Demonstorm

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 Cold-Room 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.

'Rebraal must have spaced the ColdRooms,' said Erienne. 'Created mana-rich areas.'

'Fascinating,' said Denser. 'If you consider that mana is channelled over the outsides of the shells, it'll create areas of real density if the spacing is right.'

Hirad looked across at him. 'We really must talk about it some more. I'd so love to learn.'

'You are such a heathen, Coldheart,' said Denser. 'It's a very clever idea. Nothing you'd ever dream up.'

'Risky, isn't it?' said Darrick.

'Only if they hang around once they've cast,' said Erienne.

Hirad watched the fighting inside the shell and couldn't help but smile. From this distance it was impossible to identify facial features but it hardly mattered. A demon attack went in. A swarm of tiny demons Auum identified as strike-strain, and that Hirad recognised only too well, were backed by the man-size reavers.

The strike-strain were there to cause confusion where they could and they plunged straight for the wagon drivers. And there they met the defence. The elves, deliberate, graceful and always on the offensive. And their human companions, those that had survived this far, frenzied, panicked and forever on the back foot. That was why Rebraal needed The Raven. To give the humans focus and belief.

'How many wagons set out?' he asked.

'Fifteen,' said Auum.

'Dear Gods burning,' said Hirad.

The end of the train was in sight. Eight wagons remained.

'They'll be here in less than half an hour,' said Denser.

'Know that for a fact, do you?' said Hirad.

'Educated guess.'

'Hardly matters. We need to get in there and get involved. We've done enough hanging around. We've-'

'Hirad, are you all right?' Erienne's hand was on his neck.

'I-'

The full force of the rage hit him then. He knew he was falling but he was helpless to save himself. His body was suffused with the strength of Sha-Kaan's fury and he had no option but to let it wash him away.

'Sha-Kaan,' he managed. T can't-'

The Great Kaan was close to losing control. The frustrations and anger thudded around Hirad's skull, rendering him helpless. He was dimly aware of his friends spealdng to him, touching him, but he had no way of responding. He gathered the vestiges of his consciousness to him and did the only tiling he could.

'Sha-Kaan, stop. You're killing me.'

Abruptly, the hammering of emotion within him ceased but did not allow him to return to consciousness.

'Skies take them, they are destroying all our hopes.' Sha-Kaan's words flooded his senses. Hirad felt his despair and impotence.

'Who?' he asked into the void.

Sha-Kaan sighed, a sonorous exhalation laced with sorrow. 'It would take so long to explain. Since you're unexpectedly at rest, I will grant you this. See through my eyes. Feel what I feel.'

Hirad experienced an acute sensation of falling. He felt the ground disappear and a sense of vastness take its place. Cold air channelled across his body and every nerve and fibre was suffused with ancient pain and longing.

He heard the beat of wings, felt their resistance against the air, their driving power. His nostrils caught the harsh scents of wood and oil, the smell of wrecked, burned flesh. He could taste something acrid and sour in his mouth. His mind reeled under the weight of emotion pressing from every direction. And finally, he opened his eyes and drank in the skies of Beshara.

What he saw chilled his bones. Beneath him, as Sha-Kaan's head swept around to give him the panorama, the sky was a mixture of flashing scales, blinding yellow flame and dark smoke, torn by the winds of the upper skies. The battering roar of mouths disgorging fire swept up to him on a tide of fury so intense it shuddered him.

Hirad couldn't begin to count the dragons intent on destruction below. He recalled the sight he had seen in these same skies at the time of the Noonshade rip but it was a mere skirmish compared to this.

'Almost a thousand dragons chase a petty squabble and damage us all such that we may never recover,' toned Sha-Kaan. 'And outside our dimension, the Arakhe will be sensing it all. Fire this intense and the temptation of dragons to switch out of the battle and move into inter-dimensional space to escape could open the door to them.'

The noise from below was truly extraordinary. A flight of Skoor, twenty strong and glittering sand-yellow, curved in a tight arc and drove through the left flank of their enemies where they pressured fellow Skoor. Massed in a roughly spherical formation, they tore into their targets. Flame scoured every point of the compass around them. Forward, the lead dragons collided wjth those in their path.

