‘Hurry, Bel,’ shouted Fahren, and they dashed along the corridor and up another flight of stairs. At the top they found a thick wooden door with a lock that Bel’s sword couldn’t smash.
‘Let me,’ said Fahren, pushing him aside with a nudge of power. The mage focused on the lock, which glowed briefly in his hand and clicked open. They toppled out onto the roof, where ahead of them rose the billowing Breath of the Cloud.
‘Close the door!’ Fahren yelled. ‘There are too many for you to fight them all!’
Bel bellowed his indignation and swung his sword. There could never be too many. He slammed the door shut nonetheless.
‘Stand back!’ ordered Fahren and Bel stalked away. The mage made a circular action with his hands and there came a great grinding noise. A disc of rock lifted from the roof, cracking to pieces as it did. Fahren’s hands shot forward and the pieces hurled against the door, driving it into its hinges and piling up against it. Almost immediately came a thumping on the other side.
‘It will take me some time to channel enough power into the spell,’ called Fahren as he moved towards the Breath. ‘I must not be interrupted. You must protect me.’
He fell to his knees before the great spout, raising hands that glowed white as he built up power. Bel strode to stand over him, watching the skies and the door, his sword jumpy in his hand. Pebbles on top of the rock pile wobbled as those behind the door strained to open it.
‘Get axes!’ came a muffled shout.
A group of Graka appeared at the edge of the roof. They spotted him and Fahren immediately, but did not yet swoop towards them. Another pair appeared, beating their wings more heavily, and after a moment Bel saw why – each had an arm hooked under that of a Black Goblin, who hung between them in the air. As soon as they brought him over the edge, he twisted free and landed lightly on all fours like a cat. Astoundingly, a butterfly sailed after him to land on his shoulder. He rose smoothly to his feet, revealing a sword and a brace of daggers hanging around his waist.
‘My my,’ he said in a dusky voice devoid of emotion. ‘Long time since I clapped eyes on you, my boy.’ He padded forward, the sword leaping into his grip, and arched a hairless eyebrow at Fahren. ‘What’s your mage doing there?’
‘Destroying you and all your people,’ said Bel.
Tyrellan bared his fangs. ‘Get him!’ he shouted, and the Graka dived.
Bel held his ground, knowing he could not leave Fahren exposed. He drummed this fact into his head repeatedly, forcibly stopping the path of his sword as it tried to lead him away, resisting the urge to dance amongst the whirling bodies. Instead, he rooted his feet to the ground and let them come to him, each breaking against his steel. As the last Graka fell into the pile of bodies before him, Tyrellan watched him, still and silent.
‘Knotty fellows you have around here,’ Bel said, and poked a dead Graka with his sword. ‘I guess they mark the line. Step over them and die.’
Tyrellan padded forward, halting just shy of the heap of dead Graka. ‘Here?’ he asked. ‘Here is as far as I may tread? Very well.’
His hand moved deceptively and suddenly a dagger flashed towards Bel, heading between his legs towards Fahren’s back. Bel flicked his sword, managing to swipe it out of the air, sending it clattering away over the stone. He lashed out, but Tyrellan didn’t move, and the sword passed a hair’s breadth from the tip of the goblin’s nose.
Tyrellan sneered. ‘Seems you were right,’ he said. ‘That is indeed the line.’
He turned his back and walked casually across the roof to retrieve his dagger. Behind Bel, Fahren’s mumbling got louder and energy crackled.
‘Hurry up, High Mage,’ Bel hissed.
Tyrellan stooped to pick up his weapon, then was suddenly charging with daggers flying. Three points of steel and a sword tip came at Bel as Tyrellan leaped. Bel managed to turn all three daggers aside with a well-timed arc, while catching Tyrellan’s sword on his breastplate with a juddering clang. Tyrellan hit the ground and rolled, his sword flashing at Bel’s feet. Bel jumped and slashed, but confusion seized him. He could not find the right path for his sword to travel and kill this target, only to defend himself. Another dagger came from a new angle and he kicked it, with his boot just a handspan away from Fahren’s face. It spun into the Breath and he didn’t hear it land.
Tyrellan came at him again, slashing and then darting away, staying out of Bel’s self-imposed reach. After the fourth pass Bel roared, ‘You’re not one with time to waste, goblin!’
‘It is done!’ cried Fahren. ‘The spell is cast!’
Bel felt a wet spray hit his back. Now , urged his frenzy, you no longer need to protect the mage . With a roar he charged forward, his sudden change in tack catching Tyrellan off guard. The goblin was smashed backwards as blades fell so thickly that each combatant seemed to possess more than one. The butterfly fluttered between them, and Bel’s blade rebounded from it as solidly as if it hit iron. He took no time to wonder at such strangeness, and a moment later their swords locked. Bel reached out with his free hand, seized Tyrellan under the arm and hurled him away across the roof. The goblin landed not far from where Fahren lay, exhausted. He raised his orb eyes to the funnel of the Breath, blinking as raindrops fell on his face. Above them, the Breath seemed to be misting away, losing its shape.
‘What have you done!’ howled Tyrellan, leaping to his feet.
The rain grew heavier, a sheet of water expanding outwards, while torrents of water began to cascade off the roof. Lightning cracked, making Tyrellan’s fangs gleam as his face twisted to pure hate.
‘In a storm you were born,’ he hissed. ‘In a storm you will die.’ He sprang towards Bel.
Time seemed to slow and, finally, Bel could see the path. Calmly he bent his knees, then brought his sword up to meet the goblin’s. As soon as he felt the downward pressure of Tyrellan’s blow, he pushed upwards from the ground, lifting his opponent. As the goblin passed overhead, Bel pushed up with his sword and simultaneously punched a hand into Tyrellan’s stomach. The goblin turned head over heels, his sword falling from his grasp as he reached to snatch at a spire as he sailed past – but he was too far away. He made no sound as he travelled out over the edge of the roof and disappeared into the downpour.
Bel stared after him for a moment, finding it oddly bittersweet that such a challenging fight was over. Then he shook his head and started coming back to himself.
‘Fahren!’ he called, running to the mage’s side. ‘Are you all right?’
There was a crash from inside the doorway – those on the other side had managed to pull down the door. Rocks began to shift from the top of the pile.
‘I will be,’ wheezed Fahren. ‘Just have to catch my breath.’
‘Call for the whelkling,’ said Bel. ‘Do it now.’
Fahren smiled. ‘Already did.’
A booming sounded out of the rain and the whelkling skidded to a stop on the wet roof.
‘Good man,’ said Bel, and hoisted Fahren onto its back. ‘Now tell it to take us back to Holdwith.’
The whelkling clumped to the edge of the roof and slipped off just as the last rocks fell free of the doorway. It dropped sickeningly and Bel felt his gizzards rise into his mouth. He clutched desperately to the harness as they scythed downwards, the rain hammering them solidly. In his hands the leather was slick, and Fahren had a grim grasp around his waist that dragged at him. The onrushing wind sprayed water in his eyes, and he only just managed to keep his grip as they levelled out and began a broad curve upwards. Ahead he saw the wall of advancing rain, moving too quickly for them to overtake it. A moment later the water thickened and he could see nothing at all. He knew that this time Fahren might not have the strength to magically aid the whelkling’s flight, so he wrenched off his chest piece and let it fall. After that, there was nothing to do but hunker down, grip the harness as tight as he could and pray that they would make it back to the border.