‘Protectors, mages, swordsmen,’ he said, voice bleak and scared. ‘Too many of them. And up in the sky, those aren’t birds.’

Hirad looked up. Now he could hear the chittering, see the shapes. And down they came. Simultaneously, the stockade gates rattled, The Raven twenty yards away from them now.

‘Spells coming,’ said Denser from close behind. ‘Be ready.’

The gates rattled again, bowed towards them and burst inwards in a hail of splintered timbers and sheared bolts. Hirad put his arms across his face, feeling the blast hit, wood whip by, dust ripple across him and a sizeable piece of timber thump into the palm of one hand. Daring to open his eyes, he saw dust beginning to settle and the Xeteskians walking calmly in.

‘Steady, Raven,’ he said.

‘SpellShield up,’ said Erienne.

Hirad glanced left and right. Ren and Rebraal both held bows. It would have to do.

Ten Protectors, five on each side, flanked the same number of mages while behind them a dozen soldiers fanned out, three with crossbows aimed and ready. And low over the compound now, Familiars. Laughing and spitting, promising revenge, they circled The Raven.

‘Well, what have we here?’ said one of the mages, stepping forward. ‘Balaia’s greatest mercenaries, I presume.’

‘It’s all over here, Whytharn,’ said Denser. ‘Leave us alone.’

‘Don’t be stupid, Denser,’ snapped Whytharn, a mage in his mid thirties, tall and powerful, a deep purple skullcap pressed down over his head, leather armour covering his neck and chest. ‘You know why we’re here.’ He looked around him. ‘Some mess you made in here.’

‘And there’ll be another one if you don’t leave now,’ grated Hirad. ‘We’re not in the mood.’

‘Your posturing is ridiculous,’ said Whytharn. ‘You are in no position to fight us. I am not under orders to kill, but I am to bring back the statue fragment. Give it to me.’

‘I’m afraid we can’t do that,’ said The Unknown quietly. ‘You know why.’

Whytharn studied the ground for a moment. ‘And how are you going to stop me, Sol? I am well aware the Protectors won’t fight you but they will protect us. And flying above your heads is plenty enough to kill you all. Don’t make this difficult.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Oh, and I almost forgot.’ He pointed at Aeb, mouthed words in a language Hirad did not understand and dropped his arm to his side.

Denser cursed and clapped his hands to his head.

‘Come, Aeb,’ said Whytharn. ‘Your place is with me. Step away.’

Aeb took a pace from The Raven line. Hirad went cold all over. Beside him, The Unknown seethed, his hands tightening on his sword, his jaws grinding together, his muscles bunching.

‘Don’t you hurt him,’ he said.

‘I am his Given. My judgement will prevail.’

The whole Raven line took the pace that brought them back level with Aeb.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ said The Unknown.

Aeb took another step and before they could stop her Ren ran from the edge of the line, took cover behind Aeb’s huge frame and drew back her bow string.

‘He takes one more step, Xeteskian, and you die.’

Everyone started shouting at once.

Chapter 50

‘Tell her to stand down!’

‘Get back, Ren.’

‘I’m not moving. Hear me, Xeteskian?’

‘My men will fire, now get back.’

‘Keep down, Ren. Keep down.’

‘Last warning.’

‘Yours too, mage. He’s Raven. You leave him and us alone.’

‘Aeb. Come.’

Even the chittering above them ceased. Silence pressed. Hirad watched, they all did. Whytharn beckoned with a finger, The Unknown leaned forward.

In front of them, Aeb took a long deep breath. He moved.

‘No, Ren, no!’ shouted Thraun.

Arrows and bolts filled the air. Ren fired, missing Whytharn, the arrow smacking into the mage at his side, clear through the chest. A Familiar dropped from the sky wailing, already dying. A split heartbeat later, Rebraal’s arrow punctured the side of a crossbowman’s skull, spearing his brain. His bolt flew high and wasted, another thudded into timbers behind The Raven line but the third found its target. Ren was punched from her feet, sprawling backwards by Hirad’s feet. Her eyes were open but she was fighting for breath, the bolt protruding from her chest just above her sternum.

‘They’re casting,’ warned Denser. ‘Keep that shield.’

The barbarian saw red. He growled, his gaze moving quickly up and catching Aeb’s. The Protector’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, the pair of them looked again at Ren, back to each other and nodded almost imperceptibly.

‘Raven!’ he screamed. ‘Take them down!’

In front of him, Aeb put one hand behind his head and ripped the mask from his face.

‘Want me, you bastards? Then take me!’ He hefted his axe and ran, huge strides eating up the ground.

Chaos.

The Raven surged after him, Hirad at their head, The Unknown by him and Thraun tearing up the ground, an animal bellow on his lips. Aeb swung down, his axe hammering through Whytharn’s stunned body, dead before he could begin to loose a spell. Hirad drove in beside him, taking a casting mage apart at the shoulder, the arm flying into the air, spraying blood into the barbarian’s face, his own pain and exhaustion a dim memory as he piled in.

Soldiers fought to get through their own line of mages to protect them, the Protectors standing confused until their minds were made up for them. At the back of the group a mage invoked soul punishment and Aeb crashed to the ground, the sounds from his mouth alien as he gibbered for mercy, his hands clamped to the side of his face.

‘Get that mage!’ yelled The Unknown, delivering a blow that took the sword and face of a soldier with it, his other hand punching and shoving his way through the mêlée. ‘Release that punishment. Now!’

A bow thrummed, Rebraal’s next arrow another killing shot, and, with Aeb still crawling in agony in the dust, the Protectors turned on their masters. In a single move they spun and struck, axes hacking great splits in skulls, rising to spread gore and falling again. The Xeteskians fell back immediately, but there was no escape.

A Familiar landed hard on the back of Hirad’s head, clawed hands raking across his scalp. The barbarian reached round and grabbed the creature while he fended off a soldier in front who looked to gain from his distraction. He slapped the blade aside, clouted his hilt into the soldier’s nose and knocked him cold. Finding purchase on the Familiar’s neck, he tore it from his head and brought it in front of him, clumps of his hair in its hands, its slathering mouth snapping at his face. He tightened his grip, the Familiar’s tail whipping round and stabbing into his arm. He grunted in pain and looked for the Familiar’s mage.

‘This yours, Xetesk man?’

The Unknown had cleared a path, beating his sword into the back of a soldier, and Hirad pushed ahead, keeping his grip on the Familiar and dashing its skull again and again into the mage’s face, the man trying to fend him off, the Familiar screeching its hate.

‘Is it?’ he said as he piled the demon in again. ‘Is it?’

The mage went down, face a mask of blood, Thraun’s sword crushing his ribs. The Familiar went limp, its strength disappearing.

‘Good guess,’ said Hirad, and dropped its dying body to the ground.

He looked left. Thraun was a man possessed. He caught the sword arm of a soldier, forced it back and stepped forward, jamming his blade into the man’s stomach. Trampling over him, he over-headed his weapon into a mage’s collarbone, slicing through into his chest, pushed the dead man away and went searching for more.