Ravensoul (65 page)
But Hirad could see she was crumbling. Above their heads images played of storms lashing the coast of Balaia and of a little girl in the centre of them, calling out for her mother. Erienne was shaking horribly. Her shoulders were hunched as if against a cold wind and her hands were closing again.
Thraun padded up behind her and sat, leaning his body into hers and nuzzling her neck. Darrick stood in front of her, looking down. He stripped off a glove and placed his hand on the top of her head. Sirendor did not come so close. Sirendor, who had never met her, stood to watch the Garonin. They were unsure for the present as they gauged the Protector force. Hirad looked for Ilkar. The elven mage was moving towards them one moment and gone the next.
For an instant Ilkar thought he had lost faith entirely and simply ceased to be in Ulandeneth. But a warming feeling washed over him, familiar and strong. A metaphorical arm around the shoulders from a huge presence.
‘You need to get your brother to safety now because we haven’t got much time,’ said Sol.
‘Where are you?’ asked Ilkar. ‘Where am I?’
Ilkar could see nothing but a brown and gold blur.
‘Travelling,’ said Sol. ‘And I am where you left me. I hold the door. You and your brother must bring the elves through now. And then you have to return and play your part.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Erienne cannot shield us on her own. Hirad cannot fight them on his own. Belief is only so great in any one of us. Find it in yourself. And think on this. Hirad was right. Absolutely none of what we have seen in Ulandeneth can possibly be happening. So why is it? Find the answer within you and turn this fight around.’
Ilkar wanted to ask more but the blur in front of his eyes coalesced into a scene of devastation. He was standing on the beach of North Bay. Around him the bodies of thousands of elves were scattered in the nauseating attitudes of their deaths. Ilkar tried to move but found he could do nothing but turn on the spot.
Coming towards him across the beach was a small knot of elves pursued by three Garonin firing their weapons. White tears wiped across a flaring, sputtering spell shield. The elves ran on. Not five yards from him they stopped and turned. Four of them, mages, bent to a casting. Rebraal faced the onrushing Garonin with five Al-Arynaar. Ilkar could see his brother was wounded. He held his blade in the wrong hand.
Rebraal was speaking but Ilkar could not hear the words. The Garonin stopped ten yards from them and continued firing. Other enemies were approaching. This was a fight only going one way. But not quietly. From the hands of one of the crouching mages IceBlades tore out. Garonin armour flared white. One of the enemy clutched at his helmet, blood spurting from his eye slit. But, even as he fell, a finger of white lashed out along the path of the spell and buried in the caster’s chest. The mage blew apart. The spell shield flickered but steadied.
‘Rebraal,’ said Ilkar.
Rebraal, with his back to Ilkar, stiffened. His head turned this way and that.
‘I’m behind you. Turn round and look.’
Rebraal shook his head.
‘Bloody hell, little brother, do I have to draw you a map?’
Rebraal spun round, clearly surprising the Al-Arynaar warriors standing by him. His face was angry, his mouth ready to deliver a threat. But his jaw dropped and he pointed directly at Ilkar before beginning to walk towards him. His people were asking him why.
‘Can you not see him? He’s standing right there.’
Ilkar could not hear their responses. But he could see their expressions. Disbelief. And why not.
‘Don’t worry, Rebraal. They can’t see or hear me yet.’
‘Ilkar?’
Ilkar nodded. ‘Well, sort of. I’m still dead but at least I can get you out of here. You don’t need the Wesmen. Come to me, all of you, and I’ll take you home.’
‘We’re scattered, Ilkar,’ said Rebraal. ‘Our people are trapped aboard ship and back along the valley behind me. I cannot leave them.’
‘You won’t be,’ said Ilkar. ‘Reach out to me. Touch me. And we will appear to each and every one of them. End their torment. Bring them home.’
Rebraal shook his head. ‘I’ve seen too much to believe this. It cannot be you.’
‘I cannot prove it but that you look at me and see me,’ said Ilkar. ‘You’re my brother.’
