the path to the abandoned village. From ahead he could hear screaming and shouting and the detonation of weapons. Spells lit up the sky in desultory fashion, impacting both the ground and the vydospheres hovering over the bay.
He rounded the last bend, ran through the village and slithered to a stop, his heart thrashing in his chest.
‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Dear Yniss, preserve your people.’
The sea was aflame. He watched a Garonin heavy weapon fire from the carriage of a vydosphere. The ship beneath it disintegrated in a ball of flame. Timbers and planking were reduced to ashes in moments. Those aboard were incinerated in the blink of an eye.
Rebraal could not see beyond the fire and smoke to the open sea and the remainder of the fleet. He could not see the Calaian Sun and could only pray that Jevin had escaped to deep water and away to preserve the bound statue of Yniss. But he could see the staging point on the beach. Or what was left of it.
Smoke trailed over blackened sand. Remnants of marker flags blew across the shore. Three thousand he had left there. All gone, their souls cast into the void. Rebraal fell to his knees. The only thing left now was to pray.
Chapter 45
Densyr took them at a dead run on a circuitous route back towards the catacomb entrance. All around them the sounds of fighting echoed through the corridors, replacing the earlier bombardment. It was hard to hear. His guards and mages defended the Heart while he ran for his life, hoping they could delay the Garonin long enough for Dystran to complete his final task.
Diera was struggling under the weight of young Hirad. The lad wouldn’t touch the floor to run or walk now. Densyr brought them to the junction of two corridors and stopped before making a right turn.
‘Do you want me to take him?’ he asked.
‘You need your hands free to cast,’ said Diera, blowing hard. ‘Hirad darling, please, will you run if Jonas runs with you?’
‘I can’t, Mama. I’m frightened. Why aren’t the wolves here?’
‘They must be ahead somewhere, checking the way is clear for us. It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.’
Hirad clung to her neck. Diera raised her eyebrows at Densyr.
‘I’ll be all right. Just you look after Jonas. I don’t like seeing him with that sword in his hands.’
Densyr glanced down at the blade they’d taken from one of Dystran’s guards. It rested easily in Jonas’s grip. He had hefted it like a veteran but Densyr knew he had only ever fenced with Sol. Real combat was horribly different. For his part, Densyr had part-cast an Ilkar’s Defence. It was the best he could think of without risking his charges.
‘Are you ready? We go right here, all the way down to the end of the corridor, then it’s left, up a short incline, straight across the hub and up the stairs to the way out. It gets hard from here. Do what I say and we’ll make it.’
‘Ready,’ said Jonas.
Diera nodded again and put her hands under Hirad’s backside to lift him onto her chest.
‘Put him on your back, Mother,’ said Jonas. ‘He’ll be better protected that way.’
‘Hirad?’ asked Diera.
The boy shrugged and climbed up on Diera’s back. She put her arms under his thighs.
‘Thank you, Jonas.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Densyr. ‘Jonas up front with me. We’ll shield your mother.’
Jonas kept pace with him. They hurried down the corridor, a long, narrow space that inclined very slightly along its length. As they approached the end, Densyr heard a sound from ahead and brought them to a sliding stop. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate.
‘Be ready,’ he said.
Jonas clutched his sword in both hands. The point tapped on the ground. Densyr could not suppress a smile.
‘Sol used to wait until we could see them at least,’ he said.
‘It helps the nerves,’ said Jonas.
‘For us too.’
Round the corner came a figure, carrying another in his arms. Densyr sagged with relief and ran towards them.
‘Suarav. Dear Gods above, man, how are you still alive?’
Suarav’s face crumpled. Tears streaked down the dirt encasing his face. His shoulders shook. The head of the man in his arms fell outwards. Brynar. Behind him, Diera gasped.
