Kard and his Captains yelled orders, soldiers and men raced to the gates which were hauled open and, first into the streets of Julatsa, The Raven, with Denser, eyes magically augmented, flying above and ahead of the runners. Behind them came a force of six hundred soldiers and city men at arms plus thirty defensive mages. North would go around four hundred swordsmen plus twenty mages, leaving the College temporarily undefended by steel but not by magic.
During the days of the DemonShroud, Senedai had stood down the force that had originally completely encircled the College walls, presumably dispersing them through the far more luxurious surroundings of his captured buildings. However, a circle of guard-points still closed all routes from the cobbled ring that ran around the outside of the College walls where they intersected the first city buildings and it was here that the first strike would be made.
Hirad led The Raven across the cobbled ring, towards the main street that led to the industrial quarter. Wesmen guards in front of them yelled warnings and drew weapons, cries were taken up in a dozen places but the tide of Julatsans was about to sweep away the first flimsy line of defence.
‘Raven!’ roared Hirad. ‘Raven with me!’ He sprinted forward, The Unknown just to his left, Ilkar immediately behind them.
‘Shield up,’ said the elf. ‘Hold your casting, Erienne.’
‘Holding.’
Four Wesmen stood in their way, their expressions ranging from uncertainty to incomprehension at the force coming at them. Hirad ran in, sweeping his sword through, chest-high. His target leapt backwards, hanging out his axe in a feeble attempt at a block that The Raven man knocked aside, butting the man in the face and smashing his nose. The Unknown went one better, his sword breaking the weapon of his victim on its way to lodge deep in the Wesman’s shoulder. Hirad could hear the bones splintering.
With one man clutching at his face, Hirad sliced his sword up and right, taking the next man across the stomach as he raised his axe to strike, and finishing him with a stab to the heart. He reversed his blade and chopped it across the neck of the man he’d head-butted while The Unknown lashed a haymaking punch into the midriff of the fourth before stabbing him in the throat.
Denser landed behind them. ‘Your first left is an alleyway. Take it and then the first right. It’s quiet there for now but the Wesmen are waking. We need to hurry. Erienne are you all right?’ She nodded and pointed to her head where she held the mana shape for HotRain. Denser took off again and The Raven ran on, leaving the Julatsans to clear their path back.
Hirad grabbed a branch from a fire and took off down the narrow alleyway, the flickering cast by the makeshift torch just enough to ward off the worst of the shadows. Behind them he could hear the shouts of waking Wesmen, the sounding of alarms and the clashing of steel as Julatsan warriors joined battle with those who had taken their city. Detonations sounded, muffled by the blank walls of the alleyway that led them away from the main street, the light of FlameOrbs and the muted glitter of HotRain casting brief luminescence in the sky.
Turning down the next alley, a slightly wider paved street, Hirad could see Denser flitting ahead. He banked sharply right and dived low, storming back towards the rest of The Raven, landing in front of Hirad, who pulled up sharply.
‘This is easier than I thought. The grain store is just to the end of this alley and across a wide square. It’s guarded and there’s light in every window of every building now the alarm has spread but any Wesman running is running for the College. If we’re quick, we can—’
Above the ascending din of battle and the crump of spells hitting buildings and men, a howl pierced the night. It was long and full of anger and sorrow, tailing off into a keening wail and a bark that echoed out. For a split second, Julatsa was silent then battle was joined again.
‘Shield down,’ said Ilkar. ‘What in all the hells was that?’
‘Dear Gods,’ said Erienne who had clearly lost her mana shape. ‘It was Thraun.’
‘Will,’ said The Unknown. ‘Poor Will.’
Another howl split the air.
‘What will he do? Thraun, I mean?’ asked Ilkar.
‘I don’t know,’ said Erienne. ‘But I think we’d better get back as quickly as we can. If he’ll listen to anyone, he’ll listen to us.’
‘But we have to get these prisoners out first. Right,’ said Hirad, looking to where Denser stood, his wings proud at his back. ‘Erienne, go with Denser if he’ll hold you. Your spells are probably best directed from above us. Ilkar, FlameOrb then sword please; we can’t waste another shield. We’ll deal with Thraun and see to Will’s Vigil later.’ His mind, clouded briefly by the loss of another Raven warrior, cleared to deal with their immediate situation. ‘Raven with me.’
A third howl echoed from the walls of the alleyway. Closer this time. The wolf was loose in the streets of Julatsa.
Chapter 24
Dystran cursed and threw the book down at his feet. He leant on the balustrade of the Tower balcony he had assumed from Styliann and prayed hell would visit swift retribution on the former Lord of the Mount.
Knowing Styliann was probably still alive following his usurpation of power in the College, Dystran and his cohorts had known only too well the importance of the Protectors in maintaining that power. And yet, immediately below him, the entire Protector army stood silent, awesome and terrifying, on the carefully tended lawn. Waiting.
At first, Dystran hadn’t believed Styliann and had fallen back into an uneasy sleep. But a frantic knocking at his bedchamber door soon afterwards had led to him scurrying to the study and out on to the balcony where he saw the Protectors issuing from their barracks into the cool breezy night. With unhurried purpose, they had marched into the torchlit night, flickering orange glinting off their masks, their polished leather and the buckles of their boots and clothing.
They had assembled over the course of an hour but Dystran hadn’t watched. Tearing back into the study, he had grabbed the Articles of Stewardship from its place on the shelves by the desk and flicked feverishly through its pages. The Act of Giving was there, plain for him to read. But in his pride and overwhelming sense of achievement and importance at attaining his new position, he just hadn’t bothered to look.
The Lore script concerning the Act was the most modern in the College, written by Styliann and designed to make renunciation a long and complex process. By the time he had studied the text in enough detail, had gathered the Circle Seven and fulfilled the meditation process, eight days would have passed. And so the Articles lay at his feet, an open page fluttering in the gentle night air.
‘We’ve got to stop them,’ he muttered.
‘What do you intend doing?’ asked his senior confidante, an ageing, grey-haired mage named Ranyl.
‘We can WardLock the gates for a start.’ Dystran waved a hand in their direction.
‘And they will merely batter the timbers to splinters,’ said Ranyl. ‘No holding spell is strong enough to keep them all quiet and they will respond to aggression by attacking the source of the order to strike or cast. And that’s you.’ The old mage’s voice was quiet but sure. ‘There are four hundred and seventeen Protectors down there, all with innate magical shielding. I know who I’d back in the fight.’
‘So what can we do?’ Dystran’s voice held a note of desperation.
‘Let them go and rescind the Act of Giving. Or send an assassin to kill Styliann. Those are the only two ways to bring the Protectors into your control.’
Dystran snorted. ‘An assassin? Styliann’s soon going to have five hundred-odd Protectors around him. The whole Wesmen nation would have trouble getting to him.’
Ranyl stooped and picked up the Articles of Stewardship and slapped them into Dystran’s chest.
‘In that case, my Lord, might I humbly suggest that you get reading?’