At last, another smile from Sharyr. ‘Thank you, my Lord.’
‘No, my friend. It is Xetesk who should be thanking you. Rest. Rest, all of you.’
Dystran stood up and spread his arms, embracing them all with the gesture. ‘Anything that you want that is within my current power, you may have. And consider yourselves stood down from any duties until further notice.’
None of them were looking at him. He wasn’t even sure any of them even heard him. He snapped his fingers at Chandyr and strode out to the first landing.
‘Laid that on a bit thick, didn’t you?’ said the commander as soon as the door had shut behind them.
‘What would you rather I do? Rush them back to the front?’ Dystran moved away to the top of the stairs. ‘Did you stop to look at them?’
‘Yeah, they look in some trouble.’
‘Some trouble? Bloody hell, Chandyr, I’m no healer but I’d say they were all dying, wouldn’t you? Suarav is in desperate straits. Now you’re out here to take orders, not discuss whether I’m patronising our survivors or not. I don’t know what to do with any of them. Get our best up here and get me an answer. If that means getting them into the control zone in the catacombs so we can cast, then do it. Your men love Suarav and I need Sharyr able to help examine our new texts.’
‘And Brynel?’
‘We need every mage, Commander.’ He indicated Chandyr go ahead of him. ‘I’m not prepared to lose any of those men in there. And that means you need to run faster than I do.’
Dystran paused at the top of the spiral stair and watched his commander go. Halfway down he heard a hurried ‘Sir!’ and then a second set of footsteps came closer as Chandyr’s diminished. Dystran waited for the man to climb the stairs. It was a mage, Feiyn.
‘My Lord,’ he said, breathing hard. He was weak from poor food and confinement and, like them all, dying by degrees.
‘I’m presuming you aren’t running up here merely to tone your legs.’
‘No, my Lord.’
‘Well, I’m on my way down. If you have breath, walk with me and tell me what it is that couldn’t wait.’
Dystran led the way down the stairs at a gentle pace.
‘Vuldaroq has read one of the texts.’
Dystran had to check himself before he spoke. ‘He could read our lore, could he?’ he said instead.
‘This is a general research paper. A theory based on a mapping of energies in inter-dimensional space.’
‘Ah. Sounds like the work of dear old Bynaar to me. He was the first man to postulate that mana flow could be ordered and driven without . . .’ Dystran trailed off even as he heard the sharply in-drawn breath behind him. ‘I don’t recall asking for texts on that subject.’
‘It was inside another on demonology,’ explained Feiyn.
Dystran stopped. ‘What does it say?’
‘Vuldaroq can explain it better. He asked if I’d come and get you.’
‘Right, let’s hear what he has to say.’
They found Vuldaroq sitting in the dome complex, his back to Dystran’s tower, much as he had been since his dramatic arrival. There was still no colour in his face but his eyes had regained a little sparkle. He managed a smile as he looked up from his study to see Dystran approach.
‘My Lord Vuldaroq, I understand you’ve been busy.’
‘Best that way,’ he said. Like those in Dystran’s chambers, exertion and fear had left a tremble in his body and voice. But at least the shock hadn’t set in. Not yet anyway.
‘Care to enlighten me?’
‘Your man Bynaar was an astute researcher. Arteche speaks highly of him in works we treasure . . . well, treasured.’
Vuldaroq flourished the paper. It was a small but heavy-looking set of parchments, torn about its edges. Dystran estimated a dozen pages, no more.
‘Go on.’
‘He was tracing shifts in mana density centuries ago. And in this paper he links it to the movement of demons from one space to another. I’m presuming the knowledge we have concerning your links with the demon dimension is sound.’
Dystran coughed. ‘If our spies’ assessments are accurate then, yes, you’ve done rather well.’
‘Normally, I’d be flattered,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘Now it all seems just a waste of effort.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Bynaar was the first to theorise that demons were a nomadic race, using up one home, then moving on by conquest.’
‘I am a scholar on the subject,’ said Dystran before he could stop himself.
