Chapter 20
‘It really is the only way,’ said Dystran.
‘Then why do I feel like I am the lowest form of life in this city?’ said Denser.
‘Feeling sorry for yourself won’t help you.’
‘It seems a good place to start, all right?’
Denser walked out onto the highest balcony of his tower. It afforded him unsurpassed views of his college, his city and beyond. It showed him the few remaining dead scattered about his city being rounded up and escorted to their desolate quarter of Xetesk. Easy enough to do. For the ones that weren’t displaying the manner of their deaths like a badge, all that was needed was to shine a lantern on them and their shadow gave them away. No hiding place. No exceptions. Well, one.
‘But you can feel the tension lifting, can’t you?’
And he could. It was quite something. With his guards erecting barricades across all exits from the area of parkland and abandoned homes in which the dead were effectively corralled, the living were regaining control of their city. Already, they were beginning to gather in the college courtyard, on the apron outside the college’s south gate and anywhere on the approaches. Denser was due to address them from the tower.
Denser turned. The exception, Septern, was at his shoulder. On the table behind them the master mage had overlaid a ward grid on a map of the city. It was a true work of art both aesthetically and technically.
‘You had to do something,’ added Dystran. ‘The dead were dividing us just by their presence and the more dangerous souls were sowing rotten seed. Feel the mood of the city when our defence is organised. Think of the support when you remind them that hundreds and hundreds of mouths to be fed are gone. Never underestimate the greed of the individual desperate to survive.’
‘I certainly won’t do that,’ said Denser.
Out in the city his mages were laying wards in locations matching Septern’s exact specifications. Beyond the gates the horizon was obscured from north to south by the Garonin’s expanding cloud of dust and burned mana. Korina was the only other major city still standing and was not as yet under concerted threat; it was as though the capital was being left until last.
What Denser really needed to know was when the new Garonin machine would achieve its critical mass and head back towards Xetesk. He had scouts tracking it and mages ready to fly in with any news. So far though, the Garonin were content to amble along in a seemingly random pattern about four days out. It was a hiatus that would not last for long.
More dead were moving along The Thread. Hirad, Ilkar and Sirendor were with them. He had acquiesced and let them say their goodbyes to Diera and her boys but had refused them leave to see Sol. At least they were causing no trouble. He bit his lip and swallowed a lump in his throat.
‘They were fine people when they were alive,’ said Dystran. ‘But something changed in them when they died. The manner of their deaths, the places they died. Something. They are different. Not The Raven you remember. Don’t be beguiled into remembering what you saw as your friends. They stopped being that the day they died.’
‘What do you think, Septern?’
‘If death changed me, then I do not remember my old life. But I care not for loyalties and guilt. Both are wastes of effort. I only care whether my grid will work. Let me take you through it.’
Denser moved to the table. Septern was right. And he was different from every other dead person that Denser had met. Completely consumed by himself and what he could do for magic on Balaia. Just like the stories about him when he was alive. And Hirad had been different from his old self, hadn’t he? The old Hirad would have wanted to fight to the bitter end. Save his country and all that. It was not and never had been his way to run from his enemies.
‘I’d better be right about this,’ Denser said.
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Septern.
‘Nothing. Let’s look at your plan.’
The three men leaned over the map and its overlay. The city was picked out building by building, street by street. On top Septern had indicated the position of every ward, and had added a symbol as code for its exact construction, direction, exclusions and power. Each ward was connected to others by lines either dotted or solid. He had drawn arrows to indicate things like mana flow, energy spill and trigger direction.
‘The beauty of this is its simplicity and its perfect logic. As with all my finest creations.’
Denser smiled at him. ‘You haven’t lost your modesty, I see.’
‘What use have I for modesty? I suspect I still am the greatest mage ever to walk any dimension in this or any other cluster. And cut off in my prime too. Betrayed by my own students, agents of the Wytch Lords would you believe?’
‘Yes, but we got the Wytch Lords,’ said Denser. ‘I cast Dawnthief to destroy them.’
Septern choked on his next words and pulled back from the map. He grabbed Denser’s shoulders and turned him round.
‘You cast it? What were you, crazed? That spell was never intended to actually be used. It was a theoretical demonstration.’ Septern spluttered a little more then waved a dismissive hand. ‘But clearly you got it wrong or else none of us would be here, would we? This place would be a vacuum.’
Denser bridled. ‘I didn’t get it wrong, thank you very much. I adapted it. Luckily you left enough room in the lore for Dawnthief to be cast at less than its complete power using an altered structure. So it destroyed the Wytch Lords and left us, well, nearly intact.’
‘Nearly?’
‘There were . . . consequences. Side effects.’
Septern shook his head. His eyes were twinkling and there was a smile on his face. ‘Fascinating. So tell me. What did it feel like to actually cast?’
‘Painful, if I remember rightly. I stopped breathing for a while, I know that.’
Septern looked crestfallen. ‘Not engorged with power or elated or something like that?’
‘Possibly, but the pain blotted it all out.’
Dystran cleared his throat. ‘Much as I would love to hear more, can it wait until later? We need this working and understood or the Garonin will do to us what Dawnthief didn’t.’
Septern chuckled. ‘It is turning into quite a day. We must dine together, Denser.’
‘I think that is a very good idea. So. The grid.’
‘Yes. Now, when I was constructing the grid for my own house, a somewhat smaller task I admit though the principles are the same, I was concerned to build outer deterrents followed by inner cells designed to kill everything that ignored the first warnings.
‘Here I’ve dispensed with the deterrents as I think they will be of little value. I’ve concentrated on feeder cell formation and causing maximum damage when a given ward is tripped.’
Denser may not have felt elation when he cast Dawnthief, nor when he was throwing his old friends out of the college to face the Garonin. But he felt it now, listening to the man whose genius remained, as he had guessed, unsurpassed.
‘So, to illustrate. Take this cell here.’ Septern circled a group of about fifty wards positioned by one of the outer grain stores and covering some of the south-eastern streets leading onto The Thread. ‘Now, all the wards will be active when the enemy move into the area but only one has a physical trigger. This one here.’
He pointed at a central ward at the head of the grain store where the Garonin would have to pass if they were to access any of the surrounding streets.
‘When this ward is triggered it dominoes mana through every second ward in this cell and they all go off simultaneously. HellFire, FireGlobe, FlameOrb, EarthHammer. I don’t know your fancy new names and I care less about them. The area is deluged in flame and levelled by earth movements in less time than it takes me to drain a glass of wine.