'The castle, the stable block, the back courtyard, the inner courtyard and the equipment sheds. That's about it.'
'Oh dear Gods.' Blackthorne shook his head. 'How many have we lost?'
'I don't know,' said Luke. 'We'll do a count later but it's bad. We've a core of mages for the ColdRooms but there's no way we can see off another attack of that magnitude.'
'We might have to find a way.'
Blackthorne, with Luke leaning on him heavily, headed for the main doors of the hall. On his way, he caught the eye of a warrior looking up from a dead companion.
'He put himself in front of me,' the soldier explained. 'The demon tore at his heart. Should be me.'
'But it isn't, Sergeant,' said Blackthorne gently. 'And everyone, living or dead, is a hero today. If we weren't, they would have overrun us. Pay him back; never give in.'
The sergeant nodded. Blackthorne could see the man shivering. His eyes were unfocused as if there was nothing behind them. He was absolutely terrified, traumatised by the experience. Blackthorne reached out and helped him up. At least he was steady on his feet.
'There is nothing you can do for him. The duty watch will take him with the others, if there's anything left of them that is. Why don't you fetch my sword from the table over there and help me with Luke?'
Blackthorne took a last gaze around the banqueting hall. It was a charnel house. It stank. At the far end, teams were being organised to clear the bodies out to the courtyard where they would be buried. They couldn't afford the wood for pyres, nor the water to wash away the blood. Not until they'd ascertained what supply they had left.
He became aware of the filth on his own body; demon as well as human. And also the increasing weight Luke was putting on him.
'Hey, boy, not feeling so good?'
'I've felt better,' agreed Luke.
The soldier hurried back across the floor.
'Take his other side,' ordered Blackthorne. 'I take it the barracks are out of bounds.'
'Yes, my Lord,' said Luke.
'Then you will rest in my quarters.'
'No. There is so much to do.'
'Yes, there is. And I and the good sergeant here will organise it. When I have the numbers, I will bring them to you. No buts, Luke, I need your mind and right now it's not all there, is it?'
Blackthorne all but crumbled faced with Luke's look of gratitude. The young man slumped against him.
'Dammit,' he said. 'Come on, let's get moving.'
He and the sergeant hurried Luke from the hall. The situation in the corridors they travelled was little better than that they'd just left. Bodies, not enough still moving, littered walkways, stairs and chambers. They passed the infirmary, a hive of activity and bursting at the seams, on the way to his rooms.
'Attention, my chambers. Now.' He barked, not waiting for a response.
They bundled Luke up the stairs and all but threw him on Blackthorne's wrought-iron, curtained bed. It was dim in the bedchamber. The fire was cold, no candles were lit and the windows were shuttered and nailed. Demons marauded outside.
The sergeant wrung out the cloth in Blackthorne's basin and folded it for a compress.
'He's not got a fever, man!' snapped the Baron. 'Bank and light the fire. Quickly.'
Blackthorne pulled the covers to Luke's neck and sat on the bed. He used the cloth to clean away the worst of the blood, feeling Luke's icy skin.
'Hang on, lad. Hang on. It'll pass.'
'Not going anywhere,' said Luke faintly.
'Good.'
There was a tentative knock on the door. He shouted them in, two healers.
'Don't let him die. We need him. I need him.'
Blackthorne ran from his chambers. He had to know what he still controlled, what forces were still under his command. At every turn, the prognosis became less palatable and it forced him to consider three questions. Why had they suddenly become so very much stronger; why had they pulled back if they were really as strong as they appeared; and when would they be back to deal the fatal blow?
Until that afternoon, his ColdRoom shell had covered about a third of the area of his town; and they had held it comfortably. He was now having to come to terms with the fact that he was a prisoner in his own castle. Luke had not been exaggerating and Blackthorne was thankful that enough order remained for a watchful defence perimeter to be in place. He owed Darrick particularly and his determination that they set up multiple overlapping defensive cells. He'd probably never have the opportunity to thank him personally.
Blackthorne took a longer look in the infirmary the second time around. The once calm and quiet whitewashed chamber was awash with noise and blood. It echoed to the cries of the injured and fading, the exhortations of healers and the squeal of metal on stone as cots were dragged from examination to treatment and, if the incumbent was fortunate, recovery. Every inch of floor space was covered with his warriors, mages and ordinary townspeople. They lay on makeshift pillows, were propped against walls and pillars and cradled in the arms of loved ones.
He paused to offer comfort to those he could and promise resources to the healers if he could muster any. Hot water and clean cloth were in desperately short supply.
Clattering down to the kitchens, he found some cause for hope. Deep in the bowels of the castle, with their chimneys grilled and venting smoke into the foundations and caves, they had escaped the attack. Food was being prepared, water was boiling and a bucket chain was in operation from the trio of wells. Blackthorne nodded approval at the level of guards in this room that now found itself the hub of operations.
