demons howled and the noise grew as more and more ignored their airborne quarry. And in the centre of the mage defence, deep blue ForceCones and IceWind kept open the slimmest corridor.
'Let's be moving back slowly!'
Chandyr's voice towered over the slowly rising panic. They had to get this just right or they'd lose more mages saving Dordovans than if they'd all stayed inside and let their erstwhile enemies die. Dystran eyed the sky again. Vuldaroq was at their head, the other three now in close attendance. They had abandoned any thoughts of evading the mass of demons closing around them and were flying headlong and head-first straight at the doors of the complex. The timing was going to be tight.
'FlameWall preparation now,' he barked to the mage at his side.
Both men formulated the rigid, single-sided structure into which was built the mechanism that caused the flames to decay slowly, lt was a static spell. They could cast and forget. Right now that was more than merely a blessing.
From his left, Dystran heard a sudden surge in shouting. Demons were attacking hard on the flank, threatening to overwhelm the flimsy mage defence.
Chandyr's voice sounded softly in his ear. 'It has to be now, my Lord.'
Dystran nodded his understanding. 'Ready,' he said.
'Last spells and retreat!' shouted Chandyr. 'Don't look back, get inside the ColdRooms. I want men ready if any of those bastards follow our friends in. Go!'
Heartbeats later, a volley of spells clattered into the mass of demons still a hundred yards distant but closing hard. To the left, the distance was not so great. Mist burned away, screams filled the sky and cold washed out over the college, IceWind finding its targets and flaying the skin from its victims. But there were so very many of them. They choked the sky and now the ground in front of the college. All the spells had done was buy them a few moments.
'Run!' Chandyr led the charge back to the doors, stopping by Dystran who had backed right to the edge of the ColdRoom.
Soldiers and mages rushed past. Demons closed in from left, right and above. The corridor down which the Dordovans flew narrowed, the quartet dropping to line astern to keep the demons crucial feet
from them. The last mage didn't want to look back. A huge winged creature was slashing at his feet, missing them by hairs alone.
'Wait just a moment,' said Dystran, feeling the anxiety of the mage next to him. Vuldaroq was fifty yards away. 'Right, let's give them something to aim at.'
The two mages cast, FlameWalls, parallel, forty feet high and a hundred long sprang up either side of the doors. Demons coming in from the flanks were forced to stop, those above veered away. Vuldaroq charged headlong.
'Oh Gods,' muttered Dystran and stumbled back inside the complex, dragging Chandyr and the other mage with him. 'We're going to have to break their fall. Get in front of the tower pillar. This is going to hurt.'
He'd only got a few yards inside and turned before Vuldaroq flew into the doorway. The ColdRoom snapped off the flow of mana. His ShadowWings disappeared and he plunged the dozen or so feet to the ground and rolled out of control towards the uncompromising stone of Dystran's tower. Fortunately for him, he hit Dystran first and 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.