‘The Raven will not ride again.’
Dawn’s light had brought little real respite in Lystern. The demons had flooded through the city and into the college two hours before. Heryst had lost a third of his mage strength then and there, their life energy and souls feeding their attackers; their deaths mere prelude to lingering purgatory if the myths were true.
Heryst and the council had reacted smartly and enough mages were holed up in the great council chamber to keep a ColdRoom casting going almost indefinitely. The spell, which banished mana from within it, was their only effective defence against the mana-based demons which quickly suffocated without it. Any that tried to attack within the ColdRoom were easily dispatched because swords were also affected by the spell and carried no mana in their steel.
Heryst, Lystern’s Lord Elder Mage, prayed for the souls of any not within similar sanctuary. He could not Commune from within the ColdRoom. Mana would not coalesce. Indeed the only strands of mana were those that led from the five casting mages that fed the spell construct.
Latterly, the demons had seemed content to walk or float just outside the transparent spell. It was enough to keep the one hundred and sixty-three mages, soldiers and assorted college staff on edge. Heryst knew he couldn’t let the situation stagnate. He could feel the anxiety in the chamber and sense all of them begin to add up the practical problems they faced.
He squeezed the arm of his most trusted aide and friend. A man who he was so pleased to have with him now.
‘Kayvel, it’s time to get organised. Check on the casting team will you?’
Kayvel smiled through his own fear and climbed onto the council table. The casting team, surrounded by swordsmen, were in its centre, as far from accident as was possible. Heryst watched Kayvel walk rather awkwardly across the intricately designed wood and kneel by the team to exchange soft words.
‘People,’ said Heryst, clapping his hands and stilling the quiet hum of conversation. ‘Let’s gather ourselves. Over here, please. We’ve got work to do.’
He could see it so clearly in all their faces. From the most senior mage to the youngest serving girl or kitchen lad. Incomprehension edged by terror. Loss. The war had been hard enough though it had never touched them. But this. Most of these people had gone from knowing about demons only from text and story, to the staggering certainty that nothing would be the same again. And that everything they had known and taken for granted was gone. Heryst had worse news for them.
He waited while they assembled. Every eye was on him, needing him to help them find a way back. If they could only but sample the desperation he felt. Too much knowledge could sometimes be considered dangerous. But he felt that he had to tell them what they were up against. But first, a little balm.
‘We are safe here,’ he said. ‘I know you don’t all understand what we have created but, as you have seen, it keeps the demons at bay and those who try to breach it are easy targets. Remember that because it is as good as our position gets.’
A murmur went round the crowd in front of him.
‘There are things you have to know. And because I need you all if we are to survive, I will not hide anything from you. Outside this spell, we cannot fight them for any length of time. Though they are vulnerable to spells, they will barely be harmed by swords because of the mana in the air and over everything.’
A hand went up. It was a young girl that Heryst recognised. She was attached to the staff of the tower kitchens. In her early twenties, dark-haired and slim-built.
‘Please my Lord, I don’t understand. What are these things?’
Heryst smiled. ‘I’m sorry, yes, let’s start at the beginning. I’ll be brief though so anything you don’t quite get, ask a mage later. Mages, you will answer all these questions. This is no time to feel you are somehow above helping ordinary Lysternans.
‘These demons are from a dimension other than our own. We have had contact with them for many hundreds of years. Enough to know that they covet our land because of its richness and the vitality of life here. Demons need mana in the atmosphere in order to breathe and maintain their natural armour and that is why we are cocooned in the ColdRoom spell. But they live on the life force of other creatures. You’d call that their souls, I guess, and it is as good a word as any. They can drain your soul in an instant or feed off it over the course of years. They can choose to keep you alive while they drain you. It would be a drawn-out death. And we understand that the souls of those they take can be kept in existence in their own dimension, stimulated by pain to pulse out life for years.’
He paused and looked around the room. Tears were running down the cheeks of men and women alike. He saw others shivering. And yet more looking to the edges of the casting, into the corridors beyond the council chamber where demons hovered. A hand was raised. Heryst nodded for the soldier to speak.
‘Can we beat them back?’
Heryst shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I have to say I have my doubts. We can only guess at the numbers they have in the city and beyond. Fighting them one to one is probably not worth it. What we have to do ultimately is find out where they are coming from and literally close the door.’
‘How are we going to do that stuck in here?’ shouted someone.
Heryst held up his hands. ‘Calm, please. That is why we are talking now. Here is what I want us to consider. First, the practical. We have no food, water or latrine facilities and we have to work out ways to get them.’
‘My Lord Heryst,’ said Kayvel. ‘I can partially solve the latter.’
Kayvel’s voice was like a cool breeze over hot skin. Heryst smiled. ‘Then let us hear you. I have managed only to depress people so far.’
A fractional easing of the tension was evidenced by the odd chuckle.
‘The spell’s coverage is a little wider than we thought. It does cover the latrines beyond the north doors. Only just, but it does nonetheless.’
