'Ule,' said one, a pulsing deep green creature with huge eyes in an otherwise largely featureless face. 'Return your soul. It belongs to us.'

Ule stared at the demon. He felt calm, at peace. As did his brothers.

'There is no hope,' said the demon. 'You cannot resist us.'

'You will not taste our souls again,' Ule said. 'While we live, we will fight you. And in death, we will escape you.'

'You cannot harm us.'

'Wrong. We cannot kill you. Know pain.'

The Protectors' speed was startling. Ule's mace came from his right side and blurred upwards catching the demon on its chin. The force of the blow echoed in the confined space and catapulted the squealing creature end over end into those massed behind it, wings flapping uselessly.

Ryn and Qex drove into the enemy simultaneously. Ryn flat-bladed his axe into the side of one's head, sending it tumbling sideways, scattering others back and forwards. Qex slammed his mace into the midriff of his target and scythed left to right with his axe, biting deep into the demon's forehead. It fell back, screeching.

The wound did not bleed but instead healed over almost immediately, leaving a livid blue line where it had scored most deeply. And then the demons bunched and charged. Ule faced a blistering assault of claw, tooth and tail. He worked feverishly to keep them at bay. The mace was a potent weapon thudding time and again into head, chest and gut. And with it came the axe; flat-bladed to block strikes, edge-on to inflict pain.

But inexorably, the press grew and deepened. Claws raked his

face. Tails threatened to trip him and fangs bore ever closer. He could feel the desperation beginning to creep into his brothers as he could the chill of the demons' touch through his body. Every time they struck, he felt himself weaken. But he would not let it show.

He dragged the spikes of his mace across the throat of his nearest enemy, deriving strengdi from its strangled yowl. He followed it up with a carving swing into its waist. It was a blow that would have severed a human. But here it cut just so deep, forcing the creature back.

To his left, his brothers suffered. Qex had been on his knees more than once and Ryn's face was a lattice of cuts, bleeding and blue from the cold. They didn't have very long.

'Once more my brothers!' he shouted, his voice bouncing off the cave walls.

He launched a ferocious attack, summoning everything he had left. He battered at the press of demons, seeing his mace buried in face and arm, his axe chop claw from hand, only for it to regrow. He took what pleasure he could from the cries of pain and the anger of his enemies that they had not cowed their prey. And nor would they.

'Duck.'

It was a moment before he realised it was Vituul who had spoken, so unlike him was the voice. But there was no mistaking the intent in the word.

'Brothers, drop!'

And they did, together as always.

The IceWind scoured over their heads and swept into the defenceless demons. And now the screams were of agony and death. Flesh boiled away, wings froze and shattered and eyes glazed. Veins stood out proud and still, the supercooled mana penetrating skin and stopping flow in an instant. The entire front rank of the demons died before Ule could blink and the rest scattered back into the air, howling their anger and fear.

Ule turned to look at Vituul. The elf slumped back onto his side, his breath laboured and his eyes sunken deep into his skull.

'You were spent,' he said.

T am now,' said Vituul between gasps. He managed a smile. 'That really was the last.'

T didn't think you had it in you.'

'Neither did I.' Elf and Protector eyes locked. 'We cannot take another round.'

Ule nodded. T know.'

He swung back to his brothers. Both were leaning on their weapons, exhausted, all but finished. Out in the light, the demons had gathered once more and were approaching cautiously.

'Ule,' said Vituul, dragging his attention around. 'Just make it quick.'

'It is something I am very good at,' he replied.

Vituul chuckled. 'Glad to hear it.'

'My brothers,' said Ule. 'Prepare. They shall not take our souls.'

Each man drew a dagger from his belt, letting his other weapons clatter to the floor of the cave.

'Vituul,' said Ule. 'You understand we will die as one. Your journey must begin sooner.' He knelt by the elf and wiped the tear from the mage's eye. 'Your courage will be remembered among the Protectors. Even in death, we will not forget you.'

The strike was quick and sure.

Ule stood and embraced his brothers. Daggers rested against throats. 'Release is ours, my brothers. We are one.'

'We are one.'

The crowd watching the fight grew steadily. Auum could sense them and at times even hear low words but he didn't ever take his eyes from the scene being played out in front of him.

At first, the cursyrd had been reluctant. It had felt the weakening effects of the ColdRoom construct but slowly had come to terms with it. What it had found more difficult were the probings and lightning strikes of Duele.

The elf tried to goad the cursyrd into retaliation and aggression but for an irritating length of time it merely squealed and backed off, rolling itself into a ball or standing with its hands covering its face. But when Duele jabbed a straight-fingered blow in its throat, its temper snapped and it struck back.

Duele stood his ground while the creature attempted to land blows with its clawed hands, whiplike tail and long fangs. The fluid movements of the TaiGethen left no room for the cursyrd which found its best efforts countered easily. Duele blocked, ducked,

jumped and counterstruck with the speed that had made him so formidable even among the elven elite. Time and again, the cursyrd would lash in left and right with its claws and attempt a bite only to find itself dumped on its backside by foot sweep or the heel of a palm in its chest.

As the weight of Duele's blows and the cumulative effects of the ColdRoom casting took their toll, the cursyrd became at once weaker and further enraged. It knew it would not get out of the college alive and became ever more desperate to inflict damage where it could.

Three times it tried to break away to attack those watching it but Duele was too fast and its screeches of frustration grew louder. But well before it became too weak to defend itself, Auum had seen what he wanted to. The cursyrd didn't once raise its arms over its head to strike, only ever to defend blows to the head, and even then it preferred to duck and move or use its tail.

He moved into its compass.

'Duele, rest now.'

Auum paced forwards, assessing the cursyrd's attention. It switched to him right away, a frown on its face. Its skin modulated from a livid green to a deep, menacing blue. It was breathing hard.

The TaiGethen circled it for a moment, seeing the track of its eyes and the movement of its feet unchanged from its combat with Duele. It was disciplined at least. But it was lagging slighdy, tired and bruised. Auum struck.

He ducked inside a flailing right arm, grabbing its wrist with his left hand and holding the arm high and away from its body. He continued his movement forward, raised his right elbow and smashed it into the cursyrd's exposed armpit. The creature jerked once and collapsed.

Auum stepped back and nodded. 'Everything has its weakness,' he said. 'Everything. Tai, we pray.'

Chapter 23

Pheone kept her distance while the TaiGethen prayed. Around her, all the elves had heads bowed, listening to the words Auum spoke and murmuring in response. By Auum's feet, the demon lay un-moving. Pheone couldn't tell whether it was dead or just stunned. But like all present she had been beguiled by the dance Duele had led the demon and shocked by the sudden violence meted out by Auum.

The import of what she was seeing trickled slowly into her mind. Not the fight with the demon or the fact that Auum had rendered it unconscious or even killed it with a single blow that hadn't broken its skin. The fact he was here at all, with his Tai and Rebraal. Why now? Why ever, come to that. It didn't take a seer to tell her that it wouldn't be good news.

The Tai cell finished their prayers and rose to their feet. Auum gave the demon a cursory glance and said something in elvish. Two Al-Arynaar warriors picked up the body and carried it out of the lecture theatre. Auum watched them go before walking to Pheone. Julatsa's High Mage found herself more titan a little nervous. Auum had an air about him that combined total authority with a controlled menace. A heady blend.

He and Rebraal held a brief conversation and the latter, at last, gave her his attention.

'We apologise for the abrupt entrance and this little display,' he said, gesturing at the stage. 'Auum had to work while the cursyrd was strong.'

'Did he kill it?' Pheone heard herself say despite the dozens of more pressing questions she had.

'Not quite. Warriors will complete the job. The body must be pierced.'

'So what did he prove?'

'That they have a vulnerable spot we can exploit.'

Pheone half-smiled. 'Come on, let's go somewhere more convivial. I think there's some soup on the go.'

She led them out of the lecture theatre and across the dark courtyard to the refectory, trying to marshal her thoughts. The shapes of demons flitted around the periphery of her vision, watching everything. Once seated opposite the two elves, soup and herb tea at hand, she felt a little more in control.

'I do admire your confidence, Rebraal, but don't you feel that it was already weak and Auum caught it with a lucky blow?'

Auum regarded her through the steam from his tea, his expression unreadable.

'The TaiGethen examine every move a prey makes. They chart their strengths, learn their failings. We strike only when prepared. Only humans have a god of fortune; and he has turned against you.'

Pheone felt she should apologise but stopped herself. Instead, she drained a spoonful of soup before speaking.

'It's been two years and it seems like ten,' she said. 'What are you doing here? I'm pleased to see you but I don't think five are going to make a whole lot of difference. Not even if two of them are you two.'

'Nevertheless, we are here to organise the last chance for humans,' said Rebraal. 'The last chance for all of us.'

Pheone almost laughed but the fear in Rebraal's eyes stopped her. She didn't think she'd ever seen an elf afraid before; not like this.

'It's really that bad?'

'What do your reports tell you?'

'That we've reached an impasse,' she said. 'The demons barely press us. They know they can't force a way in with the numbers they have. We think the balance will shift.'

She saw Rebraal's eyes widen.

'Do you have no contact with other colleges?'

'Precious little,' she said. 'Why? Surely when the demons know they can get no further they'll withdraw. Or we'll force them back.'

'Pheone, the cursyrd are home,' he said. 'You haven't heard from Xetesk in the last days, you're sure?'

'Certain,' she replied.

Rebraal and Auum exchanged a look. 'That explains your confusion and the lack of any preparation,' said Rebraal. 'Vituul and the Protectors must have fallen.'

'What is this all about?'

'You will be aware of the increase in mana density, yes?'

'Of course.' She shrugged. 'Comfort for demons.'

Rebraal shook his head. 'You misunderstand. The cursyrd are flooding Balaia with mana from their dimension because they are abandoning it. Soon the density will be enough to overwhelm your castings and the demons will truly rule Balaia. Then they will strike west and south and neither we, and certainly not the Wesmen, have the ability to resist them for long.'

'Unless we stop them, right?'

'Pheone, before I tell you what we must do, you must understand this. We believe Xetesk remains the focal point of their attack, Lystern to be under increasing pressure, and that Dordover has fallen.'

'What?' Pheone felt her heart race and a sick feeling cross her gut. 'Dordover?'

'We can't be certain but Baron Blackthorne, who still resists, reports that his last spies saw no light in the tower. But the Heart still beats because it feeds the demons mana strength. But what has happened to Dordover will happen everywhere unless there is unification. The colleges are the last free outposts of any real substance. If they are picked off one by one we are all lost. Elves, men, Wesmen, dragons and the dead.'

'The what?' Pheone's nervousness allowed a smile to creep onto her face.

'Don't mock what you cannot understand,' snapped Rebraal.

'I'm sorry,' said Pheone quickly. 'It just all sounds so far-fetched.'

'Have you not talked to the Al-Arynaar?' asked Auum. 'Humans are so blind. You do not even know when you are dying.'

'The cursyrd are on the verge of dominating this, and through it, every dimension we hold dear. We must unite to defeat them and it must be now. The fight will not take place here, it will take place in Xetesk. That is why we are here and that is why you must prepare to leave Julatsa.'

Pheone was so surprised that she replayed Rebraal's words to make sure she'd heard him correctly. 'You want us to do what?'

He had known constant fear. And beside that fear there was a pulse that he could sense and it was growing stronger. Malevolent in intent. He distanced himself from it like they all did. It confused his senses, threatened to overwhelm them.

And he experienced utter clarity too. Clarity of thought and memory brought him joy, comfort and a pure sense of belonging. These times were as common as they were craved.

He was aware of meeting others, of their presence and support. Whoever they had been they were immense in character and clear of purpose. And like him, they retained the link to those they had left, though he wasn't sure, like them, if his communication was truly understood.

All his senses were changed, were more complex than mere sight, touch or smell. He had no words to describe them but he understood and used them as if he had been born with them. He could describe without seeing, listen without hearing and speak, if speak it was.

He believed he communicated on his new sensory level without the need for words though he still considered it speech. It produced images, soundless yet they contained the meaning he needed.

When he had arrived here, with its warmth and comfort, with its beauty and calm, and with its threatened borders and fear, it hadn't been the way it was now. How long ago that was, he couldn't say. There was no conception of time passing, though surely the knowledge of change indicated such.

Now, though the link provided his most clear sense of the life he had left, it was no longer the only way. He had become aware that he could sense those for whom he felt enduring love

without the need for the link buried in his ancestral homeland. But he couldn't always feel them and he didn't know if he was felt by them.

He felt a growing worry. The sense of threat to their existence was building and he, like all of them, had travelled away from the developing pulse to minimise its effect. But in travelling, he had lost the link and his ability to feel his loved ones. He was certain that

distance dulled feeling. Others felt it too and it worried them. The threat was forcing them from the link quite deliberately and it was weakening them, denying them joy and comfort.

