Around him, his townspeople had faltered, their energy draining away as they saw death surround them. Some of them had run away and Arlen couldn't blame them for doing so. Only his guards had formed up in proper defence and they had been attacked on two sides, some falling prey to Protectors beating a path back to the centre of the town, others by Dordovans determined to stop them. Eventually, he had withdrawn and now the survivors looked to him for help.
One of the men he'd sent to assess the spread of fighting through the town sprinted up to him, gasping for breath.
'Report,' said Arlen.
'It's everywhere,' said the youngster, not more than twenty years of age and scared half to death. 'There're fires burning right through to the jail and into the Salt Quarter. One side of Centenary Square is ablaze with fire carried on the wind and there's fighting in a dozen pockets.' He stopped, breathing hard. 'Protectors are marauding all through the town and the Dordovan mages are casting at them from rooftops and windows. Our people are on the run. There are hundreds heading north to the castle but I don't think they'll stop there. It's like the whole place is falling down. What will we do, my Lord?'
The young man looked at him, pleading.
Arlen wanted to yell at him that he didn't know. That nothing they did could stop the fight which raged out of control, as did the fires that ate the buildings. There were too many of them. Hundreds fought on the docks and through the town and he had less than thirty scared men at his disposal. There was nothing they could do but he had to force them into some sort of action. They had to be doing something.
'Listen men!' he shouted. 'Get off the docks. We'll set up a safe zone in the square. Give somewhere for our people to run, then stage them back to the castle. Forget these bastards, let them kill themselves. Let's save our own. Go!'
He turned his horse and led his men away, guilt lying like a lead weight across his shoulders. He'd saved a few for now but the awful realisation was that he'd lost control of his town. He wondered how many of them would realise it too when the relief of escape from the dock wore off. If the Protectors and Dordovans wanted to destroy Arlen, there was nothing he could do to stop them.
'Unknown!' roared Hirad. 'No!'
He launched himself at the cavalryman who had struck down his friend. Five paces and a jump that gave him the perfect angle to strike. The Dordovan was wheeling his horse and presented his body as a target. Hirad was in the air as he brought his sword through
right to left, cleaving the man's head from his neck, his body toppling back, blood spraying into the rain-drenched sky.
Hirad ignored the horse and dashed to stand astride The Unknown's body, not daring to look down in case he saw the big man was dead. He had already seen it once before and twice would be too much.
'Aeb! Protectors!' he shouted. 'Help me!'
But they already were, pouring into a frontal attack while those behind stayed the rear advance. Dual weapons scorching through the air, the Protectors stormed into the cavalry, axes carving into horse flesh, swords blocking desperate swings before savaging into the riders.
Dordovans came at Hirad, hoping for an easy target; a man relatively defenceless as he attempted to help a downed friend. The first lost his left leg as Hirad swayed under a roundhouse blow, the second had his horse killed under him. After that, the Protectors were with him, Aeb to his left, forming a circle of steel that gave The Unknown sanctuary.
'Ilkar, check him!' he called as he blocked a sword thrust aside, caught the rider's arm and pulled him from his horse, where Aeb crashed his axe through the unprotected stomach.
'Right behind you, Hirad. Keep going,' said Ilkar
Hirad's heart was thudding wildly as he fought to keep perspective. Every sinew begged him to dive into the cavalry headlong, let his blood instinct take over and see how many he could bring down before they killed him. But he denied the urge, forcing himself to remember the man he was defending.
'He's still alive but it's bad. I need Denser, Hirad. Quickly.'
'Leave it to me,' said Hirad, his body awash with sudden vital energy. 'Aeb, we have to break them now. Front and rear.'
'Yes, I understand. We will move with you.'
Hirad nodded, looked up and saw the Dordovans organising for another run. Twenty bodies were scattered on the ground and, forming more barriers, horses, dead and in distress, lay on the dock. It would be a broken charge and Hirad determined to use that to his advantage.
Along die line, the Protectors waited, silent and unmoving. Their casualties were light but couldn't be ignored. The time was now.
'Come on!' Hirad sprang away, running full tilt at the Dordovan horsemen, and hearing the footfalls of the Protectors as they made their progress. A shout went up from the cavalry, who began to move, riders struggling with horses unwilling to ride into the face of the masked killers Hirad led. Their heads down, they could smell the blood of the dead and dying and their hooves were uncertain on the crowded, slick ground.
Hirad raced on. Running straight at a cavalryman, Hirad saw the man heft his blade. He hurdled the body of a still-twitching horse, landed and rolled to the left, coming to his haunches behind the rider. He was up, spinning and jabbing into the rider's kidney before he could turn his horse.
Turning again, Hirad took in the Protectors, a perfect picture of organised savagery. Arranged two and three to an opponent, horse and rider were attacked simultaneously, giving the cavalrymen nowhere to turn, no meaningful defence and no clear target. No chance at all.
With no immediate opponent, Hirad watched, for a few mesmerised heartbeats, a trio of Protectors in action. One crouched and sank his axe into the horse's hindquarters, another slashed his sword into the animal's neck while the third fielded the rider's desperate swing on his axe before slashing through a disembowelling strike with his blade.
It was over before Hirad had drawn second breath and reminded him of nothing more than a pack of wolves.
Thraun.
Dimly, Hirad recalled howling as he stood over The Unknown's body. With the Protectors occupying the Dordovans, Hirad did a full circle, searching for evidence of the pack, but could see nothing. To the west along the dock towards the berth vacated by the Ocean Elm, the Dordovan and Lysternan cavalry had scattered, pockets being hunted down by Protector groups run by mounted mages.
Towards the target ship, the scene was of carnage all over the ground. Protectors had swiftly beaten away any lingering resistance and were already checking every body, crouching to finish off any that were still breathing. Otherwise, the dock was empty and that was very bad. Hirad came to himself with a jolt and knew why The Unknown was lying so close to death. The Raven had allowed
themselves to be split and scattered. Something they had sworn never to do.
Thraun would have to look after himself.
'Denser!' shouted Hirad. 'Darrick! Where are you?'
His voice was whipped from him by the wind and further diminished by the steady rain that pattered stone, timber and water, and the crackle of flames from the still raging fires spreading towards Centenary Square fanned by the gale.
'Denser!' Hirad swung around. 'I need you now!' He looked at the target ship, frowning. It was very still on board. The crew that had lined its rails had gone. All that was left were the lanterns swinging wildly and illuminating the empty deck.
Hirad marched towards the ship.
'Denser!' he roared a third time. 'Please! The Unknown's hurt. Denser!' Gods, where was he? He turned and began to walk back to Ilkar and The Unknown. 'Ilkar how're we doing.'