Demonstorm

Pheone paused, hearing the leaves wave about her head. Ahead, a cow lowed.

'Couldn't we have had this discussion before we left?' she asked.

'To what purpose? There could be no decision until now. We know you will support us.'

'You want to steal livestock?' A nod. 'And drive them back down the tunnel without killing them and without the demons finding the entrance?'

Kineen managed a brief smile. 'The animals will not be conscious for the way back. We will deal with that. Four demons are circling the barn. We need to take them all together but we won't have much time between casting and more arriving. You will have to be quick.'

Pheone blew out her cheeks. Her heart was crashing in her chest and sweat was beading at her hairline. She felt a shiver in her limbs. She only hoped that when the time came, she could muster up the concentration to cast.

'Just tell me what you want me to cast.'

Another smile from Kineen. 'Good. And Pheone. Run when we tell you and don't look back.'

The five warriors fanned out into the field, keeping below the line of the crop. Pheone and the other mage, Afen'erei, moved in behind them. Neither prepared yet. The mana spectrum had to be kept quiet until the last possible moment. After a few yards, the two

archers split off left, increasing their pace, hurrying for one end of the barn.

Pheone could just about make out the demons now. Four of them, a little smaller than man-size with wings and tails. Their vein-run skin writhed. Every inch the archetypal figures of nightmare. It was the shape most had adopted on arrival in Julatsa. She presumed they found it easier to control their human flock that way.

'Hit them when they clear the barn to your right,' said Afen'erei.

'Got you.'

'IceWind and DeathHail are best. Something quick to cast.'

Pheone nodded. She'd have preferred to crush them with a ForceCone but they couldn't risk the barn collapsing under the pressure.

The three sword elves were running now, feet silent over the ground. They broke cover at the instant the first arrows struck the demons, deflecting their attention. The fact that the shafts couldn't kill didn't stop wounds hurting and the demons wailed in pain, shaft after shaft thudding home. They had not gathered themselves to attack before the warriors were on them.

Swords swept from scabbards and the blows rained in. Pheone saw it all in a kind of detached awe. The relentless motion, the speed of the strike. All to a purpose. Swords bit into heads and arms, sliced through wing membrane. Feet thudded into gut, groin and temple. Disorientating, temporarily disabling. The demons had practically no reply. They lashed out with claws and tails or tried to bite. But the ferocity of the elves made mockery of their slight numerical advantage.

Only one made it into the air at all, to be brought down with arrows crippling critical wing muscle. The onslaught was quick but could it possibly be quick enough? Already, Pheone could hear the hoots of alarm that meant the cries of the attacked had been heard.

'Prepare now,' said Afen. 'No sense in delay. They are coming.'

Pheone dragged herself into the mana spectrum. It was unadorned by any casting barring the mass of activity that signified the ColdRoom lattice. She brought together the shape for IceWind, a flowing sheet of interlaced mana strands, glowing yellow with captured energy, just waiting for release when it would tatter in the face of its targets.

Almost at once, the hoots became howls and the hunt was on for those casting magic. The warriors responded, driving demons out of the shadow of the barn and into a pool of moonlight.

'Break!' called Kineen. 'Cast.'

IceWind tore away from Pheone's fingers, mingling with the slivers of DeathHail cast by Afen'erei. The effect was at once hideous and incredibly satisfying. Where Afen's spell gouged strips of flesh from the demons, Pheone's IceWind ignited the loose mana so freed, feeding on it as a FlameOrb did on human flesh, gorging, consuming.

The demons screamed, their voices like those of infants in agony, tearing at Pheone's heart and dashing her concentration. The IceWind ceased but the damage had been done. Again, a solitary demon took to the air but it was little more than a mass of pure blue flame, bubbling a few feet up and crashing back to earth, wing beating feebly at the ground.

'Go!' shouted Kineen. His warriors and archers ran for the barn doors. 'Pheone, retreat.'

'No.' She felt alive, vindicated. In two years, these were her first victims among the thousands that occupied her city and she found herself hungry for more. 'I'll defend you.'

'They can outrun you,' said Afen. 'But not us.'

Pheone looked to her left. Shadows climbed thick into the sky. Far right, she heard the pounding of feet in scrub. It was no time for heroics.

'Don't get caught,' she said, turning and running back into the field of spring crop, retracing her steps back into the city.

Behind her the yellow bloom of a spell lit the sky and a flat crack spoke of a FlameOrb detonating. More screams of dying children, this time further out of the city, away from the barn. Pheone smiled. A diversion.

The part-focused mana from the castings brought the demons to it, searching for the prized life force that only a mage possessed. Pheone ran harder, her ears playing games with her mind. She fancied she could hear a gravel-laden voice calling her name but it could have been the breeze through the crops. Wings beat close to her head though it could have been wind-echo.

She was alone and unguarded in this demon-run city of the

walking dead. She broke through the crops and into the streets, trying to keep her footfalls quiet and maintain her speed. But all she produced was a dry slapping that sounded like a herald of her passage.

Pheone slowed, ducked into heavy shadow and stopped, breathing hard. She heard no sounds of pursuit. The howling of enraged demons was distant but she knew she couldn't relax. She studied the silent buildings while she caught her breath. No one lived here any more. The demons had herded everyone they'd kept alive into the centre of the city, where they were penned and housed like animals.

A hand clamped across her mouth. She felt breath on her neck. She tried to struggle and scream but she was held tight. She let herself relax, made herself think. Kineen's face came into view and she all but wept. He released her.

'Bad place to stop,' he said. 'They are closer than you think.'

'Gods burning, you almost frightened me to death,' she managed, relieved and angry.

'Sorry,' he said and set off towards the tunnel entrance and safety. 'I couldn't risk you screaming.'

She followed him, nodding. 'What about the others?'

'They have taken other routes to split the pursuit. We have four lambs, four piglets. A good raid.'

Pheone smiled, feeling safe though she ought not to. Only she was safe enough here, wasn't she? Here in a quiet empty back street the demons never travelled; as much as inside the college where they never attacked but just watched. No. Waited.

She caught up with Kineen. 'Why don't they attack the college anymore?'

'They fear us.'

'Yes but that's not all of it, is it?'

Kineen glanced across at her. A few more turns and they were home. 'It is why we fight them out here.'

'What do you mean?'

'To keep that for which they wait as distant as we can.'

Deep inside the crypts of Dordover, the last remaining bastion of college resistance huddled. Barely two dozen were left now. The onslaught had been relendess. They hadn't been able to replenish

stamina outside the ColdRooms when the demons had found all their borders and they had too little strength to cure all the afflicted when disease had struck. Dysentery had stolen their best mages once it had taken their ability to heal themselves and now the demons were coming after what was left. They could sense the weakening. The ColdRooms were not secure, the casters were weak and the swordsmen barely had the muscle to raise their blades.

Vuldaroq, a shadow of the obese bulk he had been two years before, listened to the battering on the doors of