Suarav ducked a flashing blade and buried his sword to the hilt in his opponent’s stomach. The momentum brought the Garonin clattering into Suarav and both men tumbled to the ground. Suarav’s blade was ripped from his grasp. Suarav shovelled the dying man from his legs. Right above him, a Garonin blade beat the defence of a young guardsman. It sliced straight through his neck, down through his ribcage and out of the side of his chest. The stink of cauterised flesh rose. The side of the guard’s body slid away and the rest of him collapsed.

‘Dear Gods falling.’

Suarav snatched up the fallen man’s weapon and swiped it as hard as he could into enemy legs. He felt it bite deep despite the flaring of the armour. He dragged it clear and hacked upwards as he came to his feet, his blade meeting chest armour and bouncing clear.

Suarav backed away a pace. The Garonin had torn the guard line to pieces. Chandyr blocked a weapon aside and struck high to slide his own blade into the eye slit of his enemy. Another guard near him lost his arm to an easy swipe of a Garonin blade.

‘They’re amongst the mages.’

Suarav saw some space and ran into it. He carved his sword through the back of enemy legs at the knee, feeling bone collapse. He kicked the Garonin in the calves and he fell backwards, arms flailing. A guardsman ran past him and leapt onto the back of another, ramming a dagger again and again into the side of his neck.

Suarav sensed danger and ducked. A blade buzzed over his head. He saw enough of it to know it was steel but edged in mana, pure and deadly sharp. Something Xetesk had been trying to perfect for generations. Suarav spun away. The Garonin followed him, stabbing straight forward. Suarav sidestepped, grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him off balance. The general brought his sword round high above his head and felt it connect with helmet and then bone.

Above him, the Defence spell flickered and steadied.

‘Gythar!’ he called.

The old mage was in the thick of the melee, defended by two guardsmen. One fell under a mana blade that stabbed clear through his body, spitting and smoking as it went.

‘Chandyr! To Gythar!’

Chandyr nodded. He brought the pommel of his sword down on the head of a Garonin trying to rise and smashed a knee into his faceplate for good measure. Enemy slaughtered mages but some fought back, having discarded the obsolete spell shields.

Suarav saw one calm young mage leap up and grab a Garonin faceplate to feed a superheated flame of mana inside it. The Garonin screamed. Three others turned and bore down on the youngster. Suarav diverted from his course and hammered his blade into the neck of one. The second went down under another tightly cast spell but the third sheared his blade left to right and opened up the mage’s back.

Gythar was still standing. Chandyr was near him. Garonin closed. A third of the defence mages were down. Above, a weapon cycled up to fire. Suarav knew they wouldn’t be able to resist the impact. Garonin blades halted in the act of falling. Faceplates turned skywards. A hideous sound rang out from the machines floating above.

Suarav saw an opportunity and swept the throat out of an enemy neck.

‘I didn’t agree a ceasefire,’ he growled.

And the next moment they were gone. All of them. The machines blinked out of existence, the detonation clouds dispersed and the foot soldiers simply ceased to be. Suarav turned a quick circle, looking for the counterpunch but there was no one to deliver it.

Xetesk was silent.

Densyr had wondered how, without screams from Diera, he would know when Sol was dead. But in the end it was as obvious as it got. Sirendor, Thraun and Ilkar dropped soundlessly to the ground, Thraun’s wolves howled grief and padded across to Diera’s boys, and there was an extraordinary explosion of sound from above. An alien sound like rage but metallic in tone.

Densyr opened the door and was first through it, the boys and Sharyr hard on his heels. Wolves and a more stately Vuldaroq came along behind. Diera was sitting on the floor, cradling the still form of Sol. His head was against her chest and she stroked the side of his face. Her weeping was quiet, reverential, and Densyr found a lump in his throat that would not swallow away.

Above her, the doorway was plainly open. Its properties had changed. The grey mist had cleared and a wan light shone out. He could see nothing within but there was a very slight breeze heading up into it. He found the thought that it might be returning souls a comfort.

Jonas and Hirad had run to their mother and were clinging to her. Densyr and Sharyr walked around to crouch in front of her. The sight of Sol, King of Balaia, the Unknown Warrior of The Raven, lying dead, was truly shocking. As close to an immortal as Densyr had ever considered any man. And to think he had betrayed this great man’s trust.

‘Diera?’ said Densyr.

Both of her boys were crying too and the three of them put their faces close to one another, sharing their grief, gleaning what strength they could from each other.

‘Diera, we should move him. Somewhere safe. Now more than ever he deserves our protection and our respect. Diera?’

Diera opened her eyes. They were red-rimmed and puffed.

‘So brave,’ she said. ‘So determined and so full of belief. We must all believe that he has done the right thing. He said it would help.’

Densyr nodded. ‘And I do. Belatedly, I do. I mean that. He is Raven. And they are not prone to wasting their efforts. We should remember that.’

Diera moved the boys aside just a little bit and the two wolves padded over. She looked at them briefly but realised they were no threat and laid Sol’s head on a rolled-up cloak which Sharyr had placed on the ground. Diera kissed his lips and smoothed his cheek one more time.

‘Don’t cover his face. Let him see. Let the air pass over him. He always loved the breeze on him. When you have to take him, take him where you must but still don’t cover him.’

She turned back to her sons and Densyr heard her ask a question though he only heard Hirad’s over-loud reply.

‘Thraun told them to take care of us. And he told us to make sure they got home,’ the boy said proudly.

‘What now?’ asked Sharyr.

Densyr gazed about him. There seemed to be bodies everywhere. Hirad and Sol in here, the other three in the antechamber. His gaze alighted on Vuldaroq, who was bending over the kneeling forms of the TaiGethen cell.

‘Poking them isn’t usually advisable,’ said Densyr.

Vuldaroq looked round. ‘I don’t think they’ll notice. They’re dead. All three of them.’

Densyr started. ‘They’re what?’

‘Dead,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘Check if you doubt me.’

‘What happened to them?’

Try as he might, Densyr couldn’t get himself around this. First Sol and now Auum. Two of the finest warriors ever to grace Balaia. Both gone in moments.

‘They are Ynissul,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘The long-lived of the elves. Immortal, actually. I mean that in its literal sense. They can be poisoned and die of an arrow or a sword thrust but, left in normal health, they do not ever have to die.’

‘Well they’re dead now,’ said Densyr.

‘Because, and this is a presumption but an educated one, they chose to die.’

‘Why?’ asked Sharyr.

‘Presumably they felt they could be more help to Sol than to us,’ said Vuldaroq.

‘We could have done with them here,’ said Densyr. ‘Their sort of fighting is always useful.’

‘But haven’t the Garonin gone?’ asked Sharyr. ‘That sound we heard. And it’s quiet above.’

‘They’ve gone after Sol,’ said Jonas. ‘Haven’t they? It’s why Father wanted Sha-Kaan to know what he was doing.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Densyr. ‘All I do know is, the Garonin came for our mana. They want to rip out the Heart of Xetesk. That is why they are at our gates and in our skies. And whatever Sol has done, that won’t change. They may have gone for now but they’ll be back and we have to be ready for them.’