Auum nodded, understanding and respect in his gesture. He sheathed his sword and jumped onto the rope.
‘Go, Hirad,’ said Myx.
‘The rope won’t take four.’
‘You have no choice.’
‘You’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you here.’
Myx met his stare. ‘I will not yield. Go. Sol understands. We are one.’
‘You’ll be killed.’
‘We are one!’
Hirad hesitated but Myx had turned away. It felt wrong. This wasn’t necessary. He eyed the rope which flexed and jumped, under the strain of those climbing it. He stepped onto the rim of the basket.
‘The Raven will help you,’ he said. ‘You should come.’
‘No.’
Hirad sliced the rope below him, sheathed his knife and began climbing hard.
‘Pull!’ he yelled. ‘Darrick, make them pull. Myx, come on, you can make it.’
Below Hirad, the world turned blue, a force of air whipping up the shaft bouncing him from side to side. Myx tumbled beneath him like a doll cast carelessly aside, shards of the oak panel a storm about him. Urgent shouts were followed by soldiers clustering under the vent bringing crossbows to bear.
‘Oh shit,’ said Hirad. ‘Pull up, pull up!’
Bolts clattered and bounced in the shaft, one thumping side-on into his boot. He climbed faster, hand over hand, legs driving him upwards. The wound in his chest, pulled and twisted, fresh blood dripping down his body.
At the base of the shaft, the reload was complete but the shots never came. From nowhere, Myx barrelled across his vision, head down, arms wide, sweeping into the bowmen, pushing them away. The sounds of the fight followed but Hirad couldn’t see it because at last, the rope began to rise and he was pulled quickly from sight. He could hear though, and all too soon, the sounds ceased.
Hirad closed his eyes for a moment before turning his head upwards. Fresh air reached his lungs and drops of rain hit his face. He could hear the wind howling across the top of the shaft. It had been calm when they had entered Xetesk and now a storm had begun. It was somehow entirely appropriate.
Chapter 27
Dystran stared up the ventilation shaft, dodging backwards when, predictably, the rope dropped down. They had escaped him for now and the thought made him as angry as he had ever felt. But he couldn’t shake the grudging respect he also felt. They’d escaped from two colleges in the past four days, and he recalled they’d done something similar in Dordover when recovering a Dawnthief catalyst from the crypts there a few years back.
‘Extraordinary,’ he said quietly. ‘Quite extraordinary.’
He wanted to shout, lash out, anything to ease his frustration. Uncharacteristically, he chose not to. Turning and looking at the men around him he saw fear, shock and relief. He saw trepidation too. He knew they were anxious about his reaction. They expected him to blame them. He found he could not.
Down at his feet, Myx lay dead. He’d known the Protector for a decade and had never seen his face until now. A man. How easy it had been to ignore that fact. He looked peaceful in death, his face relaxed, his eyes closed and the red marks fading from his face.
Part of Dystran feared the passing of the Protectors. Something of Xetesk’s invincibility went with them into history. He knew the political will to reinstitute the order wouldn’t exist and that he was weakened because of it.
He shook his head and took a last look up the shaft. How often had he heard that you should never underestimate The Raven? He should have listened. He blinked away the dust that was falling, dislodged by foot and rope. They were outside the city but not outside his control. Not completely, and not if he acted quickly and decisively enough.
There was so much to organise, so much to do. The war had taken a turn against Xetesk. His hand was about to be forced. Fortunately, it was a strong one. He turned back to his men.
‘Let’s get out of here. Any of you who feel able to help clean up this mess our friends have created gather in the dome when you’ve had a stiff drink. Suarav will organise you. Any who don’t, stand yourselves down until dawn.’
‘My Lord,’ came the response.
‘My Lord?’
Dystran faced the soldier, he didn’t know his name.
‘Speak.’
‘We will get them, won’t we? We’ve lost so many friends tonight.’
Dystran smiled sadly. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ll do everything in my power to catch them. They’ve hurt us and I’m sorry for those of you who have lost friends. Tonight, we assumed no one could get in and get out and we were wrong. It’s a hard lesson, isn’t it? We can stand here and say we had no luck in catching them but The Raven would consider there was no luck involved. We have to accept that they may be right. Come on, I’ll show you the way out.’
Ark stood in the warm air of the early morning. He couldn’t sleep. He thought perhaps he never would again. Herendeneth was quiet once more but everything had changed.
He felt the air playing over his face and couldn’t resist the temptation to touch his skin. It itched where the mask had rubbed and the soothing balms worked to stop infection. He traced the contours of his features, fascinated. The freedom to stand in the open and let the night see him was so alien and he couldn’t shake the thought that he would be struck down for experiencing it.
He wished the sensation was something he could enjoy. But the only enjoyment he had ever derived had been in sharing his consciousness with his brothers in the Soul Tank. That had gone forever. His soul was within him now. It had been the prayer answered but the price was a loss that dragged at the heart and left loneliness untamed in the mind.
Freedom to be as other men. He wondered what he would do with it and, for the thousandth time, sought contact with his brothers, only to find silence. He turned. Four stood behind him, hair blowing in the warm breeze, dark clothes and armour at odds with their unmasked faces. Faces that mirrored his confusion.
‘We have work, my brothers,’ he said.
They nodded. ‘We are one,’ they said.
They followed him back to the house. It stood stark against the deep of the night. The dragon, Sha-Kaan still sat on the torn roof, his great body still, his head inside, close to the surviving Al-Drechar. None came near her bar her elven servants.
They walked the corridors to the private rooms where blood had so recently been spilt. The dragon’s eyes bade them approach. He knew their minds and their desires.
‘I will accept only peace,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘There will be no more threat to Cleress or the family of Sol.’
The voice from the cavernous mouth brooked no dissension. He had killed to protect them already. He would not hesitate to do so again.
‘We will stand with you,’ said Ark. ‘We are one.’
‘I know your loss,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘But your gain is greater. Your brothers in my land enjoyed their freedom.’
‘Cil,’ breathed Ark, invoking the name of another who, like Sol, lived beyond the Soul Tank but was thought lost.
‘Yes,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘He is one of three.’ He was silent for a moment though his breath like a roaring fire filled the space. ‘There remain on this island those that would threaten me,’ he said. ‘Together, they are powerful.’
Axes snapped from back clasps.
‘We understand,’ said Ark. ‘They are no longer our masters.’
Removal of threat. It was what Protectors did best.
The storm across Xetesk had brought strong winds and driving rain but the air smelled fresh and vibrant after the confines of the catacombs. For long glorious moments, Hirad hadn’t cared where they were. He had lain flat on the muddy ground, heaving in air untainted with the stench of death while rain washed over his aching body, pattering on his face and sluicing blood from his armour.