He craved the sense of touch and he knew what he must do to try and regain it. Others would follow if they understood his reasoning. He had to approach the pulse, approach the burgeoning fear. He wanted to know if those he loved felt it too and if they could remove it and leave him with the peace and calm that was his by right.

He began to seek the direction of travel, a curious reminiscence flowing over him. The familiarity of purpose and of knowing he would soon be where he knew he truly belonged. He brought the words to his mind and the images washed through him. Had he lips he would have spoken the words. As it was, he felt exhilaration power his soul.

He reached out to them, sought them and pushed away the fear.

Them. The Raven. And within them, one mind and soul was for him so much brighter than the rest.

Hirad's head felt full and it kept him from his sleep. It had been coming on through the evening and he'd bitten his lip several times during the talking they'd done to avoid sparking a dispute. He knew it was something the others couldn't feel or understand. So he'd taken himself to sleep away from them, volunteering to take the last watch before dawn.

He tried to examine the way he felt. It was nothing like the touch of Sha-Kaan, which was warm; a gentle probing that sought permission to enter his mind. What he was experiencing now was more akin to an attack. Like someone was hammering on a door, demanding entrance. Everything was muffled but the pressure grew until he developed a thumping pain in his head.

Denser had offered a casting to give him relief from the pain but he didn't want that because he thought he knew what was causing it. Because as he lay and studied the weight inside his skull, he filtered feelings from the morass. He felt love, strength and the longing for contact, lost in time. And he felt fear too and that was reminiscent of that night in Taanepol.

But unlike that awakening, which had a dreamlike quality to it full of half-remembered images and snatches of sound, this was a solid

block of emotional force. And closer than the dream. Hirad closed his eyes and tried to probe the block but he had no real idea how to. All he knew was that the more he relaxed, the more certain he became that his first impressions had been right.

'Ilkar?' he spoke out loud but softly. 'It is you isn't it? Gods burning, I don't know how but it is. I can feel you, Ilks, but I can't understand you. I don't know how to respond. I'm not a mage, my mind isn't trained. But if you're sending a message keep on.' He chuckled. 'But perhaps you could speak a little quieter, I'm not enjoying the hammering.'

He paused. His words had had no effect. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the seat of the pain in the back of his skull.

'Ilkar, please. If you can hear this, back off a little. I can't under stand you, it's just coming over as pain and noise in my mind. Ilkar?'

And abruptly, the feelings were gone. Hirad sat bolt upright and closed his eyes against the yawing of his mind and the blackening of his vision as the blood rushed away. There were tears standing in his eyes.

There was something else too. Just like Rebraal had said he'd understood back in Taanepol.

It was a desperate cry for help.

T have to put this to the council,' said Pheone.

'We have no time,' snapped Rebraal, his palm smacking on the table top. 'You have a hundred and eighty mages here, almost two hundred Al-Arynaar warriors. You represent the strongest force on Balaia, don't you understand? Without you, the pressure on Xetesk will become intolerable. And we can't afford that to happen.'

'Well why the bloody hell aren't they coming here then if we're so damned great?' shouted Pheone, losing her cool. She was already tired and hungry and now these elves were putting her under enormous pressure. Damn, why was she the only one of the council awake?

'Because they won't make it and we need the information we know they hold. We have to make preparations now and leave in a day. Every moment is critical.'

'Hold it again,' she said, drawing breath and waving a palm at Rebraal. 'What information?'

Rebraal smiled. 'I haven't been able to tell you everything yet. You're quite a forceful character, you know. Probably what my brother loved about you.'

'Among other things,' said Pheone, relaxing a little. 'Go on.'

'We can't beat diem simply by fighting them here. Our job on Balaia, and more critically, in Xetesk, is to drain them of resource, force them to bring more demons here than they want to. Keep them at bay to give the time to strike them in their own dimension; cut off the mana flood and stop the invasion at a stroke.'

'And you think Xetesk has the knowledge to get people there?'

'We know they do,' said Rebraal. 'Sha-Kaan is certain that the development of their dimensional spells, together with the link they've always had with demons for mana channelling, means they will be able to open a gateway to the demon dimension that we can use.'

'And who're the lucky ones getting the job of going through it?'

Rebraal gestured to his left. 'Auum, his Tai, some Protectors, a litde mage support and The Raven.'

Pheone shook her head, she'd heard it all now and wasn't the least bit surprised to find The Raven cropping up. 'Even after all their time away, why did I half expect you to say it would be them?'

'Perhaps because Ilkar is one of those under threat.'

'Ilkar?'

'I told you, the dead are vulnerable. The demons crave their souls and they are helpless.'

'Gods drowning, this is all too much to take in,' she said. She rubbed a hand across her forehead. 'Look, it'll be dawn in a few hours and I'm exhausted. Let's go through it again with the council, discuss it with the Al-Arynaar and we'll go if everyone agrees it is the right thing.'

Rebraal shook his head.

'What?' demanded Pheone. 'Look, I'm not saying I don't believe everything you have told me and I want to do everything I can to save Ilkar's soul if he is in danger as you say. And I want Balaia to be free. I just won't get driven at one solution when there may be others to consider.'

'The decision is made,' said Rebraal.

'Not yet it isn't.'

'Listen to him,' said Auum in a voice barely above a whisper but that sent a chill down her back. He leant forwards. 'You do not see what is before your face. Rebraal commands the Al- Arynaar. He will issue orders at dawn. They will accompany him. You can stay if you so choose.'

Rebraal held up his hands both to stop Auum saying any more and Pheone retorting.

'I didn't want to fall back on that but Auum is right. But we do need your help. Your college is the one allied most closely to elves. We would not be suggesting this if we thought there was any other way to save it long-term. I want you to agree to this willingly. But if you won't, I will take my warriors and mages anyway and you will be taken.'

'I'll be deserting all those people out there beyond the Cold-Rooms. Abandoning them.' Her voice was quiet now, defeated. They had left her no alternative.

'Sleep on it.'

'Sleep? Fat chance.'

'And then talk to your council, tell them what must be done. We will be leaving at first light the day after tomorrow.' Rebraal covered her hands with his. 'I believe you will be saving more lives this way than if you hold out here for another decade. The Raven believe it too.'

'Oh, Rebraal, I wish I could, I really do.'

Chapter 24

Sha-Kaan had dispersed the broods across the plains of Teras in the hopes of maintaining peace while keeping the gathering close enough to react when the time came. Now, with Hirad and The Raven hidden above Triverne Lake and less than two days from Xetesk, he had called them together once more.

It would not be enough, he had reasoned, to simply shift to the home of the Arakhe and fight independently of one another. For this time only, they had to fight together; a single force with a solitary purpose to give The Raven support while they fought those who controlled the gateway and mana flow into Balaia.

He was reminded of the days of the uncontained rip in the skies that had joined Balaia and his home, Beshara. How different the conditions were this time. Then, warring broods had threatened the Kaan defence of the rip as it widened uncontrolled. The Raven had developed a way to close it before it became of a scale that would invite invasion of Balaia from enemy broods.

This time the gateway was managed and controlled by the Arakhe. Its origin somewhere in their dying dimension and its outlet, by all calculation, somewhere in the sky above Xetesk. And all brought about by Xeteskian foolhardiness. This time, the dragons could not afford to do battle over it because it could be the end of them all. And again, The Raven would have to succeed. As Hirad Coldheart would put it, be there at the sharp end.

As much as the sprawl of thousands of dragons on the plain had been impressive, the sight that he could see all around him now was simply awe-inspiring. Skoor, Naik, Veret, Kaan, Stara, Gost and the lesser broods, flying in their familial formations, providing honour guard for those gliding lazily at the centre of them all. Sha-Kaan had called the leaders of all the broods to this summit in the skies but even he was distracted by the sight of light dancing on a rainbow of

scale colours. He basked in the sounds that echoed across the clear blue sky and delighted in the complexities as each brood tried to outdo its rivals.

'None have been idle during our short isolation,' rumbled Sha-Kaan.

'We all tired of waiting for your call,' said Caval-Skoor.

'I trust you have news of our ultimate destination,' said Koln-Stara. T am not alone in having those within my brood for whom this delay has bred suspicion.'

'And have any of you experienced attacks on your Broodlands?' Sha-Kaan waited. 'Perhaps that is because you and your broods have all had time to reflect on what I and Yasal had to say. Don't forget that was a principal reason for you to scatter across the plains.'

'Some of us are waiting for our scouts to return from our lands,' said Caval. T for one do not know if my Broodlands are safe. I am too distant from them to hear the calls of the attacked if such there are.'

'But do you really believe your lands are under threat?' asked Yasal-Naik. 'Surely the presence of every brood here is evidence enough that we are, for now at least, of one mind and purpose.'

'I have not counted the head of every dragon,' said Koln. 'None of us knows if members of any other brood are absent from here.'

'You are accusing us of something, Great Stara?' Eram-Gost's voice was sharp.

'I accuse no one of anything. My knowledge is incomplete.'

Sha-Kaan felt the tension rise among the circling dragons, instantly transmitted to the cohorts surrounding them. The displays of skill ceased. Ranks closed and distance was sought. All around them, broods massed and waited. How easy it was. How fragile the peace. High above them, Kaan and Naik dragons maintained their mixed flight and kept a watching brief.

'My broods, please,' said Sha-Kaan. 'We have no cause for mistrust.' He let his words filter through the tension. 'Almost two thousand dragons are circling in this small area of Beshara. There are two ways this can go. It is either the greatest opportunity in our long and bloody history, or it is the greatest disaster to afflict us and all our melde dimensions. Remember: if the Arakhe reach us, all those on whom you depend will be vulnerable to them. I say again, we cannot afford to fail.'

He flew into the centre of the ring of Beshara's most powerful dragons and altered his attitude, hanging vertically in the air and rotating slowly, displaying his belly scales to them all.

'Which is it to be?'

There was a long moment when Sha-Kaan wondered for the first time whether he had constructed a monumental folly. But with increasing pace, one by one, each of the brood leaders mirrored his attitude. He let feelings of warmth and comradeship pulse away from him and he barked a huge gout of flame into the air.

'Then let us get to work.'

Auum considered this the time of greatest risk. The moment they had detected the change in activity within the college, the cursyrd had swarmed the periphery of the ColdRoom shell. A strain had appeared that he hadn't seen before. Flat and largely featureless but for a coating of fine hairs on their underside. At one stage they had covered the shell, blocking out the dawn light. He had watched them while they crawled and had summoned an Al-Arynaar mage to him. An elven female he knew and respected.

'They are seekers,' Dila'heth had said in answer to his question. 'At least that's what we call them. We have seen a few but nothing like this density. They are searching for the trails in the mana.'

'Good,' Auum had said. 'So they waste their time. Tomorrow, the location of our casters will be obvious even to the blind.'

'Well, I will give thanks to Yniss for anything that stops them trying to disrupt us.'

'Nevertheless, we must be prepared.'

And so while Rebraal, with his greater command of Balaian and his god-given patience, had die unenviable task of placating reluctant humans, Auum marshalled the defence. Guard on casting mages was trebled. Watchers studded the college walls and the roofs of all buildings. Mages waited undercover in groups with Al-Arynaar warriors, ready to react to incursion. And everyone in the college carried arms, tasked to move as ordered.

From his vantage point Auum scanned the shell for indications that an attack was imminent. He could see groupings of the quick, powerful soul-stealing reavers cruising the shell. He presumed they were looking for weak points. It was a futile exercise. What worried him more were the occasional overflights of the senior strain; the

huge Arakhe which floated on beds of tentacles but had the bodies of grotesque men. These were the masters over Julatsa. Their decisions would bring attack or maintain the examinations.

Down in the tower courtyard, Rebraal had emerged from the lecture theatre and was heading for the main gates, surrounded by humans. Auum couldn't hear them but their body language suggested anger and a heated exchange. He turned to Duele and Evunn.

'The humans are being difficult,' he said. T will see what I can do. You know what needs to be done here.' He sighed and felt a surge of irritation. 'Yniss preserve us, but these people would argue themselves to guilt if pronounced innocent.'

Auum ran quickly down the stairs by the main gatehouse, leaping the last few steps and landing on the cobbles right in front of Rebraal and the group of six unhappy humans. Pheone was not among them. Auum had their attention.

'We have problems?' he asked Rebraal in elvish.

'They do not agree with us,' said Rebraal. 'They haven't seen and heard what we have. They do not believe in a threat to other dimensions.'

'It makes no difference to what must be done.'

'It makes a difference to us,' said one of die humans in passable elvish. Auum nodded minute respect. 'We have had two years with your people,' he explained. 'And much time on our hands.'

'Name?'

'Geren.'

'Geren, your efforts are appreciated but your objections are damaging.'

'We feel there are other ways.'

'There are no other ways. You will leave Julatsa tomorrow or become a slave of the cursyrd.' Auum turned for the stairs once more but Geren's raised voice stopped him.

'How dare you come in here and lay down what will or will not be done? This is our college and only we, the council, will decide when or if we leave it. Do you understand?'

'Rebraal?' Auum dropped into an older dialect. He didn't turn back.

