Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 168 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

Chapter 42

Chandyr had been badly stung by the defeat of yesterday. Nothing had gone according to his plan. Darrick had out-thought him, and Izack’s cavalry and the quite extraordinary elven warriors had comfortably outfought him. He had ridden back from chasing away the cavalry to find carnage by the gates. He had a hundred men dead or wounded, fifteen of them mages, while his charges had taken down three elves and one panther.

He knew they were good, but frankly he hadn’t thought them that good. However, the ten man patrols he had sent through the city to search for them had been lost and now he faced the gates again with his men demoralised, reduced in number, while the same faces stared down at him.

But today would be different. Today, his cavalry was ready and split around the college. He didn’t care how quick an elf was, a galloping horse was faster, more powerful and would trample them without mercy. So he had told his men that they should not fear. That setbacks were a part of war. He told them that their efforts had not been in vain and that the enemy could not cast and the gates were weakened. And he had told them that the allied forces chasing them had been destroyed.

He hoped fervently that last statement was true. The fact was, no one knew for certain. The spell had been cast but there were no reports of its effects. Still, if lie it turned out to be, at least it kept his men facing the right way. And Chandyr wanted to be inside the gates by midday.

He ordered the attack. Same two fronts as yesterday, same weight of mages but this time, there was little backup. Around the walls, his loose mages sent HotRain into the air to fall on the unshielded defenders, driving bowmen from the walls and allowing his mages more comfort to link, to concentrate and to cast. FlameOrbs battered the gates, ForceCones heaved against the timbers and Earth-Hammers undermined the foundations.

Again and again, the spells struck and the defenders seemed to have no answers. Few arrows came and, critically, no spells at all. He watched from his horse, knowing the tide was turning. He ordered DeathHail to strike the battlements and saw men and elves die. He demanded another EarthHammer from every mage in the link and at last the gates shifted.

He knew his mages were tiring but surely they could make the breach. Another FlameOrb, the size of his house in Xetesk crashed into the timbers and this time he could see the flame take hold. His soldiers roared in approval.

‘Come on!’ he shouted. ‘One more, the bindings are failing.’

And he knew it was true. Already men were running from the walls, no doubt to take up defence in the courtyard beyond. Only The Raven still stood in the gatehouse, smoke billowing across their faces. They were the factor that concerned him most. While they still stood, the Julatsans would not break, and so far his attacks on them had come to nothing. Worse, they had even found time to kill familiars, leading him to keep the rest back. He couldn’t afford the cost in mages.

The ForceCone swept towards the gates. He could hear the flaming timbers protesting, the weaker of them cracking. He saw the gates buckle and one of the great iron hinge braces snap. But still they stood.

‘Again,’ he ordered. ‘Again. Stand ready. Captains, have your men stand ready!’

Across the courtyard his companies formed up. Moments away. He was just moments away.

A shout to his right caught his attention through all the noise, flame and smoke. Men were pointing into the sky. He followed their arms. He saw it too, watched it grow larger and larger, great wings scooping back the air, powering it towards them. He had believed them all dead but it was not so. A chill gripped him. Dragons were friends of The Raven.

‘Change target!’ he yelled to the mages. ‘Right and up. Quickly!’

He saw it in their faces when they turned. Their concentration was gone. The dragon stormed in, its bark eclipsing all other sound. It was huge. Dear Gods, it could take them all. He fought down his panic and tried to calm his horse, which bucked beneath him. Men were beginning to break from their formation. Arrows had started coming again from walls suddenly full of elven archers. Men were dying. His men.

‘Hold!’ he screamed. ‘Hold! Mages FlameOrb. Hold!’

His horse reared and he was flung backwards from the saddle, crashing heavily into the ground. He fought himself groggily to his knees and saw, through the smoke from the gates, his mages bending their heads to cast.

Sha-Kaan had rested in the cool of a cave high up in the Blackthorne Mountains, far from the prying eyes of man. He had hunted well and the chill over his body in the cave had been a welcome counterpoint to the warmth of the sun. It had eased some of the aches of the long flight and worked the stiffness from his wings. Now he was ready to go home.

Hirad Coldheart’s mind, however, was not calm. The battle at the college had been sudden and brutal and he had begged one more night for Denser to be fit and able to cast. Sha-Kaan had grumblingly consented. After so many years, one more night would make little difference.