‘Then tell me what you always feared the most,’ said Rebraal.
Ilkar still felt a twinge of pain at the memory. ‘I feared walking this earth long after my friends, The Raven, had gone to their graves. Hundreds of years of bleak grief. Lucky for me that I died in screaming agony before the lot of them, wasn’t it?’
Rebraal’s face cracked into a huge smile and he walked towards Ilkar.
‘You came back for me,’ he said. ‘After all this time.’
Ilkar shrugged. ‘Someone has to look after you.’
‘Where will we end up?’
‘Ah, now that I can’t tell you. After all, I’ll end up elsewhere, being dead and all that.’
Rebraal’s smile faltered. ‘So this is only to be a brief meeting.’
‘The briefest. But worth the moment.’
‘So it is, my brother, so it is.’
Rebraal reached out and touched Ilkar’s hands. Ilkar felt the faintest of physical contact but it was enough to last him eternity. With that touch the doorway opened for every surviving elf on Balaia and on Calaius. And in that same moment Ilkar was thrust back to the desperate now of Ulandeneth but this time with an answer shrieking for attention.
Brothers fall. Grieve for their souls. Run hard. Strike back. Protect The Raven. Protect Sol.
The pulses of thought ran around Ark’s head. The Protector line forged towards the Garonin forward position. They covered the short space quickly but the Garonin weapons were tearing his brothers apart. Behind Ark, the shield of the One mage was guttering. Garonin were waiting for it to fail. His brothers would die to keep them from her. From all who sheltered within it.
They still ran four deep. The white tears smashed into them. To Ark’s immediate left his brother Kol took the full force of a weapon in his chest. His body was lifted and hurled backwards, scattering those in his wake. Multiple tracers of energy moving right to left, burning, gouging and blistering. Protectors fell soundlessly. Others stumbled, limbs shorn away. Wounds to torso and head brought down more. But the Protectors would not fold.
Reform. Run on. Close the line. Strike.
The Protectors broke across the Garonin. Ark exulted. He smashed his axe through the chest of the first enemy. He kicked the body aside. He thrust his sword deep into the gut of the next. Orn’s axe whipped across to block a weapon coming back up to fire. The voices were loud in his head.
Duck low, jab up. Strike left, sword. Axe defence chest, Orn. Spin blade. Upper cut sword. Brother down. Body away. Fill. Drive axe forward, Pel. Pace up. Lower left flank block.
The Garonin were wavering in front of them. There were no gaps in the Protector defence barring those torn by the desultory white tears that some from the rear risked around the bodies of their fellows. Blank masks faced flat faceplates. Pitiless enemies squaring up. Ark buried his axe in the top of a Garonin skull, splitting it open and showering gore. He wrenched it clear. Orn clattered his axe flat into the waist of another.
Ark could see beyond them. The plain was empty. The remnants of the Garonin force broke and ran, blinking out of sight as they went.
Hold, my brothers.
Ark looked about him. The shield was thirty yards to their rear. Protector bodies covered the ground, two hundred and more taken by the white tears. He could feel Sol’s tension in his mind. He asked of him.
‘They are not gone. They’ve drawn you out a long way,’ said Sol. ‘Fall back.’
A shimmering in the air appeared less than twenty yards ahead. Garonin dropped into Ulandeneth. Hundreds of them. They stood like statues for a moment, gathering themselves. Weapons were raised to fire. It was going to be a slaughter.
Back, my brothers. Back to the shield.
Above, the sky was dark again. The images changed.
‘Fall back.’
Sol’s voice sounded through each and every one of them. Above, the black images had changed. Demons tortured souls where they stretched away from the Soul Tank. Protectors had masks ripped from their faces and they died in torment.
Strength. Move fast. Don’t look back.
The Protectors turned and ran. Behind them, the Garonin unleashed a storm of raw white power.
Chapter 47
Hirad watched helpless while the Garonin slaughtered the Protectors. Erienne’s shield had strengthened. The images had changed away from her personal torment, leaving her free to concentrate, with Thraun acting as strength and comfort right by her. But the cost had been savage and was worsening.
