Demonstorm

Arnoan shook his head. 'Perhaps, my Lord. Perhaps.'

'You disagree?'

'I think we have merely been contained. While they grow stronger. How long will the karron remain so weak they are barely able to enter the mage casting? They have all the time in their hands and we grow weaker.'

'I think not.'

'I mean them.' Arnoan pointed at the towers. 'When the mages are gone, we have no weapon. Why else do you think they have not tried to attack us until today if not that we can be kept until all meaningful defence is gone?'

'We will prevail,' said Tessaya.

Arnoan raised his eyebrows. 'I need to pray.'

'Try and calm your Spirits, my Shaman.'

Tessaya watched Arnoan go to the shrine he had created in the barracks' officer quarters. The attacks had broken off for the moment and Wesmen jeers chased the demons out of the casting. Drenoul was up there too, gazing down on the mistake he had made by leaving the Wesmen unchallenged. A movement in the tallest tower caught his eye and he glanced up. Arnoan's words returned unbidden to his mind and he frowned.

The atmosphere inside the tower complex was one of relief, not victory as it was outside, and he found himself doubting his confidence. He wondered what news The Raven had brought to Xetesk and what his part in it would be. He had asked not to be involved in their debate and was beginning to regret that decision though it had seemed the right one at the time. His presence would have been inflammatory both among the tribal lords and high in the towers he detested so much; and for now at least, they had to be a united force against the common enemy.

Finally, he stared through the gates at the karron. Thousands of them. Waiting. He had to accept the fact that Arnoan might be right and so instead of taking to his bed for an hour as he had thought to do, he barked for his commanders to attend him. There was defensive planning to be done.

Hirad wasn't sure if Dystran or Vuldaroq had listened to a great deal of what The Unknown said. Both men could barely take their eyes from Erienne. She sat leaning on her husband, the grief evident in her face and her hands still shaking from her One castings, still so recent.

Enough to know what was being asked of them but little more. Hirad was feeling tired and sore. His mind was full of images of Darrick. He was furious that he hadn't been able to save him and he wasn't in the mood for anything but the answers he wanted. He barely waited for The Unknown to finish speaking.

'Either of you know who's been talking?'

His voice, loud and sharp, brought both their heads round.

'I beg your pardon?' said Dystran.

'It's just that The Unknown is sitting beside me and you barely looked at him.'

'Your point being?'

'That we're offering the one chance all of us have to beat these bastards but the pair of you are eyeing up Erienne like a prime steak. Let me make a couple of things absolutely clear.'

The Unknown tensed but didn't speak.

'We have fought our way in here to do what has to be done to save our country from the problems you have caused it. And not just our country but probably countless other dimensions in addition to those we know about. Already, we have lost Ry Darrick in the struggle and Auum has lost Duele. We have lost those we sent to try and warn you what was coming. All because of you. But this isn't the time for revenge and recrimination. If it was, you'd be dead already. But what it also means is your desire to control Erienne is also behind us, for the good of us all. Erienne is Raven. She will be coming with us. All you have to worry about is what The Unknown has just asked you. Assuming you were listening. If you can't put aside what is past and gone then none of us have any future. What is it to be?'

Dystran stared at Hirad as if composing a suitable retort. But something in the barbarian's expression changed his mind and instead a wry smile crossed his face. He spread his arms.

'No one underestimates the problem we face or the losses you have suffered. But at heart we remain mages. Erienne, please forgive us but what you are is a unique fascination.'

Erienne shrugged. 'Whatever makes you happy.'

'But as to what you ask . . .' Dystran shook his head. 'We have no way of sending you or anyone to the current demon dimension. Our link to them was all to do with focused mana trails and nothing to do with their location. I'm sorry, but we're going to have to think of another way to beat them.'

'There has to be a way to get us there. It's the only chance to close the tear, stop any more of them coming here and to disperse the mana. Without it, we're all as good as dead, you know that.'

'Yes, we know that,' said Vuldaroq wearily. 'And believe me we're sure there is a way but we just don't know it. We scoured every text we managed to steal from the library for anything useful. And we found something incredibly important. Unfortunately, it speaks of a religious punishment based on an ancient magic that died with a

race called the Charanacks. Find one alive and no doubt we'll be fine.'

'Because?'

'Because according to a note in the margin of one of our demon-ology texts, they, whoever they were, had a link to the demons. That was the punishment apparently. Banishment or some such.' Dystran paused and looked past Hirad. 'Something funny?'

Hirad turned. Rebraal was smiling despite the prevailing mood and Auum wore that curled-lip expression that denoted utter contempt. The TaiGethen spoke.

'Humans are so stupid,' he said in elvish that Rebraal translated. 'Always you ignore your past enemies because you think them unimportant by the mere fact of their apparent passing. And yet you wonder why it is you have no future.'

'Care to enlighten us?' said Dystran.

'Charanack is a play on an ancient elvish term,' said Rebraal. 'Chorun-y-ayck. It means man-of-the-west. I trust I don't need to make further connection.'

Hirad exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Shaking his head he pushed himself to his feet and walked stiffly over to Dystran's balcony doors where Thraun and Ark stood on guard. He was exhausted. Gods drowning, they all were. Erienne and Denser practically spent. All the warriors carrying cuts, muscle tears and the aches of a long time out of the routine of battle. Like all of them, Hirad couldn't wait to get his head down for a few hours. Perhaps even feel the benefit of a WarmHeal from someone. For now, they were as safe as they could get on Balaia. He only had to look down to know that to be true.

The doors were open and he strode outside and looked down on the reclaimed college. The courtyard was crawling with Wesmen. They had clearly just repulsed another demon attack. Around two thousand warriors and their Shamen had brought a quite extraordinary optimism to the college. Their songs echoed into the sky, their cook fires burned bright and the smells of the provisions they had brought with them were driving the taste- starved Xeteskians to distraction.

They had occupied the open spaces, the stables, the barracks, three of the long rooms, and liberated the library and mana bowl.

They had access to the courtyard and stable wells and they were using the surfeit of water to wash demon slime and corpses from the stones towards the edge of the ColdRoom shell. They seemed to have no fear of the enemy gathered scant yards from them though as he watched, Hirad saw Tessaya stride into the centre of the courtyard to begin marshalling something or other.

An extraordinary man and one of the few to live up to Hirad's expectations. He watched the Wesmen forming into more cohesive defensive units in front of the gaps in the walls through which they could see the karron. The lesser demons hadn't attacked the Cold-Room so far but clearly Tessaya's distrust of magic wasn't appeased.

'So,' he said. 'Before we all fall asleep, who's coming with me to ask the great man a big favour?'

He felt the pulse of pure panic through them all and the massing of the malevolence close at hand. They pushed and tore where the fabric between the living and the dead was stretched. Gone were the feelings of light and warmth, of closeness and joy. Replaced by a marauding dread and a chasm opening to an eternity of absence.

Those others that he sought for communication had gone with the mass pressed as far from the threat as