Auum brought the Tai to its feet.
'Tai, we move.'
The TaiGethen cell jogged back to the centre of the courtyard in between the two wagons waiting for their casting trios. The cursyrd found their voices once more. Howls, shrieks, calls and cries battering on the ears, etching on the mind, scratching at courage and fortitude. Auum commended his life to Yniss a final time and nodded at Rebraal.
The gates of Julatsa were hauled open. The vanguard of Al-Arynaar warriors, led by Rebraal, drove out of the gates. Behind them, Pheone led the mages beginning to prepare the moment they were beyond the shell. The first wagons started to roll. Horses stamped and snorted, moved forwards under protest. In the stables and in the gatehouse guard room, mages cut off the last of the ColdRooms and hell descended on the college.
Cursyrd poured down from the sky and rushed in from the periphery. In the centre of the courtyard, mages inside the second-
and third-wave wagons began to cast, as did their colleagues in the rolling first wave. ColdRooms took care and time to prepare, so outside, Al-Arynaar mages and warriors had to buy them the space they needed.
Auum signed and shouted as he moved to the second-wave wagons. 'Hold the horses! Mages, casting at will. Warriors, drive space, protect your mage groups.'
IceWind and ForceCones drove into the air, battering cursyrd aside or melting the flesh from their bodies. In front of the mage groups, warriors hacked, slashed and bludgeoned, forcing a ground perimeter. The tiny strike demons dropped like rain from the sky, digging their claws into skull, shoulder and back. As fast as one was torn away and thrown into space, another two struck down, scratching and biting, weakening their targets with the frost in their touch.
'Strike the weak point!' roared Auum. 'Send them to Shorth!'
He rocked back on his left leg and lashed in a kick to the head of a soul stealer racing hard at one of the wagons. The creature fell flat on its back, bounced back to its feet and advanced on the TaiGethen leader, spitting bile and hatred. Auum moved fast, dagger in his right hand, left hand free. He delivered a blistering multiple strike, thundering blows into the creature's midriff and chest, stabbing high into its throat and upper body, looking for the killing stab.
But the creature was quick enough to keep its vulnerable area clear though it couldn't land a single blow. Others joined it, flanking Auum. He backed up a step. Took in the five that faced him, the dozens of the strike-strain flying at him, and smiled. Around him, he could hear the desperate cries of Al-Arynaar being overwhelmed. He heard the shriek of cursyrd caught in the howl of IceWind; the sickening crunches of the creatures crushed beneath ForceCones. And above it all, the whine and buzz of the winged enemy as they attacked in storms.
Quite deliberately, he shut out everything else but his targets. He took a pace forwards, feeling the first strike-strain home in. His smile was undimmed. Shapes moved to his left and his right, closing at extraordinary speed. He, like the cursyrd, was never alone.
Rebraal led the Al-Arynaar through the gate and into the open space beyond the walls. Cursyrd thronged the path ahead and the sky
immediately above them. Their attack was instant. Soul stealers and the strike-strain flooded towards them.
'Keep formation, keep driving!' he called into the teeth of the enemy gale.
The two sides collided head-on. Rebraal struck hard straight ahead, battering a reaver aside. He used a shortened mace in his left hand, a short sword in his right. The creature stumbled backwards and Rebraal drove on. The diminutive strike-strain lashed in like hail, each one smaller than his head but full of claws and fury. They swarmed over the front ranks of the Al-Arynaar, biting and scratching. Rebraal felt the chill of the wounds they inflicted and the blood run freely from his neck and arms.
Head-butting the reaver ahead of him, he made a heartbeat of space and used it to sheathe his sword. With a hand free, lie ripped at the strike-strain clawing at his body, hurling them aside, urging his people to do the same. Spells roared into the air. DeathHail and IceWind froze the sky right above his head. Cursyrd screamed and fell from the air, skin boiling from the Wind or tattered and torn from the Hail.
In front of him, the cursyrd fell back. He saw them bunching on the flanks and running down left and right.
'Front rank keep driving, second fall back, guard the mages. Keep diose wagons moving!'
He had turned to sign as well as shout and swung back only to catch the claw of a reaver clear across his face. The blow raked his cheek, freezing the side of his face. He felt his muscles tighten then weaken. Al-Arynaar piled in front of him, carving into the attackers and forcing them back. Rebraal felt dizzy, his vision blurred. Arms grabbed him, pulled him back into the mass, behind the front rank of mages.
Strike-strain were everywhere, disrupting the concentration of his casters. He had to do something. Not enough spells were coming out, and in the sky the cursyrd were massing to dive again. He wiped the blood from his face and blinked to clear his vision. There was a roaring in his ears. He shook his head. The sound of weapons thudding into cursyrd reached him. A few spells crackled into the sky.
He focused hard. Strike-strain landed on the top of his head. He snatched one away from him and hurled it to the side. Time to act.
'Keep the mages clear to concentrate. Let's go.'
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.