On the ground, those Wesmen who hadn’t reacted instantly were cut to pieces in moments. In front of them, the Xeteskian shield over the defenders bucked and twisted, its mages driven to their knees by the effort to keep it together.
Sharyr exhorted his mages to maintain their focus. Below them, their casting was scything the tower apart, shredding its stone, sending lethal fragments to every point of the compass. He fought the forces channelling through his mind, kept the polarity of the seeker pulse firm. It was he and his team who were responsible for reversing the flow when the time came.
But the drain on the alignment team was greater than any of them had imagined. The discs were further out of control with every heartbeat, crashing into one another and increasing their impacts on the column, which bulged under the pressure. And though the tower wasn’t down, Sharyr felt he had no choice but to order the disconnection of the spell. He was the blink of an eye too late.
At the base of the column, multiple discs collided and scattered into its sides, threshing it with enough force to break the shape. Tattered in an instant, the base of the column was flayed apart. Wisps of mana clung to order for a few moments and were engulfed again in the mass. The sides of the column rippled and ripped upwards, chasing back towards the hole into space.
And spewing out unconfined, came the discs. Along a front hundreds of feet wide, they gouged into Xetesk’s walls and buildings or collided in mid-air to scream away back into the city.
One plunged into his mage team, chopping two men down. The other mages lost their concentration. The column vanished completely and Sharyr clung desperately to the seeker pulse, feeling its power weaken.
‘Reverse!’ he shouted. ‘Reverse!’
He tried to ignore everything around him. The wails of dying men on the walls and right by his side. The clouds of dust billowing into the night sky. The unfettered discs of pure cobalt brutality destroying the walls.
Dragging in everything he had left, Sharyr forced his will on the seeker pulse, switching its polarity. ‘Push,’ he gasped. ‘Damn you, push.’
The building shook. Dimly, he heard a deep rumbling. The dust was in his nose and mouth and had forced itself into his eyes. He could feel the irritation and the tears but had to ignore them. He pushed against the tide of inter-dimensional energy, those that remained with him taking his lead. Around them, the storm continued. Next to the tower, the parapet collapsed, spilling Wesmen seventy feet to the streets. A series of detonations sounded. The discs had bulged into huge, harsh teardrops and they poured into the walls, the street, the tower and buildings all around. Only luck was keeping Sharyr and his team alive.
Sharyr gathered himself again, feeling the seeker pulse finally move under his control. ‘Got you.’
Quickly, the movement gained momentum. Sharyr and the remains of his team pressed. The pulse whipped up into the night sky. Ahead of it, the teardrops lost their strength, unable to fight against the opposing force. Up to and through the hole went the pulse. And the tear itself, without the energy flowing through it and with no spell keeping it open, shut hard.
Sharyr had no strength in his legs. He sagged to his knees, staring at the point in the night sky where the tear had been. It glittered blue. He frowned.
‘Someone check that,’ he said, gesturing upwards. ‘That isn’t right.’
He became aware that the silence following the end of the spell had given way to a growing tumult of voices and action. He dragged himself back to his feet and walked unsteadily towards the edge of the building to see what he had wrought in the name of Xetesk and its Lord of the Mount.
His heart chilled at what he saw through the clouds of dust and smoke blowing all around him. Bodies lay everywhere, few moving and many burning. Around them, Xeteskian soldiers hurried to fulfil Chandyr’s barked orders. In front of him, the target tower was gone, rubble was all that remained. It had taken with it the parapets to either side. Stone had fallen clear across the street to destroy other buildings.
But there was far, far worse and the reason for Chandyr’s urgent shouts became all too clear. And all Sharyr could do now was watch.
Truly the Spirits kept Tessaya alive for a greater purpose. The great purpose. That much was evident now. He had been blown from his feet when the first screaming lights from the sky had struck. Catapulted out of the tower doorway to sprawl in shadow under the parapet.
He had watched the Xeteskians’ spell break their own walls and kill their own men even as it took brave warriors to the glory of death in battle. But he had once again been spared.
He had heard the crack of the failing walkway above him and scrambled to safety in a doorway while chaos descended. Mute, he had seen it collapse with the deaths of so many. He had seen the tower shiver and slide to the ground. He knew he shouldn’t smile as the smoke and dust cleared in front of him. Indeed Riasu was surely among those dead. But in their attempts to break the Wesmen spirit, they had sealed their own dooms.
The walls of Xetesk were breached.
Chapter 4
His head fuzzy with the after-effects of too much red wine, Hirad led The Raven from the college and city of Julatsa with the sun climbing high into a beautiful, clear spring sky.
He had made his peace with Ilkar. His anger at his friend’s death was much diminished. It was time to move on and, despite the knowledge of their immediate destination, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to move on to.
One thing he felt well able to do, though, was put as much distance between himself and the war as was physically possible. The Raven felt the same way, a feeling shared by many in Julatsa. But not all had their choice. Almost all of the elves were staying on for the time being. The threat from outside, though not as potent, was still present. And with the mage strength that much greater and the Heart beating strong once more, there was much restorative work that could now be done.
Some, though, had to return to Calaius. It was as he had surmised sitting on the steps of the college refectory the night before. Rebraal to gather together the remnants of the Al-Arynaar; and Auum to tackle the enormous task of rebuilding the TaiGethen order. With him went Duele and Evunn, ever his shadows. To complete the odd assortment came the one ClawBound pair to survive Balaia. They yearned for the touch of the rainforest and the calls of their kind. No one invited them to travel south. No one questioned them either. Hirad was just glad to have them nearby.
Their route to Blackthorne and thence to the Bay of Gyernath to await the Calaian Sun was of necessity going to be, initially at least, circuitous. They had decided to travel due east for a day and a half before turning south. Even then, they would have to travel carefully through the forests, what was left of them, and low hills that made up the eastern border of the mage lands. Darrick considered that even though the focus of aggression would once again fall on Xetesk, Dordovan patrols would be looking for The Raven, and Erienne in particular. And they might well be backed by Lysternan forces. Once beyond the mage lands south, they would be able to breathe more easily but that was days away.
Hirad shook his head. The Raven, hunted by those they had fought so long to save. At least ordinary Balaians would still hold them in high regard, those that even knew who they were. He let a smile cross his face. Their fame was countrywide and no doubt embellished in story and verse in places they had never even been. But he wondered how many actually knew what they looked like.
It was a question that would be put to the test later in the day. Darrick knew of a hamlet that they should reach by late afternoon or early evening. A comfortable place to sleep and the chance to buy supplies before ten days in the open was an attractive prospect. They had taken very little from Julatsa. The Gods knew the city was struggling even to feed its own people let alone groups of ex-mercenaries.