'I have been hearing this for an hour and more,' said Rebraal, taking his lead. 'They are belligerent and their ears are closed to my explanations.'

'Then it is time to stop being polite. You have done all you can.'

'Auum, we need the human mages' help. Their expertise in the castings that shield us is much greater than ours.'

'And you will get it.' Now he swung back to Geren, his expression bleak and his mind cleared. He saw the man step back a pace as he should.

'Your threats will mean nothing,' he said, his voice holding a slight quaver.

T threaten nothing,' said Auum. 'This college stands only because the Al-Arynaar, ClawBound and TaiGethen died to preserve it. It maintains its independence because the Al- Arynaar have supported you for the last two years. Rebraal, the leader of the Al-Arynaar, has explained to you why we must all leave and travel to Xetesk. And this is the respect you show those who have saved your lives?'

'Your sacrifices for the college will never be forgotten and our respect for you all is undimmed. But what you ask is not in the best interests of Julatsa and the wider city, I'm sorry,' said Geren.

Auum's hand clamped around Geren's throat and he drove the man backwards into his companions, all of whom appeared too scared to speak up in his support.

'Do you think for one moment we wish to be here? We have no choice because humans have let the cursyrd into our dimension. We are here because we too will die from your folly if we do not put a stop to the threat. Do not make the mistake of thinking that I care if you live or die, human. We will take our people and what we want and we will travel to Xetesk where your race and ours has its best chance of survival. Rebraal says we need your help, so help us. Make the choice to live.'

He thrust Geren away. The mage looked at him with undisguised hatred.

'All of you, go and do what I ask, please,' said Rebraal. 'I'm sorry it had to come to that.'

Auum took his arm and led him away from them. 'Enough. Forget them. We have the strength without them should they refuse to come.'

'We have a responsibility to save them too.'

'You have spent too much time listening to Hirad and your brother's spirit.' Auum allowed himself a small smile. 'Now. Carts and horses. Do we have enough?'

'Barely,' said Rebraal. 'We're fortunate that Pheone demanded Julatsa keep its breeding pairs alive. Consequently, we have some young and strong animals capable of pulling carts though fertility is as bad here as it was in Blackthorne. How they would fare under attack, we won't know until we try. Carts are a more pressing problem.'

'Firewood?'

'Enough have gone that way but even those that remain are in disrepair. There isn't a wheelwright in the college. Carpenters are doing what they can and we're searching the stables and college buildings for traces and tack. We should have enough workable gear to carry casting mages and the bulk of provisions but any other mages might have to travel unprotected.'

Auum nodded. T will instruct the warriors to that end.'

'Will they attack, do you think?' Rebraal gestured above his head at the demons circling and watching there.

'Unlikely,' he said. 'They know we are planning something but they also know the price they pay for attacking this college. What would you do?'

'I would wait until I was certain what was happening. When we drive through the gates, that would be the time.'

'Yes, my friend, it would. We will be at our most restricted and vulnerable. Our warriors will have to fight hard.'

'Tual will guide our hands.'

'And Shorth will see our enemies to torment.' The two elves clasped arms. 'We will do this.'

'Yniss will watch over us all.'

With night full, Auum had been proved right and the demons hadn't attacked. But there were signs that they were massing, expecting a break-out. Roadblocks were plainly visible on all approach roads to the college. Demons flew a grid over the area immediately surrounding the college walls. Others hovered above the college, looking, watching. Waiting.

Auum and Rebraal had conducted a series of briefings with the Al-Arynaar mages and warriors in the lecture theatre, discussing tactics for the first move out of the gates and what was expected of them on the anticipated three-day journey south to Xetesk. For some of that

time, the TaiGethen cell would be absent, heading for Triverne Lake to collect The Raven.

Finally, Rebraal was standing with Pheone before the college council and the surviving humans in the college. There were one hundred and seven of them all told. Thirty-four mages and the rest college guard and those who had been invited inside the walls before the demons attacked. All were scared, all resentful. But all resigned to what was going to happen.

'Much has been demanded of you all in the last day and there has been little time for politeness. Much more will be demanded of you in the days to come. Most of you have questioned the decision that was taken without your consent. There is no debate. Now is the time to trust me. Trust Auum.'

He waited for a murmur of conversation to settle.

'You have heard all you need to about the conditions outside this college and the plight in which we find ourselves. Now is the time to believe that you can make a difference. That by this journey and the subsequent defence at Xetesk you can play your part in the salvation of man- and elvenkind.'

He held up his hands at the ripple of comment.

'You think that overdramatic? How quickly you have become accustomed to the way you now live, if that is the case. When was the last time you made significant advance or saved a soul from beyond the shell of the ColdRooms? Do not doubt that the cursyrd, the demons, are in

control of your country. They mean to stay here and consume you. You have become prey, and like all other natural predators they pluck you as they need you. Do you truly believe that by staying in this cocoon you will defeat them?'

Again he waited, this time greeted with an uncomfortable shifting. He nodded.

'Those of you who know me and who have got to know the Al-Arynaar during your confinement here will no doubt have gathered that elves do not necessarily hold humans in high regard.'

A chuckle ran around the chamber.

'But neither are we frivolous with your lives. Many of us have lifelong friends among you and we appreciate your strengths as well as lamenting your weaknesses. My own brother chose to live and die among humans. For me, there is no greater measure of the potential of your race. And for that reason alone, I would see you thrive, and

us with you. That is why you must accept that the course we now take is all that remains open to us. The evidence you will see with your own eyes beyond these walls.

'The journey we will undertake at dawn tomorrow will be dangerous. But I want to give you this assurance. Elves know your vulnerability to the demons' touch. We do not expect of you heroics and sacrifice. That is to come in Xetesk and all of you need to live to see the walls of the dark college. We will take on the burden of defending the caravan while you rest as you can and watch as you need. For the mages, we need you to be the bedrock of our moving ColdRoom construct and so you will travel for much of the time in the wagons we have repaired.

'For the rest of you, we need those who can drive wagons and who know horses to volunteer for that duty. We are not knowledge able about these animals.' He smiled. 'It seems even we have weak nesses.'

More laughter, a little easier this time. He held up his hands.

'I won't keep you from your rest much longer and I urge you to sleep for as long as you can because this caravan will only stop to rest horses, not humans. Two final things. You will naturally feel that the caravan leaves you more vulnerable than the college. It does not. Only the ColdRooms keep you from being taken by the demons at will. This structure will still be around you. Walls are no certain defence against demons, only spells.

'And last, wherever you stand, walk, cast or rest, there will be an elf watching over you. An elf who will stand against the demon that comes for you and who will protect you. In this we are stronger and you need not fear otherwise. We will never desert you.

'We leave at first light tomorrow. Be ready.'

Rebraal started at the unexpected sound he heard. They were clapping him.

Hirad had his back to a tree, knees pulled up to his chest and his arms around them, hands locked in front. His sword leant sheathed against the trunk. Around him, an early leaf-fall was testament to the cold that die demons had brought to Balaia. They had risked a fire to cook by when the night closed in but it was long dead now and in these hours before dawn the world was frosty and quiet. Hirad felt

exhausted. His sleep had been broken first by Sha-Kaan and subsequently by the force he assumed was Ilkar, still trying without success to contact him.

And now he was awake on the dawn watch and looking over his sleeping friends, the two Protectors, Kas and Ark, and the quiet but determined elf, Eilaan. None of them slept undisturbed. Thraun chased the demons of his past, his body twitching and his mouth moving, murmuring. And Erienne, he knew, was occasionally found by Cleress despite the huge distance and the ageing elf s condition. Right now, she was somewhere to the left, having woken suddenly.

He had asked her to call his name regularly but she hadn't. In the end, she wasn't gone long and he felt her hand on his shoulder as she eased herself down to sit beside him.

'So I'm not the only one hearing voices tonight, eh?' said Hirad softly.

Erienne linked her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder.

'She didn't say much. She doesn't have the strength, poor woman.'

'Does she help you?'

'What can she really do? She speaks the right words when I can hear them but I'm not skilled enough to reply over this distance so it's all rather one-way.' She picked her head up. 'Look, Hirad, sorry about Blackthorne, the way I behaved I mean.'

'Erienne, you never have anything to apologise to me or to any of us for. All I care about is that you're feeling more comfortable now.'

'I'm not sure I am, that's the trouble. It isn't the One magic itself, because in theory I can perform the castings. But this isn't like casting an Ice Wind or putting up a HardShield. Failing in those is one thing, failing to strip the mana shell from demons would be fatal for all of us. It weighs on me.'

Hirad thought to reply immediately but some words from The Unknown replayed in his mind and he paused before saying something different.

'We can't help you with your power, I know that and I won't pretend to understand die pressures it places you under. But remember how hard we've worked on fighting assuming your casting isn't there to aid us. Keep that with you because it means we can

survive if you're having a problem. You are the most potent weapon we possess but you aren't the only one. We're all still here.'

Erienne chuckled. 'How do you do that?'

'Do what?'

'Say something patronising and belittling and make it sound like comfort and support.'

'Because that's what it is supposed to be.'

'And there's my answer.' She pulled at his arm with hers. 'Tell me about your voices. Are you really sure it's Ilkar? I mean, that's farfetched even for you.'

Hirad shrugged. 'Oh, I don't know. I've sat here tonight wondering if it's all because I so want to believe he's still here in some way that I've created the whole thing.'

'And what did you conclude?'

'That it's all too coincidental. This has happened only since the demons began to flood mana into Balaia, if Blackthornc's timings are right. But more than all that, it just feels like him. I can't explain it. I've heard no words. It's all just fuzz and mist. But you know when you can smell someone on the clothes they've worn? It's like that, only inside my head. I just wish I could make it clearer.'

Erienne moved so that she faced him and laid her forearms on his knees.

'Go with it,' she said. 'Try not to fight it or force it. Let it drive you on. If that's what means you fight harder, then use it.'

'I'll try.'

'But it's hard, isn't it? Having something inside you that you want but can't use. I know a little about that.'

'I guess you do.' Hirad smiled. 'Now if you'll take my advice, you'll get your head down. Auum could be back any time from tomorrow and then this little oasis of calm is gone for ever and it's fight and fear all the way.'

'But just one more time. Then we can go back to being bored.'

'Do you really believe that?'

'What do you think?' Erienne leant in and kissed his cheek. 'Goodnight, Hirad.'

Chapter 25

The cursyrd were waiting for them before the first wagon was hitched to its nervous horse. Since they'd begun loading the fifteen wagons, some little more than makeshift covered trailers, in the dead of night the enemy had been preparing. Auum knew they would. For him, it had always been a question of superior tactics come first light.

But for the humans and those Al-Arynaar who hadn't listened to everything said at the briefing, the sight had to be truly terrifying. Reavers swarmed the shell, anticipating the moment it was dispersed. They thronged the area in front of the main gate, emitting a staggering kaleidoscope of colours. They hovered above every roadblock, herding slaves into the road as human barricades. And from their mouths came a cacophony of sound that echoed against the buildings of the college and high into the air, sending shivers through the bravest soul.

'I want runners either side of each horse!' shouted Rebraal. 'Drivers let's mount up and assemble in the courtyard. Free mages, to your wagons. And watch those borders. Move!'

Auum's breath clouded in the cold air, mixing with that of around one hundred and eighty mages and two hundred and twenty Al-Arynaar warriors, college guard and the free Julatsans. He turned a full circle. Blinkered horses were goaded from the stables and out into the arena. Two to a wagon, they were skittish and either side of their heads elves stood and whispered soothing words, stroking cheeks and necks.

In front of the first clutch of five wagons, thirty Al-Arynaar mages gathered with fifty warriors. They were the vanguard, tasked to clear the path for the first wagons and if they could, blast a hole through the mass of cursyrd gathered beyond the gates. In each of the

wagons, which would go through the gates two abreast, six human mages and six warriors, human and elven. For them, the task was to set up the forward ColdRoom shell immediately they left the protection of the college. The wagons would be flanked by elven warriors and mages, some of whom were already perched atop the wagons themselves against attack from the sky.

Behind this first wave would come two others made up almost identically. The few spare horses were tethered to wagons in the second wave. Again they were blinkered and near them would run elves ready to cut them free should they threaten to bolt.

They had done everything they could. Auum was as satisfied as he could be. He and the Tai would bring up the rear because there they perceived lay the greatest immediate risk of losing mages. Right now, heavily guarded in cellars in the college, the ColdRoom casters still held the barrier strong. They would have to be moved.

He understood it was the nature of the casting that three mages were needed for each one to maintain its core strength. Under normal circumstances, if any of this could be considered normal, mages coming to take over the casting would feed into the same construct, thereby maintaining a seamless shell. Moving all three would inevitably lead to the spell collapsing.

They approached the moment of greatest danger. In five locations around the college, ColdRoom trios were waiting to move. In order, they would disperse their spells and run to their designated wagon, flanked by Al-Arynaar. For three of the trios, the problem wasn't too great. Their exits were clean, the wagons parked close and they could disperse their castings without risk to any but themselves. When those parts of the college were cleared, they could be moved and the cursyrd could take the territory.

