The Raven Collection

by James Barclay

  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 towards 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 towards 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 towards 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 outwards 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.

  Though only if he clung on to his futile spell.

  If he were to let it go, if he would allow the demons to finish their work, he would be spared. They would all be spared. Yes, a few might die out in the streets but was that such a large price to pay for the saving of the Council who were the very core of Julatsan magic? Was it so unthinkable that, after a life’s selfless sacrifice he should consider himself for once? And in this case, the price in human lives now would be far outweighed by the benefit to future generations. Let it go. All he had to do was let it go.

  Barras opened his eyes with a start, his heart hammering. All around the circle, the Council’s eyes were closed. Cordolan even had a smile on his face. And above them, the shape of the crown slowly unwound itself. From its head, the deftly spinning diamonds flattened, dropped and disappeared. From its hub, the solidity of the lattice framework snapped and in its rim, the linkage to the Shroud frayed and was chopped away on the blizzard of demon mana.

  ‘No!’ shouted the elf negotiator and the crown teetered, its hold against the demons now held only through the mages’ innate sense and subconscious minds. But that too was fading, his word serving only to damage what little concentration was left inside the minds of his friends.

  ‘Kerela, awake,’ he said sharply, knowing the use of the High Mage’s name would stir her but might also pull her from the circle. It was a risk he had to take and he grasped at the section of the crown Kerela controlled as the elder returned to her senses, mouthing words of agreement and acceptance that changed to curses and threats. The sweat poured from Barras as his mind clung to a larger section of the construct than he could properly control.

  And then Kerela was with him, pushing him gently aside as she reasserted herself. Not even pausing to reflect, she said:

  ‘Now the others. Occupy their hold before you speak to them. And be gentle.’

  Like drawing children from a deep, dream-filled slumber, Barras and Kerela caressed the minds of the hypnotised Council to a bemused, then desperate wakefulness. They could hear the demons, their voices inviting denial of reality and of a surrender to hell, first persuasive and then with agitation and finally in fury as the Council was, temporarily at least, lost to them.

  Vilif was the last to return the full force of his mind to the struggle to maintain the crown. He looked terribly tired and every one of his seventy-plus years weighed on him. The upright stoop was gone, replaced by a hunched, hooded-eyed dejection. His bald head was a sickly white and his limbs were shaking. He was close to the edge.

  ‘Vilif, we will prevail,’ said Barras. ‘Trust in the strength of us all. Keep the Heart beating.’

  Vilif nodded and a little light returned to his eyes. But all around the circle, the attitude of the Council members spoke more eloquently than any words. They had been mere moments from disaster before Barras awoke and they all knew it. Without help from the outside, without something to halt the demons’ unbridled power, they would be lost. It was only a matter of time.

  Shrieks filled the air and demons came from all sides. The attack gained and gained in intensity. Hirad had no time to see how his friends fared. He had trouble enough of his own.

  From above, left and straight on they came at him, needle teeth bared behind lipless mouths, claws flashing bright in the green-hued firelight. Every face was racked with pain, every body dulled as it approached, like the burnish taken from a polished blade. Yet still they came and still they were strong.

  He hefted his longsword in his right and a dagger in his left. They came at him in waves, chittering and laughing, shrieking and shouting, promising him death in eternity.

  He laughed back and carved a staggered zigzag in the space in front of him while weaving the dagger above his head and the back of his neck. He felt the heavy blade slash home, heard the cry of torment and looked right to see a demon clutching at the stump of a leg. It bored its hideous eyes into him and flitted from existence.

  Above him, the noise increased and he switched blades, carving out a circle above his head that drove the demons back. Behind him, five headed down for the mages. He made to lunge but The Unknown was there first, his two-handed blade scoring deep into blue hide, his movement too quick for their damaged bodies.

  More poured through into the Cold Room, gasping at the lack of mana, moving to attack The Unknown’s unprotected back and flank.

  ‘Back up Raven!’ roared Hirad. ‘Will, my left, Unknown’s right, circle clockwise if at all and protect the mages.’