He shook hands, patted backs and spoke encouragement. It was crucial he was visible. Gods, half the castle probably didn't know if he was dead or alive. He toured quickly; checked the stable block, assessed the condition of horses and mages, the courtyard where guards still walked but where anxiety had replaced confidence and where twos had replaced threes and fours, and the periphery of the shell. He felt its closeness and tried to count the demons.
They were still there but they had suffered huge losses. Blackthorne and his people had given them a real bloody nose but at great cost. Surely, the demons, even if they were temporarily depleted which he doubted, could simply reinforce. His numbers were severely diminished and they knew it. Yet there were no taunts, no displays and no shows of strength or intent. The town was quiet. So quiet that they were barely even being watched.
Later, having completed his tour of the grounds, gardens and buildings still in his gift, he went back to his chambers and sat with Luke. The boy's eyes bored into the ceiling while he spoke.
'What would your assessment be . . . it could be worse? That about covers it. We have the mage strength to cycle our casters. We have the secure area for mana replenishment and we have access to food and water; the latter indefinitely, the former for another forty days at least.
'It would have been fewer but I'm afraid our losses have been steep. We might have a shell over the castle but realistically, we can't defend much more than the kitchens, stables, ground chambers and banqueting hall. We should really relocate the infirmary too. If we do that, I feel we can hold out until there is no food in our bellies. We're still strong, we have our belief. But we can't break out though. We don't have the people any more. At least, I don't think so.
'Your opinion would have been so valuable. Your insight and organisation too. And most of all, your optimism. I'm sorry I left you, Luke. I'll grieve when I am alone.'
Blackthorne reached over and closed Luke's eyes. He turned to look properly at the bodies of the healers and the sergeant he had brought up here only to die.
'I am moved almost to tears, but I cannot cry. Was that speech for me or for him? He with the glorious soul that so sates me now.'
'His name was Luke and it was for us all,' said Blackthorne, standing.
'And do you believe it? Truly?' Ferouc moved from the shadows, wings furled at his back, his colour a resonant, relaxed deep green. 'Or have I finally convinced you that this futile struggle is at an end?'
'It's funny, you know. Had you come to me as I walked outside instead of this,' Blackthorne indicated the broken shutter, 'I might have had half a mind to agree with you. But you have just killed the wrong man and now I will fight you to the very last. Do you find that funny, Fidget? What drives men on?'
Ferouc's colour flared briefly bright. Its fingers clacked together.
'Beware your insults, Baron Blackthorne. You are unarmed.'
'And you are within my shield. Weak. Vulnerable.' Blackthorne moved towards the demon. 'Want to find out who would prevail?'
'Just one lingering touch, human.'
'Do you really believe I would succumb that easily?' Blackthorne found he had no fear of the creature. Powerful though it was, he could feel only a brooding anger and determination. It gave him true courage and a line to every like-minded man and woman across Balaia. It was the perfect defence. 'I am Baron Blackthorne. No one dominates me. No one takes from me what I am.'
Ferouc's hands clasped together and in its throat, it forced a dry rasp.
'It is a shame for Balaia that not all humans are so strong. Even so, you can be defeated. Broken.'
Blackthorne saw the reavers float in through the twisted shutter. Three of them.
'We have won, Baron Blackthorne. Our strength is too much for you even inside your shell now. But believe me, surrender is painless.'
Blackthorne snatched the dagger from his pocket sheath, backhanded it across the throat of the nearest creature. The demon crashed backwards, dying quickly, and Blackthorne moved into the space and to the door. He felt small gratification at the genuine surprise on Ferouc's face and the lightening of its colour.
'Every Baron has enemies, Fidget, and none ever walk unarmed,' he said. 'We will prevail. The Raven and the elves will beat you and you will die never having taken my castle or tasted my soul.'
He took the stairs down three at a time, bellowing for his guards.
The furious barks split the Besharan sky. Immediately, the choreographed grace of the mock attack pattern dissolved. Broods pulsed and called their dragons together. Sha-Kaan watched helplessly while across the arena the structure broke up. Gost climbed high and circled. Stara bunched and gave themselves space in their homeland direction. Skoor sank into a cloud layer, taking on a defensive pattern.
Smaller broods scattered to the winds and the orb. Dragons bumped and barged. Flames lit up the fading day. Several dragons could be seen spiralling from the sky, trailing smoke. Tension flared, sudden anger drove the mood. Naik and Kaan dragons flew into the gap, appealing for calm.
From the south, Sha-Kaan watched the clutch of Brood Koli approach. None could fail to feel the fury that they pulsed into the psyche. And all knew instantly at whom it was directed. Space widened around the Skoor, who protested innocence and defiance in equal measure. Sha-Kaan requested Yasal follow him and he soared away to join the gathering of both their broods.
