HellFire?’
‘Could I point out that we have an enemy advancing on us? Slowly, I admit, but advancing.’ Darrick hadn’t taken his eyes from them. ‘You’re going to miss the best place to cast this spell if you don’t get on with it. If they get another half a mile closer, you’ll have lost the slope for any infantry advance and your watchers back there on the hill will be feeling a little close to the action. I presume they are to run if it all goes wrong?’
‘Bloody soldiers,’ grumbled Ilkar. ‘Always have to be so practical.’
‘We’re in danger of losing focus,’ said Darrick. ‘And that would surely be catastrophic.’
Sol nodded. ‘He’s right of course. Thank you, General. Let’s get the mage team preparing. They need space and a little peace. Any of The Raven who want to stand with me, I’d be honoured.’
‘I wouldn’t stand anywhere else,’ said Hirad.
He moved to Sol’s right-hand side and Sol felt a tingle through his entire body, even though the sight of their borrowed bodies made him sad. He had to stop himself reaching for his sword. Sirendor came to stand on Hirad’s right, the place Thraun had filled after Sirendor’s death. Ras came to Sol’s left, standing next to Aeb, once a huge warrior from the disbanded Protector calling, now in the body of a street fighter, short, squat and powerful.
In the old days Ras would have taken position with Richmond but his nine-year-old’s body could not handle a sword and he was standing frustrated behind the mage line. Darrick completed the line to Sol’s left. Erienne and Ilkar were with Denser while the Lord of the Mount issued his instructions to the casting team.
‘Gods falling, we’d better get this spell right,’ muttered Sol.
The air became taut. Mana poured into the spell construct as it expanded. Sol couldn’t see mana, only a mage could tune into that spectrum of light, but he knew well enough what he would see if he could. Long hours with Denser drawing him diagrams had seen to that.
A circle, widening every moment and with lines criss-crossing it like hundreds of spokes on a cartwheel, to keep it under control. The shape would be a deep, pulsing blue, the colour of Xeteskian magic. Once the circle had reached the required size, more power would be fed into it. The lattice of lines would bow out above and below, like the inflation of a pig’s bladder for a child’s game. The lines would glow brightly. They would strain and then they would hold.
The spell was almost ready to cast. Denser, his eyes closed, his body linked to the construct but not a part of it, spoke final words of encouragement to his mages. Their faces were red and sweating. They were all blowing hard, concentrating everything they had on keeping the shape steady.
Denser opened his eyes and smiled. He looked out over the enemy, still half a mile distant. The concentration of mana had caught their attention. Heads that had been looking down now gazed directly at the group of mages, whose spell, invisible to the naked eye, would be bobbing just in front of them, awaiting release on Denser’s command.
As if in response, a resonance built up in the air. A cloud quickly formed above the machine. It was shot through with lightning spears of colour. Yellow, green, orange and blue clashing and exploding. Another wave of heat pulsed out. Fire raged briefly in the wake of the machine and more of the Balaian landscape was turned to dust and ash.
‘I’ve seen enough,’ said Sol.
‘Me too,’ said Denser. He turned to Erienne and smiled. ‘Cleansing Flame.’
‘What?’
‘HellFire, my love,’ he said. ‘It’s now called Cleansing Flame.’
And accompanying her delightful child’s laughter, Denser inclined his head and the Jalyr’s Sun was released.
Barely fifteen feet from the ground, the deep blue sphere, flashing with white and blue light deep in its core, sailed out from the casting team. It was vast. Forty yards in diameter at best guess.
‘You really mean business, don’t you?’ breathed Hirad.
‘People really shouldn’t take bits of my country away without asking, should they?’ said Denser.
The sphere crackled with barely suppressed power. It increased in speed as it approached the enemy, and veered sharply up right in front of them. Their eyes followed it. The beasts pulling the machine ignored it completely. A curt nod from Denser and the sun set on the invaders.
The sphere dropped like a stone, impacting the ground and the enemy, bulging at its base before exploding in a deluge of blue fire. A hot wind rushed out, forcing Sol to turn his head briefly. The sound of the detonation rattled overhead, a thunderclap in a clear sky.
In its midst the invaders had been obliterated. Sol could see nothing of the three who had been walking in front of the beasts, nothing at all. One of the two beasts had let out a brief wail but now both huge corpses burned blue, the flame eating them to ashes faster than the eye could see. Grass, bush and tree had been scorched in an instant. Through the clouds of smoke all that could be seen was the machine, glowing red in the heat, its seams turning white.
The sound of metal straining and rivets popping echoed across the land. The shell of the machine was expanding. Sol put his hand up to his eyes to protect them from the fierce heat the Jalyr’s Sun had caused. He could see masts buckling and melting, funnels falling and the links of chains turning to drips of molten metal. A metallic screeching and grinding scattered the watching mounted guard. Everywhere men and women clamped their hands over their ears.
Steam and an oily smoke erupted from bursting seams and through the torn openings of funnels. The blue fire continued to gorge on the metal, eating quickly through the shell. A dull thud was felt through the ground. In the side of the machine a dent had appeared, as if smashed there by the fist of a giant. The next instant it bulged back out with an agonised tearing sound.
‘Down!’ yelled Sol. ‘Shields. Shields!’
He dropped to the ground, dragging Hirad with him. He put his face to the dirt and covered his head with his hands, praying everyone was following his lead. The machine exploded. A scream was torn from Sol’s lips, lost in the teeth of the detonation that roared overhead, filling the sky.
He dared a look. Ash and dust were a thick, choking cloud. Ripped metal sheets whistled overhead. Others sailed high into the sky, turning and spinning. The air was hot, painful in the lungs. The blue of the mana fire was gone, replaced by the orange and yellow of burning wood and glowing metal. All around him pieces of the machine were beginning to fall to the earth, slapping onto the ground and into defenceless bodies.
‘HardShields up,’ said Ilkar and Erienne together.
More debris drummed onto the outside of their dual shield, harmless now, bouncing or sliding to the ground around The Raven. Sol could hear other shields being cast. He could hear the screams of the wounded too. They would have to wait just for a moment. He rose to his feet and brushed himself down, giving Hirad a helping hand when he was done.
Denser lay where he was for a moment before rolling onto his back and spitting dust from his mouth.
‘HardShield,’ he said, getting gingerly to his feet. ‘I think you’ll find you mean Orsyn’s Cocoon.’
Ilkar just laughed. ‘Call it what you like, Denser.’
The air had stilled and Sol turned back to the devastation the Xeteskian spell had wrought. Small fires burned all over the ground and the base of the machine flickered with dozens of flames.
‘We need to see to the wounded.’ Denser was behind him, talking still.
‘Agreed,’ said Erienne. ‘A somewhat unexpected result, wasn’t it?’
‘Indeed,’ said Denser. ‘I hope no one is too badly hurt. Something wrong, Sol?’
Sol didn’t reply. He began walking towards the husk of the machine. Unless his eyes were deceiving him, burning parts and charred debris were disappearing, plucked by an unseen hand. So were the bodies of the beasts.
‘This can’t be good.’
The wreckage of the machine blinked out of existence, leaving baked earth beneath it and runner marks as the only evidence it had been there at all. Sol stopped and began to back away. At the edge of his hearing there was a whine like the distant buzzing of bees.
Fifty men stood before him, no more than a hundred yards away. Big men. Eight feet tall and more. Armoured from head to toe. Another fifty. Then another hundred. Another harvesting machine appeared behind them. Sol was rooted to the spot. He could hear Hirad shouting from just a few paces behind him but could do nothing but stand and stare.
