Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 56 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

Chapter 25

For an instant, Thraun’s eyes misted over as the life slipped away from man-packbrother. He felt it in the core of his being and the passing to the grey dust left a pit of loneliness inside his wolven heart. An agonised whine escaped his throat as he watched man-packbrother’s head slip slightly to the side and his chest fall but not rise again. He looked up into the face of the human who tended him. She laid an implement aside, one which had been used to wipe man-packbrother’s face, then moved a white covering to hide his still form.

Thraun could see the sorrow in her and felt the helplessness which tinged that sorrow with anger. The instant passed and Thraun’s mind was deluged with animal fury. He opened his mouth and howled at the sky blocked from him by the human structure as the blood-lust soaked into him and cast about for prey.

The body of the tending woman now cascaded fear, it showed in her face and gushed from every pore. She backed away. He could smell it like he could smell the forest. It was fear of him and fear was good. It told him when a prey was beaten. But she had tried to save man-packbrother and he found himself unable to bring her down. A vestige of thought swam through his crazed mind and he bolted into the open, another howl blasting from his mouth, his body racked, muscles glowing with rage, the blood on his mind and the forest in his nose.

But outside he scrabbled to a halt on the cruel stone. Outside was fire and shouting in the dark. Outside was chaos and confusion. Humans ran everywhere and the overpowering scent of the hated ones whose flesh he remembered assailed him, mixed with the rotting stench of death. A mass of the humans, those untainted with the scent of the hated, ran towards an opening in the walls. Beyond it, the prey he desired.

Thraun ran hard towards the opening, his savage barks scattering the humans whose inbred terror of the wolf had them leap from his path. He could feel their alternate fear and relief as he ran past them, intent on the one prey, the strong-scented ones whose blood he had tasted and desired to taste again. He cleared the opening and, sniffing the air as his legs blurred beneath him, drove straight to where he knew his prey waited, a third and final howl marking his grief at the loss of man-packbrother.

Thraun ran towards the flickering light of a fire. Around it, the hated men were standing and he could feel their anxiety and incomprehension of the noise and flame the pack-humans had caused. His blond-flecked brown body slipped through the dark unnoticed, the noises covering his footfalls and the growls quiet in his throat.

Prey.

There was no desire to stalk. The pack were far away, the forest colours dim in his memory and his animal brain ablaze with the anger of something taken that could never be returned.

At a dead run from the shadows he pounced, leaping high, taking his first prey in the throat, his jaws ripping for blood, his paws braced on the shoulders. The man fell under the force of the leap but had no fight in him, his life already flowing from the tear under his chin. Thraun lapped hungrily at the blood, careless of its spurting and flashing over his muzzle and coat. Lost in desire, he didn’t hear the other men surround him but he felt the sharp slap as one of their metal sticks bounced from his impervious hide.

He turned and the four of them stumbled backwards, scared words tumbling from their mouths combined with frantic pointing with their arms at where one had struck him. Thraun crouched, yellow eyes smouldering contempt for their helplessness, jaws dripping the blood of their companion, his body tensed.

The men backed away further but they could not escape, not all of them. Thraun sprang again, paws thumping into the chest of his prey, snout firing hot breath over his face. His jaws snapped together, ripping the flesh off one cheek. The man screamed. His companions struck and pulled at Thraun who stepped back, lashed a claw into the prey to silence him then begin to circle, tongue lolling.

One of the prey turned and ran, shouting as he went. Thraun watched him briefly but let him go. The other two stood knowing they could neither fight to win nor both outrun the wolf. At a word, they split and ran in opposite directions but Thraun had already chosen his victim. He loped after him, through a narrow way with sheer stone walls rising either side, and ended his whimpering life far from the light of the fire.

And later, sated in mind and body, the passing of man-packbrother avenged, he cleaned his paws, muzzle and chest and trotted back to where Will lay, the lust clearing from his mind where one word pulsed at him.

Remember.

Ilkar feared for a time that the tumult wouldn’t subside. The grain store was packed with men, women and children of all ages and their automatic move away from the sundered doors was reversed immediately they saw it was not Wesmen framed in the opening.

It sounded as if all of them were talking, crying or shouting at once and he worried briefly that they would be crushed in a stampede for the open air. He shouted for calm, his voice joined by Hirad’s and The Unknown’s, all three Raven men now with swords sheathed, aware that Denser would alert them to any approaching danger.