For the remaining two, the situation was entirely different. Their castings covered the courtyard and main gates. And because those mages in wagons inside the courtyard were unable to cast until they could touch the mana and form new constructs, there would be a time, short but telling, when there was no cover. Everyone was aware of it and so were the cursyrd. It was what they were waiting for.

Auum waited. Three times he was given the signal that areas of the college were clear and three times ColdRooms were dispersed

and their casters ran hard to wagons beneath the remaining shell. First went the refectory and lecture theatre area; second, the Heart and library; third, the personal chambers, rooms and offices. The cursyrd didn't attempt to chase the casters. They didn't have to. A better chance was coming.

Three wagons lined up, making their part of the third wave. Two remained empty, surrounded by Al-Arynaar. They were placed centrally in the courtyard away from obvious casting points. Dila'heth was of the opinion that the cursyrd knew where the casters were located but anything that threw them off the scent for any time at all was crucial.

Cursyrd flowed into the parts of the college so recently vacated. The ColdRoom constructs now grounded right at the edges of the courtyard itself and they clustered around, taunting, promising death. The reavers strutted around their new domain, displaying colours from deep green through purples and blues to jet black. Hundreds of a tiny dark grey strain flittered overhead, cluttering. These were no real danger alone but their claws would be sharp and their touch cold. Enough could overwhelm man or elf. And way overhead, the master strain hovered on their tentacles, directing their minions. In all, the Julatsan escapees had to be outnumbered at least ten to one right here.

'Rebraal!' called Auum. 'Prepare them!'

The cacophony from the demons rose to a deafening level. Al-Arynaar and TaiGethen switched to sign language to make themselves understood. Words were whispered into the ears of wagon drivers, horses and the few human swordsmen who refused to be placed in wagons for the escape.

Auum heard a demon calling Rebraal's name. He swung round and strode to the border of the shell. There it stood, taller than he, wings furled at its back, long face glaring in, a smile on its lipless mouth, its colour shifting grey to green.

'Rebraal,' it cried in a poor impersonation of Auum's pronunciation. 'You will be first. Your soul will be mine. Step to me, come closer.'

It beckoned at Rebraal who surely could not hear it, its arms piercing the ColdRoom shell as it did so. Auum faced it until it focused on him.

'And you, elf, will not stop us,' it hissed. 'Come, surrender to me. Let us touch and you will know'

Auum's hands flashed out and he caught the demon's wrists, dragging it inside the shell. It squealed and broke free but stumbled. Auum pounced on its chest, swept a short sword from its scabbard and pinioned one arm to the dirt. It screamed.

'Be careful what you wish for,' he said.

The dagger in his other hand stabbed deep into the pit of its arm. Its eyes widened in fear. It spasmed and lay still. Auum retrieved both his weapons and swung back to the shell's edge, moving fluidly to his feet.

'Shorth will take you all.'

He backed away a few paces, Duele and Evunn at his shoulders.

'We are prepared,' said Duele.

'Then we will pray.'

The Tai dropped to its knees. Auum led the short prayer that was taken up by every elf in the courtyard. With one voice they spoke, their ancient words stilling even the calls and shrill of the cursyrd.

'With our breath, Yniss, we are yours. With our bodies, Tual, we are yours. With our souls, Shorth, we are yours. Guide us, keep us and bless us as we do your work. Let it be so.'

Auum brought the Tai to its feet.

'Tai, we move.'

The TaiGethen cell jogged back to the centre of the courtyard in between the two wagons waiting for their casting trios. The cursyrd found their voices once more. Howls, shrieks, calls and cries battering on the ears, etching on the mind, scratching at courage and fortitude. Auum commended his life to Yniss a final time and nodded at Rebraal.

The gates of Julatsa were hauled open. The vanguard of Al-Arynaar warriors, led by Rebraal, drove out of the gates. Behind them, Pheone led the mages beginning to prepare the moment they were beyond the shell. The first wagons started to roll. Horses stamped and snorted, moved forwards under protest. In the stables and in the gatehouse guard room, mages cut off the last of the ColdRooms and hell descended on the college.

Cursyrd poured down from the sky and rushed in from the periphery. In the centre of the courtyard, mages inside the second-

and third-wave wagons began to cast, as did their colleagues in the rolling first wave. ColdRooms took care and time to prepare, so outside, Al-Arynaar mages and warriors had to buy them the space they needed.

Auum signed and shouted as he moved to the second-wave wagons. 'Hold the horses! Mages, casting at will. Warriors, drive space, protect your mage groups.'

IceWind and ForceCones drove into the air, battering cursyrd aside or melting the flesh from their bodies. In front of the mage groups, warriors hacked, slashed and bludgeoned, forcing a ground perimeter. The tiny strike demons dropped like rain from the sky, digging their claws into skull, shoulder and back. As fast as one was torn away and thrown into space, another two struck down, scratching and biting, weakening their targets with the frost in their touch.

'Strike the weak point!' roared Auum. 'Send them to Shorth!'

He rocked back on his left leg and lashed in a kick to the head of a soul stealer racing hard at one of the wagons. The creature fell flat on its back, bounced back to its feet and advanced on the TaiGethen leader, spitting bile and hatred. Auum moved fast, dagger in his right hand, left hand free. He delivered a blistering multiple strike, thundering blows into the creature's midriff and chest, stabbing high into its throat and upper body, looking for the killing stab.

But the creature was quick enough to keep its vulnerable area clear though it couldn't land a single blow. Others joined it, flanking Auum. He backed up a step. Took in the five that faced him, the dozens of the strike-strain flying at him, and smiled. Around him, he could hear the desperate cries of Al-Arynaar being overwhelmed. He heard the shriek of cursyrd caught in the howl of IceWind; the sickening crunches of the creatures crushed beneath ForceCones. And above it all, the whine and buzz of the winged enemy as they attacked in storms.

Quite deliberately, he shut out everything else but his targets. He took a pace forwards, feeling the first strike-strain home in. His smile was undimmed. Shapes moved to his left and his right, closing at extraordinary speed. He, like the cursyrd, was never alone.

Rebraal led the Al-Arynaar through the gate and into the open space beyond the walls. Cursyrd thronged the path ahead and the sky

immediately above them. Their attack was instant. Soul stealers and the strike-strain flooded towards them.

'Keep formation, keep driving!' he called into the teeth of the enemy gale.

The two sides collided head-on. Rebraal struck hard straight ahead, battering a reaver aside. He used a shortened mace in his left hand, a short sword in his right. The creature stumbled backwards and Rebraal drove on. The diminutive strike-strain lashed in like hail, each one smaller than his head but full of claws and fury. They swarmed over the front ranks of the Al- Arynaar, biting and scratching. Rebraal felt the chill of the wounds they inflicted and the blood run freely from his neck and arms.

Head-butting the reaver ahead of him, he made a heartbeat of space and used it to sheathe his sword. With a hand free, lie ripped at the strike-strain clawing at his body, hurling them aside, urging his people to do the same. Spells roared into the air. DeathHail and IceWind froze the

sky right above his head. Cursyrd screamed and fell from the air, skin boiling from the Wind or tattered and torn from the Hail.

In front of him, the cursyrd fell back. He saw them bunching on the flanks and running down left and right.

'Front rank keep driving, second fall back, guard the mages. Keep diose wagons moving!'

He had turned to sign as well as shout and swung back only to catch the claw of a reaver clear across his face. The blow raked his cheek, freezing the side of his face. He felt his muscles tighten then weaken. Al-Arynaar piled in front of him, carving into the attackers and forcing them back. Rebraal felt dizzy, his vision blurred. Arms grabbed him, pulled him back into the mass, behind the front rank of mages.

Strike-strain were everywhere, disrupting the concentration of his casters. He had to do something. Not enough spells were coming out, and in the sky the cursyrd were massing to dive again. He wiped the blood from his face and blinked to clear his vision. There was a roaring in his ears. He shook his head. The sound of weapons thudding into cursyrd reached him. A few spells crackled into the sky.

He focused hard. Strike-strain landed on the top of his head. He snatched one away from him and hurled it to the side. Time to act.

'Keep the mages clear to concentrate. Let's go.'

Warriors moved through the mage teams, grabbing strike-strain from them. Around their flanks, reavers were being kept away on the ground. More Al-Arynaar moved to attack those that came from above. All was confusion. Their line was completely compromised.

'We need that ColdRoom,' he muttered, dragging a strike-strain from the back of a mage, ignoring the chilling scrapes down his own neck. At least they were still moving forwards.

Warriors worked feverishly in the morass. Blades glinted in the early light. The buzz of the strike-strain grew more intense. A ForceCone struck into the air, bludgeoning a path and a little respite. Behind him, he heard a squeal. He turned.

The lead wagon was under concerted attack. The elves guarding the terrified driver were both standing and weaving their blades in intricate defence patterns. Strike-strain were being batted aside, reavers hovered menacingly overhead, looking for the way in.

Rebraal began to move back through the fight. He hitched his mace and took out a dagger. Strike-strain flittered before his eyes and he carved the air in front of him, trying to keep them away.

' Keep t hat wagon coming,' he yelled at the elves walking by the horses.

The animals were beside themselves with fear. Under their blinkers, eyes were white. Every pace they took, they skittered to the left or right and the anguished snorts touched his heart. No doubt those behind, two abreast in the street, were faring no better.

Rebraal was scant paces from the wagon when the cursyrd made a critical breakthrough. Three reavers plummeted from the sky and thumped onto the canvas roof, feet cannoning into the elves positioned there, sending them flying. While one began to tear at the flimsy covering, the other two ran forwards.

'Behind!' roared Rebraal, pointing.

But the driver's guards couldn't hear him. The first they knew was when one of the creatures landed square on the driver and clutched his face. The poor man had no time even to scream before his soul was gone. The reaver exalted, lashing out left and right, catching both guards in the chest and flattening them against the wagon frame. The other leapt straight onto one horse's back and bit down into its neck.

The animal reared and screamed. It sought escape and, without a driver to control it, plunged away left across the cobbles, the other only too willing to follow its lead. Strike-strain and reavers gave chase. On the wagon's roof, cursyrd had torn up the canvas and were dropping

inside. On the kicker board, the elves fought with the reaver in the driver's position. Others made to pursue.

'No!' shouted Rebraal. 'Keep discipline. You can't help them. Keep moving forwards. Drive on, Al-Arynaar!'

They listened to him as they always would. And in the midst of the disaster, an opportunity opened up. Carried away with their success, a large number of cursyrd were pursuing the wagon. The pressure lifted just enough, the enemy were distracted. Rebraal seized the moment with both hands. Amidst the howls of anger from high above as the master strain saw what was unfolding, Rebraal led his warriors and mages in a renewed assault.

Strike-strain were grabbed from mages, who were left free to cast. Warriors reformed at the head of the wave and drove hard at the reavers massed in front of the first barricade. Moments later, spells blazed into the sky and head-on once more. Demons were melted by IceWind, flung high and wide by ForceCones, ripped to shreds by DeathHail. Strike-strain burned under the focused power of FlamePalm. FlameOrbs arced into the sky. To the left, a Fire Wall roared into life.

Rebraal, at the head of the wave once more, ignored the blood running down his face and the deep cold that had frozen his cheek. At a call from the mage teams, the warrior rank paused and ducked. Spells flashed over their heads, scattering reavers from their path. Warriors ran left and right, pressing home their brief advantage, battering a path for the wagons to follow and opening up the route to the barricade.

In front of piles of wood, stone and rubble, cursyrd had herded dozens of Julatsans. The white-faced humans stared from black and sunken eyes and through lank hair. They made no move when the cursyrd were driven from the path of the Al-Arynaar and oncoming wagons. The pace wasn't fast, ColdRoom casting would be impossible otherwise, but it was inexorable. And Rebraal was not going to stop for anyone.

'Move!' he bellowed. 'Move!'

His dagger lashed into the face of a reaver that landed in front of him. He kicked out straight and caught it in the stomach. It grunted, fell back a step and was engulfed in Al-Arynaar.

'Move!'

But they didn't. They were beaten, terrified and unable to think for themselves. They were caught between two horrors, their cursyrd masters and the oncoming elven forces. Neither was going to give.

'Prepare the Cones,' said Rebraal.

There was no dissent behind him. The elves advanced at a trot, the mages now with clear sight of the barricade, both material and human. Rebraal waved his arms again.

'Please! Get away. Get away!'

Nothing. And in that moment, he wondered whether they actually welcomed the end that approached them. None pleaded, none cried for rescue. Not a tear was being spilled. They merely stood and waited.

'We are ready,' came a voice from behind his left shoulder.

Rebraal fell back behind the mage line.

'Cast,' lie ordered.

The barricade had been erected at the head of the road that led south through the city. Tall buildings reared up either side. It was a perfect focus for ForceCones and their effect was as dramatic as it was terrible.

