Another howl from Thraun. The wolf sprang up and ran right. Ilkar followed him. Garonin had pushed through the barrier. White light filled the space. Ghaal ducked but not quickly enough. He took the full force of two streams of fire in his face. His head was engulfed in flame. His body juddered and was thrown back to slide across the floor. Ilkar had to turn away. Ghaal’s neck smoked, his skull was blasted to shards.
In front, Hirad called a warning. Ilkar heard the clash of weapons. But to the right was the greater threat. Thraun had his jaws clamped around the leg of a Garonin soldier who was beating the wolf’s skull with the butt of his weapon. Evunn and Miirt surged into the attack. But one Garonin was free. He could see Sol, sitting helpless, light streaming into him and away from him. The door open to invasion. Auum, running headlong, was not going to make it in time. Ilkar hefted his blade. He was standing no more than ten yards from Sol.
‘Get this wrong and it ends here,’ he said to himself.
Ilkar hurled his blade. It caught the Garonin in the right thigh. The soldier stumbled, slowed and regained his feet. He ran on, a shout of victory ripping from his alien lips. He reached out to Sol, to touch him and render everything the great man had died for a waste.
The Garonin did not make contact. An axe materialised in the air before him, swinging across with frightening power. Behind it the body of a huge man in jet-black armour washed into being. The blade savaged straight through the Garonin’s neck, taking his head clean off to bounce across the floor towards Ilkar.
The elf blinked to dispel the illusion but it didn’t shift. There stood Ark. Protector and Raven. He was carrying the sword and axe of Xetesk’s dread calling. He wore their colours but without the mask that bound them to the demons. Ark roared. His arms shook and his fists ground against his weapons. His face cleared and he stared square at Ilkar. Blood dripped from his axe.
‘We are come.’
Hirad pushed the Garonin’s weapon to the left and swung his sword high. The edge slid from the man’s shoulder and clattered up into the side of his helmet. The Garonin stumbled. Darrick’s reverse sweep carved a gash deep into his chest. The Garonin gasped. Hirad thrust up under his chin strap.
Hirad was aware of shouting from behind him and resisted the urge to turn. More Garonin came through the barrier in front of him. To his right Sirendor ducked a stream of white tears, swayed left as he came back up and jabbed up into the armpit of his attacker. Hirad paced forward. He switched his sword to his left hand, dropped to his haunches and swung the blade low across him, feeling a satisfying connection. Blood spurted from the Garonin’s right shin. The soldier stumbled forward. Hirad darted right, reversed his blade and cracked it into the back of his opponent’s knees.
The sound of running filled the air around him. It came from behind, to the left and the right. Sol managed a chuckle that reverberated through his head. Protectors swarmed by Hirad, forming a solid line around him and the rest of The Raven. At the centre of the masked army was a man whose face felt the air.
Garonin surged through the barrier again. Hirad smiled as they faltered in their charge.
‘Good to see you, Ark,’ said the barbarian. He beckoned towards the enemy. ‘Come and get it, boys.’
Ark and the entire Protector line stepped forward. Axes came through left to right, low to high. Swords came the other way, chest-high. Garonin screams filled the air. The weight of fire on the shield intensified still further. Hirad felt the pressure of souls crammed into the small space. At last he turned. The shield was full of Protectors. Hundreds of them materialising in front of Sol and spreading across the space.
‘Bloody hell. Brought a few friends with you too, did you?’ Hirad’s voice rose to a shout. ‘We have to spread the shield. Ilkar!’
Abruptly, the sky darkened once more. The sound of white tears splatting against the cobbles of ruined Xetesk was replaced by silence. Simultaneously, the deluge against the shield ceased. Protectors moved out of its compass, forming a line four deep, stretching across the face of the edifice.
Hirad heard Erienne cry out. In front of him the shield flickered. He turned and ran back to her, glancing up at the images played out above them in huge hideous detail. Black Wings castle. Two boys lay on a filthy bed. It was covered with blood. The boys were unmoving, throats carved open. Hirad slithered to his knees.
‘That’s not the future; it’s the past,’ he said. ‘And we all still grieve for your boys. Don’t let them beat you. Don’t let our new world become another graveyard for us.’
‘I couldn’t save them,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t save Lyanna. I can’t save anyone.’
‘Erienne, you’re saving us right now. Hang on to that. You’re saving the future for everyone still alive and the souls of your boys.’ Hirad turned. ‘Raven! Get here now. Lend Erienne your strength.’
But Hirad could see she was crumbling. Above their heads images played of storms lashing the coast of Balaia and of a little girl in the centre of them, calling out for her mother. Erienne was shaking horribly. Her shoulders were hunched as if against a cold wind and her hands were closing again.
Thraun padded up behind her and sat, leaning his body into hers and nuzzling her neck. Darrick stood in front of her, looking down. He stripped off a glove and placed his hand on the top of her head. Sirendor did not come so close. Sirendor, who had never met her, stood to watch the Garonin. They were unsure for the present as they gauged the Protector force. Hirad looked for Ilkar. The elven mage was moving towards them one moment and gone the next.
For an instant Ilkar thought he had lost faith entirely and simply ceased to be in Ulandeneth. But a warming feeling washed over him, familiar and strong. A metaphorical arm around the shoulders from a huge presence.
‘You need to get your brother to safety now because we haven’t got much time,’ said Sol.
‘Where are you?’ asked Ilkar. ‘Where am I?’
Ilkar could see nothing but a brown and gold blur.
‘Travelling,’ said Sol. ‘And I am where you left me. I hold the door. You and your brother must bring the elves through now. And then you have to return and play your part.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Erienne cannot shield us on her own. Hirad cannot fight them on his own. Belief is only so great in any one of us. Find it in yourself. And think on this. Hirad was right. Absolutely none of what we have seen in Ulandeneth can possibly be happening. So why is it? Find the answer within you and turn this fight around.’
Ilkar wanted to ask more but the blur in front of his eyes coalesced into a scene of devastation. He was standing on the beach of North Bay. Around him the bodies of thousands of elves were scattered in the nauseating attitudes of their deaths. Ilkar tried to move but found he could do nothing but turn on the spot.
Coming towards him across the beach was a small knot of elves pursued by three Garonin firing their weapons. White tears wiped across a flaring, sputtering spell shield. The elves ran on. Not five yards from him they stopped and turned. Four of them, mages, bent to a casting. Rebraal faced the onrushing Garonin with five Al-Arynaar. Ilkar could see his brother was wounded. He held his blade in the wrong hand.
Rebraal was speaking but Ilkar could not hear the words. The Garonin stopped ten yards from them and continued firing. Other enemies were approaching. This was a fight only going one way. But not quietly. From the hands of one of the crouching mages IceBlades tore out. Garonin armour flared white. One of the enemy clutched at his helmet, blood spurting from his eye slit. But, even as he fell, a finger of white lashed out along the path of the spell and buried in the caster’s chest. The mage blew apart. The spell shield flickered but steadied.