Beneath him the Heart was still intact and the college walls had not been breached. But what of the body of Xetesk? He didn’t even need to look west to know what the rumbling hum was. People were leaving. They were scared and they were running and they didn’t even know where. The security of their college had proved not to be enough.
‘Despair is the province of the weak,’ said a voice behind him.
Densyr straightened his shoulders, lifted his head and turned.
‘What am I saving, Dystran?’ he asked. ‘How am I benefiting Xetesk and Balaia?’
‘Don’t let what you see fool your mind,’ said Dystran gently. ‘When the battle is won, and it may be that it is already, there is but one beacon for the leaderless and it is here. Only one place capable of rebuilding all that we have lost. Only one place with the strength and the desire to make Balaia a power again. And only one place that can rule.
‘The Heart of Xetesk still beats and it must beat on, my Lord of the Mount. It is our destiny to lead and yours to rule. And it is surely all within your grasp.’
Densyr felt almost too tired to argue. ‘You know they are not beaten, don’t you?’
‘Perhaps, but now they have seen the extent of our power and the sacrifices they will have to make to take our Heart. Surely a negotiation is the least we can expect and a withdrawal is something for which we can now hope.’
‘I wish I shared your optimism.’
‘Take a look outside.’ Dystran moved past him and out onto the balcony. Densyr followed a little reluctantly. ‘What do you see? What do you hear?’
‘I see the mess I’ve created in the most beautiful city on Balaia and I hear the sounds of my people panicking and running to the west.’
Densyr glanced below him and then away again, unsure whether to believe what he was seeing.
‘You are being too literal. Perhaps I should have asked what you don’t see and hear. No Garonin foot soldiers. No machine. I—Are you listening to me at all?’
‘Now I really do believe I have seen it all,’ said Densyr by way of a reply.
Coming across the courtyard, with guards and mages closing in, were a man being helped along by a woman and a second man. Two boys walked just in front of them. A third man walked head bowed and arms outstretched and could only be a mage. A fourth man was carrying a fifth and was surrounded by wolves. In front of them all came Brynar, his loyal apprentice, waving people aside as best he could.
‘Erstwhile apprentice,’ muttered Densyr. ‘Little bastard.’
‘Have them killed,’ said Dystran, waving a hand.
‘Without finding out how they survived that inferno? I think not.’
Densyr pulled the bell to summon a servant and didn’t have to question the relief he felt and the smile that was fighting its way onto his lips.
‘The bloody, bastard Raven,’ said Dystran.
‘Yes,’ said Densyr. ‘Amazing, aren’t they?’
‘They aren’t just going to wave us into the tower complex,’ said Sol.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Get as close as possible,’ said Brynar. ‘Ilkar has us shielded. I don’t think any guards will be drawing weapons with me here.’
‘Don’t count on it.’
‘Move!’ shouted Brynar. ‘Wounded coming through.’
The courtyard was packed with the anxious, the scared and a few with the desire to organise. Thraun’s wolves were keeping all but the most persistent at a safe distance. But mages were gathering at the entrance to the tower complex fifty yards ahead and guardsmen were with them in good numbers. Left and right they were being shadowed by more.
Ilkar’s Mage Shelter gave them the protection they needed from targeted magical attack and no one was going to fire arrows in such a crowded space. But all it would take was a guard captain with a little courage and they would be arrested immediately. Brynar was not going to let anyone fight and for their part The Raven had neither the desire nor the capacity to do so.
It was a question of whose nerve would hold the longest.
College guards were creating a path in front of them, pushing people back on either side. The clear view it gave of the doors to the tower complex was not encouraging.
‘Keep moving,’ said Brynar.
Thraun came to Sol’s left. ‘I can scatter them.’
‘Wait,’ said Sol. ‘Let’s see their intent.’
‘That’s close enough!’
An old soldier moved out in front of those guarding the doors. Suarav, captain at the time of the demon invasion. General now. A much-decorated hero.
‘We must see the Lord of the Mount,’ said Brynar, not pausing in his stride. ‘We must speak with him and with Septern.’
‘Not here and not now, Brynar,’ said Suarav. ‘Stop. You will yield to me.’
‘Can’t do that, General,’ said Brynar. ‘There is no time left.’
‘Correct,’ said Suarav.
He nodded. Two mages stepped forward, knelt and cast. Ilkar gasped, stumbled and refound his footing.
‘Ilkar’s Defence,’ he said. ‘How apt.’
‘Can you hold?’ asked Sol.
‘They aren’t pushing. But there’s no way I can move forward.’
To their left and right, soldiers were lining the path. Behind the wolves more came but stayed at a careful distance. Ahead and left of the complex and out towards the south walls there was a flurry of movement. Sol looked first at Diera and then Jonas. Finally, he winked at young Hirad.
‘Ready to run?’
‘Where?’ asked Jonas. ‘Trapped, aren’t we?’
‘Trust your old father, all right? Opportunity approaches.’ Sol raised his voice a little. ‘Thraun. Be ready. Allies to our left. Sirendor, don’t let me fall and don’t go too fast for Diera.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Sirendor.
‘Eyes front for answers,’ said Sol.
Sol never tired of watching them in action. Auum appeared from the crowds to the left. He was at head height, his left leg and arm outstretched ahead of him, right leg tucked beneath him and right arm cocked to punch. He slammed into the first of the crouching mages, cannoning him into the second.
‘Defence down,’ said Ilkar.
‘Run, Raven,’ said Sol.
Thraun’s wolves split one left and two right as the motley assortment of wounded, women and children began to run towards the tower complex. The animals patrolled the flanks, snapping in the direction of any man who thought to move in.
Brynar was running hard, Ilkar behind him. Ahead, Auum landed, spun and sprinted towards the tower guards. Ghaal and Miirt powered in from the left. Ghaal dropped low, sweeping the legs from a soldier and smacking the heel of his palm into the fallen man’s forehead, bouncing it from the stone steps.
Miirt ducked under a clumsily drawn sword, blocked the sword arm to the right and butted her victim in the head, sending him down in a shower of blood from his nose. Auum planted a roundhouse kick into the side of Suarav’s head. The old general fell like a sack of potatoes. Auum stepped over him, spread his arms and beckoned the next men on. There were no takers.
Screams to the right took the attention of one who didn’t even see the ClawBound pair striding to the tower complex doors. A fist doubled him up and a knee to the chin put him on the ground. The mages had dispersed back into the entrance hallway of the complex. The doors began to close. The ClawBound pair ran inside, quickly followed by Ghaal. The doors stopped moving and shrieks echoed out.
Sol moved as fast as his aching body would let him. He leaned on Sirendor and used Diera for balance. In front of him, Jonas was holding young Hirad’s hand and the little lad was laughing with the excitement of it all.