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 foetal 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 crushed, 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 towards 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.
Belatedly spurred into action, Thraun barked and leapt after his companion, missing him by inches. Will reached the borders of the Cold Room and pushed a hand through. In that same moment, the demons and all their evil and malevolence disappeared. Ilkar, Erienne and Denser dropped their spell and the corridor was still once more.
In the quiet that followed, Hirad took in The Raven and Sha-Kaan. The Unknown Warrior sat with the relatively unscathed mages, his head a mass of oozing cuts, his arms swathed in a slick of blood. The Great Kaan rested on his belly, his scales outwardly sound but Hirad could feel his hurt and knew the demons had made him suffer for each one he had killed.