It was a devastating tactic and one being mimicked across the fight. Dragons bellowed and squealed, their wings, bellies and backs scorched and bubbling. Smoke trails criss-crossed. Fangs ripped into necks. Dragons by the dozen fell from the sky. Yet still the Skoor were losing the battle. Outnumbered five to one, their moves couldn't hope to counter the enemy strength for ever. But their pride kept them fighting. The attrition rate was awful.

'On a day when we should have been working to secure all our futures, one brood has been rendered extinct and others will be so depleted they cannot hope to survive.'

Hirad felt the ocean-deep grief as if it were his own.

'In our pride we used to think it was other species so blind that they would fight each other over nothing though their mutual extinction was the only sure result. And yet we are worse. Our failure could extinguish so many lives because we have chosen to touch them without offering them the choice to refuse us.

'Tell me you are close to Xetesk.'

'Less than a day, Great Kaan. But there's one hell of a fight coming to get in there. The demons aren't exactly going to usher us in, are they?'

Sha-Kaan paused. Below, the centre of the fight exploded in appalling flame, engulfing fifty, a hundred even. 'When is the fight?'

'It's already begun. Julatsans and the Al-Arynaar are under attack as they approach Xetesk. We're joining them and we'll all enter the city early tomorrow morning.'

T will bring the Kaan to you.'

'No,' said Hirad. 'We shouldn't declare our hand and announce all our allies. Save your strength, save as many as you can and be ready when I call.'

Sha-Kaan rumbled. 'You could fail at the gates.'

'We won't fail,' said Hirad. 'We're-'

'Don't,' said Sha-Kaan. 'Don't say it.' Embryonic humour flared, gone in a wing beat. 'Time to go, Hirad Coldheart. I must pick through the ashes and rebuild what I can.'

'Good luck.'

'Skies keep you, my friend.'

Hirad opened his eyes, pain already a fading pulse in his head. Above him, a ring of anxious faces. Thraun's cracked a smile.

'Sha-Kaan?' he said and held out a hand.

Hirad grasped it and pulled himself up.

'Yes,' he nodded. 'More trouble, I'm afraid. Look, we need to get a move on when we get into Xetesk. I'll tell you on the way but it seems to me that every day we delay, fewer dragons will be alive to shield us.'

The cacophony surrounding the wagon train was so complete Rebraal could barely make himself heard. The demon attacks were incessant now and since the disastrous loss of two ColdRoom mage teams the previous night, the pressure on the Al-Arynaar warriors was acute. The humans were panicked now, losing their heads and then their souls when their discipline failed. Five of the eight wagons had elven drivers now and so few humans actually remained that Rebraal contemplated placing them all in wagons. Through his irritation at their failings, though, he couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer doggedness that they showed. And every time their numbers fell, they still found time to joke. The Al-Arynaar couldn't understand laughter in such dire circumstance but Rebraal had seen it all before with The Raven.

Right now, though, he was more concerned with the horses. All of them were tired and the accumulated stress was evident in trembling limbs and eyes that spoke of their confusion. His elves still spoke soothing words to them but eventually that would not be enough.

Above him, the demons were massing again. He didn't have much time. Rebraal ran down the line of surviving wagons. His limp was becoming more pronounced. The cloth tight around his thigh could do only so much. The claws of the cursyrd had raked deep during the last attack and of course he hadn't been able to rest

and so die blood still flowed. The wound felt frozen, his muscle damaged, but he could not afford to stop. Not until Auum and The Raven reached them.

But where were they?

The wagon train was passing to the south-east of Triverne Lake now. Before long, they could expect concerted attack from the Xetesk cursyrd, adding to the legions that had dogged them from Julatsa.

Two days of constant noise, repeated attacks and movement broken only to change horses was taking quick toll. They were all tired: the mages in the wagons with paper-dun concentration; the warriors running beside them with muscles burning and fatigued; attack mages with barely time to cast the simplest spell in the mana holes before the cursyrd were upon them.

In every face he passed, human or elven, he saw exhaustion growing. In humans, he saw belief wavering. He shouted encouragement, clenched his fists and demanded strength. He invoked Yniss and Tual. He muttered under his breath for Shorth to be ready to accept them all.

Over five hundred had left Julatsa, man and elf. They had lost over a hundred and the survivors needed fresh hope. The Raven would provide it. The Raven never joined the losing side.

