‘All right now?’ asked Diera. The boy nodded.
‘Let us discuss what must be done,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Because the fight for Balaia will be difficult and, like the fight for the spirit dimension, will not be fought here, not by The Raven at least. And then I will prove to you all that Jonas was right. But while I cannot fit through the doors, I can poke out my head and look again on this beautiful island.’
They ate outside that night. A breeze kept the air fresh and the tide was sending waves onto the southern coast, the sound comforting, bringing them all back to reality, at least for the time being.
They set up tables along the southern cliff edge so that they could see out across the expanse of ocean while the sun dipped down in the west, sending spectacular reds across the water. With a lamb gently turning on the spit and the young wine flowing, The Raven talked about everything but that which was to come. Around them, the elves and the former Protectors were relatively quiet but they listened intently, interjecting when they could.
When Jonas complained once too often, Diera took him to his bed. Hirad turned to The Unknown as soon as she was out of earshot.
‘You could stay, Unknown,’ he said. ‘Look at her. Her heart is broken but she can still smile and laugh. But we’re going to have to go and what then?’
The Unknown’s eyes shined in the moonlight as he watched his wife walk away up to the house.
‘You know I can’t stay,’ he said. ‘But thank you for the offer, even though you didn’t really mean it. I always said I would fight for the world in which my family could grow up in peace. I thought that here, and eventually back on Balaia, I had achieved that. But now it is clear that there is still one more enemy to be beaten and I will be there to do my part for Diera, for Jonas and for The Raven. This isn’t going to be anything but personal for me and I think we’ll all work better if we feel the same way.’
‘The Raven never work apart,’ added Thraun. ‘And what good would any of us feel if we didn’t join the fight and that fight failed? We would die just as surely.’
‘Myriell once spoke to you, didn’t she?’ said Cleress. ‘About the One magic and why it must survive?’
Hirad turned his head to see the Al-Drechar looking at him and The Unknown, her eyes as strong as ever, burning with the barely suppressed energy of the One.
‘She did,’ said Hirad. ‘After we’d beaten off the Dordovans from Herendeneth, if I recall correctly.’
‘You do,’ said The Unknown.
‘But you probably don’t remember what she said. She knew even then as we all did that there was a threat coming to Balaia and, we feared, to other dimensions. She told you that the One had to survive because it would be a potent weapon in the fight to come, whatever form it took. That time has arrived. The world will be grateful you kept your side of the bargain and that Erienne still lives.’
‘Thanks for keeping the pressure off me, Cleress,’ said Erienne.
‘Ah, but you must understand what you can bring that no one else can,’ she said. ‘Yours is a magic that doesn’t rely solely on mana for creation. It is one of the reasons the demons will want you gone. They will fear you as they will fear all The Raven because your belief, not just your power, makes you dangerous. Sha-Kaan sees it or he would not have involved you.’
‘But it’s not as if I can create extra devastation at will and forever,’ protested Erienne. ‘I get tired too and if Sha-Kaan is right, there’s one hell of a lot of demons out there.’
‘Think, child,’ said Cleress. ‘Remember what we learned so recently? How easy it is to strip one element from the target area? Mana is one element.’
The silence around the table grew ever more knowing and, slowly, a smile spread across Erienne’s face.
‘We have a couple of days before the tides will be right,’ said Cleress. ‘You and I have a lot of work to do.’
‘Better pass me the meat and wine, then,’ said Erienne. ‘Looks like I’m going to need all the strength I can get.’
Chapter 13
It was dawn when it happened. Damp and chilly with low, brooding cloud. An altogether fitting atmosphere for the state of Xetesk. Later, Dystran would see the fortune of the weather front but first sight had simply depressed him.
It was the day they had identified for the raid on the library. Dystran was contemplating the task ahead when shapes began dropping out of the cloud. At first he assumed them to be more demons. But the clarion calls, gale of noise and thrash of action from the streets told him instantly that they were anything but.