Inside, the grain store was gloomy but not dark. Half a dozen low-wicked lanterns lit its cavernous stone-arched space and, to his left and right, Ilkar could see areas set aside for food and washing. And though the smell of sweat and stale air within was strong and pervasive, the lack of raw stench told him that at least they were not forced to urinate or defecate where they stood and slept.

At the front of the crowd, younger men stared back at him, their faces tired and angry, their voices lost in the morass of sound. In the centre, Ilkar recognised the unmistakable aura of a mage and strode forward to speak with him. His movement caused a ripple through the crowd which swayed back instinctively and Ilkar could only guess at the treatment they had sometimes received at the hands of the Wesmen. And their fears were based in ignorance. Every day, some of their number were taken from the store and never returned. Ilkar knew where they lay and the realisation that these people, his people, did not, twisted his stomach and re-ignited his anger at the plight of Julatsa.

But the bodies lying outside the College were something he couldn’t ignore and they represented a real risk to the rescue if the subject wasn’t handled correctly.

The mage, late middle-aged and puny, tufted red hair sprouting from a narrow head, bore an expression of enormous relief but Ilkar didn’t let him speak, beckoning him forward. They met and shook hands a pace in front of the crowd.

‘Your name?’ asked Ilkar.

‘Dewer,’ replied the mage.

‘Good. Dewer, I am Ilkar and this is The Raven. We’re here to get you out of this. All of you. But we don’t have much time.’

Dewer gaped. ‘The Raven?’ There were tears in his eyes.

‘Yes. Look, I must have quiet. The Wesmen are close and we have to leave now. Who’s in charge?’

‘I’ll pass the word for quiet,’ said Dewer. ‘Speak to Lallan while I hush everyone.’ He pointed at a tall slim man in his late fifties. He wore fine deep green clothing and a burgundy shirt, dirty and torn now but the quality still shone through. His face was drawn and tired yet proud and he stood tall, refusing to be bowed by the abrupt change in his circumstances. Ilkar walked quickly over to him where he stood a little further along the line, beckoning The Unknown and Hirad to join him.

‘Lallan,’ said Ilkar. The two shook hands briefly. ‘I’m Ilkar, and these are Hirad and The Unknown Warrior.’

Lallan nodded. ‘I recognised you as you came in.’

‘It is very important that your people listen to us and follow our instructions. If not, there could be a slaughter,’ said Ilkar.

‘How many of you are there here?’ asked Hirad.

‘Three thousand four hundred and seventy-eight,’ said Lallan without pause. ‘We started with more but the Wesmen have been taking away the very old, very young and some women.’

‘I know, and that is something we have to deal with now.’ Around Ilkar, a ripple of excited conversation was followed by a wave of hushing sounds and then almost complete silence.

‘Impressive,’ said The Unknown.

‘We decided early that discipline was important,’ said Lallan. ‘I’ll speak first, then I’ll introduce you, Ilkar. They’ll listen if I ask it.’

The four men stepped away from the crowd and towards the door. Denser chose the same moment to sweep down to the doorway, release Erienne from his arms, kiss her and step back into the sky. Erienne ran in, breaking the silence of the crowd, their murmur a vocalisation of their anxiety.

‘Erienne?’ asked Hirad.

‘We’re in trouble,’ she said. ‘The main force of Wesmen from the west of the city has changed direction and are heading this way. Denser thinks they are under the control of the commander and he’s guessed what’s going on. They’ll be here very soon. We’ve established the corridor back to the College but it’s under attack in a dozen places, street to street. This isn’t what Kard needs. His men are dying out here and he needs them on the walls.’

‘Right,’ said The Unknown. ‘Lallan, get talking. Now.’

Lallan nodded and faced the crowd who quietened on his first word.

‘My friends,’ he said, his arms aloft, palms outwards. ‘The Raven are here to organise rescue. It is hazardous and I beseech you, listen to what Ilkar has to say and let no doubt cloud your mind. Wesmen warriors are coming this way and we have to act decisively. This is our only chance. Ilkar.’

The Raven mage stepped forward. ‘Outside it is dark, with only wood and spell fires lighting the sky. The Wesmen are running Julatsa but we have this one opportunity to get you out of their immediate clutches. What we want you to do is this. On Lallan’s word, leave here and run as hard as you can through the southern market and, by the main streets, to the College. Don’t stop until you are well inside the walls. Anyone who can fight and finds a weapon on a dead Wesmen, take it; you might need it. The streets are, for now, secured by soldiers and men from Julatsa but they are under attack. Anyone who delays in the run is risking their lives.

