Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) (63 page)

Ghabal laughed and looked around at the destruction he had wrought, baring his teeth in a menacing, twisted grin. ‘Little town.’ He laughed, and the sound was blood-chilling.
‘Little people. What can save them?’

He turned and was across Tyrineld in three great strides, crushing another area into rubble every time his massive foot came stamping down with a force that shook the earth. His eye fixed on the
slender southern peninsula, containing the Luen of Bards and the graceful rows of former merchants’ houses with their air of dilapidated grandeur. Then, with another spiteful glance at
Corisand and Iriana, he lifted his axe and brought it down with all his force across the neck of the promontory. Rock crumbled and split with a tortured groan, like a human soul in torment. The
entire headland, Luen, houses, inhabitants and all, crumbled into the ocean with a mighty splash that sent a fountaining spray of salt water right across the city.

The Moldan turned back to the horrified Corisand. ‘Give me the Stone,’ he bellowed. ‘Give it to me NOW – or more of your city, more of your people will be destroyed.
Their blood will be on your hands!’

Corisand shot Iriana a glance filled with anguish and doubt, but the Wizard, though tears were streaming down her face, tightened her mouth and shook her head. ‘Don’t give in to
him,’ she called in shaky mindspeech. ‘We can’t, Corisand. If he can do this now, think of the damage he’ll be able to wreak with the Stone. We have to stop him –
somehow.’

The Moldan raised his axe once more and, looking around for his next target, headed towards the next headland where Ariel’s Tower had formerly stood.

Unaware of the dramas that were unfolding in the city, Aelwen took Kelon back to the stretch of moorland where a small tarn gleamed at the bottom of a vale. The Xandim not
involved in the rescue – the elders, the youngsters and the others who had no wish to become involved in a war not their own – had settled. Those in equine form grazed in the sheltered
dell, with a stallion keeping vigil on the hilltop above, with all his attention on the distant battle lest the fighting started to move their way. One or two were trying out their human bodies,
but they looked pinched and cold, and Aelwen was sure that they would soon revert. None of them could take care of Kelon, or even make a fire. She would have to stay and tend him herself.

Kelon had passed out again, whether from pain or his injuries she didn’t know. Gently she helped to ease her old friend from Asharal’s back. When he was on the ground, the stallion
turned briefly back to his human aspect so that he could speak with her. ‘I’ll stay with you, just in case you need to get out of here in a hurry.’

‘Thank you,’ Aelwen said. ‘Will you help me to carry him over there, by the bushes? That looks like the driest, most sheltered spot that I can see.’

‘Of course.’ Like his equine counterpart, Asharal was strong. Soon they had Kelon settled, with a gorse thicket behind him to shelter him from the chill moorland wind. They wrapped
him in a blanket from Aelwen’s pack, and she rolled up an old tunic to pillow his head.

Asharal shivered. ‘I’m changing back now, if it’s all right with you. It’s easier for a horse to be comfortable out here than it is for a human.’

‘Of course,’ Aelwen said. ‘I only wish that Kelon and I could join you. Thank you for everything, Asharal.’

‘You did your best to protect and help me when I was at Tiolani’s mercy.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m glad to be able to return the favour.’ He looked down at
Kelon. ‘I hope he’ll be all right. He was good to me, too.’ The air shimmered and the handsome bay stallion stood there once more. Staying close, he lowered his head and began to
graze.

Aelwen covered her friend with her own cloak, then looked around for something to make a fire, but found nothing save a gnarled old hawthorn close to the mere, and clusters of gorse on the
slopes of the dell. All prickly, and they’d burn in no time. She shrugged. She’d have to make do. Fire first, and set some water to boil. By then she’d have summoned the courage
to look at Kelon’s injuries. Pulling her leather gloves from her belt and shivering in her shirtsleeves, she set off determinedly towards the solitary tree.

Back in Tyrineld, Yinze, his head spinning, managed to get himself aloft again, and went in search of Avithan, plucking frantically at the strings of his harp to keep himself
in the air and on course. Sweeping low across the wreckage where Sharalind’s forces had made their valiant, futile last stand he saw the bodies of the Wizards, shrunken to normal size in
death, amid the ruined buildings. The Moldan’s axe, with its evil, roiling black shadow, had left their bodies blackened and twisted, their faces contorted in agony so that they were as
deformed as Ghabal himself.

