Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Chapter 27

Auum led his Tai to the city walls. Leaping and climbing, rolling and dodging, they had easily kept ahead of the Garonin sent to chase them down. Yet the vydosphere had not changed its course. Indeed, it had not moved, and Auum worried what that might mean. Threads of comfort sprang from the knowledge that despite all their might, the Garonin were still prey to feelings of revenge. It was the reason they were chased and the reason the Ravensoul was sought.

The enemy knew that harm could be done to them. Men could be lost, perhaps enough to affect their battles elsewhere. This deflected their attention only minutely, but minutely could be enough to buy the time they so desperately needed.

Once on the walls, the TaiGethen ran free, putting real distance between them and their pursuers. Auum tore around the battlements and through abandoned watchtowers. He scaled the outer sides of the south gates and dropped onto the roof of the gatehouse. Only here did he pause. He climbed onto the crenellations.

From here he could see across the city to the walls of the college. The towers within stood proud and he could make out a solitary figure on the uppermost balcony of the central edifice. Auum whispered a short prayer to Shorth. He let his eye wander to the east, to the deserted streets of Xetesk bathed in a watery sunlight.

Auum could pick out figures running across rooftops. In amongst them, he could make out the bulk of Sol and the flashing shapes of wolves. And he could see the Garonin advancing too. In the skies above, the vydosphere sucked up its fuel. The clouds still darkened and the swirl still gained pace. He wondered briefly when Densyr would realise the appalling mistake he had made.

‘Auum.’

It was Ghaal. He was perched on the crenellations looking out over the west of the city. Auum followed his gaze and his heart fell into his boots. When you saw one, suddenly, thousands were revealed. People. Ordinary Xeteskians with their faith in a college that would inevitably fail them.

‘Cattle awaiting slaughter,’ said Ghaal.

‘Enjoying the dawn of their last day in this or any other life,’ said Miirt.

‘And we will free them when we can,’ said Auum. ‘Now, my friends, it is time to break into the college.’

‘Can it be done?’ asked Ghaal, he and Miirt jumping back onto the roof.

Auum put a hand on each of their shoulders. ‘With Yniss to guide us, we must believe it so. Tai, we pray.’

Densyr had been staring straight at where he had left The Raven when it happened. He watched the single blue orb fly skywards and did not even consider why it had travelled in that direction, so consumed was he with watching it fall to the earth. No time to get Septern to deactivate the cell. Time only to pray the wards would not trigger.

A prayer that went unanswered.

Ten wards. He knew the number so very bloody well though it was impossible to count them going off individually, such was the force and speed of the multiple detonations. Flames lashed from both sides of the narrow street on shallow angles, incinerating everything taller than a house cat. God’s Eyes pounded the enclosed area and EarthHammers shoved their fingers of stone high into the sky, ripping apart buildings and standing as insulting gestures in his mind. He was stricken with a sudden regret.

Last night, he had been so cocksure that leaving them trapped was the best way to neutralise them until he decided to free them. So sure that they would not attempt an escape. Ilkar might have been shorn of his college’s Heart but he was no fool and would be able to detect active wards given the amount of time he had.

‘What did you do, my old friends?’ whispered Densyr. ‘Why did you try to outwit the master? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry it had to end like this.’

Densyr took one last look at the dust cloud that covered the scene of their deaths and closed the balcony shutters on his crime. In his deep armchair by the fire, Septern was studying the ward lattice. The sheen of sweat on his face didn’t encourage Densyr’s confidence.

He sank into the chair opposite and sipped at the tea his servants had left them. All the way down the line, he’d made the right decisions. He was certain of it. What the dead had told him really did make no sense. There was no other home. No escape route. Just like every time before, Balaia had to stand up and fight for herself. And win. Just like every other time.

Maybe he had been a little heavy-handed with those he once counted as close friends and allies. But decisions had to be made and some people always had their noses put out of joint. Not everyone would ever be happy. And at least his people, the Xeteskian people, knew he was doing all this for them.