‘There are two things I must tell you. First, you will be running into a College that will be under siege. It isn’t freedom, not yet, but if you are there, you can do your part to help us regain our city. Any who feel their chances are better elsewhere, are very welcome to choose another direction in which to run. But I should mention that The Raven will be standing on the College walls where the best chance lies.

‘Second, as you approach the College, you will see a terrible sight. The bodies of all of those taken from this grain store ring the walls, murdered by the Wesmen in an attempt to force surrender. They gave their lives to give you a chance. Don’t pause to mourn until you are inside or their deaths might end up being in vain. Lallan.’

Lallan addressed the crowd again, their silence broken by the odd shouted question and the murmur of shocked sob and sorrow. He raised his voice to quell the spread of the noise.

‘My friends, we don’t have time for questions. We have to run, as fast as we can, and pray the Gods and our soldiers will protect us. The strong must help the weak and carry the very young. We will run in our rotas, “A” through to “L”, and I hardly need to say that any mages should shield their comrades. Divide and organise now, I want “A” through to “E” in front of these doors immediately. Go.’

He clapped his hands and the hall dissolved into the noise of action. The drum of thousands of feet on the stone-flagged floor, the shouts and calls to organise and the clatter of timber as tables were shoved aside to create space by the main doors. Ilkar couldn’t keep a smile from his face and he turned to Hirad and The Unknown, both of whom were nodding their appreciation. The discipline of the Julatsans gave them a chance.

Denser landed again at the doors, his voice urgent. ‘Come on. They’re almost on the store, they’ll enter through the western entrance. We have to move now or they’ll overwhelm us.’ He held out his arms for Erienne and she ran into them. ‘HotRain, I think.’ She nodded and they took off.

The first of the rota letters were ready. Lallan, under the shadow of The Unknown Warrior, did not hesitate.

‘Go, go, go! Through the southern market, follow the corridor of soldiers. Take weapons where you find them. Run!’ His last was lost in the thunder of feet and the calls of encouragement that rang out and echoed in the grain store. The Wesmen’s Julatsan prisoners ran free, ran hard and ran straight.

Ilkar was joined to the left of the doors by The Unknown and Hirad, and the three Raven watched the Julatsans as they made their bid for brief freedom. Above them, and moving in a lazy arc while they watched the advancing Wesmen, were Denser and Erienne. Julatsa was alive with fighting, the clash of swords, the detonation of spells and the shouts and calls to action coming at them from all directions.

‘We had no right to expect this to go so well,’ said Ilkar.

‘I’m not so sure that it is,’ said The Unknown. ‘They’re moving too slowly. And look at Denser now.’

Ilkar could see what he meant. Despite the selective murder of the young and very old by the Wesmen, there were still a sizeable number still alive and the pace of the column of city people was slow, scared and stumbling, the elderly supported by and slowing the younger and quicker. Behind them, in the store, Lallan’s voice could be heard above the general hubbub, urging them on, exhorting them to greater effort and greater speed.

And now, moving determinedly west, Denser was tracking the Wesmen force as it neared the square.

Above the rooftops, Denser, his sight augmented, surveyed Julatsa and, more particularly, the immediate threat to The Raven. Along the secure corridor, the Julatsans were coming under increasing pressure from the waking, angry Wesmen. Pockets of fighting were continuing along its whole length as the occupying warriors directed themselves against the College defenders. Nowhere yet was the situation critical but east and west Denser could see Wesmen streaming in from their billets and camps, emerging from houses, offices and inns, belting on their weapons and hurrying to the fight, alarm bells sounding out across the city.

The weak points of the corridor were at either end and in the southern market where buildings gave way to cobbles and access to the defensive line was broader. Fortunately, the Wesmen hadn’t reached those points yet, halted by fierce flank defence in critical streets and the judicious use of fire as a barricade. The Julatsans were making their knowledge of the city streets work hard for them and, so far, neither grain store nor College was assailed.

But to the south and west of the grain store, the clearly organised fast march of well over three thousand Wesmen was nearing the square and would soon engulf The Raven and their charges. Too soon.

Below Denser, the freed Julatsans continued to stream out of the doors to the grain store, urged on by the gesturing arms of Hirad, The Unknown and Ilkar, the sound of their voices rising clear into the slowly lightening sky. Denser swooped down again, hovering over the moving line, apologising as some of those below him flinched or stumbled.

