Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 174 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

Shivering, Dystran watched their flight pattern. It was tightly formed, one leading all the others in a helical pattern around the beam of light. They dispersed back into the sky after a few turns, rising in graceful arcs before plunging back towards the college, voices changed, sounding warning and alarm.

One by one, they disappeared back where they had come but the last diverted and flew to the balcony where Dystran stood. It hovered in front of him. Dystran considered he had never seen a familiar display fear before.

‘Prepare,’ it hissed. ‘Save the masters. They are come.’ And it dropped from sight.

Dystran’s eyes snapped back to the beam.

‘Oh dear Gods, what have we done?’ he breathed.

Already, the first signs of panic were evident in the grounds of the college. People were running and shouting to no discernible purpose. Dystran fancied he could hear doors slam and lock. As if that would make any difference. Around him, the alignment team were pressing towards the balcony doors, eager for an escape.

‘I tried to warn you,’ said Sharyr. ‘The alignment was never favourable enough for the power we had to use. A breach was surely inevitable.’

‘They must have been waiting,’ whispered Dystran.

‘Ever since we first cast BlueStorm, I expect,’ said Sharyr. ‘Congratulations, my Lord Dystran. You have killed us all.’

Fierce cold washed out from the beam. Teeth ached in chilled gums, hair frosted and eyes dried out and stung. Through the frozen mist filling the air, Dystran could see the beam move. Edges appeared along its length and blue light spilled out. Not the deep blue of Xetesk but the livid colour of the demon dimension.

And out they spilled in their tens, hundreds and thousands. Multiple shapes and innumerable sizes and colours. Dystran saw demons the size of small birds flit off on buzzing wings. He saw others that would tower over houses, floating. He saw tails and tentacles. He saw necks like those of dragons, the heads of disfigured men, animals and other forms totally alien. Snakelike demons shimmered in the sky, bulbous-skulled demons roared across the firmament.

Still they poured out on a wave of blue demon-light. And when they had finished their cavorting, they grouped together. Four main groups and dozens of smaller ones fizzing and diving, setting off to every point of the compass, or so it seemed.

Dystran couldn’t move. His mouth was dry and his body shook.

‘Do something!’ yelled Sharyr.

‘Nothing,’ mumbled Dystran, gesturing uselessly. ‘There’s nothing to do.’

‘Organise, damn you!’ Sharyr grabbed his lapels and shook some sense back into his mind. ‘We have to work together or we’ll all die, do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Dystran. ‘Yes. ColdRooms. Make ColdRooms. And work. Research. We must fight. Muster in the mana bowl.’

Thousands of demons descended on Xetesk. Their approach was soundless and awesome, on a wave of freezing air. Others were surely on their way to Dordover, Lystern and Julatsa. They were the centres of mana energy and life force. The jewels the demons had craved for so long.

‘Go,’ said Dystran. ‘Let me face them. They will want to talk.’

‘Talk?’

‘Yes, Sharyr. Demons always want to talk.’

At the head of the advance, three detached themselves and floated towards the tower. Sharyr took the remnants of his team and fled. Dystran, his heart thrashing in his chest, his consciousness threatening to desert him, faced the new enemy. The three were monstrous. Better than thirty feet tall, they had roughly human torsos but beneath their trunks tentacles writhed. Colours flashed across their sexless bodies, rainbows chasing each other to nowhere.

‘You are not welcome here,’ managed Dystran. ‘Respect the ancient laws and treaties. Return to your dimension and seal the rift you have made.’

‘The time of humans has passed,’ said one, chest rippling and writhing. The voice was deep and carried far and wide. ‘We rule here now.’

Chapter 7

Hirad awoke with the sense of unease he had learned to trust. He lay where he was for a time, breathing in the rich scent of hay around him in the barn loft, seeing the rays of the dawn sun through the gaps in the planked walls and hearing the sounds of horses. Quite a number of horses.

He hurried to his feet and looked around for The Unknown. The big warrior was already standing at a small window, Thraun and Darrick by his side, looking down onto the village’s single street.

‘Trouble?’ asked Hirad.

‘See for yourself,’ said The Unknown. ‘Dordover has arrived.’

Through the window, Hirad could see at least twenty horsemen in college livery. Next to them was the one impostor that had escaped the previous evening along with several villagers. They were grouped at the bottom of the path that led up to Ferran’s farm and there was no doubt at all where their attention lay. While he watched, Hirad saw small bags being tossed to the impostor and each of the villagers, who were then waved away.

