Finally Adam reacted, spreading his fingers and causing a circle of shapes and lines to appear around them, though he had drawn nothing. He stumbled; it had not been easy.
Their attacker renewed his efforts, lifting his other hand and beating against the ward with a sickly-yellow stream of shapes, and Adam fell to his knees, beaten back by the onslaught. The austere had not yet been able to harm them, but neither could they harm him, stuck as they were within Adam’s hastily constructed circle.
‘I will kill him,’ Grada murmured and stepped forwards, her Knife held out in front of her like a shield. But she had put too much faith in the spells wound into that ancient blade, for as she stepped past Adam’s shapes, the yellow pattern-stream lashed out at her. She dodged, jumping sideways to avoid the worst of it, but it a crimson line appeared above her sash and spread rapidly, staining the grey linen of her robes. She fell, a stunned look on her face.
‘No!’ Sarmin cried, and drew Tuvaini’s dacarba from its sheath, but Grada shook her head at him from where she lay on the street-stones, trying to stop him from running towards the first austere and being killed. He knew he could not send his sword-sons either.
But Farid stepped out before Sarmin could stop him, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The enemy focused his attacks on the young mage, the yellow and red patterns melding together, but the shapes fell away, bent and broke apart before they could harm him.
Farid could not last long; sweat had already broken out on his brow and his whole body was trembling.
‘Now!’ Sarmin shouted, and the sword-sons rushed as one, their weapons raised, and Adam rushed forwards too, though he held no weapon, and his green and blue shapes scattered apart across the stone. But the first austere’s skin mottled brown and grey and his pale blue eyes changed to rusty pebbles. Half a moment later he had faded into the walls and road behind him. When the men reached where he had been standing, they found nothing but street-stones.
The sword-sons turned in a slow circle, looking for a sign of movement, listening for a footfall. But after a time they lowered their swords. The first austere was gone.
55
Farid
Nobody spoke when they re-entered their carriage. The emperor was lost in thought, his copper eyes shining with frustration as he helped Grada into her seat. She pressed a hand against her stomach. The bleeding had slowed, but she looked pale. Adam appeared shaken, and for the first time Farid felt some sympathy for him. Attacking the first austere must have been to Adam what attacking the emperor would be to him.
Before climbing up into the carriage Farid looked north – and he drew in his breath; all the pattern-work of war had drawn the Storm over the northern wall. It now stretched out over a third of the city and west across the dunes, taking up half of the world, and he realised it did not matter if they won, for the emptiness would take them all, just as Adam had predicted. He entered the carriage still staring at the wall, lost in the realisation that his life was likely over.
‘You must pledge yourself to Mogyrk now,’ Adam said, addressing no one and everyone. ‘The end is near.’
The emperor ignored him and directed the driver towards the Storm Gate.
They travelled in silence. Farid told himself to be brave. He had faced down the first austere, but the advancing void frightened him even more, and now they were heading straight for it.
At long last the carriages stopped. Farid was nearest the door. He did not know the protocol when travelling with the emperor, but he thought that on this day it did not matter. He let himself out into a group of wounded soldiers being tended to by a round priest. The emperor climbed down beside him. Farid bowed and said, ‘With your permission, Your Majesty, I will join my fellows on the wall.’
Sarmin dismissed him with a wave and he ran up the stairs, dreading what he might see. Before he had reached the top he heard screams, high and desperate, and several men ran past him down the stairs, their eyes wild, running in fear. His stomach clenched in terror, but he continued to the top and looked out over the parapet. As he expected, there were no heroic soldiers standing out on the dunes; no flags had been planted in victory. But the Yrkmen were moving away – whether from the Storm or from the walls, he could not tell. Charred corpses, bloody corpses and patches of sand melted to glass covered the land beyond the wall. He saw the white-clad austere with whom the emperor had spoken; an arrow was sprouting from his chest. In the distance, the larger elementals rested on the dunes as if sated, ignoring those retreating soldiers forced to pass nearby. Farid looked away from the one that had taken the form of a shapely woman; it disturbed him.