However, the folly of that decision was as clear as the dawn light that had flooded his resting place. The enemy had attacked ferociously the next morning and the outside defenders, the elves and cavalrymen, had not struck back. He did not know why, nor did he care. All he knew from his briefest of contacts was that Hirad and therefore Denser, were in great danger and he would not die because they were killed while he waited uselessly.

And so he flew, Hirad’s protestations loud in his mind. He flew low and fast feeling the wind rushing past him, his wings strong and his talons flexing. He had no fire and he would not need it. If he could drive them back it would give him the time he needed for Denser to cast for him. And much though he wanted to stay and help The Raven, he had to return home. The birthings were imminent but, more than that, he had to assess what damage the Xeteskian dimensional spell-casting had done to the space between. He had felt another casting this morning and their lack of awareness was rupturing the boundaries.

Sha-Kaan kept the thoughts of home fresh in his mind. The scents of the Broodlands, the calls of his Brood and the Vestare who supported them so selflessly. The feel of the warm, damp air over his scales, the taste of the flame grass and the embrace of the clouds. Today he would return to experience it all or he would die on Balaia.

He saw the spells pounding the gates on one side and a section of wall on the other. He saw scattered elves trying to pick off targets and others lying where they had been hit by spell or bow-fire. He saw the first enemy look around and the mass of faces that followed the inevitable shout. He saw them lose their discipline and some start to run. He barked loud, the sound splitting the air, and he dived.

Driving in, wings swept back and away to present the smallest target, he could make out mages in a group, sitting quite still. He knew their plan. Arrows flicked past him, any that struck bouncing harmlessly from his scales. Those men could not hurt him. He barked again, his jaws wide, sucking in the air. He closed them with a snap that could be heard a mile away and plunged in, seeing the spell released.

It was a ball of blue flame, bigger than his head and streaming smoke behind it as it rushed towards him. He let it close then unfurled his wings, the sudden bite on the air slowing him and giving him dramatic lift, sending him soaring above its trajectory.

He arced gracefully in the air and came in again. Below him, most men were running for cover but the mages, now split into several groups and defended by the most courageous, were steadfast. Barrelling in just above the rooftops, he swooped into the college square, his huge bulk seeming to fill one side of it completely.

He landed deliberately hard, crushing men beneath talon and body, sliding forwards and ripping up the cobbles, and using his wings to brake him and send him back into the air before he collided with the buildings the opposite side. He banked sharply and came in again, his bark echoing from every wall. He beat down, slowing, hind feet stamping down on more men, his neck jabbing forwards to snatch and crush mage after mage.

Sha-Kaan flung them at the ground, bit them in two and spat out the remains. He moved heavily across the ground, feeling the pin-pricks of swords. His fore-claws lashed out, ripping heads from shoulders and gouging great rents in chests and stomachs. Bodies were flung away and there was nothing they could do. He ran forwards and took off again, climbing hard, banking and turning for another pass.

Below him, men crawled or ran from the square. He had broken them. He trumpeted and dove again, swooping low and snatching another man from the ground. Hirad’s warning came too late and he hadn’t seen it. From around the corner of the college, came a torrent of hail, driven by a mana wind. He dropped the body and tried to climb but the hail raked down the underside of his body, tore into his wings and peppered his great tail.

Sha-Kaan howled in anguish, the pain biting into him, deeper and deeper. The mages from the other side of the college had been quick. Too quick for him and he had been blinded by his success. He had to climb away, to reach safety where he could see to his wounds. But the hail had damaged the wing membrane and it was weak. Too weak to withstand this atmosphere for long. The muscles at the roots were cut deeply and blood poured from him like rain.

He looked down. Only one place to go, only one hope remained. He angled sharply again and half flew, half fell into the college.

‘No!’ roared Hirad. He pushed past The Raven and began to run down the gatehouse stairs.

He knew where Sha-Kaan intended to land. He had felt the pain of the DeathHail strike as if it was his own. But he was unharmed while the Great Kaan was seriously, if not mortally, wounded. Weakened from his long years of exile, he was so vulnerable. Why had he not listened?

Hirad burst into the gateyard and ran up the wide pathway that crossed the entire college and that had as its centre point the Heart pit. The Al-Arynaar and Julatsan mages were gathering there for the second, and what would be final, attempt at the Heart raise. Denser and Erienne were with them, all of them looking into the sky at the stricken dragon trying to control his fall.

‘Get out of the way!’ he yelled as he ran. ‘Clear the area. Move, move!’

