Dystran sampled the construct. Felt its solidity and the effort of the mages keeping it secure while the forces poured in. It was the textbook shape. The casting would be a triumph. All he could do now was wait. The field strengthened further, discordant noise filling the air. The Wesmen had stopped singing.
Next to him, Sharyr stood with every muscle tensed. His forehead was damp with sweat that trickled over his closed eyes and down his cheeks. Dystran became aware of the murmuring of the casting team. Their words were barely distinguishable as they spoke to each other across the construct and used command words that opened up new pathways in the shape, closed off others or bled away excess power.
A frown passed across Sharyr's face.
'Instability. Base level. Lock it down.'
To Dystran's right, a mage gasped with the effort, his teeth grinding. He swayed. Across the surface of the front, chaotic blue light surged and flashed.
'Spreading,' said Sharyr. 'Something's wrong. The alignment isn't firming, it's failing. How can that be . . . Prepare to release.'
'No,' said Dystran. 'Believe. Hold on for full term.'
The top edge of the front rippled violently. Dystran was buffeted by a sudden howl of wind. From the opposite side of the tower, he heard a cry of pain.
'One out, one out!' called Sharyr. 'Release on my mark.'
Dystran pursed his lips. Before him, the StormFront bucked and twisted. Its grey colouring was shot with dark lines. Bolts of pure energy seethed across its surface or grabbed at the ground. The intensity of noise grew sharply, battering at the ears. It was the sound of a thousand dragons breathing fire.
'Release!'
A moment's pause and the StormFront surged outwards, precisely as designed. An expanding wall of Balaian elemental destruction, focused and powered by the energy of inter-dimensional space. It would dissipate in no more than seventy to a hundred yards, minimising the risk to ordinary Xeteskians. But before it became little more than a puff of air, it would obliterate everything in its path.
Scant feet from the walls, the StormFront guttered and halted. Dystran staggered under the weight of the backwash through the mana spectrum.
'What-' he began.
It guttered again, rippled across its surface then the whole front delivered a blistering white light that scoured the night from the city in an instant. Through the patterns across his tortured eyes, Dystran saw the StormFront blink and suck back towards its starting point, the constant light casting harsh day over Xetesk. At dreadful speed, the circle wound back. The entire construct reversed until just a twinkle of blue mana light remained in the air just above and outside the college gates.
Blackness flooded the void left by the light. Dystran blinked hard, trying to shift the shapes that flowed across his vision. In monochrome, he could just pick out the sparkle of light over the gates, the fires indicating the Wesmen and, too bright to be anything other than a problem, the glimmer from the previous night's CobaltFury that had never dissipated.
Hypnotised, he watched a strand of blue emanate from the glimmer above the city walls and trace across the sky towards the college. It was pencil-thin and quite steady but Dystran sensed such menace inside it that it made him shudder.
There was no sound he could hear above his own breathing and the crackle of fires and hiss of lanterns and torches. Every waking eye would be transfixed by the line being drawn above the city. Every voice was mute.
'Sharyr?' hissed Dystran. 'Answers. Quickly.'
'I have none,' said Sharyr, his voice weary.
Dystran would have looked at him but he was reluctant to leave the spectacle. The points of light were almost joined now and the sense of foreboding growing.
'It's going to be a gateway,' said Dystran. 'But to where?'
'You can't be sure,' said Sharyr. 'It's probably just something caused by the meeting of our elements and inter-dimensional space.' Sharyr's tone suggested he didn't believe what he was saying.
The line of light reached the walls of the college. Alien sound abruptly split the nervous quiet. From the windows of towers, open doors and shadowed recesses, familiars flew. Two dozen and more, all that remained in the college. Gone was the mischievous laughter and the chittering contempt to be replaced by hollow keening and long, high-pitched and querulous wails.
Shivering, Dystran watched their flight pattern. It was tightly formed, one leading all the others in a helical pattern around the beam of light. They dispersed back into the sky after a few turns, rising in graceful arcs before plunging back towards the college, voices changed, sounding warning and alarm.
One by one, they disappeared back where they had come but the last diverted and flew to the balcony where Dystran stood. It hovered in front of him. Dystran considered he had never seen a familiar display fear before.
'Prepare,' it hissed. 'Save the masters. They are come.' And it dropped from sight.
Dystran's eyes snapped back to the beam.
'Oh dear Gods, what have we done?' he breathed.
Already, the first signs of panic were evident in the grounds of the college. People were running and shouting to no discernible purpose. Dystran fancied he could hear doors slam and lock. As if that would make any difference. Around him, the alignment team were pressing towards the balcony doors, eager for an escape.
'I tried to warn you,' said Sharyr. 'The alignment was never favourable enough for the power we had to use. A breach was surely inevitable.'
'They must have been waiting,' whispered Dystran.
'Ever since we first cast BlueStorm, I expect,' said Sharyr. 'Congratulations, my Lord Dystran. You have killed us all.'