He reached the head of the column. Elves drove the leading pair of wagons now. Tired horses flagged but he was loath to stop. He glanced up for the thousandth time. The sky was darkening with cursyrd, their voices clamoured ever louder.

'Ready!' he called.

The word was passed down the line. Elves rode wagons, clustered by their sides, defended mages running close to mana holes. All felt their hearts quicken.

'Dila'heth!'

The lead elven mage answered him. She was out of sight on the other side of the wagon. He jogged round to her where she talked with Pheone. The Julatsan leader was still strong, hanging onto the threads of human courage.

'Gyal's tears, Rebraal, you should be resting.'

Rebraal grinned fiercely. 'You know I can't.'

'Where are they?' asked Dila. She like him was shouting to make herself heard above the din of the cursyrd above.

'Close,' he said. 'They have to be.' He caught Pheone's eye. 'They'll be here.'

She smiled. 'I'm sure.'

'Where's your position?' asked Dila.

'I'll be with the second pair of wagons. Keep the horses straight. Try that move outside the shell if you get the chance. Anything to disrupt them.'

She nodded. 'They are so many. And think of the hundreds we have already killed.'

'No, don't think that way. Think only that Xetesk will be in sight before dark and that we will be inside before noon tomorrow. They'll be expecting us.'

T hope so.'

'Yniss watches over us.'

'He needs to do more than that.'

'I hear you, Dila. Run strong.'

He turned to Pheone. 'Get on the wagon.'

'No,' she replied. T need to be seen.'

'You need to live,' said Rebraal. 'There are greater fights to come. Please. I don't want to have to put you on there myself.'

Pheone bit her lip but nodded. 'I guess you're right.'

Rebraal inclined his head and jogged away back towards the second pair of wagons. He could barely see the horses for the elven escort. The human drivers though, he could, and they were terrified, eyes up not ahead. He breasted through the flanking guards, shouting his confidence and hearing it reflected back. He leapt onto the kicking board of the left-hand cart.

'We go forwards, not upwards,' he said, his hand on the shoulder of the driver.

'Yeah, but death comes from upwards not forwards,' growled the middle-aged man, Brynn. He had a face latticed by the cuts of the strike-strain, a bandaged head and a belligerent belief in his right to survive. Rebraal liked him. He was Hirad, ten years hence.

'Let me watch the sky, Brynn. Just keep these animals in a straight line.'

'They know better than to deviate with me behind them,' said

Brynn, face softening by a degree. 'Ride with me this time, eh? See what it's like from up here.'

'I intend to,' said Rebraal.

And the sky fell in.

Strike-strain poured into the back of the line, reavers to the front. It was a tactic they had worked before, attempting to drive the train at different speeds front and back, creating a chaotic middle ground.

'Keep your form!' called Rebraal into the din, his words carried up and down the line. 'Hold your pace! Hold your pace!'

Like the locusts that plagued the southern dry plains of Calaius, the strike-strain flooded the rear wagons. For a few moments, Rebraal watched the clamouring cloud descend. Blades flickered in the sudden half-light. An IceWind howled a tear in the enemy and the wagons were obscured from view.

But Rebraal had problems of his own. A large number of reavers, well into three figures, was rushing at the front wagons from both flanks, from ahead and, inevitably, from above. Taunting and laughing, they dove into the ColdRoom shell whose effects clearly lessened by the day.

'Keep those horses forward. Blinkers tight!'

The lead wave swooped over the front wagons and drove on headlong.

'Yniss preserve us,' muttered Rebraal.

His sword in his right hand, his left squeezed Brynn's shoulder and they were engulfed.

'Brace!' he yelled.

The cursyrd struck the wagon, more of them than he could quickly count. He placed his body in front of Brynn, turning his back to the impact and feeling claws rake his armour and teeth graze the top of his head.

'Still here,' said Brynn.

In front of them, the horses bucked and Brynn struggled to control them, demanding calm. Al-Arynaar carved the air around them, beating back the reavers intent on ripping out their eyes and throats.

Rebraal straightened, sword whipping out in a wide arc. He felt it catch the wing of a cursyrd which squealed and twisted upwards, colour flaring a bright red. He took in the quick view. The roof of

the wagon was threatened. The cursyrd's charge had taken three elves from their precarious canvas perch to a fight in the dust and grass behind. Two remained. Rebraal glanced across Brynn.

