Noonshade

by James Barclay

  “We'll colour the shield pale green. You'll be able to see through it but don't step outside of its bounds or your weapons will be useless and your soul will be lost.”

  Hirad and The Unknown nodded. Will turned to Thraun whose wolfen eyes bored into his face.

  “Stay beside me always,” he said. “Don't leave my side for a moment.” He drew his dual short swords, unable to keep the quiver from his arms. Thraun looked up at him, a growl rumbling in his throat.

  “Are you sure they'll attack us?” asked Will.

  “There can be no doubt,” said Sha-Kaan, his voice tone altered as he steered the corridor toward Julatsa, along the trails and markers given to him by the stricken Elu-Kaan. “Our presence will disrupt their energies, acting like a stopper in a bottle. Your souls will attract them like dragons to prey, deflecting their attention. Soul-taking Arakhe have little discipline when temptation is put in their way.” He swung his long neck around and over their heads to face them. “One more thing. Expect the Arakhe from anywhere. They are not bound by our laws. They could come from above you or from beneath your feet as well as straight at you. Their touch is like fire, their bite like ice and their eyes will try to prise the souls from you. Strike hard and strike often. Show them no fear.”

  He locked eyes with Hirad for a moment and the barbarian felt a flow of thanks tinged with anger. Sha-Kaan blamed their casting of Dawnthief for all that had come since and he wouldn't forgive quickly.

  Hirad turned to the mages. “You ready?”

  Ilkar nodded. “Just keep your sword sharp.”

  “I wonder what colour demon blood is.”

  “Well, now's a good time to find out,” said Denser. “Find out a lot, will you?”

  Hirad smiled. “As much as I can. Let's go Raven. Great Kaan, the casting will start on your word.”

  “Excellent. Begin at once.” Sha-Kaan returned his head forward. A ripple ran through the corridor. Hirad adjusted, knees unlocked. He drew his sword. Behind him, the mages sat back to back. They couldn't afford a fall to break their concentration.

  Ilkar found he wasn't scared of the union of the three magics. Indeed, since his first enforced link with Denser, to save Hirad back in Septern's long barn, the idea had fascinated him as he knew it did the Xeteskian.

  With all three minds attuned to the mana spectrum, Ilkar watched as the streams of orange-, deep blue- and yellow-hued mana indicating Dordover, Xetesk and Julatsa respectively ran together over their heads. Each mage was encased in a sheath of colour while above them their magics mixed like the plaits of a rope, each strengthening the other two.

  Then, with the stream coiling and thrusting, seeking outlet, the trio tipped their heads back so that their skulls touched and clasped hands left and right to complete the circle. Erienne, who had most knowledge of mana exclusion constructs, led the casting.

  “One magic, one mage,” she said.

  “One magic, one mage,” repeated Denser.

  “Just get on with it,” said Ilkar, feeling the warmth between Denser and Erienne through the mana flow which now encased them all in a single tricoloured tulip.

  “I'll speak the words but we must all reinforce the shape. Keep your colours for now and push out to form one side of an equilateral triangle. Bring the sides in and rotate.” Erienne's voice was barely above a murmur.

  Ilkar felt a tremor through the corridor but ignored it, concentrating on the slowly moving four-sided pyramid shape above their heads. Erienne let it settle before moving on.

  “Divide and angle out your sides. Allow the apex to break.” A six-sided shape formed from the pyramid. “Mirror and double, base to base.”

  It was a fairly simple construct and now, almost formed, the two pyramids flush and rotating in opposite directions, Ilkar could see where the shape was going and where the difficulty lay. Erienne confirmed his view.

  “All right; we need a spike at either end, each one rotating opposite to the pyramid beneath, each six-sided with consecutive panels of each College mana to bind it securely and to produce the shape to force mana around the outside of the whole. The pyramids must continue rotating during spike construct.” She fell silent and the air around Ilkar hummed with effort.

