‘And the rest of us, let us not be next,’ said Sharyr. ‘Let’s get this construct back steady. We have to get hold of Lord Denser.’
‘Unknown! Get down!’
The impact in Sol’s back sent him sprawling to the scorched ground. The earth vibrated beneath him with the force of multiple explosions. He heard screams and rolled onto his back. His scabbard dug in painfully. Hirad and Ras were both above him, looking towards the enemy.
‘What di—?’
‘Down!’
Hirad again. The barbarian in a merchant’s body flung himself on top of Sol. There was a distinct clicking sound like the unlatching of many doors. An arc of white pulses in the shape of teardrops fled over Sol’s head and slammed into helpless mages, soldiers and mounted guards.
Defensive shield castings collapsed under the onslaught, flaring deep blue as they failed. Light ripped through bodies, obliterating people, punching holes in torsos and tearing horses apart.
‘It’s going to be a slaughter,’ said Hirad.
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Sol. He pushed Hirad off him, got to his feet and snapped his sword from its clasps. ‘Let’s get to it.’
‘Raven!’ roared Hirad. ‘Raven, with me!’
Sol was ahead of him, charging towards the slowly advancing line of enemies. They were huge, all of them tall and powerfully built. Covered from head to toe in armour that seemed to glisten in the sunlight. Numerals and lettering woven into breastplates and leg guards shone.
‘Get amongst them,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘They can’t shoot at you if you’re inside their guard.’
More fire spat from enemy weapons. Sol felt the heat as a teardrop fizzed past his shoulder. There was no time to check how far behind the rest of The Raven or the Xeteskian guard were. He ducked his head as more fire whipped about his ears. He felt the pain begin to flare in his damaged hip and whispered an apology to his wife and sons.
‘What do you think you’re doing, old man?’ he muttered.
Sol brought his sword to ready and hoped he remembered how to use it. There was not a flicker from his target. The enemy were well spread out, marching forward carefully. Detonation followed detonation but Sol dared not look behind to see what was happening.
The man in front of him had turned his weapon. Sol ducked reflexively. A teardrop smashed into his blade, shearing the top clean off above his head. His hands rang with the vibration of the impact. Sol swung the remainder of his blade through two-handed. It thudded hard into the midriff of the enemy just beneath his arms. Sol’s momentum carried him straight on, barging the man off his feet.
Sol landed on top, snatched a knife from his belt and jammed it under the chin strap of the enemy’s helmet. The scream of death was a keening wail. Blood pumped from the wound briefly and the man lay still. Sol rolled away, coming to his feet in time to see Hirad and Ras enter the fray. A few paces behind them came the rest of The Raven, mages behind warriors, magical shields in place for what good they would do. He knew it was them behind the masks of their borrowed faces but still he worried. They looked so ordinary.
The Xeteskian mage team had been largely annihilated. Four still stood of the thirty who had cast. They were casting again. God’s Eyes of blue fire sailed over Sol’s head to crash into the ranks of the enemy.
‘Form up, Raven!’ ordered Sol. ‘Dead or alive, get your memories working.’
The Raven surged across the open space. As one, the enemy stopped moving. Hirad buried his blade to the hilt in the neck of his victim, having to angle high to reach his target. Ras sliced through a leg guard and his opponent fell. The front rank of the enemy dropped to one knee; the second rank remained standing.
Sol frowned and squared up to his next target. His two-handed blade was useless. No balance and no bludgeoning point. He discarded it and drew a second knife. Many eyes had turned towards him and The Raven coming up fast in support.
‘Shield covering you,’ said Ilkar. ‘We have projectile and spell covering. Those teardrops are mana based.’
Sol relaxed just a little. The Raven took their positions. Angled chevron. Just like the old days. Well, almost. They advanced. In front of them the enemy, still widely spaced, checked their weapons, made small adjustments and brought them back to bear. Still Xeteskian spells dropped in their midst but now a white flaring told of their impotence.
‘Hit them hard, Raven,’ said Sol. ‘Let’s go.’
The Raven ran in. Every enemy weapon fired. The front rank spewed teardrops. Others launched projectiles that trailed smoke in lazy arcs. Multiple impacts shivered into Ilkar’s shield. Sol heard him grunt with the effort of maintaining it. But behind no such strength prevailed. Explosions ripped the Xeteskian guard apart. Volley after volley landed in their midst. And each detonation sent red-hot fragments of metal in all directions. Flesh was flayed from bones. Skulls imploded. Limbs shredded or torn from bodies entirely. Souls shrieked as they were cast into the void.
Sol heard a drumming sound. Metal shards were raining against the projectile shield. Erienne gasped, a terribly frail sound from her young mouth. The shield flared the intense brown of the One magic casting, the ancient original magic discipline reborn in her daughter, Lyanna, and that had passed to her on Lyanna’s death. The Raven halted. The fire on them intensified.
‘Ilkar?’ called Sol.
‘Holding. Just. Move on. Be quick.’
‘Pick your targets,’ said Sol. ‘Get inside those weapons. Fight dirty.’
‘Just the way I like it,’ said Hirad.
White light, metal, heat and fire washed over the shields which Ilkar and Erienne clung on to. The attention of the enemy was on them. Huge figures turned and moved in.
‘Keep it steady, Raven!’ called Hirad.
Sol could see the eye slit of his target’s helmet. The armour was beguiling. Cool light swam through the runes and symbols. But inside the helmet the eyes were shadowed and dark. The enemy brought his weapon to bear. He fired. White teardrops flattened against Ilkar’s shield. Sol grunted a smile. He stepped in close, grabbed the man’s shoulder and drove his blade up into his neck. The enemy reared back, blood spewing out. Sol’s blade was all but ripped from his hand.
Two more filled the gap. Hirad was next to him. The young body he inhabited was fast, the soul inside adding skill to speed. He ducked a flailing weapon and slipped his sword into the gap between leg and torso armour. His target collapsed forward, Hirad shovelling him sideways.
A figure flew into the fight on Hirad’s right. It was a moment before Sol realised it was Sirendor. Simultaneously, the squat power of Aeb barrelled forward to Sol’s left. He brought down an enemy, arms around his waist, his body slamming into the surprised man, toppling him backwards. The two turned over, Aeb’s fists smashing again and again up into his opponent’s face. The enemy managed to bring his weapon round. He fired from close range. Inside the shield Aeb had no protection. His body juddered, smoked and blew apart, raining gore across The Raven’s line.
A second man inside the shield turned his weapon on Ras. The Raven warrior jumped and sliced his blade at the enemy helmet. The dull clang reverberated inside the shield. The man did not flinch. He fired. Ras’s head disintegrated and his body flopped to the ground.
‘God’s drowning!’ spat Hirad.
He ducked a flailing blow and came up to block the return and hack down with his sword on the man’s arm. His strike bit but did not pierce the armour. Sol wiped blood from his face. The enemy had seen the way to victory. They came on.
‘Back up!’ he shouted. ‘We’ve got to back up. We can’t let them inside the shield.’
The enemy ate up the ground. The Raven retreated. Every weapon appeared trained on them. Projectiles trailing smoke fell on them in their dozens.
‘Turn and run,’ ordered Sol. ‘Go, go, go.’
The decade of inactivity, the lack of familiarity with new bodies and simply being dead told. Sol spun round, the pain in his hip shooting agony into his lower back. He stumbled. Hirad reached out a hand to support him but the barbarian’s body was not the one his memories knew. Sol brought them both down, clattering straight into Ilkar, who pitched to the dirt.