‘Then you will know that Bynaar has tracked demon progress across inter-dimensional space by measuring mana density and movement. Particularly noting the disappearance of mana clouds which he concludes is caused by those clouds entering the fabric of another dimension.’
Dystran’s smile was thin. ‘One cannot hope to assimilate every piece of knowledge.’
‘Assimilate this now. It’s not a solution but it does answer the question of what the demons are doing.’
‘Which is?’
‘Well, according to Bynaar, for demons, mana is an eminently movable element, one which they can attract to themselves. Which is how they move it of course. Establish demons at both ends of a path, so to speak, and send the mana along it - and the more they have, the stronger they get. It’s almost a commodity to them, hence their obsession with getting into Balaia. We are mana-rich.
‘Now I’ve cross-referenced that with your young mage, Feiyn here, who was kind enough to read a passage from the demonology text into which Bynaar’s work was inserted. Would you be so kind as to repeat it, young man?’
Feiyn glanced at Dystran who nodded and shrugged simultaneously.
‘It said that demons are forced into their nomadic existence because they consume the dimensions they inhabit. It says that when they have access to another dimension, that is when they destroy the last of what they have and move on. All of them.’
‘And they send the mana they have accumulated on ahead, to their vanguard,’ added Vuldaroq.
‘So they aren’t just passing through,’ said Dystran. ‘We aren’t a territory.’
He’d known it all along when it came to it.
‘No. I’m afraid we’re home for them now,’ confirmed Vuldaroq.
‘And the mana build-up?’
‘You’ll have to take readings,’ said Vuldaroq. ‘But for what it’s worth, I’d bet the little I have that when it is complete, they will be strong enough to breach the ColdRooms. Or else why be so happy to leave us as we are - the stronger colleges, I mean. We can all feel the cold that the mana seems to bring - this chill is unseasonal and it’s getting worse.’
Dystran thought for a moment. Emotions clouded his mind. His immediate reaction was to dismiss the Dordovan’s inferences simply because of who he was. But that attitude had to be consigned to history now if they weren’t all to go before it. Vuldaroq had put a time limit on their future but the deadline was unknown. The course, difficult though it might be, was clear.
‘Two things,’ he said. ‘One, we need to know when the density of mana in this dimension will give the demons the strength to overwhelm our defences. Second, we need a four-college strategy to see they never get there. And we need it fast.’
Arabelle ducked a killing blow and backhanded her sword across the demon’s chest. It howled and tumbled back. Four of her men closed in.
‘Hold it, this time, hold it!’
Two were already dead, victims of the demon’s soul-touch. Two others stood with her, one a mage, ready to cast if capture became an impossibility. They’d cornered the beast after days of surveillance from the upper windows of the tower had identified a pattern in its behaviour. They knew what it was doing: searching for their tunnel entrances, but it had become obsessed with a blind alley close to the northern wall of the college. This night, they were waiting for it.
The plan had been simple but they’d miscalculated its strength. Their first volley of blows hadn’t weakened it enough and it had snatched its two victims t
oo easily. Arabelle wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
‘Makkan, Terol, club it!’
The blows rained in on its body and head. The other two pounced on its arms, pinning them to the ground. The demon’s fingers grasped and clutched, looking for a death touch, but it couldn’t angle its wrist enough. It was a tall demon, better than six feet in height. Its hairless body was a livid sky blue and the veins and muscles writhed below its skin. Underneath its back, its gossamer, mana-based wings beat uselessly at the ground. It howled and screamed, its toothless mouth snapping. They would not be alone for long.
Arabelle and her remaining two men closed in. They pinioned its legs, she moved to its head.
‘Struggle all you like, you are coming with us. Now I can have my mage cast to subdue you or you can do it yourself.’
The demon’s small black eyes regarded her from a heavy brow, tongue licked the edges of its lipless mouth. It relaxed and quietened, holding her gaze.
‘Don’t ease your grip even one degree,’ she warned, not flinching from its stare. ‘That is exactly what it’s waiting for.’
