‘Can it be done?’ asked Ghaal, he and Miirt jumping back onto the roof.
Auum put a hand on each of their shoulders. ‘With Yniss to guide us, we must believe it so. Tai, we pray.’
Densyr had been staring straight at where he had left The Raven when it happened. He watched the single blue orb fly skywards and did not even consider why it had travelled in that direction, so consumed was he with watching it fall to the earth. No time to get Septern to deactivate the cell. Time only to pray the wards would not trigger.
A prayer that went unanswered.
Ten wards. He knew the number so very bloody well though it was impossible to count them going off individually, such was the force and speed of the multiple detonations. Flames lashed from both sides of the narrow street on shallow angles, incinerating everything taller than a house cat. God’s Eyes pounded the enclosed area and EarthHammers shoved their fingers of stone high into the sky, ripping apart buildings and standing as insulting gestures in his mind. He was stricken with a sudden regret.
Last night, he had been so cocksure that leaving them trapped was the best way to neutralise them until he decided to free them. So sure that they would not attempt an escape. Ilkar might have been shorn of his college’s Heart but he was no fool and would be able to detect active wards given the amount of time he had.
‘What did you do, my old friends?’ whispered Densyr. ‘Why did you try to outwit the master? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry it had to end like this.’
Densyr took one last look at the dust cloud that covered the scene of their deaths and closed the balcony shutters on his crime. In his deep armchair by the fire, Septern was studying the ward lattice. The sheen of sweat on his face didn’t encourage Densyr’s confidence.
He sank into the chair opposite and sipped at the tea his servants had left them. All the way down the line, he’d made the right decisions. He was certain of it. What the dead had told him really did make no sense. There was no other home. No escape route. Just like every time before, Balaia had to stand up and fight for herself. And win. Just like every other time.
Maybe he had been a little heavy-handed with those he once counted as close friends and allies. But decisions had to be made and some people always had their noses put out of joint. Not everyone would ever be happy. And at least his people, the Xeteskian people, knew he was doing all this for them.
Should it have worried him that Auum claimed to have seen all this before? Surely not. If indeed he was thousands of years old as he claimed, things move on. The elves had had no magic back then, no defence. Densyr had the might of Xetesk and the unexpected advantage of Septern. Balaia had to survive, and for that to happen, Xetesk had to remain strong. The right decisions still had to be made.
Even if it meant his friends had to die.
‘Septern, can you hear me?’
‘Of course,’ said Septern, his voice clear enough though a little strained.
‘You needn’t concern yourself with The Raven now.’
‘I know. I felt it. Saw it. Doesn’t feel so much like casualties of war now, does it?’
‘No,’ whispered Densyr. ‘Tell me what you can do.’
‘The news isn’t too good.’
Densyr’s heart skipped a beat. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The enemy is cleverer than I thought.’
‘Smarter than you?’
‘Let’s not give them too much credit. The problem lies in shutting off the mana flow.’
‘Not doing so isn’t an option I’m prepared to entertain.’
‘I know, Densyr. But the risk to the Heart is greater than I thought. It is possible that they intend us to shut off the flow, triggering an explosion in the Heart. Mana will be pumped up into the atmosphere . . .’
‘To be collected by the machine hanging up there for just that purpose, if it can collect mana that way.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But you can stop that, Septern, can’t you?’
Septern’s face held the first element of doubt Densyr had seen.
‘Probably,’ he said.
‘Probably isn’t good enough.’ Densyr leaned forward in his chair. ‘You know the stakes here. We cannot fail. Not now.’
‘Now your friends are dead.’
‘Indeed.’ Densyr pressed his lips together. ‘And anything you do, do quickly. We don’t have much time.’
‘I shall attempt the cell-by-cell closedown. That way, I can isolate surges in mana being fed back and dissipate them through harmless areas of the grid.’
‘If you say so. And what if it begins to go wrong?’
‘A mage can always act as a buffer if necessary,’ said Septern.
‘Get going.’
‘They know what we intend, I’m certain of it,’ said Sol. ‘Brynar. Hirad needs attention. Ilkar, Sirendor. Assess the next jump and the bridge the ClawBound has left. Thraun, let’s see if we can’t find ourselves a better route than the one we already have. But don’t go far. Quickly. The enemy are closing.’
He stood with Diera and his boys. All four of them in a huddle and he at least realising that it could be their last. The Garonin still came on. He had counted eight of them. Moving carefully over the rooftops, no doubt aware of the capacity of the TaiGethen and hopefully unaware of their current whereabouts.
The rooftop to which they had jumped from the collapsing building was a work in progress. They were standing amidst the debris of a building site. Half-built walls, piles of stone, sand and barrels of water. Pots of whitewash, brushes, trowels and even a couple of straw hats. A block and tackle had been hanging from the near edge of the building but the ClawBound elf had stripped it for its rope. Every tool of the trade was scattered about, evidence of a hurried evacuation or perhaps merely a poorly run site.
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Diera.
‘Because while the bulk of them stand and guard their machine, these eight are heading right for us. Raven, I want an ambush plan. Here or at the next intersection.’
Sol looked after the ClawBound, who was still creating a path to the college gates. He had laid ropes and even knotted sheets where he could and left markers for jump points, so Thraun had reported. The Garonin were less than a hundred yards away now and would soon be in weapons range. Sol pulled away from his family.
‘Time to move. Brynar, how are you doing?’
‘Hirad is all right to walk now.’
‘Good. Freedom’s Wings for you again if you don’t mind. Brynar.’
‘Yes, my King .’
‘Not “king”, just Sol. And thank you for not abandoning my family.’
Brynar shrugged. ‘What sort of man would I be? Besides, Auum made it clear the fate I would face if I ran.’
‘I’ll bet he did.’
A short incantation and gossamer wings appeared at Brynar’s back. He held out his arms and Diera placed young Hirad in them. It was several hundred yards to the apron in front of the college gates. They had to traverse another four intersections and get across the heavily trapped open space.
‘I could take him all the way,’ said Brynar.
Sol paused on the verge of agreeing. ‘But they wouldn’t let you leave. We need you.’
‘Keep out of sight of the college as long as you can,’ said Brynar. ‘I’ll open the postern gate for you.’
‘There isn’t a postern gate any more,’ said Sol.
Brynar raised his eyebrows. ‘Trust me on this.’
Sol nodded. ‘Diera?’
‘Gods drowning, yes, take him inside the walls. All right, Hirad? You go with Brynar to the college and he’ll keep you safe.’
‘Yes, Mama.’
‘I’ll be there very soon.’
‘Go, Brynar,’ said Sol. ‘And thank you.’
Brynar took to the air, skimming low over the rooftops. Sol watched him, a lump in his throat.