He was waving his arms frantically and it took an age for them to see him. When they did, they began to run, heading for cover in the refectory, the infirmary, the lecture theatre or any long room that was close enough. He saw Denser shepherding Erienne to safety and breathed again, not slowing his pace.

Sha-Kaan took the roof off the lecture theatre, his hind legs ripping through stone, wood and slate, bringing half the building tumbling down. The impact drove him up a few feet before his wings folded and he crashed to the ground, legs giving way, sending him rolling and bouncing over the Heart pit. His tail bit through the frontages of both refectory and infirmary, striking stone, his neck was coiled in to protect his head as he rolled and eventually he slid to a stop, his back hitting a long room with a shuddering force that bowed the stone.

Behind him, dust billowed into the air and Hirad ran with a hand over his mouth and the other trying to keep the grit from his eyes. He was half blinded but he could see the heaving mass of Sha-Kaan and the neck still moving, dragging his head around to fix on his Dragonene.

Hirad slithered to a halt by his head and looked into a slowly blinking eye. He didn’t have to ask after the dragon’s condition, he could feel everything. Sha-Kaan couldn’t shield the agony from him. The spell had blistered him where it struck, the cold hail prising up scales that had torn free when he crashed. He seemed to be bleeding from every part of his body.

Hirad placed a hand on the dragon’s head, fighting back panic. Around him, he could hear running feet and cries from those who had sheltered in the wrong places. He sent a short prayer that few had been badly hurt and turned his full attention to the ailing beast.

‘It was not my best landing,’ said Sha-Kaan, his voice choked and pained. ‘It was the landing of a newly weaned birthling.’

‘This is not the time for jokes,’ said Hirad. ‘You’ve got to hang on.’

‘You have told me that there was always time for jokes,’ responded Sha-Kaan.

‘Not now, not now,’ said Hirad. ‘What can I do? Gods, but you are a mess.’

The startling blue eye blinked very slowly, the lid seeming to struggle on its way back up. ‘There is little you can do,’ he said. ‘I have overstayed my welcome in your dimension.’

‘So we’ll send you home. Now,’ said Hirad, turning. ‘Denser! Denser get over here!’

‘Hirad, I don’t think I have the strength to get up on my feet, let alone fly inter-dimensional space back to Beshara. Keep your mage’s strength, you need it more than I.’

‘No way,’ said Hirad. ‘No way. Hold on.’

He felt the surge of pain that ran up and down Sha-Kaan’s body. Ribs were cracked, wing membranes torn, neck sprained and tail broken. He turned and opened his mouth to shout throught the dust cloud that still swirled around the Heart pit.

‘D—’

‘I’m here,’ said Denser, running up, Erienne with him. ‘Oh dear Gods, is he all right?’

‘Of course he’s not bloody well all right! He’s dying.’ Hirad swallowed. ‘Please Denser, it has to be now. We won’t get another chance. Before the Xeteskians get themselves reorganised. Please.’

But the Xeteskians were already reforming. Darrick was issuing orders and a quick glance told him that the next spell against the gates was only moments away. The General himself was clearing the gatehouse and a defensive line was in position beyond any backwash when the gates gave way.

‘Don’t do it, Denser,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Finish what I started. Keep them away. Raise the Heart. I will wait.’

The eyes were closing.

‘Don’t listen to him, Denser, please.’ Hirad grabbed his shoulders, shook him while he spoke. ‘We could all die here. It looks like we will. But if there’s one we can save, we can’t miss the chance. Sha-Kaan is that one. For everything he has done. Please.’

Denser nodded. Hirad dragged him forwards and kissed his cheek.

‘Don’t—’ began Sha-Kaan.

‘Now you listen to me, Sha-Kaan,’ said Hirad, rounding on him. ‘You are not going to die here. I promised that you wouldn’t and I keep my promises. You cannot let it end like this. You have work, we have work and yours is on Beshara, leading the Brood Kaan.

‘You’ve had your rest and now is the time to roll back on to your feet, test your wings and be ready. Got that?’

Sha-Kaan’s nostrils flared. ‘Frail human, I am not so weak I cannot snuff out your life.’

Hirad grinned. ‘That is what I like to hear. But you’d better be standing up first or I’ll outrun you. Denser, make sure whatever it is you open, it is right in front of his face.’

‘No problem,’ Denser’s voice was faint with concentration.

