'Run!' Chandyr led the charge back to the doors, stopping by Dystran who had backed right to the edge of the ColdRoom.
Soldiers and mages rushed past. Demons closed in from left, right and above. The corridor down which the Dordovans flew narrowed, the quartet dropping to line astern to keep the demons crucial feet from them. The last mage didn't want to look back. A huge winged creature was slashing at his feet, missing them by hairs alone.
'Wait just a moment,' said Dystran, feeling the anxiety of the mage next to him. Vuldaroq was fifty yards away. 'Right, let's give them something to aim at.'
The two mages cast, FlameWalls, parallel, forty feet high and a hundred long sprang up either side of the doors. Demons coming in from the flanks were forced to stop, those above veered away. Vuldaroq charged headlong.
'Oh Gods,' muttered Dystran and stumbled back inside the complex, dragging Chandyr and the other mage with him. 'We're going to have to break their fall. Get in front of the tower pillar. This is going to hurt.'
He'd only got a few yards inside and turned before Vuldaroq flew into the doorway. The ColdRoom snapped off the flow of mana. His ShadowWings disappeared and he plunged the dozen or so feet to the ground and rolled out of control towards the uncompromising stone of Dystran's tower. Fortunately for him, he hit Dystran first and the two men sprawled to a stop.
Immediately after him, the surviving three flashed in, dropped and bounced, mages rushing to their aid. Behind them, those demons too enraged to pull away followed them in. Three of them, one huge, the size of a wagon, two smaller, man-size, and all three keening in pain inside the ColdRoom that stripped them of the mana that gave them life.
The battle was brief but loud. Swords flashed in the torchlight. Chandyr shouted for concentration and caution. The demons flew raggedly, dropping quickly as their strength ebbed but determined to take any with them that they could. Right in Dystran's eyeline, one of his men moved too slowly. His blade missed the claw that dragged at him and he was helpless, his soul snagged and taken. He crumpled.
Chandyr's blade thudded into the back of the same creature, others joining him. They drove it to the ground, hacking and slashing. One blow took its head from its body and the whole of it shuddered and lay still.
Silence but for heavy breathing and quiet reassuring voices. The other two demons had fled through the open complex doors which were shut on the decaying FlameWalls. Dystran looked about him at the white-faced men sitting or leaning against walls. Many had their heads in their hands. He could see tears, though whether through relief or terror he couldn't say. The close friends of the man who had died surrounded him. There was the sound of a blade dropping from a tired grip.
'Well done, everyone,' said Chandyr. 'Well done.'
Dystran turned his attention to the man lying in his arms. Vuldaroq. The last time he had seen Dordover's Arch Mage, he had been belligerent, obese and arrogant. The man he looked at now was a shadow. Gaunt and pale, the skin of his face and neck hanging loose as it must do over his entire body. Dystran felt the shake in Vuldaroq's muscles and saw the tears squeezing from his tight-shut eyes. He drew breath in ragged gasps. Blood ran from cuts on his face and hands, and already skin was discolouring where he had struck the ground hard.
Dystran knew he should hate the man but two years changed so much. The war had been over ever since the demons first appeared and the Wesmen had left the city. Since then, the scant communication between the colleges had been like finding long-lost friends. There had been no time for recrimination.
The Lord of the Mount of Xetesk sat up and dragged Vuldaroq to a seated position. The Dordovan was spent. He surely could not have flown for much longer. A quick glance told him that the others were in no better condition.
'Get me hot drink, food and blankets. I want beds made for these men to rest on,' said Dystran. 'We've saved them from the demons. Let's not lose them to exhaustion.'
Vuldaroq's eyes flickered open. They were red and brimmed with tears.
'Thank you,' he croaked, voice dry and cracked.
'That was quite some entrance,' said Dystran. 'What the hell happened?'
'Dordover is gone,' said Vuldaroq, voice suddenly loud in the silence that fell in the dome as he spoke. 'We're all that is left.'
Dystran felt cold. The second great college of Balaia. Reduced to four mages.
'How?'
'We were never strong enough and they grew stronger every day. It was sudden in the last few days. Like they'd gained power from somewhere.' He coughed. It wracked his entire body and he shivered.
'Later,' said Dystran. 'Food and rest now. You're safe here for the time being.'
But the words Vuldaroq had spoken backed up everything Dystran feared. He searched for Chandyr. The commander met his gaze levelly from across the dome.
'I need some good news,' said Dystran. 'Where's my library team?'
'They aren't back yet,' said Chandyr. 'Patience, my Lord.'
'It's happening now,' said Dystran. 'We don't have time for patience.'
The shadows of demons flitted in and out of Sharyr's peripheral vision. The whir of their wings was the only sound they made. He had to keep out of his mind the thought of their spindly fingers reaching for his soul while he searched feverishly among the shelves for anything that might give them a clue to the demons' tactics.
Smoke was filling the library from the fire that was fast consuming the accumulated knowledge of Xetesk. Whatever he and his team collected now could well be all that was ever salvaged.