They were a way distant, probably a couple of miles and maybe more, and the demons were clamouring to get at them, whoever they were. Dystran took a quick look down into the occupied parts of the college. It was all but deserted. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the ColdRoom construct and onto his balcony, signalling his guards to flank him, ready to haul him back if any threat appeared.
Immediately, the feel of mana energised his body, a tonic for the weary like the sun on cold skin. He wasted no time in casting to augment his vision and reaching out to see what was approaching.
Men, flying. Mages. Pursued by demons who were bursting through the clouds around them and faced by more rising up from Xetesk. They flew hard, pushing the limits of ShadowWings, dodging, splitting, reforming. A battle where a single touch would be fatal. Where one side could not strike at all.
He concentrated harder, searching their faces, and his jaw dropped. At their head, a man who despite the weight that had fallen from him was immediately recognisable.
Dystran turned and ran from the tower, shouting for his mages, shouting for his library raiders. It was the diversion of his prayers and he was going to grab the opportunity with both hands.
Vuldaroq had no idea how any of them had maintained their concentration in the freezing air high above the clouds. They had started out exhausted, they had trimmed their wings for speed and they had pushed the limits from the word go.
But that was not all. The escape had been a nightmare scene of pulsing demon bodies; brave men facing them down, sacrificing themselves for their mages. It had been dark, dark corridors, shadowed halls and the stench of rotting flesh. It had been the pleading cries of the enslaved; the squeals of the newborn into horror and the briefest graze of a demon’s finger that had chilled his soul. And ultimately, it had been the flight through the glass domes that roofed the chamber of light with the shrieking of demons just far enough adrift.
All leading to a day of pure torment. As quickly as they outpaced a demon pack, another would rise to block their path south and west. They could smell the mana from so far away. It meant they could not rest in each other’s arms as they had planned and so cycle their effort.
How many times had they cowered behind clouds, dived at suicidal pace or spun dangerously close to each other risking collision? It was something of a miracle that they had lost only one of their scarce number. There was no time for reflection. There had not been time to mourn the fading scream.
And so they faced the final run. They’d dived from the clouds a little early but that didn’t bother him. What did was whether Xetesk had seen them or not. It took only a few heartbeats to realise the demons had. Like a multi-hued cloud in the morning gloom, they lifted off, their alien calls taken up by their current pursuers who drove a little harder.
‘Come on!’ called Vuldaroq though he knew his words were lost in the battering wind on their faces.
He led the four remaining mages down sharply, off-balancing the pursuers who lost a little ground. Any chance was worth taking. Vuldaroq was surprised to feel a thrill pass through him. So close to death for so long but with relative sanctuary almost within reach, he had never felt more alive.
He breathed the feeling in deep, felt the energy revitalise his aching body and pushed more speed from his ShadowWings.
‘Come on, Dystran, you bastard, now’s the time.’
Vuldaroq glanced back through his gossamer-thin wings,
the protective film over his eyes adding to the slightly unfocused outlook. They were all still with him. The demons flitted in and out of his vision, blurred reds and blues, trying to steal a few feet to pressure the mistake. It was hard to tell how many there were. Ten or twelve at least.
But he considered them too far adrift if he and his could maintain their punishing pace just a little longer. To maximise their speed, the mages were all flying head first, arms pressed to their sides, legs straight and feet pointed backwards. It left little room for communication but they had organised a few signals in quieter moments of the flight and Vuldaroq knew they would all be looking at him for their cues.
In front of them, the seven towers of Xetesk stood grim and gaunt against the dull sky. A few lights burned in Dystran’s but the others appeared closed and dead. Much like the city. It was wreathed in an undulating dawn mist trapped within its walls and punctured only by the glimmer of a handful of fires.
The demons rising from the city had fanned into a wide net. Some were streaming towards them, others hanging back. There had to be two hundred at least, thronging the air above the silent buildings, flashing greens and deep blues.
