the two men sprawled to a stop.
Immediately after him, the surviving three flashed in, dropped and bounced, mages rushing to their aid. Behind them, those demons too enraged to pull away followed them in. Three of them, one huge, the size of a wagon, two smaller, man-size, and all three keening in pain inside the ColdRoom that stripped them of the mana that gave them life.
The battle was brief but loud. Swords flashed in the torchlight. Chandyr shouted for concentration and caution. The demons flew raggedly, dropping quickly as their strength ebbed but determined to take any with them that they could. Right in Dystran's eyeline, one of his men moved too slowly. His blade missed the claw that dragged at him and he was helpless, his soul snagged and taken. He crumpled.
Chandyr's blade thudded into the back of the same creature, others joining him. They drove it to the ground, hacking and slashing. One blow took its head from its body and the whole of it shuddered and lay still.
Silence but for heavy breathing and quiet reassuring voices. The other two demons had fled through the open complex doors which
were shut on the decaying FlameWalls. Dystran looked about him at the white-faced men sitting or leaning against walls. Many had their heads in their hands. He could see tears, though whether through relief or terror he couldn't say. The close friends of the man who had died surrounded him. There was the sound of a blade dropping from a tired grip.
'Well done, everyone,' said Chandyr. 'Well done.'
Dystran turned his attention to the man lying in his arms. Vuldaroq. The last time he had seen Dordover's Arch Mage, he had been belligerent, obese and arrogant. The man he looked at now was a shadow. Gaunt and pale, the skin of his face and neck hanging loose as it must do over his entire body. Dystran felt the shake in Vuldaroq's muscles and saw the tears squeezing from his tight-shut eyes. He drew breath in ragged gasps. Blood ran from cuts on his face and hands, and already skin was discolouring where he had struck the ground hard.
Dystran knew he should hate the man but two years changed so much. The war had been over ever since the demons first appeared and the Wesmen had left the city. Since then, the scant communication between the colleges had been like finding long-lost friends. There had been no time for recrimination.
The Lord of the Mount of Xetesk sat up and dragged Vuldaroq to a seated position. The Dordovan was spent. He surely could not have flown for much longer. A quick glance told him that the others were in no better condition.
'Get me hot drink, food and blankets. I want beds made for these men to rest on,' said Dystran. 'We've saved them from the demons. Let's not lose them to exhaustion.'
Vuldaroq's eyes flickered open. They were red and brimmed with tears.
'Thank you,' he croaked, voice dry and cracked.
'That was quite some entrance,' said Dystran. 'What the hell happened?'
'Dordover is gone,' said Vuldaroq, voice suddenly loud in the silence that fell in the dome as he spoke. 'We're all that is left.'
Dystran felt cold. The second great college of Balaia. Reduced to four mages.
'How?'
'We were never strong enough and they grew stronger every day. It was sudden in the last few days. Like they'd gained power from somewhere.' He coughed. It wracked his entire body and he shivered.
'Later,' said Dystran. 'Food and rest now. You're safe here for the time being.'
But the words Vuldaroq had spoken backed up everything Dystran feared. He searched for Chandyr. The commander met his gaze levelly from across the dome.
'I need some good news,' said Dystran. 'Where's my library team?'
'They aren't back yet,' said Chandyr. 'Patience, my Lord.'
'It's happening now,' said Dystran. 'We don't have time for patience.'
The shadows of demons flitted in and out of Sharyr's peripheral vision. The whir of their wings was the only sound they made. He had to keep out of his mind the thought of their spindly fingers reaching for his soul while he searched feverishly among the shelves for anything that might give them a clue to the demons' tactics.
Smoke was filling the library from the fire that was fast consuming the accumulated knowledge of Xetesk. Whatever he and his team collected now could well be all that was ever salvaged.
Sharyr knew the demons had lost him temporarily after he'd pushed them through a skylight and dropped the ForceCone. But they hadn't lost Suarav. What a spirit the man had. He could hear the captain's taunts and shouts, trying to draw the soul stealers away from the two surviving archivists looking for Dystran's prayed-for panacea.
The conscript was gone. The sound of the man's cut-off scream would live with him forever. He smiled grimly at the thought that forever for him could be a very short time indeed.
Sharyr grabbed a demonology scroll and with a surge of excitement having seen the author's name, stuffed it into his cloak. Behind him, new flame flared high into the library and sent a billow of choking smoke across the lower hall. The shadow of a grasping demon was cast huge against a wall. He heard one of his archivists call a warning.
'Time's up!' roared Suarav. There was the sound of a sword thudding dully. A demon yelped and screeched. 'Meeting point, now!'
Sharyr turned right, heading back towards the seat of the fire. Back towards the library doors. He heard the whir and saw a demon round the corner and float gently towards him along the aisle. He backed away.
'No escape,' said the demon, advancing with hands outstretched. 'We seek what you seek.'
'It'll burn before you set eyes on it,' said Sharyr. He backed off further and felt a chill, heard the whirring again, this time behind him. He was trapped.
'No escape,' repeated the demon. It came on, fingers rippling.
Right was wall, left, bookcases. Sharyr's mind was made up. The rest went by in a blur.
'You will not have me,' he whispered.
He could not cast, there was no time. Flames crackled menacingly in the centre of the library. Smoke irritated his eyes. The demons closed lazily. Sharyr had only one chance at what he intended to do. He threw himself shoulder-first into the freestanding bookcases that were the left-hand border of the aisle. It was a long, solid structure with more shelves racked beyond it. About ten feet high and heavy with books. Mercifully, it was not bolted to the floor.
Sharyr felt it move and he started to climb, scrambling up the shelves, arms and legs scrabbling for purchase. His momentum carried him up while the bookcase tipped away from him. With his feet on the top shelf, the bookcase passed the point of no return. The thundering sound of books falling mixed with that of his breathing, his heartbeat, Suarav's shouts and the flames. The shelving creaked. He stood, riding the case. It gathered momentum and cannoned into the one across the next aisle.
'Oh shit,' he muttered. There were six aisles before the wide gap of the centre aisle of the library.
He began to move again, running at an angle across the cases, jumping to the next, almost stumbling. He could feel the quickening movement beneath his feet. He kept himself going, his paces light. The clattering of the cases and the slipping of books reached a crescendo. Suarav was barking orders. He could see the heads of his
friends bobbing as they sprinted down the centre aisle, demons in pursuit. He daren't guess how close his own pursuers were.
Sharyr took one last leap, caught the falling edge of a case and tumbled hard to the ground. He turned a diving forward roll, feeling a sharp crack in his collar-bone. He sprawled and cried out, clutching at his clothing, desperate to keep the texts with him.
A strong hand gripped him under his good arm and hauled.
'By all the Gods burning, that was quite a performance,' growled Suarav. 'Now go, run hard left at the main doors as we'd planned. You know the way in.'
Sharyr could feel the heat of the fire on his face. It was eating up at the walls. The pain in his right shoulder was terrible, nauseating.
'What about you?'
'I'll keep them back.' Suarav leaned in. 'Don't argue with me, boy. We always knew this could happen.'
Sharyr nodded, turned and ran; the last thing he heard behind him was Suarav daring them to try and pass