Should it have worried him that Auum claimed to have seen all this before? Surely not. If indeed he was thousands of years old as he claimed, things move on. The elves had had no magic back then, no defence. Densyr had the might of Xetesk and the unexpected advantage of Septern. Balaia had to survive, and for that to happen, Xetesk had to remain strong. The right decisions still had to be made.

Even if it meant his friends had to die.

‘Septern, can you hear me?’

‘Of course,’ said Septern, his voice clear enough though a little strained.

‘You needn’t concern yourself with The Raven now.’

‘I know. I felt it. Saw it. Doesn’t feel so much like casualties of war now, does it?’

‘No,’ whispered Densyr. ‘Tell me what you can do.’

‘The news isn’t too good.’

Densyr’s heart skipped a beat. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The enemy is cleverer than I thought.’

‘Smarter than you?’

‘Let’s not give them too much credit. The problem lies in shutting off the mana flow.’

‘Not doing so isn’t an option I’m prepared to entertain.’

‘I know, Densyr. But the risk to the Heart is greater than I thought. It is possible that they intend us to shut off the flow, triggering an explosion in the Heart. Mana will be pumped up into the atmosphere . . .’

‘To be collected by the machine hanging up there for just that purpose, if it can collect mana that way.’

‘Precisely.’

‘But you can stop that, Septern, can’t you?’

Septern’s face held the first element of doubt Densyr had seen.

‘Probably,’ he said.

‘Probably isn’t good enough.’ Densyr leaned forward in his chair. ‘You know the stakes here. We cannot fail. Not now.’

‘Now your friends are dead.’

‘Indeed.’ Densyr pressed his lips together. ‘And anything you do, do quickly. We don’t have much time.’

‘I shall attempt the cell-by-cell closedown. That way, I can isolate surges in mana being fed back and dissipate them through harmless areas of the grid.’

‘If you say so. And what if it begins to go wrong?’

‘A mage can always act as a buffer if necessary,’ said Septern.

‘Get going.’

‘They know what we intend, I’m certain of it,’ said Sol. ‘Brynar. Hirad needs attention. Ilkar, Sirendor. Assess the next jump and the bridge the ClawBound has left. Thraun, let’s see if we can’t find ourselves a better route than the one we already have. But don’t go far. Quickly. The enemy are closing.’

He stood with Diera and his boys. All four of them in a huddle and he at least realising that it could be their last. The Garonin still came on. He had counted eight of them. Moving carefully over the rooftops, no doubt aware of the capacity of the TaiGethen and hopefully unaware of their current whereabouts.

The rooftop to which they had jumped from the collapsing building was a work in progress. They were standing amidst the debris of a building site. Half-built walls, piles of stone, sand and barrels of water. Pots of whitewash, brushes, trowels and even a couple of straw hats. A block and tackle had been hanging from the near edge of the building but the ClawBound elf had stripped it for its rope. Every tool of the trade was scattered about, evidence of a hurried evacuation or perhaps merely a poorly run site.

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Diera.

‘Because while the bulk of them stand and guard their machine, these eight are heading right for us. Raven, I want an ambush plan. Here or at the next intersection.’

Sol looked after the ClawBound, who was still creating a path to the college gates. He had laid ropes and even knotted sheets where he could and left markers for jump points, so Thraun had reported. The Garonin were less than a hundred yards away now and would soon be in weapons range. Sol pulled away from his family.

‘Time to move. Brynar, how are you doing?’

‘Hirad is all right to walk now.’

‘Good. Freedom’s Wings for you again if you don’t mind. Brynar.’

‘Yes, my King .’

‘Not “king”, just Sol. And thank you for not abandoning my family.’

Brynar shrugged. ‘What sort of man would I be? Besides, Auum made it clear the fate I would face if I ran.’

‘I’ll bet he did.’

A short incantation and gossamer wings appeared at Brynar’s back. He held out his arms and Diera placed young Hirad in them. It was several hundred yards to the apron in front of the college gates. They had to traverse another four intersections and get across the heavily trapped open space.