The invisible rams of mana energy slammed into the unprotected humans, and their cursyrd shepherds. Man and cursyrd were plucked from the ground and flung backwards into the barricade. Blood splattered the walls left and right, bodies smeared against the buildings. The barricade exploded backwards. Elven casters kept up the pressure, driving the rubble and timber left and right. Rebraal heard the agony of men whose bodies were crushed flat, and the

squealing of metal on stone. Shattered, the elements of the barricade bounced and spun down the street. Cursyrd shrieked in fury. He watched one man try to rise and begin to run but another Cone tossed him full-face into a building across the street, no more than a doll in a gale.

'I'm sorry,' muttered Rebraal. 'May Shorth speed you to your rest.' He had no time for anything else. Too much rubble littered

the ground. 'Focus on the cobbles. Clear the street or we'll lose wheels going down there.'

Left and right, Al-Arynaar were closing back in to guard their mages as they entered the street. Cursyrd ran and flew at rooftop height. Their masters had gathered their attention once more and they came again from above and behind. Rebraal ran back down the line.

'Single file. Wagons single file.'

They were rolling now. More wagons were coming from the gate. The sounds of fighting from within the walls echoed up to the sky where cursyrd massed from all points of the compass. Rebraal smiled grimly. They had made one small advance but the journey had only just begun. He prayed the ColdRooms would not be long in casting. He wasn't sure how much any of them really had left.

Chapter 26

Auum saw it all with utter clarity. He and his Tai moved as one, acted as a single entity, a boiling of controlled action in a sea of confusion. They targeted the reavers. Easy prey for the cell. Strike-strain clawed and buzzed around them and were knocked away as an afterthought. The real threat to the human mages, the wagon drivers and horses lay in the tall strong soul stealers who stalked and dived in the throng of the courtyard.

Duele and Evunn pirouetted together and downed a muscular deep blue creature. It barely had a chance to breathe before Auum pinned it down by its chest. Duele snatched an arm outwards, Evunn backhanded a dagger into the nerve ganglion revealed and the cursyrd died.

Auum rose to his feet. To his left, an Al-Arynaar had become detached from his warrior group. Cloaked in strike-strain, he became confused and disoriented. Quickly, three reavers were on him, lashing in claws, biting and gouging. One clutched him under the chin as he weakened and drained his broken soul.

It would be happening everywhere. Cursyrd flooded the courtyard, dropping from the sky; the strike-strain like malevolent hail, their reaver brethren sails on the breeze. Duele and Evunn came to his shoulders. They watched a change in the cursyrd tactics as the second-wave wagons started to roll. Combat against the Al-Arynaar on the ground and on wagon was both difficult and, should their weakness be exploited, deadly and now they were concentrating solely on the horses, trying to take out the escape's prime motive force.

Barking out orders and signing the alarm, the Tai cell raced into the centre of the courtyard. They were already too late to save one wagon. The driver was swarming in strike-strain, the flanking elves were under attack from twice their number of reavers, and the horses were being cut to pieces.

'Leave it,' said Auum. 'Left and right. I'll take centre. Tai, we move.'

The trio split, heading for three separate wagons in the third wave. Al-Arynaar were keeping the cursyrd away on the ground but more fell from the sky. Auum dodged individual battles, increasing his speed dramatically. Dagger in hand, he took off, arrowing feet first into a reaver just landed on the back of a terrified horse. He caught the creature in the side of the head and the two of them hurtled to the ground, the cursyrd disorientated. Auum took a forward roll on landing, coming smoothly to his feet and spinning on his heel, balance perfect.

The soul stealer was struggling to get its legs under it. Auum pounced, stamping a foot into the creature's neck, wrenching one of its arms up and driving his dagger deep into its nerve centre. He turned and ran back to the wagon, leaping onto the kicker board and straight- punching another which tumbled to the dirt.

Next to him, the driver was screaming in panic, covered in strike-strain. Auum grabbed the man's face.

'Calm,' he said. 'Drive. I will protect you.'

Slowly, the man focused on him and managed to nod.

'Drive,' repeated Auum.

The TaiGethen swivelled and made quick assessment. On the roof of the wagon, Al-Arynaar were holding off the reavers while on the ground warriors and mages kept their perimeter around it. On the roof of an adjacent wagon, Duele danced. Auum could have watched him all day. Feet planted on roof struts or blurring through the air to strike. Arms laid out for balance, block and punch.

To the right, Evunn, like Auum, was standing by his driver. An Al-Arynaar stood on each horse's back. All three wagons began to move. Across the ground, the bodies of cursyrd and Al-Arynaar were scattered; more of the latter than the former had fallen in the hand-to-hand combats but losses on both sides were climbing. Skirmishes raged across the open space. Warriors drove space for wagons to move into. Spells fired across the ground and into trie air. Mages using FlamePalm ran in all directions, burning strike-strain, wounding reavers. Under the eaves of the stables and behind a solid rank of

elven warriors, mages cast hard and fast. Cursyrd were being washed from the sky and flung far from the combat. The air stank of blood and burned flesh but still they came on.

Auum nodded at the Al-Arynaar warrior beside him on the kicker board.

'Clear the driver. I will watch.'

A soul stealer landed heavily on the back of one horse which reared and threatened to bolt, kept in its traces only by the weight of the other which skittered. The driver, with strike-strain being pulled from his back and face, fought for control. Auum jumped lightiy onto the animal's rump, his left foot already coming round to clatter into the upper back of the cursyrd. He planted die foot and struck with both fists, tipping the creature onto the ground.

Beyond the walls the ground shook and the sound of tumbling stone echoed across the city. Auum heard screams. Still on the horse, he crouched and turned to the driver. The Al-Arynaar stood by him, working to keep him clear of strike-strain.

'Faster,' he said. 'We move.'

The wagon picked up pace, the flanking Al-Arynaar being forced to break into a trot to keep up. A movement caught Auum's eye, high and to the right. Reavers, eight or more, diving hard for the wagon. Not even he could keep them all away. He leaped back onto the kicker board.

'Above,' he said to the Al-Arynaar. 'Trouble.'

The reavers came in steeply, claws first, shrieking fury. Auum stepped up onto the roof with the two Al-Arynaar. It was temporarily clear of enemy. The gatehouse was approaching.

'Faster,' he ordered. 'Gallop.'

He heard the reins snap. The horses took off, happy to be let go, jerking the wagon behind them. Auum knew the mages beneath would lose the spell but others would still be casting. Above, the reavers adjusted their direction, knowing they wouldn't reach the horses before they reached brief cover. Three of them pulled away, flying over the gatehouse to meet them on their exit. The others ploughed on for wagon and driver. These would strike in time.

A shiver ran across the college. Nothing could be seen, but the sense of power rushing into the air was undeniable. Cursyrd howled and screamed. Hoots of alarm bounced across the

courtyard. A concerted roar from the masters above rent the air. Auum smiled. It was mirthless. He dropped his dagger and had two short swords in his hands in a heartbeat.

Above, the reavers came on but they had slowed dramatically, deep inside what had suddenly become a dome of pain. They couldn't brake in time. Three, wings swept back, tried to change their attitude to feet first. It made no difference to Auum.

'Take them,' he said.

He sidestepped the first and drove both his swords deep into its back. Dark gore sprayed into the air but the thrusts were not fatal. The mana shells surrounding the cursyrd were stronger now, making them dangerous even within ColdRoom castings. Auum dragged the blades clear, ducked a claw from another reaver and whipped one blade across its throat, stabbing the other into its eye.

'Our turn now,' he spat at the creature as it died.

Across the courtyard, cursyrd broke off their attacks and fled back into the air. Denied mana, Al-Arynaar mages took swords from belts and formed up by the wagons once more. Strike- strain died in their tens and dozens, snared by the same claws that so recently had been hooks to drag through the flesh of men. Reavers not quick enough to flit up to safety were hauled to the ground and hacked to pieces, their skins boiling through bright colours, their veins spewing their life onto the cobbles.

The Julatsan wagon train drove out of the college and south through the city at an easy trot. Within the eleven surviving wagons, human and elven mages with their Al-Arynaar warrior guard searched for space among the baskets and barrels of provisions and water. The ColdRoom shell held steady, covering the train front to back and spilling over into adjacent buildings, keeping the cursyrd at bay for now. Auum moved back to sit by the driver, nodding his respect at the man who, though bloodied and shivering, held the reins steady, determination in every muscle.

But the sky outside the shell was thick with cursyrd, tracking them as they fled to open ground. And what worried Auum was that with the mana density clearly growing stronger, it wouldn't be long before the enemy could fight effectively inside the shell.

The fate of man and elf hung by the slenderest of threads.

*

It was dawn in Lystern but the light was dim and the few lanterns they could afford to use burned bright in the gloom. Faces were pressed to every window of the grand council chamber, though that was a misnomer now. The periphery of their ColdRoom castings was scant yards outside the filthy stained glass and across its surface, for the third day running, the flattened seeker demons crawled, searching for the telltale threads of mana they could use to direct their attacks.

In two days, they had lost two casting teams to lightning raids from the winged reavers and had been forced to withdraw into an ever-tightening space. They had too few mages to cycle their strength should they lose any more teams and their warriors were exhausted, trebling their day and night guard on this most precious of resources.

Heryst had no desire to look. Others would tell him if the seekers found what they were looking for. A slight discoloration in their pale underbellies would give them away. He had done all he could, moving the casting teams time and again. But their available area was small enough that it surely only put off the inevitable.

It had all been so sudden. The demons had seemingly become so much stronger. They had known the mana density was increasing but nothing had indicated this ability to strike so quickly and effectively at the heart of his defence. The last message he had received from Blackthorne told him that the wily Baron was under similar pressure and that they were considering running north to Xetesk where apparently the last vestiges of Balaian resistance were gathering.

He had no idea if that was true. So what if The Raven were back on the scene? So what if elves still fought in the open? He had heard nothing from any other college in over fifty days. For all he knew, his was the last that still stood free. Free. He almost laughed at the word. He had been right. They had grown complacent in their sanctuary. Lazy. They hadn't seen the signs. The growing numbers of demons, the sudden appearance of these seekers early one morning three days ago. They hadn't pieced it together.

And here they sat as a result with only the tower still to call their own. They had lost, temporarily it was to be prayed, access to all their tunnels and all but one well. If they couldn't regain some space

quickly, the next problem he would be facing was starvation. It was a factor that had escaped none of his dwindling band of survivors.

'My Lord?'

Heryst took his head from his hands and looked up into Kayvel's sick pallor. His old friend was dying by degrees. Gods drowning, they all were but something had infected this brave old man in the last days and he was fading so fast.

'Sit, Kayvel. Gods man, you should beresting.'

Heryst pulled out the chair next to him and Kayvel sank gratefully into it and rested his elbows on the table. In the centre of the table, guards completely obscured the casting trio who held death away from them all.

'We need a plan,' said Kayvel gently. 'They need to hear your voice, your strength.'

'Do they believe I really have any?' said Heryst, feeling the spear of doubt that had become all too familiar.

'Never let them hear you say that. You are their leader. They love and respect you. Don't ever forget that.'

Heryst nodded. T know,' he said. 'But it's so hard sometimes. Just look at what I have brought them to.'

He gestured around the council chamber, knowing what they saw was reflected in every room of the tower they called their own. Dirt, dust and rubbish covered the floors. The stale air was heavy with the smell of lantern oil and sickness. Every man, woman and child carried lice, was clothed in little more than rags and had the lank hair, dark expression and stoop that signified imminent defeat. He knew he looked the same. They had a mirror in one of the latrines but he didn't think anyone looked in it any more.

'Yes,' said Kayvel. 'It is dirty, it is squalid, it is diseased, and soon we will all succumb one way or another. But out there is the only alternative. Do you really have to ask which any of these people would prefer?'

'But am I not just prolonging their deaths? Kayvel, you are a realist. You know what is happening to you. If what you have is infectious, well . . .'

Kayvel nodded. 'And we have had to face it since the first day. But nothing will kill them faster than a lack of faith and belief.'

Heryst sighed. 'What can I tell them? They aren't blind and we arc

failing. What? That they should hang on and hope for salvation? That eventually the demons will get bored and drift away? What can I tell them?'

He felt helpless. He'd have cried but his tear ducts were, like his mouth, dry. How could he give them hope when he had none?

'You have to give them a purpose and that purpose cannot be simply to hold on until they are overwhelmed. Until four days ago, we thought we were secure enough and we were wrong. Look at the fear. Taste it. Do something about it.'

Heryst looked into Kayvel's face. He saw the fading light in his friend's eyes and knew he had to give the dying man something to take with him.

'You think we should try and leave, don't you?' 'Staying here can have but one conclusion, Heryst.' 'Dammit.' Heryst rubbed his hands over his face. T can't make them do this, you know. Gods burning, not all of them are fit enough to travel.'

'Talk to them,' said Kayvel, his tone gently chiding. 'Your silence is damaging.'

