Demonstorm

complex. There was still scope for victory, but timely deployment was crucial. Dystran felt Chandyr was running on emotion, not logic.

He had argued long with Sharyr about the risk. He knew the alignment was incomplete. But the Wesmen had to be knocked back. The moment couldn't be delayed.

'Make me proud,' he said to the team as Sharyr readied them for the casting.

'Either that or I'll make you dead,' said Sharyr sharply.

Dystran respected his strength of belief. It made him a man with whom he could identify; and perhaps one to bring onto the Circle Seven where he could be kept more firmly in control.

'Just get started,' said Dystran. 'You'll be fine.'

He heard the thud of the Wesmen ram on the gates once more and felt the sharp spike in the mana spectrum indicating stress on the binding spells. All around the college, spells flew out, carving lines of dark blue in the pre- dawn sky. Fires burned in a ring and everywhere he looked Dystran could see Wesmen.

'Sharyr, if this spell only stops one thing, make it stop that damn chanting. It is as distracting as it is tuneless.'

Sharyr almost smiled at that. He turned to those he could see of the fifteen that encircled the Tower and the casting began. Dystran sent a short prayer to whatever God might be listening. StormFront was a dangerous casting, barely developed and never live-tested. But it was the only one that would break the Wesmen in time. It required accurate construction, visualisation and placement. It needed the power of inter-dimensional space to drive it. And it needed huge mental strength to hold it while the storm coalesced. Everything went into the formation. After release, they could all stand and admire whileit washed out to every point of the compass.

Dystran smiled. The situation to test the casting was ideal; the desired formation circumference was just within the boundaries of the theoretically possible; and they were surrounded by enemies. StormFront was designed for exactly this scenario. Its successful casting would complete the suite of inter-dimensionally powered

spells and defeat the Wesmen at the same stroke. It would be a most satisfying outcome.

Sharyr was an efficient mage. No fuss. He managed his team closely. Dystran felt the pull of the mana and the order of a focused casting. He almost wished he had joined them. Almost.

The first indication of the casting was an impressive slit in the sky. Blue-edged, it appeared directly above his head and moved out to the periphery of the college where it stabilised. To begin with it was a slice of silk only a few feet long, alluring and delicate. It hardened then, taking on the shape of the spell: an arc, glimmering deep blue and ragged at its height. Abruptly, the arc lengthened. It ran away left and right, faster than the eye could follow, tracing the circumference of the college.

The circle completed. White flashed briefly in the blue mana light. The air hummed. Up on the walls, archers straightened and mages moved to standby, letting their casting constructs disperse. The Wesmen were withdrawing. Dystran didn't blame them.

The slit opened downwards slowly as the StormFront coalesced. To Dystran's left and right, mages gripped the balcony rail, steadying quivering legs while the energy washed through them and they fought to first contain it and next, feed it into the casting. He heard Sharyr's suddenly ragged breathing.

'Hold on,' he was urging his team. 'Hold on. Breathe easy.'

Inside the widening front, forks of bright blue light flashed. There was the roaring of a hurricane punctuated by the bass rumble of rolling thunder. On its lower edge, descending fast now and almost out of sight, the front boiled and bubbled in the Balaian air, hungrily grabbing at the elements to blend with the raw power of inter- dimensional space.

'Holding steady,' muttered Sharyr. 'Focus. Focus.'

The nature of the front changed slowly. It thickened. Its colour turned a deepening grey, muting the flashes within it. A wind whipped up around it. Even at this distance, it picked at Dystran's cloak. Down on the walls, soldiers hunched behind the battlements. Outside the college, Wesmen ran to the edge of the cobbles by the first rubbled buildings where their fires burned. They thought the spell was a shield but they were gravely mistaken. They had not retreated far enough.

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.'

T 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