The demon snarled. A sibilant hiss escaped its mouth. ‘You will still all be ours,’ it said.
‘Maybe, but not yours, eh?’ She turned to her team. ‘Right, on the double. Let’s get inside.’
The demon started to struggle again when they lifted it from the ground, contorting its body, shaking its limbs and arching its neck. But these were strong and determined men Arabelle had selected and they moved with purpose.
Pounding through the streets back towards the northern tunnel entrance they could hear the calls of demons to which their captive responded with a series of hoots and screeches. In the quiet of the night in Lystern, when the cries died to echoes, they were replaced by the swoosh of hundreds of wings. Arabelle was washed with a brief sense of futility. Here, they had captured one. Elsewhere in the city, there were thousands, and more arrived every day. She had to remind herself why it was she was out here.
Inside the tunnel, the passage was wide. Mages at its end laid trap wards before running after the kidnappers. They had to assume the demons would find this tunnel now. It had served its purpose. At least the wards would take some more of the beasts down with them.
In the centre of the ColdRoom constructs was a clear area measuring around fifty feet on a side. It was where the mages came to rest and replenish their mana stamina. The demon gasped as it was dragged into the ColdRoom lattice, exhaling only when they reached the centre of the great hall where the mana coursed freely. Arabelle ordered her team to set the demon down. Others ran from all parts of the hall, relieving the kidnap party and pinning the creature to the ground so tight it could barely move.
There was a pause for breath. The demon rotated its head, trying to take in whatever it could. Arabelle looked down on it, a smile creeping across her face.
‘Got you,’ she said.
The demon hissed, its pointed tongue flicking out of its mouth. Abruptly, it settled, looking over her shoulder. Arabelle could hear footsteps. She turned round, her smile widening.
‘Well done,’ said Heryst. ‘Well done indeed.’
‘We lost two,’ she said, deflating a little.
‘I know, I know.’ Heryst squeezed her shoulder. ‘It was always a risk.’
He turned his attention to the creature and knelt by its head. It tried to back away, sensing his aura, but only succeeded in writhing feebly under the weight of those pressing it down.
‘You are aware who I am.’
‘Heryst,’ it said, almost spitting the name out.
‘Good. Then you understand that whatever I say carries complete truth. You are caught and will answer our questions.’
‘No answers,’ it hissed.
‘You will notice that at the moment, we are being very generous,’ continued Heryst, ignoring the creature. ‘You are lying in a place where the mana still flows. Do not mistake this as a sign of weakness. Where mana still flows, we can still cast and so we can hurt you very badly. Or, if we choose, we can take you into our ColdRooms to watch you die slowly. Do you believe me?’
The demon regarded him silently, breath rasping through its taut jaws. It nodded fractionally. ‘Then also believe that if you answer our questions and we judge you to be truthful, we will let you go.’
The demon sputtered its contempt at the statement. Heryst cocked his head.
‘It remains the truth. To take your life would be pointless. How many thousands of others are there to take your place? Nevertheless, it is your choice. But you will answer us.’
‘Nothing I tell you will help you, mage.’
‘Then there can be no harm in telling us the truth, can there?’
The demon smiled, bone ridges inside its mouth shining with saliva. ‘You will not know.’
Heryst leaned in further and his tone surprised even Arabelle. ‘Oh yes, we will. Believe that also.’
A hush fell in the great hall. Around the edges of the clear area, people crowded, not wishing to come too close to one of those that had caused such devastation and pain. Nearer, swordsmen kept watch for any incursion and mages stood ready to cast, should they be needed. Heryst circled the captured demon, Kayvel by his side.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘This is where it begins. I will give you a choice. You can either answer my first question truthfully or I can ask my colleague here to demonstrate the pain that a tiny spell can wreak upon your body. Which is it to be?’
The demon hesitated a moment. ‘Ask.’
‘We know why you are here, we want to know why you have left the colleges alone.’
‘Not all colleges. Dordover is ours.’
If Heryst was shaken, he didn’t show it. ‘But we are still here. As are Julatsa and Xetesk. Why do you not press us?’