‘I could take him all the way,’ said Brynar.

Sol paused on the verge of agreeing. ‘But they wouldn’t let you leave. We need you.’

‘Keep out of sight of the college as long as you can,’ said Brynar. ‘I’ll open the postern gate for you.’

‘There isn’t a postern gate any more,’ said Sol.

Brynar raised his eyebrows. ‘Trust me on this.’

Sol nodded. ‘Diera?’

‘Gods drowning, yes, take him inside the walls. All right, Hirad? You go with Brynar to the college and he’ll keep you safe.’

‘Yes, Mama.’

‘I’ll be there very soon.’

‘Go, Brynar,’ said Sol. ‘And thank you.’

Brynar took to the air, skimming low over the rooftops. Sol watched him, a lump in his throat.

‘We need to get out of here,’ said Sirendor.

Sol glanced back at the Garonin and shook his head. ‘No. I’ve had an idea. The next roof is too open. Pretty garden but too open. Plenty of places to hide here.’

‘Good thought,’ said Sirendor. ‘The Garonin will have to drop out of sight of us before they reach the adjacent block.’

‘Good,’ said Sol. ‘Diera, Jonas. Time to go.’

‘Father . . .’

‘Don’t argue with me, Jonas. We don’t have the time.’

Sol stooped to pick up a shovel. It was a satisfying weight in his hands.

‘The rest of you, I suggest you pick up your choice of implement. I will stand centre to make sure they know where to come.’

‘Sol . . .’

‘Diera, it’s all right. This is what I do. Did.’

‘Remember you aren’t thirty any more.’

‘Just take Jonas and run. And be careful on the ropes. Raven, hide where you can back me in a hurry. I know we wouldn’t normally lower ourselves to such tactics but today I make an exception for any underhand attack from the rear without warning. All these Garonin have to go down. You all know the attack signal.’

Ilkar took no weapon but hid himself on a narrow ledge behind a wall that was to hold a dormer window. Sol heard him begin to mutter as he attempted to draw mana from the chaos around him. Sirendor picked up a crowbar, hefted it in one hand and picked up a cement trowel in the other. He moved forward of Sol and crouched by a group of three barrels.

Hirad picked up a pickaxe, smiled and lay flat behind a stack of wooden beams to Sol’s right, pulling a canvas sheet over his body. Thraun had not yet returned but Sol was in no doubt that the dead shapechanger was keeping an eye on them. He looked forward to a few wolves entering the fight.

The Garonin, just as Sirendor had said, had dropped briefly out of sight, forced to take a slightly different path due to the collapse of the building through which The Raven had escaped. Sol could hear them though, their heavy footsteps like metal sheets clanging together, the impact of their jump landings echoing against the surrounding blank, deserted buildings.

‘I hope my hip stands up to this,’ he muttered.

‘I think you’ll find it’s your head they’ll be aiming at,’ came a voice from beneath the canvas.

‘Thank you, Hirad. Here they come.’

Sol tensed. The risks of his strategy became depressingly apparent and his words to Diera sounded awfully hollow. Eight giant soldiers in full body armour landed on the roof in a semicircle around him and began to close, their weapons trained exactly as Hirad had said.

Sol hefted the shovel, patting the shaft into his open left palm. The Garonin closed, stopping only when they could almost reach out and touch him. Weapons dropped very slightly. Diera and Jonas were way too close but getting more distant with every passing moment.

‘Fascinating weapons,’ he said. ‘You must show me round one.’

‘Sol,’ said a voice full of beguiling melody. ‘How disappointing. You stand alone. All your subjects have deserted you.’

Sol shifted his feet, taken aback. ‘You. You’re joking with me? I killed you.’

‘Not so. Some among you are fascinating and worthy of some small investigation to further our knowledge of your world. You are one such. No other has demonstrated understanding and belief. No other has been able to leave our domain by an act of self-will.’