  Will broke off a stinging attack on a pair of demons that flitted about his head, backing up to stand half a pace from Hirad, the barbarian chasing off the demons who threatened The Unknown. The Big Man threw down his blade, which clashed on the stone floor at his feet, drawing a pair of long-bladed daggers from sheaths in either calf. He made up the third part of the Raven defensive triangle, hefting the daggers easily in his hands.

  ‘Will, if it gets too heavy for you, we can turn you away. Just keep talking.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

  Towering above them all, Sha-Kaan went about his destruction of demons with no sound but the fire snapping in short gouts from his mouth. Hirad could feel him in his mind, calm and controlled.

  Above the humans, the demons attacked again.

  Thraun buried his confusion in supporting man-packbrother as he struck again and again at the floating, hissing blue creatures who came from the green sky. His jaws snapped out, biting into tasteless bloodless flesh that oozed from between his jaws. He knew he caused them pain and he knew his claws damaged them but they didn’t bleed and the fang punctures closed as soon as he withdrew to bite again.

  He felt a fear greater than that caused by the great beast who, it seemed, was not against them, but whose power could destroy them so easily. The blue creatures were not birds yet they flew and were not men though they walked upright if they chose to. Their scent scared him. It was not of his earth. It was alien and it was bad, like death undying. The thought furrowed his wolven brown and he lashed a claw into the face of one who yelped and disappeared too quickly for his eye to follow though he tried, leaving himself open to the bite of another. It clamped its jaws onto his ear, a feeling like fire spreading through his head. He howled and shook his head, sending the creature flying to slap into a wall.

  Terror threatened to swamp him and he backed up, tongue lolling, eyes seeing face after face coming for him. He whined, looked to man-packbrother who stood with the other men now.

  And then the air went blue.

  ‘They are come,’ intoned Sha-Kaan, confusing Hirad for just a moment. He looked at the walls of the Cold Room. The writhing bodies of the child-sized demons were gone, replaced by thousands of unblinking eyes, staring from faces the size of a child’s doll. Dark brows speared in above those eyes and their deep blue features were cut harsh, skin stretched tight over square cheeks and jaws, eyes sunk into heavy sockets and mouths small and fangs set in stark black gums.

  ‘Oh dear Gods,’ breathed Hirad.

  ‘Don’t let them face you down. Keep your souls safe,’ said Sha-Kaa
n.

  ‘How in the hells do we do that?’ snapped Will, his eyes flickering everywhere.

  ‘Keep them from eye-contact. When they have your mind, they can take your soul,’ said Sha-Kaan.

  The demons attacked.

  At once, the sky was full of squealing blue-winged and wingless doll-sized demons, crying their delight at the assault on new souls and their pain at the poisonous atmosphere. They filled the Cold Room in their hundreds and, for every ten who dropped to the floor spent, bodies unable to function, double that number came on. But they were weakened.

  Following his friends, Hirad dropped his longsword in favour of a second dagger.

  ‘Keep the strike rate up, Raven. Watch the mages.’

  His daggers fizzed through the air in a pattern designed for defence of upper body and head. The demons cluttered the air like birds and covered the floor in a mass of pumping limbs. One or two appeared through the stone but were too far gone to cause any real damage, serving only to disrupt the march of their brethren.

  Hirad’s blades cut and slashed through body after body, catapulting the light creatures through the air on the arc of every blow. His forearms blocked and smashed noses, claws and ribs, sending shrieking demons back to where they came from. And his feet stamped and kicked, crushing, dashing and shattering the enfeebled bodies which didn’t die but which disappeared.

  But on they forged, to scrabble at his leather, catch on to his flailing arms, nip at the top of his skull and tug at the soles of his boots. And where they touched his flesh, fire and ice struck pain throughout his body. He roared his anger and upped the pace of his movement.

  Beside him, Will’s breathing was too fast and the frightened grunts that accompanied every strike he made sent shivers up Hirad’s spine. The barbarian spoke while jabbing and weaving with his daggers at the onrushing demons.