Sharyr knew the demons had lost him temporarily after he'd pushed them through a skylight and dropped the ForceCone. But they hadn't lost Suarav. What a spirit the man had. He could hear the captain's taunts and shouts, trying to draw the soul stealers away from the two surviving archivists looking for Dystran's prayed-for panacea.
The conscript was gone. The sound of the man's cut-off scream would live with him forever. He smiled grimly at the thought that forever for him could be a very short time indeed.
Sharyr grabbed a demonology scroll and with a surge of excitement having seen the author's name, stuffed it into his cloak. Behind him, new flame flared high into the library and sent a billow of choking smoke across the lower hall. The shadow of a grasping demon was cast huge against a wall. He heard one of his archivists call a warning.
'Time's up!' roared Suarav. There was the sound of a sword thudding dully. A demon yelped and screeched. 'Meeting point, now!'
Sharyr turned right, heading back towards the seat of the fire. Back towards the library doors. He heard the whir and saw a demon round the corner and float gently towards him along the aisle. He backed away.
'No escape,' said the demon, advancing with hands outstretched. 'We seek what you seek.'
'It'll burn before you set eyes on it,' said Sharyr. He backed off further and felt a chill, heard the whirring again, this time behind him. He was trapped.
'No escape,' repeated the demon. It came on, fingers rippling.
Right was wall, left, bookcases. Sharyr's mind was made up. The rest went by in a blur.
'You will not have me,' he whispered.
He could not cast, there was no time. Flames crackled menacingly in the centre of the library. Smoke irritated his eyes. The demons closed lazily. Sharyr had only one chance at what he intended to do. He threw himself shoulder-first into the freestanding bookcases that were the left-hand border of the aisle. It was a long, solid structure with more shelves racked beyond it. About ten feet high and heavy with books. Mercifully, it was not bolted to the floor.
Sharyr felt it move and he started to climb, scrambling up the shelves, arms and legs scrabbling for purchase. His momentum carried him up while the bookcase tipped away from him. With his feet on the top shelf, the bookcase passed the point of no return. The thundering sound of books falling mixed with that of his breathing, his heartbeat, Suarav's shouts and the flames. The shelving creaked. He stood, riding the case. It gathered momentum and cannoned into the one across the next aisle.
'Oh shit,' he muttered. There were six aisles before the wide gap of the centre aisle of the library.
He began to move again, running at an angle across the cases, jumping to the next, almost stumbling. He could feel the quickening movement beneath his feet. He kept himself going, his paces light. The clattering of the cases and the slipping of books reached a crescendo. Suarav was barking orders. He could see the heads of his friends bobbing as they sprinted down the centre aisle, demons in pursuit. He daren't guess how close his own pursuers were.
Sharyr took one last leap, caught the falling edge of a case and tumbled hard to the ground. He turned a diving forward roll, feeling a sharp crack in his collar-bone. He sprawled and cried out, clutching at his clothing, desperate to keep the texts with him.
A strong hand gripped him under his good arm and hauled.
'By all the Gods burning, that was quite a performance,' growled Suarav. 'Now go, run hard left at the main doors as we'd planned. You know the way in.'
Sharyr could feel the heat of the fire on his face. It was eating up at the walls. The pain in his right shoulder was terrible, nauseating.
'What about you?'
'I'll keep them back.' Suarav leaned in. 'Don't argue with me, boy. We always knew this could happen.'
Sharyr nodded, turned and ran; the last thing he heard behind him was Suarav daring them to try and pass him.
Chapter 14.
The Unknown made them all wait. The longboat was ready to take him and The Raven to join the others already aboard the Calaian Sun but he wasn't ready yet. There was never enough time for goodbye. Particularly when he had no desire to leave.
'I can't believe I'm doing this,' he said, walking arm in arm with Diera through the woods to the left of the path that led to the landing beach. Jonas trotted along next to them, oblivious to the mood for the moment, lost in a nonsense game of his own devising.
'It's the price we have to pay because of who you are,' said Diera, her words carrying no conviction.
A stiff warm breeze swayed the narrow trunks surrounding them. A few dead leaves fell.
'We've paid enough,' he said.
'Apparently not.'
The Unknown stopped and faced her, looking into her lovely face, the fear in her eyes clear behind her forced smile.
'One word and I'll stay,' he said.
'What, and wonder how they are coping without you? We've been through this, Sol. There isn't a choice.' She looked down at Jonas who had stopped his play to stare at them, a frown across his innocence. 'There never is.'
'I'm sorry.' Every word was clumsy. None of it helped. He was trapped between his desire and his calling. Gods, he'd shunned the soldier's life to avoid exactly that. At least now he knew why. It hurt.
'What for?' She placed her hands on his chest, smoothed his shirt to either side. 'I heard Sha-Kaan. I do trust him. This is the only way.'
He was unsure who she was trying to convince.
'Come on,' she said. 'Or you'll miss the tide and we'll have to go through all this again.'
He crushed her to him and felt her strength give and the sobs coming. Jonas clung onto his mother's leg, his expression collapsed into anxiety.
