He was a large man, heavy-set, with an untidy black beard and close eyes. He ran in, swinging his axe through chest high. Selyn simply ducked the blow and came up fast, taking him clean through the stomach. He grunted and fell sideways and backwards, clutching at his wound, blood pouring through his fingers.
A moment’s shocked quiet was shattered by a roar as the mass ran forward. She snatched a dagger from her boot. They were on her quickly, a mêlée of furs, steel and fists.
The first Wesmen died with the dagger through his heart. Another took a cut to his thigh, but then they had her hands. The sword was knocked from her grasp as she struggled to free herself. She was pushed back against the wall; swords and daggers were drawn. One of them dragged the hood from her head and face.
Another pause in surprise at what they had uncovered. The sounds of approval chilled her to the bone, but when the grips on her arms loosened instinctively, she reacted on the instant, turning her wrists and releasing the bolts. One man was taken under the chin, the other bolt glanced off a head and away. Both men fell back, but there were so many others.
They dragged her to the ground, yells of animal pleasure filling the air as the clothes were cut and torn from her body. Hands pawed her, scratched and clawed her, blood oozed from a dozen cuts. She squirmed and fought, keeping a determined silence as they pinned her down, spread-eagled naked and terrified.
A single voice shouted a command and the mob quietened and parted, admitting a Shaman. He was middle-aged, clad in heavy cloth and with his greying hair tied in a ponytail at his neck. Selyn’s terror stilled, replaced by the calm of certainty, and she gathered herself to stare him square in the eye.
‘Well, well, well, my pretty,’ said the Shaman, loosening his belt and kneeling between her legs. ‘Perhaps death won’t come quickly enough for you.’
The rape was brutal. He thrust hard inside her, his hands gouging at her sides and breasts. She winced as he pushed up, a cheer rising from the watching crowd. She closed her mind to the humiliation and the pain and picked her head up to catch his gaze a second time.
‘They will have to cut me in half to release you,’ she said. She bit down hard on her back tooth and convulsed. ‘Goodbye, my love,’ she whispered. The nerve toxin from the broken tooth cap acted instantly, every muscle in her body contracting with extraordinary violence. The last sounds she heard as the mana pulse fled eastwards were the screams of the Shaman.
Chapter 26
Styliann’s cry of pain and fury could be heard clear across Triverne Lake. Selyn’s dying mana pulse struck him like a stake through the eye. It took six men to restrain him and two spells to sedate him, and even as he slept, the tears rolled down his face and the fire burned in his cheeks. When he awoke, the light had gone from his eyes and he strode to the Marquee, time suddenly precious.
The chairs were back, arranged in a shallow crescent on one side of the trestle, which was now clothed, candled and decked with food and wine. Styliann took his place next to Barras in the centre chairs. Vuldaroq to Barras’s left, Heryst next to Styliann. And on the other side of the trestle, The Raven. On a bench drawn up to the table sat Denser, Ilkar and Hirad, with The Unknown standing in close attendance of the Dark Mage. Behind them, sitting on cushions and chairs, and invited principally as observers, were Will, Thraun, Jandyr and Erienne.
There was no set agenda. A day ago, this meeting would have been unthinkable. But it was a measure of the deterioration of the situation to the east of the Blackthorne Mountains and Understone Pass that The Raven had agreed to submit to a discussion about their next move.
Hirad sat forward, leaning on his elbows, hands supporting his chin. Denser had adopted a more relaxed posture, while Ilkar sat stiffly upright, in awe of the seniority of the mages opposite him.
Styliann, his eyes dark, his hands constantly wringing, spoke in a monotone as he informed them of the decision to help them through Understone Pass, though he wouldn’t be drawn in their company as to the magic that would be employed to retake the pass. Denser looked closely at him, tried to probe the periphery of his emotions with his mind. The Lord of the Mount sensed him, shot him a glance full of anguish.
‘They have taken Selyn from me,’ he said. ‘They will suffer.’
‘I am sorry, my Lord.’
Styliann nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Now, tell me of your plans when you reach the other side of the pass.’
‘No,’ said Hirad.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Vuldaroq spluttered. All the delegates had tensed.
‘Some tact, please, Hirad.’ Ilkar sounded suddenly strained. ‘What he is trying to say is that—’
‘We aren’t telling you anything because for one, you don’t need to know and that makes us all safer, and for another, we don’t know ourselves until we get close enough to see what we’re up against. Once we get through the pass, we’ll head for the Wrethsires, as you know. After that, we’ll be on our way to the Torn Wastes.’ Hirad poured himself a goblet of wine. ‘What can I say? We’ll be in touch.’
There was silence around the table. The delegation’s was down to sheer disbelief, The Raven’s due to trepidation. Only Hirad seemed unaffected.
‘What?’ He spread his hands and looked at his friends. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘The problem, Hirad Coldheart,’ spat Styliann, ‘is that you have no conception of what you are dealing with. You blithely speak of taking the most powerful spell ever created into the heart of Balaia’s most potent enemy as though it were a stroll through the woods. We can’t afford for this to fail.’ His final words were accompanied by raps on the table.
‘Well, it strikes me you’ve been doing your level best to screw it up ever since you recruited us.’ Hirad leaned right into Styliann, half rising from his seat. ‘We know how to deal with this and we’ll succeed if you leave us alone. It’s been your interference that has caused us most of our trouble.’ He sat back down, but pointed a finger at Styliann’s eyes. ‘And never, ever tell me I don’t understand what is going on. The fact that I am still sitting by Denser while so many of my friends are either dead or in hiding should tell you I understand only too well how important this is.’
‘Calm down, Hirad,’ said Ilkar. ‘This isn’t helping.’
‘I don’t care. Look, it’s quite simple. You let us do things our way and we’ll succeed. Interfere and we’ll more than likely fail.’
Styliann looked at Hirad with a mixture of rage and respect. His cheeks were slightly coloured and he refused to take in the expressions of the others in the delegation. ‘I am unused to having my authority challenged in this way,’ he said quietly.
‘I’m not challenging your authority,’ said Hirad. ‘I’m just telling you how to give yourself the best chance.’
‘I think it is about time we moved on,’ said Heryst. ‘I am sure we all agree that The Raven can best deal with the Wrethsires on their own. But I do think it would be wise if we - that is, the four-College delegation - held the two catalysts found so far until the third is recovered.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘Why are you smiling?’
‘Because you must think I’m an idiot, and that’s what idiots do all the time.’
‘Hirad,’ said Ilkar, ‘tell me you haven’t done what I think you’ve done.
Denser clapped Hirad on the back and started laughing, though he surely could scarcely feel like doing so. ‘Oh, very well done, Hirad, very well done,’ he said.
The delegation looked on, Styliann at Denser, Barras at Ilkar.
‘Explain,’ said Vuldaroq, his face reddening by the second. ‘I hate to feel I am being laughed at.’