‘Hirad!’ Darrick’s voice carried to him. He could see the General running over.

‘Right with you.’

‘Now, Hirad,’ said Darrick. ‘They’re coming through any moment.’

‘Right with you,’ repeated Hirad. ‘Erienne, that Heart has to come up.’

‘I know,’ snapped Erienne. ‘It was happening until he dropped in.’

‘No time for argument, get it done,’ said Hirad. He caught her expression. ‘Shout all you want but we’re on borrowed time here.’

‘Can it work?’ asked Darrick. ‘The Heart raise?’

‘Of course it can.’ Erienne led their gaze to the pit to which elves and Julatsans were already returning, some being supported by their friends.

‘But will they have anything left when they’ve done it?’ he pressed. ‘Anything at all?’

Erienne smiled at last. ‘Enough,’ she said. ‘Perhaps.’

Hirad barely concentrated on the exchange. Darrick was already running back to his defensive postion. He felt an impact through the ground and heard timbers giving way.

‘Hurry, Denser,’ he said quietly.

He placed a hand on Sha-Kaan’s head again. The eye opened and fixed him with an unblinking stare.

‘Move aside.’

Hirad moved and so did Sha-Kaan. Slowly, painfully, he rolled, pushing with a twisted hind leg and feebly flapping a free wing. But he moved upright, his neck still dragging on the floor, he without the strength to lift it or his head. With his legs finally beneath him, he pushed and relieved the pressure on his chest and torn underbelly. Blood ran from the hundreds of puncture wounds and he sighed.

‘Next time you touch down, it’ll be in your own Broodlands,’ said Hirad. ‘Think on that and keep yourself strong.’

Sha-Kaan said nothing, merely concentrated on breathing that was getting more and more ragged.

Denser was lost within himself, picking at the air with deliberate movements. Once again, Hirad found himself wishing he could see what a mage took as read, the mana flow, the structures it made and the wonder of it all. Next to him, Sha-Kaan twitched violently and his snout picked up off the ground.

Hirad jumped, made to ask what was wrong but instead felt the warmth of rediscovery flood through him. Around Denser’s head, a tiny slit had appeared and emanating from it was a line of blue light, hair-thin and rippling in one direction.

‘Follow your path, Sha-Kaan,’ Denser said, his voice hushed. ‘It will take you all the way home.’

Hirad felt the Great Kaan move and that head nudge him gently, almost knocking him from his feet. He twisted his neck and looked one more time into the deep blue pupil.

‘Don’t you dare die,’ said Hirad. ‘Not now.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sha-Kaan, the simple words burning into Hirad like the gratitude of thousands.

The Great Kaan shifted out of Balaia.

Behind Hirad, the gates of Julatsa were sundered.

Chapter 43

Izack moved his cavalry forward but he was not going to enter the city from anywhere but the south this morning. He had half of his shield mages in the air, spotting ahead, one having reported back on the attack by Sha-Kaan. For a few glorious moments it had seemed that the dragon had singlehandedly broken the enemy but the mages from the rear of the college had gathered, having driven him away, and now they assaulted the gates once more.

He led his men in at a gentle canter, watching for the signs in the sky. Darrick had instilled in him the importance of not making a hasty move and he had been proved right already today. His spotters had been chased by familiars and harried by Xeteskians but they had seen enough to stop him sacrificing himself in front of the walls at dawn. Nor had the TaiGethen been drawn to attack, but now the situation would change.

Izack waited his moment. They were very much alone. No support was coming. The Xeteskians had destroyed the relief force completely and all that was left was Blackthorne and he had gone his own way. High up the three spotters circled, diving and climbing to avoid the menacing familiars. The demons were the only immediate threat now that every available Xeteskian mage was presumably at the college gates.

While Izack watched, the flight pattern changed. The slow circling and diving switched to the figure of eight, each mage describing his own. Simultaneously, new smoke rose above the city. The spotters, their job done, dropped into the college to provide support.

‘Lystern, let’s move!’ shouted Izack. He snapped his reins and the cavalry accelerated. He had two miles to travel and the gates of Julatsa were down. The next stage of the fight relied on The Raven.

The heavy gates had rocked back against their hinges and the left-hand had sagged and fallen. Splinters filled the air and with a roar, the Xeteskian soldiers stormed in through the breach to be met head-on by Al-Arynaar warriors, Julatsan guardsmen and, at their centre, The Raven.