  It was a trick of the mind, the ability to maintain and construct simultaneously. Partitioning was a skill taught early but learned long. Ilkar had no doubt they'd all mastered it but this was different. If the pyramids stopped rotating, the spell would backfire with consequences Ilkar guessed would be severe. Perhaps memory loss, perhaps blindness. Maybe death.

  Denser's panels appeared almost immediately, rotating opposite each other, apexes touching.

  “I am secure,” he said and Ilkar wondered briefly what Dawnthief had actually done to him. It should have been impossible to produce the panels that fast. But it had its benefits and gave Ilkar a target for his own panels.

  Imagining a gentle breeze, he set the thought aside, knowing it would sustain the pyramids’ rotation for a short while.

  Despite the two-way pull on his mana flow, Ilkar, using subtle movement of his still-clasped hands, dragged mana with mind and intonation, matching Denser's triangular panel sizes. He forged them deep yellow and robust, snapping them into place instants after Erienne's. Now the pyramids held counter-rotating spikes at either end and the spell could be completed.

  “Outstanding,” said Erienne, though there was little surprise in her voice. She knew the extent of their abilities. “The two halves must mirror exactly in shape and rotation speed. Flatten and spread the pyramids…yes. Widen the bases of the spikes. Hold it. We're ready to deploy.”

  “I'm stable,” said Denser.

  “Me also,” said Ilkar. Above them, the mana shape hung and spun like two large, spiked, domed helmets.

  “Dor anwar enuith,” said Erienne, the words of Dordovan lore sparking through the shape, mixing threads of pale orange through the yellow and blue. “Eart jen hoth.” She unclasped her hands from Ilkar and Denser and held them, arms stretched, above her head. “Deploy.” She brought them down, her palms slapping on the stone floor. The mana shape expanded as if a burst of air had been fired into it at enormous pressure. One half covered The Raven and Sha-Kaan, the other was beneath them, intended to slow the advance of any demons who attacked from below.

  “Lys falette,” said Ilkar quietly and a green washed through the shape, pale and translucent. The trio of mages allowed their heads to drop. The casting was complete. Raven and dragon breathed air untainted by mana. It tasted and felt no different but to the mages, the Cold Room was an instant drain. They could not hold it for long.

  Hirad didn't have to open his mouth to advise Sha-Kaan the spell was done. A savage jolt shook the corridor, ruffling the tapestries which hung from the walls and sending sparks from the fires as log and coal shifted. Hirad wobbled and Will sprawled, tripping against Thraun's broad flank. The wolf howled in fear, unable to see the threat but knowing it was there.

  “Steady, Raven,” said The Unknown who had not even had to adjust his footing. He tapped his sword's point on the stone, its gentle clashing bringing clarity to mind and banishing uncertainty.

  A second jolt, followed by a long rumbling through the stone of the corridor, shook dust into the air.

  “Prepare yourselves,” said Sha-Kaan.

  Hirad and The Unknown exchanged glances. Inside the Big Man's eyes was an unease Hirad had never seen before, but with it a determination strong enough to wipe away doubt, and Hirad knew exactly why. The Unknown was a man who already knew what it was to lose his soul to the demons. That time, he had been given it back and he had no desire to lose it again.

  With their souls a clarion call for any demon, The Raven plunged into the DemonShroud.

  The Julatsan Council ringed the mana candle in the centre of the Heart, arms in crucifix form, as the roar of demon mana tore around them, whipping away the holding patterns they struggled to make and forcing them to expend energy merely keeping the door to the demon d
imension closed.

  The casting to cap and disperse the DemonShroud had begun calmly enough and the shape that would close the Shroud and dissipate its energy back into the demon dimension, which could be likened to a crown, had been quickly made and deployed. But exactly at the moment when that shape had connected with the Shroud, the demons had attacked, sending blasts of pure mana energy through the Shroud's periphery.

  As he clung desperately to his concentration and the tatters of the crown, Barras thanked the Gods that the Council mages were so exceptional in their mastery of magic. A lesser set would have lost hold completely and been blown away, their minds wrecked by the power the demons threw at them. As it was, both Endorr and Cordolan had momentarily slipped, relying on the remainder of the Council to cling on with their minds to the crown until they could refocus.

