In two years, while they had expanded their domain within the college, nothing outside of it belonged to them. They had wells under their control but had to raid farms for food or fly high and fast to hunt or forage in distant areas still apparently ignored by the invaders. Those making the flights had at least brought back information about the wider state of Balaia and it made grim listening.
Those still living outside the control of demons lived in constant fear of being the next into the inexorably expanding net. In addition to the college cities, all major population centres bar one were in thrall. Korina, Gyernath and all the northern and eastern baronies were captured, leaving only Blackthorne as a bastion in the south. It was a testament to Baron Blackthorne's skill and farsightedness that he still remained free, if that term could really be applied to any of them. Only Blackthorne outside of the colleges had refused to victimise and drive away the mages in his town or employ when the Black Wings were at their height of influence. He was alive now because of that decision.
In the scattered villages, isolated farmsteads and hamlets, a subsistence life went on but there was precious little travel or trade. After all, the demons controlled every marketplace and port and had thrown an impenetrable ring around Blackthorne. Those living in these small communities would all have fled but there were no ships to anywhere. Some had tried to make it to Understone Pass but no news of their fate ever came back.
And everywhere the stories about what the demons were doing were the same. No one unable to father or bear children was left alive. The old, infirm and barren had been taken for their souls in the early seasons of the occupation. Those that were left were drilled into a workforce designed purely to keep them alive, let them breed
and so perpetuate the supply of souls. And while the new generation were born and grew, the demons satiated themselves by draining life force slowly, using a horrifyingly exquisite touch to draw off only that which they needed.
Heryst had seen it from the windows of the college. He wondered why the enslaved hadn't given up, taken their own lives or their children's. He had witnessed in their faces the enduring shock and incomprehension. The eyes not dead but not alive either. The look of hope extinguished.
But somewhere inside them, most of them, the will to survive still lurked. It drove them to exist through the nights of terror, the knowledge of why they were being kept alive. The human spirit, never truly broken.
Heryst knew why that inner light still burned. It was because every day they could see the college. Still holding out. A torch to guide them through their bleakest moments, something to cling on to though they were helpless themselves. It meant an expectation was laid on Heryst and those few who worked to find an answer. It was why Heryst looked out every day to remind himself. They had to strike back. They had to. If only they had the means.
'My Lord?'
'Kayvel,' said Heryst. 'I'm sorry, miles away.'
'Please, just for a moment, look away from the city.' Kayvel placed a hand on his shoulder, all it did was remind him how thin he had become.
'Show me again.'
'Look towards Xetesk, tell me what you see.'
Heryst looked. Beneath the shale-grey cloud, there was a lightness in the south-west. It was faint but it was there. Sometimes stronger, sometimes fading. There seemed to be a pale blue hue to it but that could have been a trick of the distance.
'What is that?' he asked.
'You know how you've been asking why it is the demons don't try and attack us any more?' said Kayvel.
'Yes.' Heryst shrugged and drew back from the window. 'So what?'
Kayvel pointed. 'Well, I think that's why.'
Heryst regarded him coolly. 'You're going to have to explain that.'
'Naturally.' Kayvel chuckled and scratched at his beard. They all had them these days. There were other things more important than putting the edge of a dagger to your chin every day. Until the lice struck. Then they shaved. 'We know that what we possess as mages makes our souls prized by demons. That's surely why they targeted the colleges from the outset.'
Heryst nodded, about to tell him to stop repeating the obvious when he realised Kayvel was speaking for the benefit of the whole room, which had fallen silent.
'But we saw them back off quite quickly when they knew they couldn't take us without great loss of life on their side. We know this has happened in Xetesk and Julatsa too but we don't know about Dordover. Worryingly quiet over there, if you ask me.'
A murmur ran around the room. Heryst looked round. On the council table, the ColdRoom mages were lost in their casting. Two others sat next to them, monitoring the mana spectrum as best they could for any communication through the strands of mana that linked to the spell that kept them safe. How strong they had all been against all the odds. What character had been shown by so many. Heryst didn't know about anyone else but he knew he'd have gone under a long time ago without the spirit they had engendered here.
Kayvel continued. 'So it seems clear they are waiting for something to happen before they can attack us with hope of success and without huge losses, right?'
'It's logical,' said Heryst.
'They have been completely systematic in their approach to taking Balaia. It has been a textbook conquest.'
'You sound as if you respect them for it.'
'I think we must,' said Kayvel. 'Because the chaotic creatures we read about in our myths bear no relation to the organised race we witness every day. It's time to stop thinking about them as the evil in our mythology and start thinking about them as a capable, intelligent enemy playing perfectly to their strengths.'
'Haven't we always done that?' asked a voice from the crowd that had closed in to listen.
'No, Renarn, I don't think we have,' said Kayvel to the gaunt
youth who had spoken. 'It's so difficult to change the teachings of thousands of years. Don't forget that, with the exception of Xetesk and to a certain extent Julatsa, we have never viewed demons as anything other than a nightmare symbol. They really were the story told to keep children quiet at night. Trouble is, they are far more dangerous than that. They are a dimension-travelling race seeking domination of this dimension. And they are ninety per cent there already. Once Balaia falls completely, who will stand in their way?'
'Wesmen and elves, presumably,' said Renarn.
'For how long?' asked Kayvel. 'They have come to the colleges to take out the biggest single threat to them, that of magic. The other races they can defeat at their leisure because weapons can't kill them.'
'The elves have magic,' said Renarn.
Heryst went cold. 'Not when the tower of Julatsa is destroyed.'
'Right.' Kayvel's smile was grim.
'All right.' Heryst gestured for calm as consternation swept the room. 'Come on, let's keep our focus. We're already deflected from the question, which is, what does that mist signify?' He pointed out of the window.
'It's mana,' said Kayvel.
Heryst started. T beg your pardon?'
'Think about it. What is the one thing stopping them from attacking us inside our ColdRoom constructs?'
'Mana of course.'
'Yes. It is an integral part of their being. It's armour on one level but actually it's far more than that. Without it, they die. It's clear that there's enough mana in the atmosphere of Balaia to keep them alive, but not enough to overwhelm our castings and flood the ColdRooms.' He indicated the window to the south-west. 'That, I am certain, is the demons introducing mana to the air above Xetesk for just that purpose.'
'But surely we'd feel it,' said Renarn.
'No,' said Heryst. 'Not at all. We're inside a ColdRoom here, we won't feel anything. What about those that have flown outside?'