Septern chuckled. ‘And now you want me to work out a way to unpick the rest of the grid safely.’
‘It isn’t that I don’t enjoy standing between these two unruly forces, it’s just that I have other duties today.’
‘You are a strong mage, young Densyr. I am not surprised you were entrusted with Dawnthief.’
Densyr felt a warmth radiating through him, calming the forces pummelling him from the outside.
‘I am flattered,’ he said. ‘But let’s raise a glass to ourselves when we’re out of this. I’m tired. You must be exhausted.’
‘I can take the pressure now,’ said Septern. ‘Release yourself. Let me work.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘We’ll find out.’ Another dry chuckle. ‘Just don’t go far.’
Densyr disengaged himself from the point between Heart and grid, feeling Septern take the strain. Densyr sagged back into his chair. The roar of unsuppressed mana faded but there was no peace. He became immediately aware of a low unsettling noise from behind him, to the west. And of angry shouts coming from below, inside the college.
‘Sing if you need me, Septern,’ he said, pushing himself to his feet.
Densyr had to cling on to the arms of his chair just for a moment while the blood rushed away from his head, threatening to black him out. When it cleared, he walked to his balcony doors, took a deep breath and threw them open.
Ten years of rebuilding and pride, wiped out in the time it took to boil a cauldron of water. Densyr felt physically sick. In his mind’s eye he had seen rubble and dust but nothing could have prepared him for this. A few half walls were standing beyond the college gates but aside from that nothing remained of the entire eastern section of the city. On an arc that stretched for four miles left to right and three miles in depth, everything was gone.
‘Who needs the Garonin when we have such means at our disposal? ’ he whispered.
Fires still raged in hundreds of places. The yellow flame of burning wood mixed with the harsh dark blue flame of mana gorging itself on any material with which it came into contact. Those flailing strands of the grid, easily identifiable now, spewing out their energy, adding final insult to the crime that had been committed on Xetesk. The Wesmen had come and been beaten off. The demons had done such awful damage. Yet no enemy had managed quite the complete desolation that Densyr and Septern had been forced to perpetrate to save…
Beneath him the Heart was still intact and the college walls had not been breached. But what of the body of Xetesk? He didn’t even need to look west to know what the rumbling hum was. People were leaving. They were scared and they were running and they didn’t even know where. The security of their college had proved not to be enough.
‘Despair is the province of the weak,’ said a voice behind him.
Densyr straightened his shoulders, lifted his head and turned.
‘What am I saving, Dystran?’ he asked. ‘How am I benefiting Xetesk and Balaia?’
‘Don’t let what you see fool your mind,’ said Dystran gently. ‘When the battle is won, and it may be that it is already, there is but one beacon for the leaderless and it is here. Only one place capable of rebuilding all that we have lost. Only one place with the strength and the desire to make Balaia a power again. And only one place that can rule.
‘The Heart of Xetesk still beats and it must beat on, my Lord of the Mount. It is our destiny to lead and yours to rule. And it is surely all within your grasp.’
Densyr felt almost too tired to argue. ‘You know they are not beaten, don’t you?’
‘Perhaps, but now they have seen the extent of our power and the sacrifices they will have to make to take our Heart. Surely a negotiation is the least we can expect and a withdrawal is something for which we can now hope.’
‘I wish I shared your optimism.’
‘Take a look outside.’ Dystran moved past him and out onto the balcony. Densyr followed a little reluctantly. ‘What do you see? What do you hear?’
‘I see the mess I’ve created in the most beautiful city on Balaia and I hear the sounds of my people panicking and running to the west.’
Densyr glanced below him and then away again, unsure whether to believe what he was seeing.
‘You are being too literal. Perhaps I should have asked what you don’t see and hear. No Garonin foot soldiers. No machine. I-Are you listening to me at all?’
‘Now I really do believe I have seen it all,’ said Densyr by way of a reply.
Coming across the courtyard, with guards and mages closing in, were a man being helped along by a woman and a second man. Two boys walked just in front of them. A third man walked head bowed and arms outstretched and could only be a mage. A fourth man was carrying a fifth and was surrounded by wolves. In front of them all came Brynar, his loyal apprentice, waving people aside as best he could.
‘Erstwhile apprentice,’ muttered Densyr. ‘Little bastard.’
‘Have them killed,’ said Dystran, waving a hand.
‘Without finding out how they survived that inferno? I think not.’
Densyr pulled the bell to summon a servant and didn’t have to question the relief he felt and the smile that was fighting its way onto his lips.
‘The bloody, bastard Raven,’ said Dystran.
‘Yes,’ said Densyr. ‘Amazing, aren’t they?’
‘They aren’t just going to wave us into the tower complex,’ said Sol.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Get as close as possible,’ said Brynar. ‘Ilkar has us shielded. I don’t think any guards will be drawing weapons with me here.’
‘Don’t count on it.’
‘Move!’ shouted Brynar. ‘Wounded coming through.’
The courtyard was packed with the anxious, the scared and a few with the desire to organise. Thraun’s wolves were keeping all but the most persistent at a safe distance. But mages were gathering at the entrance to the tower complex fifty yards ahead and guardsmen were with them in good numbers. Left and right they were being shadowed by more.
Ilkar’s Mage Shelter gave them the protection they needed from targeted magical attack and no one was going to fire arrows in such a crowded space. But all it would take was a guard captain with a little courage and they would be arrested immediately. Brynar was not going to let anyone fight and for their part The Raven had neither the desire nor the capacity to do so.
It was a question of whose nerve would hold the longest.
College guards were creating a path in front of them, pushing people back on either side. The clear view it gave of the doors to the tower complex was not encouraging.
‘Keep moving,’ said Brynar.
Thraun came to Sol’s left. ‘I can scatter them.’
‘Wait,’ said Sol. ‘Let’s see their intent.’
‘That’s close enough!’
An old soldier moved out in front of those guarding the doors. Suarav, captain at the time of the demon invasion. General now. A much-decorated hero.
‘We must see the Lord of the Mount,’ said Brynar, not pausing in his stride. ‘We must speak with him and with Septern.’
‘Not here and not now, Brynar,’ said Suarav. ‘Stop. You will yield to me.’
‘Can’t do that, General,’ said Brynar. ‘There is no time left.’
‘Correct,’ said Suarav.
He nodded. Two mages stepped forward, knelt and cast. Ilkar gasped, stumbled and refound his footing.
‘Ilkar’s Defence,’ he said. ‘How apt.’
‘Can you hold?’ asked Sol.
‘They aren’t pushing. But there’s no way I can move forward.’
To their left and right, soldiers were lining the path. Behind the wolves more came but stayed at a careful
