Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Chapter 32

‘You are in no fit state to be standing here,’ said The Unknown.

‘You can say what you like, Unknown, but I don’t think what we’re looking at leaves us any choice, do you? You need me here.’

‘Gods, just let him do it,’ said Denser. ‘At least if he dies we won’t have to listen to this sort of bleating any more.’

‘Thank you, Denser,’ said Hirad.

‘You are not helping,’ said The Unknown.

‘I can’t believe you’re surprised he’s here.’

‘I’m not surprised, I’m questioning the wisdom of his decision.’

‘You think wisdom ever applies to anything Hirad does?’

‘All right, Xetesk-man, I thought you were on my side.’

‘He is, Hirad,’ said The Unknown. ‘We all are. If you must do something foolish, why don’t you do it in the wagon where you can protect Erienne at the same time?’

‘Thraun has got that covered.’

‘You are so stubborn.’

Auum shook his head and scratched at his forehead. He would never understand how they had survived this long. Always arguing. He finished applying the green and black paints to Duele’s face before leading them all in prayer. Throughout, he could hear The Raven bickering like children over a broken doll.

He brought his Tai back to their feet and they walked to the front of the stationary wagon train. It was dawn and it was cold, very cold. The breath clouded in front of his face and the chill breeze whipped it away. The wagons had been halted when the cursyrd had ceased their attacks an hour or so before first light. They had retreated as far as the edge of the shell and most of them were grouped on the ground. Very few still remained in the air and none encroached on the periphery.

The temptation had been to continue on but both Darrick and Rebraal had advised the stop. It was inconceivable that they would not be attacked severely on their way into Xetesk, which now lay just three miles ahead, and any chance to rest horses and mages had to be taken.

It was a decision that looked at best over-cautious as light had strengthened. It could turn out to be a huge mistake. Beyond those gathered before them, other cursyrd were moving up. These were not reavers and they were not strike-strain. They were a strain none of them had seen before in this conflict.

Auum watched them approach. There were hundreds of them. Squat wingless figures with rolling gaits. They were covered in a dense, dark, fine hair. Each one had eyes to the front and sides of its head and no discernible mouth or nose. But what they did have was arms that ended in what for all the world looked like spiked clubs or hammers.

The assembled company had fallen silent while these things advanced towards the shell. Other cursyrd made way and a screeching filled the air. Auum couldn’t make out what it meant but it was more a sound of anger than of anticipation.

‘Gods drowning, but they’re ugly bastards. What are they?’ asked Hirad.

‘Karron,’ said Auum, the word leaving a harsh taste in his mouth. ‘Destructors.’

‘This isn’t going to be any fun at all,’ said Hirad.

‘I don’t understand this,’ said Denser. ‘I mean, these look capable of causing us a real problem. Why haven’t they thrown them at us before?’

‘Because before, they wanted our souls,’ said Rebraal. ‘Now I fear they just want us dead.’

‘That’s comforting,’ said Hirad.

‘Thoughts?’ asked The Unknown.

‘They’re slow but powerful,’ said Darrick. ‘If I’m not mistaken, we’ll be harried as we have come to expect by the winged strains and these will look to break us from the front.’

‘Can’t we just drive round them?’ asked Hirad.

Darrick shook his head. ‘If they got into our flanks they could fragment the train. Far better we take them head-on, at least we can marshal forces in the right direction.’

‘I don’t think it’ll be enough,’ said The Unknown. ‘They’re strong enough to stop us moving forwards and that’s something we cannot afford. We have to break that line or we’ll be surrounded and picked off.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Darrick. ‘But it’s a big risk.’

‘Let’s hear it,’ said The Unknown.

Darrick looked around him. ‘Is Pheone here? I need to know our casting strength.’

‘Will it make a difference?’ asked Hirad. ‘We’re inside a ColdRoom here.’

Darrick smiled. ‘Yes it will. And you know the thing with ColdRooms is you can let them go all of a sudden. If you want to.’

Auum nodded his head. He understood what Darrick was about to suggest. It would be, how would Hirad say it? Interesting.

Tessaya, Lord of the Paleon tribes, stretched his mouth in a prodigious yawn. He had slept well the last night and welcomed the cold of the new day. He wrapped his furs about his shoulders and strode from his tent. Around him, the activity was frenetic. Weapons were being sharpened, fires heated water and broth, warriors ran in all directions taking messages, striking camp and loading pallets. Others foraged for what food they could sweep up easily before the move.

