Yet the focus wasn’t there, the power too randomised. To cast now would take The Raven into oblivion along with the Wytch Lords. And though sense told him that was a price that should be paid, he was not prepared to give up. He wanted a channel for Dawnthief’s energy, and in theory he could make one. But with the sounds of fighting filtering into his mind, he was aware he had little time left in which to put his theory into practice.
Hirad’s sword clattered into the undefended side of the Wytch Lord, Arumun. He knew its name, and those of the other five, because the clarion call of fear they had launched at his mind was empowered by the use of the six terrifying identifiers. When Denser had spoken the names, that was all they had seemed. Now, confronting the ancient evil, those names lodged deep in his gut and threatened to take the strength from his limbs.
Arumun howled and fell back, wound gaping, dark fluid oozing. Hirad’s shout of triumph cut off abruptly. The wound healed in moments and Arumun straightened and was pushed upright by those behind him, shaking his head.
‘Gods,’ breathed Hirad. The Wytch Lord stepped forward and whipped out its hand with a speed that almost beat Hirad’s guard. He staggered under its weight.
‘We can’t fight them,’ he said.
‘Yes, we can,’ said The Unknown. ‘All we have to do is keep them back.’ He swung his blade through waist high, connecting with flesh and splintering bone. Belphamun collapsed to the floor. ‘They’re still weak. Let’s keep them that way.’
‘Shield up,’ said Ilkar.
Hirad half froze and looked behind the three Wytch Lords who confronted them. The other three, Ystormun, Pamun and Weyamun, were casting.
‘Let’s take it to them, Raven!’ Standing half a pace behind and to the right of The Unknown Warrior, Hirad blocked another sweep of the hand from Arumun and buried his blade in the Wytch Lord’s chest. The wound was healing before he dragged his sword clear. He glanced along the line.
Belphamun had risen quickly, The Unknown ducked a haymaking punch and chopped at its legs, cracking bone, causing it to stumble. Seizing his chance, he reversed his guard into its face and slashed halfway through its neck. This time, the fall was heavier, the cry of pain more hideous.
‘Shield up. Denser is covered,’ said Erienne.
Giriamun swatted at Will, catching the frightened man on the top of his shoulder. He shouted briefly and crumpled. Thraun bellowed anger and hacked at the flailing arm, shattering the elbow. Giriamun simply came back with the other, fist connecting sharply with the top of Thraun’s skull. The young warrior spun and fell senseless.
‘Damn it,’ rasped The Unknown.
‘Come on, Denser,’ whispered Hirad.
The Wytch Lords’ spells came sudden and violent, pulses of raw light, dark and malevolent, punching into the shields around Denser and the fighting Raven, flaring over their surfaces, fizzing and cracking. They held just long enough. Belphamun rose, his eyes clear evil.
‘Shield down,’ said Ilkar, gasping for breath.
The Unknown and Hirad locked gazes for a heartbeat, the barbarian tired to the base of his being, muscles crying for respite, lungs heaving, heart slamming. He didn’t know how much more he had in him.
‘Do it,’ he said.
The Unknown launched a crazed attack, first dropping to his haunches to hack at Belphamun’s legs, next springing up to chop at the exposed neck, the Wytch Lord following his movements too slowly. To his right, Hirad switched grip, slicing up and left and catching Arumun in the lower jaw, snapping its head back and forcing it off balance. He followed with a reverse sweep which crashed into the following Lord’s face. But the blow from Weyamun came from nowhere.
Belphamun fell but Ystormun and Pamun closed on The Unknown. He swivelled and raised a guard, but as Hirad pitched to the mosaic, he saw the blows fall on the big man. And though he stayed on his feet, it wasn’t enough. The Wytch Lords would cast again.
Hirad scrabbled for his sword and started to get up, pain from his shoulder spiking every movement, his vision clouded, aware he couldn’t leave The Unknown to fight them alone. He half rose but Weyamun punched him down again. The Unknown fell next to him, blood running from his face.
‘Get up, Unknown.’
‘I’m here.’
The two friends sought purchase on each other, pain blossoming where the fall of Wytch Lord fists had bruised muscle and bone. Hirad’s body protested, exhaustion threatening to defeat the drive to stand, legs shaking, feet aching, sword arm on fire. From behind them, Ilkar launched FlameOrbs which struck the centre of the Lords, spilling fire and light, incinerating robes and charring new flesh, which sprouted again and again through the flame. They didn’t pause to damp it down.
Hirad looked up. Six faces wreathed in smoke and firelight loomed over him. Triumphant, exultant, victorious.
‘We live,’ breathed Arumun.
‘Dawnthief.’
The word shattered the moment’s pause.
‘Down! Down!’ yelled Ilkar. Hirad reflexively attempted to rise but The Unknown took his legs from under him and he fell back.
‘NO!’ yelled Arumun, the roar joined by his brothers.
A column of pure dark coursed above his head, wide enough to encapsulate the Wytch Lords crowded in the space outside their burial chamber. It seared into them, punching them from their feet and blasting them into walls, tearing limbs from bodies and ripping flesh from bones which cracked under the extraordinary force. With high-pitched screams and squeals, Belphamun, Arumun and Giriamun were flung back into Pamun, Ystormun and Weyamun, the sextet hammered against the far wall of the burial chamber to hang like huge rag dolls, limbs flailing, heads rolling, eyes ablaze.
A howl like wind driven through a gully grew in volume, hurting ears and setting teeth on edge. Above Hirad, the column of Dawnthief, black, sleek and pure night, whipped his hair across his face. With an effort, he rolled aside, taking a glance at Denser.
The Dark Mage was on his knees, straight-backed, arms outstretched, Dawnthief emanating from the space between his hands. His whole body juddered violently, his arms vibrating, face taut and quivering, mouth wide, hair flying. His eyes were wide open but saw only the dark in front of him. And he was enclosed in a darkening mist which obscured him more with every passing moment. The mist roiled and swirled, feeding into the Dawnthief tract, adding to its energy. Erienne stood at his shoulder, not daring to touch him, the terror on her face matched by the awe in her eyes.
‘Move!’ shouted The Unknown. ‘The black is widening.’
Hirad could barely hear him but caught the import of his gesture and yielded to the tug on his sleeve. The two men scrambled clear and turned to watch the destruction of the Wytch Lords, and it was then that Hirad saw the prone forms of Thraun and Will. Both men were stirring.
‘Stay down!’ roared Hirad, flapping his arms in front of him. ‘Down!’ But they couldn’t hear him above the howl of the spell and the screams of the Wytch Lords who beat at their torment with splintered fists. Thraun picked his head from the floor and shook it, groggily unaware of the death scant inches away.
‘Oh, hell,’ muttered Hirad. He ran forward and dived under the widening diameter of Dawnthief.
Denser’s body was consumed with beautiful power. He could feel it driving through his veins, swelling his muscles and sparking his sinews and tendons, forcing the breath from his lungs. But he had no need of breath. Dawnthief sustained him.
In front of him, the Wytch Lords suffered under the tumult of his casting and he laughed at their pitiful attempts to break its bonds. Trapped like rodents under a monstrous thumb, they struggled, but Dawnthief held them as it always would, driving through their tattered bodies and beating the life out of their new flesh and bones.
And Denser hadn’t played the endgame yet. Hadn’t chosen where he would send the enemy. Hadn’t decided whether or not to let Dawnthief end the world. It would be so easy. In front of him, his arms barely contained the forces of Septern’s spell as it fought to free itself from his control. All he had to do was let his arms open and circle and the blackness would encompass them all.