Immediate Earthpower became a kind of fire in Jeremiah’s veins. It entered him utterly, blossomed in his chest, raced along his limbs, shone out of his skin.

And from the graveyard of his mind and the enduring throb of his heart, the rich essence of health and Law was sucked into the croyel’s mouth.

Belated realization filled the creature’s eyes with horror as its own malign ichor caught flame and burned—

In unison, the croyel and Roger squalled as if they were answering each other; suffering together. Then a conflagration for which the monster was entirely unprepared tore through it like a wildfire through brittle deadwood. On Jeremiah’s back, the succubus burst apart, consumed from within by energies that it could neither contain nor suppress. Gore and viscera sprayed out over the slope, and steamed in the hot sunshine, and did no hurt.

Jeremiah still stood slack-mouthed and dull, as unreactive as a husk. Nevertheless he rather than the croyel was free. The creature which had used and excruciated him had been destroyed.

By Anele, who lay at his feet gasping for breath. In the old man there remained no flicker or pulse of Earthpower to stitch together the rent remnants of his spirit. Yet he was sane at last, and smiling.

Linden wanted to sob like Esmer; wrap Jeremiah in her arms; wail over Anele’s dying body. But she had no time.

Chapter 6. - Parting Company

6.

Parting Company

Fighting raged around Linden and Jeremiah. Within the frantic protection provided by Stave, Clyme, Branl, and the Giants, Galt lay dead, and Anele was dying. Esmer’s sobs had faded, made impotent by manacles. The ur-viles and Waynhim had thrust their wedge between two of the Swordmainnir. Joined by the surviving remnants of their kind, the creatures flung liquid blackness to shield Linden’s company from Roger. Within that dark theurgy, Cavewights fell and died in agony.

Yet the cordon was failing. The Cavewights were too many; and Roger’s blasts struck the ridge like convulsions.

At the feet of her comrades lay Onyx Stonemage, clubbed senseless. Cabledarm fought on one knee, unable to support herself with her damaged leg. Frostheart Grueburn did the same, hamstrung by the thrust of a spear. But their longswords were being beaten down by the rabid savagery of their foes. Halewhole Bluntfist had lost the use of her right arm: she was forced to wield her blade with her left. Battered by too many blows, Latebirth’s broken cataphract hung from her shoulders in fragments. The Ironhand, Cirrus Kindwind, and Stormpast Galesend had all been hacked until they were weak with blood loss; but they continued to struggle, desperate as the doomed.

Like the Swordmainnir, the remaining Haruchai had been badly wounded. Still they punished their assailants as if they were as mighty as Giants, and as unyielding as granite. They shattered brute armor with punches and kicks, broke necks, snapped limbs, cracked skulls—and could not prevail.