Ravensoul (53 page)
‘I remain lord of this pile of redesigned stone and wood,’ said Densyr. ‘And hence I shall be as sentimental as I like to whomsoever I choose. Thank you very much for your input. Time to relax. Help is at hand.’
‘Did the young pup find any water?’
‘Apparently not.’
Densyr made his careful way down the stair, already feeling nervous about Dystran’s journey to the catacombs. He passed Brynar’s team on the way up and favoured them with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. At the base of the tower, guards and mages were at work trying to make a path to the shattered complex doors and to clear the rubble-strewn mess that cluttered the entrance to the catacombs.
The evacuation alarm still sounded across the city, and while it had merged into the background for a while, Densyr heard it loud and clear again now. He clapped his hands for attention.
‘I’m speaking loudly because the evacuation alarm is, as you are aware, intrusive. Exactly as it is designed to be. Now, as you also are aware, evacuation is a term meaning leave, run, go away, don’t look back and any number of colloquialisms that put together lead to the conclusion that the city should be cleared of its entire population.
‘This leads me to my question, which is: what the hell are you all still doing here?’
Densyr found it difficult to keep the smile from his face such was the pride he felt at the efforts still being made on behalf of himself and Xetesk. There was a moment when every man and woman inside the devastated complex thought his verbose utterance was in all seriousness. One by one, however, he saw them begin to relax. One spoke up.
‘General Suarav asked if we would stay and help the fight. This is our college. So here we stand.’
‘And I am more proud of you than I can say. Thank you for your courage and your strength. With people like you standing firm, this college and city will survive, rebuild and be great once more. But right now my advice to you is to rest. Mages, your stamina reserves must be low. Guards, your arms must be tired, your every muscle crying out for pause. There will be plenty of time to clean up this mess when our victory is complete. For now we have to assume the Garonin will return. Rest. For there is still much work to be done.’
They cheered him on his way out through the doors of the complex, and he had never felt more like a fraud in his life. Suarav was waiting for him.
‘My Lord Densyr, it is joy to see you alive and well.’
‘And it is joy to be so.’ Densyr walked forward and clasped arms with his trusted friend. ‘I always knew you to be a great man. But even I had no idea about the depths of your courage and your powers of persuasion. How is the college still standing?’
‘I’ll explain later, if there’s time,’ said Suarav. ‘For now I need to give you a situation report.’
‘Do I want to hear it?’
Suarav shook his head. ‘You can learn most of it just by looking around you.’
There were not enough survivors to clear away the dead and the scattered body parts strewn across the courtyard. Smears of blood stained every surface that wasn’t touched by the scorch-marks of Garonin weapons. Brave Xeteskians were abandoned in the grotesque poses of their deaths. Survivors were moving through them, searching for any who might still be breathing.
It would have been impossible to drive a wagon across the courtyard to the east gates of the college, which themselves stood open revealing the destruction of the city beyond. Rubble and debris covered the ground. Two out of three long rooms were flattened. The mana bowl existed only as a crater and the living quarters, refectory and medical buildings were all holed and partly collapsed.
Densyr turned a slow circle and drew in a sharp breath at the parlous state of the tower complex. Its symmetry was destroyed by the wrecking of Prexys and Laryon. His own tower was leaning to the north and Nyer was in even worse shape.
‘Only binding magic holds any of it together now,’ said Suarav. ‘The structure of the complex and its foundations are essentially unsound. When this is over, it will all have to come down.’
‘I’m sure the Garonin will be only too happy to help in that regard, ’ said Densyr, feeling a bitterness that surprised him. ‘So what do we have besides rubble and ruins?’
‘I have twenty-seven mages able to cast. I have fifty or so fit sword guards and another thirty injured but prepared to fight.’
‘That’s all?’
‘And that represents a good survival rate given where we started. Don’t forget, you can add to that the entire catacomb defence. What’s that: fifty personal guard, the Circle Seven and the research teams plus people like the Communion Globe team. Thirty mages in all working down there?’
Densyr nodded. ‘Yes. Not as many as we’d have liked but clearly the weight of numbers had to be up here. We’re going to need to be clever with spells. We can bind the catacomb ceilings and walls as far as possible and take them on down there unless you have a better plan.’
‘Not on the face of it but my concern is that they will not try and walk through the front door. Looked to me as if they were trying to come straight through the top. Means that binding is all very well, but should they breach it, we have nothing because they can just reach in and grab the Heart.’
Densyr glanced up at his tower, wondering how far Dystran had got down the stairs.
‘There is one thing we can keep up our sleeve. It’ll stop the Garonin getting the Heart for sure.’
‘There’s a but, isn’t there.’
‘We won’t have it either.’
‘Still preferable.’
‘Agreed. All right. Look, you’ve done an extraordinary job thus far, General, and I would not presume to alter your plans. Have who you need from the catacomb defence. Strengthen where you see fit and just tell us all what we need to do. Fair enough?’
‘The best I could hope for.’
Densyr clasped arms with him again. ‘We can do this. If The Raven are successful, we can be sure the Garonin will be weakened and it gives us a chance.’
Densyr heard his name being called. Brynar was picking his way out of the complex, waving as he came. He tripped, fell flat on his face, got to his feet and ignored the scrapes evident on his hands as he ran on.
‘Good to see you looking better,’ said Densyr. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘Brynar, take a deep breath,’ said Suarav.
‘Communion Globe. They’re Korina, it’s there them.’
‘Brynar,’ said Suarav, his tone commanding this time. ‘I am unused to repeating myself.’
