Dystran watched from his tower while his fury turned to admiration and his arrogance to shame. Down in front of the steps, Tessaya, Chandyr and Suarav fought side by side. The Wesmen lord was indefatigable. His axe in both hands, he chopped an ul-karron in two, shoulder to waist, and had turned to strike at the next before it had directed its pincers to hold him.
Suarav was a man possessed. His head was a mass of blood but he fought like a fresh entrant. His sword snaked out, piercing karron eyes, his dagger weaved in front of him, chopping at pincers. He ducked, twisted and swayed, defying hammer or spike to touch him, and he roared his disdain at them. Put furs on him and you would have sworn he was a Wesman.
And lastly Chandyr. He was the skilled fighter. The one in Ry Darrick’s image. He and three other Xeteskian soldiers fought as a tight quartet, each targeting a separate point in the enemies they faced. Chandyr focused on the killing thrusts while his men blocked pincer and limb with axe and mace. It was mesmerising but ultimately it would be futile. Above the shell, the masters floated, directing their forces in ever more focused attack. Reavers were taking their toll on the back of the lines now, looming out of the gathering darkness to split skulls, rake throats and steal souls. And outside what was left of the walls, ul-karron paced forwards while more of their number spilled from the gap in the sky to glide quickly down on gossamer wings that stowed in folds of flesh as they landed hard.
A single shout of alarm echoed up the tower. It was Chandyr’s voice. Dystran’s gaze snapped round and down. One of his men had taken a spike through his head. He was stuck on the limb and his corpse was thrashed through the air. It swept into another of Chandyr’s men not fast enough to duck. Cruelly exposed, Chandyr bounced to his feet, blocked away a second enemy but, with Tessaya’s axe slicing through the air to his defence, was unable to escape the third. The hammer came down on top of his skull and drove his body to the ground. The ul-karron exulted; and died.
Dystran tensed. ‘All my fault,’ he muttered.
He looked across to his left around the balcony where Pheone and Dila’heth stood. Their mages were already outside the college backed by elven warriors. He had seen spells light up the evening. IceWind and FlameOrb destroying enemies only for more to take their place. No, something more drastic was called for.
Dystran looked right instead. ‘Sharyr, who’s the heavier, me or you?’ Sharyr dragged himself from the fight below. He was living every sweep of Suarav’s sword. ‘You, I think.’
‘I agree. Then I will carry you. Pheone, go and tell the ColdRoom casters to lower the shell to below the level of this balcony. Just for a short time. Dila’heth will tell you when it should be reverted. Sharyr, we’re going flying. I’ll take you places, you kill what’s in front of you. All right?’
A smile spread across Sharyr’s face. ‘Yes, my Lord.’
Pheone was already on her way. Dila’heth raised her eyebrows.
‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ she asked.
‘Never order that which you would not do yourself,’ said Dystran. ‘That’s what Tessaya says, as I understand it. Time to admit he was right, I think. Sharyr, stand in front of me.’
Mana played over his face and imbued his veins with energy. He felt awakened. Free. He cast quickly, the wings at his back in moments. He put an arm under Sharyr’s knees, the other across his back and under his arms, and took off, hearing Dila’heth shouting Pheone’s name as he did so.
‘Time to bring down one of the big bastards,’ he said to Sharyr. ‘You comfortable?’
‘It’ll have to do.’
‘Focused Orb, my friend. I’ll get you in close. Tell me when you’re ready.’
He flew straight up and looked all around him. Even though Sharyr was lighter for the lack of food over two years, he was still a weight in Dystran’s arms for the same reason. They were only going to get one chance at this. He could see no one rising to attack him. It was hardly a surprise. Every demon eye was focused on the battle they were winning in the college courtyard. He circled, picking out the demon master, Drenoul, silhouetted in the light of Wesmen fires below him. Perfect. He wondered why they hadn’t thought of this before but then Tessaya hadn’t been in the college grounds before.
‘Ready.’
‘Cast on my command then we’re away. We’ll drop to the balcony. It’ll hurt but at least we’ll be alive.’
‘You’re in charge.’
‘Correct.’
Clutching Sharyr as tight as he could, Dystran moved almost directly above Drenoul. Still unseen, he dropped, feet first and fast, coming to an abrupt halt next to the demon master.
‘Surprise,’ he said. Drenoul swivelled, eyes widening. He reached out his hands but Dystran was carefully out of reach. ‘Tut, tut,’ he said. ‘Now. Die.’
Sharyr cast. The deep blue focused Orb seared across the short distance and took Drenoul in the face. He screamed and shot straight up, the flame spreading quickly over his body. Dystran was already powering away back towards the tower when Drenoul’s tentacles caught fire and he plunged to the ground, howling all the way.
Chapter 45
‘Over the bridges!’ roared Hirad. ‘Now. Don’t look back.’
He saw them all past him. Outside, the dragons swept by again. Every time, less flame touched the ground and more was expended in mid-air as the reavers took their toll. Demons were slaughtered in sight of the edifice but so many were still advancing. He turned and ran after The Raven. Eilaan had managed a ForceCone and had beaten a few of the survivors of the dragon suicide flight against the left-hand wall. Denser played an IceWind right and forward, taking out some more. The rest of them were sprinting for the bridges and the prize beyond.
Hirad stormed past the still-breathing hulk of a dying dragon and swallowed hard at the scene before him. Across the shimmering light, two figures stood on a raised dais. Their shapes were hard to discern beyond tall and slender, with long arms raised palms upwards towards the sky, because of the light that bathed them, head to foot. They stood thirty or so feet apart and between them spanned an arc of light. And from that arc a canopy of shimmering luminescence flowed out, feeding down into the gap which led back to Balaia.
That they were alive was never in doubt. He could see them shuddering and through the light he thought he saw eyes burning into him but it could have been his mind playing tricks. He ran on and across the nearest bridge. The power roiled and sucked below him, threatening to pluck him from a path only just wider than his shoulders. He fixed his eyes dead ahead and reached for The Unknown’s hand.
He turned, his heart pumping painfully in his chest. His breath came in huge gasps and he felt like dropping to his knees. But instead, he dragged himself around to face the hordes coming after them. Desultory fire played outside the edifice, lighting the demons within in harsh relief. Reavers, too many of them, floating in and joined by more every heartbeat. Ul-karron paced up to the bridges, albinos scampering around them.
‘Kill those fuckers behind us,’ said Hirad. He brought his mace to the ready.
Denser’s spell was quick and sure. A focused Orb lashed out, plunging into one of the demon conduits. There was a flare, then nothing. The reaver advance stopped. The karron ceased their pacing. Denser cast a second Orb. Eilaan followed with IceWind. No effect.
‘What is happening?’ demanded Hirad.
‘We can’t harm them,’ said Denser. ‘Magic won’t do it.’
‘Magic has to,’ said Hirad. ‘It’s the only way.’
‘It must be the One,’ said Auum. ‘The Al-Drechar saw it.’