James Barclay - Ravensoul

‘They have no need to force anything,’ said Rebraal.

There was a series of detonations from the foothills of the mountains. Rebraal looked up. Smoke and dust billowed out a few hundred feet above his head. A bass rumble vibrated through the rock wall that formed the valley side along which the Al-Arynaar moved. Shards of stone began to fall. Rebraal went cold. A dull thump echoed out. And another.

‘Shields!’ he roared. ‘Shields above. Orsyn’s Cocoons now. They’ve broken the mountain!’

The thumps had become a thundering rattle and rumble. Rebraal stared up into the dust. Boulders tumbled down the steep slopes, bouncing high and crashing through shrub and tree. They splintered on rock. Thousands of tons swept down the mountainside.

Simultaneously, the Garonin ahead began to fire. White tears washed across the front of the shield, heaping pressure on already weak mages. There was no time to split and run. Nowhere to go but into the arms of the Garonin. Al-Arynaar began to run into the lee of the valley side but the rock slewed down so quickly.

Rebraal could not take his eyes from the avalanche that rushed towards them. And when it struck, he had no idea how many mages had the strength or the skill to cast the Orsyn’s Cocoons that might just save them. Not enough. Rock slammed into warrior and mage alike. Some were swept away. Others crushed, smeared into the ground by boulders the size of wagons. Screams and panic were lost beneath the tumult. Rebraal reflexively tried to shield his head with his arms. Stone slapped down towards him.

And bounced. He heard a sigh. Dila sank to her knees, holding her arms outstretched above her. The Cocoon covered at least forty elves. Some were mages keeping shields steady against the Garonin. Others were warriors praying to Shorth for swift transport of their souls. And Shorth would have to wait.

Rebraal crouched by Dila’heth, trying to peer through the dust cloud that temporarily enveloped them while he lent her the support of his damaged body. The torrent of rock had lessened dramatically but merely allowed Rebraal to hear the cries of the injured and dying.

As the dust began to clear a little, he could see three groups of elves standing beneath Cocoon castings. Down on the valley floor, the fight still raged on. TaiGethen and ClawBound fought like never before. Claws, jaws, blades and fists ripping into the enemy. But they were outnumbered by more than ten to one. It was a brave action but it could not go on forever.

The Garonin in front had ceased firing for the moment, no doubt assessing the damage their soldiers had done in causing the avalanche. A vydosphere thrummed overhead, sucking the mana from the dead and dying. Dila’heth let her spell disperse. She swept her gaze over the survivors.

‘We cannot win this way,’ said Rebraal. ‘We are trapped.’

‘But not helpless,’ said Dila’heth and, bless her, she smiled. ‘It’s our turn now.’

Rebraal frowned. Dila’heth called a few mages to her.

‘What are you-?’

‘Just keep them off us. Just for a little while. And run when I say. We don’t have much but what we have we’re going to use right now. All of it.’

Rebraal kissed her forehead and stood. ‘Warriors! Fight with me.’

He charged ahead towards the waiting lines of Garonin, caring not if the white tears tore his body to pieces. He felt his brothers and sisters with him. The enemy readied, some choosing blades above weapons as they sought to harvest mana rather than simply kill. So much the better.

The leader of the Al-Arynaar roared the name of his brother to clear his mind for the fight. Looking left and right, he guessed fifty were with him. The elves sprinted into the attack. Weapons fired. Energy seared across the diminishing space, ripping into bodies, hurling smoking corpses to the ground and blasting limbs from bodies.

Rebraal ducked, dived headlong and rolled over his left shoulder. White tears fled over his body. He came up to a crouch, jumped and smashed his sword into the face of his target. The Garonin’s helmet split. Gore spilled out. The body disappeared. Rebraal gripped his blade with both hands, ignoring the pain from his damaged wrist. He stabbed straight out. A weapon blocked the thrust. Rebraal carved out and down, slicing through thigh and knee.

Al-Arynaar waded in next to him. Others hurdled him, driving feet first into the ranks of the enemy. Blood misted the air. The stench of innards rose. Rebraal surged to his feet. Directly in front of him, two Garonin. He blocked the blade of one and hacked down into the weapon of the other. Both enemies stepped back. They loomed over him, tall and powerful.

Rebraal moved into the space. He feinted to the right and brought his sword through from the left, clattering it into the shoulder of the blade carrier. Armour flared white. The other turned his weapon on Rebraal. The hand of an Al-Arynaar clamped on it, forcing the weapon down. A short blade whipped through and severed the enemy wrist.

Rebraal nodded thanks. He punched out into the midriff of the blade carrier. He dropped to his haunches and swept out his left leg. The Garonin saw the move and jumped but he landed off balance, stumbling forward. The thrust of an Al-Arynaar sword took him under the chin.

Rebraal rose again. Garonin were thick about him and his warriors. White tear weapons were useless now. He fielded a blade on the hilt of his sword and shoved the Garonin back. To his right an Al-Arynaar took a blade through his throat. Blood spurted from the wound. The elf fell yet even in the act of dying held out his sword. Rebraal took it and swept it through his killer’s gut.

Blade in each hand, Rebraal moved into the space.

‘Disengage!’ Dila’heth’s voice carried into the heart of the fight. ‘Al-Arynaar. Scatter free!’

The speed of their withdrawal was as exhilarating for Rebraal as it was confusing for the enemy. Thirty warriors, maybe a few more, ran hard into open space. Rebraal headed straight for Dila’s team of six mages.

‘Down in front,’ she said.

Rebraal hit the deck. Yellow heat flooded the air above him. The Jalyr’s Sun, which normally traced an arc, barrelled straight ahead only a few feet from the ground. The Garonin had seen these before and adapted to them. But the loss of Julatsa’s Heart made every casting a compromise. It made them different. Different enough.

The Sun, perhaps three wagons in diameter, exploded across the Garonin, covering dozens of them in superheated mana fire. Armour flared but could not withstand the force of the barely controlled spell. The withering flames consumed flesh and bone. Burning Garonin screamed. They fell, some trying to crawl away from the fire that ate at everything it touched.

The Garonin line holding the valley wall collapsed. Soldiers scattered before the conflagration that rolled across the ground. Some even turned and ran. Rebraal climbed to his feet and caught Dila’s eye. She smiled.

‘Spell Shield up,’ she said.

‘Our turn now,’ said Rebraal.

And, calling his warriors to him, he charged across the fires and down to the unguarded flank of the fight for the valley mouth.

The fighting washed around Sol, leaving him feeling detached. It all seemed sped-up to his mind and he experienced confusion and a slew of nausea. Hirad’s blade crashed through the top of a Garonin helmet, beating the man to the ground and spreading his brains across the ivory floor.

The Raven, along with Evunn and Duele, had fought to form a rough circle in which stood Erienne and Ilkar. The former was causing devastation with One magic castings against which the Garonin armour had no defence. The latter seemed unable to grasp the concept of where they were. Ilkar relied on actual feelings, not memories and beliefs. Right now he was a passenger.