Fierce cold washed out from the beam. Teeth ached in chilled gums, hair frosted and eyes dried out and stung. Through the frozen mist filling the air, Dystran could see the beam move. Edges appeared along its length and blue light spilled out. Not the deep blue of Xetesk but the livid colour of the demon dimension.
And out they spilled in their tens, hundreds and thousands. Multiple shapes and innumerable sizes and colours. Dystran saw demons the size of small birds flit off on buzzing wings. He saw others that would tower over houses, floating. He saw tails and tentacles. He saw necks like those of dragons, the heads of disfigured men, animals and other forms totally alien. Snakelike demons shimmered in the sky, bulbous-skulled demons roared across the firmament.
Still they poured out on a wave of blue demon-light. And when they had finished their cavorting, they grouped together. Four main groups and dozens of smaller ones fizzing and diving, setting off to every point of the compass, or so it seemed.
Dystran couldn't move. His mouth was dry and his body shook.
'Do something!' yelled Sharyr.
'Nothing,' mumbled Dystran, gesturing uselessly. 'There's nothing to do.'
'Organise, damn you!' Sharyr grabbed his lapels and shook some sense back into his mind. 'We have to work together or we'll all die, do you understand?'
'Yes,' said Dystran. 'Yes. ColdRooms. Make ColdRooms. And work. Research. We must fight. Muster in the mana bowl.'
Thousands of demons descended on Xetesk. Their approach was soundless and awesome, on a wave of freezing air. Others were surely on their way to Dordover, Lystern and Julatsa. They were the centres of mana energy and life force. The jewels the demons had craved for so long.
'Go,' said Dystran. 'Let me face them. They will want to talk.'
'Talk?'
'Yes, Sharyr. Demons always want to talk.'
At the head of the advance, three detached themselves and floated towards the tower. Sharyr took the remnants of his team and fled. Dystran, his heart thrashing in his chest, his consciousness threatening to desert him, faced the new enemy. The three were monstrous. Better than thirty feet tall, they had roughly human torsos but beneath their trunks tentacles writhed. Colours flashed across their sexless bodies, rainbows chasing each other to nowhere.
'You are not welcome here,' managed Dystran. 'Respect the ancient laws and treaties. Return to your dimension and seal the rift you have made.'
'The time of humans has passed,' said one, chest rippling and writhing. The voice was deep and carried far and wide. 'We rule here now.'
Chapter 7.
Hirad awoke with the sense of unease he had learned to trust. He lay where he was for a time, breathing in the rich scent of hay around him in the barn loft, seeing the rays of the dawn sun through the gaps in the planked walls and hearing the sounds of horses. Quite a number of horses.
He hurried to his feet and looked around for The Unknown. The big warrior was already standing at a small window, Thraun and Darrick by his side, looking down onto the village's single street.
'Trouble?' asked Hirad.
'See for yourself,' said The Unknown. 'Dordover has arrived.'
Through the window, Hirad could see at least twenty horsemen in college livery. Next to them was the one impostor that had escaped the previous evening along with several villagers. They were grouped at the bottom of the path that led up to Ferran's farm and there was no doubt at all where their attention lay. While he watched, Hirad saw small bags being tossed to the impostor and each of the villagers, who were then waved away.
'They're paying our ransom,' he said.
'Yeah,' said The Unknown. 'A little premature, don't you think?'
Hirad heard the sound of a sword belt being buckled on.
'Damn right,' said Hirad. 'Ideas?'
The Unknown looked out of the window once more. Hirad broke away to pull on his boots, and belt on his own sword. 'Ferran isn't with them, I see. We can presume he's innocent. That means that while they know we're in his buildings they won't know who's where necessarily. But we aren't going to get to the farmhouse without being seen and I think a little surprise is what we need.'
'I wonder if Denser and Erienne know what's happening.'
'I don't doubt it,' said Darrick. 'What we have to worry about is that we're unshielded. And I disagree with you, Unknown. Surprise is not what we need. After all, we've got a little help coming.'
He pointed to the left towards the southern edge of the village. Figures were racing in from the forest just beyond the last houses, disappearing into shadow to reappear far closer than they had any right to. And very much adjacent, a panther roared. The predatory sound scared the horses. A couple reared, the rest shifted, backing away. Riders began to dismount.
'Well, even if our loving couple were asleep, they aren't now,' said Hirad. 'Let's go, Raven, there's work to do.'
Thraun hung back. 'I will run with the panther one last time on Balaia,' he said.
'You sure?'
The blond warrior nodded, his yellow-tinged eyes bright. Hirad didn't wait for him but led the way down the ladder to the empty horse stalls. At the barn's double doors, The Unknown halted them briefly.
'Remember, if they want to arrest us, we can talk. Buy time. Just like last night.'
'I doubt they'll be as incompetent as last night,' said Darrick.
'Take my lead,' said The Unknown.