‘Your domain? I’ve heard from several reliable sources that it is no one’s domain but a transit to everywhere. A place you have infiltrated and where you can be beaten.’

Sol considered he might have shown too much of his hand.

‘The risk of such an eventuality is small. But we do not deal in small, we deal in nil. And so your journey ends here, Sol. As it will for all your people in this city, your other major population centres and for those you think are escaping beyond your western mountain range.’

Sol’s face must have betrayed him. One of the Garonin cocked his head.

‘Did you think we were not aware of those running west? Elves mostly. We concede that your people are brave and resourceful. We concede that we underestimated you and have been forced to move our vydospheres into the air, an inefficient use of vydos that we cannot afford but one that conserves our equipment.’

‘So why are you talking to me? If you intend to wipe us out, why bother to tell me all about it? Seems a waste of time.’

‘Not for us. Respect is a ritual.’

‘But all rituals are finite, aren’t they?’

Sol tapped the blade of the shovel on the ground, once, twice, three times.

‘It is time,’ said the concerted voices of the Garonin.

‘Yes.’ Sol ceased tapping the shovel. ‘Time for you to meet The Raven.’

Chapter 28

Sol was fast. Even at fifty-one, he was the better of most men half his age. The shovel blade whipped up and forward, Sol darting in a step simultaneously. The cutting edge struck under the chin of the centremost Garonin. Sol felt it bite into flesh. Blood poured down the shovel’s muddy face.

The Garonin reacted quickly. Weapons snapped up to ready. They spaced themselves for clear shots at Sol, who dived into the midst of them, bowling the stricken Garonin over. He pulled the shovel clear of his victim and rolled onto his back with the blade covering his face.

A Garonin soldier readied to fire. He jerked violently. Blood flew from his mouth and he slumped forward onto his knees revealing Sirendor behind him, bloodied cement trowel in hand. He did not pause. The crowbar in his other hand swung across the back of an enemy skull. The soldier’s head rocked forward but he did not drop, turning instead to backhand Sirendor across the face with his weapon. Sirendor tumbled back into the barrels, scattering them.

At the same time, Hirad leapt up from his hiding place and planted his pickaxe straight through the midriff of his nearest enemy, driving the man backwards from his feet. His weapon fired. Hirad screamed in agony.

‘Keep down.’

It was Ilkar. Winter’s Touch flew from his open palms. A howling, super-cooled blast of air that struck the Garonin square on. Two turned their backs, taking the force of the freeze on their armour on which the runes flared white. Two were caught in the helmet, burning cold drilling into their eyes, freezing them blind in moments. Weapons dropped from hands to clutch at faces and claw inside eye slits.

A weapon sounded close by Sol’s head. The half-built wall disintegrated into a shower of stone shard and cement dust.

Sol scrambled to his feet, thrashing the shovel blade in front of him, clattering it into the legs of one of the two Garonin still facing him. The enemy fell. Sol moved to finish him. A blow caught him on the side of the head, sending him spinning. He rolled into a pile of sand.

Sol spat grit from his mouth. He looked up into the darkening sky. The cloud framed the helmet of a Garonin soldier and his cruel weapon. Sol held his gaze. The weapon was raised. A black shape flew from left to right. Howls split the dawn. The Garonin’s fire flashed past Sol’s shoulder, kicking up sand.

Sol sat up. The ClawBound had arrived. The panther was ripping the throat from one enemy, the elf had enveloped another. Wolves streamed in. A solitary Garonin weapon traced teardrops through the air. One of the animals fell, soundlessly. The other three feasted in revenge.

From behind him Sol heard the thump of metal on leather. Again and again. He climbed painfully to his feet. Back, arms, legs and now the side of his head. Everything was bruised. He put a hand to the hinge of his jaw. It came away wet. Sirendor straightened up from behind the tumble of barrels. His nose was bent across his face and blood covered his lips and neck. His crowbar too was covered in blood, hair and gore.

‘Never take a fallen man with a crowbar as beaten,’ he said.