‘They’re paying our ransom,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ said The Unknown. ‘A little premature, don’t you think?’

Hirad heard the sound of a sword belt being buckled on.

‘Damn right,’ said Hirad. ‘Ideas?’

The Unknown looked out of the window once more. Hirad broke away to pull on his boots, and belt on his own sword. ‘Ferran isn’t with them, I see. We can presume he’s innocent. That means that while they know we’re in his buildings they won’t know who’s where necessarily. But we aren’t going to get to the farmhouse without being seen and I think a little surprise is what we need.’

‘I wonder if Denser and Erienne know what’s happening.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Darrick. ‘What we have to worry about is that we’re unshielded. And I disagree with you, Unknown. Surprise is not what we need. After all, we’ve got a little help coming.’

He pointed to the left towards the southern edge of the village. Figures were racing in from the forest just beyond the last houses, disappearing into shadow to reappear far closer than they had any right to. And very much adjacent, a panther roared. The predatory sound scared the horses. A couple reared, the rest shifted, backing away. Riders began to dismount.

‘Well, even if our loving couple were asleep, they aren’t now,’ said Hirad. ‘Let’s go, Raven, there’s work to do.’

Thraun hung back. ‘I will run with the panther one last time on Balaia,’ he said.

‘You sure?’

The blond warrior nodded, his yellow-tinged eyes bright. Hirad didn’t wait for him but led the way down the ladder to the empty horse stalls. At the barn’s double doors, The Unknown halted them briefly.

‘Remember, if they want to arrest us, we can talk. Buy time. Just like last night.’

‘I doubt they’ll be as incompetent as last night,’ said Darrick.

‘Take my lead,’ said The Unknown.

He pulled open the doors and strode out into the cool air of early morning. Darrick and Hirad were at either shoulder. Thraun was still inside. Not two paces into the sunlight and FlameOrbs arced towards them.

‘Run!’

The Raven trio scrambled back inside, the Orbs crashing into the barn and the ground where they had been standing. Loose hay ignited, timbers flared and the ageing structure groaned and protested the impact. Fire took swift hold of the village side of the barn. It raced up the lintel where tongues licked down, daring them to attempt escape. It ate across the floor, finding ample fuel. Darrick, joined by the others, kicked a makeshift firebreak while behind them Thraun prowled, growling nervously.

‘How strong are the walls d’you reckon?’ asked Hirad. ‘You know, just in case.’

‘Not strong enough,’ said The Unknown.

Smoke fled across the underside of the roof, choking the timbers and carrying sparks to the hayloft. Already, flames threatened the thatch high above them.

‘We don’t have a lot of time,’ said Darrick.

‘Patience,’ said The Unknown, coughing.

‘Raven!’ came a voice. ‘Surrender immediately or we’ll burn you where you hide. You have—’ He made a choking sound. Hirad fancied he heard a dry thud.

‘Auum,’ said Hirad. The panther roared into the teeth of another spell detonation. Men shouted. There were running feet.

‘Hirad, shoulder at the edge of the flame, we’ll break through there. Roll and split outside. Don’t give them a target.’ The Unknown sheathed his sword. ‘Raven with me!’

Hirad and The Unknown sprinted for the fire’s edge which was advancing along the wall at frightening speed, its heat drawing sweat from their brows. The warriors launched themselves on the last pace, shoulders connecting with scorching timbers. The impact of their combined weight on weakened wood was predictable and they punched through to fresh air in a shower of sparks and splinters.

Both men rolled on the packed earth, drawing swords as they regained their feet and running at angles towards the enemy. Thraun howled and charged. Darrick moved up in their wake. From the left, the TaiGethen and Rebraal advanced carefully behind accurate bowfire that skipped off a HardShield but kept its caster concentrating hard. The ClawBound were sprinting in a wide arc to reach the back of the Dordovans, their horses beginning to panic and split.

Already, one of their number lay with a shaft through his throat. Others circled and ran to defensive positions. Mages, one still on horseback, were either casting or held shields in place. The Raven’s betrayers were backing off north. Hirad noted them and was just wondering if Denser and Erienne were with The Raven when the Xeteskian announced that he was.

Two focused columns of HellFire speared down from the clear sky. Rich blue and targeted at two standing mages, they struck with unstoppable power. A shield flared briefly orange and collapsed. Beneath it the two victims vaporised, not even having the time to scream.

