Every Xeteskian citizen knew what they had to do. Flee the city by whichever gate and by whichever means. Bring food, water and clothing. Bring weapons if you had them, particularly hunting weapons. Be prepared for a long time in the open and on the run. Head for your allotted rendezvous point. Do not return to the city if you value your life.

‘We can still fight,’ said Chandyr. ‘We lost none of our teams after the initial bombardment. The shielding works and the binding on the walls is strong. Let the population run. We are sworn to protect city and college. Let us not shirk that responsibility.’

Suarav nodded. ‘The Circle Seven are all still in the catacombs. I will not abandon them.’

He turned to the rest of those gathered with him. He saw fear and he saw determination.

‘Are you with me?’ asked Suarav. Five mages and twelve guards nodded. ‘With courage we can hold them long enough.’

‘Why do they wait?’ asked Chandyr. ‘Surely they presume their force to be overwhelming.’

The bombardment of white tears had ceased temporarily. Smoke drifted across the college from multiple fires.

‘They are cautious,’ said one of the mages. ‘Nervous even. That we could unleash such destruction without warning.’

‘The trouble is, none of us knows what the hell that blue spear was, do we?’ said Suarav.

‘But then, neither do they,’ said Chandyr. ‘And, like us, they have no idea if it is repeatable. Presumably that is why they’ve been targeting Densyr’s tower. And it still stands.’

Suarav faced his squad. ‘Then let’s waste no time. Mages, I need a shield. Let’s find every group we can and set up the defence of the tower complex as far as we can. You are brave people and I am proud to serve with you. Face whatever comes with spirit and we will see the enemy defeated yet or at least bring our masters to safety. And while we may all lose our lives, we must not be careless with them. Every moment we resist allows our citizens time to escape. Your loved ones and mine. For Xetesk, city and college of magic.’

‘For Xetesk!’

Suarav led his team out onto open ground. The five Garonin machines hung in the sky like giant insects waiting the chance to strike. Their drones combined to form a modulating bass over which the Xeteskian evacuation alarm rose in discord. Suarav saw people emerging from every door in the college to make their escape.

There was no move from the enemy to stop them. After their initial bombardment they were, without question, waiting and assessing their options. The city of Xetesk had been rich with mana but that was now largely collected or spent. The greatest prize on the continent was ensconced deep in the catacombs and any enemy, even one as powerful as the Garonin, should be wary of the task ahead.

Assuming they could not hack straight down through the-Gods-knew-how-much-rock to expose the Heart, an assault corridor by corridor, chamber by chamber was their only option. It meant a large number of soldiers were likely to descend at any given moment and try to gain access to the catacombs by the single entrance.

‘Bottleneck,’ he said.

‘Sir?’ asked a mage running along bedside him.

‘I’ve had an idea.’

The barrage had ceased but the tension was unremitting. Having released Brynar to a healer mage, Densyr had led them through numberless twists and turns until they stood as far from the entrance as it was possible to get while still being in habitable chambers. It felt cold and unfriendly so far from the surface.

The chambers he had brought them to were joyless. Hardly a picture hung. There were no coverings for the uneven floor, and while braziers could be lit to generate plenty of light, there was no heat here. No fireplace and flue. There were three workbenches ranged across the far wall underneath a set of blackboards. Chairs stood where they had been abandoned by mages in a hurry. A dark, heavy-timbered door was set into the right-hand wall.

‘You really know how to make your guests feel at home, don’t you?’ said Ilkar. ‘What was this, some sort of torture chamber or something?’

Densyr didn’t rise to the bait. ‘This was the dimensional research section. You won’t fail to see the scorch marks on the walls nor yet ignore the faint scent of blood that still hangs in here.’

Sirendor stepped into the centre of the dusty chamber, which measured perhaps thirty feet on a side.

‘I’ll take it. When can I move in?’

Sol led his family in and took Jonas and young Hirad to a couple of high-backed dining chairs that stood on the left-hand side below an artist’s impression of colliding dimensions.

‘I’m failing to see anything amusing about our position,’ he growled. ‘Densyr, get yourself sorted as quickly as you can. There is pain here for the living and the dead.’

Auum and his Tai moved silently across the chamber to the corner opposite the door and knelt to pray. Thraun laid Hirad on one of the workbenches and signalled Ilkar to look at him. Diera did not leave Sol’s side.

‘With every breath I dream you’ll return to your senses,’ she said. ‘Don’t do this, Sol. Don’t leave us here alone.’

‘If I don’t do this, there is no hope for any on Balaia,’ said Sol. ‘And, believe me, I would not be volunteering unless I felt we truly had no other choice.’

‘That’s not true. Any one can be the . . .’ Diera dropped her voice to a whisper with their sons so close. ‘. . . sacrifice. Please, Sol, think of us.’

‘I am, Diera.’ Sol closed his eyes. There truly was nothing else in his mind. ‘And there is no one else. This isn’t to be a walk through fallen leaves: it will be challenged by the Garonin every step of the way. A leader must take those steps. I am their king. It has to be me.’

Diera threw up her hands and turned her attention on Densyr, who was looking anxious and impatient.

‘And you. I thought you were on my side. You of all people know how selfish this is. How dare you change your mind and, worse, how dare you be prepared to aid my husband in his stupidity.’

Densyr let his shoulders sag a little. ‘But is it?’

The door opened. In walked Vuldaroq and Sharyr, arms laden with texts. Vuldaroq’s eyes blazed with curiosity.

‘You know it is,’ said Diera. ‘No guarantee of any kind of success. In fact the only certainty is that for him there is no turning back.’

‘But look outside,’ said Densyr. ‘We cannot defend against such force.’

‘So you’re prepared to take any chance to save your own skin even if it means pushing the head of a friend beneath the surface? Why aren’t you putting yourself forward, O Lord of the Mount?’

‘The caster cannot enter the opening.’

‘How convenient.’

‘You have me wrong, Diera,’ said Densyr. ‘I will not attempt to explain my errors of the past few days. It hardly matters now. But you should know that, succeed or fail, I am not leaving Xetesk. While anyone is left to fight the Garonin, I will stand with them. But I can no longer expect my people to do the same. I want them to escape.’

‘So noble,’ said Diera. ‘Offering the hand of salvation to strangers and the hand of a murderer to your oldest friend.’

‘Diera,’ said Sol. ‘Please.’

‘Please what? Shut up and sit primly by my sons and watch you die?’

A heavy sound struck through the catacombs. Like a giant fist had been slammed against the upper level. Dust was dislodged.

‘That doesn’t sound so good,’ said Ilkar.

‘We’re as safe as we can be,’ said Sharyr, spreading out texts on a bench and beginning to pull them open.

‘There is no comfort in that,’ said Diera.

Sol took Diera’s arm and turned her away from the awkwardness she was generating.

‘I cannot let you disrupt this. I need you to be strong for the boys. Make them understand.’

‘How can I make them understand what I do not?’