Patience, Tessaya had always said, would pay off and today was that day. Because yesterday he had received the most extraordinary visit of his life. A deputation from Xetesk, in effect inviting him into the heart of the college. He had felt it churlish to refuse, and now two thousand warriors made ready to advance.

The demons had left them alone these past three days and his scouts had reported them massing to the north. They had also reported an approaching dust cloud that was overflown by the enemy and under apparently constant attack. Clearly, others were heading for the college too.

This had been confirmed by the Xeteskians and it was proposed that the Wesmen help these runners into Xetesk and then join the final battle for the freedom of Balaia. He had been given a blank slate to demand whatever he wanted from the Easterners in return for his aid. Short of the end of magic of course. That, he conceded, was unlikely but the deal he had struck would make the Wesmen the dominant power across the whole of the country. The Xeteskians would have seen that. He would have to tread carefully.

Tessaya walked quickly down to the forward positions, trailed by his aides. There he found Arnoan, the ancient Shaman apparently lost in thought. Communing perhaps. Still, it was a reverie easily broken.

‘Am I being lured into a trap, do you think?’

‘I consider that to be very unlikely,’ said Arnoan, focusing on him with a frown. ‘The Xeteskians have nothing to gain by so doing barring a hastening of their own demise. I am merely saddened it has taken them so long to see that the Wesmen are their best chance of salvation.’

‘And you believe us so to be?’

‘I do, my Lord.’

‘But let us not fool ourselves,’ said Tessaya. ‘The Xeteskians have only come to us because the demons allowed them the time to do so. Consider also that the demons themselves may have orchestrated this whole event.’

‘Again, unlikely,’ said Arnoan. ‘After all, we are not even being watched, which I find very curious. They will only know of our decision to move when we are under way.’

Tessaya chuckled and slapped Arnoan on the back. The Shaman staggered and coughed. ‘Perhaps their grasp of battle tactics is as poor as yours, my friend.’

‘Let us hope so, Tessaya, let us hope so.’

Behind him Tessaya could hear the strains of songs rolling down the slope towards him. They filled his heart with strength and pride. The standards were raised and stood together.

The Wesmen were marching once more.

It had become their only hope of reaching the Julatsans and it was a terrible choice to have to make. They had cowered in renewed terror when the new strain had appeared from the rip and descended to the ground to march away into Xetesk and out towards the Julatsans. They had an aura about them that sucked the will and brought a dead shiver to the limbs.

Sharyr would have welcomed death then but in their hiding place they had been ignored and had been able to watch the gathering of demon forces. It had become obvious then that their plan of running in while the demons were engaged in battle was unworkable. Most of the demons were covering the ground around the periphery of the ColdRoom shell surrounding the wagon train. The only way in was by air.

‘I will remain here and see you safe and then return to Xetesk,’ said Suarav, the words dragging reluctantly from his mouth.

‘No,’ said Brynel immediately. ‘We are stronger with you. You must come with us.’

Sharyr agreed. ‘Without you, I do not believe I have the strength.’ Suarav gripped an arm of both of them. ‘My friends, you can do this. You have to. And besides, I cannot fly.’

‘We can carry your weight between us,’ said Sharyr. ‘We won’t leave you. How much chance do you really think you have of getting back into the college?’

Suarav closed his eyes and Sharyr knew he had touched the reason for the soldier’s fear. Alone and travelling back through the streets of Xetesk. One swordsman. It would be suicide.

‘But split up, you have a better chance of one of you reaching the Julatsans.’

‘The difference is slight. The journey is quick but fraught. I’d rather the confidence of you with us than the extra mobility,’ said Brynel.

Suarav sighed. ‘Can it really be done?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Brynel. ‘Shadow Wings do not tangle. They aren’t corporeal. You hang onto our belts and we fly. Low and fast.’

‘One thing more,’ said Sharyr. ‘When we pierce the ColdRoom, the Wings will disperse very quickly. It’ll be a rough landing.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ Suarav sighed again and shook his head. ‘You know, I’m too old for this sort of thing.’

‘You’re never too old to fly,’ said Sharyr.

‘All right, let’s do it. But if I fall, do not come back for me. I outrank you and that is an order.’

Both mages nodded. Brynel turned to Sharyr. ‘Ready to cast?’

‘Ready. Captain, take your grip now. As soon as we begin to cast, the demons will be aware of us. We’re going to have to leave quickly.’