'Gheneer, keep him safe.'

The Al-Arynaar nodded, not breaking from the fight. Rebraal jumped onto the canvas, felt for a strut and balanced instantly, the wagon bucking beneath him. The Al-Arynaar with him fought hard and fast. A sword sliced high into the chest of a cursyrd. A kick to the stomach saw it from the wagon. Another lost an arm to a downward slash and took off, wailing and cursing.

Rebraal took in three, two others flying to join one with its claws already rending canvas. The Al-Arynaar leader took a pace to the next strut and smashed his left foot into its head. The creature somersaulted backwards, wings flailing to break its fall and propel it back into the air. The other two flew on, back-beating their wings, wary of the elf barring their way. Rebraal stood over the tear, sword in two hands, waiting.

They came in left and right. Rebraal smiled and feinted left, ducking low. He jabbed upwards, his sword driving deep between the cursyrd's legs. It screeched, dark gore pouring from the wound. Rebraal twisted the blade and dragged it clear, surging upright and in the same moment beating his right foot into the midriff of the second creature. Off-balance, it couldn't drag its arms back quickly enough to stop the elf s blade puncturing its chest.

Keeping himself moving, Rebraal headed down the wagon towards the rear. The remaining two Al-Arynaar were heavily engaged, strike-strain adding to their problems. He pulled a reaver back by the neck, his sword grating against its spine on the way through its body. He threw the corpse aside. The elf in front of him nodded his thanks, backhanded his blade into the face of another enemy and turned for the next.

Reavers filled the air above them. Al-Arynaar were climbing back up the sides of the wagon. Rebraal looked into the body of the carriage, saw the upturned faces of the guards and the bowed heads of mages. So far, the shell remained protected and intact. But with the air full of cursyrd and The Raven nowhere to be seen, they would have to fight well to keep it that way.

Chapter 30

Dystran had felt it like they all had. The demons' extraordinary withdrawal to gather at the periphery of Xetesk the day before had allowed them not just to relieve the library of a mass of texts but to go among the people and reassure them of their intentions; bring in fresh food from the farms within the city; gain information about the demons and their ways; and most importantly, bask in the mana stream in the open air and sample the spectrum.

But they had been reluctant to move too far out. Over two years of imprisonment had taken their toll and each mage and soldier could see danger and death in every shadow and corner they passed.

The Lord of the Mount stood on the walls of his college above the main gates and looked out over the city. He could see demons in the sky way to the south where the spectrum was in complete turmoil. The Julatsans were coming.

'What do you think it means?' asked Prexys, one of the surviving members of the Circle Seven.

'Opportunity or desperation. Probably both.' Dystran smiled, luxuriating in the fresh air. 'But I still can't work out why they have left us so alone.'

'Perhaps they are under more pressure out there than they expected.'

T can't see it,' said Dystran. 'There are so many of them. But even those coming out of the tear are heading straight out there. Whatever the size of force that's heading this way, they certainly don't want it arriving.'

Prexys shook his head. 'Julatsa. What must have happened to drive them out?'

'Be a shame not to find out, wouldn't it?' said Dystran. He turned to Chandyr and Vuldaroq. 'Gentlemen, are we not honour-bound

to help our people under duress? Tell me, Chandyr, do you think they are heading this way?'

'There's no doubt about it but they are in a great deal of trouble. I've had mages in the sky over the college and they can see the dust cloud but it's almost covered by a cloud of demons. I don't recommend we leave here to help them but we can plan to smooth their progress through the city.'

'Wards, waymarks and mage defender trios, those we can spare,' said Dystran. 'But do not compromise the defence of the college, that would be foolhardy in the extreme.'

'I'll see to it.'

'Good. I want sight of your plans so be quick. We have limited time.' He turned to Vuldaroq. 'Meanwhile, I think you and I would be well used looking at a few more texts. There has to be more we can discover.'

T concur,' said Vuldaroq.

'Good. Then let's be about our business. And Chandyr?'

'My Lord Dystran.'

'Arrange a delegation to visit the Wesmen, would you? I'll prepare a message. I think it's time we invited Tessaya to the party.'

'Slow that wagon!' Rebraal straight-punched a cursyrd on his way to the back of the canvas, seeing one of the third wagon pair closing too fast, driver smothered in strike-strain. 'Al-Arynaar to the rear.'

