Rebraal ran at a tight knot of Garonin. There were five of them, back to back and tracking elves with their weapons but not firing. Rebraal grunted satisfaction. They were conserving power, no question about it.
‘Break up and move in,’ said Rebraal. ‘Watch them closely. Those weapons will still have plenty in them. Dila. Drop something on them. Anything.’
Dila’heth stopped running and crouched low to begin casting. Rebraal’s warriors spread out in a wide arc and closed in, keeping low to the ground and moving fast. All around them weapons still fired. Smoke hung thick over the ground and the screams of the wounded haunted the air.
The enemy saw them coming and weapons were brought to bear. Rebraal prayed to Tual to guide the hands of his warriors and deflect those of his enemies. And then Dila’heth’s spell struck. The cone of pure mana rammed into the Garonin. Shielded as they were from many offensive spells, they had little defence against the bludgeoning force Dila sent against them. Three were downed; the other two scrambled left and right to escape a similar fate.
Rebraal sprinted in, calling his warriors to him. They fell on the helpless enemy, leaping to hack and slash at heads and necks. This was close to frenzy and Rebraal did not like the way it felt. He saw the lust in the eyes of some of his warriors. Rebraal stooped to deal a quick killing blow to the last Garonin and stood back.
‘Remember who you are,’ he said. ‘We are Al-Arynaar. Keepers of our faith. Leaders of our people. Fight and fight well.’
He turned to look out over the battlefield. A weapon sounded from close by. Teardrops ripped through a cloud of smoke. He dived left but one caught his right arm, sending him spinning to the ground. His sword fell from his hand and he cried out as a burning pain hit him with nauseating force.
Rebraal clutched his right forearm and brought his hand up to his face where he lay writhing on the ground. His wrist was smashed. The skin was blackened across his hand and down almost to his elbow. He could see gory daylight through the centre of his arm where the teardrop had cut straight through him. The smell of burned flesh clogged his nostrils.
He screamed until the breath left him. And then he dragged in another breath and screamed again. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. A crawling agony that filled his arm and his entire body. He barely felt the comforting hands on him. He could see nothing beyond his ruined limb. A cool palm caressed his forehead and the pain ebbed away.
Rebraal was brought to a sitting position. Dila’heth was in front of him. Behind her, another cone of mana struck the Garonin who had fired, but this time it seemed to slide past him. Yet the adaptation to the spell did not help him. A TaiGethen elf whirled past him, slicing a cut deep into his chest through his shining armour, and a ClawBound panther sprang and tore out his throat.
The valley side was silent but for the breeze blowing the smoke gently away and the cries of those still in pain. Rebraal swallowed and looked at his arm again. He felt sick. The wound, blackened and cauterised, looked even larger than it had the first time. He could not move his fingers and a dull ache was spreading down from his shoulder.
‘Oh Dila,’ he said. ‘Look what they’ve done to me.’
‘You’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘In time. You still have your hand and we can make the nerves regrow. Be strong, Rebraal.’
The Garonin were in full retreat but they had nowhere to go. With the TaiGethen after them, they chose cowardice rather than valour and began to blink out of existence. Dila’heth bent to her task. She whispered words Rebraal could not understand and placed her hand around his wrist.
A moment’s intense heat was washed away by a freezing cold that penetrated the wound and spread up his arm, numbing all sensation. Rebraal watched while the blackened, burned skin began to pale at his elbow and recede downwards towards the centre of the wound, turning to a healthy tone.
When he looked back up at her, Dila was done, and the slump in her shoulders and the sweat on her brow told of her efforts. Rebraal could still see the wound clearly enough. It was red raw and the ache was spreading in again. But he had some movement in his hand now.
‘It will need bandaging and cleaning. I can do no more. It will heal completely, given time.’
Rebraal rose to his feet and reached out for Dila to help her up. He pulled her into an embrace.
‘Tual will reward you every day for all that you have ever done in his service,’ he said. ‘Walk with me. I will support you.’
But there was to be nowhere to go. A flat harsh sound echoed from the mountains, pressing on the ears. The Garonin attack had been a mere prelude. From within the clouds vydospheres descended gracefully. Four of them in the valley. Rebraal stared back towards the beach and the open sea. He could count another five, hanging above the last remnants of the elven race and waiting to pounce.
Garonin soldiers appeared in their hundreds and thousands. High on the peaks and on both sides of the valley. Elves began to move back down to the centre of the path. TaiGethen and ClawBound set up a perimeter and waited for the attack, yet none appeared imminent.
‘They have us,’ said Rebraal. ‘They must have been tracking us all along.’
‘Why don’t they attack? Why are they waiting?’
‘I really have no idea,’ said Rebraal.
‘What can we do?’
‘At the moment, nothing. They have the numbers to slaughter us before we get close to them. Until the TaiGethen report a weakness, we can do nothing but sit and wait.’
‘For what?’
Rebraal looked at her and shrugged. ‘The end.’
‘Father, you have to make him listen to me,’ said Jonas. ‘Please, there isn’t much time.’
‘Jonas, we hear you,’ said Densyr. ‘But we have to get out of this tower.’
‘But you aren’t listening.’
‘Jonas!’ snapped Sol. ‘Wait. Let me deal with it.’
Dystran and Densyr were standing over Septern.
‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ said Ilkar.
Densyr nodded. ‘A true hero. He saved all of us.’
‘Forget the pathos,’ said Sol. ‘Now we have to find another who can perform the ritual. And we won’t do so standing up here in this teetering edifice.’
Densyr straightened. ‘You cannot seriously be thinking of going through with your suicide on behalf of the dead? There’s no need. We’ve won.’
‘It is a small victory in a war you will still lose,’ said Auum. ‘You should be listening to Jonas.’
Densyr tensed and bit down on a retort. Instead, he took a moment to calm himself.
‘I am listening. But do you not agree that whether the Garonin are gone or merely pausing for breath, we need to get down from this tower with anyone who can stand the trip.’
‘Not entirely,’ said Dystran, his voice a little distant. ‘Right now I am holding the grid from feeding back, just like before. One of us has to stay here until the other reaches the catacombs and can organise a team to dismantle the grid piece by piece.’
Sol spread his hands. ‘Fine. You two sort it out amongst yourselves. But the rest of us need to go. This structure is plainly unsafe. And we need to hear from my son about why it isn’t over.’
‘And where exactly do you think you’ll be going?’ asked Densyr.
He checked with Dystran that he was acting as buffer safely and rose to face Sol.
‘Where I should have gone long before you interfered. I should have listened to Hirad from the start.’
‘I shouldn’t have to remind you that you are the King of Balaia whether you like it or not and we have just scored a huge victory. What signal does you running west send out, do you think?’