'There must be no conflict whatever the crime,' he pulsed. 'Surround the Skoor. Yasal, please, with me to the Koli.'
'Of course,' said Yasal.
The forces of the Naik and Kaan flew onto the cloud bank where the Skoor waited. The psyche was packed with disgust, betrayal and anger, and tinged with a little conciliation.
Sha-Kaan felt a burgeoning sense of inevitability. Tension and grievance had taken longer to surface than he had anticipated. His naivety had been in beginning to think they'd escape without serious trouble. Flying towards the onrushing Koli, just seven of them, Sha could see flights of dragons from almost every brood detach and fly for their Broodlands. He had been tempted to do the same.
'Slow,' he pulsed to the Koli. 'Slow.'
They ignored him, powering on and adjusting to fly by the two emissaries for peace. Yasal angled away too, Sha letting him go and continuing on his trajectory to bring him into formation with them rather than bar their passage.
'Falon-Koli, you will stop and you will talk. You cannot reach them.'
'Do not try and stop me, Sha-Kaan,' pulsed Falon. 'This is not your concern.'
'Every conflict is my concern at this time,' said Sha, letting irritation enter his tone. 'We work for all our futures.'
'I have no future!' roared Falon. 'The Skoor have attacked our Broodlands. We are destroyed. We are all that is left.'
Another pulse flooded Sha.
'We trusted you, Sha-Kaan, and we have been betrayed. You fight for your future. All we have left is revenge.'
'No,' said Yasal, his pulse angry. 'You must not attack. You must not risk all that we are building.'
'You build nothing,' spat Falon-Koli. 'Alliance based on lies and rumours. Where is your threat, Sha-Kaan? I will tell you. It is the Skoor. And they have used you to destroy us. We will die but we will exact revenge. It is all we have.'
'One more time. Slow. Please.'
Sha-Kaan was cruising in a high arc above them now. Closing fast. Yasal bored up from below on intercept.
'Stop us and feel our flame.'
At a signal, the seven Koli split. Sha-Kaan bellowed his frustration. He pulsed his brood as Yasal would be doing. Skoor scattered from their cloud base. One hundred and seventy-five of them; completely overwhelming for the Koli.
'Flame take you, Caval-Skoor,' he pulsed. 'What have you done?'
'What we had to,' came the calm reply. 'And now the task will be completed and you will have my attention.'
Caval had broadcast to all that might hear. A flood of enraged responses filled the psyche. They would not fly with the Skoor; they had put aside their disputes; they would side with the Koli to drive the Skoor from the skies.
Naik and Kaan dragons begged for calm while they aligned themselves for defence. Sha-Kaan, his heart thundering in the centre of his body, felt the hope drain from him. He roared again, blasting flame into the empty sky. Koli and Skoor closed on one another, calls of hate, taunts of death sounding loud. Broods across the sky formed into attack and defence formations. Stara and Gost packed together. The smaller broods gathered, some already flew in the slipstream of the few Koli. The first flames struck, the first jaws clamped on.
'Yasal, break away. Don't put yourself into this. Kaan, to the heights.'
The Broods Kaan and Naik spiralled upwards. Sha-Kaan heard the screeches of burned dragons and he closed his eyes.
'Please,' he pulsed to any that would listen. 'Pull away. Tanis-Veret, Koln-Stara, Eram-Gost. All of you who would save our dimension pull away. Join us in the heights.'
But the deafening roars of battle below tolled at him that they were lost.
Chapter 29.
The Raven had been aware the elven-led Julatsan force was approaching long before they could see it. Auum had brought them slightly south of Triverne Lake to a hidden position overlooking the route of the wagons.
It was largely a psychological cover point. True, the crag formation gave them a sight and attack barrier from everywhere but head-on; but The Raven had a signature that the demons craved and they would sense it long before they needed their eyes. The risk was a calculated one. Denser considered the density of mage souls would be enough to deflect their attention for long enough to allow a clear run in.
For some time, they had been watching the demons tracking the train, swarming and swooping to attack in their hundreds. Spells had flared and bludgeoned in response. The low roar of order, combat and movement had been a constant companion. But only now was the picture complete.
Coming into view on the crest of a long, shallow rise, the first wagons were picked out in late-afternoon silhouette. They were no more than a mile away. Hirad could see elves shadowing each wagon as well as those that rode canvas roofs and running plates.
Demons clustered in the sky above and battled inside the ColdRoom shell as the train made its ponderous progress towards Xetesk, pace governed by the fragile concentration of the casters within the wagons. The mages without whom the allies would be overwhelmed.
Yellow light washed out from just behind the crest of the hill. Demons screeched and scattered. Some fell, spiralling helplessly, others dived on the casters.
'How are they doing that?' asked Hirad.