Ravensoul (38 page)
‘Good, I think. Look, the whole ward grid has gone active. Septern has done some very clever things with how mana is channelled between groups of wards. Some of the energy from an exploding trap goes to activate other so-far-dormant groups, that sort of thing. Don’t say it, Hirad. If you can’t understand me, assume I’m talking to someone else, all right?’
‘If you insist.’
‘I do. The point I’m getting to is this. The whole system is clearly linked all the way back to Xetesk and draws its mana direct from the Heart, because that way no mage has to expend mana stamina. All very clever so far. But the Garonin have found a way to tap into it. They are drawing off huge amounts of mana, direct from the Heart. Septern’s whole grid is like one big feed pipe to them. Hirad was right: I was literally having the life sucked out of me. Every mote of mana I possessed, dragged out kicking and screaming all the way.’
The Unknown laughed but there was little satisfaction in it. ‘Poor Densyr. He refuses to listen to what is coming. How unprepared he is.’
‘So the good news is, the Garonin can drag off mana as fast as they want in the short term and so don’t need to attack the college directly,’ said Sirendor. ‘But there’s an obvious problem, isn’t there?’
‘Top marks,’ said Ilkar. ‘At any moment Septern and Densyr might close down the grid.’
‘And that is bad for us how?’ asked Hirad.
‘Well, they have two choices. Either shut down the grid nice and gently, rendering every ward inert. Or send a massive pulse through it and set the lot of them off.’
‘Ah.’
‘And from the Garonin point of view, someone will have shut off their flow of mana. What do you think they’ll do about that?’
‘Ah.’
‘We have got to get out of here,’ said The Unknown. ‘Ilkar, where are the wards around us?’
‘There are nine that I can divine, spread relatively evenly.’
‘Anything in front of that door, for instance?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Ilkar. ‘I don’t know what exactly, but it’ll either be very hot, very cold or make the walls fall on us.’
‘We’re going to have to take a chance,’ said The Unknown.
‘Oh, all right if it’s you, eh?’
‘Shut up, Hirad. Ilkar, do you have it in you to put up an Ilkar’s Defence?’
‘A what?’
‘Or maybe an Ilkar’s Heal My Foot spell?’
‘Hirad.’ The Unknown glared at him. ‘You’ll have to wait. Ruminate on why you got burned or something. Sorry, Ilkar, that’s the new name for a ForceCone.’
‘Very flattering, I’m sure. Look, I know where you’re going with this. Are you sure? I can’t guarantee the Cone will stand up to much.’
‘I can’t think of a better idea. Can you?’ Ilkar shook his head. ‘Then let’s get started.’
Chapter 26
Auum led his Tai back across the rooftops, across a fifteen-foot gap to the next line of houses, along five pitched roofs and into the lee of a huge chimney stack at the east end of the square. Here the smoke from the cook fires of every dwelling in the tenement house was released to the sky. He wasn’t sure if the Garonin had seen them coming but he was sure they had hit the roofs and ground looking for him and his kind.
‘Ghaal, what can you see?’
The Tai peered slowly out around the edge of the stack.
‘They have stopped about two hundred and fifty yards from us. Something’s happening. Perhaps they aren’t after us after all. On the ground they have stopped too, as if they’ve formed a perimeter at the edge of where they cleared the wards earlier.’
Auum joined him, Miirt went the other way.
‘The vydosphere is collecting,’ she said.
And so it was. The cloud was darkening slowly above the malevolent shape hanging in the sky, which had begun a lazy spiral. Funnels were belching out smoke and the metal rods across its bulk were fizzing and crackling with energy as the reaction built to detonation.
‘Where is it getting the mana from?’ asked Ghaal.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Auum was sizing up the distance to the enemy. ‘We can strike here. They are unprepared.’
‘They will follow if we do.’
‘So much the better. We need to bring them further into the grid and away from the others. We can do both if we’re quick.’