Vuldaroq went hard at the line approaching them, saw it straighten to counter their expected direction. It was a surprisingly naïve move, but then the leader caste was not among this vanguard and without them there was little spatial awareness.
Dordover’s Arch Mage flickered his fingers to draw his mages’ attention. Then, he pointed up with his index fingers before splaying his hands. All he could do now was hope they had seen him and trust they would react when he did. Delay carried the severest of consequences.
Vuldaroq clung to his courage. He closed with the demons at high speed and sensed his few mages come onto his shoulders in a tight group. The demons mimicked them instantly, a good sign.
‘Keep coming,’ he breathed. ‘That’s it.’
He was so close he could hear their calls when he angled upwards at practically ninety degrees. The mana shape controlling the wings strained. Physical wings would surely have snapped. Vuldaroq felt the braking force across his whole body like he was going into reverse. If not for the demons racing beneath him and the undeniable forward motion driving him on, he would have believed it.
One quick look told him they’d all made it this far. Below him, the demons were braking and turning from all directions. Vuldaroq spread his arms, his body adopting a cruciform shape, falling forwards in the air to arrow vertically down.
They all knew the sign. It was the last run and, of necessity, it was every man for himself. Mouthing good luck to any that were watching, he plunged groundwards. He had about a mile of distance and a thousand feet of height to lose. No distance at all but surely the longest flight of his life.
‘We’re moving!’ shouted Dystran. ‘Now!’
He pounded along the corridors from his tower and into the dome complex, seeing the torpid surprise register on dozens of faces.
‘Up. Warriors to the doors. Mages, let’s be thinking about focused Orbs. We’re going outside. Library team, make ready.’
His orders were carried on down into the catacombs. Puzzled expressions faced him. He paused.
‘I do not have time to explain,’ he said. ‘Time to trust me. Allies are flying in from the north-east.’
‘Allies?’ a warrior, standing, questioned.
Dystran grabbed the filthy blue kerchief tied at his neck and pulled. ‘Yes, allies. Anyone who isn’t a demon is an ally now. Clear?’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
The sound of running feet came from all quarters and he waited for the gaunt, sick-looking figure of Commander Chandyr to appear before issuing orders.
‘No time for whys. Dordovans in the sky heading this way. The demons have all but cleared the college to hunt them. I want eight mages out there giving covering fire as they come in. Another four will defend the flanks from demons still hidden inside the grounds. Twenty warriors as spotters, in and outside the doors. And the library team is going in now. We’ll not get a better chance. Move.’
‘All right, you heard him!’ Chandyr clapped his hands together. ‘Mage teams one and two, cover duty. Swords two and three, spotters. Sword four, you’re on the doors as back-up. Library raiders, to me. Gentlemen, it is time for some fun.’
Dystran had to admit Chandyr was good. They moved for him, respected him. The Lord of the Mount himself, they just feared. He liked it that way.
Noise battered around the dome. Men shouting, weapons and armour clashing. Metal-shod boots ringing on stone and marble. Dystran swallowed on a dry throat. The great doors swung open onto the cool, misty dawn.
‘Go!’ shouted Chandyr. ‘Forming up flanks quickly. Focused Orbs for attack, I want an IceWind cover for area attack, ForceCones on defence. Ready for changes any time on Lord Dystran’s word.’ His voice cleared the din easily. A commander’s voice brought back to life by the promise of action. ‘Spotters, I only want to hear numbers and direction.’
Soldiers and mages ran through the doors, across the marble apron and down the stairs in front of the tower complex. Out of the protection of the ColdRoom lattice.
Dystran followed them, buoyed by the flow of mana that coursed through him and the beautiful fresh air in his lungs. He pulled in the shape for a focused Orb, following three mages taking up a central position. A quick glance showed him the defence and spotters deploying. Behind him, Captain Suarav led the library raiding party left and out of sight. His last three archivists were with the scarred garrison commander under the eye of Sharyr. It was a gamble that couldn’t afford to fail.