He swore under his breath. Behind him, Brynn called a warning. Swinging round, he saw the right-hand lead wagon veer sharply away, chased hard by a pack of some twenty reavers. It was the resting wagon, it had to be. No mage could have retained a Cold-Room structure at that pace. And Pheone was inside it. A cloud of strike-strain swooped overhead and plunged onto the roof, claws jabbing into die already damaged covers. Still standing, three Al-Arynaar laid about them with blade and knife, trying for Auum's trademark killing blow, but they'd surely soon be overwhelmed.

'Guard the casting wagon!' he yelled, kicking out at a lone strike-strain, catching it in the gut. 'Dammit.' He tugged the sleeve of an elf. 'Hold this roof

Rebraal dropped down next to Brynn. 'Straight on. Don't flinch.'

Brynn's face ran with blood. To his left, Gheneer kept two reavers

at bay. Rebraal snatched a strike-strain from Brynn's back and crushed it under his foot.

'Don't be too long,' growled the human.

Rebraal jumped to the packed earth and sprinted away towards the stricken wagon. Around him, a storm of noise and chaos was breaking. The wagon-pair captains roared orders. Al-Arynaar warriors tore into their attackers and amongst the thud of weapons, he could pick out the screams of those whom the cursyrd overwhelmed.

Ignoring the fighting that closed in around him, Rebraal focused on the wagon. The reavers had caught it and were engaged on its roof, at its rear and were tearing at its sides. Above, a ForceCone launched from one of the mana holes, battered brief respite into the horde of strike-strain that threatened the driver and his guards before it dissipated quickly within the shell.

Closing on the wagon, Rebraal saw an Al-Arynaar blade sweep into the neck of a winged soul stealer. The creature's grip on the roof strut was lost and it tumbled to the earth, bouncing and rolling. Rebraal hurdled its bright blue dying body. He increased his speed and leapt at the wagon's tail board. Pain lanced into his back from his injured leg as he landed. He grabbed hold of the rocking carriage and drove his blade into the back of a cursyrd, hurling it backwards and out of the entrance to the wagon.

Inside the light-shot gloom, the fight raged. Strike-strain and reavers battled with Al-Arynaar and desperate human mages. At least one lay dead among the cursyrd bodies and blood gleamed wet on tattered canvas. Pheone was still standing, covered by Al-Arynaar.

'We have them,' came a voice. 'Go forward.'

Rebraal nodded and hauled himself up onto the roof. Three warriors fought there, beating back the reavers storming in from all sides and above. Rebraal couldn't stop to help them. Running from strut to strut, he struck out at any that came into his path with blade, foot and fist. He felt bone crack and wing tear. Colours flashed in front of his face; dark gore and elven blood mixed underfoot, dripping onto the combatants below.

Carving his blade through the spine of a tall, thin cursyrd, he made the front of the wagon and looked down to the bench and kicking plate below.

'Yniss protect us.'

A dead Al-Arynaar sprawled half-off the right seat. The driver was still alive, his screams muffled by the strike-strain covering his head. A reaver was poised above him and Rebraal was going to be too late to save him. In front, Al-Arynaar warriors tried desperately to control the panicked horses under constant bombardment from around them.

The reaver plunged its hands up to the wrists into the driver's exposed back, delivering appalling pain in the moment before its theft.

'No!' shouted Rebraal.

He thudded down beside the startled cursyrd and snatched a strike-strain from the air, jamming it onto the point of his sword. The reaver's eyes met his, hands still buried in its victim's shattered rib cage. Its colour, a smug deep brown, swam to a bright purple. It knew what was coming and that it could do nothing about it.

Rebraal closed his posture, spun on his uninjured left leg, unwound and took the cursyrd's head from its shoulders, seeing the dead strike-strain fly from the point of his sword moments before impact.

'Shorth bring you eternal pain.'

Rebraal had to act fast. The wagon was heading out of the ColdRoom protection, such as it was. Uttering a quick prayer, he shovelled human and cursyrd bodies from the kicking plate, first taking the reins from the dead elf s hands. He straightened, knocked a strike-strain aside and breathed hard. He had never driven horses before.

Behind him, demons surged onto the wagon and his warriors fought for all their lives. Ahead, elves ran hard, keeping up with the horses, distracted by cursyrd buzzing around their heads and harried by reavers. One slip would be fatal.

