Noonshade

by James Barclay

  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-Kaan.

  “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 t
wo 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.

  “Will, breathe deep. Focus on your targets, ignore the pain. They can't kill you if they can't reach your eyes.”

  “There's so many of them,” gasped the little man.

  “And every one you force away is one less.” Hirad thrashed his left hand dagger through a line of four chittering demons, their yelps following them back to their own dimension.

  Behind him, Sha-Kaan breathed tight fire through either nostril or from between his teeth, each jet searing a demon while his claws flashed in the firelight and his tail kept up a whip defence above the unmoving mages, battering wave after wave of demons aside. His every movement was measured and every breath targeted to cause maximum damage with maximum efficiency.

  Not so, Thraun. The wolf, plainly in distress at the alien bombardment, whimpered low in his throat, chasing his tail, his head flashing left and right, dragging his body round and round. His jaws clashed at air, his paws lashed out in any direction and all the time he kept an eye on Will, a frown deep in his furred brow.

  The attack increased in intensity. More and more of the demons crowded into the space.

  “Hold them off; we are winning the battle,” said Sha-Kaan.

  “Winning?” Hirad gasped as he struck out with feet and blades again. The demons were everywhere. They crawled on his legs, bit at his leather, swarmed near his head, clawing at his scalp. The Unknown, never given to exclamation, gasped as his bare arms suffered bite and scratch, Hirad imagining the fire and ice shooting through his limbs and seeing the blood that ran freely from them. And Will had all but stopped fighting. He was covered in pale blue, his arms over his head and, near him, Thraun howled and batted at the attackers of his friend while his hide was pierced again and again and his rear legs quivered under the weight of his foe.

  Sha-Kaan lashed a broad swathe of fire to his right and away from The Raven, while his tail jabbed and swatted. But his great gold hide was covered with blue and his shaking body failed to dislodge the tenacious hellspawn.

  “Keep going Raven, keep going!” yelled Hirad, his arms whistling around his head, the pain in his legs ignored, his daggers cutting and chopping the enemy from the air.

  But now the press was from below too and demons placed hands on the defenceless mages. The Unknown shouted a warning and dived under the whipping tail of the dragon, pulling the squealing, chattering, laughing creatures from the trio whose chanting kept them still one pace from death. While the Cold Room still maintained its integrity, The Raven had a chance. But even with it, the fight was nearly over.

  Will screamed. The demons were at his face.

  “No!” shouted Hirad. “Get away from him you bastards!” He threw himself at the little man, bearing him to the ground, his daggers forgotten as he, like The Unknown, dragged demons from the body of a Raven man. Taking his lead, Thraun's jaws snapped in and out, crushing the small bodies in his powerful jaws.

  “Sha-Kaan!” shouted Hirad over the tumult in the Cold Room. “We have to get out. Now!”

  “A little longer,” said the dragon, his voice choked and distant somehow. “We can win this. We have to.”

  But Hirad felt them at his neck and tearing at his clothes to reach the skin they could hurt and knew he was wrong. The Raven would soon be gone.

  Endorr's body lay still on the floor of the Heart, crumpled into an untidy fetal position, hands clamped to his head, one knee up, the other leg splayed. A line of drool ran from his mouth and blood dripped occasionally from his nose. At least he was alive.

  All this, Barras saw from a detachment of his conscious mind while the main thrust of his thought held sway in the increasingly futile fight to keep the crown from disintegrating.

  The demons sensed victory and their taunts ripped at the armour of his willpower. The mana howled around him, flooding his mind with its stream, loosening his hold on the construct the Council had to maintain, and roaring in his ears behind the chiding laughter.

  All around the circle, the strain was evident. Sweat, tears, frowns, grimaces and tense, over-tense, bodies created a living model of despair and imminent defeat. And on the ground, Endorr needed urgent help and there was nothing at all they could do for him. Gods, there was nothing they could do for themselves.

  “How long?” gasped Seldane.

  “As long as it takes,” said Kerela but they all knew that was not the question she had asked.

