Vuldaroq clung to his courage. He closed with the demons at
high speed and sensed his few mages come onto his shoulders in a tight group. The demons mimicked them instantly, a good sign.
'Keep coming,' he breathed. 'That's it.'
He was so close he could hear their calls when he angled upwards at practically ninety degrees. The mana shape controlling the wings strained. Physical wings would surely have snapped. Vuldaroq felt the braking force across his whole body like he was going into reverse. If not for the demons racing beneath him and the undeniable forward motion driving him on, he would have believed it.
One quick look told him they'd all made it this far. Below him, the demons were braking and turning from all directions. Vuldaroq spread his arms, his body adopting a cruciform shape, falling forwards in the air to arrow vertically down.
They all knew the sign. It was the last run and, of necessity, it was every man for himself. Mouthing good luck to any that were watching, he plunged groundwards. He had about a mile of distance and a thousand feet of height to lose. No distance at all but surely the longest flight of his life.
'We're moving!' shouted Dystran. 'Now!'
He pounded along the corridors from his tower and into the dome complex, seeing the torpid surprise register on dozens of faces.
'Up. Warriors to the doors. Mages, let's be thinking about focused Orbs. We're going outside. Library team, make ready.'
His orders were carried on down into the catacombs. Puzzled expressions faced him. He paused.
'I do not have time to explain,' he said. 'Time to trust me. Allies are flying in from die north-east.'
'Allies?' a warrior, standing, questioned.
Dystran grabbed the filthy blue kerchief tied at his neck and pulled. 'Yes, allies. Anyone who isn't a demon is an ally now. Clear?'
'Yes, my Lord.'
The sound of running feet came from all quarters and he waited for the gaunt, sick-looking figure of Commander Chandyr to appear before issuing orders.
'No time for whys. Dordovans in the sky heading this way. The demons have all but cleared the college to hunt them. I want eight
mages out there giving covering fire as they come in. Another four will defend the flanks from demons still hidden inside the grounds. Twenty warriors as spotters, in and outside the doors. And the library team is going in now. We'll not get a better chance. Move.'
'All right, you heard him!' Chandyr clapped his hands together. 'Mage teams one and two, cover duty. Swords two and three, spotters. Sword four, you're on the doors as back-up. Library raiders, to me. Gentlemen, it is time for some fun.'
Dystran had to admit Chandyr was good. They moved for him, respected him. The Lord of the Mount himself, they just feared. He liked it that way.
Noise battered around the dome. Men shouting, weapons and armour clashing. Metal-shod boots ringing on stone and marble. Dystran swallowed on a dry throat. The great doors swung open onto the cool, misty dawn.
'Go!' shouted Chandyr. 'Forming up flanks quickly. Focused Orbs for attack, I want an IceWind cover for area attack, Force-Cones on defence. Ready for changes any time on Lord Dystran's word.' His voice cleared the din easily. A commander's voice brought back to life by the promise of action. 'Spotters, I only want to hear numbers and direction.'
Soldiers and mages ran through the doors, across the marble apron and down the stairs in front of the tower complex. Out of the protection of the ColdRoom lattice.
Dystran followed them, buoyed by the flow of mana that coursed through him and the beautiful fresh air in his lungs. He pulled in the shape for a focused Orb, following three mages taking up a central position. A quick glance showed him the defence and spotters deploying. Behind him, Captain Suarav led the library raiding party left and out of sight. His last three archivists were with the scarred garrison commander under the eye of Sharyr. It was a gamble that couldn't afford to fail.
In the grey sky north of Xetesk, the desperate flight neared its conclusion. Tens, hundreds of demons thronged the sky, a net for the five shapes that darted, twisted, ducked and soared trying to dodge them. It was hard to see how any of them would get through.
'A path,' muttered Dystran, then raised his voice. 'Let's make them a path. Concentrate on the area dead ahead, where the lead
flyer is coming in. Time it, my mages. The gaps we make will fill quickly.'
Spells flew and the first demons perished in fire and ice, blasted aside to give Xetesk's erstwhile enemies a chance of life.
Blessed emptiness on the approach. The raiding team slipped left, passed the dome defence and trotted quickly and quietly around the base of the complex. The library doors stood open, hanging from their hinges. The timelock ward was no use now, broken when the timbers had been battered apart in the early days of the occupation.
In the bloom of spells across the spectrum, the augmentation they gave their sight to counteract the gloom inside the library went unnoticed. Sharyr led three archivists, Captain Suarav and a spotter soldier up the edge of the broad steps where the shadows remained deep enough and the mist clung to the stone.
Inside, he could make out the shapes of bookshelves and tables. Little seemed to have been seriously disturbed though the wind picked at the pages of a few volumes scattered on the carpeted floor.
There would be demons in here somewhere. An earlier abortive raid had reported what appeared to be a systematic search through every piece of work. They'd had two years to find what they wanted but still the searching went on. Sharyr wondered briefly what it was.
He checked the team. They nodded their readiness and he moved in, every footstep fraught with the potential of a protesting floorboard. He felt naked outside the protection of the ColdRoom yet energised by the connection with the mana spectrum. The crack of the first spell behind him told him he was not alone.
It was a curious mix of feelings. He'd grown accustomed to the aura of security the ColdRooms provided but always lurking was the pain of being shut off from the spectrum. This way round, he had the comfort of mana at his command. All he had to cope with was the dread that accompanied it. Death a mere touch away.
Suarav came to his right shoulder as they entered the library. Sharyr's augmented eyes picked out objects and edges in sharp, monochromatic relief. It showed him Suarav's face, lined with concentration, beaded in sweat despite the chill of the air. He felt a surge of respect for the man. Nominally, he and the other soldier
were spotters. In reality, they were there to sacrifice themselves to save the mages should the need arise.
The grand three-floored building was silent but for the ruffling of loose pages. Light was edging through the stained-glass windows leaving deep shadow untouched under stairwells and recesses.
Sharyr kept to the centre of the carpeted path, the team bunched behind him. Their eyes would be everywhere. Left and right past every aisle of shelves, up into the arches and upper floors, ahead into the heart of the library and down lest they kick a stray book or put boot to bare wood.
He could feel the tension soaring. Suarav repeatedly tightened and relaxed his sword grip. Sharyr had to fight hard to keep the ForceCone construct steady. The breeze outside threw unsettling eddies into the library, like the downwash of wings. Sharyr drew in a deep breath and moved further in.
The signs of die demons' search were everywhere. Bookcases had been moved, glass fronts smashed. Parchments, volumes and tied scrolls were heaped in piles on shelves, stacked on the floor or scattered into corners. The damage was worse than at first sight. Ripped pages sat in drifts on lower shelves. Ancient texts were torn, spines broken. The knowledge of ages discarded. Whatever it was they were looking for, the demons had gone about their work methodically.
Sharyr felt his heart fall. This organised demolition was going to make their job all the harder and they couldn't afford to be in here a moment longer than absolutely necessary. Looking about him, he wondered if they'd find anything useful at all.
At the base of the grand staircase that swept left up to the next floor, he took them from the central path and