  And with his thanks went a fear that, no matter how powerful they were, the Council would not be able to keep their hold for long and it was already too late to go back. The mana construct bordering the Shroud was maintained throughout its life by the demons and it was for this service that they demanded a critical soul. On dispersal, that control was taken from the demons and brought once again into the domain of Julatsa.

  It was an enormous drain on mana stamina but, crucially, also meant a change to the nature of the construct. It was at this point that, theoretically at least, demons could force their way through the protection afforded by the construct and flood Balaia with mana enough to choke the life from every living thing. Mages had always known of the possibility but never had the demons had an independent source of power large enough to make that potential a reality. Until now.

  But what really worried Barras was that the demons knew exactly when to strike and that meant they had an understanding of Julatsan lore and mana construction far in excess of anything he had dreamed of. It potentially also meant that they could read the trails and, if that was the case, they could counteract anything the Council wanted to do almost before it was tried.

  And that left them hanging on to the crown, alternately attempting to close it onto the Shroud or clawing its shape back to prevent the demons tearing it to shreds as they clearly intended to do. Barras shuddered. The crown was the weak point of the construct but its destruction would leave the Shroud construct both changed and vulnerable. To lose the crown was unthinkable. The demons would be free.

  “Kerela, we must reform the shape. The crown is losing outline. We can't close it down like this.” Barras knew his voice was low but that every member of the Council could hear it through the screams of mana battering at their inner minds.

  “We must regain cohesion first. The link to the Shroud is not fast,” said Kerela, her voice calm and authoritative. “Endorr, we need a shield against the demon mana.”

  “Yes, High Mage.” The strain in the young mage's tone mirrored that on his consciousness.

  “Leave the crown to the rest of us. We can hold it while you cast,” said Kerela.

  “Withdrawing,” said Endorr. Even as his mind cut away from the crown, those of Vilif and Seldane closed to take up the slack in the shape, keeping it together. Barras closed his eyes and let his mind drift carefully toward Endorr, feeling his pull on the mana as he created the shield, modifying its normal shape, used to repel offensive spells, to one that would act as a buffer to a stream of pure mana. He smiled. Endorr was quite brilliant, melding the spell shield with a ManaMask designed to block attacks on the mind.

  As quickly as it had come, Barras’ smile disappeared. Endorr's mana shape was ragged, the two spells linking imprecisely allowing one to flow indiscriminately into the other causing instability. Yet Endorr seemed not to have sensed it as he poured more and more force into it, its boundaries beginning to pulse as he drove toward deployment. But there, right in the midst of the rough-cut dodecahedron, a miasma of colours. Yellow conflicting with a vivid purple and a dark swirling grey that told of a potentially catastrophic weakness.

  “Endorr, you aren't stable. Check your lore. Don't cast. You have time.” Barras’ urgent words affected concentration all around the candle. Wisps of the crown tore away as the Council were deflected by the sight of Endorr's flawed mana shape. But the young mage didn't hear him. Outside the circle of the crown's casting, he was lost in his own concentration, his lips moving soundlessly and his hands flickering as they sought to hold the shape together. Only he couldn't see the trauma at its centre. Why, Barras didn't know, but the darkness consumed the core of the twin spell linkage and casting could result in only one thing.

  “Endorr!” shouted Kerela, her grip on the crown not slipping even as her conscious mind dominated in the attempt to disturb the youngster. Endorr continued to intone quietly and a ripple of anxiety ran through the remainder of the Council, reflected in the crown. Kerela called for concentration and the vital shape steadied though all eyes stayed on Endorr.

  None of them could move. To do so would render the crown unsustainable—five could not hope to maintain it against the storm from the demon dimension. Endorr built toward casting, the dodecahedron pulsating bright yellow, shot through with bronze and white, but at its centre, the grey. Barras could feel the tension carving through the circle.

  “Brace yourselves. If he backfires, we'll need to be strong,” warned Kerela.

  Why could Endorr not see his error? Barras fought to find a way through, something that he could communicate but he knew there was nothing. And he knew that to let go his mind any longer would leave the crown at even greater risk.

