‘Holding inside,’ said Sol. ‘Doorway secure. Left balcony holding. No casualties.’
Auum risked a glance behind. Prone on the table that dominated the centre of the chamber, Hirad was awfully vulnerable. To the left, Sol had turned Diera’s chair to the wall and she was hunched up in it, her arms covering young Hirad, who was abandoned to screaming terror. Jonas crouched next to them, sheltered by the mantel of the fire. His head was down and his hands were on his knees. Auum could see him murmuring, talking to Sha-Kaan.
Sol stood by his family. One hand rested on the back of the chair. He was finding it difficult to stand and equally difficult to be out of direct combat. The doorway was secured. Garonin moved beyond the barrier, which stretched on an arc covering the door and the entire area of wall the Garonin could attack if they chose.
Thraun stood sentinel, his wolves by him, waiting. Dystran was crouched by Septern, tuned into the mana spectrum. The master mage himself was absolutely still but for his mouth, which moved to form speech no one could hear in the tumult that echoed in the chamber.
And finally, opposite Auum, Ghaal and the ClawBound held the second balcony entrance. Sirendor was stamping the last of the embers from the tapestry, which he had ripped from the wall.
‘Sol,’ said Auum. ‘Hirad.’
The barbarian in a merchant’s broken body was stirring.
‘Sirendor, Thraun,’ said Sol. ‘Get Hirad safer. Under the table. Anywhere. Auum, on your right.’
Auum swung back to the balcony. A Garonin soldier was swinging towards them on a line. Others followed on the same calculated arc. Arrows flew into the air from below, all missing the fast-moving targets.
‘Miirt, monkey snare. Take low,’ said Auum.
‘Down on my mark,’ said Sol. ‘Enemies coming in right hand.’
Auum moved back half a pace, setting himself just behind the frame of the balcony doors. Miirt flattened herself on the floor, blades at her sides, arms ready in front of her.
‘Mark!’ shouted Sol.
Everybody crouched or dropped prone bar Auum. White tears flooded in, smashing into stone, punching straight through the walls in several places, leaving ragged holes that fizzed and cracked, the mana binding them ripped apart. The Garonin followed behind his fire, landing inside the chamber. He balanced quickly and raised his weapon but had no chance to use it.
Miirt reached out and grabbed both his ankles. Auum leapt onto his back, wrapping arms around his chest. He crashed to the ground. Just like bringing down a larger monkey in the rainforest. Sirendor, alive to the situation, grabbed the Garonin’s head, lifted it and thrust a blade deep into his throat.
Auum nodded and rolled away. Three more Garonin came in, one after another, dropping and rolling. Auum jumped above one but was caught by the second. The third landed on his feet, brought his weapon to ready and fired in an arc right to left. A wolf blew apart, smearing gore across the chamber. The ClawBound pair reacted just too late. White tears ripped into panther and elf as they dived at the enemy, shielding Raven warrior and TaiGethen elf from the same fate.
Auum bounced back to his feet and knocked the weapon from the Garonin’s hands. Miirt lashed her blades into the enemy’s back and he crumpled in a welter of blood. The air stank of burned flesh and fur. Thraun and the remaining wolves pounced on one of the remaining two Garonin, exacting grim revenge.
Auum turned from the sight. The second Garonin had risen. His weapon thudded butt first into the back of Ghaal’s head while the Tai was fighting another on the balcony. Auum moved to strike, but Sol was ahead of him, thrashing his blade through the Garonin’s lower back.
The Garonin spun round, weapon limp in his hands. His gaze fixed on Septern and he raised a hand to point.
‘You,’ he said, and tried to bring his weapon to bear.
Dystran rose, stretched to place a hand up to the soldier’s eye slits and let mana flame gout from his palm.
‘You will not touch him.’
The Garonin screamed, clutched briefly at Dystran’s hand and fell, his helmet ablaze with mana fire.
‘Sirendor. Fires. Get them out. Thraun. Thraun!’
The shapechanger looked up at Sol, his eyes rimmed with tears.
‘So much pain,’ he said.
‘Hang on, Thraun. See to your wolves. See to the ClawBound. Auum, back to your watch. I’ll check Ghaal.’
The intensity of Garonin fire on the tower increased as if a message had been relayed. The structure shook as raw energy spewed into it from all sides. Slate and stone blistered, broke and fell. Huge chunks of intricately carved work teetered and fell from the highest floors, tumbling down to the ground hundreds of feet below.
On the ceiling above, the paint was darkening.
‘They’re coming through the roof,’ said Sol. ‘Densyr, we need your Defence up there if you can do it. Thraun, Sirendor. The doorway. You have to hold it.’
‘I hear you,’ said Densyr. ‘Tell me when.’
‘Now. Right now.’
Densyr moved the Ilkar’s Defence spell upwards. Thraun and the two wolves rushed straight through the door. Xeteskian guards came from the left up the stairs. The Garonin fell back before the onslaught.
Sol limped over to Ghaal. The TaiGethen was moving but groggy. Sol dared a look through the balcony doorway. For now the lines were empty but the Garonin in the floors above were free to take the tower apart piece by piece.
‘What the hell are they after?’ asked Sol, swaying back in as more stone tumbled from the roof. ‘The Heart is nowhere near here.’
‘But Septern is,’ said Dystran. ‘And we need to bind the walls to stop the tower falling. They want him because of where he is and what he’s doing.’
A thunderous crash rattled the tower to its foundations. Light flooded in from above. Densyr gasped and dropped to his knees. The upper floors of the tower concertinaed, dumping hundreds of tons of stone, furnishings and timbers onto the Defence.
‘Tilt it!’ yelled Dystran.
Densyr moved his right hand. The Defence moved up a fraction on that side. Enough to dislodge a mountain of ruined stone. Garonin swarmed around the outside, trampling on the Defence, dodging debris as it slipped and slid. They fired incessantly at the spell, each tear splashing white and blue as it impacted.
‘Whatever Septern’s doing, I suggest he does it quickly,’ said Sol.
Up above, they could see the Garonin machine. It was massive, bulging under the pressure of mana stored within its bell. The clouds above it were swirling but slowly, as if something was interrupting the sucking in of fuel to the detonation area.
In his chair Septern sighed, long and feeble.
‘Twocanbeone,’ he said.
Binding spells were strengthening the walls and the damage was being limited for now. Brynar ran with Suarav and Chandyr, away from the tower complex. With them a dozen guards and six mages, all under a spell shield. Up in the machine weapons fired down. More powerful versions of those held in the hand, they tore great rents in buildings, ground and exposed walls. Anyone caught in their fire simply ceased to exist.
But on the ground the tide was going against the enemy. Fifteen groups of shielded mages and soldiers moved in and out of combat areas as the Garonin landed. The focus of the assault was the base of the tower complex, as the enemy sought access to the catacombs and hence the Heart of Xetesk.
High up above, Densyr’s tower was taking a dreadful pounding. Slabs of stone were falling to the ground, dealing as much damage to enemy as to ally. Suarav wondered what it was they wanted from up there.
‘Hold,’ said Suarav. ‘Use the angles. Garonin on the deck.’
Mages crouched and prepared. Surrounding them, guards watched outwards. Time slowed. A section of wall a hundred yards to the left burst in. Chandyr cursed.
‘There next,’ said Suarav.
‘Ready,’ said Brynar.
‘Cast at will,’ said Suarav.