Hirad had run the moment Sha-Kaan had vanished into inter-dimensional space, dragging his sword from its scabbard and howling some barbarian cry that Denser never had understood. For himself, he took just a moment to collect himself, readying a HardShield and sprinting in Hirad’s wake to the back of the defensive line.

Up on the walls, Al-Arynaar archers were firing the last of their arrows into the backs of the attackers who, temporarily unshielded, were taking significant losses. But while he watched, FlameOrbs exploded in three places in the parapet. Elves were catapulted screaming into the air amongst clouds of stone chips, wood slivers and dust, to fall burning to the ground behind the defensive lines.

On the ground, the Xeteskians had run into solid defence as they knew they must but were still moving forward, trying to clear a path for a cavalry charge. Denser could see Chandyr lining up his horsemen. Crossbow bolts traced out over the forward line to strike at the line of elven archers responding in kind and he had to take his life in his hands, running across the space to where he could cast and direct.

‘Shield up,’ he said.

Hirad nodded but didn’t take his eyes from the enemy in front.

‘Pushing Raven!’ he roared.

Hirad’s blade, quick as ever, licked into the face of an enemy, reversed and chopped down through his chest guard, dragged out and turned away another blow. Next to him, The Unknown was deep in the heart of the enemy line, the dagger in his left hand blurring as he struck out, the long sword in his right carving gracefully, blocking, twisting and thrusting.

His power was immense, every blow from either weapon knocking opponents back, giving him all the time he needed for the killing thrust. One man died with the dagger clean into his eye when he had thought a heartbeat earlier he had scored a hit on the big man. Another took a cleaving blow into his side which opened up his gut and he fell, spilling entrails over the blood-slick ground.

To The Unknown’s left, Darrick and Thraun fought in a partnership that was beginning to work very well indeed. Darrick, the consummate swordsman, played defender while Thraun, raw power in every blow, thrashed his blade two-handed into enemy faces.

But it was the flanks that worried Denser. He could see the Xeteskians pressing there. For all their speed, the elves were very lightly armoured and their short blades didn’t have the reach. Too often, they were being dragged a pace forwards, too often the result was a cut, a body blow or a killing thrust.

‘Flanks weakening,’ warned Denser. ‘Cavalry waiting.’

‘Archers!’ shouted Darrick, pushing away a man. The Unknown clubbed him down with a huge blow to the top of the skull. ‘Flank support! Fire at will.’

Rebraal stood in the left flank, sporting a cut to his face and holding his left arm gingerly, his sleeve soaked red. He called out in elven and Denser heard the bows stretched behind him. Another shout and every elf to the left of Thraun dropped to his haunches and turned a backward roll, arrows flying over them into the enemy beyond. They stood back up to run in but a volley of crossbow bolts from behind cut hard into them, felling four at least.

‘We need more shields!’ called Darrick. ‘Someone get me a Julatsan from the pit.’

But there was no one free to do it and, Denser suspected, not a single mage able to detach by now. The enemy pressed on both flanks while making no progress against the centre. He heard a shout from behind and the thundering of hooves. At the rear of the Xeteskians, the press of hundreds parted and the cavalry, two abreast galloped in.

With no respect for the few of his own caught beneath hooves, Chandyr drove his horses through the weakened left, scattering Al-Arynaar and knocking Thraun from his feet.

‘Break!’ shouted The Unknown. ‘Reform at the pit. Go, go!’

Denser dropped concentration, turned and ran. The Raven were all in a group, Al-Arynaar behind them keeping the cavalry from forming a charge. Spells detonated behind them, arrows filled the air and the sounds of hoof beats rang loud in the courtyard.

Racing for the path to the Heart pit which ran between the library and the long room Sha-Kaan had fetched up against, Denser dragged in concentration for a new casting. No time for defence now. He had to disrupt the charge.

‘Turning, Denser!’ warned Hirad.

Denser stopped and turned. A dozen cavalrymen were charging them. Behind them, the gateyard was chaos. Al-Arynaar fought in packs, Xeteskian soldiers and mages formed up into a cohesive line again, and more of Chandyr’s cavalry piled through the shattered gates. In front of him, The Unknown tapped his blade. This time, though, Denser was faster. He brought his arms together across his chest, his fists clenched, held at his shoulders. He focused on the centre of the charge now ten yards distant and widened his mana vison. His voice was calm and certain.

‘HellFire.’