‘Let’s take them, Raven!’ yelled Hirad, changing the angle of his run to strike the centre of the demoralised and confused Dordovan force.

Thraun was past him on the next heartbeat, leaping to take the remaining mage from his horse. Blood fountained into the air and his horse bolted.

‘They’re open!’ shouted The Unknown. ‘Keep firing!’

Arrows flew. Two men were struck. From behind, the ClawBound elf strode in and buried his fingers deep into the face of a terrified conscript. His panther was by his side.

Half the remaining Dordovans turned to run and found themselves facing The Raven. Hirad was in no mood for games. The man in front of him recognised him and had all but resigned himself to death before Hirad struck. He raised a guard. Hirad stepped inside it, blocked away the sword arm with his left and buried his blade deep into the Dordovan’s gut, driving up under the rib cage. Blood exploded from his mouth, spattering Hirad’s face. The barbarian dragged the blade clear, turned to find his next opponent and crashed a fist into his face above his sword guard. The soldier staggered back. Hirad paced after him, punched him again, square on the chin. The soldier’s sword dropped from nerveless fingers. Hirad growled and sliced out his throat.

Darrick had already downed two men who mistakenly thought him the easier target, while beside them one hapless soldier had met the full force of The Unknown’s sword and had been all but divided in two at the midriff. The sword had caught in his splintered ribs. The Unknown struggled to drag it clear, another soldier closing on him, looking to carve himself a piece of history.

‘Your right, Unknown,’ called Hirad, blocking away a quick attack from one of a duo he faced.

The Unknown swung round, straight-punched the soldier on the nose with his right fist, paced in and butted him hard. The man stumbled backwards and The Unknown finished him, driving his blade deep into his gut.

Hirad pushed away his closest attacker and backed off a pace, smiling.

‘Shame for you,’ he said. ‘Because you’ll never know what hit you.’

In front of him, the soldiers hesitated. And Auum’s Tai hit them with a speed that made Hirad gasp. Duele kicked head-high, snapping the neck of one man, Auum and Evunn scything into the legs and chest of the other. Hirad looked about him. It was over. The one remaining impostor leaped onto the back of a horse and kicked it into frenzied action. His limbs flailed as he urged it desperately towards a gallop.

‘Not this time,’ said Hirad. ‘Thraun!’

The wolf looked up from the throat of a victim, blood covering his muzzle.

‘The rider!’ Hirad pointed. ‘Quickly. Betrayer!’

Thraun barked once and set off, the panther quickly at his side. The impostor looked over his shoulder and screamed at his terrified mount for more speed. But instead of that, all he got was a stutter and a half-turn on the gallop. Thraun closed the distance quickly, nipping at the animal’s heels. It kicked out and bucked and in the same instant the panther leaped high and bore the impostor from his saddle. Fangs ripped and tore.

Hirad looked away. Straight into the eyes of one of the village betrayers.

‘You,’ he breathed and began to advance.

All five of them were in a group twenty yards from the fighting, all set to run.

‘Reckon you can outrun the wolf or the panther, boy?’ snarled Hirad at one, a youth of no more than sixteen, freckled and ginger-haired. Urine coursed down his legs. ‘Don’t you move a fucking muscle.’

The villagers froze, caught between the advancing barbarian and the knowledge of the two wild animals behind them.

‘Hirad,’ warned The Unknown. ‘Don’t you do it.’

‘Do what?’ asked Hirad, not breaking stride.

‘You know what I’m talking about.’

‘Damn you, Unknown, you know me better than that.’ He dropped his sword to the ground, unbuckled his sword belt and dropped that too, complete with its sheathed daggers. He stopped and turned, arms outstretched. ‘All right now?’

‘Still hardly a fair contest,’ said The Unknown.

‘There isn’t going to be a contest.’

Hirad marched up to the five men. They all looked so small though at least two were bigger than he was. Strong farmers and farmers’ sons. But where it mattered, they had no strength at all.

‘I don’t know,’ said Hirad. ‘I really don’t.’

He stood close to them, looking from one to another in turn, seeing scared eyes beneath shamed brows. He could barely control the fury coursing through his body. The Unknown had been right to make sure he was disarmed.

‘I would cut you all down and piss on your rotting corpses but it would be a waste of my edge and my water.’