In the grey sky north of Xetesk, the desperate flight neared its conclusion. Tens, hundreds of demons thronged the sky, a net for the five shapes that darted, twisted, ducked and soared trying to dodge them. It was hard to see how any of them would get through.
‘A path,’ muttered Dystran, then raised his voice. ‘Let’s make them a path. Concentrate on the area dead ahead, where the lead flyer is coming in. Time it, my mages. The gaps we make will fill quickly.’
Spells flew and the first demons perished in fire and ice, blasted aside to give Xetesk’s erstwhile enemies a chance of life.
Blessed emptiness on the approach. The raiding team slipped left, passed the dome defence and trotted quickly and quietly around the base of the complex. The library doors stood open, hanging from their hinges. The timelock ward was no use now, broken when the timbers had been battered apart in the early days of the occupation.
In the bloom of spells across the spectrum, the augmentation they gave their sight to counteract the gloom inside the library went unnoticed. Sharyr led three archivists, Captain Suarav and a spotter soldier up the edge of the broad steps where the shadows remained deep enough and the mist clung to the stone.
Inside, he could make out the shapes of bookshelves and tables. Little seemed to have been seriously disturbed though the wind picked at the pages of a few volumes scattered on the carpeted floor.
There would be demons in here somewhere. An earlier abortive raid had reported what appeared to be a systematic search through every piece of work. They’d had two years to find what they wanted but still the searching went on. Sharyr wondered briefly what it was.
He checked the team. They nodded their readiness and he moved in, every footstep fraught with the potential of a protesting floorboard. He felt naked outside the protection of the ColdRoom yet energised by the connection with the mana spectrum. The crack of the first spell behind him told him he was not alone.
It was a curious mix of feelings. He’d grown accustomed to the aura of security the ColdRooms provided but always lurking was the pain of being shut off from the spectrum. This way round, he had the comfort of mana at his command. All he had to cope with was the dread that accompanied it. Death a mere touch away.
Suarav came to his right shoulder as they entered the library. Sharyr’s augmented eyes picked out objects and edges in sharp, monochromatic re
lief. It showed him Suarav’s face, lined with concentration, beaded in sweat despite the chill of the air. He felt a surge of respect for the man. Nominally, he and the other soldier were spotters. In reality, they were there to sacrifice themselves to save the mages should the need arise.
The grand three-floored building was silent but for the ruffling of loose pages. Light was edging through the stained-glass windows leaving deep shadow untouched under stairwells and recesses.
Sharyr kept to the centre of the carpeted path, the team bunched behind him. Their eyes would be everywhere. Left and right past every aisle of shelves, up into the arches and upper floors, ahead into the heart of the library and down lest they kick a stray book or put boot to bare wood.
He could feel the tension soaring. Suarav repeatedly tightened and relaxed his sword grip. Sharyr had to fight hard to keep the ForceCone construct steady. The breeze outside threw unsettling eddies into the library, like the downwash of wings. Sharyr drew in a deep breath and moved further in.
The signs of the demons’ search were everywhere. Bookcases had been moved, glass fronts smashed. Parchments, volumes and tied scrolls were heaped in piles on shelves, stacked on the floor or scattered into corners. The damage was worse than at first sight. Ripped pages sat in drifts on lower shelves. Ancient texts were torn, spines broken. The knowledge of ages discarded. Whatever it was they were looking for, the demons had gone about their work methodically.
Sharyr felt his heart fall. This organised demolition was going to make their job all the harder and they couldn’t afford to be in here a moment longer than absolutely necessary. Looking about him, he wondered if they’d find anything useful at all.
At the base of the grand staircase that swept left up to the next floor, he took them from the central path and underneath the marble steps. The demonology section was just ahead. It was the first of three they’d identified. Sharyr checked them all again, saw the strained but determined faces. Outside, spells cracked and echoed in the quiet of early morning. Distantly, a demon screamed.
The Raven Collection Page 275