‘Hirad,’ said Sol, starting to run across the roof.

He jumped the bodies of the fallen Garonin, those that had not already faded back to whence they came, and dropped to his knees by the barbarian in his merchant’s body. That body was broken. White tears had blasted through his right shoulder and all the way down his body to the hip. Clothing had been burned away and the flesh was smoking and cauterised. Hirad still clung on to the pickaxe handle, his face buried in the Garonin armour.

Sol rocked back onto his haunches. ‘Damn it,’ he breathed.

Sirendor placed a hand on his shoulder and crouched by him. ‘Don’t despair, not just yet. He’s still with us. Just.’

‘What does it matter? He will never survive a journey to the west like this. His soul will be lost. We can’t stop it.’

Sol’s mind filled with visions of Hirad’s outstretched grasping hands disappearing into the murk of the void, his mouth open in an eternal scream.

‘Not west. College.’

Sol looked up into the eyes of the ClawBound elf. Blood dripped from the ends of the sharpened nails on his long fingers. His black and white halved painted face was impassive and his voice, as with them all, was hoarse and unused to speech.

‘What do you mean?’ Sol searched the roof for Ilkar. ‘Sirendor, find our mage, would you? Assuming he’s alive behind that pile of broken stone, I need him to do whatever he can for poor Hirad.’

‘Thraun. Speak.’

The ClawBound elf pointed to where the shapechanger was kneeling by his downed wolf. Sol nodded and dragged himself away from Hirad. The barbarian’s soul could barely be breathing and Sol feared to move him lest he do more harm than good. Sirendor had made his way over to the shattered half wall and was kneeling behind it, already talking.

Sol made his aching way to Thraun.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Thraun nodded. ‘They brought me back, you know? My soul had no direction when the Garonin ripped our resting place apart. They called for me. They needed my help. They knew something was wrong. And here they are, dying one by one. Three remain here. Four are lost in the city somewhere.’

‘We’ll save the rest. But tell me. Why does our ClawBound friend say we no longer need to go to the Wesmen? I’m presuming you know what we intend to do.’

‘I have spoken to Auum about it. The mage, Brynar. He is sure Septern knows the ritual of opening but is reluctant to perform it. Auum feels that he can persuade him.’

Sol felt as if a door to hope had just been edged open. ‘And I thought he was taking young Hirad into Xetesk purely to keep him safe. My mind is clearly not sharp. Thank you, my friend. Get ready to go.’

He straightened up and looked east. The black cloud swirling around the Garonin machine was growing deeper and spreading across the city. Dark blue light flashed within it. Ominous signals. So far, Xetesk appeared powerless to stop the drain on its Heart. But Sol could feel the pressure building. Densyr had already proved himself prone to desperate decisions and he would not allow this situation to continue.

The enemy soldiers were beginning to fan out along the rooftops of eastern Xetesk. They were readying for something. Sol had to assume it was the final assault.

‘Sirendor, have you—’

‘Yes, he has,’ said Ilkar. ‘Didn’t anyone hear me calling?’

‘Sorry,’ sad Sol.

‘Clinging on by my bloody, literally bloody, fingernails for ages.’

‘And still alive,’ said Sol. ‘Which is more than we’ll be able to say for Hirad unless you can do something fast.’

‘I know, I know.’ Ilkar knelt by the prone Raven warrior and studied his wounds briefly. He shook his head. ‘This is way beyond me, Unknown. He needs powerful focused magic. Only one place to get that.’

‘Then it’s fortunate that all our answers are within,’ said Sol. ‘The only question that remains is, how in all the hells do I get him to the college gates without killing him.’

A shattering, rippling detonation ripped the momentary calm apart. The foundations of Xetesk shuddered. Sol turned east to see flames and dust in the sky on an arc that stretched almost from south to north gates. The east gatehouse had gone. Buildings lining the walls were falling. Fists of stone ground their way into the sky. And up above them the machine wobbled and the detonation cloud above it flashed a dangerous white.