'Yes. Yes, I know,' said Heryst through a breath. 'Thank you.' 'I'll stay here with any that can't travel. None of us will be taken.' Heryst jolted at Kayvel's words. T wouldn't leave you.' 'Don't be daft, my Lord.' Kayvel smiled. 'I'm too ill to run. At least let me die with dignity because die is what I undoubtedly will do.' He paused. 'Anyway, this could all be hypothetical. We don't know if anyone will want to leave.' 'Well, let's find out, shall we?'

Everyone that could be spared from watching, guarding or casting was assembled in the growing light of the grand council chamber now that the seekers were beginning to melt away. While the light was welcome, what it meant was that the seekers had probably found what they were looking for. Heryst didn't necessarily have much time before the next attack came in.

He took a look around the gathering. He knew every name, he knew all their family histories. He knew their strengths and their weaknesses and he knew their desire to live. He was looking at about a hundred people. All of whom looked back at him, desperate for answers. That wasn't exactly what he was going to be giving them.

'I'm not going to patronise you and I'm not going to pretend things are any less desperate than you already know them to be.' Heryst smiled gentry. 'And things are extremely desperate.'

A dry chuckle ran around the chamber.

'Kayvel and I have been talking and we are faced with a choice. Long ago, I stopped being the man who told you what to do and we have tried to do everything by consensus. This is why I am going to put this choice to you now. The demons are getting stronger and we are weakening though we are far from beaten. I look at all the faces assembled here and I see the will to survive burning bright. The question is, how will we best achieve our survival?

'And so to the choice. It is stark. We can stay here. Defend more stoutly and pray for release because it is clear we will not boat them with the numbers and resources we have. Or we can leave. Head north for Xetesk where the rumour is that the last free Balaians are gathering to fight. But I must stress it is only a rumour. We have no confirmation from the dark college, they are silent.

'You know what we face should we stay here. Making a run for it might seem attractive and indeed we will be in the open air, we will have access to fresh water and vegetables, perhaps even wild animals.'

He paused while the smiles spread through the gathering.

'But we will also be vulnerable. There will be no walls to guard us, only the ColdRoom shell. And to maintain casting on the move will be difficult. We are going to have to steal our own wagons and horses before we start.

'Now, again, before you decide for yourselves, think on this. If we strike out, we strike out into the unknown and we might be overwhelmed quickly. Here, we know how long we can hold out, health willing. And there will be those of us who will be unable to travel.' He held up his hands. 'Please. Hear me out. Those of you know who you are. You could not survive the trip and you would be a burden on the rest. It is harsh but we must face the full reality.

'Among those who would not travel is Kayvel.' Heryst had to pause, fearing his voice would crack. The sick mage gripped his hand tight. 'It breaks my heart but he knows his condition and he still believes the fit should leave. He will be with those who have to

remain behind. He knows what it means and he will not let any be taken by the demons.

'Think on it, and we will talk at nightfall. Thank you. Thank you all for everything you have done so far and everything that you still have to do. We will prevail. We will survive. Balaia will rise from the ashes of this invasion.'

The babble of conversation that broke out was doused quickly by a screech from below. The demons were attacking again.

Chapter 27

Lord Tessaya was in the forward positions overlooking Xetesk when the demon master approached. Not for the first time, the creature came to speak to the Wesmen. Always feeding them their forthcoming doom unless they joined the fight to bring the colleges down.

Tessaya recalled the offer that had been made the day before, Something to do with the sanctity of the western lands should the Wesmen complete the job the demons had begun in Julatsa. The Wesmen Lord had spies in the field near each college and was not as blind as the demons liked to think he was.

He had his chair brought up for him. It was horse hide, padded and stretched across a hardwood frame. High-backed, it was stitched with the Paleon crest. He settled into it and accepted a mug of herb infusion. He cupped his hands around it gratefully, the warmth combating a little of the freezing midday air. His furs were gathered about his shoulders and he had let his beard and hair grow thick, covering much of his battle-scarred face.

Settling into his chair, his lieutenants around him and every warrior tasked to show nothing but strength and belief, he waited for the demon to issue across the ground. He watched its tentacles rippling beneath its torso and was pleased to see its colour brighten to a mid-blue, its temper already frayed by Tessaya's lack of respect for its authority.

Closer to, he could see its brow was pinched in hard on its hairless head. Its nostril slits were flared and its long-fingered hands were clasped together in front of its writhing chest. It came to a halt about ten feet from him. It towered better than twenty feet above him, a fetid smell drifting on the light breeze. An imposing figure but impotent to do him harm.

'You push my patience to its limit, Wesman,' it said.

'Let us at least use the names we know we have,' said Tessaya, taking a sip of his drink. 'Unless, Drenoul, you wish me to call you "demon". Can I offer you a beverage?'

'I would rather chew my own body than accept the filth you drink,' replied Drenoul. 'Enough, I have a great deal to do. I will hear your answer to my proposal.'

'A moment,' said Tessaya, raising a finger. He beckoned one of his lieutenants close. 'Speak softly and make as if you are responding to my questions. I think this demon needs to understand its place in the eyes of Wesmen.'

'Indeed, my Lord,' said the warrior. 'One thing that might interest you is that we have received a scout from the college of Lystern recently.'

'Really?'

'He reports the college is on the verge of breaking.'

'Ah, something of a shame. I would hate to see the enemy forces able to divert north to join the Xetesk batdeground. Is there any indication as to their ability to hang on for any length of time?'

The warrior shrugged. 'They like all mages have proved themselves tenacious. It is inconceivable that they will simply roll over.'

'We will talk more later,' said Tessaya. He turned back to Drenoul. 'My apologies, I was reminding myself of the detail of your offer.'

Drenoul breathed out in a snarl. Its fingers unclasped and grasped at the air in front of it. Its colour lightened a shade further.

'As I understand it,' said Tessaya, 'you felt that we would best serve you by attacking Julatsa and its attendant elven defence under your local commander's direction. The reward for this was a promise that you would not seek to enslave my peoples.'

'That is an accurate summation.'

'What I nor my ruling cadre can understand is why you would make this offer. You have consistendy told me over the last two years that we could not hope to stand against you once the colleges had fallen and magic destroyed. Yet here you are plainly unable to complete your task and apparently needing my assistance. You'll understand my scepticism and my reluctance to trust a race for

whom utter dominion has long appeared to be the only conceivable goal.'

Drenoul was quiet for some time, forcing its colour back to a more palatable deep blue.

'We would concede some surprise at the length of college resistance,' it said eventually. 'And we want a swift resolution to allow us to take rightful control over the mage lands and the entirety of eastern Balaia. Those who aid us will be treated as allies in the years to come. Those who stand by or oppose us will be enslaved. There is your choice.'

Tessaya smiled, knowing it a patronising gesture. 'Or perhaps the reality is that without us you do not have the strength to beat the colleges and never will have. Perhaps you have lost more of your minions than you expected and your forces, finite as they must be, are actually being stretched.'

Drenoul flashed bright sky-blue. 'And perhaps you need a personal demonstration of our strength, Tessaya. The loss of Wesmen Spirits might serve to remind you of your tenuous hold on your own life.'

Tessaya fought the urge to stand, and instead leaned back further into his chair. 'But you cannot afford to, can you, Drenoul? Is it not true that should you send a force capable of taking some of my warriors, you would compromise your siege of Xetesk, or of Lystern or Julatsa, and allow them to strike out?

'You do not frighten me, Drenoul. Nor do you frighten any of those I command. I am aware we cannot kill you or any of your race but neither can you break us with a touch or a cut. My warriors are strong and they are numerous. We can keep you back at will. We have Understone Pass at our backs. We are a problem you wish you didn't have to face. As are the elves. Easterners are weak, their spirits are vulnerable. And in two years you have failed to break them. What makes you think you will ever be able to break us?'

Drenoul made a move forwards and immediately eight warriors drew their weapons and responded. Drenoul stopped, his colour now a thin, pale blue verging on white.

'Your words will not save you when we march on your helpless lands, Tessaya. They will ring hollow in your ears. The offer is withdrawn.'

Drenoul floated high into the sky, turned and flew quickly back towards Julatsa.

Tessaya pushed himself from his chair. 'Withdrawn? Rejected, I would suggest.' He looked for the lieutenant again. 'They don't need us to help them fight in Julatsa, I am certain of it. But they want us out of the way. Every scout that returns from the north, I want reporting immediately to me.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Tessaya began to walk back towards the fires at the centre of the camp.

'Something is about to happen. Something critical. I can feel it.'

Dystran and Vuldaroq were studying one of the more arcane and complex texts stolen from the library when the change in atmosphere happened. It was quite sudden, like the sun burning through thin cloud to warm the earth. They were in Dystran's chambers, surrounded by guards and with their few script-scholars nearby. These latter four were working on language which had defeated both the senior mages.

It took Dystran a while to work out what it was that had alerted his subconscious and caused him to look up and through his closed balcony windows.

'What has just happened?' he asked, pushing his chair back.

'You were struggling to decipher this word and wondered where it was they went, whoever they were, and if there are any of them left,' said Vuldaroq, a half-smile on his thin face.

Dystran glanced sideways at Vuldaroq as he got up. How strange the fortunes of Balaia had revealed themselves to be. Vuldaroq was a man that Dystran would gladly have seen swinging from a tree in the college courtyard before the demons had invaded. But without losing any of his trademark bite, the head of the Dordovan college had revealed himself to be a man of depth and strength as well as possessing a sharp analytical mind. It had taken him some time to throw off the memories of his flight from Dordover but he and his few mages had proved a tonic in the college of their erstwhile enemies.

If only they could break down the terminology contained in the texts Sharyr had brought back. Something important was eluding

him and it was based around an allusion to a people called the Charanacks. They held knowledge, so the text maintained, that had been the basis of the first deal struck between demon and Xeteskian mage well over a millennium ago. Dystran was frustrated. He'd have loved to know who they were. They would almost certainly be worth talking to.

T don't mean that,' said Dystran. He walked to the balcony doors and opened them, standing inside while his guards gathered about him. 'Just listen.'

Everyone in the chamber did so. Dystran saw a frown cross Vuldaroq's face.

'Quiet,' he said.

'Silence more like,' said Dystran.

He indicated his guards accompany him and he walked out into the fresh air of his balcony. Every day since the gliders had finished their search of the mana trails that identified the positions of their ColdRoom casters, demon activity had been incessant.

They had suffered a number of quick attacks from the reavers that they had been lucky to repel without losing any of their mages and only three swordsmen. And when the attacks weren't coming in, the creatures swarmed the shell, probing and teasing. They kept up a barrage of sound, hoping to distract their targets, and further away, any who cared to look would see enslaved Xeteskians being herded from one area of the city to another. There seemed no discernible purpose to this barring the sapping of morale.

But now the shell was deserted. Dystran couldn't see a single demon flying above the college or walking the outer walls. Further afield, he could see no slaves in the streets, no clusters of demons hovering over them as they worked. He could hear no cries of the exhausted, terrified and dying. There was no smoke from cook fires. Nothing.

Far in the distance, he could see the shapes of demons clustered in the air to the north. Confident, he walked the circle of his balcony. Away to the south, the fires of the Wesmen signified their confusing and continuing presence. Dystran wished they'd join one side or the other. Or indeed return to the Heartlands. Occasionally he had seen demons hovering near to die Wesmen. Attacking, talking or simply watching, he couldn't tell. There were none there now. In the

distant east there were more demons. West towards the Black-thornes too. Dark patches in the sky at the edges of the city and beyond.

Dystran completed his circuit and looked up into the sky above the college. In the blue, the vibrating white slash hung. If he tuned in to the mana spectrum he knew he'd be able to see the pure mana flooding into Balaia, strengthening the demons with every passing heartbeat. And occasionally, more demons would travel from wherever it was their homeland lay across inter-dimensional space, swarming into the sky before dispersing about whatever tasks they had been summoned to perform.

There was a crowd at the balcony doors.

'A trap, do you think?' asked Vuldaroq.

Dystran shook his head. 'It isn't their style, is it? I just don't understand it.'

'We should take advantage,' said Chandyr, who never left Dystran's side. 'Bring some of our people into the college.'

'No,' said Dystran.

'My Lord'

'No,' he repeated. 'Think, Chandyr.'

'I am,' said the commander, brisding. 'We have a chance to save some of our own.'

Dystran ushered them all back inside. He shared the urge to do exacdy what Chandyr desired but he knew it was folly. 'Whether it is a trap or not is immaterial. For one thing, I don't think you will find any Xeteskians within a mile of the college. Wherever those demons are hovering, that is where our people are, believe me. But even should you bring them in, it is impractical. We can barely feed and water ourselves, let alone any more mouths.'

Chandyr relaxed a little and inclined his head. T know you're right, it's just . . .' He gestured out towards the city.

T understand,' said Dystran. 'There is no one in this room, in this college, who does not want to save every man, woman and child in our city. But we have to liberate diem when we can truly help them. That isn't now but we will do it.