‘Sorry. Sorry.’ Brynar stared at Suarav and took a deliberate deep breath. And then another three. ‘The Communion Globe is active, my Lord Densyr, General Suarav. Korina is still there and still fighting. They are surrounded but the enemy is not moving. They say the Garonin are waiting.’
‘For what? I wonder.’ said Densyr. ‘Brynar, tell Sharyr I want communications open as long as is humanly possible. In fact longer. Suarav, the floor is yours. I’ll be in Dystran’s chambers until the Garonin return.’
‘If,’ suggested Brynar.
‘Until,’ repeated Densyr. ‘Just accept it.’
Chapter 38
Sol stared at their silhouettes and felt a keen sadness. ‘Why are you here?’ he said. ‘You didn’t have to be here.’
‘It is ever the way,’ said Auum. ‘The TaiGethen serve Yniss in whatever realm we are most needed.’
‘But your sacrifice—’
‘Is no greater than your own in any event. And we do not consider it so.’
‘But you can never go back,’ said Sol. ‘You are dead, like me. Like all of us here.’
‘But our work does not cease. We are Ynissul, servants of God. I have been alive for thousands of years. Now is my greatest challenge. ’ Auum chuckled. ‘You are feeling guilt.’
Sol nodded. ‘Because I am glad that you are here. And that means I am glad that you are dead.’
‘Then do not think of it in those terms. Consider that together we have a greater chance of saving both our peoples.’
‘That I can do.’
The dead crowded the corridor, which was no wider or higher than fifteen feet at any point thus far. All of Balaia’s returned dead were thronging along it, most in a desperate hurry to reach Ulandeneth. The Raven and Auum’s Tai were behind the mass by some distance now and moving with growing unease.
Sol was finding the physical laws that bound the corridor very disconcerting. The corridor itself was like walking over a huge sponge. The floor had little tension to it. It was the same if you pressed a wall. But there was no imperative to walk as such; with an effort of will it was entirely possible to float above the floor and in whatever attitude you chose, and move with no apparent motive force.
Hirad had been keen to demonstrate his skills in the area until Sol had worked out that he could also, with another effort of will, give him a thump in what had once been his gut. And it still hurt, which was completely bizarre.
‘You know what really rankles with me?’ Sol said. ‘It’s that even though I’m dead, I’ve still got things to learn. Worse than that, things Hirad already knows, which is a first.’
He didn’t look at any of the others because to do so made him feel intensely sad. He had come to terms with the fact that each of them was represented by what was in effect a silhouette picked out in varying shades of bright grey. But what he couldn’t get over was that, though outlines were recognisable, when any of them turned to him, all he could see was a blank canvas where a face ought to be.
‘But this is not true death,’ said Auum.
‘How do you work that out?’
‘Until all physical manifestations are cast aside and the soul rests in eternal bliss, death cannot have truly occurred.’
‘Yet we cannot go back.’
‘No, Sol, we cannot, but there is a place between life and death, and this is it,’ said Ilkar. ‘We all came back down something not dissimilar when the Garonin ripped open our resting place.’
‘You’re telling me you were genuinely alive back on Balaia in those alternative bodies.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Ilkar. ‘How else would you describe it?’
‘Possession,’ said Sol. ‘To us, you were you all right but walking dead nonetheless.’
‘Charming,’ said Sirendor.
They moved in silence for a while. Sol watched the mass of the dead moving further and further ahead of them. They had become an amorphous bright blob. Sol wished he had some reference to work out how far they were ahead. All he could come up with was: out of easy reach to feel in his soul comfortably.
‘There’s so many things I’m not getting about all this,’ said Sol.
‘And that surprises you, does it?’ asked Sirendor. ‘I mean, you are dead. Lots to take in and all that.’
‘Just ignore him and tell me what’s bothering you,’ said Ilkar.
‘Well, for starters, why is there distance here? I thought all travel was instantaneous between dimensions and that being dead was a seamless transition.’
‘Can’t believe everything you read.’
‘Shut up, Hirad. I’ve thought about this one, and it’s easy really. We aren’t travelling between dimensions. We’re outside anything we know, both when we were cast out of our rest and right now. Ulandeneth is a place that exists beyond our sphere of comprehension. Sorry, that sounds lame, doesn’t it, but it’s all I can come up with.’
‘It’ll do, Ilkar, thanks. But given I accept that, then what are all the other dead doing here? We’re here because we’re hoping to find new lands beyond Ulandeneth, though God knows how that’ll manifest itself. Where do they think they’re going?’
‘You forget that the reason any of us came back was ultimately to get all the living to leave, admittedly knowing that at least one of you had to lay down his life to open the first door,’ said Ilkar. ‘And now it is open and the path to salvation is ahead. I know there is no end at the moment but you must understand that the pull of this corridor is incredibly strong for a returned dead soul. Far too strong to resist if you are clinging on to a possessed body. It is what we want. The relief from pain alone makes it worth the risk.’
‘What risk?’ asked Sol.
‘That this goes nowhere but oblivion,’ said Thraun.
‘Right. Well, leaving that aside for now, can someone tell me why we aren’t travelling at greater speed? Presumably, we can go as fast as we can will ourselves. This is a snail’s pace, is it not? And we are anticipating trouble. How in all the hells do we repel it?’
Ilkar didn’t get the chance to respond. Hirad’s silhouette flashed a deep gold rimmed with warm red.
‘Company,’ said Hirad.
Sol tensed.
‘Who?’ asked Sirendor.
‘Take a look.’
Hirad’s silhouette arm gestured at the translucent walls of the passageway. Sol stared into the maelstrom without. Grey-, white-and gold-flecked brown. A chaos of light and dark, swirling and racing. He shuddered to think of the forces at play out there, beyond the flimsy barrier.
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