Moments later, another line of wards exploded and the next concentric ring of buildings was demolished under the force of Orbs, walls of blue fire and the Hammers deep in the earth. The rumble did not die away. More quickly than the second ring, the third triggered.

Massive mana energy burst into the sky, far more than Septern would have planned. Garonin soldiers were consumed in the roar of flame and the collapse of buildings. The machine rose higher into the air, the cloud moving up with it. there was huge energy within it. Unstable. The drone intensified and the flat tone of horns sounded over and over.

‘This is not controlled,’ said Ilkar.

‘Yep. And heading our way. Oh, Densyr, what have you done?’

‘Help me,’ gasped Septern.

‘What the hell have you done?’ shouted Densyr. Once again, the balcony doors were open and this time they showed the crumbling of Xetesk. ‘The outer wards are collapsing. The stream is heading this way.’

‘Polarity. Reversed,’ managed Septern. ‘No control. Please.’

Densyr tore his eyes from the ruination of the city.

‘Inside out, I said.’ He sat down next to Septern and put a hand over the great mage’s clawed fingers where they grasped at the arm of his chair. ‘Must I do everything myself? I . . . Oh dear Gods drowning.’

Densyr had tuned into the mana spectrum, and saw the disaster rolling towards them with the speed of a tidal wave being forced up a narrowing channel. Flares in the grid described wards triggering with ridiculous power. Every line on the complex lattice was throbbing with barely controlled mana energy. The loose ends of the unpicked grid flailed in the chaotic maelstrom of unsuppressed mana, sending bursts of fire into the sky.

Densyr could see the shape of the Garonin machine and its cloud, depicted by the dense, dark roiling blue that seemed to hang over the entire spectrum. The blue deepened with every detonation, and the spinning of the cloud intensified. They were causing this, he knew, but couldn’t see how. All he could see was a chain reaction with an inevitable conclusion.

‘We have to break the cycle,’ said Densyr.

‘I have not the strength,’ said Septern. ‘The flow of mana is too great.’

‘Then let me help you. Tell me what to do.’

Densyr had lent his strength to Septern and the mage’s voice steadied but remained full of panic.

‘Have to block the feedback. Break the linkage and place your mind in front of the Heart. Deflect the pulses away.’

‘You’re asking me to render myself helpless in front of this assault.’

‘Not helpless,’ gasped Septern. ‘Hero.’

Into Densyr’s eyes sprang unforeseen tears. He closed them and entered Septern’s failing construct.

Sol, with Hirad slipping ever nearer towards death in his arms, ran headlong at the next intersection. His hip protested, his back was bleeding again and his arms screamed for relief. But behind them the rattle of explosion and demolition grew louder, the space between each set of wards firing grew shorter and the surge and shake beneath their feet grew more violent.

Already, the dust clogged their lungs and threatened their vision ahead. Loose roof tiles slipped and crashed underfoot. Balustrades wobbled. Every landing point was a shuddering accident waiting to happen.

‘Hang on, Hirad,’ said Sol. ‘That soul of yours has never given up on anything. Don’t you dare start now.’

Sirendor hit the edge of the building and leapt into space, circling his arms and coming down for a slithered landing on the sloping tiles across the alleyway. He turned as soon as he’d stopped and stood a little to the left of Thraun.

‘Six feet maximum,’ he called. ‘We’re ready.’

‘Sorry for the jolt, Hirad. Over soon.’

Sol ran harder and faster, the dead weight of Hirad a terrible drain on balance and strength. He leaned his body forward, caught the very edge of the building and pushed off with everything he had. He tried to work his body a little more upright as he flew but time was so short. He was falling fast. Too fast.

Sol sought forward with his left leg and prayed. His foot snagged the edge of the building’s balustrade. Sirendor snaked out an arm and gripped his collar. Thraun’s arms took the weight of Hirad. Sol blew out his cheeks, steadied and stepped off the balustrade.

‘Next up, not so easy,’ said Thraun.