'What do I do?' he shouted.

'Slow them!' came the reply. 'Turn them left.'

'And we are all Tual's children,' he breathed. 'That much is obvious.'

He had seen the humans drive. The sure hand, the confident voice of order. He did what he felt Brynn would do. He pulled hard on the reins.

Far too hard.

The horses half-reared in their traces and bolted afresh, the sweat flying from their flanks under the chafing leather. On the roof behind him, elves rebalanced but cursyrd suffered. Wings beat, claws scrabbled. Blood was spilled quickly.

In Rebraal's hands, the horses were an unstoppable force, driving headlong towards certain doom. As they had for two days, cursyrd swarmed outside the shell, waiting for such a moment.

'Stop!' He snapped the reins. The horses merely hastened. 'Gyal's tears, no.'

He stared around the sides of the wagon. In the air directly above, more cursyrd bayed and called, whipping the horses' panic.

Rebraal knew he was helpless but he would not abandon his cargo. He urged the animals to stop. He dragged the reins more softly, pulling left, but they were lost to control. His cars were filled with the protestations of axle and timber, the desperation from within and the calm destruction of cursyrd foolish enough to attack the roof. Dust filled the air around him, clogging his lungs. The horses ploughed on across broken ground. It was a toss-up whether they'd be driven through the edge of the shell aboard the wagon, such was its shaking.

Rebraal consigned his soul to Yniss. Inside the shell, the cursyrd attack was faltering. Outside it, excitement grew. He had watched this from afar three times. Now it was his turn. Again he pressured the reins. Again, nothing.

'Clear!' he shouted down to those Al-Arynaar sprinting alongside the runaway horses. 'Clear!'

They ignored him and he felt proud to die with them.

A detonation sounded beyond the shell. A curious momentary silence followed. Cursyrd bunched then scattered like birds dogged by a predator. A deep green light washed across the space, scattering on impact with the ColdRoom shell. For the first time, Rebraal heard fear in his enemies' cries. The attack faltered. Reavers took to the air. Strike-strain bunched and flew high. And where the green light touched them, the cursyrd melted.

Wings dripped away, bodies sloughed flesh. They fell in their dozens, wailing and agonised. And through the gap they had made, came The Raven, Auum's Tai and the Protectors. Rebraal shouted

his relief though in truth he wasn't sure they would save him. The cursyrd were regrouping quickly, determined not to let their prize escape them, and yet more gathered in the sky above The Raven, wanting to claim the greatest prize of all.

Resigned to his position as passenger and spectator and content to keep the strike-strain away, Rebraal watched the extraordinary approach. Thraun, Darrick, Hirad and The Unknown formed a forward line, maces battering the cursyrd in front of them. Immediately behind strode Denser, his dark cloak flowing behind him. From his fingers, a ForceCone claimed space in the air above them.

And finally, the ace in the pack. Erienne, with a guard that brought laughter from Rebraal's lips. She was flanked by the two Protectors, Kas and Ark, at whose flanks ran Duele and Evunn. They moved as blurs, keeping the space around the One mage's head clear. Almost anonymous, Auum and Eilaan swept behind and the whole advanced with total belief, total control.

Again the glorious green light surged across the field and again the cursyrd panicked and broke. But this time Erienne stumbled and half fell, pushing her hands out towards her husband. Immediately, the formation changed. Evunn and Duele ran ahead of the Raven line. Ark scooped Erienne into his arms, passing her immediately to Thraun, and took up station behind with Kas and Auum. Denser and Eilaan's next ForceCones were directed ahead. And they ran straight for the shell and into the path of the runaway wagon.

Sensing an opportunity, the demons regrouped in the air above the shell. The wagon was suddenly free of concerted attack but the horses showed no inclination to slow. Rebraal turned.

'Al-Arynaar mages to the roof. Now!'

The wagon approached the edge of the shell. The Raven ran on. Rebraal could see The Unknown pointing. Cursyrd flocked in the air. A group of reavers circled behind. A hundred yards from relative safety and it could prove too far.

Rebraal snapped the reins. 'Get on!' he shouted.

The horses had no intention of doing otherwise. Spooked out of any vestige of good sense, they drove on towards the waiting pack who had parted to allow the wagon a way through. Ahead, Hirad and Darrick broke formation and angled towards the bouncing,

bucking cart. Rebraal heard the sounds of elves across the roof of the

wagon. He turned his head.