Yinze was sickened and grief-stricken at the sight. He wanted to flee; to get far away from this horror that would haunt his nightmares for many years to come, but he could not. He was
searching, amid all this death and destruction, for one living Wizard, and would not leave until he had found him.

In the end, it proved easier than expected. Yinze had been looking for an unconscious form, half-buried, perhaps, beneath the debris of fallen walls, beams that had been snapped like kindling
and even fallen trees from once-beautiful gardens. Instead, he found a filthy, ragged figure, its face bruised down one side and a lip that trickled blood, that was clambering its unsteady but
determined way back to where the bodies of the fallen warriors lay.

Yinze’s heart leapt to see his friend alive. Calling frantically for Kea and her bearers, he swept down to land – and his heart froze to see the stony mask of anguish, rage and grief
that had transformed Avithan’s features. He was overwhelmed with pity. To lose both parents so close together, in such violent circumstances! No wonder Avithan looked so desolate. ‘Come
on,’ he said, putting an arm around his friend’s shoulders. ‘Come with me. You don’t want to go over there, Avithan. You don’t want to see what I’ve seen. Let
the memory of your mother stay untarnished, and remember her as she was.’

Only when Avithan allowed himself to be led away without a word of objection did Yinze realise how deeply traumatised he must be. Just then Kea and her bearers arrived. ‘Thank providence
you found him,’ she said. ‘Poor man! We’ll take him to the Xandim, and let Taryn take care of him for now. Get Avithan to safety,’ she ordered her bearers, and they took off
with the Wizard dangling in his net beneath them.

‘Now,’ Yinze said. ‘If I don’t have him to worry about, I can help Iriana—’

‘Yinze!’ Kea seized his arm, her face twisted in anguish. ‘Please come with me. Iriana said she can manage but I can hear Atka, the Dragon who came with Chathak. She’s
desperate and she needs help.
Please
,’ she begged when he hesitated. ‘Her egg – she says she just laid it. Nobody knows except me.’

Yinze cursed. ‘Hurry then!’ Running his fingers over the strings, he was up and away, following Kea to the building on the northern peninsula that housed the Dragon.

The fishing fleet had all been offloading in Tyrineld port before the Moldan materialised. They were working quickly, anxious to be gone. Though Sharalind’s plans for war
with the Phaerie had brought them unexpected prosperity, being in the city made them uneasy now – especially on this trip, when the wharves were buzzing with the news of the
Archwizard’s death and the astonishing resurrection of Avithan, and plenty of rumour and speculation regarding both. The Lady Sharalind had assumed her soulmate’s mantle of authority
completely now, and was all the more eager to press north to wreak vengeance for her husband’s death, and find her son.

Many mortals had already been conscripted, including the ferals from the forest. The fisherfolk were taking no chances.

The offload was almost complete when the alarm went up. The shimmering mounts of the Wild Hunt had been seen high in the skies, heading straight for the city. It looked as though
Hellorin’s daughter Tiolani had stolen the march on Sharalind and brought the fight to the Wizards.

Word passed quickly from ship to ship along the dock. Valior and the other Captains had no intention of waiting around for the outcome of a battle, and the fish left in their holds would be
needed for their own people in the days to come. They raised sail, slipped their hawsers and headed out.

They had barely left the dock when the colossal figure of a warped and deformed giant materialised. Even at this distance he was a blood-freezing sight. Brynne, standing close to Valior at the
helm, was frozen in horror and dry-mouthed with fear. Suddenly she felt the older man’s hand take hers in a strong, warm, comforting clasp. ‘It’s all right, little mermaid. That
thing won’t get us. Let the Wizards deal with it. We’ll head home as fast as we can and spread the alarm. We’ll get everyone who’ll fit onto the bigger boats and make a
flotilla of the smaller vessels. By the time anyone, Wizard, Phaerie, or monsters, get round to thinking about us, we’ll be far away.’

Brynne knew enough about the sea by now to realise that it wouldn’t be so easy. The elements were calm at present, but rough weather would mean trouble for the smaller boats, and even the
larger vessels if they were overloaded with passengers. But it seemed that there was no alternative. They would have to take the risk. By the time the fishing fleet had cleared the northernmost
point with its Academy buildings and the Healers’ complex, and were turning for home, the sounds of screams and suffering, death and destruction, were coming clearly over the water. The
hideous monster was bellowing something about a stone, and other giant figures – Wizards, Brynne assumed, who had grown to match the size of the behemoth – had begun to appear, so large
that they were easily visible, even at this distance. As she looked back she was seized with a desperate need to escape. It seemed that the
Venturer
couldn’t move fast enough for
her.