‘Hirad, any time now this square will be crawling with Wesmen bent on unpicking your entrails. They are barely a street away from the south and west entrances and we aren’t enough to stop them on open ground.’

Hirad shrugged and pointed at Erienne who rested in his arms, eyes closed, deep in concentration.

‘Delay them for us, then,’ he said. ‘We aren’t leaving until this hall is empty.’ He glanced back inside. ‘There are only a few hundred to go.’

‘Gods, you’re pushing it close,’ said Denser.

‘Too close if you don’t start laying down some fire,’ said Hirad. ‘So go and make yourself useful.’

Denser glowered and swept back into the sky, heading south-west.

‘Come on, hurry!’ Ilkar shouted, frustration edging his tone. There were only a couple of hundred left in the store and Hirad had to smile though he could hear the barking shouts of the approaching enemy.

‘Calm down, Ilks. We’ll be fine.’

‘Calm down? A Wesmen army is about to slaughter us as we stand at the back of a slow-moving line of infants and ancients and all you can do is stick the only man who can slow them up with little barbs from that great barbarian mouth of yours. Don’t tell me to calm down.’

‘Ilkar.’ The Unknown’s tone was admonishing. ‘Your talk will incite panic. More haste is good, blind flight is bad.’ The Unknown helped a frail-looking man on his way with a friendly pat. ‘That’s it, keep up the pace. Time is running out. That’s it.’ He leant into Ilkar again. ‘Don’t forget, we’re The Raven. While we remain calm, so will they.’

‘I just think we’re cutting this very fine, just like Denser says,’ said Ilkar.

‘And you are both right,’ said The Unknown quietly. ‘But like Hirad says, we aren’t leaving anyone behind.’

The store was all but empty. A man jogged past with a child on his shoulders and a babe in his arms, followed by two young women arm-chairing a tiny old lady who appeared in a dead faint.

‘How are we doing, Lallan?’ called Ilkar.

‘Fine. Almost there.’

Sudden illumination from behind them threw stark shards of shadow flashing across the stone-flagged square. Hirad swung round. Drops of fire fell like heavy rain from the sky, concentrating in a tight area to the south. Above the spell, the dark shape of Denser carrying Erienne flitted upwards, pursued by the black shafts of arrows. None hit, so far as Hirad could see, but the clatter of wood on stone as the arrows dropped to the earth, was lost in the tumult of noise as Erienne’s HotRain struck home.

Horns sounded behind the buildings, men shouted, some crying out in shock, pain or surprise. The rumbling of running feet could be clearly heard and, where the HotRain took a hold, flames licked at wood and caressed the night from the sky, augmenting the dawn.

As Hirad watched, Denser and Erienne wheeled and dived in again, fast. A long, narrow line of HotRain flared beneath them, dropping quickly. More wasted arrows flicked into the sky, tracking far too slowly to catch the speeding mage pair, who swung back towards the grain store.

Landing in a flurry of dust as the last of the Julatsans ran from the doors with Lallan’s urging voice behind them, Denser set Erienne down and shook some life back into his arms.

‘We’re slowing them but we aren’t stopping them, I—’

With a howl, the first of the Wesmen entered the square. Like a flash flood bursting into a valley they came, filling the space with the weight of their numbers and the very air with the deafening sound of their voices as they saw their quarry at last.

The released Julatsan prisoners panicked and ran, their screams tearing at the ear, any semblance of order in those at the rear of the line dissolving into terrified chaos, stumbling, tripping, pushing and forcing their way towards the northern exit of the square.

‘Move quickly but calmly. Help your friends, don’t shove them aside!’ Lallan’s voice rose above the barrage of noise but was completely ignored. The Unknown turned to him.

‘Get yourself out of here,’ he said. ‘Don’t look back. Hirad, time to act.’

Hirad gauged the pace of the Wesmen approach, guessing they might just reach the street before the enemy.

‘All right you three, we need some rubble to slow them down. Sorry Ilkar but some of your buildings will have to come down.’ He pointed at the city administration offices and barracks that ran around the northern edge of the square around the grain store.

‘No problem,’ said Ilkar. ‘C’mon you two.’ The Julatsan ran around the thinning crowd, Erienne and Denser, wings now dispersed, hard on his heels.

‘All right Big Man, that leaves you and me for the rearguard.’

The Unknown nodded. ‘I gathered. Let’s go.’ The two men turned and hurried after the fleeing Julatsans, shepherding them towards the exit from the square which was under heavy guard.

