The Wesmen were marching once more.
It had become their only hope of reaching the Julatsans and it was a terrible choice to have to make. They had cowered in renewed terror when the new strain had appeared from the rip and descended to the ground to march away into Xetesk and out towards the Julatsans.
They had an aura about them that sucked the will and brought a dead shiver to the limbs.
Sharyr would have welcomed death then but in their hiding place they had been ignored and had been able to watch the gathering of demon forces. It had become obvious then that their plan of running in while the demons were engaged in battle was unworkable. Most of the demons were covering the ground around the periphery of the ColdRoom shell surrounding the wagon train. The only way in was by air.
'I will remain here and see you safe and then return to Xetesk,' said Suarav, the words dragging reluctantly from his mouth.
'No,' said Brynel immediately. 'We are stronger with you. You must come with us.'
Sharyr agreed. 'Without you, I do not believe I have the strength.'
Suarav gripped an arm of both of them. 'My friends, you can do this. You have to. And besides, I cannot fly.'
'We can carry your weight between us,' said Sharyr. 'We won't leave you. How much chance do you really think you have of getting back into the college?'
Suarav closed his eyes and Sharyr knew he had touched the reason for the soldier's fear. Alone and travelling back through the streets of Xetesk. One swordsman. It would be suicide.
'But split up, you have a better chance of one of you reaching the Julatsans.'
'The difference is slight. The journey is quick but fraught. I'd rather the confidence of you with us than the extra mobility,' said Brynel.
Suarav sighed. 'Can it really be done?'
'Oh yes,' said Brynel. 'Shadow Wings do not tangle. They aren't corporeal. You hang onto our belts and we fly. Low and fast.'
'One thing more,' said Sharyr. 'When we pierce the ColdRoom, the Wings will disperse very quickly. It'll be a rough landing.'
'I'll bear it in mind.' Suarav sighed again and shook his head. 'You know, I'm too old for this sort of thing.'
'You're never too old to fly,' said Sharyr.
'All right, let's do it. But if I fall, do not come back for me. I outrank you and that is an order.'
Both mages nodded. Brynel turned to Sharyr. 'Ready to cast?'
'Ready. Captain, take your grip now. As soon as we begin to cast, the demons will be aware of us. We're going to have to leave quickly.'
The two mages stood side by side. Suarav knelt between them. His hands gripped the front of their belts, his arms between their legs.
'Cast now,' said Suarav.
The spectrum responded to them and the demons began to howl.
The instructions had been snapped out quickly and Darrick just had to trust that they would be understood. If it worked, they'd break the demon line, he was sure of that. If not, they would be in desperate trouble and praying for a miracle from inside the walls of Xetesk.
Forty Al-Arynaar mages now stood in front of the two lead wagons. They were guarded by an equal number of warriors, leaving the rest to continue normal duties back down the train. The front of the shell was fifty yards ahead of them and it was crowded with karron, reaver and strike-strain. Around the flanks and behind, winged demons waited for their orders to attack, most resting on the ground as they had been since before dawn.
In the traces, the horses were as fresh as they could be. Darrick had handed the reins to another human driver, a man named Brynn whom Rebraal recommended as the ideal man to hold the front line. Darrick went with the elf s decision. Brynn was a man covered in scratches and bandages but clearly unbowed despite the shiver in his body.
Now Darrick stood with The Raven, minus Erienne and Thraun, and the TaiGethen, just behind the line of mages. Hirad had won his battle as they all knew he would and had taken his place at The Unknown's right-hand side. He was plainly discomforted but Darrick for one would rather a half-fit Hirad in the line than no Hirad at all. And it was equally plain on The Unknown's face that, despite his protestations, he felt precisely the same.
Time was almost upon them. There were still karron moving up to the edge of the shell, sorting themselves into dense lines. And overhead, two masters floated. One with the tentacled underbody, the other a rather plain-looking blue demon, small but clearly
important, given its position. Pheone moved in front of her charges, Diia'heth near her. They knew what they had to do. Each one had casting instructions and direction. That they would fail was inconceivable.
A movement caught Darrick's eye to the right beyond the shell's periphery. At first he thought it demons flying in to join the attack but the movement was erratic and had the air of a chase. He brought it to Auum's attention. There was growing consternation among the demons as they too became aware of it. The level of noise, building steadily, had an angry edge to it. Strike-strain left the shell to intercept.
'It is humans,' said Auum. 'Three. Two carrying the other one.'
'Coming this way?'
'Yes,' he said.
Darrick raised his eyebrows. Something had to trigger the attack. He had expected it to be the demon masters. Perhaps it would be this random event. What he couldn't afford was for the Al-Arynaar to be distracted.
'Eyes front!' he ordered. 'Check your targets.'
Rebraal translated his words and focus was restored. The same could not be said of the demons and there was just a small chance that this would work in their favour. It was a chance that did not come off. The trio of flyers, skimming the tree line, dipping and rising suddenly to shake off a growing tail of pursuers, closed on the shell. High above, the masters raced to the back of their main force. The noise rose to a deafening volume and the karron came to shambling readiness.
'Ready!' called Darrick. 'Remember your roles. Do not deviate, do not falter. Diia'heth, cast when ready.' He turned to a flagman. 'Now. Signal the disperse.'
Up on the roof of the lead wagons, flags were waved. Inside the right-hand one, the casting mages dispersed the ColdRoom structure. Demons howled, sensing victory, and from above they poured down to attack. Immediately the flags were seen, the wagons behind began rolling forwards, bringing the remaining ColdRooms closer.
'Come on, come on,' muttered Darrick.
The front line of Al-Arynaar was motionless, lost in casting. The General looked anxiously up to the heavens. The sky was full of
demon bodies, clamouring for their souls, gibbering their desire. The karron upped their pace, trotting over the packed ground, arms pumping, the weapons that replaced their hands glistening. They were followed by packs of reavers and flanked by clouds of strike-strain. This was going to be close.
As one, the elven mages raised their heads. Pheone snapped out an order and the spell barrage was unleashed. ForceCones jabbed into the air, scattering the onrushing winged demons which squealed their displeasure. They were the lucky ones for now. Immediately following the Cone deployment, bright yellow light flashed across the early morning sky. FlameOrbs arced out. At least fifty wheel-sized globes fizzed through the damp air. Steam trailed in their wake.
The karron could see them coming and warning cries echoed out but they could do nothing to protect themselves. Harsh magical fire burst across and through the demon lines. Karron directly beneath the Orbs exploded under their impact. Gobbets of flame splattered far and wide, eating into defenceless flesh. The detonation of spells sent fire hurtling into the sky, trapping three reavers not fast enough to move. Black smoke belched from bodies and trailed behind those falling from the sky.
On the ground, blinded and agonised karron collided with one another as the ordered advance became a chaotic rout. The air stank of charred hair and flesh, it reverberated to the screams of those caught in the holocaust. And the elves had only just begun.