‘I’m here,’ said Sharyr.
He settled more deeply into the chair, flattened his palm against the silk and fed his own Communion structure into the Globe where it joined with the other five to amplify and solidify the contact with Lystern.
‘I am Master Sharyr and this is Xetesk.’
What came back when the contact was open sounded like screams and rock falls. Nothing should penetrate the sanctity of the Globe chambers.
‘Lystern, speak.’
‘They are at the doors. They’re at the damned doors,’ shrieked a voice consumed by terror.
‘Heryst? My Lord Heryst, is that you?’ Sharyr’s heart was pounding. He could feel the anxiety of his team adding to a rippling in the construct. ‘Steady. Steady.’
‘Sharyr, listen to me.’ A second voice. Calmer. This was Heryst. ‘The enemy have breached the college. The tower is coming down around us. They-’
A massive crash sounded. Sharyr pressed his hand to the silk to stop himself jerking it away to hold over his ear. He winced as the report fed through the Globe. At least one of his team lost the casting.
‘Get yourself back in,’ he hissed. ‘Steady it. Come on. Breathe.’
‘Dear Gods above. The Heart. Stop them.’
More sounds of destruction. Sharyr heard a scream, cut off abruptly. The Communion flickered and steadied.
‘Heryst. Can you hear me?’
Sobbing from Lystern. Screams and explosions. It had to be happening right outside the chamber. Or within.
‘It’s gone,’ managed Heryst, his voice tight and whispering. ‘They’ve ripped it right out of its cradle. Dear Gods burning, we are finished.’
‘What, Heryst, what?’ But he knew.
‘The Heart, Sharyr. Taken and consumed. Listen to me. Run. Do not fight them. You cannot possibly win. Tell Denser. Call off his attack. Save lives, it’s the only-’
A cracking of timbers.
‘They’re here. They’re inside,’ hissed Heryst.
‘Who?’ urged Sharyr. ‘Who is inside? What are they?’
A strangled cry and the Globe flickered.
‘Where are they?’ demanded an alien voice that bounced in Sharyr’s skull. It was strangely melodic but this did not disguise either the power or the menace.
‘Who?’ Heryst’s voice was cracked and desperate.
‘Those who light the way. Those who will seek the path to us.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Heryst. ‘Please, you have what you want. Spare my people.’
Sharyr heard the sound of something cracking. Bone and cartilage. The alien voice said something else but he couldn’t pick it up. The voice of another of the Lysternan Globe team began to speak. Something fell, something heavy.
The Communion Globe was silent, reducing to a dull grey.
‘Heryst? Heryst, can you hear me? Any of you?’
Sharyr kept his hand on the silk still, praying for the contact to be re-established. Futile. All he could hear was the hard breathing of his team.
‘They’ve gone,’ said one. ‘They’ve gone.’
‘Did anyone catch what the other voice said?’ asked Sharyr, his cracked voice echoing painfully in the Communion chamber.
‘I believe so, but it hardly matters,’ said the mage to his right. ‘Garonin, or something.’
‘Everything matters right now. Go and look up that word. Any clue as to who they are could help. I’ve got a feeling I heard it before when we were researching dimensional alignment. Those texts weren’t in the library; they’re still down here in my old work-shops. ’
‘As you wish, Master Sharyr.’
‘And the rest of us, let us not be next,’ said Sharyr. ‘Let’s get this construct back steady. We have to get hold of Lord Denser.’
‘Unknown! Get down!’
The impact in Sol’s back sent him sprawling to the scorched ground. The earth vibrated beneath him with the force of multiple explosions. He heard screams and rolled onto his back. His scabbard dug in painfully. Hirad and Ras were both above him, looking towards the enemy.
‘What di-?’
‘Down!’
Hirad again. The barbarian in a merchant’s body flung himself on top of Sol. There was a distinct clicking sound like the unlatching of many doors. An arc of white pulses in the shape of teardrops fled over Sol’s head and slammed into helpless mages, soldiers and mounted guards.
Defensive shield castings collapsed under the onslaught, flaring deep blue as they failed. Light ripped through bodies, obliterating people, punching holes in torsos and tearing horses apart.
‘It’s going to be a slaughter,’ said Hirad.
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Sol. He pushed Hirad off him, got to his feet and snapped his sword from its clasps. ‘Let’s get to it.’
‘Raven!’ roared Hirad. ‘Raven, with me!’
Sol was ahead of him, charging towards the slowly advancing line of enemies. They were huge, all of them tall and powerfully built. Covered from head to toe in armour that seemed to glisten in the sunlight. Numerals and lettering woven into breastplates and leg guards shone.
‘Get amongst them,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘They can’t shoot at you if you’re inside their guard.’
More fire spat from enemy weapons. Sol felt the heat as a teardrop fizzed past his shoulder. There was no time to check how far behind the rest of The Raven or the Xeteskian guard were. He ducked his head as more fire whipped about his ears. He felt the pain begin to flare in his damaged hip and whispered an apology to his wife and sons.
‘What do you think you’re doing, old man?’ he muttered.
Sol brought his sword to ready and hoped he remembered how to use it. There was not a flicker from his target. The enemy were well spread out, marching forward carefully. Detonation followed detonation but Sol dared not look behind to see what was happening.
The man in front of him had turned his weapon. Sol ducked reflexively. A teardrop smashed into his blade, shearing the top clean off above his head. His hands rang with the vibration of the impact. Sol swung the remainder of his blade through two-handed. It thudded hard into the midriff of the enemy just beneath his arms. Sol’s momentum carried him straight on, barging the man off his feet.
Sol landed on top, snatched a knife from his belt and jammed it under the chin strap of the enemy’s helmet. The scream of death was a keening wail. Blood pumped from the wound briefly and the man lay still. Sol rolled away, coming to his feet in time to see Hirad and Ras enter the fray. A few paces behind them came the rest of The Raven, mages behind warriors, magical shields in place for what good they would do. He knew it was them behind the masks of their borrowed faces but still he worried. They looked so ordinary.
The Xeteskian mage team had been largely annihilated. Four still stood of the thirty who had cast. They were casting again. God’s Eyes of blue fire sailed over Sol’s head to crash into the ranks of the enemy.
‘Form up, Raven!’ ordered Sol. ‘Dead or alive, get your memories working.’
The Raven surged across the open space. As one, the enemy stopped moving. Hirad buried his blade to the hilt in the neck of his victim, having to angle high to reach his target. Ras sliced through a leg guard and his opponent fell. The front rank of the enemy dropped to one knee; the second rank remained standing.
Sol frowned and squared up to his next target. His two-handed blade was useless. No balance and no bludgeoning point. He discarded it and drew a second knife. Many eyes had turned towards him and The Raven coming up fast in support.
‘Shield covering you,’ said Ilkar. ‘We have projectile and spell covering. Those teardrops are mana based.’