He saw them cower and it gave him no pleasure. He struggled to understand what they had been prepared to do. These were ordinary Balaians. His people. The people he had been fighting for ever since the discovery of Dawnthief more than six years ago.

Hirad pointed at one, a broad-shouldered man with a thick thatch of unruly brown hair and a long nose.

‘I drank with you last night. We bought each other ale. Exchanged names. And you.’ He jabbed the freckled youth’s chest, forcing him to back up a pace. ‘You pestered me all night for stories.’

He shook his head sadly.

‘And I told you everything you wanted to hear and every bit of it was true. And did you count the number of times The Raven stood against the enemy and saved your lives? We’d never met you and still we wanted you to live.

‘That’s honour. That’s wanting what’s best for the people of your country. We spent six years fighting battles we didn’t start to give you the chance to grow your crops and tend your cattle.

‘Yet you meet us for one night and decide to help another man betray us.’

His voice, carrying strongly, rose to a shout as his control finally broke.

‘My friends died for you!’ he stormed. ‘Saving you so you could turn round and sell us for a few pieces of fucking coin.’

Hirad bit back bitter tears.

‘If you ever had an elven friend and he’s alive today, that’s down to The Raven. You are not a pile of dragon-fired ash because of The Raven. Because the Wytch Lords don’t own your souls, you should be thanking The Raven. And my friends died in that time. Ilkar the last of them. A sacrifice to stop those who would dictate how you thought about magic.

‘You are free because of us. Yet you would sell us. For how much, eh? What’s in those purses of yours? What are The Raven worth?’

They fidgeted, looked to one another. Like last night, the village had assembled to see the spectacle. Hirad held out his hand.

‘Show me. Now.’

The youth fished in his pocket and dropped a small purse in Hirad’s palm. The barbarian eyed him meaningfully and poured the contents into his other hand. A few gold coins. Little real value in today’s market where produce was king. He emptied them onto the ground.

‘I could multiply that by five and still it would come to bugger all, wouldn’t it? That’s the price you put on everything The Raven have done for you is it? The price you put on Ilkar’s death?’

The youth didn’t see the left hook that laid him flat. Hirad rounded on the four still standing.

‘Purses. Now. On the ground.’

They hesitated.

‘You were paid a reward. But unless you are planning on arresting me yourselves, I suggest you hand it over. You have not completed your contract.’

A second hesitation was ended by a significant growl from Thraun who had padded up silently behind them. With great reluctance, hands reached into pockets. Four purses clinked to the ground. Hirad kicked them away and turned at last to face the villagers. To the left, Ferran’s barn, wrapped in flame, began to collapse. Smoke boiled into the air.

‘We didn’t ever demand much. Payment for our services. Sometimes not even that. Mostly we just wanted a country where we could all live in peace.

‘What you do with these behind me is up to you but personally I wouldn’t be happy if they were part of my village. They are barely part of the human race. The money we’ll take, barring what Ferran will need to rebuild his barn.’

He turned to walk back to The Raven but a final thought struck him.

‘You know the thing that really makes me sick to my stomach? It’s the fact that next time Balaia is threatened, the same people who betray us today will call for us to help them. Well, we won’t be hearing you. Perhaps you’ll think on why that is before the enemy kills your children in front of you. Find yourselves some new heroes. Because we’re leaving and we won’t be coming back.

‘The Raven will not ride again.’

Dawn’s light had brought little real respite in Lystern. The demons had flooded through the city and into the college two hours before. Heryst had lost a third of his mage strength then and there, their life energy and souls feeding their attackers; their deaths mere prelude to lingering purgatory if the myths were true.

Heryst and the council had reacted smartly and enough mages were holed up in the great council chamber to keep a ColdRoom casting going almost indefinitely. The spell, which banished mana from within it, was their only effective defence against the mana-based demons which quickly suffocated without it. Any that tried to attack within the ColdRoom were easily dispatched because swords were also affected by the spell and carried no mana in their steel.

Heryst, Lystern’s Lord Elder Mage, prayed for the souls of any not within similar sanctuary. He could not Commune from within the ColdRoom. Mana would not coalesce. Indeed the only strands of mana were those that led from the five casting mages that fed the spell construct.

Latterly, the demons had seemed content to walk or float just outside the transparent spell. It was enough to keep the one hundred and sixty-three mages, soldiers and assorted college staff on edge. Heryst knew he couldn’t let the situation stagnate. He could feel the anxiety in the chamber and sense all of them begin to add up the practical problems they faced.