'Mummy?'
The Unknown swept him up and the three embraced long and hard.
'You're not coming back, are you?' said Diera, voice thick and half muffled by his chest. 'Not this time.'
The Unknown released her, keeping hold of Jonas. 'I-'
'No time for dreams or lies,' said Diera, stroking his face.
'I want to believe it,' said The Unknown. 'The Gods know it'll be the one thing that keeps me going.'
'But your head says what?'
'That we're going against an enemy so powerful it has all but overrun the four colleges and controls Balaia. That in all probability, we will all die attempting to liberate our country. That what sort of husband and father would I be if I didn't at least try?'
Unexpectedly, Diera smiled, this time with warmth and humour. The Unknown smoothed away her tears.
'You know, when I was growing up, I dreamed I'd have a husband who was a true hero. Someone who I'd wave off to fight for me and welcome back time and again. I got my wish, didn't I? Almost.'
'Looks like it,' he said. 'You should have chosen better.'
'And be a demon-slave or dead,' she said. 'I'll take the heartache.'
'There is that.'
'I can't wave you off. Not again.'
The Unknown nodded. He unhooked Jonas's grip from his shoulder and brought the boy in front of him. Jonas regarded him quizzically.
'You look after your mother, won't you?'
Jonas's sombre nod dragged a chuckle from The Unknown's dry, sore throat where he'd been swallowing hard. He kissed the boy on his cheeks and handed him back to Diera.
'Goodbye, Sol,' she said, tears falling anew. 'I love you.'
'And I love you. With every beat of my heart,' he said. 'Keep believing.'
'I'll try.'
He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth, a tender, lingering touch. Their tongues met briefly, firing passion, and pulled away. He stepped back, let his hand brush her cheek and then forced his legs to turn and carry him to the waiting longboat.
Sha-Kaan had stayed in the Klene a very long time. He had cursed the conspiracy of circumstances that had taken the eyes of the Kaan from the Balaian dimension. But he knew also that there was little the brood could realistically have done. The Xeteskians had dabbled once too often with the power of dimensional space and now they were all paying the penalty. Contact with Dragonene mages was sparse and difficult. Soon it would cease altogether. The demons grew stronger every day.
He was unused to the fear he felt at what he had to do. His brood urged him not to travel alone but he really had no choice. A flight of Kaan dragons would be seen as a threat and destroyed. Further, he still could not afford to take able dragons from the defence of his Broodlands while the newborn were so weak.
So it was that he flew high and alone for the Broodlands of the Naik, his fiercest enemies. He already knew he could rely on the Veret to support him. Long-time allies, they had foresight that the Naik had never displayed. His greatest fear was that the Naik would see this as an opportunity to destroy the Kaan, as indeed it was. But if they did, it would consign them to death also. The question was, could he persuade them of that fact?
One factor was of some comfort. Should he fail, the enemy would not be long following him to the dead lands.
No Kaan knew the exact location of the Naik Broodlands but they all knew in which part of Beshara they would encounter attack. Sha-Kaan prepared himself for the inevitable challenge. His flame ducts were full and lubricated should he need them. The Vestare had spent days massaging balms and oils into his scales and the old muscles at his wing roots to give him increased flexibility; and he practised in his mind what he would say to buy him life enough to at least face Yasal-Naik, their brood leader.
And once he was prepared, he pulsed a message to Hirad Coldheart that he was among enemies and dived through the high cloud, barking loud to announce his presence.
For a while, he saw nothing in the skies. Below him, a vast desert fled away to distant iron-grey mountains. The great ocean was far away to his right and behind him the lush plains of Teras were a distant memory. He saw them first as a cloud like a sandstorm brewing ahead and close to the ground. The cloud boiled upwards, spiralling fast towards him, resolving itself into six rust-brown Naik dragons. All were young to his eyes, all desperate to reach him first, all charged with aggression and hate.
Sha-Kaan watched them come. He made sure he displayed no aggression himself. He circled slowly, his belly scales fully displayed, his neck straight and his wings deployed. Their formation worried him. It was by no means a holding pattern. It was an attack chevron.
He barked again, a sound of submission, but they still drove on unchanged, their calls a challenge to him and his brood. He held station a moment longer until it became plain their pace was going to take them straight through him. Barking his irritation, he beat his wings hard, propelling himself up and north of them, forcing them to break formation to intercept. One was ahead of the others. Sha-Kaan saw its mouth open.
He had not survived so many cycles without being a master of timing his dives. The Naik drove onwards, sure of his quarry. Sha-Kaan saw the breath draw in and the neck swell around its flame ducts. Orange fire washed the space where he should have been but he had furled his wings and dropped like a stone, bringing his head round to pour flame over the young dragon's flank.
In the next instant, he spread his wings wide, braking his fall dramatically. He roared loud. The remaining dragons faltered in flight, watching their brother plummet groundwards. Perhaps for the first time, they realised who it was they faced. This was no ordinary enemy. This was Sha-Kaan.