‘All right,’ said Ilkar. ‘And then we’d better wake the others and put our heads together and think of a way to get out of here.’
‘How’s the battle going?’ asked Erienne. All three of them became aware again of the noises outside.
‘Exactly as you might expect. The Wesmen are making thrusts towards the walls but are being knocked back by arrows and spells. Their catapult rounds are being held off the walls by our shields and they aren’t really trying to get them over and into the College proper. They know what they’re doing and so do we but there’s nothing we can do about it. They’ll wear the mages down and they know it. And then they’ll mount a serious offensive and eventually take us.’ Ilkar’s face was impassive but Denser knew the turmoil he’d be feeling inside. Not only was he witnessing the probable sacking of his College, he also knew he’d be forced to leave before it fell.
‘And the Dordovans?’ asked Denser.
‘Well, clearly they represent our only real chance. Estimates are they’ll reach us sometime tomorrow morning but it’s critical they attack in the right place. That may also present us with our best opportunity of getting away from here unscathed.’ Ilkar paused and scratched his head. ‘Anyway, I’m going back to the Heart. Erienne, any news on Thraun?’
‘He’s woken once but is sleeping again. Physically, he’s just tired. Emotionally, who knows?’
‘Keep me posted, will you?’ He turned to go. ‘See you a little later.’
Denser watched the door close behind him. ‘I’m going to rest, love. I’ll commune after dark.’ He leaned forward and kissed her. ‘Don’t forget to replenish yourself. We need you.’
Erienne reached up and ruffled his hair. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine on a night’s sleep. But you be careful. Communion with Styliann is dangerous.’
Barras stood with the Council on the north walls of the College as he had done for much of the day, safe under a static HardShield and on ramparts secured by binding spells against the threat of catapult and battering ram. Even though the Wesmen hadn’t laid one hand on the walls, he watched the progress of the battle with an increasing sense of hopelessness.
The day had started with an outrage, the Wesmen dousing the Julatsan dead with oil flung from heavy crossbow and light catapult and setting the corpses on fire with flaming arrows.
With pallid skin and clothing tinder-dry, the bodies caught and burned quickly, removing from their loved ones the chance to honour and dignify them in death. And even as the choking, vile grey-black smoke boiled up the walls, sending ash and soot to cloud the early morning sky all around the College, the Wesmen had mounted their first attack under cover of the dreadful fog they’d created.
Though a predictable move, it was nonetheless the most difficult of the day to repel. From a breathable distance away from the choking, blinding smoke, mages blanketed the area outside the walls with FlameOrb, HotRain, and DeathHail. Forced to Spell-Shield the walls themselves against the inevitable inaccuracy and flashback, it was an expensive and wasteful barrage, called to a halt only when cloth-masked soldiers signalled Wesmen retreat.
And thus, as the smoke cleared, was the tone set for the day. Sporadic but sustained attack on any of two dozen points around the walls. Never enough to mount a serious threat to the integrity of the walls but enough to force continued spell deployment. Senedai knew what he was doing and he kept his own casualties at a minimum while he did it.
Had Barras heard Ilkar’s swift assessment of the siege, he would have agreed with every succinct point. The Wesmen had time, or thought they did, and the Julatsans would tire eventually just like they had on the city borders. And one break was all the Wesmen really needed.
Barras rubbed at his eyes. Unusually for Wesmen, he was certain they would attack all night, probably with greater ferocity, forcing more mages and soldiers to remain on the walls while keeping those stood down from true rest. And all who stood guard faced the morale-sapping enormity of it all.
In the relative calm of the courtyard’s edges and even ascending the steps to the ramparts, it was possible to detach oneself from the reality of the siege. But first view changed all that. Because, standing out of spell range in the rubble of the buildings they had demolished to make their muster areas, stood the Wesmen. Thousands upon thousands of them. Waiting. Sometimes quiet, sometimes roaring their songs of victory and hate or just chanting and taunting, voices echoing harshly off the college walls.
They were a rippling sea, waiting for the storm to whip them into a tidal wave. They were locusts, poised to strip the ripe fields.
And yet they still feared the magic. It made them cautious, just as before. It was Barras’ only solace. Had they not been so, surely the first attack would have proved enough. But Senedai had not committed enough of his armies.
As a result, the Julatsans, though temporarily relieved, had to beat off jab after jab, forever weakening ever so slightly while they were forced to watch the rape and destruction of their city. Fires burned in dozens of places. The sound of falling rubble and collapsing timbers filled the air when the Wesmen’s voices did not, adding to the dead weight on the shoulders of every man, woman and child who heard or saw.
There was no way out but still Barras kindled the faintest hope. The Raven were inside the College, however temporarily, while outside—
‘When will the Dordovans arrive?’ he asked of Seldane who had recently returned from Communion.
‘Their progress is slow,’ she said. ‘There are Wesmen scouting and raiding parties all over the place, now they think the fight is nearly done. They’ve been forced into the woods three hours away. If they can make up the ground overnight, they’ll attack just after dawn. If not, well your guess is as good as mine.’
‘I must remember to wake early,’ said Kerela.
‘What’s your latest assessment of our magical strength?’ asked General Kard. He had stood with the Council between tours of the walls with one or other of them throughout the day. Kerela nodded for Vilif to speak.
The ancient, stooped and hairless secretary to the Council raised his eyebrows. ‘Not good,’ he said. ‘Not good at all. HotRain and FlameOrb, while effective, are draining over these distances and repetitions. Assuming a similar intensity of attack throughout the night, I should think we’d be largely exhausted by mid-afternoon tomorrow. And then, my dear friend, we will all be in your very capable hands.’
Night had fallen on Julatsa but, as expected, many of the Wesmen had not stood down. Still, the catapult rounds thudded against shielded walls or dropped sporadically beyond, causing occasional damage to buildings and those foolish enough to loiter in the open.
Denser, tired and yawning, sat by Erienne in the bare Tower chamber. Erienne had just completed Communion with Pheone who had joined the Dordovan force. Conversely, feeling fresh and eager, Hirad and The Unknown demolished plates of meat and vegetables and were planning to spar for an hour or two before resting with The Raven until near dawn. Thraun still slept.
‘We could go on searching for days,’ said Ilkar. ‘But I don’t think we’d turn up much more here. We’ve found some vital detail but the prize is in Xetesk and there’s no point pretending otherwise.’ He felt angry that Styliann had stolen a march on them but somehow was not surprised.
‘To be honest, it may be a blessing,’ said The Unknown. He took a long swallow of ale and wiped his hand across his mouth. ‘We’ve all identified that the diversion the Dordovans will cause is our best chance of getting out. Not only that, if they don’t manage to break the siege, this College will eventually fall and, sorry Ilkar, but what we’re doing can’t be interrupted to help save it.’
‘I know,’ said Ilkar. ‘We all know. We are prepared.’ There was a brief silence.
‘We have to brief Kard and the Council,’ said The Unknown. ‘We need horses, supplies, someone to open the North Gate at the right moment and, if we can get it, back-up to punch through the line.’