The two mages stood side by side. Suarav knelt between them. His hands gripped the front of their belts, his arms between their legs.

‘Cast now,’ said Suarav.

The spectrum responded to them and the demons began to howl.

The instructions had been snapped out quickly and Darrick just had to trust that they would be understood. If it worked, they’d break the demon line, he was sure of that. If not, they would be in desperate trouble and praying for a miracle from inside the walls of Xetesk.

Forty Al-Arynaar mages now stood in front of the two lead wagons. They were guarded by an equal number of warriors, leaving the rest to continue normal duties back down the train. The front of the shell was fifty yards ahead of them and it was crowded with karron, reaver and strike-strain. Around the flanks and behind, winged demons waited for their orders to attack, most resting on the ground as they had been since before dawn.

In the traces, the horses were as fresh as they could be. Darrick had handed the reins to another human driver, a man named Brynn whom Rebraal recommended as the ideal man to hold the front line. Darrick went with the elf’s decision. Brynn was a man covered in scratches and bandages but clearly unbowed despite the shiver in his body.

Now Darrick stood with The Raven, minus Erienne and Thraun, and the TaiGethen, just behind the line of mages. Hirad had won his battle as they all knew he would and had taken his place at The Unknown’s right-hand side. He was plainly discomforted but Darrick for one would rather a half-fit Hirad in the line than no Hirad at all. And it was equally plain on The Unknown’s face that, despite his protestations, he felt precisely the same.

Time was almost upon them. There were still karron moving up to the edge of the shell, sorting themselves into dense lines. And overhead, two masters floated. One with the tentacled underbody, the other a rather plain-looking blue demon, small but clearly important, given its position. Pheone moved in front of her charges, Dila’heth near her. They knew what they had to do. Each one had casting instructions and direction. That they would fail was inconceivable.

A movement caught Darrick’s eye to the right beyond the shell’s periphery. At first he thought it demons flying in to join the attack but the movement was erratic and had the air of a chase. He brought it to Auum’s attention. There was growing consternation among the demons as they too became aware of it. The level of noise, building steadily, had an angry edge to it. Strike-strain left the shell to intercept.

‘It is humans,’ said Auum. ‘Three. Two carrying the other one.’

‘Coming this way?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

Darrick raised his eyebrows. Something had to trigger the attack. He had expected it to be the demon masters. Perhaps it would be this random event. What he couldn’t afford was for the Al-Arynaar to be distracted.

‘Eyes front!’ he ordered. ‘Check your targets.’

Rebraal translated his words and focus was restored. The same could not be said of the demons and there was just a small chance that this would work in their favour. It was a chance that did not come off. The trio of flyers, skimming the tree line, dipping and rising suddenly to shake off a growing tail of pursuers, closed on the shell. High above, the masters raced to the back of their main force. The noise rose to a deafening volume and the karron came to shambling readiness.

‘Ready!’ called Darrick. ‘Remember your roles. Do not deviate, do not falter. Dila’heth, cast when ready.’ He turned to a flagman. ‘Now. Signal the disperse.’

Up on the roof of the lead wagons, flags were waved. Inside the right-hand one, the casting mages dispersed the ColdRoom structure. Demons howled, sensing victory, and from above they poured down to attack. Immediately the flags were seen, the wagons behind began rolling forwards, bringing the remaining ColdRooms closer.

‘Come on, come on,’ muttered Darrick.

The front line of Al-Arynaar was motionless, lost in casting. The General looked anxiously up to the heavens. The sky was full of demon bodies, clamouring for their souls, gibbering their desire. The karron upped their pace, trotting over the packed ground, arms pumping, the weapons that replaced their hands glistening. They were followed by packs of reavers and flanked by clouds of strike-strain. This was going to be close.

As one, the elven mages raised their heads. Pheone snapped out an order and the spell barrage was unleashed. ForceCones jabbed into the air, scattering the onrushing winged demons which squealed their displeasure. They were the lucky ones for now. Immediately following the Cone deployment, bright yellow light flashed across the early morning sky. FlameOrbs arced out. At least fifty wheel-sized globes fizzed through the damp air. Steam trailed in their wake.

The karron could see them coming and warning cries echoed out but they could do nothing to protect themselves. Harsh magical fire burst across and through the demon lines. Karron directly beneath the Orbs exploded under their impact. Gobbets of flame splattered far and wide, eating into defenceless flesh. The detonation of spells sent fire hurtling into the sky, trapping three reavers not fast enough to move. Black smoke belched from bodies and trailed behind those falling from the sky.

