Warriors moved through the mage teams, grabbing strike-strain from them. Around their flanks, reavers were being kept away on the ground. More Al-Arynaar moved to attack those that came from above. All was confusion. Their line was completely compromised.
'We need that ColdRoom,' he muttered, dragging a strike-strain from the back of a mage, ignoring the chilling scrapes down his own neck. At least they were still moving forwards.
Warriors worked feverishly in the morass. Blades glinted in the early light. The buzz of the strike-strain grew more intense. A ForceCone struck into the air, bludgeoning a path and a little respite. Behind him, he heard a squeal. He turned.
The lead wagon was under concerted attack. The elves guarding the terrified driver were both standing and weaving their blades in intricate defence patterns. Strike-strain were being batted aside, reavers hovered menacingly overhead, looking for the way in.
Rebraal began to move back through the fight. He hitched his mace and took out a dagger. Strike-strain flittered before his eyes and he carved the air in front of him, trying to keep them away.
' Keep t hat wagon coming,' he yelled at the elves walking by the horses.
The animals were beside themselves with fear. Under their blinkers, eyes were white. Every pace they took, they skittered to the left or right and the anguished snorts touched his heart. No doubt those behind, two abreast in the street, were faring no better.
Rebraal was scant paces from the wagon when the cursyrd made a critical breakthrough. Three reavers plummeted from the sky and thumped onto the canvas roof, feet cannoning into the elves positioned there, sending them flying. While one began to tear at the flimsy covering, the other two ran forwards.
'Behind!' roared Rebraal, pointing.
But the driver's guards couldn't hear him. The first they knew was when one of the creatures landed square on the driver and clutched his face. The poor man had no time even to scream before his soul was gone. The reaver exalted, lashing out left and right, catching both guards in the chest and flattening them against the wagon frame. The other leapt straight onto one horse's back and bit down into its neck.
The animal reared and screamed. It sought escape and, without a driver to control it, plunged away left across the cobbles, the other only too willing to follow its lead. Strike-strain and reavers gave chase. On the wagon's roof, cursyrd had torn up the canvas and were dropping inside. On the kicker board, the elves fought with the reaver in the driver's position. Others made to pursue.
'No!' shouted Rebraal. 'Keep discipline. You can't help them. Keep moving forwards. Drive on, Al- Arynaar!'
They listened to him as they always would. And in the midst of the disaster, an opportunity opened up. Carried away with their success, a large number of cursyrd were pursuing the wagon. The pressure lifted just enough, the enemy were distracted. Rebraal seized the moment with both hands. Amidst the howls of anger from high above as the master strain saw what was unfolding, Rebraal led his warriors and mages in a renewed assault.
Strike-strain were grabbed from mages, who were left free to cast. Warriors reformed at the head of the wave and drove hard at the reavers massed in front of the first barricade. Moments later, spells blazed into the sky and head-on once more. Demons were melted by IceWind, flung high and wide by ForceCones, ripped to shreds by DeathHail. Strike-strain burned under the focused power of FlamePalm. FlameOrbs arced into the sky. To the left, a Fire Wall roared into life.
Rebraal, at the head of the wave once more, ignored the blood running down his face and the deep cold that had frozen his cheek. At a call from the mage teams, the warrior rank paused and ducked. Spells flashed over their heads, scattering reavers from their path. Warriors ran left and right, pressing home their brief advantage, battering a path for the wagons to follow and opening up the route to the barricade.
In front of piles of wood, stone and rubble, cursyrd had herded dozens of Julatsans. The white-faced humans stared from black and sunken eyes and through lank hair. They made no move when the cursyrd were driven from the path of the Al-Arynaar and oncoming wagons. The pace wasn't fast, ColdRoom casting would be impossible otherwise, but it was inexorable. And Rebraal was not going to stop for anyone.
'Move!' he bellowed. 'Move!'
His dagger lashed into the face of a reaver that landed in front of him. He kicked out straight and caught it in the stomach. It grunted, fell back a step and was engulfed in Al-Arynaar.
'Move!'
But they didn't. They were beaten, terrified and unable to think for themselves. They were caught between two horrors, their cursyrd masters and the oncoming elven forces. Neither was going to give.
'Prepare the Cones,' said Rebraal.
There was no dissent behind him. The elves advanced at a trot, the mages now with clear sight of the barricade, both material and human. Rebraal waved his arms again.
'Please! Get away. Get away!'
Nothing. And in that moment, he wondered whether they actually welcomed the end that approached them. None pleaded, none cried for rescue. Not a tear was being spilled. They merely stood and waited.
'We are ready,' came a voice from behind his left shoulder.
Rebraal fell back behind the mage line.
'Cast,' lie ordered.
The barricade had been erected at the head of the road that led south through the city. Tall buildings reared up either side. It was a perfect focus for ForceCones and their effect was as dramatic as it was terrible.
The invisible rams of mana energy slammed into the unprotected humans, and their cursyrd shepherds. Man and cursyrd were plucked from the ground and flung backwards into the barricade. Blood splattered the walls left and right, bodies smeared against the buildings. The barricade exploded backwards. Elven casters kept up the pressure, driving the rubble and timber left and right. Rebraal heard the agony of men whose bodies were crushed flat, and the squealing of metal on stone. Shattered, the elements of the barricade bounced and spun down the street. Cursyrd shrieked in fury. He watched one man try to rise and begin to run but another Cone tossed him full-face into a building across the street, no more than a doll in a gale.
'I'm sorry,' muttered Rebraal. 'May Shorth speed you to your rest.' He had no time for anything else. Too much rubble littered
the ground. 'Focus on the cobbles. Clear the street or we'll lose wheels going down there.'
Left and right, Al-Arynaar were closing back in to guard their mages as they entered the street. Cursyrd ran and flew at rooftop height. Their masters had gathered their attention once more and they came again from above and behind. Rebraal ran back down the line.
'Single file. Wagons single file.'
They were rolling now. More wagons were coming from the gate. The sounds of fighting from within the walls echoed up to the sky where cursyrd massed from all points of the compass. Rebraal smiled grimly. They had made one small advance but the journey had only just begun. He prayed the ColdRooms would not be long in casting. He wasn't sure how much any of them really had left.
Chapter 26
Auum saw it all with utter clarity. He and his Tai moved as one, acted as a single entity, a boiling of controlled action in a sea of confusion. They targeted the reavers. Easy prey for the cell. Strike-strain clawed and buzzed around them and were knocked away as an afterthought. The real threat to the human mages, the wagon drivers and horses lay in the tall strong soul stealers who stalked and dived in the throng of the courtyard.
Duele and Evunn pirouetted together and downed a muscular deep blue creature. It barely had a chance to breathe before Auum pinned it down by its chest. Duele snatched an arm outwards, Evunn backhanded a dagger into the nerve ganglion revealed and the cursyrd died.
Auum rose to his feet. To his left, an Al-Arynaar had become detached from his warrior group. Cloaked in strike-strain, he became confused and disoriented. Quickly, three reavers were on him, lashing in claws, biting and gouging. One clutched him under the chin as he weakened and drained his broken soul.
It would be happening everywhere. Cursyrd flooded the courtyard, dropping from the sky; the strike-strain like malevolent hail, their reaver brethren sails on the breeze. Duele and Evunn came to his shoulders. They watched a