  Barras felt a tear of frustration squeeze from his eye. They were trapped. Endorr's shield had failed and they could not let go of the crown to cast a holding spell because the demons would not give them the time. Yet their hold could not last forever and, with the last of their mana stamina spent, the result would be the same as if they stopped right now.

  And yet they couldn't surrender to the demons. Not while there was the remotest chance that something from somewhere would serve to aid them.

  Barras bit back further tears, this time of regret. For so long, he had looked forward to a gentle old age, cosseted in the loving embrace of the College he had served all his life. Then the Wesmen had attacked and he had managed to come to terms with his death as an heroic event in the defence of that self same College.

  But this? This ignominious, futile and pointless end in a closed room far from fresh air and sunshine—an end that gave hope to no one and torment to all—this end was not fitting for an elf of his bearing, nor indeed for any of the Council. What they were on the verge of accepting as inevitable was not acceptable in any way, shape or form.

  He raised his head from his chest, his vision still tuned to the mana spectrum, and began to knit threads back into the crown.

  “Barras?” Strain took the power from Torvis’ voice.

  “I will be damned if I let those unholy ingrates walk my College and my dimension and I will not amble meekly to my own demise.” He punctuated every word with a stab from his mind that knitted more of the frail structure together, feeling the strength of desperation flooding his body.

  “Great Gods in the ground, we aren't helpless,” grated Kerela. “Any of you who feel you can, let's show these bastards who owns Balaia. If you can't, hang on and don't weaken.” And she joined Barras, somehow reinforcing the structure and more, making it grow.

  It was then that they noticed the change. So slight at first that it was all but imperceptible. But it grew by degrees; a drop in the intensity of the mana gale and a distraction in the voices of those who taunted and goaded. It would have been easy to claim the credit but Barras knew their renewed effort had nothing to do with it. Incredibly, the miracle was happening. Something, or someone, had diverted the demons.

  “This is the only chance we'll get!” Kerela's voice, stoked with all its old authority, called the Council to action. “We've wasted enough of Kard's valuable time, now let's rid our city of this damned Shroud.”

  The crown, once so dim, blazed again.

  Will's screams threatened the concentration of the Raven mages more than the flooding, swarming demons that ran over their bodies. Ignoring their own pain, Hirad and The Unknown snatched and cr
ushed, kicked and stamped at the hideous dolls that crawled and flew to their most defenceless prey.

  With one hand, The Unknown plucked at the demons who sought his eyes while the other swept away the mages’ attackers, all the while crouched to avoid Sha-Kaan's blue-covered, flailing tail.

  For Hirad, the task was harder. Will, his short swords long forgotten, rolled on the floor, hands scrabbling uselessly, keening wails flung out hoarsely with each breath. His body heaved and flowed with the weight of demons attacking him and Hirad felt a rising nausea as he watched their claws and feet striking home.

  “Will, keep still!” he shouted, shaking his own head vigorously to dislodge a beast he felt on top of his skull. “Shit,” he gasped, feeling the cold creep across his scalp and a trail of blood run down his forehead and between his eyes. The little man writhed on oblivious, the demons covering his face.

  Hirad clamped a hand on one of Will's shoulders and pulled his face up, tearing the creatures off his friend, ignoring the marks they left and keeping Will's eyes from their dread stares. And all the while Thraun, bemused and terrified, looked on, occasionally reaching around with his mouth to pluck a demon from his hide, though they largely ignored him. His animal soul was buried deep.

  Everywhere, spent creatures fell to vanish back whence they came only to be replaced by more, their laughter a sound of awful glee as they peeled and gashed and tore.

  A claw gripped Hirad's cheek and hooked back, tearing the skin. He swore and snatched the demon from his face, crushing it in one hand. Will escaped his grasp and rolled away, rubbing hard at his sides and face.

  “Steady Will.” But the little man wasn't listening.

  “Got to get out,” he wailed. “Out…” He stood up and ran toward the edge of the Cold Room.

  “No. Will, no!” Hirad launched himself at Will, striking his ankle as he ran. Will sprawled but rose again and Hirad could hear the demons goading him, telling him it was all right.