‘Keep it going. No need for panic, we’re at your backs.’ Hirad’s voice urged and cajoled frightened men, women and children. To his left, The Unknown scooped a fallen child under one arm and sprinted forwards, planting the crying girl on the shoulders of a young woman. He turned back to the onrushing Wesmen, caught Hirad’s eye and yelled.

‘Duck!’

Arrows coursed over Hirad’s head, plunging into the defenceless civilians. A dozen fell and the line disintegrated, people running in all directions to avoid the killing shafts.

‘No!’ shouted Hirad. ‘Forwards. Keep going forwards.’ But his voice was lost. Behind him, the Wesmen roar increased, and the pounding of their feet could be felt through the cobbles of the square. ‘Ilkar!’ His voice now a bellow, Hirad saw Ilkar turn his way. ‘HardShield! HardShield! Protect the exit.’

An arrow whistled past Hirad’s right ear, burying itself in the shoulder of an old man. He fell and others paused to help. Hirad made a hurrying motion with his arms as he hurdled the body. ‘Don’t stop. You can’t help him, he’s gone already. Run on.’

With The Unknown again at his shoulder, Hirad urged and pushed the Julatsans out of the square, at every step expecting an arrow to thud into one or both of their bodies. The shafts still fell but they were arced to fall into the main body of the crowd in an attempt to incite more panic. But those who hadn’t broken away as the first arrows fell had clearly decided to run headlong and trust to luck, for which Hirad was eternally grateful.

Ahead, Hirad could see Ilkar had cast and that Erienne and Denser were deep in concentration, at work on the spell that would bring down the buildings in the faces of the Wesmen. In front of them, Julatsan soldiers beckoned the crowd on, helping them to relative safety up the secured path that Hirad knew must be under increasing pressure all along its length.

‘Almost there,’ he shouted. ‘Keep pushing on.’

The arrows no longer fell in the crowd, bouncing instead from Ilkar’s shield. Hirad and The Unknown reached the line of soldiers, stopped and spun round. The Wesmen were less than a hundred yards behind them.

‘Now Denser,’ said Hirad. ‘Now Erienne.’ He and The Unknown spread their arms and moved backwards, ushering the soldiers back with them. The Wesmen roared on, sensing blood.

‘Hammer,’ said Denser and Erienne together.

Beneath their feet, the earth rumbled and shifted. Hirad felt a ripple travel through his body as it moved in the direction of the square, gathering in intensity.

As he continued to move back, he saw the Wesmen line falter in its charge, still forty yards distant, as it neared the buildings. Under the enemy, cracks opened as the ground moved violently, pitching Wesmen from their feet, forcing most to stop and scramble for balance. Behind them, their comrades ploughed on, trampling the fallen underfoot until horns and shouts slowed them to a stop.

To Hirad’s left and right, the buildings shuddered, loose chips of stonework and dust clouded the outlines and roof slates shifted and fell. A pause followed in which Denser and Erienne both jerked their arms skywards before flattening them in an arc to the cruciform shape. Then they turned and ran.

Without bothering to wait, Hirad did the same, closing to Ilkar’s ear as he did so. ‘Time to go, Ilkar. Keep that shield up if you can.’

The Julatsan nodded. Hirad grabbed one of his arms and led him away, all the time with one eye on the scene behind.

Slabs of stone twice a man’s height burst from the ground, spearing the street in two dozen places and showering cobbles and mud in all directions. They rose under the buildings and the feet of the Wesmen causing chaos and destruction while all the time the tremors and ripples gained strength as they focused under their targets.

With a flat crack that echoed into the lightening sky, the city administration offices slid left into the street. Thousands of stones burst from their bindings to cascade, bounce and crash down to cover the escape of the Julatsans, the clatter of pebbles complementing the rumble of the main parts of the building and the fragmenting of tiles. Moments later, barracks to the right began to rock as slab after slab rose inside, sending slate and timber into the square, scattering the Wesmen line. Across the street a fissure opened in the ground, the fault running left and right gouting dust into the air and yawning three feet wide in places.

‘Let’s take this chance!’ roared Hirad. ‘Push it on, straight to the College. Come on!’

Falling back in pre-ordered form, the Julatsan city guard closed ranks as the whole force began slowly to relinquish the corridor while maintaining the integrity of its shortening length. They had been trained for just such action. Drilled for years in fighting street to street, falling back in safety to the next bottle-neck when required and striking out in guerrilla action to weaken and demoralise attacking forces, the guard moved efficiently to the College.