He pulled open the doors and strode out into the cool air of early morning. Darrick and Hirad were at either shoulder. Thraun was still inside. Not two paces into the sunlight and FlameOrbs arced towards them.
'Run!'
The Raven trio scrambled back inside, the Orbs crashing into the barn and the ground where they had been standing. Loose hay ignited, timbers flared and the ageing structure groaned and protested the impact. Fire took swift hold of the village side of the barn. It raced up the lintel where tongues licked down, daring them to attempt escape. It ate across the floor, finding ample fuel. Darrick, joined by the others, kicked a makeshift firebreak while behind them Thraun prowled, growling nervously.
'How strong are the walls d'you reckon?' asked Hirad. 'You know, just in case.'
'Not strong enough,' said The Unknown.
Smoke fled across the underside of the roof, choking the timbers and carrying sparks to the hayloft. Already, flames threatened the thatch high above them.
'We don't have a lot of time,' said Darrick.
'Patience,' said The Unknown, coughing.
'Raven!' came a voice. 'Surrender immediately or we'll burn you where you hide. You have-' He made a choking sound. Hirad fancied he heard a dry thud.
'Auum,' said Hirad. The panther roared into the teeth of another spell detonation. Men shouted. There were running feet.
'Hirad, shoulder at the edge of the flame, we'll break through there. Roll and split outside. Don't give them a target.' The Unknown sheathed his sword. 'Raven with me!'
Hirad and The Unknown sprinted for the fire's edge which was advancing along the wall at frightening speed, its heat drawing sweat from their brows. The warriors launched themselves on the last pace, shoulders connecting with scorching timbers. The impact of their combined weight on weakened wood was predictable and they punched through to fresh air in a shower of sparks and splinters.
Both men rolled on the packed earth, drawing swords as they regained their feet and running at angles towards the enemy. Thraun howled and charged. Darrick moved up in their wake. From the left, the TaiGethen and Rebraal advanced carefully behind accurate bowfire that skipped off a HardShield but kept its caster concentrating hard. The ClawBound were sprinting in a wide arc to reach the back of the Dordovans, their horses beginning to panic and split.
Already, one of their number lay with a shaft through his throat. Others circled and ran to defensive positions. Mages, one still on horseback, were either casting or held shields in place. The Raven's betrayers were backing off north. Hirad noted them and was just wondering if Denser and Erienne were with The Raven when the Xeteskian announced that he was.
Two focused columns of HellFire speared down from the clear sky. Rich blue and targeted at two standing mages, they struck with unstoppable power. A shield flared briefly orange and collapsed. Beneath it the two victims vaporised, not even having the time to scream.
'Let's take them, Raven!' yelled Hirad, changing the angle of his run to strike the centre of the demoralised and confused Dordovan force.
Thraun was past him on the next heartbeat, leaping to take the remaining mage from his horse. Blood fountained into the air and his horse bolted.
'They're open!' shouted The Unknown. 'Keep firing!'
Arrows flew. Two men were struck. From behind, the ClawBound elf strode in and buried his fingers deep into the face of a terrified conscript. His panther was by his side.
Half the remaining Dordovans turned to run and found themselves facing The Raven. Hirad was in no mood for games. The man in front of him recognised him and had all but resigned himself to death before Hirad struck. He raised a guard. Hirad stepped inside it, blocked away the sword arm with his left and buried his blade deep into the Dordovan's gut, driving up under the rib cage. Blood exploded from his mouth, spattering Hirad's face. The barbarian dragged the blade clear, turned to find his next opponent and crashed a fist into his face above his sword guard. The soldier staggered back. Hirad paced after him, punched him again, square on the chin. The soldier's sword dropped from nerveless fingers. Hirad growled and sliced out his throat.
Darrick had already downed two men who mistakenly thought him the easier target, while beside them one hapless soldier had met the full force of The Unknown's sword and had been all but divided in two at the midriff. The sword had caught in his splintered ribs. The Unknown struggled to drag it clear, another soldier closing on him, looking to carve himself a piece of history.
'Your right, Unknown,' called Hirad, blocking away a quick attack from one of a duo he faced.
The Unknown swung round, straight-punched the soldier on the nose with his right fist, paced in and butted him hard. The man stumbled backwards and The Unknown finished him, driving his blade deep into his gut.
Hirad pushed away his closest attacker and backed off a pace, smiling.
'Shame for you,' he said. 'Because you'll never know what hit you.'
In front of him, the soldiers hesitated. And Auum's Tai hit them with a speed that made Hirad gasp. Duele kicked head-high, snapping the neck of one man, Auum and Evunn scything into the legs and chest of the other. Hirad looked about him. It was over. The one remaining impostor leaped onto the back of a horse and kicked it into frenzied action. His limbs flailed as he urged it desperately towards a gallop.
'Not this time,' said Hirad. 'Thraun!'
The wolf looked up from the throat of a victim, blood covering his muzzle.