  Endorr opened his eyes, spoke the command word and only then saw the cancer in his construct that his mind should have picked up. His face filled red as the shape blossomed outward then collapsed back on itself, simultaneously consumed by the ravaging grey within.

  A shrill squeal escaped his tight-closed mouth, blood ran from his nose and ears and his whole body shook, hands scrabbling at the air, furious in their attempts to control the contracting spell.

  With a flash in the mana spectrum that blanked thought for an instant, the construct imploded. Endorr's head snapped back savagely, his limbs tensed then he crumpled, unmoving to the floor of the Heart.

  The glare cleared as soon as it had come and the crown was rocking. A renewed blast of mana howled through the edges of the Shroud, ripping away the linkage in a dozen places.

  “Lock it down,” said Kerela. “Lock it down.” The remaining six of the Council fought for purchase, grappling the failing cap into some semblance of order.

  “What now?” asked Seldane, her voice full of fear.

  “We wait and we think. We concentrate and we become strong,” said Kerela.

  “Wait for what?”

  “I don't know, Seldane,” she said and for the first time, Barras saw the possibility of defeat in her eyes. “I don't know.”

  The corridor rattled as it cut across the outer border of the DemonShroud. Instantly, the green outline of the Cold Room was covered with the writhing blue shapes of demons. Without the spell, the Raven's souls would already be gone but the howls of frustration and pain from a hundred sharp-toothed mouths told their own story. And for a moment, none ventured further.

  “Don't wait for them. Strike at their bodies as they press against your spell. Make them fear you. Make them slow,” said Sha-Kaan and as if to demonstrate, his jaws, leaking fire, snapped forward, joined by his front limbs and a thrash of his tail before the latter coiled again protectively around the mages.

  The Unknown's sword point ceased its tapping.

  “Raven,” he growled. “Raven with me!” He swept up his blade and crashed it in an upward arc into the armourless bodies of the demons in its path. Screeches of anger were followed by the snaking out of arms and legs, claws flashing, skittering across the metal as it flashed past them. Hirad looked briefly to the right, seeing Will launch a ferocious attack, his twin short swords weaving a complex lattice in front of him. Thraun howled and joined the onslaught.

  Hirad's attention switched to
his own situation. The Raven's blades had maddened the demons and he could see them swarming over the surface of the Cold Room, looking for the place of easy strike. Again and again, a demon would press through into the mana-less space, only to recoil, blue colour dulled, pain evident in the cry of anguish and the contortion of the face.

  But more were joining them and the desire to be the first to taste the flesh and the souls would overcome the damage caused by a flight in mana-free air. Hirad looked up. More were crowding over their heads, clamouring for blood, clamouring for life essence.

  “There are so many of them. Can we beat them?” asked Hirad.

  “Our role is not to beat them,” said Sha-Kaan, a trimmed gout of fire withering the arm of a demon who pushed in too far. The creature disappeared. “The more we can attract, the less pressure on the Julatsan Council. We must keep them occupied. It might give the mages the opportunity to close the Shroud.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then we were all dead anyway.” Sha-Kaan turned his head and stared briefly at his Dragonene. Hirad felt the confidence flow through his body. “Fight, Hirad Coldheart. Fight Raven. Like you have never fought before.”

  The first of the demons braved the torture of the Cold Room and the battle for survival began.

  The battering at their minds grew more persistent, like a gale turning to a hurricane, tearing at the strands that held the crown together, ripping mana stamina from their bodies and striking at their concentration. But with it came the voices and the laughter. As the demons gained strength and confidence, as the mana they hurled in great waves at the Julatsan Council sapped the will of their enemies, so they moved closer, all but daring to breach the Balaian dimension.

  It was a whispering at first from which Barras could glean nothing coherent. Then slowly the volume increased and coalesced into a single voice supported by many others and carrying with it the scorn of millions. And it promised misery. An eternity of suffering for him and all he held dear to his heart. It assured him of pain, of agony and of unending sorrow. It promised him hell.