Shadowheart

Denser ran into the makeshift paddock in the elven camp, grabbed the reins of his horse from the hitch pole and mounted up.

'Come on!' He kicked the animal's flanks and it shot forwards, jumping the rail. Elves scattered out of his way. 'Get moving. North now!'

He didn't know if they could understand him, he didn't really care. He galloped down the muddy path that led to the battlefield, yelling for anyone who could hear him to clear the battlefield. He cleared the camp and the wooded area, flying down the slope, angling across to the Lysternan command position. He felt The Unknown and Hirad come up on his shoulders, driving their horses hard.

To his left and above, the rent was enormous. The edges flailed; Denser imagined the mages struggling to maintain cohesion. He prayed for one, just one, to fail. The Lysternan command was in turmoil, everyone shouting at once. A huge soldier sat on horseback bellowing for his men to advance, to drive home the advantage. A mage next to him was passing messages out via ru

Denser dragged his horse to a halt in front of them.

'Clear the battlefield,' he shouted into their faces. 'Clear it now, it's your only chance. Signal the north gate. Make them do it too. Now, damn you!'

The soldier pointed at him, at them. 'You're wanted, Raven.'

'Do you think I care, you bloody fool? Your men are going to die,' he said feeling the blood run into his face. 'Listen to me!'

'Arrest these men,' said the soldier. 'Hold them.'

'Fuck's sake,' spat Denser.

He hauled on the reins and set off towards the front, hearing Hirad shout some abuse and The Unknown order him away.

'Denser!' called The Unknown. 'Keep clear.'

'Clear the field!' Denser had never shouted so loud in his life and, even so, he knew they couldn't hear him. The thunder was deafening, the air flattening against his face, the pressure growing beneath the rent. He carried on, an eye on the spell as it grew, determined not to be caught in whatever it was that was cast.

He rode directly behind the fragmented line, bellowing for people to run, to scatter, to make for the camps, anything. They were begi

There was another crack, the sound whiplashing over his head, spearing pain in his ears. 'We're out of time!' he shouted.

There was nothing more he could do. Knowing Hirad and the Unknown would follow him, he turned his scared horse and rode direcdy away from the battlefield, hunching over its neck, praying he wasn't too late. A few hundred yards later, the spell was released.

A blast of air caught Denser on the back. His horse, terrified, bucked and threw him, too confused to know where to bolt. He rolled over on the ground, came up and watched as his worst fears were realised right in front of him.

From the dark mass of inter-dimensional space, sheets of deep red-tinged blue light flared out. They were shot through with forks of pure energy, the whole striking the ground with incredible force. Sheet after sheet slammed downwards, exploding on impact, sending out fingers of light which lashed away.

Great mounds of earth blew into the air, men were picked up like leaves and flung aside. Others caught the forks and fingers of energy directly. Some simply disintegrated where they stood, others burst into flames, saw limbs or torsos instantly burned or had their bodies torn apart. At least the screams didn't last for long.

The shield lattices were not designed for such pressure. Denser saw them flare green, deflect the first wave but crumble under the second. And still the spell came down. Sheet after sheet, deluging the area in front of the gates where the Lysternans had stood. He could see survivors ru

BlueStorm. Those were the words he had read in the Laryon hub. That was what he was witnessing. And Dystran would be behind it all. All Denser could think of was that the same would be happening over the north gate. Xetesk had struck the most enormous blow. Hirad's shout told him it was only getting worse.

The spell finished with a splitting slap of sound, the rents whipping shut, the BlueStorm cutting off, leaving an afterglow in the dawn sky, smoke and dust like a fog around Xetesk and the smell of smoke and carnage in the air.

But the fog wasn't so thick he couldn't see what was happening now. The gates had opened. Xeteskians were ru

'Denser, let's move.'

The Unknown and Hirad both had men across their saddles, snatched from the lines as they turned to run. The lucky two were pushed away, The Unknown trotted up and handed Denser his reins and the mage remounted.

'We've got to join up with the elves,' said The Unknown. 'There's nothing more we can do here.'

The Lysternan force at the east gate had been all but destroyed. The Raven trio rode hard through milling survivors and those who tried to come to their aid from the camp. The Lysternans were in rout, fleeing back into the trees and beyond. Denser prayed they would regroup.

The Unknown led them along the base of the slope that marked the edge of the panicked Lysternan camp. The command post was deserted as they galloped by, only a couple of hundred yards ahead of the Xeteskians who were advancing on foot, any horsemen riding behind the lines.

But above and ahead, the familiars circled, diving on any enemies they found, crushing skulls with their inhumanly strong hands, biting deep into flesh and goring cuts with their tails.

The Unknown turned them just east of north before they reached the corner of Xetesk's walls. The roar of battle echoed from die direction of the north gates, smoke and dust hung and blew above the gatehouse and Denser could clearly hear the thunder of a cavalry charge.

Breasting the corner, the situation became distressingly clear. The joint Dordovan and Lysternan force there was scattered, destroyed or in full retreat. No order existed and the Xeteskian forces were driving north fast, chasing down the injured, slow and shocked. More familiars flew, more mages in the air directed the battle but at least here they met some resistance.

Izack and his cavalry, their shield and offensive mages in their centre, were performing heroics in the face of the rout. In charge after charge, Izack broke the Xeteskian advance, targeting weaker areas of the slightly disorganised lines, getting out before the enemy could close around him. As he watched, a concentrated Orb shot out from one of the cavalry mages, catching a familiar full in the chest. It screamed and fell, its master by its side tumbling from the sky, his hands gripped around his head.

Denser should have felt sympathy for the mage. He'd experienced the pain of losing a familiar himself. But all he felt was the lift of a tiny victory over the college that he had loved for so much of his life.

Even Izack couldn't hold back the tide. Behind the soldiers and horsemen came wagons and carriages and mages on horseback. This breakout had been well-pla