Multiple columns of superheated blue mana fire scorched down from the clear sky, seeking the souls of the cavalry. The centre of the charge was deluged in an instant, the lead man disintegrating under the force of the spell, his horse driven into the ground, legs ripped to either side. On either flank, the columns gorged on flesh, their targets screaming briefly before dying. Fire splattered everywhere, riders veered away and circled, the burning horses plodding painfully to a halt, collapsing in agony. A wave of heat washed over The Raven and to a man, they staggered backwards.

‘Too close,’ breathed Denser, feeling the exertion of the powerful spell drag at his reserves.

‘Good work,’ said The Unknown, his sword still tapping its rhythm.

Al-Arynaar were running in their direction, aiming to strengthen their line. Out in the gateyard, the Xeteskians were slowly winning, their superior numbers telling. But The Raven couldn’t break. Here they had to make a stand. Behind them, the last chance for Julatsa was being played out.

But to Denser’s ear came the unmistakable manic laughter of familiars and following that, the calls of the ClawBound.

Erienne had seen the mages fly in and heard them call out their college allegiance as they came. A quick dip into the mana spectrum had revealed the truth and she had bade Pheone carry on the preparations. Mercifully, Sha-Kaan’s untimely crash into the grounds of the college had injured several but killed none and the wounded had all come out to cast.

‘You can hold off the shadow, Erienne?’

‘We’ll soon find out, won’t we?’ she said. ‘One way or another, this is it. Get casting.’ She had turned to the first Lysternan mage. ‘Guard us,’ she ordered. ‘Never mind what’s going on out there, The Raven will handle it. Familiars are my biggest concern. We can’t afford to have any distractions, and you can’t afford to show them any fear. They can be downed with magic. Believe in yourselves.’

‘I understand.’

‘Now leave me be.’

Erienne immersed herself in the elemental spectrum and saw its colours. She could see the deep blue of Xeteskian magic mixed with the dull yellow that signified Julatsa and, surrounding both, the multiple hues of brown and dark, dark green that made up the base of the elemental flow. The power churned from the stone of buildings, from the earth at her feet, and from every living creature. She could pick out every mage standing around the Heart and, further afield, every man and mage who fought at the gates.

She narrowed her focus and found the Heart. So much darker than yesterday before the failure. The tendrils of shadow had thickened to corded strands and were twining about each other, adding to the solid grey already covering the core structure. And there, right at its base, she found the pulsing fracture that flared up whenever Julatsan magic was cast. That was where she would fight her own personal battle while the Julatsan adepts fought theirs against the shadow.

She waited, watching again the construction of the splint and its connections, saw the poles form and attach, saw them puncture the shadow to grab at the Heart itself. She felt a moment’s pure panic. They all had no choice but to trust her completely. Should she fail, and should the darkness take the Heart once more, there would be no coming back. Julatsan magic would have been destroyed.

Around her, the mages took the strain and the Heart began to lift. She ignored its delicate progress and instead edged the stopper from the well of One power and began to try and meld it to a form she could use to suppress the darkness. Almost immediately, she saw it begin, the trickle of black into the base of the Heart.

Erienne reached out with her mind to touch it, felt its intense cold, like the power of the dead earth flow through her. She jolted and drew back. It grew and grew, spreading up. She had no choice. Letting her mind free, she dragged in the live flows of all the elements around her and plunged into the dark, screaming as the cold force channelled through her.

Auum led the TaiGethen to the fight one more time. ClawBound moved ahead. The gates were crowded with men trying to get in. He could hear the desperate fight inside the college and knew there was no way he could wait.

‘Right-hand side,’ he said. ‘Single point of attack.’

The Tais cruised in, jaqrui and arrows punching into the men just to the right of the shattered gateposts. The survivors reacted, turning and backing off as the elves tore at them, no man wanting to face them alone.

Auum hurled his last jaqrui into the neck of an enemy, grabbed his second short sword from its scabbard and let his mind stand above his body. A blade was thrown towards him, flicking end over end; he swayed left and it passed him. From the right a spell was cast, flaming blue in his peripheral vision. He hit the ground and rolled, coming up to his feet in one movement, momentum maintained.

He was on them in the next stride, a ClawBound pair savaging into the men to his left, Duele and Evunn his shadows. He held both swords horizontal, one slightly above the other. The upper he backhanded into the face of his first target, the second stabbing low, foot coming through in the next beat to kick the man away.