He squeezed the arm of his most trusted aide and friend. A man who he was so pleased to have with him now.

‘Kayvel, it’s time to get organised. Check on the casting team will you?’

Kayvel smiled through his own fear and climbed onto the council table. The casting team, surrounded by swordsmen, were in its centre, as far from accident as was possible. Heryst watched Kayvel walk rather awkwardly across the intricately designed wood and kneel by the team to exchange soft words.

‘People,’ said Heryst, clapping his hands and stilling the quiet hum of conversation. ‘Let’s gather ourselves. Over here, please. We’ve got work to do.’

He could see it so clearly in all their faces. From the most senior mage to the youngest serving girl or kitchen lad. Incomprehension edged by terror. Loss. The war had been hard enough though it had never touched them. But this. Most of these people had gone from knowing about demons only from text and story, to the staggering certainty that nothing would be the same again. And that everything they had known and taken for granted was gone. Heryst had worse news for them.

He waited while they assembled. Every eye was on him, needing him to help them find a way back. If they could only but sample the desperation he felt. Too much knowledge could sometimes be considered dangerous. But he felt that he had to tell them what they were up against. But first, a little balm.

‘We are safe here,’ he said. ‘I know you don’t all understand what we have created but, as you have seen, it keeps the demons at bay and those who try to breach it are easy targets. Remember that because it is as good as our position gets.’

A murmur went round the crowd in front of him.

‘There are things you have to know. And because I need you all if we are to survive, I will not hide anything from you. Outside this spell, we cannot fight them for any length of time. Though they are vulnerable to spells, they will barely be harmed by swords because of the mana in the air and over everything.’

A hand went up. It was a young girl that Heryst recognised. She was attached to the staff of the tower kitchens. In her early twenties, dark-haired and slim-built.

‘Please my Lord, I don’t understand. What are these things?’

Heryst smiled. ‘I’m sorry, yes, let’s start at the beginning. I’ll be brief though so anything you don’t quite get, ask a mage later. Mages, you will answer all these questions. This is no time to feel you are somehow above helping ordinary Lysternans.

‘These demons are from a dimension other than our own. We have had contact with them for many hundreds of years. Enough to know that they covet our land because of its richness and the vitality of life here. Demons need mana in the atmosphere in order to breathe and maintain their natural armour and that is why we are cocooned in the ColdRoom spell. But they live on the life force of other creatures. You’d call that their souls, I guess, and it is as good a word as any. They can drain your soul in an instant or feed off it over the course of years. They can choose to keep you alive while they drain you. It would be a drawn-out death. And we understand that the souls of those they take can be kept in existence in their own dimension, stimulated by pain to pulse out life for years.’

He paused and looked around the room. Tears were running down the cheeks of men and women alike. He saw others shivering. And yet more looking to the edges of the casting, into the corridors beyond the council chamber where demons hovered. A hand was raised. Heryst nodded for the soldier to speak.

‘Can we beat them back?’

Heryst shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I have to say I have my doubts. We can only guess at the numbers they have in the city and beyond. Fighting them one to one is probably not worth it. What we have to do ultimately is find out where they are coming from and literally close the door.’

‘How are we going to do that stuck in here?’ shouted someone.

Heryst held up his hands. ‘Calm, please. That is why we are talking now. Here is what I want us to consider. First, the practical. We have no food, water or latrine facilities and we have to work out ways to get them.’

‘My Lord Heryst,’ said Kayvel. ‘I can partially solve the latter.’

Kayvel’s voice was like a cool breeze over hot skin. Heryst smiled. ‘Then let us hear you. I have managed only to depress people so far.’

A fractional easing of the tension was evidenced by the odd chuckle.

‘The spell’s coverage is a little wider than we thought. It does cover the latrines beyond the north doors. Only just, but it does nonetheless.’

‘Thank you,’ said Heryst. ‘But it isn’t enough for a long-term siege in here. They will fill and we have no way of clearing them. But for now, it is a piece of genuinely good news. As soon as I’ve finished speaking, Kayvel, who I am putting in charge of soldiers and non-mages, will organise a rota. No one is to visit the latrines without an armed guard. Remember, the demons will watch our every move and try to counter it.

