'Unknown!' he shouted. 'We need to relieve the pressure left. Orbs and IceWind to the gap.'
The Unknown concurred. 'Denser, Sharyr. Redirect. Pheone, keep those strike-strain away.'
The cursyrd were pressing hard on the left. Gheneer had been quick, organising a new defensive line, yet he had lost ten or more warriors. The line hadn't actually broken but it was perilously stretched. Mages from the holding areas behind turned their attention front. FlameOrbs landed in the gap, detonating plaster dust and incinerating enemies.
Rebraal ducked a tongue of fire that scoured into the cursyrd ranks. The air was hot and choking. He followed Ark into a fresh attack, feeling his mace biting deep into exposed cursyrd flesh. The reaver howled and lashed out, catching the top of his head. He felt cold blood flow. He staggered back. Ark was with him, fending off the next attack while he regained his balance.
'Drop back,' said Ark. 'You are not fit.'
But that noise of thunder was getting louder. Something was
happening. If it was cursyrd, they would be washed away. If it was help, they had to hold out. Whichever it turned out to be, there was nothing to be gained by pulling himself out.
'I'll be fine.' And to prove it, he struck out right to left and slightly upward, splintering a karron jaw. The strike it had thought
to put in died with it. 'Can you hear the thunder?'
'Yes.' Ark's blade blocked a hammer limb, the return severed it. 'It is not thunder. It is singing.'
Rebraal fenced away a reaver claw and thrashed above his head at a strike-strain. The kitten-sized cursyrd was dashed to the ground. Ark was right. It was singing and it was definitely getting closer.
'Let's keep them back!' roared Hirad. 'Help is coming.'
Hirad's words were taken up all across the line, giving tired limbs more strength. Rebraal felt invigorated. Hope flowed through his veins. The ache in his arm seemed to diminish. But if they thought the enemy would crumble, they were mistaken. Reavers set up a dreadful cacophony that bounced around the confined space.
The effect was instant. Strike-strain withdrew and bunched just outside the playhouse. Rebraal frowned, wondering why. The karron backed up a pace, some a little further. It was the first concerted move he had seen them undertake.
'Steady!' roared The Unknown. 'Watching.'
A handful of Al-Arynaar moved up. Rebraal and The Raven barked them back. Three were too late. The karron, under the spell of the reavers' voices, whirled back into the attack at astonishing speed. Limbs cycled twice, three times as fast blurring in the air in front of the allies. Those too late and cut off were battered dead in moments, unable to raise a defence in isolation.
Two karron broke through and ran straight at Erienne. Rebraal saw them coming.
'Erienne, your left! Left!'
But she couldn't hear him, lost deep in her casting. Denser too was preparing, unaware of his peril. Al-Arynaar detached and chased. Others moved up from the back but all would be too late.
Rebraal turned left-side-on. The karron in front of him rushed on. Next to him, Ark with his longer reach dismembered the first creature that came into his range and swept his mace at a second. He moved his sword to Rebraal's defence, deflecting the hammer limb. Rebraal fended away the spike and knew he had to detach.
'Ark, cover me.'
He danced back a step, turned and raced into the gap to protect Erienne. The karron squawked, their limbs flowed fast. Rebraal gripped his mace in both hands and felt the pain flooding his shoulder and chest. He drove the weapon through hard and low, taking the first creature across its hammer limb and deep into its chest cavity. The karron reared and flashed its spike limb across its body. Rebraal fenced it off but didn't have the balance to deliver a counter of his own. The speed of the limb beat him. The karron's hammer limb thudded into his defence, hurling him from his feet even as Al-Arynaar blades tore through its body.
He felt the sensation of falling. It was a weightlessness combined with a roaring in his ears and deep inside his mind. Somewhere distant, a voice called his name. He felt no pain until he struck the ground. Darkness closed over him.
T ask you this as an adversary for whom I have developed a certain respect,' said Ferouc.
His hands clicked together and his skin flowed from a deep green to a livid blue, his emotions clashing while he spoke. Blackthorne stood alone before him on the steps of his castle keep, far enough
away that he could turn and escape should Ferouc attack. But he didn't think the demon would. Not that he trusted his enemy. Ferouc simply didn't have to risk himself or any measure of humiliation. Ranged behind him were hundreds of the demon strain he called karron, destructors. Hovering above them a similar number of reavers. The strike-strain were gone. Not needed now.
'Respect is a long time earned, Ferouc,' he replied, choosing not to irritate the occupying commander with his nickname. 'But understanding of the spirit of humans would take you a lifetime. We have been so long resisting you that the thought of surrender can never now enter our minds. And even more so knowing what that surrender would mean. This is not mere captivity and subjugation, after all.'
'But you are beaten,' said Ferouc.
'Not so, my enemy,' said Blackthorne, enjoying the reaction his words provoked. 'We accept that we cannot beat you. Your numbers are vasdy superior. But we are not beaten. One does not necessarily follow the other.'
'The instruction has changed,' said Ferouc. T am to bring about the end of your resistance and if that means taking your lives but not your souls, so be it. You may be relatively few but you are dangerous and I am required to the north to aid in our final victory.'
'And hence these . . .' Blackthorne indicated behind Ferouc. 'Karron.'
'They are a race not suited to any but the most mana-dense atmosphere,' said Ferouc, and there was a note of disdain in his voice. 'It is a measure of our inevitable victory that we are now able to use them in Balaia.'
'We will kill them as we will kill any who come against us.'
Ferouc's colour distilled into a bright blue, his anger surfacing strongly. 'I had wanted to taste your soul, Baron Blackthorne, but now I would laugh over your soulless corpse. The karron will tear down your walls and expose you to us. And while they might fear your ColdRooms, we no longer do. Ask your people. Life even if it is brief under the rule of the demons is preferable to ignominious death beneath the rubble of your own castle.'
Blackthorne laughed. 'Oh Fidget, you will never understand. No, it is not. Do you not see that every moment we resist you, our
friends in Xetesk close in on the way to beat you and The Raven get ever closer to your beating heart? Before you came we were a divided nation. It took you to bring us together, to give us the will to fight again as one. And for that, we will always be grateful.
'One day, you will be beaten. You do not believe it I know but that is where your weakness lies. Come, attack us if you will. Taste death in your hundreds and frustration over the days we resist you.'
Blackthorne turned and strode back into his castle, knowing he had to deliver the speech of his life to stop his people being overwhelmed before nightfall.
Hirad thrashed his mace through waist-high. It tore across the karron's hammer limb and into its midriff, ripping flesh away. The knife now in his left hand jabbed into its face. Across the line, the karron were slowing dramatically. They hadn't forced the breakthrough they wanted. The Raven had held firm and the Al-Arynaar had responded with typical courage to the change of pace of the karron attack. But the attack wasn't fading fast enough and Hirad burned with the frustration.