The Raven Collection

‘But Septern is,’ said Dystran. ‘And we need to bind the walls to stop the tower falling. They want him because of where he is and what he’s doing.’

A thunderous crash rattled the tower to its foundations. Light flooded in from above. Densyr gasped and dropped to his knees. The upper floors of the tower concertinaed, dumping hundreds of tons of stone, furnishings and timbers onto the Defence.

‘Tilt it!’ yelled Dystran.

Densyr moved his right hand. The Defence moved up a fraction on that side. Enough to dislodge a mountain of ruined stone. Garonin swarmed around the outside, trampling on the Defence, dodging debris as it slipped and slid. They fired incessantly at the spell, each tear splashing white and blue as it impacted.

‘Whatever Septern’s doing, I suggest he does it quickly,’ said Sol.

Up above, they could see the Garonin machine. It was massive, bulging under the pressure of mana stored within its bell. The clouds above it were swirling but slowly, as if something was interrupting the sucking in of fuel to the detonation area.

In his chair Septern sighed, long and feeble.

‘Twocanbeone,’ he said.

Binding spells were strengthening the walls and the damage was being limited for now. Brynar ran with Suarav and Chandyr, away from the tower complex. With them a dozen guards and six mages, all under a spell shield. Up in the machine weapons fired down. More powerful versions of those held in the hand, they tore great rents in buildings, ground and exposed walls. Anyone caught in their fire simply ceased to exist.

But on the ground the tide was going against the enemy. Fifteen groups of shielded mages and soldiers moved in and out of combat areas as the Garonin landed. The focus of the assault was the base of the tower complex, as the enemy sought access to the catacombs and hence the Heart of Xetesk.

High up above, Densyr’s tower was taking a dreadful pounding. Slabs of stone were falling to the ground, dealing as much damage to enemy as to ally. Suarav wondered what it was they wanted from up there.

‘Hold,’ said Suarav. ‘Use the angles. Garonin on the deck.’

Mages crouched and prepared. Surrounding them, guards watched outwards. Time slowed. A section of wall a hundred yards to the left burst in. Chandyr cursed.

‘There next,’ said Suarav.

‘Ready,’ said Brynar.

‘Cast at will,’ said Suarav.

Twenty Garonin were walking through the gap in the wall. Their weapons sprayed death in a wide arc around them.

‘Wait,’ said Suarav. ‘New target. Our left.’

‘Got them,’ said Brynar. ‘Cleansing Flame. Cast.’

Multiple columns of super-heated mana flame roared down from the sky. Each one sought a single target. Armour flared white, twenty suits trying to ward off the power of Xetesk’s most powerful individual offensive spell. They had no chance. The deluge of fire reached inside their bodies and destroyed them in an instant. No screams, no flailing limbs. The Garonin were driven into the ground. One moment walking, the next burning and still.

‘Back towards the tower complex,’ said Suarav. ‘Good work, Brynar.’

The group moved quickly. Across in front of them, a stretcher party of civilians wearing blue armbands ran to deal with wounded on the walls. Others in yellow, green and orange bands brought up replacement weapons, got water to any who had the chance to drink but mainly tried to patch up the wounded and clear away the dead.

Xetesk had learned from the mistakes of Julatsa and Lystern. Suarav was pleased. A long way to go yet but so far they held. Frontal defence was not the way. Fight them hand to hand. Spread your force. Keep moving and keep alive. And invest mana in your walls to stop the enemy flooding over you like a spring tide.

‘General, look!’

Brynar was pointing up at Densyr’s tower. A mass of Garonin fire was trained on it. As Suarav watched, he saw the pi

He began to run but knew he was already too late. Nothing could save those within. And as quickly as he had started, he slid to a stop. The collapse halted right above Densyr’s dining chamber. A spell flared deep blue beneath the piles of rubble, broken furniture and flapping clothing and drapes. Suarav breathed again.

‘He’s good, our Lord of the Mount,’ said Chandyr.

But Suarav was not smiling yet. He saw the spell and the rubble begin to shift.

‘Clear the complex approach. Move, move. Shields above you now!’

He was ru

Suarav saw men crushed, others diving and rolling away. He saw mages trying to get shields in place and he saw, from above, more Garonin dropping to the broken roof of the tower.

‘Brynar, see to the wounded. Take three guards with you and get blue team to help. The rest of you, Chandyr, Densyr needs us.’

Suarav felt every one of his fifty-nine years. The breath was pained in his chest and his lungs felt clogged with dust. He lengthened his stride. The violent heaving of the courtyard under his feet took him completely by surprise and sent him sprawling on his face.

For a moment he thought he’d imagined it, but when he got himself back to his feet, he saw cracks in the courtyard cobbles and people everywhere brushing themselves down. A curious quiet fell across the whole college. The Garonin weapons had fallen silent and all that could be heard was the wheezing of the machine and the cracks of lightning in the detonation cloud.

It was a quiet short-lived. A wailing blare came from the floating machine and a melodious call from the mouth of every Garonin. As one, their weapons turned on Densyr’s tower and an extraordinary weight of fire deluged the ancient bound stone.

The courtyard rippled again, and this time, from beneath the stones, he saw a flash of blue light.

All three mages had Ilkar’s Defence spells ru

Sol tried to protect his family as best he could. Auum and his Tai had fled the chamber to join Thraun’s attack on the Garonin directly above. Sirendor was trying desperately to keep Hirad from suffocating. Ilkar, Densyr and Dystran, faces drawn into rictus grins by the strain, were clinging on but the Julatsan was struggling. Ilkar was quivering all over and a strangled choke was being dragged from his throat.

‘Can’t do this,’ he croaked.

‘Hang on, Ilkar. Hang on.’

But Sol didn’t know what for or for how long. In his chair Septern twitched and muttered. They had felt the heaving of the floor beneath them and Dystran had shouted something about the Heart but that was all.

‘Re. Re. Pel.’ Septern’s eyes opened briefly, fluttered and closed again. ‘Fo . . . usss.’

Blue flame encased the tower. Denser and Dystran screamed and clutched at their heads. Defence spells failed. Enemies dropped into their midst, followed by the feet and blades of the TaiGethen. A wind howled through the tower, threatening to pluck them all from their precarious perch and throw them down to their deaths.

Sol crouched and laid his arms across his family. The flame gathered density; it curled and twisted into a spire above them, wreathing and pulsing. The pressure built quickly. Septern was juddering in his chair as if shaken by unseen hands. Densyr was flat on his back, tears streaming from his eyes. Dystran was unconscious.