The Raven Collection

He could feel nothing in return. He anticipated the weight and warmth of the crowd around him, hearing him and believing in him as he believed in them. But so far, he was alone.

The Raven rode on, and an hour later, with dawn throwing a half-light across the Torn Wastes and their pace increased to a canter as they neared Parve, The Unknown felt it. A surge within him as his brothers mounted an attack. He could feel their togetherness, their combined strength and unswerving belief. He could feel their pleasure that he was there. He asked of them one small thing and they obliged. He turned to Hirad, his smile touching his eyes.

‘They are here,’ he said.

‘Where?’ asked the barbarian, automatically looking about him.

‘South and east of the City. They have come to help.’

‘Well, they need to get here fast,’ said Ilkar from behind them. ‘Look, dead ahead.’

The Raven reined in. The borders of the City were ringed with Wesmen. Not numerous, but enough.

‘Any ideas?’ asked Hirad.

But any answers were left unspoken as from the north, faint at first but gathering in volume, could be heard the sound of hoofs. Hundreds of them.

Baron Blackthorne stood on the top of a flat stone, Gresse beside him, and addressed his people. They had gathered at the head of Varhawk Crags, the Wesmen perhaps an hour’s march behind them. He gazed out into the early dawn light and nodded at what he saw. Scared, tired and hungry men and women but with the desire to save their land still burning fiercely in their hearts.

‘I’m not going to lie to you. What we are about to do could well see the death of us all, but I know that you are aware of the magnitude of the task we are performing. We have already set the Wesmen invasion back by two days. I want to make it a third before I die.

‘I want to thank each and every one of you for the unfailing effort you have made on behalf of Gresse, myself and Balaia, and I would consider no one a coward if they were to leave now, because this next fight is one in which I will not sound a retreat because we have nowhere left to go. I am proud to have ridden and fought with you and, should we win this war, you will all know my generosity for the rest of your days.

‘But I must say this. If we don’t hold the Wesmen here for another few hours at least, they will flank Understone. With the pass soon to be under attack, and Julatsa on the brink of war, that flanking could destroy the core of our defences. And if they go, Balaia goes with them.

‘For those of you who have heard of what The Raven are trying to do, then yes, every further minute we can give them to achieve their goal and destroy the Wytch Lords in Parve is one they will thank us for. I want them to have a country to return to. I want you all to have a place to live and bring up your families that is free of torment and terror. And if I can’t do that, I will die in the trying.’ He raised his hand to stop the cheering before it started.

‘I know you may want to shout, but the enemy are not far behind and we need the element of surprise. That and a miracle. Remember the faces of those either side of you. One of them could be your saviour this morning just as you might be theirs. Look out for them and they will look out for you.

‘You all know what you are being asked to do. You know the signals. All I ask you to do is fight hard, keep believing in Balaia and take as many of those bastards down with you as you can!

‘To your positions, and be ready.’

Chapter 33

The Protectors surged into the Wesmen warriors at the edge of the rubble that marked the boundary of Parve, a weapon in each hand. Stylia

The Lord of the Mount of Xetesk formed his mana shape with care as he arrived in range. Shamen cut three Protectors to pieces, eight of them concentrating black fire, slicing through shields and ripping into armour, flesh and mask. They died without a sound, the remaining closing ranks and fighting harder.

‘HellFire,’ snarled Stylia

Eight columns of fire scorched from the clear sky, exploding on the casting Shamen, who, choosing to ignore the threat, were unshielded. The fire simply blew them apart, spattering burning flesh and clothing over the lines of warriors in front of them.

Next, Stylia

He moved up behind the wedge, the bludgeoning power of his Protectors halting the Wesmen advance. At a glance, they seemed to be no more than normal sword and axe men, but looking for more than a few seconds revealed so much more. There was a fluidity about each individual strike that allowed for no errors in an opponent’s defence, but on top of that, the strikes chosen by each Protector exactly counter-pointed those of the one either side. Never did they tangle axes, never was one blow blocked by another, and the steel rained down unremitting on the Wesmen.

As he watched, the back of his mind preparing the spell to break the line at the rear, Stylia

They were breaking through, but not quickly enough. The Shamen, scattered by the violent deaths of eight of their number, had regrouped and, with two clearly shielding seven others, had begun casting the black fire again, success limited by the close form of the Protectors.

The core mana shape formed, Stylia

Piles of rubble around the Wesmen lines began shaking, dislodging loose stone to roll down to ground level. The vibrations passed into the ground, rippling the top soil under their feet, unbalancing many and scaring many more. Then they moved deeper, and the earth grumbled. The Protectors, knowing the spell, fought on.

When Stylia

‘Hammer,’ he said, jerking his fists close into his chest.

There was a thud, deep and resounding. At its sound, the Protectors broke formation and scattered, leaving the Wesmen cleaving fresh air, confusion rife.

The ground beneath the Wesmen lines heaved on a square about twenty yards each side. The earth cracked and parted. Huge slabs of stone rocketed from beneath, sending Wesmen in all directions. A dozen and more slabs thrust upwards, carrying dust and earth with them which skittered on the surface and fell as they came to a stop, quivering, tasting the air for the first time. Wesmen and Shamen ran for the security of steady ground, shields and black fire lost as the target of Stylia