'ForceCones,' he said. 'The moment we break the shell.'

But facing forwards again, he wondered what he could realistically

achieve. Perhaps a little confusion. It would have to be enough.

Hirad had never run so fast. Trying to remember all that Auum had taught him on his sprint technique, he forged on. Darrick ran beside him, an athlete born to the land. The two raced. And while they did, the fortunes of many were in the balance.

Auum had identified the runaway wagon and the helpless Rebraal holding its reins. While The Raven approached, it had been a curiosity. Now it was a chance at life.

'Coldheart, you are old and slow,' chided Darrick.

'General, you owe me a drink for every failure. This will be one.'

'I'll be proud to buy it.'

'And I to drink it.'

Hirad could feel the breath scorching into his lungs, mixing with the taste of spell residue and demon stench. They were above him and the General now, gathering to dive. And before them, reavers turned into their path to begin attack runs.

The two men hefted their maces, feeling the weight on tired arms. Behind them, Denser unleashed another spell, freezing the air. Demons tumbled from the sky.

'Here they come,' said Darrick.

'Rebraal needs to drive that wagon faster,' said Hirad through gasps.

'Hirad, he isn't driving it at all.'

'Roll!'

The pair dropped to the ground, rolled once and regained their feet. Claws slashed the air above them. Wings beat a down draught across them. Hirad spun and thumped his mace into the back of the nearest enemy. Darrick's blow crushed wing bones in another. It would slow them but no more.

Strike-strain rained down on them as they ran on. Hirad felt claws scratch at his head and neck, teeth nip into his legs through heavy cloth. He ignored the frost that each break in his skin fed into his body, striking out left at a reaver cruising in to the attack. The blow

caught it in the face but it came on, knocking him from his feet. He tumbled and rolled. A tail sliced across his back, cutting into his skin, leaving ice behind.

Not stopping, he scrambled back to his feet. Darrick was ahead of him now, mace cracking strike-strain aside, the feeling of metal on flesh heavy and satisfying. Ahead, the wagon ploughed on. Hirad could see its roof and sides busy with elves and its wheels bouncing on the uneven ground as it rushed towards them. The periphery of the shell moved too, its speed governed by that of the wagons bearing the casting mages and mercifully under greater control. Its edge could be estimated by the demons clustering outside of it and Rebraal was all but through it.

Hirad caught Darrick in time to bludgeon away a clutch of strike-strain poised to attack the General's head. Reavers were coming in again too, but this time it was spells that stopped them. Rebraal's wagon plunged out of the ColdRoom shell. Back in the world of mana, his mages cast quickly and efficiently. ForceCones drove rents through the demon clouds, scattering them through the air. Immediately, they were attacked from the rear, the Al-Arynaar fighting hard to keep them away.

'Confident?' shouted Hirad.

'Never not so,' replied Darrick.

They were twenty yards from the wagon and running straight for it. Maces were stowed in belt loops, strike-strain were free to snipe at them.

'Good luck.'

Darrick timed his run to perfection. He angled into the galloping horses, caught the rein harness of the right-hand beast and swung up onto its back. Two paces later, Hirad leapt for the kicking board, impacting heavily on the frame of the wagon. Ignoring the flare of pain in his ribs, he turned to Rebraal, grinning and taking the reins from him.

'Bloody elves. Never did understand horses.' He looked ahead. 'All right, General, let's get this thing pointed the right way!'

He felt a blade whistle above his head. A reaver tumbled away, flaring a ghastly yellow.

'Thanks.'

Rebraal shrugged and sought his next target.

Darrick, flanked by elves, was calming the horses. Commands mixed with soft words in one's ears brought it back to its senses and it began to slow, bringing the other with it, suddenly aware of its peril and needing direction. Hirad provided it, turning them right towards The Raven and snapping the reins to maintain impetus.

His friends were in trouble. Strike-strain in their hundreds had gathered above them and reavers approached from all quarters. The Tai cell fought with grace and control at the head of the running pack, never seeming to break stride. The Unknown and the two Protectors were a power block, delivering shuddering strikes that battered a path clear. Thraun ran alongside Denser and Eilaan in their wake. The two mages clearly held ForceCones above their heads, sweeping them around and behind, denying the demons access to Thraun's vital cargo.