Ghaal was smiling. ‘Like a decoy run in the rainforest.’
‘With the rooftops as our canopy,’ said Miirt.
‘Are we one on this?’ asked Auum. ‘Draw them to the south if you can.’
‘Yniss will guide us,’ said his Tai.
‘Split and run hard, my warriors. Keep low and loose. Tai, we move.’
Auum hurdled wall, low chimney and alleyway. He sprinted on a long gentle curve, his angle and the presentation of his body making it hard for any projectile weapon to take certain aim. Seventy yards into the run, the Garonin began to fire, the entire front line of over seventy enemy soldiers carving up the dawn with their white teardrops.
Tile and flowerpot exploded by him as he ran. He saw Ghaal turn, dive and forward-roll while energy bit into a loft window where he had been standing momentarily. He came up low and ran behind a decorative wall. The fire followed him but when the smoke and debris cleared, he was long gone.
Auum had time to acknowledge his Tai’s skill before he approached a wide avenue. Thirty feet wide at a guess. He needed speed. The wind was already behind him. Garonin weapons tracked him. In his wake the tiles of a pitched roof shattered and melted. He leaned forward, gathering pace, stepped onto the building’s edge and launched himself head first, arms tight by his sides, body axle-straight. The white tears flooded his vision. He felt heat as they ripped by underneath him and he angled his body to allow a stream to pass by his left-hand side.
Auum brought his arms in front of him, took the impact of landing on his right shoulder and turned into the direction of motion, coming to a stop on his haunches. The Garonin were just over the next roof apex. He could hear their footsteps as they advanced on his position. Beads of fire still swept into the sky, chasing Ghaal and Miirt. Auum unclipped his pouch of jaqrui throwing crescents, plucking one out and taking a short blade in his right hand. He moved diagonally up the slate-covered roof, heading for a cluster of chimneys at the centre of the building.
The Garonin felt no need for the same stealth, their tramping feet giving away the position of each of six soldiers. Auum put a mental picture of them in the forefront of his mind. He switched his blade and jaqrui around.
‘Yniss, spare my soul to do your work as dawn lightens tomorrow. Tual, guide my hand to smite my enemies. Shorth, hear my prayer; I commend my soul to you should I fall. Seek for me a path to my resting place. This I ask in the names of the great Gods of the Ynissul. Hear me, my masters. I am Auum, your servant.’
Auum reached the cluster of chimneys, stepped to the right and threw the jaqrui round-armed. The blade whipped across the rooftop, taking a Garonin under the chin guard and burying itself in his neck. He jerked backwards and fell, his weapon firing wildly into the sky. Auum dived back behind the chimney stack. He grabbed another jaqrui. Masonry and tile blew apart above his head under the wilting fire of the Garonin.
Auum ran left. He threw again. The holes in the body of the jaqrui caused it to make a keening, unearthly sound as it travelled straight and true. The target Garonin raised his weapon reflexively in defence. The blade sheared deep into the weapon, which exploded in the Garonin’s hands, taking off his arms at the elbows, ripping deep holes in his chest and forcing upwards to shatter his jaw.
Metal shards whistled as they flew. Auum flattened himself against the roof. The four remaining Garonin had turned their backs against any impact. Armour flared white. Auum was up and running left. He dragged his second short blade out with his right hand.
He leapt and spun in the air, his blades flashing left to right in quick succession buoyed by the power of his turn and the pace of his body. The first slashed deep into the helmet of his target, the second, adjusted lower, whipped through his throat, ripping free and carrying blood and gore with it.
Auum landed facing right. The remaining three were moving towards him. They could not see Miirt sprinting up behind them and the fire from their fellows nearer the vydosphere was tracking Ghaal.
He heard the howl of a jaqrui. The blade flickered past his left shoulder and embedded in the arm of the leftmost enemy. The soldier jerked back, but steadied and fired. Auum glanced back to see Ghaal duck and roll under the stream of white tears.
