'You will, old dog, you will,' said Dystran, starting to believe it himself if the battle could be won today.
There was a tentative knock on the door.
'This had better be important,' muttered Dystran. He stood and strode to the door, snatching it open to reveal Suarav standing there. The guard captain looked anxious. 'Yes?'
‘Iam sorry my Lord but you must come to the walls of the city.'
'Any particular reason?' asked Dystran. 'An odd cloud formation perhaps or may be a herd of deer galloping across the battlefields of yesterday.' He dropped his voice to a clipped whisper. 'Can't you see I'm with a dying man?'
Suarav dropped his voice too, and spoke so low that Dystran had difficulty in hearing. He caught one word though, or thought he did and prayed he was mistaken.
‘Ibeg your pardon?' he said.
The Wesmen songs had reached a new crescendo when they had reached the eastern side of Understone Pass. Their pace had increased, as had their belief in victory. Understone itself lay in ruins, the stench of death reaching them hundreds of yards distant, as did the calls of the flocks of carrion birds, fighting over putrefied flesh.
There really had been no one left to fight them, just as his scouts had reported. So the four thousand warriors, led at a rhythmic trot by Tessaya, Lord of the Paleon Tribes and ruler of the Wesmen, picked up their voices and drove themselves north to glory.
Tessaya felt the energy through every muscle as he ran. He sang too, his bass voice adding to the throng of sound that delighted his ears and would terrify all who heard it. The Wesmen were back on eastern Balaian soil and this time, they were here to stay, he could feel it.
They had camped for a glorious, dancing- and fire-filled night only six miles from the walls of Xetesk, their Destranas howling and hunting, the Shamen conferring the strength of the Spirits on everyone there assembled. No one fought, no tribe sought to gain advantage. Here was unification, here was an army that would be unstoppable.
Before dawn they had risen, their few hours' sleep enough, their vigour undiminished. They had heard Tessaya's words and then they had run again, faster than before, desperate that the head of every rise should show them a view of their goal.
And now it was in sight. They could see a few houses dotted below them, farmsteads that would no doubt serve them as they had served Xetesk before. They would not be damaged, their people would be unharmed because this now was the Wesmen way. Their effort had to be singleminded, nothing wasted.
The army gathered about two miles from the imposing walls and towers of the college city. They could see smoke rising through the haze of the morning, the sun shining down to pick out the seven spires that represented the college's power base. It was an awesome sight and one that had filled Wesmen with dread and thoughts of the centuries of defeat.
Not this time. This time the fields outside the city were already soaked in Xeteskian blood and the ground was trampled and dead like the spirit within the walls. Tessaya climbed a nearby dead tree and stood out on a naked bough, one hand resting on the trunk. The expectant face of every Wesman turned to him.
'My brothers of the tribes, we are come.' The shouts were deafening. Tessaya held up his hands for quiet. 'You see before you the mountain we must climb. You see high walls and solid gates. On those walls will be mages and archers and swordsmen. But they are few and we have archers of our own. No longer can they destroy us with their magic.
'We will not try to storm the walls only to die. We will wait and we will kill and when the walls are clear, we will send our grapples onto the battlements and gateposts and we will climb. Harvest the trees you see here. The wood is still strong. We can use them as ladders, we can use them to batter the gates. Nature provides and the Spirits watch us and give us their blessing.
'My brothers, the next few days will see the fruition of all that we have planned. It will see the deaths of our people avenged and it will see the Wesmen attain their rightful place as rulers of Balaia!'
Dystran watched from the south walls of the college. Half a mile away, the last handfuls of the Black Wings' failed army were scattering. Dystran understood how they felt. He saw tree after tree come down. One hundred-foot oaks, thick-trunked pines, anything that had withstood the gales, it seemed, was being felled. And when they were done, the Wesmen ran towards Xetesk.
There were thousands of them.
'You have got to be fucking joking,' Dystran breathed.
Chapter 42
Chandyr had been badly stung by the defeat of yesterday. Nothing had gone according to his plan. Darrick had out-thought him, and Izack's cavalry and the quite extraordinary elven warriors had comfortably outfought him. He had ridden back from chasing away the cavalry to find carnage by the gates. He had a hundred men dead or wounded, fifteen of them mages, while his charges had taken down three elves and one panther.
He knew they were good, but frankly he hadn't thought them that good. However, the ten man patrols he had sent through the city to search for them had been lost and now he faced the gates again with his men demoralised, reduced in number, while the same faces stared down at him.
But today would be different. Today, his cavalry was ready and split around the college. He didn't care how quick an elf was, a galloping horse was faster, more powerful and would trample them without mercy. So he had told his men that they should not fear. That setbacks were a part of war. He told them that their efforts had not been in vain and that the enemy could not cast and the gates were weakened. And he had told them that the allied forces chasing them had been destroyed.
He hoped fervently that last statement was true. The fact was, no one knew for certain. The spell had been cast but there were no reports of its effects. Still, if lie it turned out to be, at least it kept his men facing the right way. And Chandyr wanted to be inside the gates by midday.
He ordered the attack. Same two fronts as yesterday, same weight of mages but this time, there was little backup. Around the walls, his loose mages sent HotRain into the air to fall on the unshielded defenders, driving bowmen from the walls and allowing his mages more comfort to link, to concentrate and to cast. FlameOrbs battered the gates, ForceCones heaved against the timbers and Earth-Hammers undermined the foundations.
Again and again, the spells struck and the defenders seemed to have no answers. Few arrows came and, critically, no spells at all. He watched from his horse, knowing the tide was turning. He ordered DeathHail to strike the battlements and saw men and elves die. He demanded another EarthHammer from every mage in the link and at last the gates "shifted.
He knew his mages were tiring but surely they could make the breach. Another FlameOrb, the size of his house in Xetesk crashed into the timbers and this time he could see the flame take hold. His soldiers roared in approval.
'Come on!' he shouted. 'One more, the bindings are failing.'
And he knew it was true. Already men were running from the walls, no doubt to take up defence in the courtyard beyond. Only The Raven still stood in the gatehouse, smoke billowing across their faces. They were the factor that concerned him most. While they still stood, the Julatsans would not break, and so far his attacks on them had come to nothing. Worse, they had even found time to kill familiars, leading him to keep the rest back. He couldn't afford the cost in mages.
The ForceCone swept towards the gates. He could hear the flaming timbers protesting, the weaker of them cracking. He saw the gates buckle and one of the great iron hinge braces snap. But still they stood.
'Again,' he ordered. Again. Stand ready. Captains, have your men stand ready!'
Across the courtyard his companies formed up. Moments away. He was just moments away.
A shout to his right caught his attention through all the noise, flame and smoke. Men were pointing into the sky. He followed their arms. He saw it too, watched it grow larger and larger, great wings scooping back the air, powering it towards them. He had believed them all dead but it was not so. A chill gripped him. Dragons were friends of The Raven.