On the ground, blinded and agonised karron collided with one another as the ordered advance became a chaotic rout. The air stank of charred hair and flesh, it reverberated to the screams of those caught in the holocaust. And the elves had only just begun.

Now, Dila’heth’s voice sounded once more and IceWind delivered appalling damage to the still-advancing flanks. Flesh sloughed from bodies, eyes were frozen and voices were stilled in throats. Karron fell shattering to the ground, dark bodies scorched blue and hairless by the cold. Strike-strain fell like fruit from a tree in a gale, cracking on the ground. A terrible wailing was taken up across the battlefield. It was demon rage and it struck at the heart.

Darrick turned his head. The second wagon pair was moving into range, and would fill the space in between the lead pair, bringing with it the respite of a replacement ColdRoom.

‘Advance!’ he roared.

Dila’heth and Pheone brought their mages back from the mana spectrum and they split left and right, running back along the sides of the train. The Al-Arynaar and Raven moved forwards towards the demon lines and the ColdRoom covered them once more.

It had been a devastating blow and Darrick was tempted to let the mages strike again. But stamina was finite and the Gods alone knew when they would next be able to replenish. Looking forward through the clearing smoke, he could see the rents they had torn in the demon force. But even now it was beginning to reform and if they were to break through and reach Xetesk, it had to be now.

Chapter 33

I can’t do it, Cleress, I can’t.

Oh my child of course you can. You are a most able student.

Don’t bloody patronise me. Want me to start calling you ‘old woman’? You weren’t there. You weren’t in my mind. That casting should have worked exactly the way of the first. The fact that it didn’t means I cannot be trusted to do this right every time and if I don’t, my friends will die.

If you don’t try they will die anyway.

Erienne had a sensation of movement but nothing more. Her awareness was otherwise limited to the roar of the One magic force surging around her mind and body and the attempted calming of the frail and distant Al-Drechar elf. Erienne was not dead and therefore The Raven must have made it to the Julatsan carriages. She was, she presumed, aboard one of them. And if she concentrated very hard, she felt a comforting strength nearby. She knew who it would be.

And you think my giving them false hope will make it better?

Don’t be stupid, Erienne. Yours is not a false hope. The power you oversee can be the difference. All you have to do is understand where you went wrong. Explain what happened.

Erienne bit back her retort. It would have made her precisely the schoolgirl she had been about to deny.

I didn’t go wrong, Cleress, I didn’t. I had worked out the gauge of the casting so well and it worked exactly as I had planned. You would have been proud. I mapped the mana trails, plotted the link lines to the demons and removed the linkage that held their blood vessels together. It was perfect. But when I did it again in just the same way, there was some form of surge within me and although the casting began, I had to shut down but I wasn’t ever in complete control of that decision. It was like my body sensed the danger before my mind did. What happened? Why can’t I repeat? I have to be able to repeat, it’s all we have.

Erienne felt her anxiety rising and the One power bore down on her. As ever she fought the entity, imagining it was a spider whose legs she had to pry from her mind to stop them crushing her. Abruptly, the pressure eased and Cleress’s presence pushed the power aside.

Calm, Erienne. It knows your fear and it feeds off it. Remember what we showed you.

It’s so hard, Cleress. I’m so tired.

I know. But listen to me. You pose so many questions yet the answers are there before you. I am proud of the casting you made. It shows true understanding of the potential of the One and demonstrated your control over the entity.

But—

Please, let me finish. You are the one who always felt the entity had more sentience than it actually possesses in reality. It was we who explained to you that it is your mind that gives it this virtual life. What you imagine, it can become. That is why you need to control your mind so closely when you release the power.

You’re saying I caused the problem with the second casting?

We have all of us done the same. You crossed a waypoint in your understanding though I know it feels like failure to you at the moment. What you realise is that it is as we have always said. Casting with the One is essentially very simple but it is the feeding of power that is the complex part of the equation. I would stake my life that all you did the second time around was relax just that iota, as if you couldn’t quite believe how easy it was.

Erienne thought to reply but Cleress wasn’t finished.

Think before you respond. Recall what went through your mind as you prepared the second casting and saw how easily it all slotted into place. Examine your process. If at any moment you felt that it was too easy, that would have been enough. That would have relaxed the muscles of your mind to let the wrong gauge of power out. The One became what you imagined, just that little bit slack. And in a One casting, that can spell disaster.

