Demonstorm

was putting on him.

'Hey, boy, not feeling so good?'

'I've felt better,' agreed Luke.

The soldier hurried back across the floor.

'Take his other side,' ordered Blackthorne. T take it the barracks are out of bounds.'

'Yes, my Lord,' said Luke.

'Then you will rest in my quarters.'

'No. There is so much to do.'

'Yes, there is. And I and the good sergeant here will organise it. When I have the numbers, I will bring them to you. No buts, Luke, I need your mind and right now it's not all there, is it?'

Blackthorne all but crumbled faced with Luke's look of gratitude. The young man slumped against him.

'Dammit,' he said. 'Come on, let's get moving.'

He and the sergeant hurried Luke from the hall. The situation in the corridors they travelled was little better than that they'd just left. Bodies, not enough still moving, littered walkways, stairs and chambers. They passed the infirmary, a hive of activity and bursting at the seams, on the way to his rooms.

'Attention, my chambers. Now.' He barked, not waiting for a response.

They bundled Luke up the stairs and all but threw him on Blackthorne's wrought-iron, curtained bed. It was dim in the bedchamber. The fire was cold, no candles were lit and the windows were shuttered and nailed. Demons marauded outside.

The sergeant wrung out the cloth in Blackthorne's basin and folded it for a compress.

'He's not got a fever, man!' snapped the Baron. 'Bank and light the fire. Quickly.'

Blackthorne pulled the covers to Luke's neck and sat on the bed. He used the cloth to clean away the worst of the blood, feeling Luke's icy skin.

'Hang on, lad. Hang on. It'll pass.'

'Not going anywhere,' said Luke faintly.

'Good.'

There was a tentative knock on the door. He shouted them in, two healers.

'Don't let him die. We need him. I need him.'

Blackthorne ran from his chambers. He had to know what he still controlled, what forces were still under his command. At every turn, the prognosis became less palatable and it forced him to consider three questions. Why had they suddenly become so very much stronger; why had they pulled back if they were really as strong as they appeared; and when would they be back to deal the fatal blow?

Until that afternoon, his ColdRoom shell had covered about a third of the area of his town; and they had held it comfortably. He was now having to come to terms with the fact that he was a prisoner in his own castle. Luke had not been exaggerating and Blackthorne was thankful that enough order remained for a watchful defence perimeter to be in place. He owed Darrick particularly and his determination that they set up multiple overlapping defensive cells. He'd probably never have the opportunity to thank him personally.

Blackthorne took a longer look in the infirmary the second time around. The once calm and quiet whitewashed chamber was awash with noise and blood. It echoed to the cries of the injured and fading, the exhortations of healers and the squeal of metal on stone as cots were dragged from examination to treatment and, if the incumbent was fortunate, recovery. Every inch of floor space was covered with his warriors, mages and ordinary townspeople. They lay on makeshift pillows, were propped against walls and pillars and cradled in the arms of loved ones.

He paused to offer comfort to those he could and promise resources to the healers if he could muster any. Hot water and clean cloth were in desperately short supply.

Clattering down to the kitchens, he found some cause for hope. Deep in the bowels of the castle, with their chimneys grilled and venting smoke into the foundations and caves, they had escaped the attack. Food was being prepared, water was boiling and a bucket chain was in operation from the trio of wells. Blackthorne nodded approval at the level of guards in this room that now found itself the hub of operations.

He shook hands, patted backs and spoke encouragement. It was

crucial he was visible. Gods, half the castle probably didn't know if he was dead or alive. He toured quickly; checked the stable block, assessed the condition of horses and mages, the courtyard where guards still walked but where anxiety had replaced confidence and where twos had replaced threes and fours, and the periphery of the shell. He felt its closeness and tried to count the demons.

They were still there but they had suffered huge losses. Black-thorne and his people had given them a real bloody nose but at great cost. Surely, the demons, even if they were temporarily depleted which he doubted, could simply reinforce. His numbers were severely diminished and they knew it. Yet there were no taunts, no displays and no shows of strength or intent. The town was quiet. So quiet that they were barely even being watched.

Later, having completed his tour of the grounds, gardens and buildings still in his gift, he went back to his chambers and sat with Luke. The boy's eyes bored into the ceiling while he spoke.

'What would your assessment be ... it could be worse? That about covers it. We have the mage strength to cycle our casters. We have the secure area for mana replenishment and we have access to food and water; the latter indefinitely, the former for another forty days at least.

'It would have been fewer but I'm afraid our losses have been steep. We might have a shell over the castle but realistically, we can't defend much more than the kitchens, stables, ground chambers and banqueting hall. We should really relocate the infirmary too. If we do that, I feel we can hold out until there is no food in our bellies. We're still strong, we have our belief. But we can't break out though. We don't have the people any more. At least, I don't think so.

'Your opinion would have been so valuable. Your insight and organisation too. And most of all, your optimism. I'm sorry I left you, Luke. I'll grieve when I am alone.'

Blackthorne reached over and closed Luke's eyes. He turned to look properly at the bodies of the healers and the sergeant he had brought up here only to die.

T am moved almost to tears, but I cannot cry. Was that speech for me or for him? He with the glorious soul that so sates me now.'

'His name was Luke and it was for us all,' said Blackthorne, standing.

'And do you believe it? Truly?' Ferouc moved from the shadows, wings furled at his back, his colour a resonant, relaxed deep green. 'Or have I finally convinced you that this futile struggle is at an end?'

'It's funny, you know. Had you come to me as I walked outside instead of this,' Blackthorne indicated the broken shutter, T might have had half a mind to agree with you. But you have just killed the wrong man and now I will fight you to the very last. Do you find that funny, Fidget? What drives men on?'

Ferouc's colour flared briefly bright. Its fingers clacked together.

'Beware your insults, Baron Blackthorne. You are unarmed.'

'And you are within my shield. Weak. Vulnerable.' Blackthorne moved towards the demon. 'Want to find out who would prevail?'

'Just one lingering touch, human.'

'Do you really believe I would succumb that easily?' Blackthorne found he had no fear of the creature. Powerful though it was, he could feel only a brooding anger and determination. It gave him true courage and a line to every like-minded man and woman across Balaia. It was the perfect defence. T am Baron Blackthorne. No one dominates me. No one takes from me what I am.'

Ferouc's hands clasped together and in its throat, it forced a dry rasp.

'It is a shame for Balaia that not all humans are so strong. Even so, you can be defeated. Broken.'

Blackthorne saw the reavers float in through the twisted shutter. Three of them.

'We have won, Baron Blackthorne. Our strength is too much for you even inside your shell now. But believe me, surrender is painless.'

Blackthorne snatched the dagger from his pocket sheath, backhanded it across the throat of the nearest creature. The demon crashed backwards, dying quickly, and Blackthorne moved into the space and to the door. He felt small gratification at the genuine surprise on Ferouc's face and the lightening of its colour.

'Every Baron has enemies, Fidget, and none ever walk unarmed,' he said. 'We will prevail. The Raven and die elves will beat you and you will die never having taken my casde or tasted my soul.',