‘We have no need. You are no threat.’
‘But surely one day you must move to attack us.’
‘When we are strong and you cannot repel us. We have time, you do not.’
‘Ah but do you, I wonder?’ Heryst walked a slow circle around the demon which watched him every step of the way, face betraying its suspicion. ‘We have had some interesting intelligence from friends and it is backed up by knowledge we have uncovered here. We think you have miscalculated. We think your home is dying and you are forced here. We think you will never be able to overwhelm us because you cannot force enough mana here before your home is lost to you. We think you are fearful.’
‘Lies. We fear no one. Balaia will be ours.’
‘Will it, my enemy?’ Heryst stood tall over the demon. ‘Is it not true that to complete your conquest you should have controlled our Hearts by now and you are not strong enough?’
‘I have answered enough questions.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said Heryst. ‘Tell me, it is true that you can never hope to beat Balaia’s mages, isn’t it?’
The demon was silent, as were all the occupants of the great hall. Arabelle considered Heryst’s approach. His considerable embellishment of Xetesk’s message, received just before she had gone to catch the demon, had taken the creature unawares.
‘Answer me. You need to consume the Hearts but you will never have the strength?’
‘No more questions,’ spat the demon.
‘Kayvel, explain to our captive that he doesn’t have the option.’
Kayvel’s casting was quick and sure. FlamePalm. The middle-aged mage breathed in deep, a frown on his face, and brought his palm towards the demon’s stomach. The creature tried to writhe away but was held too firmly. From the centre of Kayvel’s hand, a green flame sprouted, firm and hot. He played it over the light blue skin. Immediately, smoke curled up, the flesh charred and a rank odour bit at the atmosphere. The demon screamed. Heryst raised a hand and Kayvel withdrew.
‘If you keep quiet you make me do that again,’ said Heryst. ‘Answer my questions.’
‘You will be taken, mage,’ snarled the demon. ‘Nothing can stop that.�
��
‘Tell me why you wait, then? The real reason.’
‘I told you.’
‘Can you stop the mana flow?’ Silence. ‘Kayvel, again.’
More smoke, more stench and a murmur through the hall. More screams.
‘Answer.’
‘No.’
‘No you won’t or no the flow can’t be stopped?’
‘Please.’ The edges of the demon’s wound might have been cauterised but it was deep and blood pulsed out over its belly.
Kayvel withdrew again.
‘Well?’ demanded Heryst.
‘It cannot be stopped. Why should it? We are come and you will be taken as we please.’
‘Easy, eh?’ said Heryst. ‘Now, when will you be strong enough to attack us? When have your masters said you will take us?’
‘We have no orders.’
‘Liar.’
The demon’s eyes widened. Kayvel closed in.
‘We attack when they say. No warning, we obey. Please.’
‘Liar,’ repeated Heryst. He nodded.
This time, Kayvel’s hand played over the demon’s chest and neck. Slowly, deliberately. Skin crisped, flesh bubbled. The creature whimpered, barely moving. Its eyes remained fixed on Heryst, the hatred almost tangible. The Lord Elder Mage did not flinch.
‘Speak. My colleague can keep this up longer than you can live.’
The acrid smell of burning demon flesh stung Arabelle’s nostrils. She looked on at the torture, feeling nothing for the demon. Nothing at all.
‘Truth. Please!’
‘When you take the Hearts, will you destroy them?’
‘No!’ The demon quivered through its body. ‘Too valuable, too potent a source.’
Heryst snapped his fingers. Kayvel withdrew his hand.
‘Well, well,’ he said, catching Heryst’s eye.
‘Yes,’ agreed Heryst. ‘And so presumably you’ll be keeping every mage alive too.’
A gasping chuckle. ‘Your souls are most prized. We will enjoy you.’
‘A shame, then, that your masters are ignorant of reality.’
There was a sheen of oily sweat covering the demon’s body now. It was weakening quickly. The burns covering most of its torso were still bubbling and oozing. It regarded Heryst anew, forehead creasing slightly. A most human expression.
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