She was right. She was absolutely dead right.

So what should I do? Next time there may not be a sanctuary.

You do nothing but believe in yourself, as I’m sure your friends have been telling you all along. The good part of this is that your body is now so attuned to the power flow within you that if it detects a flaw, it will close off. And it won’t always leave you unconscious, either.

I’m just so scared of failing.

Then don’t. You are equipped with all you need to know. You do trust me, don’t you, Erienne?

Yes.

Good. Then trust what I say. Believe what I say. You must not doubt yourself. Focus on all the castings you have made that have been perfect. They far outweigh those which were not. Remember the tautness of your concentration.

It all sounds so straightforward when you say it, Cleress. But when I open my eyes, what will I find, I wonder?

Remember you are everything you think you can be. You are the One mage.

I am when you are with me.

Cleress laughed but it was a tired sound. You don’t need my strength. You have a surfeit of your own.

If only I knew where to find it.

You know where it lies, child.

And you must be tired, old woman.

I am. So if you will excuse me I will rest. Bring yourself round. Gain from the contact of The Raven. You are each other’s best chance.

Thank you, Cleress.

Sharyr knew he was screaming but he had no desire to stop. He thought perhaps Brynel and Suarav were doing the same and if they weren’t, they ought to be. They were moving as one, he leading, shouting commands between his screams and keeping them simple. One thing he couldn’t afford was for he and Brynel to pull in opposite directions. It would leave Suarav a dead man.

‘Left!’

And they flew left, feeling the wind as a pack of strike-strain missed them to the right. They turned back in towards the shell. The sky lit up with a Julatsan barrage. Sharyr exulted. What a sight.

‘Straight in. Trim those wings, Brynel.’

The mages adjusted their wings for raw speed and immediately began to lose height, Suarav’s weight dragging them down. Sharyr heard Suarav shout in shock as the speed struck them. This was a final approach. They wouldn’t get another chance. In front of them, the wagons had started to move but there were those who had detached and were heading towards the edge of the shell where they were aiming to break through.

Their way was blocked by strike-strain and reavers, floating in the air ahead of them. Sharyr looked briefly below. They were no more than twenty feet in the air now and still sinking. They had nowhere to go.

‘Hold course, Brynel. Close your eyes and let’s pray.’

He felt a strange exhilaration. This was the defining moment of his life. For once he had been in control of his own destiny, and had chosen this path. He recalled being browbeaten by Dystran, he recalled his protestations and how he could never hope to have his voice heard. Not this time. So he didn’t pray. He bellowed his rebellion.

‘Hang on, Suarav. Enjoy the ride.’

They collided with the strike-strain. Sharyr felt the small creatures buffeting him. He put his head down and let it happen. Bodies hurtled into his head, midriff and legs. He felt the drag on his waist when Suarav was struck and just one huge impact that could only be a reaver.

And then he was falling.

He opened his eyes. They were inside the shell and the Wings had dispersed on the instant. The ground rushed towards them. They were travelling so fast. Too fast surely. Then they were all bouncing over the ground. Every impact was a new pain. He felt hard earth on his backside and the sharpness of wood or rock in his gut. He tasted dirt in his mouth and cried out when his shoulder jerked uncomfortably under him as he slid to a stop.

‘Oh dear Gods, I’m still alive.’ And he began to laugh.

Hands were about him and he could see faces. Voices questioned him, heavily accented. They were elves of the Al-Arynaar. He had heard about them.

‘Are you hurt? Can you stand? We have to move now.’

He didn’t know the answers. He moved to stand and pain lanced through his back. He winced. The arms helped him slowly to his feet. He looked about him. Suarav was still on the ground but shaking his head, and moving freely. Brynel was smiling and gasping at the same time, a difficult combination.

Sharyr became aware of the sounds in the shell. The calls of demons and the cries of men and elves. The rattle of wagons, the hoofbeats and the fighting in every quarter.

‘The cursyrd attack. We must move.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes.’

They started to move. Demons flew down on their heads. Tiny strike-strain nipping at their scalps and ears. He flapped his arms ineffectually. The elves hurried them along.

‘They cannot really hurt you,’ said the elf running beside him. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I need to speak to the man . . . the elf in charge. You need to know about the streets of Xetesk.’

‘I will take you to Rebraal.’

