had for two days, cursyrd swarmed outside the shell, waiting for such a moment.
'Stop!' He snapped the reins. The horses merely hastened. 'Gyal's tears, no.'
He stared around the sides of the wagon. In the air directly above, more cursyrd bayed and called, whipping the horses' panic.
Rebraal knew he was helpless but he would not abandon his cargo. He urged the animals to stop. He dragged the reins more softly, pulling left, but they were lost to control. His cars were filled with the protestations of axle and timber, the desperation from within and the calm destruction of cursyrd foolish enough to attack the roof. Dust filled the air around him, clogging his lungs. The horses ploughed on across broken ground. It was a toss-up whether they'd be driven through the edge of the shell aboard the wagon, such was its shaking.
Rebraal consigned his soul to Yniss. Inside the shell, the cursyrd attack was faltering. Outside it, excitement grew. He had watched this from afar three times. Now it was his turn. Again he pressured the reins. Again, nothing.
'Clear!' he shouted down to those Al-Arynaar sprinting alongside the runaway horses. 'Clear!'
They ignored him and he felt proud to die with them.
A detonation sounded beyond the shell. A curious momentary silence followed. Cursyrd bunched then scattered like birds dogged by a predator. A deep green light washed across the space, scattering on impact with the ColdRoom shell. For the first time, Rebraal heard fear in his enemies' cries. The attack faltered. Reavers took to the air. Strike-strain bunched and flew high. And where the green light touched them, the cursyrd melted.
Wings dripped away, bodies sloughed flesh. They fell in their dozens, wailing and agonised. And through the gap they had made, came The Raven, Auum's Tai and the Protectors. Rebraal shouted
his relief though in truth he wasn't sure they would save him. The cursyrd were regrouping quickly, determined not to let their prize escape them, and yet more gathered in the sky above The Raven, wanting to claim the greatest prize of all.
Resigned to his position as passenger and spectator and content to keep the strike-strain away, Rebraal watched the extraordinary approach. Thraun, Darrick, Hirad and The Unknown formed a forward line, maces battering the cursyrd in front of them. Immediately behind strode Denser, his dark cloak flowing behind him. From his fingers, a ForceCone claimed space in the air above them.
And finally, the ace in the pack. Erienne, with a guard that brought laughter from Rebraal's lips. She was flanked by the two Protectors, Kas and Ark, at whose flanks ran Duele and Evunn. They moved as blurs, keeping the space around the One mage's head clear. Almost anonymous, Auum and Eilaan swept behind and the whole advanced with total belief, total control.
Again the glorious green light surged across the field and again the cursyrd panicked and broke. But this time Erienne stumbled and half fell, pushing her hands out towards her husband. Immediately, the formation changed. Evunn and Duele ran ahead of the Raven line. Ark scooped Erienne into his arms, passing her immediately to Thraun, and took up station behind with Kas and Auum. Denser and Eilaan's next ForceCones were directed ahead. And they ran straight for the shell and into the path of the runaway wagon.
Sensing an opportunity, the demons regrouped in the air above the shell. The wagon was suddenly free of concerted attack but the horses showed no inclination to slow. Rebraal turned.
'Al-Arynaar mages to the roof. Now!'
The wagon approached the edge of the shell. The Raven ran on. Rebraal could see The Unknown pointing. Cursyrd flocked in the air. A group of reavers circled behind. A hundred yards from relative safety and it could prove too far.
Rebraal snapped the reins. 'Get on!' he shouted.
The horses had no intention of doing otherwise. Spooked out of any vestige of good sense, they drove on towards the waiting pack who had parted to allow the wagon a way through. Ahead, Hirad and Darrick broke formation and angled towards the bouncing,
bucking cart. Rebraal heard the sounds of elves across the roof of the
wagon. He turned his head.
'ForceCones,' he said. 'The moment we break the shell.'
But facing forwards again, he wondered what he could realistically
achieve. Perhaps a little confusion. It would have to be enough.
Hirad had never run so fast. Trying to remember all that Auum had taught him on his sprint technique, he forged on. Darrick ran beside him, an athlete born to the land. The two raced. And while they did, the fortunes of many were in the balance.
Auum had identified the runaway wagon and the helpless Rebraal holding its reins. While The Raven approached, it had been a curiosity. Now it was a chance at life.
'Coldheart, you are old and slow,' chided Darrick.
'General, you owe me a drink for every failure. This will be one.'
'I'll be proud to buy it.'
'And I to drink it.'
Hirad could feel the breath scorching into his lungs, mixing with the taste of spell residue and demon stench. They were above him and the General now, gathering to dive. And before them, reavers turned into their path to begin attack runs.
The two men hefted their maces, feeling the weight on tired arms. Behind them, Denser unleashed another spell, freezing the air. Demons tumbled from the sky.
'Here they come,' said Darrick.
'Rebraal needs to drive that wagon faster,' said Hirad through gasps.
'Hirad, he isn't driving it at all.'
'Roll!'
The pair dropped to the ground, rolled once and regained their feet. Claws slashed the air above them. Wings beat a down draught across them. Hirad spun and thumped his mace into the back of the nearest enemy. Darrick's blow crushed wing bones in another. It would slow them but no more.
Strike-strain rained down on them as they ran on. Hirad felt claws scratch at his head and neck, teeth nip into his legs through heavy cloth. He ignored the frost that each break in his skin fed into his body, striking out left at a reaver cruising in to the attack. The blow
caught it in the face but it came on, knocking him from his feet. He tumbled and rolled. A tail sliced across his back, cutting into his skin, leaving ice behind.
Not stopping, he scrambled back to his feet. Darrick was ahead of him now, mace cracking strike-strain aside, the feeling of metal on flesh heavy and satisfying. Ahead, the wagon ploughed on. Hirad could see its roof and sides busy with elves and its wheels bouncing on the uneven ground as it rushed towards them. The periphery of the shell moved too, its speed governed by that of the wagons bearing the casting mages and mercifully under greater control. Its edge could be estimated by the demons clustering outside of it and Rebraal was all but through it.
Hirad caught Darrick in time to bludgeon away a clutch of strike-strain poised to attack the General's head. Reavers were coming in again too, but this time it was spells that stopped them. Rebraal's wagon plunged out of the ColdRoom shell. Back in the world of mana, his mages cast quickly and efficiently. ForceCones drove rents through the demon clouds, scattering them through the air. Immediately, they were attacked from the rear, the Al-Arynaar fighting hard to keep them away.
'Confident?' shouted Hirad.
'Never not so,' replied Darrick.
They were twenty yards from the wagon and running straight for it. Maces were stowed in belt loops, strike- strain were free to snipe at them.
'Good luck.'
Darrick timed his run to perfection. He angled into the galloping horses, caught the rein harness of the right- hand beast and swung up onto its back. Two paces later, Hirad leapt for the kicking board, impacting heavily on the frame of the wagon. Ignoring the flare of pain in his ribs, he turned to Rebraal, grinning and taking the reins from him.
'Bloody elves. Never did understand horses.' He looked ahead. 'All right, General, let's get this thing pointed the right way!'
