And even before it had stopped and the Wesmen had time to understand the situation, Styliann and the Protectors were through the broken lines, hacking down unbalanced enemies. It was only a half-mile to the pyramid and, Styliann conceded to himself, time to lend The Raven a hand.
Darrick thundered across the Torn Wastes at the head of his cavalry. He had no idea what he would find. For all he knew, The Raven were already there, or two days behind, or dead. If it was either of the latter two, Balaia was finished. So his relief when one of his elf scouts riding beside him reported seeing The Raven to the south-east of them was great indeed. He signalled the change in direction and headed straight for them.
Hirad smiled broadly as Ilkar confirmed it was the four-College cavalry heading their way.
‘Now that,’ said Thraun, ‘is what is known as a happy coincidence. ’
‘About time we had some luck,’ said Hirad. ‘And it’s not that much of a coincidence. We all knew the target time to get here; he’s just running a little late, that’s all.’
The Raven hadn’t moved on since seeing the Wesmen on the borders of Parve. Hirad had been ready to attempt the ride through their lines but the arrival of the cavalry gave them the luxury of a far better option. To the left, fire lit up the sky and a heavy explosion sounded. It was followed by two more flashes and a second dull detonation.
‘Styliann’s busy, I see,’ said Ilkar.
‘He’s a brilliant mage,’ said Denser.
‘He’s got a temper on him, I’ll give him that.’ Ilkar watched the afterglow of the HellFire and FlameOrbs fading against the light of the new day. ‘I wouldn’t like to be in the middle of all that.’
Darrick rode up, the cavalry reining to a halt behind him. He leapt from his horse to greet The Raven, clasping Hirad’s shoulders as the barbarian slid from his horse, a smile splitting his face.
‘This is where it ends,’ the General said. ‘The sight of you tells me we will be victorious. Thank the Gods you are alive.’
‘What did you expect?’ said Hirad, grasping the back of Darrick’s neck with one hand and shaking the General’s head, laughing. ‘I knew you’d make it and I’m glad to see your confidence is unbowed, but we’ve still got to breach the perimeter.’
‘What’s your view, General?’ asked The Unknown. ‘Styliann and the Protectors are at the south-eastern border and fighting, as you can see. They’ll be through to the square and the pyramid within half an hour.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Darrick, frowning.
‘Just trust him, he’ll be right,’ said Hirad.
‘Very well. I need to punch a hole through the lines to let you through. That shouldn’t be much of a problem. Once you’re in, I’ll take on any pursuers but you’ll be largely on your own for the rest of the ride to the pyramid. Selyn reported it full of Acolytes when she saw it, so take care. I’ll get to the square as quickly as possible, but I think I’m better used mopping up Wesmen. All right?’
‘Just tell us where you want us.’
‘Ride at the rear of the column. When it breaks, keep to the centre of the charge line. I don’t expect you to wait if you see a gap.’
In response to Darrick’s orders, the cavalry began moving off towards Parve at a gentle trot, four abreast, The Raven attached to its rear.
Darrick breathed in, feeling the cool air in his chest. This was the fight he really wanted. He signalled an increase in tempo and the three-hundred-strong cavalry accelerated to a canter. At a quarter of a mile he ordered the break. From the four-wide column, the cavalry formed a line three deep and a hundred wide, mages riding along behind the sword and spear men, shields deployed and, where possible, overlapping.
‘Charge!’ yelled Darrick, and the four-College cavalry sprang to the gallop, riding straight at the Wesmen lines. The two forces met head on, the first line of Wesmen going down hard under the spears, the blades and the hoofs of the cavalry horses. In the centre, Darrick half wheeled his mount, striking his enemy through the chest and ripping his blade clear as the man crashed to the ground. All around him was the clash of metal on metal, the neighing of horses, the calls and orders, the grunting and the shouting, the screaming and the crying. Behind the lines, the Shamen cast their black fire, tearing holes in his men and horses where the shields could not hold them. The Wytch Lord magic users would have to go, and quickly.
Beside him, a man was dragged from his horse by two Wesmen. Immediately, Darrick reared his horse, the animal’s front hoofs catching one a fatal blow on the side of his head. The other turned in surprise, only to feel the cavalryman’s sword in his back. Darrick swung his sword again, missing but forcing an enemy back far enough to allow his man the chance to remount. There was no time for thanks.
Behind the fight, The Raven looked for the weak point in the Wesmen lines. Hirad was fidgeting, knowing he’d rather be there in the thick of the mayhem, lending his blade to the mêlée. The Unknown spurred his horse and trotted right.
‘This’ll be it,’ he said. ‘Be ready.’ He was indicating a point some twenty yards to the right of where Darrick was fighting. There, the Wesmen were falling back under the weight of assault and the Shamen had run for cover, their spells having foundered on the shields of the eastern Balaians.
As they watched, the cavalry surged forwards and Hirad could see daylight in front of them.
‘Shield up,’ said Ilkar.
‘Raven!’ called Hirad. ‘Raven with me!’
At a single blast of a horn, the air above Varhawk Crags was filled with arrows and HotRain. Scything through unprotected and unwary Wesmen, steel-tip and fire caused awful damage and brought the march to a halt. Immediately, Wesmen broke ranks left and right and began climbing and scrambling after their attackers while below them, Shamen prepared shields and their nightmare magics.
A second blast of the horn. Blackthorne and Gresse charged around the northern edge of the crags and slammed into the front ranks of the Wesmen, carving a channel seven men deep before they were halted. With all the mages in the crags left and right casting attack spells, there was no shield on any man and the Shamen, if they couldn’t be stopped, would kill whoever they liked.
Up in the crags, more fire was cast down upon the milling lines of Wesmen, caught in a steep-sided gully only thirty yards wide. After the first volley of arrows, the archers concentrated fire on the Shamen, picking off as many as they could before the shields went up. Others shot down the scrambling Wesmen.
At the head of the crags, the fighting was intense. The Wesmen had regrouped and pressed hard. Blackthorne, a wound in his leg, turned his horse and shouldered his way left and away, still slicing down at the enemy as he went. Gresse had been overtaken by younger men and horses, and for now was merely a spectator. He decided to press backwards and wait for his breath. Then the fire struck.
Left and right, white bolts arced into the walls of the crags while forwards, black lines of death leapt from Shamen fingertips, seeking bodies to rip and tear. Beside Gresse, a man’s eyes exploded outwards as the black fire caught him square in the centre of the forehead. He went down thrashing and twitching. All around now, men and beasts were being slaughtered, but the Wesmen lines were backing off. Gresse changed his mind, dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, yelled men to his side and went after the Shamen.
Crags exploded, sending boulders, mages and archers tumbling. But while the western magic stopped, the Shamen had caused their own disaster as rock avalanched down, sweeping away men and crushing them against each other and the ground.
At the front of the lines, Blackthorne’s men redoubled their efforts, hacking their way through Wesmen. Gresse and his men were almost on a knot of Shamen busy preparing new spells and not seeing the danger they were in. Gresse swatted one man aside with an overhead to the chest. Beside him, one was cut from his horse and died under a welter of blows. The old Baron spurred his horse, trampled the last man aside and rode for the Shamen. As he raised his sword to strike, they opened their eyes and their fingers crackled with black fire.