The Wesmen could sense it. They pushed all around the circle and the first cracks began to appear as the reserve stepping up to take the place of the dead and wounded were themselves already damaged.

Think and act. Let it happen. Aeb pulsed urgently but now they were all face to face with the truth. Without a Given to bring them to one entity, they couldn’t retain the driving force that made them the awesome force that was their earned reputation. Still the Wesmen died five to their every one but at that rate they would have gained the Manse by mid-afternoon.

By the time the first fire flared in the Wesmen encampment, Aeb was already facing the alien concept of defeat.

Darrick’s mages launched a ferocious attack on the Wesmen reserves. Simultaneously, Izack delivered his first strike. The Balaians ran through burning carts, tents and wooden barricades, Wesmen struggling to understand what was happening even as they died under magic and sword. FlameOrbs sailed out over Darrick’s head, HotRain fell in a torrent from the drenched sky, fizzing as it came, and DeathHail roared across the enemy ranks, its razor-sharp edges slicing and rending through to a thousand bones.

‘Centiles, detach!’ ordered Darrick, his order carried away through the army by his Captains. The force split along drilled lines, scattering through the bemused arc of the encampment they attacked. The General led his depleted double centile of yesterday, storming up to the hastily forming defensive line, chopping through the weaponless and clashing with those a little quicker to arm. Opposite, across the battlefield and beyond the Manse, detonation after detonation told of Izack directing fire on to Wesmen positions. Darrick swung his blade through, waist high, its edge cleaving stomach to the spine. His victim fell, too shocked even to scream.

‘Break this line, come on!’ he yelled. All around him, his forces drove hard, harder than ever in their lives. Blood clouded the air, the acrid smell of smoke laced with burned cloth, wood and flesh floated in the rain and the screams of the wounded, the howls of attackers and urgent shouts of defenders filled his ears.

He exulted, deflecting a well-aimed axe blow to his chest, pushing the enemy back and drilling his sword straight through the man’s heart. He crumpled. Darrick kicked the body aside and stepped forward. Ahead of him, he could see the line attacking the Protectors. If it was the last thing he did, he would get to them.

Senedai swung around in complete amazement, staring back a hundred yards to where his tent dissolved into flame and his second line were suddenly engaged in battle with an enemy that should be lying dead on a field far away. Caught on the precipice of fatal indecision, he called a Captain to him.

‘What, by the Spirit, is happening?’

‘My Lord, the Easterners have launched a surprise attack. They are here on two fronts.’

‘I can see that!’ Senedai snapped, grabbing the Captain’s furs and dragging his face close. ‘Just tell me we can hold them. I must have the Manse before the sun reaches its zenith.’

‘We will hold them—’

Another series of explosions, this time on the opposite side of the Manse.

‘What is happening here!’ yelled Senedai to the sky. He turned on the Captain. ‘If one of those bastards runs across this grass to attack me, I shall personally tear out your heart and eat it. Stop them.’ Unsnagging his axe, he pushed his way through his front line.

‘Fight you dogs, fight! I will not suffer failure.’ A space opened before him and he was face to face with the masked enemy. This one dragged his axe low but his sword whipped into ready with unnerving speed. ‘I will not suffer failure.’

He raised his axe in trembling hands and struck down, the sword blocking his blow with ease. From nowhere, the axe swung up and he leaped back, feeling its keen metal edge whistle past his nose. The sword came down again but this time he was ready, parrying it aside with his axe and punching through with its spiked head, feeling the point enter flesh.

The masked man backed up a step and the point came free, spilling blood. Senedai smiled, fetched back the blade to finish the job but instead felt dread heat in his side. He looked down to see the man’s sword buried under his rib cage. He hadn’t seen it coming. Hadn’t considered the possibility as he delivered his disabling blow. Yet it was he who would die.

Lord Senedai’s axe fell from nerveless fingers and, falling that great distance to the ground, he heard a name taken up in a triumphant, exultant roar.

Tessaya.

They should have run days ago but the scientist inside them all kept them rooted. There had been no need to measure the shade for days now but they had done it anyway, marking its rush across the city peripheries and logging it for future eyes to read, should any of their writings survive.

Jayash looked up at the hideous black-brown mass that covered the sky, keeping Parve in perpetual twilight. Clouds grated at its edges, sending rain the like of which he had never seen or felt and, inside the rip itself, lightning flared and spat. Away in the distance, a bolt sang to earth, rattling the ground. They were getting more common now.

But it mattered very little. Because today was the day that it all began to end. Today the noon shade would cover Parve completely. It was clear that The Raven had failed, that no help was coming and that the rip would continue to eat the sky.

And so they all stood in the central square, eyes locked on the rip as it hung above them and the shadows lengthened with the rush of midday. They waited patiently. There was nothing else for them to do now. Except die.

They waited for dragons.

Chapter 37

Hirad could feel Sha-Kaan straining as they flew into the battle. The Great Kaan was desperate to fight but knew he couldn’t. Nos and Hyn had caught them and now they flew, three abreast, entering the mêlée zone that spread for over a thousand yards left, right, above and below.

It gave a terrifying aspect to the conflict. Death could come from any angle.

Ilkar had said they needed about two hundred counts of uninterrupted concentration to prepare the spell which, when cast, had to be released just at the rip’s surface. It had to be followed up by a charge inside the corridor where the original spell could be used to trigger collapse all the way to Balaia. The Raven mages had worked out a way they might control the collapse but it was yet another risk on top of everything they chanced already. Hirad wondered if one more roll of the dice would make any difference.

Below him, Hirad saw two dragons locked in combat, spilling fiery breath over each other as they sought to bite and tear. Heedless of all else, they fell through the sky, dwindling towards the ground so far below until one found the death grip, used it, and came surging back up. It was the Kaan that fell all the way.

‘Hirad!’ yelled Ilkar. ‘We’re beginning casting. Hold me upright.’

Hirad passed the message on to Sha-Kaan, knowing he only had to think it clearly for him to pick it up and relay it to the other dragons in the flight. The barbarian unlocked his fingers from the rope he’d been clutching with such desperation and grabbed Ilkar’s waist, leaving his arms free to weave if they had to. He couldn’t let Ilkar slip sideways, it would break his concentration. He tightened his thigh grip, felt Sha-Kaan’s scales chafing his skin and concentrated on keeping himself as still as he could.

Abruptly, Ilkar stiffened and then relaxed, his body sagging backwards as he began preparing in concert with Denser and Erienne. Hirad leant in, his head to one side looking around and down, searching the sky for likely attack.