Sol looked behind them. The Garonin were in temporary disarray. Up in the sky, the machine was being forced higher and higher as the mana energy blasted upwards. Of the soldiers on the ground, there was nothing. Not a sign. A small mercy. A quicker, surer death was stampeding towards them.

‘We have to try. Go, go.’

Thraun carried Hirad. His younger body was stout in the arm and chest and Sol was blowing badly. They ran up the slope of the roof, over the apex and slid down the other side. The air was full of the sound of explosions and the cloying drab of dust and smoke. Heat billowed around them as intense as dragon fire.

The next roof was flat and held an ornamental garden and fish pond. The carp in the pond all floated belly up. The water was steaming. The Raven tore across it, shadowed by wolves running along the roofs of adjacent buildings. Another flat roof ended in a gap of twelve feet.

‘No way,’ said Ilkar. ‘Don’t even attempt it.’

‘What do you expect me to do, leave him here to burn?’ Sol beckoned Thraun over and held out his arms to receive his old friend.

‘No,’ snapped Ilkar. ‘I don’t know. But this is suicide. I mean, we need you to commit suicide but not here and not now.’

‘So bloody comforting,’ muttered Sol.

Explosions blew apart the roof of the building they had just left. All three ducked reflexively as splinters of stone rattled the tiles at their backs.

‘We can’t stay here,’ said Thraun. ‘I will jump.’

‘You won’t make it. None of us can make it.’ Ilkar looked around desperately. ‘We have to risk the ground.’

‘We won’t get ten yards. The wards go from here to the apron.’ Sol’s fists clenched in frustration. ‘Which way did the ClawBound go? And my wife and son?’

Thraun gestured away across the street. ‘Easy. ClawBound jumps. Ropes are fixed. People cross. ClawBound retrieves ropes.’

‘And never mind the stragglers,’ said Ilkar.

‘Well they got that bit right,’ said Sol. His sigh was lost in another detonation. Smoke billowed up from the alley they’d crossed. ‘Hirad’s last chance. Any ideas.’

There was nothing. The street was too wide to jump, the ground was covered in traps none of them could see and they had no rope, no focused mage and now no hope at all.

‘Drop him and go,’ barked a voice from directly above their heads.

‘Brynar. What are you doing here?’ asked Sol.

‘My bit,’ he said. ‘Hurry. Get down to the street and run. I’ll take Hirad.’

‘The street?’

‘Trust me, Sol. The wards are triggering out to in. I’ve been into the spectrum to see what Densyr is doing. Nothing is active ahead—’ Detonations, very close. A whoosh of flame and a grinding of stone. ‘It’s all behind you. Run. Please.’

‘Bless you, Brynar. Thraun, put Hirad down.’

‘How do we get down?’ Panic edged Ilkar’s voice.

There was a skylight in the roof. Sol jumped straight through it, covering his face. He landed on timbers about eight feet below.

‘Come on!’

The building shook to its foundations. Sol saw Ilkar at the shattered skylight, Thraun shadowing him. He turned and ran to a wide stair that led down to a second level. He leaned against the wall with the building shaking enough to cast ornaments from their stands, shudder a table across the floor below him and bring down plaster-work in lumps.

‘Up the bloody stairs, down the bloody stairs. Make up your mind, Unknown,’ grumbled Ilkar, stamping down the stairs behind him and overtaking him on the way to the final flight.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Ahead of you. If Brynar is wrong, best it’s a dead elf that catches it rather than a live king we want to make into a dead king later on.’

Sol found a smile on his face as he hurdled a low table. He felt a spear of pain through his old hip wound and took the last stairs one at a time. Thraun was right behind him, his wolves anxious to be outside.

‘And for a moment I thought your action truly selfless.’

Ilkar pulled open the front door on a scene of dust and crumbling stonework not thirty yards to their left.

‘Wrong word. I put the “elf” in selfish, old friend.’

‘That is a joke worth dying to avoid,’ said Sol.