Sharyr had never heard of him but the reverence in the elf’s voice was enough.

‘He sounds perfect.’

The elf didn’t answer him.

Behind them the wagons were rolling under attack from the skies above. Auum led his Tai through scorched grass and smouldering flesh. The cursyrd line had broken but it was reforming quickly. They, the Al-Arynaar and The Raven had to keep the cursyrd on the back foot. If the karron should reform in any great numbers, the mages’ work would be undone.

Working within the compass of the ColdRoom shell, Auum tore into the attack, operating with twin short swords. Duele and Evunn were on either flank.

‘Target the karron. Tai, we strike.’

The karron were identically formed, unlike their reaver brethren. The fine hair he had seen from a distance was in fact a writhing, coarse sensory mat. The eyes were small and dim, perhaps only able to tell the difference between light and dark. The squat creature’s raw power lay in its trunk and arms. And these latter swung with surprising swiftness, defying its lumbering gait.

Auum ducked a swinging spike limb and lashed his blades into karron legs. He stepped smartly aside, a hammer thumping the ground where he had been standing. He pulled back, reassessing the creature’s speed. It came at him, arms punching and swinging. A bludgeoning tactic but directionless. Auum swayed left, took a pace and lashed in a kick to the side of its head. It grunted and shook its head to clear its senses but Auum was already upon it. He stepped inside its arms and buried both blades in its face.

The karron wailed and collapsed forwards. Auum dropped and rolled backwards, bouncing back onto his feet. Beside him, Duele and Evunn tackled three that worked in unison.

‘Feel the dance, my brothers,’ said Auum.

Behind him The Raven crashed into the fight. Auum dodged another battering attack and struck out, carving his blades into the club arm and seeing grey gore spurt out of the deep wounds. He moved to deal the killing strike but Hirad got there first. The barbarian’s sword sunk deep into the karron’s midriff, driving it backwards.

‘Let’s keep these bastards going our way!’ shouted Hirad.

He dragged his sword clear, grinned at Auum and ran to join The Unknown Warrior. Auum cleared his throat and stepped in to aid his Tai. He breathed deep and achieved the pure state. The karron could not move fast enough to threaten him. He looked into their small eyes, buried deep under heavy brows, and watched the movement of the mat of hair. The limbs followed the sensing of its targets but it could not hope to lay a blow on the TaiGethen.

Auum needed quick kills. He rolled under the arms of his target and hammered his blades into its chest. He stepped right, jumping high and thudding both feet into the face of the next, landing on its stomach as it crashed onto its back. He tore out its throat with a double slash. A club fist whistled towards him. Still too slow. He jumped over it, turned in the air and straight-kicked the assailant. He dropped low, swept its legs from beneath it and jammed his blades high under its left arm. It spasmed and lay still.

He rose to his feet. Duele and Evunn were next to him. The Al-Arynaar and The Raven were deep in the fighting, driving a wedge for the wagons that trundled along behind. Auum felt a burning inside him and realised it was pure pleasure. It was not an emotion he associated with consigning his enemies to Shorth but he was prepared to enjoy it.

He smiled.

‘Tai,’ he said. ‘As one. We move.’

You could only stand and admire. It all but cost Hirad his life. He had dragged his sword through the ribs of one of the ugly haired demons and watched the creature bleed to death at his feet when he felt a moment of space. It was then he had seen Auum’s Tai go to work and had known that for all that he had learned in their company back on Calaius, he would never come close to their ability.

He almost felt sorry for the demons they faced. After all, he couldn’t follow every move they made himself. And they were so much in concert that it left no room for inroads into their attack or defence despite the fact that reavers had joined the fight against them.

Auum led them in a ferocious assault dead ahead of the wagons’ path. His swords glittered in the early morning sun. Each strike left a trail of blood in its wake. The clumsy karron tried to batter at him but he drove on relentlessly, his blades biting into neck, chest and under the arms where he could deal the fastest death blow. And his accuracy was matched by the mesmeric moves of his Tai in his defence.

Each elf carried a single short sword at his outer flank which he used to slice into karron flesh at every opportunity. But the main focus was inside and up. Every strike by a karron was parried or countered. Every dive by a reaver met with a kick or a fist, sweeping high over Auum’s head. Demons shrieked in frustration or spun away half-senseless. The Tai’s focus never wavered. Their understanding of each other was total. It was what The Raven had striven for all their years of fighting. They thought they had achieved it. They weren’t even close.