Demonstorm

'Why did they break off?' asked Arabelle. 'They had us, you know.'

'Pqrhaps they didn't realise,' said Renarn. 'Perhaps they were called to another battle.'

Heryst chuclded in spite of their situation. The filth, cold, hunger and thirst. 'Ever the optimist, Renarn. There is litde else, I suppose. I think that no matter their overwhelming numbers, they are still wary. They know we can hurt them as we have proved. They are many but finite.'

Heryst beckoned them all to him, but for the guard that stood on the council table and over the mages that gave them their remaining glimmer of hope. He felt a curious elation.

'My friends,' he said, and he meant that term with every fibre he possessed. 'We have held the enemy for so long. We have bought time for those who are stronger and who can damage the demons more severely. We have occupied so many and that has kept them from the souls of others. Never forget what you have achieved. Nothing you have done has been wasted.

'When next the demons come, we can expect it to be the last time. They have merely gone to report. Those who wish to surrender to them now, you have my blessing. It may be that you will survive with hope for your liberation. All I do know is that there is no hope for you if you stay here.'

Not a single person moved. Heryst nodded.

'I expected as much. It would be like betrayal, wouldn't it?'

Murmurs of agreement greeted his words.

'We want nothing but to stand by you until the end,' said Arabelle.

'Then now is the time to make your peace with the Gods if you believe in such and to say goodbye to those you have come to love. There won't be the opportunity later. I will see you all individually but you know where I must begin.'

Heryst walked to the quiet corner of the chamber. One of the five

who lay on makeshift beds there was Kayvel. His old friend and mentor was close to death and that was a blessing. He had lost his sight in the last day and his skin was sallow and cold to the touch. Heryst knelt by him and wiped the mucus from his mouth and nose.

'You heard what I said?' he asked, voice gentle and quiet.

'It was a fitting speech,' said Kayvel, his voice dry and cracked. 'You always did pick the right moments.'

'Then you know why I'm here.'         

'I am honoured to be your first port of call.'

'Where else would I begin, Kayvel?'

Kayvel grabbed at his sleeve, catching a grip at the second attempt. 'Then listen to me one last time. You and the remaining mages must leave and leave now. Lystern cannot be allowed to die. Drop the ColdRooms, cast ShadowWings and fly anywhere.'

T will not leave my people.'

'You know I am right,' said Kayvel, breath rasping in his throat. 'We have no more time for sentimentality.'

Heryst was silent. Of course Kayvel was right but it was an impossible course to follow. He'd struggled with these people for so long. How could he possibly look down on their deaths from beneath ShadowWings?

The unmistakable rumbling of advancing karron was heard through the shattered windows. It had purpose about it. And in the sky, reavers called and strike-strain chattered. It was beginning. Heryst turned to Kayvel to say his last words.

'Don't let them take me,' said Kayvel. 'I will not lose my soul.'

'Whatever your wish,' said Heryst.

A dull thud resounded through the tower's foundations. Then another. More. In moments, a constant pounding reverberated across the building. Plaster was dislodged, remaining window glass rattled and timbers squeaked at their joists. The pounding intensified quickly. The council chamber rumbled and shook. Doors rattled in their stays.

'Dear Gods,' muttered Heryst.

Kayvel's grip hadn't loosened. 'Do what I say, Heryst. Soon you'll have no choice.'

Heryst leaned in and kissed the dying man's forehead. 'Goodbye, old friend. Don't worry about me.'

'Goodbye, my Lord Heryst. It has been an honour to serve you.'

Heryst swept to his feet and looked back into the chamber. The karron were taking the tower apart from the bottom upwards. Arabelle was organising the remnants of the defence. On the table, the guards looked down anxiously on the casting mages. The whole table was vibrating. The mages, all seated, were juddering. It was only a matter of time.

'Arabelle!' called Heryst. The chamber shifted violently. 'Arabelle!'

She shouted more orders and ran over to him. 'Get ready to go.'

'Where?' he asked.

She pointed straight up. 'You know where. I was listening to Kayvel. We agree with him. We'll hold them off for long enough.'

Another juddering series of impacts. The tower rocked in its broad foundations.

'Arabelle, they aren't going to come up here again. They're going to bring the tower down.'

'I know,' she said. 'We're going to distract them. You take the mages.'

The sound of falling stone echoed up the tower. A timber in the roof cracked and crashed to the ground. His people scattered. It fell square on the table, crushing two of the guards.

'ColdRoom down!' shouted one of the casting mages. 'We're defenceless.'

Arabelle grabbed Heryst. 'It has to be now, my Lord. The windows are open, you can cast.'

'No.'

'The college must survive. Don't argue with me.'

Heryst looked past her at all the faces staring back at him. Every one of them was behind Arabelle.

The first reaver appeared at the windows to look inside, checking on the state of the Lysternans. Below, karron took great gouges out of the tower. The floor was cracking. More timbers groaned overhead.

'Fly well, fly safe,' she said.

Heryst, the tears forming in his eyes, nodded his thanks and admiration. Arabelle turned to the defenders.

'To your positions. Go!'

The reaver backed away as the tower shifted and angled, limbers split and began to fall. Heryst ran to his mages on the table.

'With me, my mages. ShadowWings and fly.'

Seven. Seven mages. Two more than the flight from Dordover if he did but know it. The casting complete, the Wings at his back, Heryst flew for a shattered window. Below him, the bravest people he had ever known bought him the precious time he needed.

He whispered last words to his friends and flew hard for the clouds.

Arnoan was deep in concentration performing the banishment ritual while the demons tore at the barracks roof and fought the Al-Arynaar. Wesmen warriors had filled waterskins and provided provisions sacks. Now all they could do was wait for the Shaman to be ready.

'Where does it draw from?' asked Erienne. 'I mean, it is magic, isn't it?'

'Plainly,' said Vuldaroq. 'But there is no mana usage.'

'It's a conversation for another time,' said Dystran. 'Dear Gods, look at you all. Some last-hope group you make.'

Hirad thought to round on him but stopped. He was right. Hirad himself felt like sleeping for ever and around him none of The Raven were in any better condition. Both Erienne and Denser had to be close to their stamina limits, The Unknown was limping heavily on his bad hip and Thraun, like Hirad, had suffered so many demon cuts he had a constant shiver. Only Ark looked anything like ready. Even Eilaan looked tired. Beside him, the TaiGethen were impossible to gauge. Decked out in their paints, they had completed their prayers and were standing silent, betraying nothing.

'We're the only choice you've got,' said Hirad.

'But even so, the human is right,' said Auum, breaking his silence. 'Rebraal, you will fight with the TaiGethen.'