‘Right, food and water. We all know where our stores and wells are. The question is, how do we reach them without being taken by the demons? Mages, I need you to work out if it is possible to effect a moving ColdRoom. Kitchen and cleaning staff, identify every place where there is a bucket, a basin, a barrel . . . anything we can use to carry food, water, clothes, bedding up here. Assume we are going to be here for some time while we decide how to strike back. When Kayvel is ready, he will hear what you know.

‘Any questions?’

‘My Lord?’

‘Yes, Oded, speak up,’ said Heryst to the young council mage.

‘Thank you, my Lord,’ he said. ‘Do you think we can expect any help from the outside?’

Heryst noted the concentrated gaze of all present on him. It was a hope to which all had been clinging.

‘No, I don’t think we can,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll come back to why in a moment but before I forget, Oded, I want you to take a team of three and think hard about how we can communicate. I know there is no Communion from within the ColdRoom but consider this. There are strands of mana feeding the ColdRoom construct. Is there any way you can piggyback those to reach the mana spectrum? And if so, what can you do when you get there?

‘Now, back to your question. We don’t yet know where the demons are getting into the Balaian dimension but we were attacked from the north. I suspect Xetesk was the focus. But we have to assume that the demons have attacked all colleges, and other centres of population will no doubt follow in due course. If we’re lucky, mages in all the colleges have gathered together like we have. Elsewhere on Balaia, I fear for our people, I really do.

‘I expect that at some stage the demons will make their plans known. Whoever is leading them in Lystern will come here and want to talk to me. That is when we will perhaps know the extent of what we face. But we have to face facts.

‘The demons control Balaia.’

With a growing sense of incomprehension, Tessaya and the Wesmen had watched the events taking place in the air above Xetesk. They had watched the line being drawn in the sky and had seen the extraordinary creatures spill out of it like entrails from a slit gut. With a collective furrowed brow they witnessed them group up and fly off to all parts of Balaia. None, he noticed, directly towards the Blackthorne Mountains. Tessaya had gathered his men as it became obvious that the threat from Xetesk’s defence had gone in the face of whatever it was that attacked them. He didn’t want any of his people anywhere near it.

Initially, the Wesmen had cheered and sung as the creatures in every possible hue, and on a tide of purest blue light and cold, attacked within the walls. Spells had flashed and flared into the pre-dawn sky. But so quickly, it had quietened. The songs had died in their throats and all they could hear were the occasional shouts of men, the swish of a thousand bodies swooping in the air, and the shuddering sound of Xeteskians screaming and wailing. It was a sound that would live with him for ever. He had heard frightened men before but this was something so much worse. Like the opening of a gulf into unending despair.

He was at a loss. To all intents and purposes, Xetesk’s new enemy had done their work for them. That should have made them an ally. But Tessaya was not about to offer his hand to any of those that he saw and that still emerged from the slit in the sky, scattering through the city and the lands beyond.

Not one of them had shown the slightest bit of interest in the Wesmen gathered outside Xetesk’s college gates. And for that he was glad. Because something was badly astray with what he was seeing. This wasn’t the work of mages. The cold in the air was unnatural and it smelled bad. And there was an evil in the way the creatures moved and attacked, in the way they sounded and in the cries of the Xeteskians as they died, if die they did.

Part of him wanted to remove his men from the area, return to the Heartlands. But in all truth he could not. He refused to turn and run from the new invaders; and indeed felt that would be futile, so fast did they travel. Far more than that though, he was in sight of realising the dream of the Wesmen. To throw down the Towers of Xetesk. Their defiance had been comprehensively broken but what had replaced it was clearly a power of considerable strength.

For the first time in many years, he did not know what he should do. So he waited. Waited while the noise died to a whisper within the walls and the screams that had echoed through the city had ceased. And while the chill in the air deepened, the glow of blue light from the slit in the sky spread and the sense of evil pervaded the walls behind him and the mind of every warrior standing with him.

They spoke in low tones, sang tribal songs and stared at him and the college. He knew they were scared but not one would run, not even in the face of an enemy they had no idea how to fight.

‘My Lord, look!’ shouted a warrior.

A renewed hush fell over the two thousand. From behind the college walls arose six of the creatures. One, huge, half as tall as the walls and truly awesome, was at their head. It had the body and head of a man but was tentacled from the waist down. The tentacles wavered like an anemone, propelling the creature through the air. Those grouped around it all had wings, tails and flat features in cold dead faces. All of them were hairless and had adopted blue colouring though flashes of reds and greens rippled across their flesh.