Inside the cordon, The Raven ran the line of city folk, cajoling, urging and encouraging while Ilkar’s moving HardShield, joined shortly after by those of Denser and Erienne, provided significant protection from the arrows that fell sporadically into the running crowd.

Hirad knew the building collapses wouldn’t hold the Wesmen for long and already, as the desultory arrow drop indicated, they were finding their way along parallel alleys, though not in sufficient numbers to overwhelm the well-drilled Julatsan city guard who had beaten off all attempts thus far. But there was one point where weakness in their line was inevitable and, glancing back to see the retreat under control, he made his decision.

‘Unknown!’ he called above the cries and screams of the crowd and the barked orders of the guard Captains. ‘The southern market.’

The Unknown nodded. ‘Raven! Raven with me!’ Dropping their shields, the trio of mages formed up behind the warrior pair and ran for the open space of Julatsa’s southern market place where, in peaceful times, grain and fresh produce were traded.

It was asway with people, the yelling of soldiers, the running of the old and the young and the clash of weapons as the Wesmen battered at the slim line of defence, heedless of the spells that dropped death on their defenceless bodies.

Hirad headed left across the market where the Julatsan line was being pushed back, not needing to check if The Raven were with him. In front of him, he could see hundreds of Wesmen spilling into a wide access street and running to the attack. Facing them, two dozen Julatsan guard and a pair of mages, one of whom was maintaining a HardShield as occasional bouncing arrows indicated.

‘Denser, we need FlameOrbs. Ilkar, relieve the shield mage. Erienne, whatever you’ve got to keep them back. Unknown, with me.’ Hirad ran into the centre of the line, pulled an injured man away with his left arm and swung his blade right-handed and overhead, feeling the metal crash through the shoulder of his target. Behind him as he squared up, he heard The Unknown issuing instructions to the Julatsan squad leader.

‘Take half your men and shore up the rolling retreat to the south. Leave the mages with us. Keep the people moving. We’re doing well but we’re not home yet.’

‘Yes sir,’ said the squad leader. Moments later, The Unknown was beside him, his blade making the space he needed, cleaving the air in a tight upward arc, punching a Wesman from his feet as he tried desperately to block. The enemy warrior crashed into those behind him, his axe shaft splintered, his hands bloodied. Hirad smashed a fist into his next victim’s face and drove his blade straight into the Wesman’s stomach.

‘Sir?’ Hirad shook his head. ‘Are you sure he knew who you were?’ He drove his sword at the face of an enemy who blocked it with his own, jumping back as he did so.

The Unknown risked a glance across at the barbarian, his double-handed blade sweeping through in a defensive arc, connecting with nothing but keeping back everything. Hirad saw the big man’s mouth turn half up as he shrugged.

‘He just recognised authority when he spoke to it,’ he said.

‘Arrogant bastard.’ Hirad smiled.

‘Big sword.’ The Unknown winked and hefted his blade. ‘It usually does the trick.’

The press on the Julatsan line had eased just a little. The arrival of The Raven had energised the flagging Julatsan guard and given their adversaries pause for thought. There was not quite so much determination to breach into the square. An air of anxiety flickered across the faces of the Wesmen facing them and still any arrows bounced from the HardShield, now almost certainly held by Ilkar.

Denser’s FlameOrbs exploded into the partial stand-off, flitting over the heads of the first Wesmen and landing in the thick of their number, inflicting maximum damage, panic and chaos.

Though it was a sight he’d seen many times before, Hirad still had to steel himself against the horror of the magical flame that ate through armour and flesh like acid, burned with the intensity of a blacksmith’s forge and was as hard to douse. Those Wesmen who could, scattered from the effect of the flames, leaving their comrades to tear at clothes, beat at flames that consumed skin and hair and die in screaming agony.

Hirad and The Unknown were ready for the fallout as the instinctive move from the centre of the spell pushed unprepared Wesmen towards them. They led the Julatsans, striking hard and fast, cutting the enemy down as they all but stumbled on to the Julatsan defenders’ blades.

And before Denser’s magical fires guttered, HotRain was falling among the confused ranks of Wesmen who broke and scattered backwards, their wounded comrades and dead forgotten in the rush to dodge the tears of flame.

Hirad laughed. ‘On your way, Wesmen!’ he called after them. ‘You’ll never take the East.’