‘Thank you,’ said Heryst. ‘But it isn’t enough for a long-term siege in here. They will fill and we have no way of clearing them. But for now, it is a piece of genuinely good news. As soon as I’ve finished speaking, Kayvel, who I am putting in charge of soldiers and non-mages, will organise a rota. No one is to visit the latrines without an armed guard. Remember, the demons will watch our every move and try to counter it.
‘Right, food and water. We all know where our stores and wells are. The question is, how do we reach them without being taken by the demons? Mages, I need you to work out if it is possible to effect a moving ColdRoom. Kitchen and cleaning staff, identify every place where there is a bucket, a basin, a barrel . . . anything we can use to carry food, water, clothes, bedding up here. Assume we are going to be here for some time while we decide how to strike back. When Kayvel is ready, he will hear what you know.
‘Any questions?’
‘My Lord?’
‘Yes, Oded, speak up,’ said Heryst to the young council mage.
‘Thank you, my Lord,’ he said. ‘Do you think we can expect any help from the outside?’
Heryst noted the concentrated gaze of all present on him. It was a hope to which all had been clinging.
‘No, I don’t think we can,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll come back to why in a moment but before I forget, Oded, I want you to take a team of three and think hard about how we can communicate. I know there is no Communion from within the ColdRoom but consider this. There are strands of mana feeding the ColdRoom construct. Is there any way you can piggyback those to reach the mana spectrum? And if so, what can you do when you get there?
‘Now, back to your question. We don’t yet know where the demons are getting into the Balaian dimension but we were attacked from the north. I suspect Xetesk was the focus. But we have to assume that the demons have attacked all colleges, and other centres of population will no doubt follow in due course. If we’re lucky, mages in all the colleges have gathered together like we have. Elsewhere on Balaia, I fear for our people, I really do.
&nb
sp; ‘I expect that at some stage the demons will make their plans known. Whoever is leading them in Lystern will come here and want to talk to me. That is when we will perhaps know the extent of what we face. But we have to face facts.
‘The demons control Balaia.’
With a growing sense of incomprehension, Tessaya and the Wesmen had watched the events taking place in the air above Xetesk. They had watched the line being drawn in the sky and had seen the extraordinary creatures spill out of it like entrails from a slit gut. With a collective furrowed brow they witnessed them group up and fly off to all parts of Balaia. None, he noticed, directly towards the Blackthorne Mountains. Tessaya had gathered his men as it became obvious that the threat from Xetesk’s defence had gone in the face of whatever it was that attacked them. He didn’t want any of his people anywhere near it.
Initially, the Wesmen had cheered and sung as the creatures in every possible hue, and on a tide of purest blue light and cold, attacked within the walls. Spells had flashed and flared into the pre-dawn sky. But so quickly, it had quietened. The songs had died in their throats and all they could hear were the occasional shouts of men, the swish of a thousand bodies swooping in the air, and the shuddering sound of Xeteskians screaming and wailing. It was a sound that would live with him for ever. He had heard frightened men before but this was something so much worse. Like the opening of a gulf into unending despair.
He was at a loss. To all intents and purposes, Xetesk’s new enemy had done their work for them. That should have made them an ally. But Tessaya was not about to offer his hand to any of those that he saw and that still emerged from the slit in the sky, scattering through the city and the lands beyond.
Not one of them had shown the slightest bit of interest in the Wesmen gathered outside Xetesk’s college gates. And for that he was glad. Because something was badly astray with what he was seeing. This wasn’t the work of mages. The cold in the air was unnatural and it smelled bad. And there was an evil in the way the creatures moved and attacked, in the way they sounded and in the cries of the Xeteskians as they died, if die they did.
Part of him wanted to remove his men from the area, return to the Heartlands. But in all truth he could not. He refused to turn and run from the new invaders; and indeed felt that would be futile, so fast did they travel. Far more than that though, he was in sight of realising the dream of the Wesmen. To throw down the Towers of Xetesk. Their defiance had been comprehensively broken but what had replaced it was clearly a power of considerable strength.
For the first time in many years, he did not know what he should do. So he waited. Waited while the noise died to a whisper within the walls and the screams that had echoed through the city had ceased. And while the chill in the air deepened, the glow of blue light from the slit in the sky spread and the sense of evil pervaded the walls behind him and the mind of every warrior standing with him.
They spoke in low tones, sang tribal songs and stared at him and the college. He knew they were scared but not one would run, not even in the face of an enemy they had no idea how to fight.
‘My Lord, look!’ shouted a warrior.
A renewed hush fell over the two thousand. From behind the college walls arose six of the creatures. One, huge, half as tall as the walls and truly awesome, was at their head. It had the body and head of a man but was tentacled from the waist down. The tentacles wavered like an anemone, propelling the creature through the air. Those grouped around it all had wings, tails and flat features in cold dead faces. All of them were hairless and had adopted blue colouring though flashes of reds and greens rippled across their flesh.
Tessaya drew his blade and gripped it hard.
‘Don’t flinch,’ he shouted. ‘We are the Wesmen. We fear nothing. ’
He heard his words shouted back at him and he nodded, a fierce smile cracking his features. He watched the creatures which approached fast, on a wave of cold. The giant one settled onto its tentacles in front of him. It was completely odourless.