'But you're right, we must take advantage. So don't stand there. Take the fastest runners you have and let's get something more from the library, assuming it didn't all burn. And Chandyr, we don't trust

these bastards, right? So make sure some of your sprinters can cast, won't you?'

The Raven had enjoyed a peculiar rest. They, plus Kas, Ark and Eilaan, had camped on the idyllic shores of Triverne Lake for three days and four nights. They had seen no sign of demons. They had seen no sign of anything barring forest creatures, in truth. Curious. They'd sparred and trained, talked and rested but it all had a surreal quality. None of them could ever ignore the fact of what was to come.

If they'd been in a storm before then surely this was its eye.

Understanding Rebraal and Auum's likely timescale for evacuating Julatsa, they ate a quiet breakfast on yet another cold and clear morning before heading back for the longboat to row themselves to the main shore of the lake. No one spoke the whole way across the placid water either. Hirad had wanted to break the ice but had seen the look in The Unknown's eyes and kept himself quiet.

He shook his head. He found it absurd that in this one longboat the future of Balaia and at least three dimensions rested. To him, it felt like a funeral procession. Prophetic perhaps. Hirad left them all to it for the row but couldn't keep himself quiet when they'd reached the eastern shore, hidden the boat and moved to shelter.

'Brooding doesn't suit you, Unknown. Thinking about the family?'

'Not this time, Hirad.' The Unknown shook his head.

'So? I'm not going to guess just to amuse you. Tell me.'

The Unknown smiled briefly and looked across at Hirad to gauge his expression. Hirad mugged at him, stretching his eyes.

'This is serious. Think about what we're about to attempt. Think about the weight we carry, the lives of those reliant on us. Like never before, this is no game. We need to watch ourselves, Hirad,' he said. Hirad didn't reply. 'We need to watch what we do, how much we take on ourselves and how much we rely on those around us. Not overstretch.'

'Right.'

'Hirad, we are not sharp. How can we be? It'll take time even to get close and that means we cannot rely on each other the way we could.'

'I'm not with you.'

'I can't say it much plainer, Coldheart. What we were five years ago is a memory. What we were two years ago is probably unattainable. If we fight on those memories, we won't survive.'

Hirad frowned. 'We knew we weren't enough on our own. That's why we've brought a crowd with us.'

'You aren't listening to me.' The Unknown took a quick glance behind him and hushed his voice. 'I'm just asking you to wise up and understand that The Raven we all remember isn't the one walking here. It's got nothing to do with belief in ourselves. But we've sat around for two years. You know what that does and Darrick has seen its effects in our stamina, in our speed and teamwork. It's a matter of degrees but it's critical.'

'Unknown, in case it escaped your attention, I spent my time running with the TaiGethen and Thraun with the ClawBound. I am faster than I have ever been.'

'Fine!' The Unknown slapped his hands against his thighs. 'But I am not and nor is Darrick, Denser or Erienne. Nor are Ark and Kas come to that. Remember your little spin move outside Blackthorne? It almost got you killed. I was only just in time.'

'But you were there.' Hirad felt confused and a familiar anger grabbed at him. 'So what's the problem?'

'The problem, Hirad, is that you cannot rely on us as you did. And that means that for now at least, you have to slow down. Stay in line and in touch.'

'If you think I'm going to ignore an opening to kill because you think you're too old and slow you're wrong. I fight my way. Like I always have. And you yours. And we look out for each other. Like always.'

The Unknown stopped and faced Hirad, his eyes hard, face reddening slightly. 'Why do you always have to be such a stubborn bastard? I'm trying to help you stay alive here.'

Hirad could sense The Raven bunching around them. He thought to walk away but stayed. 'No you aren't. You're trying to clip my wings. Undermine my belief in you all and I can't understand why you'd do that. Where we're going, we'll need every advantage we've got and what I've learned from Auum is a big one.'

'And stopping any of us dying is another,' growled The Unknown.

'All I know is, we survive because we don't compromise. Because we do things our way. We're The Raven, Unknown.'

'Think it had slipped my mind? Gods drowning, it's because we're The Raven you need to understand this. Face reality. We're too old to be doing this but there is literally no one else. And we have to stay alive. We have to.'

'It's a tactic I like to employ myself,' snapped Hirad. 'Don't you stand there and tell me you can't watch my back. Don't ever say that.'

'When did I say that, Coldheart? What I recall telling you was that if you persist in trying fancy elven moves I'm not ready for, I might not be fast enough to save you if you get in trouble. Big difference. My hip is weak. You have to be aware.'

The Unknown was standing very close now and shouting into his face. Hirad could feel his heart beat and hear their voices echoing from the bleak faces of the Blackthorne range foothills. Hirad should have backed away, he knew he should.

'You're always there. That's why I have the courage to fight.'

'And what if I'm not, eh?' The Unknown's eyes searched his face. 'It'll be too late to realise I might have been right when you're lying in a sludge of your own intestines.'

'You're giving up, Unknown. You're giving up.'

The Unknown grabbed Hirad's face and pulled him close enough to kiss. 'No, dammit, I'm being real because if I ever let you down I could never live with myself. What are you being?'

Hirad stepped back a pace, The Unknown's admission ratding through him, shuddering his every nerve. He had no answer to it, how could he? The Unknown had begun by trying to advise him and had ended baring his soul.

Hirad became acutely aware of the silence that surrounded them, punctuated by the swirls of wind across hillside and lake. He stared into The Unknown's eyes, still at a total loss.

'This is it for us,' said The Unknown. 'I so want us all to live.'

'Movement,' said Kas abruptly.

Hirad bit down on his response, on his shock and confusion at what The Unknown was saying. Instead, he and the big man gave

themselves room and drew their swords. Thraun and Darrick moved easily alongside them while Denser and Erienne took station behind, already preparing to cast.

'Direction,' said The Unknown.

'Due north, moving against the low ridge,' said Kas. He, Ark and Eilaan were slightly detached from The Raven but working as an individual unit as they had trained.

'Running?' asked Darrick.

'Yes,' replied Kas.

'Good,' said Darrick. 'Probably not demons, then.'

'Let's hope you're right,' said Hirad.

The Raven moved north along the lake front. Presently, they could see shapes moving against the horizon. Three of them, quick-stepped and sure. Auum's Tai. It wasn't long before Hirad could see Auum's expression, one of irritation and exasperation.

Hirad smiled and put up his sword, waiting for them to approach.

Auum, Duele and Evunn ran up to them, barely breathing hard.

'This is your idea of concealment,' Auum said to Hirad.

'We've only just rowed over here.'

Auum tugged at his ear.

'And you are fortunate there are no others to hear you,' he said. 'Gyal's tears, but humans are noisy when they argue.' He appraised them all. 'You can all travel now.'

It was not a question. The Unknown inclined his head.

'We've said what needs to be said right now.'

'Keep it so,' said Auum. 'Threat closes.'

He turned to his Tai and spoke quickly. Duele and Evunn jogged away. When he switched his attention back, his face held familiar contempt.

'We move,' he said. 'The caravan is in trouble as it approaches Xetesk. Rebraal feels your presence will aid belief. I am at a loss why.'

Denser grabbed Hirad's arm.

'Just don't say it,' he said. 'We already know.'

Chapter 28

Baron Blackthorne stood in his banqueting hall and battered the demon about the head again and again. Gore splattered across the filthy stone flags, oozing into cracks and puddling under the creature's body. And with every blow, Blackthorne roared his defiance.

'You . . . will . . . never . . . take my castle. You . . . will . . . never . . . take me.'

He felt a touch on his free arm and swung round, ready to hack at another enemy. He raised his dripping blade but halted his strike when he saw it was Luke.

'It's over,' said Luke, holding his gaze. 'It's dead. The demons have withdrawn.'

Blackthorne became aware of the heaving of his chest and the heat in his face. His eyes would be blazing and wild, he knew. He took a few moments to calm himself, laying his sword on a table and smoothing down his hair. He nodded.

'I'm all right,' he said. 'Thank you, Luke.'

But he could see that Luke wasn't. The young man's face was crossed with cuts that bled freely. His leather armour was torn and his right hand was covered in a makeshift bandage, already stained dark and dripping. He was shivering violently and leaning heavily on his long- handled mace.

'Gods falling, Luke, you need attention,' he said. 'Come, lean on me. I'll take you to the infirmary.'

'There won't be room,' said Luke. 'But I'll lean on you gratefully. Show you what we have left.'

Blackthorne turned to walk back through the banqueting hall and stopped in his tracks. Ten days since he had hosted The Raven here and felt such hope. Now it had been reduced to a battlefield and almost all of that hope had been extinguished.

The main table was strewn with demon and human bodies. One end of it had collapsed under the weight of the fighting, spilling dishes and candelabra onto the floor. And that was only the half of it. Across the length of the two-hundred-foot room, those who could still walk moved among the bodies of those who could not, trying to help where, how and if they could. A quick count told Blackthorne that at least forty of his people lay dead, dying or incapacitated. Should that weight of numbers be replicated throughout the ColdRoom shell . . .

'How much do we have left?'

Luke's face was grim through the sheen of blood.

'The castle, the stable block, the back courtyard, the inner courtyard and the equipment sheds. That's about it.'

'Oh dear Gods.' Blackthorne shook his head. 'How many have we lost?'

T don't know,' said Luke. 'We'll do a count later but it's bad. We've a core of mages for the ColdRooms but there's no way we can see off another attack of that magnitude.'

'We might have to find a way.'

Blackthorne, with Luke leaning on him heavily, headed for the main doors of the hall. On his way, he caught the eye of a warrior looking up from a dead companion.

'He put himself in front of me,' the soldier explained. 'The demon tore at his heart. Should be me.'

'But it isn't, Sergeant,' said Blackthorne gently. 'And everyone, living or dead, is a hero today. If we weren't, they would have overrun us. Pay him back; never give in.'

The sergeant nodded. Blackthorne could see the man shivering. His eyes were unfocused as if there was nothing behind them. He was absolutely terrified, traumatised by the experience. Blackthorne reached out and helped him up. At least he was steady on his feet.

'There is nothing you can do for him. The duty watch will take him with the others, if there's anything left of them that is. Why don't you fetch my sword from the table over there and help me with Luke?'

Blackthorne took a last gaze around the banqueting hall. It was a charnel house. It stank. At the far end, teams were being organised to clear the bodies out to the courtyard where they would be buried.

They couldn't afford the wood for pyres, nor the water to wash away the blood. Not until they'd ascertained what supply they had left.

He became aware of the filth on his own body; demon as well as human. And also the increasing weight Luke was putting on him.

'Hey, boy, not feeling so good?'

'I've felt better,' agreed Luke.

The soldier hurried back across the floor.

'Take his other side,' ordered Blackthorne. T take it the barracks are out of bounds.'

'Yes, my Lord,' said Luke.

'Then you will rest in my quarters.'

'No. There is so much to do.'

'Yes, there is. And I and the good sergeant here will organise it. When I have the numbers, I will bring them to you. No buts, Luke, I need your mind and right now it's not all there, is it?'

Blackthorne all but crumbled faced with Luke's look of gratitude. The young man slumped against him.

'Dammit,' he said. 'Come on, let's get moving.'

He and the sergeant hurried Luke from the hall. The situation in the corridors they travelled was little better than that they'd just left. Bodies, not enough still moving, littered walkways, stairs and chambers. They passed the infirmary, a hive of activity and bursting at the seams, on the way to his rooms.

'Attention, my chambers. Now.' He barked, not waiting for a response.

They bundled Luke up the stairs and all but threw him on Blackthorne's wrought-iron, curtained bed. It was dim in the bedchamber. The fire was cold, no candles were lit and the windows were shuttered and nailed. Demons marauded outside.

The sergeant wrung out the cloth in Blackthorne's basin and folded it for a compress.

'He's not got a fever, man!' snapped the Baron. 'Bank and light the fire. Quickly.'

Blackthorne pulled the covers to Luke's neck and sat on the bed. He used the cloth to clean away the worst of the blood, feeling Luke's icy skin.

'Hang on, lad. Hang on. It'll pass.'

'Not going anywhere,' said Luke faintly.

'Good.'

There was a tentative knock on the door. He shouted them in, two healers.

'Don't let him die. We need him. I need him.'

Blackthorne ran from his chambers. He had to know what he still controlled, what forces were still under his command. At every turn, the prognosis became less palatable and it forced him to consider three questions. Why had they suddenly become so very much stronger; why had they pulled back if they were really as strong as they appeared; and when would they be back to deal the fatal blow?

Until that afternoon, his ColdRoom shell had covered about a third of the area of his town; and they had held it comfortably. He was now having to come to terms with the fact that he was a prisoner in his own castle. Luke had not been exaggerating and Blackthorne was thankful that enough order remained for a watchful defence perimeter to be in place. He owed Darrick particularly and his determination that they set up multiple overlapping defensive cells. He'd probably never have the opportunity to thank him personally.

