Hirad shrugged and wandered off after The Unknown. Some of the villagers were walking into the combat area, staring dumbly at the bodies and blood.
'Looks like you've got yourselves some new horses anyway,' said Hirad. 'Hope you don't mind clearing up. Think of it as payment.'
He saw the odd nod and smile but there was wariness amongst the villagers.
'Hey,' he said. 'You didn't need them. And they weren't who they said they were. They deserved it. They were damaging the reputations of friends I have lost.'
The Unknown was standing with Ferran. The farmer was frowning.
'And what will you do now, take their place?'
The Unknown shook his head, smiling. 'We'll move on in the morning, like we said.'
'Are you The Raven?'
'Does it matter?'
'We have tales to tell,' said Ferran.
'Fair enough.' The Unknown looked across at Hirad, who shrugged. 'Yes, we are The Raven. Very different from the tales you've been told, I expect. We're tired, we're wanted by both sides in the war and all we want to do is leave Balaia and hang up our swords.'
'Leave?' Ferran's eyebrows raised.
'We've done all we can,' said Hirad. 'And there are too many out there who will thank us by having us locked up or executed. Draw your own conclusions.'
Around them, the crowd stood mute. Not quite believing what they were seeing, what they had heard, or what they were hearing right now. Hirad couldn't help but chuckle.
'None too impressive-looking, are we?' he said. There was a little laughter in the crowd. On an impulse, he continued. 'But we couldn't let them go. We couldn't. So many of those they were mimicking are dead friends. And I will not stand by while their memories are sullied by this sort of filth, and while the deeds of those with us now are ignored.' He gestured at the corpses. One, his double, still breathed. Hirad hoped he was being heard. He continued.
'We lost Ras at Taranspike Castle, Sirendor Larn was poisoned by a Xeteskian assassin and Richmond died in Black Wings' castle. All more than six years ago now but they are the names you have been told, are they not?'
There was a murmur in the crowd. Heads were inclined. They hung on his every word.
'Yet there were so many more. Jandyr, who died on the fields of Parve; poor Will Begman, terrified from his life by the touch of a demon. Aeb, the Protector who sacrificed his soul to The Raven. And Ilkar. Ilkar who even in the act of his death, saved the rest of us. That is what The Raven is. That is who we are and what those of us who remain represent.' He indicated them one by one. 'Erienne; Denser; Thraun; Darrick; The Unknown Warrior. And me, Hirad Coldheart, lucky enough to have stood with them all.'
He stopped, aware that he was welling up and that his voice was in danger of breaking.
'So,' he said and clapped his hands together, smiling as he swallowed at the lump in his throat. 'Do you have ale and wine here?'
'That we do,' came a voice from die crowd.
'Good. Then anyone who wishes, join me in raising a tankard to The Raven, all of us. I'm buying.'
The Unknown turned to Ferran as the crowd broke into excited conversation and set off as one to the tavern. 'Is that a good enough tale for you to tell?'
Ferran nodded. 'His heart speaks, doesn't it?'
'Always,' said The Unknown. 'Hey, Coldheart, get over here.'
Hirad strode towards him and found himself enveloped in The Unknown's arms.
'Well said, Hirad. Well said.'
Chapter 6
Tessaya ducked as another FlameOrb smashed into the rubble of a building behind him, its deep blue flame gorging on whatever wood it could find. The garish light it cast threw harsh shadows on the walls and ground around him. He ordered another attack on the gates.
Conservatively, he reckoned he had lost a third of his men to Xeteskian sword and spell; most of them when the tower and parapet had collapsed the previous night. Riasu was dead, so were at least two other tribal lords. Tessaya himself was bandaged along one arm, cut and burned in four places he could feel and probably others he couldn't.
But the belief of the Wesmen was unwavering. Here they stood, in front of Xetesk's college gates, night full around them and the defenders increasingly desperate as their strength ebbed away.
Tessaya concentrated much of his efforts on the gates though he had tribesmen all round the walls under command of their tribal lords. The tactic was simple. Hit and run. Force them to use spell and arrow. Keep them from consolidating in one place. Fear nothing. Not even the winged demons, impervious to the kiss of metal. Even they could be dealt with if the will prevailed.
Tessaya glanced right. One of the creatures was pinioned beneath the rubble its masters had created. It cursed and spat, struggled and shifted. But the four warriors guarding it simply piled on more stone. It would not escape and its humiliation undermined it. Without fear as a weapon, it was diminished.
His warriors charged the gates with the battering ram they had built outside the walls of the city. An oak trunk with branches thick as a man's leg. Beside the twenty who carried the ram ran twenty more carrying thick bark shields above their heads. And beside
them, archers fanned out, four on either side. And all around the walls, more teams with trunks and ladders, roared on by their tribes.
The noise of song and shout sent a thrill through Tessaya every time he heard it. It was the call of the Wesmen to victory and it filled him with joy. On the walls, the defenders responded. But as it had been with every attack through the night, they were holding back because they didn't have the spells or arrows to do anything else.
The ram clattered into the centre of the doors, his tribesmen flailing at the familiars who flew in amongst the arrows. Splinters flew, timbers groaned and the spells that strengthened the doors sparked. Arrows and rocks poured down. Three men fell. The ram reversed and simultaneously the familiars withdrew. FlameOrbs and IceWind drove into the bark shields. Warriors screamed and toppled among the fallen of earlier raids. There was no quarter here. The dead would lie uncollected.
The ram went in again and this time Wesmen archers were close enough to fire. Shafts skipped off the walls, chipped shards from the crenellations. Some found their targets. Since the zenith of the night, the defenders had not had the capacity to shield their own men with magic. It was one more indication of their weakening. And every blow of the ram, every spell they were forced into using and every arrow fired from the walls weakened them further.
Tessaya nodded, satisfied. He flexed the muscles of his thigh and felt the pull where a Xeteskian arrow had punctured it. Never send your men where you were not prepared to go yourself. But by the time he was called upon to carry the ram again, he thought the gates would already be down. Soon it would be dawn. It was fitting that the new day should see the fall of Xetesk.
He took another look at the college's seven towers, soon to be toppled. Men were gathering high up on the tallest of them. Tessaya sniffed. The air tasted suddenly sour. Xetesk's evil was about to be unleashed once more.
Dystran stood with his dimensional team. Dawn was just below the horizon. He and they had spoken at some length and watched the Wesmen cycle their forces, never giving the defenders a break. Dystran's mages were close to exhaustion, his archers were almost spent and his commander was at the end of his tether, desperate to
get out and fight in the streets. Swordsmen were idle, Chandyr had said, while Wesmen went unchallenged. Dystran wanted them fresh. If this last gambit failed then every sword would be required to defend the tower
