Eyes stared brooding through eye slits and mouths moved wordlessly.
But still Aeb cried out. The Unknown smashed his blade across the legs of the last defending soldier and bore down on the mage holding the punishment.
‘Release him,’ he grated, pommel of his sword raised to crush. ‘Do it now.’
‘Too late, Unknown. Or didn’t they tell you? Once invoked, it can’t be stopped. There is only death.’
‘Right,’ said The Unknown. He brought the pommel down and dashed open the mage’s skull, swinging round immediately to run to the heaving Aeb.
Foam flecked his mouth, his legs thrashed, his back arched and his fists beat the sides of his chest. His eyes were bulging and wild, the demons ripping his mind to shreds from inside, his soul in torment in the Tank. But even in the hell of his consciousness he locked gaze with The Unknown and Hirad heard one word gasped out.
‘Please.’
The Unknown nodded, drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed quickly into Aeb’s temple. The Protector, at peace, lay still.
Quiet reined again.
Hirad sat down among the corpses, his hands draped over his knees, his body spent. He could feel blood oozing through his hair and dripping from his right hand to the ground but he ignored it.
The Unknown threw the dagger down by Aeb’s body, stood, grabbed his sword from the ground and walked away towards the barracks. Hirad followed him with his eyes, hearing a soft sobbing. Erienne was kneeling over Ren, her body crushed in Denser’s embrace, her shoulders hunched and jerking as she cried. Standing by them was Darrick, the bodies of three Xeteskian soldiers at his feet. Hirad hadn’t even realised they’d broken through. Thank the Gods for the General or they might have lost all their mages in a day.
Hirad sighed and looked up. Thraun held out a hand. Hirad took it and pulled himself to his feet. With his sword dragging over the compound dirt, he forced himself after The Unknown, who was walking slowly towards Ilkar’s body.
‘This is a black day for The Raven,’ said Hirad.
‘But we have the thumb,’ said Thraun. He pointed to the barracks. Auum was walking through the doorway, the prize in his grateful hands. Duele and Evunn came after him, pushing a man in front of them.
Yron.
Hirad started to move more quickly, a new target for his hate right before him. The Unknown stepped in his way.
‘Leave it,’ he said, his face full of sorrow, his voice shorn of its usual power.
‘He killed Ilkar,’ said Hirad.
Thraun growled deep in his throat.
‘Yes,’ said The Unknown. ‘But Auum will deal with him. He can dispense elven justice on Yron.’
The Raven trio walked towards him nonetheless. Yron focussed on them, his eyes still adjusting to the brightness.
‘Sorry the TaiGethen didn’t join you in the fight,’ he said. ‘What they had was more important than risking themselves against Xetesk.’
The Unknown nodded. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Yron. ‘If I’d realised that . . . souvenir would have caused so much death, I’d never have done it.’
‘Ilkar is dead because of you,’ said Hirad. ‘Ilkar.’
Yron sighed. ‘Nothing I can say will help. But believe me I had no knowledge this would happen. That’s why I was trying to return it.’
‘You should die for this.’
‘I am going to, Hirad. That’s why I’m out here.’
The elves gathered to offer prayers. The ClawBound pair padded out of the barracks and Auum opened his eyes and waved The Raven away from Yron. The Xeteskian mouthed an apology then knelt on the ground, Auum’s hand pushing him down.
The TaiGethen spoke a few words, stepped aside and bowed his head. The panther padded up to Yron’s back, placed her paws on his shoulders and bit down into his neck, breaking it and killing him instantly.
‘We have our own rituals to observe,’ said The Unknown.
He, Hirad and Thraun joined Rebraal at Ilkar’s body.
There was precious little left of him. His clothes were burned away and his body twisted and scorched. But when Rebraal turned him over they could see his features, saved because he had landed face-down in the slightly damp mud under the parapet. He looked peaceful enough; his oval eyes were closed and his cheekbones still carried a hint of redness though his lips were drained of colour.
‘Oh, Ilkar,’ said Hirad, reaching out to stroke his face. ‘Saved us, didn’t he? I just wish he knew it. What am I going to do without you?’
Hirad tried to picture Ilkar alive and a startling vision of