Closing on the wagon, Rebraal saw an Al-Arynaar blade sweep into the neck of a winged soul stealer. The creature’s grip on the roof strut was lost and it tumbled to the earth, bouncing and rolling. Rebraal hurdled its bright blue dying body. He increased his speed and leapt at the wagon’s tail board. Pain lanced into his back from his injured leg as he landed. He grabbed hold of the rocking carriage and drove his blade into the back of a cursyrd, hurling it backwards and out of the entrance to the wagon.

Inside the light-shot gloom, the fight raged. Strike-strain and reavers battled with Al-Arynaar and desperate human mages. At least one lay dead among the cursyrd bodies and blood gleamed wet on tattered canvas. Pheone was still standing, covered by Al-Arynaar.

‘We have them,’ came a voice. ‘Go forward.’

Rebraal nodded and hauled himself up onto the roof. Three warriors fought there, beating back the reavers storming in from all sides and above. Rebraal couldn’t stop to help them. Running from strut to strut, he struck out at any that came into his path with blade, foot and fist. He felt bone crack and wing tear. Colours flashed in front of his face; dark gore and elven blood mixed underfoot, dripping onto the combatants below.

Carving his blade through the spine of a tall, thin cursyrd, he made the front of the wagon and looked down to the bench and kicking plate below.

‘Yniss protect us.’

A dead Al-Arynaar sprawled half-off the right seat. The driver was still alive, his screams muffled by the strike-strain covering his head. A reaver was poised above him and Rebraal was going to be too late to save him. In front, Al-Arynaar warriors tried desperately to control the panicked horses under constant bombardment from around them.

The reaver plunged its hands up to the wrists into the driver’s exposed back, delivering appalling pain in the moment before its theft.

‘No!’ shouted Rebraal.

He thudded down beside the startled cursyrd and snatched a strike-strain from the air, jamming it onto the point of his sword. The reaver’s eyes met his, hands still buried in its victim’s shattered rib cage. Its colour, a smug deep brown, swam to a bright purple. It knew what was coming and that it could do nothing about it.

Rebraal closed his posture, spun on his uninjured left leg, unwound and took the cursyrd’s head from its shoulders, seeing the dead strike-strain fly from the point of his sword moments before impact.

‘Shorth bring you eternal pain.’

Rebraal had to act fast. The wagon was heading out of the ColdRoom protection, such as it was. Uttering a quick prayer, he shovelled human and cursyrd bodies from the kicking plate, first taking the reins from the dead elf’s hands. He straightened, knocked a strike-strain aside and breathed hard. He had never driven horses before.

Behind him, demons surged onto the wagon and his warriors fought for all their lives. Ahead, elves ran hard, keeping up with the horses, distracted by cursyrd buzzing around their heads and harried by reavers. One slip would be fatal.

‘What do I do?’ he shouted.

‘Slow them!’ came the reply. ‘Turn them left.’

‘And we are all Tual’s children,’ he breathed. ‘That much is obvious.’

He had seen the humans drive. The sure hand, the confident voice of order. He did what he felt Brynn would do. He pulled hard on the reins.

Far too hard.

The horses half-reared in their traces and bolted afresh, the sweat flying from their flanks under the chafing leather. On the roof behind him, elves rebalanced but cursyrd suffered. Wings beat, claws scrabbled. Blood was spilled quickly.

In Rebraal’s hands, the horses were an unstoppable force, driving headlong towards certain doom. As they had for two days, cursyrd swarmed outside the shell, waiting for such a moment.

‘Stop!’ He snapped the reins. The horses merely hastened. ‘Gyal’s tears, no.’

He stared around the sides of the wagon. In the air directly above, more cursyrd bayed and called, whipping the horses’ panic.

Rebraal knew he was helpless but he would not abandon his cargo. He urged the animals to stop. He dragged the reins more softly, pulling left, but they were lost to control. His ears were filled with the protestations of axle and timber, the desperation from within and the calm destruction of cursyrd foolish enough to attack the roof. Dust filled the air around him, clogging his lungs. The horses ploughed on across broken ground. It was a toss-up whether they’d be driven through the edge of the shell aboard the wagon, such was its shaking.

Rebraal consigned his soul to Yniss. Inside the shell, the cursyrd attack was faltering. Outside it, excitement grew. He had watched this from afar three times. Now it was his turn. Again he pressured the reins. Again, nothing.

‘Clear!’ he shouted down to those Al-Arynaar sprinting alongside the runaway horses. ‘Clear!’

They ignored him and he felt proud to die with them.

A detonation sounded beyond the shell. A curious momentary silence followed. Cursyrd bunched then scattered like birds dogged by a predator. A deep green light washed across the space, scattering on impact with the ColdRoom shell. For the first time, Rebraal heard fear in his enemies’ cries. The attack faltered. Reavers took to the air. Strike-strain bunched and flew high. And where the green light touched them, the cursyrd melted.

Wings dripped away, bodies sloughed flesh. They fell in their dozens, wailing and agonised. And through the gap they had made, came The Raven, Auum’s Tai and the Protectors. Rebraal shouted his relief though in truth he wasn’t sure they would save him. The cursyrd were regrouping quickly, determined not to let their prize escape them, and yet more gathered in the sky above The Raven, wanting to claim the greatest prize of all.

Resigned to his position as passenger and spectator and content to keep the strike-strain away, Rebraal watched the extraordinary approach. Thraun, Darrick, Hirad and The Unknown formed a forward line, maces battering the cursyrd in front of them. Immediately behind strode Denser, his dark cloak flowing behind him. From his fingers, a ForceCone claimed space in the air above them.

And finally, the ace in the pack. Erienne, with a guard that brought laughter from Rebraal’s lips. She was flanked by the two Protectors, Kas and Ark, at whose flanks ran Duele and Evunn. They moved as blurs, keeping the space around the One mage’s head clear. Almost anonymous, Auum and Eilaan swept behind and the whole advanced with total belief, total control.

Again the glorious green light surged across the field and again the cursyrd panicked and broke. But this time Erienne stumbled and half fell, pushing her hands out towards her husband. Immediately, the formation changed. Evunn and Duele ran ahead of the Raven line. Ark scooped Erienne into his arms, passing her immediately to Thraun, and took up station behind with Kas and Auum. Denser and Eilaan’s next ForceCones were directed ahead. And they ran straight for the shell and into the path of the runaway wagon.

Sensing an opportunity, the demons regrouped in the air above the shell. The wagon was suddenly free of concerted attack but the horses showed no inclination to slow. Rebraal turned.

‘Al-Arynaar mages to the roof. Now!’

The wagon approached the edge of the shell. The Raven ran on. Rebraal could see The Unknown pointing. Cursyrd flocked in the air. A group of reavers circled behind. A hundred yards from relative safety and it could prove too far.

Rebraal snapped the reins. ‘Get on!’ he shouted.

The horses had no intention of doing otherwise. Spooked out of any vestige of good sense, they drove on towards the waiting pack who had parted to allow the wagon a way through. Ahead, Hirad and Darrick broke formation and angled towards the bouncing, bucking cart. Rebraal heard the sounds of elves across the roof of the wagon. He turned his head.