Hirad hefted the sword in his hand. ‘Yeah, but you have to try, don’t you?’
‘You’re talking about revenge,’ said Sol.
‘Bloody right. Now we’re here, it seems rude not to. I still don’t want you to fight, but if you are that determined, we will stand with you.’
Sol smiled, a little familiar warmth from standing with The Raven seeping into his bones.
‘Well, fair enough, but this isn’t a Raven fight, it’s Xetesk’s. We’re casting. There won’t be anything left for you to confront.’
Hirad’s eyes widened. ‘That’ll give you a bit of an itchy sword hand, won’t it?’
Sol laughed. ‘I’m over fifty. I use the cudgel on unruly drunks but I don’t pick up my sword any more.’
‘But—’
‘Hirad, this isn’t going to be like the old days. Gods drowning, if I walk too far the arthritis in my hip puts me in a chair for two days. That body you’re wearing gives you twenty years on me. At least.’
‘So what’s that on your back, then?’
Sol’s two-handed blade was sitting in its snap-clip fastenings, hilt over his right shoulder like always. He shrugged.
‘You know how cautious I am, Hirad.’
Hirad nodded. ‘Whatever you want to believe. But when the fight begins, I still want you on my left-hand side, arthritic hip or not.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Good. So when are you casting?’
‘About as soon as you stop jabbering, Coldheart,’ said Denser. ‘Just watch what a Jalyr’s Sun can do.’
Ilkar and Erienne blinked in unison.
‘A what?’ asked Erienne.
‘That’ll be the new name for a FireGlobe,’ said Denser. ‘First successfully tested by Jalyr in the Xetesk long rooms seventy-odd years ago, as you no doubt recall from your history.’
The little girl’s face pouted beautifully, and Sol had to suppress a laugh.
‘Why have you renamed it?’ she asked.
‘We renamed pretty much every offensive spell,’ said Denser. ‘And a few others.’
‘Why?’ asked Ilkar. ‘What was wrong with the old names? Never left me in any doubt what the effect was meant to be.’
Denser spread his hands. ‘Well, it was felt, when we eventually got round a table - the three colleges, the elves, barons and Wesmen - that certain spell names were overly aggressive and gave a negative impression of mages. And they had no style either, some of them. No imagination.’
Ilkar’s eyes sparkled. ‘You’re joking, right? You sat round a table and discussed spell names with the Wesmen. Was Tessaya there?’
‘He’s not joking,’ said Sol. ‘And yes, he was there. Still going strong too, our lord of the united tribes. Made some good suggestions on the names too.’
‘Didn’t you have more important things to discuss?’ asked Erienne. ‘Like how to get the birth rate up and repopulate the place. How you were going to rebuild the country. Tiny trifles like that? Seems to me you’re trying to reinvent mages into some outdated romantic ideal. Bit stupid, really.’
‘Say what you think, my love,’ said Denser. ‘I hate it when you vacillate.’
Erienne smiled, the gaps in her teeth augmenting her air of innocence. ‘So go on, then, what did you call HellFire?’
‘Could I point out that we have an enemy advancing on us? Slowly, I admit, but advancing.’ Darrick hadn’t taken his eyes from them. ‘You’re going to miss the best place to cast this spell if you don’t get on with it. If they get another half a mile closer, you’ll have lost the slope for any infantry advance and your watchers back there on the hill will be feeling a little close to the action. I presume they are to run if it all goes wrong?’
‘Bloody soldiers,’ grumbled Ilkar. ‘Always have to be so practical.’
‘We’re in danger of losing focus,’ said Darrick. ‘And that would surely be catastrophic.’
Sol nodded. ‘He’s right of course. Thank you, General. Let’s get the mage team preparing. They need space and a little peace. Any of The Raven who want to stand with me, I’d be honoured.’
‘I wouldn’t stand anywhere else,’ said Hirad.
He moved to Sol’s right-hand side and Sol felt a tingle through his entire body, even though the sight of their borrowed bodies made him sad. He had to stop himself reaching for his sword. Sirendor came to stand on Hirad’s right, the place Thraun had filled after Sirendor’s death. Ras came to Sol’s left, standing next to Aeb, once a huge warrior from the disbanded Protector calling, now in the body of a street fighter, short, squat and powerful.
In the old days Ras would have taken position with Richmond but his nine-year-old’s body could not handle a sword and he was standing frustrated behind the mage line. Darrick completed the line to Sol’s left. Erienne and Ilkar were with Denser while the Lord of the Mount issued his instructions to the casting team.
‘Gods falling, we’d better get this spell right,’ muttered Sol.
The air became taut. Mana poured into the spell construct as it expanded. Sol couldn’t see mana, only a mage could tune into that spectrum of light, but he knew well enough what he would see if he could. Long hours with Denser drawing him diagrams had seen to that.
A circle, widening every moment and with lines criss-crossing it like hundreds of spokes on a cartwheel, to keep it under control. The shape would be a deep, pulsing blue, the colour of Xeteskian magic. Once the circle had reached the required size, more power would be fed into it. The lattice of lines would bow out above and below, like the inflation of a pig’s bladder for a child’s game. The lines would glow brightly. They would strain and then they would hold.
The spell was almost ready to cast. Denser, his eyes closed, his body linked to the construct but not a part of it, spoke final words of encouragement to his mages. Their faces were red and sweating. They were all blowing hard, concentrating everything they had on keeping the shape steady.
Denser opened his eyes and smiled. He looked out over the enemy, still half a mile distant. The concentration of mana had caught their attention. Heads that had been looking down now gazed directly at the group of mages, whose spell, invisible to the naked eye, would be bobbing just in front of them, awaiting release on Denser’s command.
As if in response, a resonance built up in the air. A cloud quickly formed above the machine. It was shot through with lightning spears of colour. Yellow, green, orange and blue clashing and exploding. Another wave of heat pulsed out. Fire raged briefly in the wake of the machine and more of the Balaian landscape was turned to dust and ash.
‘I’ve seen enough,’ said Sol.
‘Me too,’ said Denser. He turned to Erienne and smiled. ‘Cleansing Flame.’
‘What?’
‘HellFire, my love,’ he said. ‘It’s now called Cleansing Flame.’
And accompanying her delightful child’s laughter, Denser inclined his head and the Jalyr’s Sun was released.
Barely fifteen feet from the ground, the deep blue sphere, flashing with white and blue light deep in its core, sailed out from the casting team. It was vast. Forty yards in diameter at best guess.
‘You really mean business, don’t you?’ breathed Hirad.
‘People really shouldn’t take bits of my country away without asking, should they?’ said Denser.
The sphere crackled with barely suppressed power. It increased in speed as it approached the enemy, and veered sharply up right in front of them. Their eyes followed it. The beasts pulling the machine ignored it completely. A curt nod from Denser and the sun set on the invaders.
The sphere dropped like a stone, impacting the ground and the enemy, bulging at its base before exploding in a deluge of blue fire. A hot wind rushed out, forcing Sol to turn his head briefly. The sound of the detonation rattled overhead, a thunderclap in a clear sky.