‘Enough,’ he said.

‘Unknown, are you . . . ?’ said Ilkar.

‘Let me go,’ said Sol.

He walked between Hirad and Sirendor, moving them both aside. His blade was held in one hand, leaving his right hand free.

‘Follow on. Keep your guard up,’ he said to Hirad.

Sol strode up to the Garonin, who fell back a pace ahead.

‘Fight me!’ he barked at them. ‘What, no guts for it? Then cease your attack. Now.’

The Garonin ahead of him stopped. Sol moved up and drove his blade straight through the soldier’s chest. The man was hurled backwards, skidding across the ivory floor, blood pulsing from a deep gash.

‘I can take you one at a time,’ growled Sol. ‘I know what you want from me. Cease your attack.’

Sol was wavering. He fought to keep his body steady while his mind was ablaze with light and a yearning that he would soon not be able to deny. The Garonin paused. All of them.

‘Miirt, hold.’

Auum’s voice came as if from a long distance. Sol felt The Raven move up around him again. He heard Hirad calling Miirt and Ghaal into the circle.

‘What are you doing, Unknown?’ asked Darrick from by his right shoulder.

‘Buying time,’ said Sol.

The Garonin began to move away from The Raven. Sol could hear the susurration of their conversation or laughter or whatever the hell it was. Hirad was standing close to him, as was Darrick. Close enough that he couldn’t fall sideways. Thraun padded up and down in front of the Garonin lines. There was blood about his muzzle and on the fur of his shoulders.

‘You accept your fate,’ came the voice of the Garonin.

‘We accept nothing,’ said Sol. ‘But that the price you have paid is far too high for the mana you have managed to harvest. We may not have beaten you but what price your failure in your own world, I wonder.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Darrick. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘They know what Sol represents,’ said Auum. ‘What he is here to do. They wanted to take as many of us from him as they could to weaken us. To make it easier for them to gain entry to our new home through him. And in that they have failed.’

‘And what do we do now?’ asked Sirendor.

‘Prepare,’ said Auum.

Someone took Sol’s arm and helped him move towards the edifice. There was comfort there amongst the thousands of souls that had survived the Garonin attack. The Raven gathered in front of him, Ilkar and Hirad helping him to a seated position with his back to the wall, directly under the finger of rock.

‘Who built this?’ he asked, though the answer was obvious.

‘They did,’ said Auum. ‘The souls. To focus themselves. To give them a place to congregate and a place where you would find them.’

Outside, the Garonin mustered. More and more were appearing. They stood still for a few moments as if orienting themselves before moving forward. Darrick was standing and looking out.

‘This is not a good situation,’ he said. ‘We may have a wall at our backs but we have an overwhelming number in front. How long will this all take?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sol, brightness again growing within and without him, his soul reaching out. ‘But we have to hold them off until we can bring our people to us.’

‘And what then?’ Sirendor spread his arms. ‘How can we stop them following us? How can we stop them doing exactly what they did on Balaia and following the dead to their rest and then back to the land of the living, wherever that is?’

‘Have faith,’ said Sol.

‘Faith isn’t going to be enough,’ said Sirendor.

Sol climbed to his feet and grabbed Sirendor’s shoulders before The Raven man began to fade.

‘No, Sirendor, it is everything. Believe. You must believe. Anything less and we are lost. We will find a way to prevail.’

There were tears on Sirendor’s face. ‘I cannot see it. A thousand against a handful.’

‘Trust me,’ said Sol. ‘Trust the Ravensoul. Just a little longer.’

Hirad put his arm around Sirendor’s shoulders, nodding to Sol to sit back down.

‘Stand by me,’ said the barbarian. ‘They can’t touch me and I will not let them touch you. More will come.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because we always find a way,’ said Hirad.

The ivory sky darkened. Garonin voices blared out across Ulandeneth.

‘Do not delay us. Open the door, Sol of Balaia. Your people are dying. Their suffering is on your hands. Let us into your new home. End the pain of your people.’

Sol sat down hard against the wall of the edifice, thrust there by unseen hands. The clamour of the mass of souls was renewed inside him. Fear swept them. The sky became black again. Thraun howled. He saw The Raven and the TaiGethen putting their hands to their ears, shutting out the sounds of a gale of suffering voices.

‘Now, Sol of Balaia. Now. End the agony. Bring us what we desire.’

The sky flickered. Flashes of light ran across it from horizon to horizon. Images appeared. Images to take the heart from any of them. Images to crush hope. Erienne was screaming. Ilkar was on his knees, hugging himself, his chin on his chest, body shaking. Hirad stood tall, thrusting out his chest and bawling some unintelligible cry at the waiting Garonin. Sirendor and Darrick were transfixed, gazing up at the sky and the horrors it displayed. Auum and the TaiGethen appeared locked in prayer.

Thraun howled again and Sol let the yearning in his body take him.

The east walls of the college blew apart for a stretch of over three hundred yards. Garonin soldiers poured in. Guards and mages who had been standing on the walls were lost in the cataclysmic failure of binding. At the ruins of the tower complex dome the binding work continued though the effort had become desperate.

Suarav stood with Brynar. The young mage’s shield, in concert with four others, held firm against the withering fire from the six vydospheres circling above. But they could no longer defend the entire tower complex. Bindings were weakening on the remaining towers while feverish attempts to shore up the walls of the catacombs were ongoing.

The noise was extraordinary. White tears flooding over the shields set up a resonating whine while the clattering of the vydospheres’ heavy weapons added a juddering roar that could be felt through the feet.

‘We’re surrounded,’ shouted Suarav. ‘Chandyr, we need swords to the east. Brynar, shields ahead and left.’

How many hundreds of Garonin advanced on them was impossible to guess. They did not close for hand-to-hand fighting, not yet at any rate. They were content to bombard the shields that Xetesk’s tiring mages held against them. Not one offensive spell was being cast. There were no longer the numbers to do it. Suarav bit his lip.

‘We can’t hold out here,’ yelled Brynar. ‘We’re just waiting for the end. I can feel others weakening.’

‘Just a little while longer. Keep them away from the catacombs. Let Densyr complete if he can.’

Below them, the Circle Seven were placing defence around the Heart. Not enough mages remained to bury it out of the reach of the Garonin so their only chance was to booby-trap it to keep them away for as long as they could. Densyr had one last card up his sleeve, and if he meant to play it, it would be when he could inflict maximum damage on the enemy.

Somewhere, The Raven would be trying to find a way to rescue them into an uncertain future. No one knew how long they would take, or indeed if they would succeed at all. Until then, Suarav and his people hung on grimly, just trying not to die.

The moment Brynar shifted his shield across to block the fire from the advancing soldiers, the focus of the vydospheres changed. Streams of pure energy slammed into the now-unprotected towers. Bindings flashed and flickered. Stone shifted. Dark blue light rippled up and down the length of Densyr’s tower. The Mount Tower. Suarav gulped in a breath.