'We need more spells keeping the sky clear,' said Hirad. 'Darrick, get your arse up here. It's going to get interesting.'

Rebraal called out the order. Al-Arynaar mages on the roof of the wagon turned their attention to The Raven. Two followed Denser's example, deploying ForceCones ahead of the horses, using them as battering rams. Hirad waited for Darrick to step nimbly up the horse's back before snapping the reins again, encouraging more speed from the tiring animals.

The two groups closed quickly, demons getting caught between them. Elven ForceCones drove the creatures left, right, up and forwards. Hirad saw the danger.

'Move those Cones!' he shouted, gesturing with his arm as he did so. 'Above head height.'

Rebraal confirmed the order and The Raven could run in under temporary cover. Hirad threw the reins at Darrick.

'Your turn, General. We need Erienne inside at the earliest.'

With that, he thumped to the ground and ran towards The Raven, the ice from his demon cuts stiffening his muscles, the sweat streaming from his forehead and the blood rushing in his veins. And at the periphery of it all, he kept at bay the fear that they all harboured. That these hordes were always within an ace of snuffing them out for ever. That one slip would end it all.

He roared to clear his head and dragged his mace out to smash it

into the back of the first reaver he encountered. It felt good. It felt very good.

'Unknown, get ready,' yelled Hirad, voice carrying over the narrow press of demons separating them.

He saw The Unknown nod and thunder his mace into the skull of a reaver. The creature shrieked and fell backwards, shaking its head, its skin a blazing bright blue. Beside him Ark and Kas, operating with mace and axe, upped their pace. Demons flew from their path. Strike-strain carrying clear over Hirad's head, reavers crumpling and falling, trampled as they tried to rise, shaking off the shock of the blows.

Auum's Tai had dropped behind Thraun and the mages now and were operating with dreadful efficiency. Not for them the path-making power of the mace. Instead, feet and hands denied the demons the rear of the Raven line and, where they fell, they'd find a TaiGethen pounce to deliver the short-sword stab under the arm.

Hirad slapped his mace into the demon pack once more. He could hear the rattling of the carriage and feel the thud of hoof underfoot.

'Break them, break them!' ordered Darrick.

The wagon slewed hard right, dirt and grass flying up from under its wheels. Denser shifted the focus of his ForceCone, driving a wedge through the demons, dismissing the spell before it could threaten either Hirad or their transport. The barbarian battered his way towards Thraun, mace in both hands now. He felt a claw swipe across the top of his head and the blood began to run. He staggered and straightened, took two more paces and was knocked clean from his feet. Pain scorched into his side, winding him. Demons closed around him, their calls and shouts mixing with those of The Raven.

Rolling onto his back, he saw sky above him and the wings of demons closing in. He carried on rolling, a claw missing his face by a hair. A weapon whispered across his body. He heard a thud and a cry of frustration. A fist grabbed his collar and hauled him upright.

'Get on board, Coldheart,' said The Unknown.

Thraun had reached the back of the cart. Kas and Ark flanked him still, their weapons keeping the baying demon pack at bay. IceWind, bleak yellow and Julatsan, swept out from the roof of the wagon. The TaiGethen sprinted past him and vaulted to the wagon's roof to

join the fight. Denser and Eilaan paced backwards, the latter's ForceCone still under control, still keeping the enemy back from the sky above.

'The roof, Unknown. We need to get there.'

'Not you,' said The Unknown. 'In the back. You're hurt. I'll take the bench with Darrick.'

'Hurt?'

'Yes.'

The Unknown's mace struck again. He ducked a flailing tail, dragging Hirad with him into the lee of the wagon. He pushed the barbarian to the tailgate and thrust him at Ark.

'Don't let him go.'

Hirad frowned. His head was swimming a little but otherwise he was fine. He smiled up at Ark but the Protector's face was impassive.

'Get aboard,' he said.

Hirad thought to disagree but he took one more pace and stag gered, legs suddenly lacking strength. He glanced down and saw the blood from his side staining his leather. He began to shiver.

His last certainty was hearing The Unknown shout for Darrick to get the wagon going. But after Ark had picked him up and he thought he'd heard Rebraal order more ForceCones, everything else was a chill blur.