When the first Wizard apported onto the deck in a thunderclap of displaced air, she knew her instincts had been right.

Avithan was scarcely aware that he’d been loaded into the net, but gradually the shock of Sharalind’s death was ebbing. He came to his senses with the city walls
below him – and there was Iriana, towering tall with that accursed Taine at her side. She and the Windeye were working together to keep the Moldan confined, Corisand with a barrier of solid
air and Iriana with a wall of fire. Ghabal had bypassed the Ariel’s Tower headland, as if he realised that there was little more damage he could do there, and they were holding him at bay
just before he could reach the northern promontory with the Academy and the Luen of Healers – the last headland before he reached the northern city walls, beyond which Taine and Iriana stood.
The trapped monstrosity, howling obscenely, was throwing petrifaction spells, first at one foe then the other, and the Wizard and Windeye were alternately shielding if they were under attack, or
maintaining the barrier if they were not. It required split-second timing and tremendous concentration, and he could see the strain beginning to tell on both of them. Surely, sooner or later, one
of them must fail – and fall.

Iriana was the only loved one Avithan had left.

Seeing her battling the giant, his only thought was to save her.

Ever since they’d been children, they’d played games of getting past one another’s shields, until they both knew each other’s magical defences – and how to get
through them – as well as they knew their own. With her attention elsewhere, Iriana would not be expecting an attack from the rear. On impulse, he threw a sleep spell at her, and saw her
crumple, shrinking as she fell.

‘Hey!’ came an outraged shout from Taine. ‘What the bloody blazes are you doing?’ He took a gigantic stride towards Avithan, who grew in stature to meet him, forgetting
that he was still in the net. The meshes burst apart and the bearers dropped the impossible weight. Avithan fell the short distance, dropping to his knees, then sprang up to meet the advancing
Hemifae.

‘Let her
go
, you imbecile,’ Taine shouted. ‘That thing will go after Corisand now.’

With a snarl, Avithan launched himself at this meddling interloper, knocking him off his feet. The pair of them rolled and grappled, losing their concentration and shrinking to their normal
size. Beyond all reason now, Avithan groped for his knife and the two of them struggled for control of the blade for a moment, before Taine took it off him and sent it spinning away. That moment of
distraction cost him dear. Avithan ploughed a fist into his face that sent the back of Taine’s head smashing into the ground. He sprawled on the grass, motionless, pale and limp as a
corpse.

When Iriana fell, her barrier vanished, and suddenly the Moldan, now with only one foe to fight, was free once more. Raging, he took the last stride to the Academy and brought his weapon
smashing down again and again amid the buildings, then he turned and lumbered towards Corisand. He had only one target now – and she would pay.

It was as well that Healers were taught to shield themselves from the psychic shock that accompanied the death of a Wizard, for now citizens of Tyrineld were dying in their
hundreds. Melisanda, trying with all her might to maintain her shield, had been watching the battle from the window of Tinagen’s study in the Healers’ complex. She saw the giant appear;
saw the other figures grow to match it, and gasped to see that one of them was Avithan – and another was Iriana.

Melisanda was gathering her will to apport across to help her friends – the ban on such acts within the city was insignificant now – when she was stopped by Tinagen’s hand on
her arm. She started, and her gathered powers dissipated. She turned on him angrily. ‘Leave me alone. I must go to Iriana.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the Luen Head replied. ‘Melisanda, you must stay here. Everyone’s reeling from the shock of so many deaths. We’ll be getting a flood of injured
soon, supposing we don’t have to evacuate this place. The people of Tyrineld need you here.
I
need you.’

With a curse, Melisanda pulled away from him. ‘I can’t. My friends . . .’ She was desperately torn. She thought of all her friends in danger: Chathak and Thara, thank
providence, were safe in Nexis helping set up supply caches for Sharalind’s army, and had taken Iriana’s dog Bear and the small white cub from Aerillia with them, but the others . . .
Yinze she could sense nearby but couldn’t see him, and grieving Avithan and blind Iriana were all set to do battle with a colossal fiend, horrific beyond all imagining. How could she not go
to them? Yet as a Healer she had made vows, and her duty was clear. Though she might curse Tinagen, she knew in her heart that he was right. She must stay here and help those who needed her.