‘To arms,’ a voice rang out as the horn faded. There was a great cracking sound, as of a thousand whips struck at the same time, the wings of all the creatures in the hall spreading. The Kadoshim, thought Corban. The host of angels that fell with Asroth.
A noise sounded above, high on the dome, a concussive boom, and a hole appeared, shards of whatever the building was made of exploding inwards. Figures poured through the hole, warriors with great white wings. One threw a spear and it pierced the ground between Corban and this creature that named himself Asroth. It stood quivering.
The man before Corban blurred again, his shape changing, cloak spreading, transforming into wings.
‘You dare to come here,’ he snarled, pointing his black sword upwards, then with a scream of rage launched himself at the invading warriors. The sound of it hurt Corban’s ears.
Battle erupted all around as the new winged arrivals fell howling down upon Asroth’s host. They were clearly outnumbered, but surprise and the advantage of height helped to drive them through the first waves that rose to meet them. Before Corban had time to move, a handful of them were alighting about him, forming a ring of shield, spear and sword.
He felt something tugging on his arm, turned to see Rhin trying to drag him back down the stairs by the red cord that was still attached to him. One of the warriors about him saw and struck the cord with a sword. There was a cracking noise and the cord detonated in a spray of blood. Rhin fell backwards, toppling down the stairs, disappearing amidst the conflict. Corban dragged in a juddering breath, felt new energy fill him. Before, he had felt terrified, frozen by that fear, but now the urge to fight rose up in him, coiling in his limbs. He saw a spear fallen on the ground, the white wings of its owner twitching as it lay there, a deep hole in its chest, something dark and slimy oozing from the wound.
He grabbed the spear. It was lighter than he expected, the shaft smooth and warm. Air beat down upon him and he looked up, saw one of Asroth’s Kadoshim above him, wings beating hard. It reached out to pluck him from his circle of protectors. Corban stabbed up with the spear, pierced the outstretched hand, the blade carrying on, raking a line across the creature’s ribs. It screeched at him and pumped its wings, rising quickly. Corban yanked the spear free, something wet splattering his face.
Screams and battle-cries filled the room, echoing about the dome, so loud that Corban wanted just to curl up on the floor and cover his ears. Everywhere was furious battle. More of the white-winged warriors were streaming through the hole high above.
They are the Ben-Elim, the angels of Elyon. Am I dreaming all of this?
For a dream it seemed real enough – he could touch, hear and smell the violence surrounding him. Figures filled the air, striking at one another, grappling, spinning, many falling to crash into the ground. The circle around him was hard pressed, blades clashing, limbs being severed, dark ichor that seemed to pass for blood spraying in great fountains.
Then a shadow was looming above, the air beating him down. Corban looked up and saw white wings, a flash of pale skin and dark hair, then he was being hoisted upwards, so fast that he felt as if he’d left his guts on the ground. Other warriors swooped in close, forming a wedge that flew straight up, to the now clear hole in the dome’s ceiling.
Bodies crashed against them. Corban caught a flash of leathery wings, heard screeching and hissing. One of the Ben-Elim close to Corban dropped away, a sword-point erupting through his chest, but they flew on, higher and higher, until with a roaring in Corban’s ears they burst through the hole in the rooftop and into the sky above.
The white wings pumped, driving them away, higher, until Corban could almost touch the clouds. A handful of Ben-Elim flew about them, and further back Corban saw the dome, shrinking now. He could just make out white-winged figures emerging from the dome’s peak, mixed with others. The Ben-Elim were retreating, pursued by their ancient enemy.
Corban looked at the warrior who was carrying him. He was dark haired and pale skinned as all the rest, with a tracery of veins visible beneath his skin, high, sharp cheekbones, the hint of faded claw marks running down one side of his face. His eyes were dark, though not black like the Kadoshim; there was a purple tinge to them. Something about him stirred a memory, too faint to remember. ‘Who are you?’ Corban asked.
The warrior regarded him for long moments. ‘A friend in a dark place,’ he said.
CHAPTER NINETY
CORALEN
Coralen glared through swirling snow at the walls of Dun Vaner.
After the desperate chase yesterday, the fight in the woods and slopes, coming so close to reaching Corban, only to see him carried away through the fortress gates, she felt drained. Exhausted.