Auum rose and ran. He came under fire from the other two. He dived left, rolling and rising, the roof at his feet obliterated. He dropped a blade, reached for a jaqrui and threw. The Garonin ducked it, his head moving to track it just for a moment. More than enough. Auum picked up his blade, ran four paces and launched himself two-footed at the Garonin’s midriff. He caught the soldier square on. The enemy doubled over, and as he fell, Auum’s blades jabbed up under both his arms.
Auum shovelled the body aside and came to a crouch. Miirt had leapt up and backhanded her blade through the back of a Garonin neck. Ghaal had jumped and struck the other in the eye slit. Blood was running down the side of the roof, staining the red tiles a dark shade of crimson.
‘Yniss saves us for greater deeds,’ said Auum.
He turned to the vydosphere. More Garonin were advancing. Fifty-plus breaking from the main force. Above them, the sky darkened by degrees and the pace of the cloud spin increased.
‘Breathe the air, my warriors. And let us run like the jaguars are on our scent.’
The Tai cell touched hands briefly, stowed weapons and ran south, exhorting Tual to guard their every move. Behind them not every Garonin turned to follow. Auum watched eight carrying on forward.
‘The Ravensoul worries them,’ he muttered. ‘I hope it is strong enough to turn them aside.’
Baron Gresse settled into his chair on the rooftop garden of one of Xetesk’s premier mages, it didn’t matter which, to watch his last, glorious Balaian dawn. The house was well stocked and he had one of his servants find him some fresh leaf tea, a plate of bread and cold meat and some fresh fruit. The table was laid properly, with white cloth, napkins and crystal glasses. Wine would follow the tea. A little early perhaps, but when one was short of time, early was not in the lexicon.
Blackthorne reappeared from the house.
‘It’s mine,’ he said. ‘One of my finest vintages too. A pity to let it go to waste.’
Gresse had dismissed his servant but his and Blackthorne’s retinues were still loitering at the far end of the garden, unwilling to desert their lords.
‘Then join me, old friend. And take a look at this spectacular, if unfortunately unique, sunrise.’
‘There’s still time to get away from here,’ said Blackthorne. ‘We can enjoy this under a new sun.’
Gresse indicated over his left shoulder. Eight Garonin soldiers were making their languid way across the rooftops.
‘No, there isn’t, Blackthorne. And I’m tired of running. Tired of being hauled about like some chattel. I am a baron of Balaia. And that is how I will die. Better than straining to reach some foreign shore and having the cancer claim me anyway.
‘What are we running for, you and me? Are you really going to build another Blackthorne Castle? Do you have the energy? All those you protected have been swept away by these bastards. Just like my people. I’m going down with this ship and I’m looking forward to it.’
Blackthorne looked away towards the Garonin heading directly towards them and then to those making their steady way towards the college.
‘Go!’ he shouted to the servants still waiting at the end of the garden. ‘We’ll be along presently.’
Not one of their men moved. Instead, a show of hands resulted in them returning to the barons and forming a ring around them at a deferential distance. Blackthorne nodded his respect and thanks, pulled out a chair and sat down.
‘You know, you are absolutely right.’
‘It’s a common complaint.’
‘Can I pour you some more tea?’
‘I think wine more appropriate now.’
‘Good man.’
Blackthorne produced a corkscrew from his pocket and set to work. He drew the cork expertly and sniffed the end, nodding approvingly. He handed the cork to Gresse while he poured each of them a mouthful to taste. The two barons sniffed, sipped, rolled and swallowed.
‘A red to satisfy the desire for a full body, a head of blackcurrant and an aftertaste of dark plum,’ said Gresse. ‘Outstanding. We should have ordered the steak.’
A servant stepped in, took the bottle from Blackthorne and poured each of them a full glass with a remarkably steady hand. The sounds of the enemy approaching were growing louder.
‘A little late for steak. Even for something blue.’
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