'No, don't think that way. Think only that Xetesk will be in sight before dark and that we will be inside before noon tomorrow. They'll be expecting us.'
T hope so.'
'Yniss watches over us.'
'He needs to do more than that.'
'I hear you, Dila. Run strong.'
He turned to Pheone. 'Get on the wagon.'
'No,' she replied. T need to be seen.'
'You need to live,' said Rebraal. 'There are greater fights to come. Please. I don't want to have to put you on there myself.'
Pheone bit her lip but nodded. 'I guess you're right.'
Rebraal inclined his head and jogged away back towards the second pair of wagons. He could barely see the horses for the elven escort. The human drivers though, he could, and they were terrified, eyes up not ahead. He breasted through the flanking guards, shouting his confidence and hearing it reflected back. He leapt onto the kicking board of the left-hand cart.
'We go forwards, not upwards,' he said, his hand on the shoulder of the driver.
'Yeah, but death comes from upwards not forwards,' growled the middle-aged man, Brynn. He had a face latticed by the cuts of the strike-strain, a bandaged head and a belligerent belief in his right to survive. Rebraal liked him. He was Hirad, ten years hence.
'Let me watch the sky, Brynn. Just keep these animals in a straight line.'
'They know better than to deviate with me behind them,' said
Brynn, face softening by a degree. 'Ride with me this time, eh? See what it's like from up here.'
'I intend to,' said Rebraal.
And the sky fell in.
Strike-strain poured into the back of the line, reavers to the front. It was a tactic they had worked before, attempting to drive the train at different speeds front and back, creating a chaotic middle ground.
'Keep your form!' called Rebraal into the din, his words carried up and down the line. 'Hold your pace! Hold your pace!'
Like the locusts that plagued the southern dry plains of Calaius, the strike-strain flooded the rear wagons. For a few moments, Rebraal watched the clamouring cloud descend. Blades flickered in the sudden half-light. An IceWind howled a tear in the enemy and the wagons were obscured from view.
But Rebraal had problems of his own. A large number of reavers, well into three figures, was rushing at the front wagons from both flanks, from ahead and, inevitably, from above. Taunting and laughing, they dove into the ColdRoom shell whose effects clearly lessened by the day.
'Keep those horses forward. Blinkers tight!'
The lead wave swooped over the front wagons and drove on headlong.
'Yniss preserve us,' muttered Rebraal.
His sword in his right hand, his left squeezed Brynn's shoulder and they were engulfed.
'Brace!' he yelled.
The cursyrd struck the wagon, more of them than he could quickly count. He placed his body in front of Brynn, turning his back to the impact and feeling claws rake his armour and teeth graze the top of his head.
'Still here,' said Brynn.
In front of them, the horses bucked and Brynn struggled to control them, demanding calm. Al-Arynaar carved the air around them, beating back the reavers intent on ripping out their eyes and throats.
Rebraal straightened, sword whipping out in a wide arc. He felt it catch the wing of a cursyrd which squealed and twisted upwards, colour flaring a bright red. He took in the quick view. The roof of
the wagon was threatened. The cursyrd's charge had taken three elves from their precarious canvas perch to a fight in the dust and grass behind. Two remained. Rebraal glanced across Brynn.
'Gheneer, keep him safe.'
The Al-Arynaar nodded, not breaking from the fight. Rebraal jumped onto the canvas, felt for a strut and balanced instantly, the wagon bucking beneath him. The Al-Arynaar with him fought hard and fast. A sword sliced high into the chest of a cursyrd. A kick to the stomach saw it from the wagon. Another lost an arm to a downward slash and took off, wailing and cursing.
Rebraal took in three, two others flying to join one with its claws already rending canvas. The Al-Arynaar leader took a pace to the next strut and smashed his left foot into its head. The creature somersaulted backwards, wings flailing to break its fall and propel it back into the air. The other two flew on, back-beating their wings, wary of the elf barring their way. Rebraal stood over the tear, sword in two hands, waiting.
They came in left and right. Rebraal smiled and feinted left, ducking low. He jabbed upwards, his sword driving deep between the cursyrd's legs. It screeched, dark gore pouring from the wound. Rebraal twisted the blade and dragged it clear, surging upright and in the same moment beating his right foot into the midriff of the second creature. Off-balance, it couldn't drag its arms back quickly enough to stop the elf s blade puncturing its chest.
Keeping himself moving, Rebraal headed down the wagon towards the rear. The remaining two Al-Arynaar were heavily engaged, strike-strain adding to their problems. He pulled a reaver back by the neck, his sword grating against its spine on the way through its body. He threw the corpse aside. The elf in front of him nodded his thanks, backhanded his blade into the face of another enemy and turned for the next.
Reavers filled the air above them. Al-Arynaar were climbing back up the sides of the wagon. Rebraal looked into the body of the carriage, saw the upturned faces of the guards and the bowed heads of mages. So far, the shell remained protected and intact. But with the air full of cursyrd and The Raven nowhere to be seen, they would have to fight well to keep it that way.
Chapter 30
Dystran had felt it like they all had. The demons' extraordinary withdrawal to gather at the periphery of Xetesk the day before had allowed them not just to relieve the library of a mass of texts but to go among the people and reassure them of their intentions; bring in fresh food from the farms within the city; gain information about the demons and their ways; and most importantly, bask in the mana stream in the open air and sample the spectrum.
But they had been reluctant to move too far out. Over two years of imprisonment had taken their toll and each mage and soldier could see danger and death in every shadow and corner they passed.
The Lord of the Mount stood on the walls of his college above the main gates and looked out over the city. He could see demons in the sky way to the south where the spectrum was in complete turmoil. The Julatsans were coming.
'What do you think it means?' asked Prexys, one of the surviving members of the Circle Seven.
'Opportunity or desperation. Probably both.' Dystran smiled, luxuriating in the fresh air. 'But I still can't work out why they have left us so alone.'
'Perhaps they are under more pressure out there than they expected.'
T can't see it,' said Dystran. 'There are so many of them. But even those coming out of the tear are heading straight out there. Whatever the size of force that's heading this way, they certainly don't want it arriving.'
Prexys shook his head. 'Julatsa. What must have happened to drive them out?'
'Be a shame not to find out, wouldn't it?' said Dystran. He turned to Chandyr and Vuldaroq. 'Gentlemen, are we not honour-bound
to help our people under duress? Tell me, Chandyr, do you think they are heading this way?'
'There's no doubt about it but they are in a great deal of trouble. I've had mages in the sky over the college and they can see the dust cloud but it's almost covered by a cloud of demons. I don't recommend we leave here to help them but we can plan to smooth their progress through the city.'