‘We are the new masters here,’ said the creature. ‘You will submit to our rule. You will not bear arms and you will offer all your subjects for sacrifice. We will take as we please. It is the way.’
‘No one rules the Wesmen. We will fight you and we will prevail.’
Tessaya struck out with his blade. He saw the sword cut deep, he felt the resistance of the creature’s flesh, but when he ripped the blade clear the wound healed while he watched. Pain flickered momentarily across its face.
‘You cannot fight us,’ said the creature. ‘You will be the first. Your people will learn to respect us. There is no other way.’
The creature reached out and touched Tessaya above the heart, gripping. A frown creased its face. It pushed harder. Tessaya stumbled a pace and was pushed back upright by the men behind him.
‘What is this?’ hissed the creature. ‘Your soul is mine. All your souls are mine.’
Tessaya laughed loud and in its face.
‘Demons.’ He spat on the ground, recollecting the Easterner word from the stories and rumours. ‘Do you really know so little? You cannot touch the Wesmen. The Spirits protect our souls.’
‘Then we will break the Spirits before we break you.’
‘It is a battle you cannot win.’
The demon stared at him for a moment, turned and floated away back to the college. An uneasy calm fell over the Wesmen. Tessaya looked back to the towers of Xetesk.
They were clever, these Xeteskians. The demons were susceptible to magic but stamina for offence was finite and the enemy had overwhelming strength. But they had worked out quickly what it was the demons feared and had set it in front of them as a barrier. And for all their force of numbers, the demons respected it and had backed off.
Whatever the casting was, demons died within it and so remained outside of it. There had been very few times in his life when Tessaya had wished he understood magic but this was one such. He envied the potential it gave them and he was filled with a curious impotence. The fact was that these Easterners could kill the demons, or damage them at the very least, while he with all his passion and strength could not.
The sun was dipping behind the towers before he had seen enough. There came a moment when the barrier had sapped the wills of the demons for the time being and they had turned their minds to the recently enslaved populace. Tessaya had no desire to join them.
‘The mages will not die easily or quickly,’ he said to his nearest lieutenant. ‘Our opportunity for today has passed.’
‘And perhaps for ever,’ said the warrior.
‘There will be other days and the demons fear us,’ replied Tessaya. ‘But for today, we are finished. Call the tribes. We will withdraw. The city belongs to the demons.’
‘Camp at Understone?’
Tessaya nodded. ‘But with a forward camp within sight of the walls. We must not lose touch. Something extraordinary is happening. Sound the fall-back.’
Dystran watched the Wesmen go and felt deserted. The ColdRooms deterred the demons for now but he needed his every ally and his erstwhile enemy had surely become one.
They had something, they must have. Because the demons didn’t, or more likely couldn’t, take their souls. Dystran was damned if he knew what it was. But their departure marked the passing of the last vestige of what could laughingly be described as normality on Balaia.
He wondered what they would do. How far they would go. However far, it would not be enough. Strange. He almost felt sorry for Tessaya. Know it or not, the Wesmen lord’s fate and that of all his tribes depended on whether magic survived. Another day, he would have laughed at the paradox. Today, though, he had lost his city and most of his college. His mages and soldiers had died and those that remained were few and scared.
Never mind Tessaya, he had to get his devastated people through just one more day. And then the next.
‘Gods, Ranyl, how I need you now.’
But Ranyl, like so many, could not hear him.
&nbs
p; Chapter 8
‘Ilkar!’
Hirad sat bolt upright in his bed, the sweat pouring from him. He was soaked in it. Just like in the early days of his life on Calaius. But this was nothing to do with acclimatisation. His heart was pounding so hard his throat hurt and he was quivering all over. He rubbed his hands over his face and into his hair. He closed his eyes briefly but the images replayed and he couldn’t control his breathing.
With a shiver playing down his back, he swung his legs from the bed and stood on the matting. He heard voices elsewhere in the house and craved their company. In two years he had learned enough elvish to get by. In fact it was a language he enjoyed and these days when Rebraal visited the village, the two of them spoke more in the elf’s tongue than Hirad’s.
He pulled on a shirt and loose trousers and walked out of what had once been Ilkar’s room in his parents’ house, heading for the veranda and what he hoped would be friendly faces. Outside in the cool but still humid air deep in the Calaian rainforest, Rebraal and Kild’aar, a distant aunt by some means Hirad couldn’t quite understand, were sitting and talking. Drinks steamed gently on a table between them. A fire burned in the pit in front of the house, smoke spiralling into sky that was clouding for more rain.
It was the middle of the night. Out in the rainforest, the noise of life and death went on as it always did. The air smelled of rain and fresh vegetation. Hirad sat on one of the three other swept-back chairs on the veranda, feeling the weave shift to accommodate his broad shoulders.
‘I’ll get you some tea,’ said Kild’aar, levering herself out of her chair and walking slightly stiffly down the steps to the fire pit.
‘Your shouting eventually woke you up too, did it?’ said Rebraal, a smile touching his lips.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Hirad.
Rebraal shook his head. ‘Tell me. If you want to.’
The Raven Collection Page 269