Blackthorne took a longer look in the infirmary the second time around. The once calm and quiet whitewashed chamber was awash with noise and blood. It echoed to the cries of the injured and fading, the exhortations of healers and the squeal of metal on stone as cots were dragged from examination to treatment and, if the incumbent was fortunate, recovery. Every inch of floor space was covered with his warriors, mages and ordinary townspeople. They lay on makeshift pillows, were propped against walls and pillars and cradled in the arms of loved ones.

He paused to offer comfort to those he could and promise resources to the healers if he could muster any. Hot water and clean cloth were in desperately short supply.

Clattering down to the kitchens, he found some cause for hope. Deep in the bowels of the castle, with their chimneys grilled and venting smoke into the foundations and caves, they had escaped the attack. Food was being prepared, water was boiling and a bucket chain was in operation from the trio of wells. Blackthorne nodded approval at the level of guards in this room that now found itself the hub of operations.

He shook hands, patted backs and spoke encouragement. It was

crucial he was visible. Gods, half the castle probably didn't know if he was dead or alive. He toured quickly; checked the stable block, assessed the condition of horses and mages, the courtyard where guards still walked but where anxiety had replaced confidence and where twos had replaced threes and fours, and the periphery of the shell. He felt its closeness and tried to count the demons.

They were still there but they had suffered huge losses. Black-thorne and his people had given them a real bloody nose but at great cost. Surely, the demons, even if they were temporarily depleted which he doubted, could simply reinforce. His numbers were severely diminished and they knew it. Yet there were no taunts, no displays and no shows of strength or intent. The town was quiet. So quiet that they were barely even being watched.

Later, having completed his tour of the grounds, gardens and buildings still in his gift, he went back to his chambers and sat with Luke. The boy's eyes bored into the ceiling while he spoke.

'What would your assessment be ... it could be worse? That about covers it. We have the mage strength to cycle our casters. We have the secure area for mana replenishment and we have access to food and water; the latter indefinitely, the former for another forty days at least.

'It would have been fewer but I'm afraid our losses have been steep. We might have a shell over the castle but realistically, we can't defend much more than the kitchens, stables, ground chambers and banqueting hall. We should really relocate the infirmary too. If we do that, I feel we can hold out until there is no food in our bellies. We're still strong, we have our belief. But we can't break out though. We don't have the people any more. At least, I don't think so.

'Your opinion would have been so valuable. Your insight and organisation too. And most of all, your optimism. I'm sorry I left you, Luke. I'll grieve when I am alone.'

Blackthorne reached over and closed Luke's eyes. He turned to look properly at the bodies of the healers and the sergeant he had brought up here only to die.

T am moved almost to tears, but I cannot cry. Was that speech for me or for him? He with the glorious soul that so sates me now.'

'His name was Luke and it was for us all,' said Blackthorne, standing.

'And do you believe it? Truly?' Ferouc moved from the shadows, wings furled at his back, his colour a resonant, relaxed deep green. 'Or have I finally convinced you that this futile struggle is at an end?'

'It's funny, you know. Had you come to me as I walked outside instead of this,' Blackthorne indicated the broken shutter, T might have had half a mind to agree with you. But you have just killed the wrong man and now I will fight you to the very last. Do you find that funny, Fidget? What drives men on?'

Ferouc's colour flared briefly bright. Its fingers clacked together.

'Beware your insults, Baron Blackthorne. You are unarmed.'

'And you are within my shield. Weak. Vulnerable.' Blackthorne moved towards the demon. 'Want to find out who would prevail?'

'Just one lingering touch, human.'

'Do you really believe I would succumb that easily?' Blackthorne found he had no fear of the creature. Powerful though it was, he could feel only a brooding anger and determination. It gave him true courage and a line to every like-minded man and woman across Balaia. It was the perfect defence. T am Baron Blackthorne. No one dominates me. No one takes from me what I am.'

Ferouc's hands clasped together and in its throat, it forced a dry rasp.

'It is a shame for Balaia that not all humans are so strong. Even so, you can be defeated. Broken.'

Blackthorne saw the reavers float in through the twisted shutter. Three of them.

'We have won, Baron Blackthorne. Our strength is too much for you even inside your shell now. But believe me, surrender is painless.'

Blackthorne snatched the dagger from his pocket sheath, backhanded it across the throat of the nearest creature. The demon crashed backwards, dying quickly, and Blackthorne moved into the space and to the door. He felt small gratification at the genuine surprise on Ferouc's face and the lightening of its colour.

'Every Baron has enemies, Fidget, and none ever walk unarmed,' he said. 'We will prevail. The Raven and die elves will beat you and you will die never having taken my casde or tasted my soul.',

He took the stairs down three at a time, bellowing for his guards.

The furious barks split the Besharan sky. Immediately, the choreographed grace of the mock attack pattern dissolved. Broods pulsed and called their dragons together. Sha-Kaan watched helplessly while across die arena the structure broke up. Gost climbed high and circled. Stara bunched and gave themselves space in their homeland direction. Skoor sank into a cloud layer, taking on a defensive pattern.

Smaller broods scattered to the winds and the orb. Dragons bumped and barged. Flames lit up the fading day. Several dragons could be seen spiralling from the sky, trailing smoke. Tension flared, sudden anger drove the mood. Naik and Kaan dragons flew into the gap, appealing for calm.

From the south, Sha-Kaan watched the clutch of Brood Koli approach. None could fail to feel the fury that they pulsed into the psyche. And all knew instantly at whom it was directed. Space widened around the Skoor, who protested innocence and defiance in equal measure. Sha-Kaan requested Yasal follow him and he soared away to join the gathering of both their broods.

'There must be no conflict whatever the crime,' he pulsed. 'Surround the Skoor. Yasal, please, with me to the Koli.'

'Of course,' said Yasal.

The forces of the Naik and Kaan flew onto the cloud bank where the Skoor waited. The psyche was packed with disgust, betrayal and anger, and tinged with a little conciliation.

Sha-Kaan felt a burgeoning sense of inevitability. Tension and grievance had taken longer to surface than he had anticipated. His naivety had been in beginning to think they'd escape without serious trouble. Flying towards the onrushing Koli, just seven of them, Sha could see flights of dragons from almost every brood detach and fly for their Broodlands. He had been tempted to do the same.

'Slow,' he pulsed to the Koli. 'Slow.'

They ignored him, powering on and adjusting to fly by the two emissaries for peace. Yasal angled away too, Sha letting him go and continuing on his trajectory to bring him into formation with them rather than bar their passage.

'Falon-Koli, you will stop and you will talk. You cannot reach them.'

'Do not try and stop me, Sha-Kaan,' pulsed Falon. 'This is not your concern.'

'Every conflict is my concern at this time,' said Sha, letting irritation enter his tone. 'We work for all our futures.'

'I have no future!' roared Falon. 'The Skoor have attacked our Broodlands. We are destroyed. We are all that is left.'

Another pulse flooded Sha.

'We trusted you, Sha-Kaan, and we have been betrayed. You fight for your future. All we have left is revenge.'

'No,' said Yasal, his pulse angry. 'You must not attack. You must not risk all that we are building.'

'You build nothing,' spat Falon-Koli. 'Alliance based on lies and rumours. Where is your threat, Sha-Kaan? I will tell you. It is the Skoor. And they have used you to destroy us. We will die but we will exact revenge. It is all we have.'

'One more time. Slow. Please.'

Sha-Kaan was cruising in a high arc above them now. Closing fast. Yasal bored up from below on intercept.

'Stop us and feel our flame.'

At a signal, the seven Koli split. Sha-Kaan bellowed his frustration. He pulsed his brood as Yasal would be doing. Skoor scattered from their cloud base. One hundred and seventy-five of them; completely overwhelming for the Kofi.

'Flame take you, Caval-Skoor,' he pulsed. 'What have you done?'

'What we had to,' came the calm reply. 'And now the task will be completed and you will have my attention.'

Caval had broadcast to all that might hear. A flood of enraged responses filled the psyche. They would not fly with the Skoor; they had put aside their disputes; they would side with the Kofi to drive the Skoor from the skies.

Naik and Kaan dragons begged for calm while they aligned themselves for defence. Sha- Kaan, his heart thundering in the centre of his body, felt the hope drain from him. He roared again, blasting flame into the empty sky. Koli and Skoor closed on one another, calls of hate, taunts of death sounding loud. Broods across the sky formed into attack and defence formations. Stara and Gost packed

together. The smaller broods gathered, some already flew in the slipstream of the few Koli. The first flames struck, the first jaws clamped on.

'Yasal, break away. Don't put yourself into this. Kaan, to the heights.'

The Broods Kaan and Naik spiralled upwards. Sha-Kaan heard the screeches of burned dragons and he closed his eyes.

'Please,' he pulsed to any that would listen. 'Pull away. Tanis-Veret, Koln-Stara, Eram-Gost. All of you who would save our dimension pull away. Join us in the heights.'

But the deafening roars of battle below tolled at him that they were lost.

Chapter 29

The Raven had been aware the elven-led Julatsan force was approaching long before they could see it. Auum had brought them slightly south of Triverne Lake to a hidden position overlooking the route of the wagons.

It was largely a psychological cover point. True, the crag formation gave them a sight and attack barrier from everywhere but head-on; but The Raven had a signature that the demons craved and they would sense it long before they needed their eyes. The risk was a calculated one. Denser considered the density of mage souls would be enough to deflect their attention for long enough to allow a clear run in.

For some time, they had been watching the demons tracking the train, swarming and swooping to attack in their hundreds. Spells had flared and bludgeoned in response. The low roar of order, combat and movement had been a constant companion. But only now was the picture complete.

Coming into view on the crest of a long, shallow rise, the first wagons were picked out in late- afternoon silhouette. They were no more than a mile away. Hirad could see elves shadowing each wagon as well as those that rode canvas roofs and running plates.

Demons clustered in the sky above and battled inside the Cold-Room shell as the train made its ponderous progress towards Xetesk, pace governed by the fragile concentration of the casters within the wagons. The mages without whom the allies would be overwhelmed.

Yellow light washed out from just behind the crest of the hill. Demons screeched and scattered. Some fell, spiralling helplessly, others dived on the casters.

'How are they doing that?' asked Hirad.

'Rebraal must have spaced the ColdRooms,' said Erienne. 'Created mana-rich areas.'

'Fascinating,' said Denser. 'If you consider that mana is channelled over the outsides of the shells, it'll create areas of real density if the spacing is right.'

Hirad looked across at him. 'We really must talk about it some more. I'd so love to learn.'

'You are such a heathen, Coldheart,.' said Denser. 'It's a very clever idea. Nothing you'd ever dream up.'

'Risky, isn't it?' said Darrick.

'Only if they hang around once they've cast,' said Erienne.

Hirad watched the fighting inside the shell and couldn't help but smile. From this distance it was impossible to identify facial features but it hardly mattered. A demon attack went in. A swarm of tiny demons Auum identified as strike-strain, and that Hirad recognised only too well, were backed by the man-size reavers.

The strike-strain were there to cause confusion where they could and they plunged straight for the wagon drivers. And there they met the defence. The elves, deliberate, graceful and always on the offensive. And their human companions, those that had survived this far, frenzied, panicked and forever on the back foot. That was why Rebraal needed The Raven. To give the humans focus and belief.

'How many wagons set out?' he asked.

'Fifteen,' said Auum.

'Dear Gods burning,' said Hirad.

The end of the train was in sight. Eight wagons remained.

'They'll be here in less than half an hour,' said Denser.

'Know that for a fact, do you?' said Hirad.

'Educated guess.'

'Hardly matters. We need to get in there and get involved. We've done enough hanging around. We've'

'Hirad, are you all right?' Erienne's hand was on his neck.

'I'

The full force of the rage hit him then. He knew he was falling but he was helpless to save himself. His body was suffused with the strength of Sha-Kaan's fury and he had no option but to let it wash him away.

'Sha-Kaan,' he managed. T can't'

The Great Kaan was close to losing control. The frustrations and anger thudded around Hirad's skull, rendering him helpless. He was dimly aware of his friends spealdng to him, touching him, but he had no way of responding. He gathered the vestiges of his consciousness to him and did the only tiling he could.

'Sha-Kaan, stop. You're killing me.'

Abruptly, the hammering of emotion within him ceased but did not allow him to return to consciousness.

'Skies take them, they are destroying all our hopes.' Sha-Kaan's words flooded his senses. Hirad felt his despair and impotence.

'Who?' he asked into the void.

Sha-Kaan sighed, a sonorous exhalation laced with sorrow. 'It would take so long to explain. Since you're unexpectedly at rest, I will grant you this. See through my eyes. Feel what I feel.'

Hirad experienced an acute sensation of falling. He felt the ground disappear and a sense of vastness take its place. Cold air channelled across his body and every nerve and fibre was suffused with ancient pain and longing.

He heard the beat of wings, felt their resistance against the air, their driving power. His nostrils caught the harsh scents of wood and oil, the smell of wrecked, burned flesh. He could