The Garonin had materialised in huge numbers just too far away for the Protectors to reach. Their only course was to try and get back inside the shield. The white tears spoke another outcome. Protectors were hurled forward. Backs of skulls were crushed in. Holes were punched through chests and legs were blasted from beneath strong bodies.
Hirad could see Ark, and now Aeb, running headlong. Arms pumping, weapons flashing in the glare of the tears. Fire was back on the shield too, rattling and fizzing, reminding Erienne of the grim task before her. Garonin closed in on all sides. He could even hear weapons fire behind the edifice now, blasting through the stone, leaching away the belief of every soul still yet to cross home.
‘Be ready, Raven! Steady, Erienne. Sirendor, looking forward.’ Hirad’s voice couldn’t cover that of Ilkar. The elf so recently disappeared was plainly back amongst them and he was raving about something. ‘Ilkar! Drop the speech. Get casting.’
‘No! You don’t understand. Well you do but you don’t. Gods drowning, what am I saying? You lot only believe so far. I see it now. I see everything. We are just spirits. They cannot even touch us if we don’t believe they can. They only hurt us because that is what we expect! Listen to me. They cannot break us. They cannot!’
‘We haven’t time for this, Ilks. If you believe, cast something to help us.’
Hirad never took his eyes from the Protectors. White tears splashed against the few that remained. Less than fifty. A masked man fell against Aeb’s legs, bringing him down. Ark stopped to drag him clear. Fire splashed across Aeb’s body, tearing it apart where he lay. Ark ran on. The few ran through the barrier, stopped, turned and faced.
The mass of the Garonin surged at them.
‘Listen to me, Gods drowning, listen!’
‘Cast, Ilkar you bastard. Just cast!’
‘All right, I will.’
Hirad drew a deep breath and picked his first target. He dared a glance left and right. The line was solid but there was precious little in reserve. The TaiGethen held the flanks by the edifice. The Raven warrior trio had the centre with Protectors filling the gaps in between. The Garonin came through the shield.
Darrick fenced a weapon aside. He found a gap in the enemy defence and slid his sword up under his arm. The soldier fell. The one behind him opened fire. White tears splattered against the shield. He closed, still firing.
Hirad tore into the Garonin ahead of him. He batted away a weapon, smashed his fist high into the soldier’s faceplate and dashed the pommel of his sword into the side of his helmet. The soldier fell. Hirad leapt over him.
The Protector line struck their targets. Hirad felt the power. Axes came down in unison. Blood sprayed into the ivory sky. Swords flashed through. The Garonin juddered to a temporary standstill. The Protectors stepped up, still just inside the shield. Hirad saw an axe remove the arm of one Garonin. He saw that same axe turn out to block a thrust to a brother Protector. And he saw the Protector lose his head to a stream of white tears as it moved a fraction beyond safety.
‘The line’s not going to hold,’ shouted Darrick.
The earth shook just beyond Erienne’s shield. Garonin broke off and stepped back. The Protectors stopped as one. Hirad looked out over the juddering landscape while beneath his feet he could feel nothing at all. He glanced over his shoulder. Ilkar was casting. He watched the elven mage stare out over the Garonin and raise his hands from by his sides.
The ground of Ulandeneth heaved. Mighty spears of rock thrust up, spilling Garonin to either side. High the walls of bedrock climbed, and between them hundreds of enemy soldiers were standing and staring. The ivory mountains shuddered to a halt, loose pebbles running from their impossibly smooth surfaces. For a heartbeat the battle ceased.
Ilkar clapped his hands.
Hirad fell back a pace and had to turn his head away. The dread thump of the low mountains coming together was augmented in his imagination by the crunch of bones. Enemies, yes, but snuffed out so coldly. Surviving Garonin were too stunned to react for a moment. Above, the sky had returned to its bland ivory. Hirad turned to face Ilkar. The elf’s hands were still clasped together. The clap they had made had been heard across Ulandeneth.
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