The Raven Collection

‘The proud do not listen to the wise,’ he said. ‘Their eyes are blind to the path and the only scent in their nostrils is glory. You have done well but you have beaten nobody. Yet here you stand in the ruins of your majesty and claim victory. The proud celebrate alone and fleetingly.’

Auum spun on his heel and was gone, Sol’s family following him at his nod of consent.

‘I’m sorry it had to end this way,’ said Sol.

‘We made a fine team,’ said Densyr.

‘I thought so. Perhaps I was wrong all along.’

‘Don’t think ill of me, Sol. I have done only what I thought was right.’

Sol sighed and the regret felt heavy enough to slump his shoulders. ‘Oh, Densyr, what else can I think?’

Pressure beat down. Crushing. Bowing the shoulders and weakening the knees. It fu

A piercing sound cut through the fog of Sol’s consciousness, quickly falling to a low drone and then fading away altogether. The pressure eased. Sol helped Densyr back to his feet. The two men stared at one another for a moment, Sol seeing virgin doubt in Densyr’s eyes.

They looked up.

Five machines descended through the cloud to ring the college. The flat blare of their horns shivered broken glass to splinters. Densyr’s mouth hung open but his lower jaw moved a little as he tried to form the word ‘no’. Sol almost felt sorry for him. But not as sorry as he felt for all those people denied the chance to run west days ago. Before it was too late.

Densyr snapped quickly out of his shock and hurried to Dystran.

‘You can’t stay here,’ he said.

Dystran, lost in the mana spectrum and embraced by the Heart, smiled. ‘Nor can I leave. It is fitting. One lone soul. They will not seek me here. I will hold on for as long as I can but I will not let them take the Heart.’

‘I understand,’ said Densyr. He got back to his feet and turned to Sol. ‘How fast can you run?’

Every pace down the stairs sent shivers of pain through Sol’s back, hip and scorched scalp. He trailed Densyr by a few steps and was determined not to fall too far behind the Lord of the Mount. The air was full of screams and shouts for order and to arms. Already, the spells were flying and the white tears were crashing to the earth.

‘Where are we going?’ called Sol.

‘The catacombs. We have to catch up with the others, stop them going outside.’

Sol imagined his family trying to escape across the college courtyard and his blood chilled in his veins. He ran faster.

‘Diera!’ he bellowed. ‘Catacombs. Keep on going down to the catacombs.’

The tower shuddered under multiple impacts. Loose stone tumbled and bounced down the stairs after them. Round and round, down and down. Dust clogged the stairway below. Sol could smell the aftermath of fires and the sick stench of blood and i

They hurtled down the last few stairs, jumped a body that lay across the bottom step and out into the dome. It was carnage. Much of the roof had collapsed. Corpses were flattened and smeared beneath it. Stone was scorched and scattered, mixed with body parts.

The main doors had been splintered. Outside, defensive groups were fighting hard but the weight of enemy fire was enormous. Sol silently wished them all luck and searched the wreckage for his family. Instead, he and Densyr saw Brynar, standing by the entrance to the catacombs. He looked terribly pale and blood oozed from where he held his hands to his stomach.

‘They’ve gone down before you,’ he wheezed.

‘Come with us,’ said Densyr. ‘We can fix you.’

‘Why down there? The Heart is there. They are coming there to take it.’

‘But not yet; we have a spell to cast. Get healed and help me. We have to find Sharyr quickly.’

Densyr was pushing Brynar towards the entrance. Sol came to his other side.

‘Come on, lad. You can make it. Let me do the saving this time, eh?’

Brynar smiled and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. ‘If you insist. Which spell, my Lord?’

Densyr risked a quick glance at Sol.

‘The Ritual of Opening.’

Sol almost tripped on the first flight of stairs. ‘When we get him to some help, you had better keep on ru

‘Promises, promises. Don’t be naïve, Sol. This is a blood sacrifice. We used to specialise in this sort of thing. Borrowed it from the Wesmen a thousand years ago.’

‘But I thought only Septern—’

‘Not you too, Brynar. All spells that deal with the travel, transport and destruction of souls derive from the same lore. Sol, I need to tell you it is the same base theory that was behind the capture of souls in the Soul Tank for placing the Protectors in thrall.’

For the second time Sol almost tripped. He felt a cold sweat on his forehead and a numbness through his body.

‘I don’t want to hear this.’

‘But it isn’t the same. Trust me; I know how to do this. Theoretically. ’

‘Theoretically?’

‘It’s been a long time since we asked for volunteers to commit suicide.’

A chuckle escaped Sol’s lips. He stopped moving, forcing Densyr to do likewise. Brynar groaned.

‘And why the change of heart? What happened to selfishness and cowardice?’

Densyr winced.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘Gods drowning, Densyr, thousands will die because of your stubbor

‘I didn’t think they could continue reinforcing, Sol. I really believed they would retreat from us. But they hate us, don’t they? They hate us more than they need their precious fuel, and it drives them to keep on coming back in greater numbers. I can’t beat five of those things. I got it wrong.’

‘Finally you open your eyes.’

‘Now all I can do is help others survive. I’ll face my guilt and, Gods falling, it’s everywhere already.’

Sol moved on.

‘My heart bleeds.’ Sol grunted. ‘When you make a mistake it’s always a fucking belter, isn’t it? Which way?’

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the first of the hub rooms from which multiple passages led. The elves, the Raven and his family were waiting for them.

‘Glad you could make it,’ said Ilkar. ‘But what’s he doing here?’

‘Attempting redemption,’ said Sol.

‘Do we have that much time?’ asked Ilkar.

‘No, we don’t.’ Densyr nodded his head. ‘Straight on. We need Sharyr, Vuldaroq, a couple of old books and a mage to trip the evacuation alarm ward.’

‘Where are we going?’ asked Sirendor.

‘To a new world via a very old one,’ said Sol.

And he dared not look at Diera because he would have seen her tears start to fall.

Chapter 33

General Suarav roared with frustration when the alarm sounded. The system had been put in place after the demon wars to ensure the populace was never ensnared again as it had been a decade ago. A line of wards had been set in the city, maintained by the merest trickle of mana. The key ward was in the catacombs and it triggered the energy to release the rest.

The alarm was simple. Four tones, rising in pitch over an octave and repeating quickly until the Lord of the Mount declared the emergency ended. Suarav crouched in the shelter of one of Xetesk’s long-room doorways and gazed balefully out at the Garonin machines hanging in the air above the college. He thought the alarm might well sound forever.