‘Yes, High Mage.’ The strain in the young mage’s tone mirrored that on his consciousness.

‘Leave the crown to the rest of us. We can hold it while you cast,’ said Kerela.

‘Withdrawing,’ said Endorr. Even as his mind cut away from the crown, those of Vilif and Seldane closed to take up the slack in the shape, keeping it together. Barras closed his eyes and let his mind drift carefully towards Endorr, feeling his pull on the mana as he created the shield, modifying its normal shape, used to repel offensive spells, to one that would act as a buffer to a stream of pure mana. He smiled. Endorr was quite brilliant, melding the spell shield with a ManaMask designed to block attacks on the mind.

As quickly as it had come, Barras’ smile disappeared. Endorr’s mana shape was ragged, the two spells linking imprecisely allowing one to flow indiscriminately into the other causing instability. Yet Endorr seemed not to have sensed it as he poured more and more force into it, its boundaries beginning to pulse as he drove towards deployment. But there, right in the midst of the rough-cut dodecahedron, a miasma of colours. Yellow conflicting with a vivid purple and a dark swirling grey that told of a potentially catastrophic weakness.

‘Endorr, you aren’t stable. Check your lore. Don’t cast. You have time.’ Barras’ urgent words affected concentration all around the candle. Wisps of the crown tore away as the Council were deflected by the sight of Endorr’s flawed mana shape. But the young mage didn’t hear him. Outside the circle of the crown’s casting, he was lost in his own concentration, his lips moving soundlessly and his hands flickering as they sought to hold the shape together. Only he couldn’t see the trauma at its centre. Why, Barras didn’t know, but the darkness consumed the core of the twin spell linkage and casting could result in only one thing.

‘Endorr!’ shouted Kerela, her grip on the crown not slipping even as her conscious mind dominated in the attempt to disturb the youngster. Endorr continued to intone quietly and a ripple of anxiety ran through the remainder of the Council, reflected in the crown. Kerela called for concentration and the vital shape steadied though all eyes stayed on Endorr.

None of them could move. To do so would render the crown unsustainable - five could not hope to maintain it against the storm from the demon dimension. Endorr built towards casting, the dodecahedron pulsating bright yellow, shot through with bronze and white, but at its centre, the grey. Barras could feel the tension carving through the circle.

‘Brace yourselves. If he backfires, we’ll need to be strong,’ warned Kerela.

Why could Endorr not see his error? Barras fought to find a way through, something that he could communicate but he knew there was nothing. And he knew that to let go his mind any longer would leave the crown at even greater risk.

Endorr opened his eyes, spoke the command word and only then saw the cancer in his construct that his mind should have picked up. His face filled red as the shape blossomed outwards then collapsed back on itself, simultaneously consumed by the ravaging grey within.

A shrill squeal escaped his tight-closed mouth, blood ran from his nose and ears and his whole body shook, hands scrabbling at the air, furious in their attempts to control the contracting spell.

With a flash in the mana spectrum that blanked thought for an instant, the construct imploded. Endorr’s head snapped back savagely, his limbs tensed then he crumpled, unmoving to the floor of the Heart.

The glare cleared as soon as it had come and the crown was rocking. A renewed blast of mana howled through the edges of the Shroud, ripping away the linkage in a dozen places.

‘Lock it down,’ said Kerela. ‘Lock it down.’ The remaining six of the Council fought for purchase, grappling the failing cap into some semblance of order.

‘What now?’ asked Seldane, her voice full of fear.

‘We wait and we think. We concentrate and we become strong,’ said Kerela.

‘Wait for what?’

‘I don’t know, Seldane,’ she said and for the first time, Barras saw the possibility of defeat in her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

The corridor rattled as it cut across the outer border of the DemonShroud. Instantly, the green outline of the Cold Room was covered with the writhing blue shapes of demons. Without the spell, the Raven’s souls would already be gone but the howls of frustration and pain from a hundred sharp-toothed mouths told their own story. And for a moment, none ventured further.

‘Don’t wait for them. Strike at their bodies as they press against your spell. Make them fear you. Make them slow,’ said Sha-Kaan and as if to demonstrate, his jaws, leaking fire, snapped forward, joined by his front limbs and a thrash of his tail before the latter coiled again protectively around the mages.

The Unknown’s sword-point ceased its tapping.

‘Raven,’ he growled. ‘Raven with me!’ He swept up his blade and crashed it in an upward arc into the armourless bodies of the demons in its path. Screeches of anger were followed by the snaking out of arms and legs, claws flashing, skittering across the metal as it flashed past them. Hirad looked briefly to the right, seeing Will launch a ferocious attack, his twin short swords weaving a complex lattice in front of him. Thraun howled and joined the onslaught.

Hirad’s attention switched to his own situation. The Raven’s blades had maddened the demons and he could see them swarming over the surface of the Cold Room, looking for the place of easy strike. Again and again, a demon would press through into the mana-less space, only to recoil, blue colour dulled, pain evident in the cry of anguish and the contortion of the face.

But more were joining them and the desire to be the first to taste the flesh and the souls would overcome the damage caused by a flight in mana-free air. Hirad looked up. More were crowding over their heads, clamouring for blood, clamouring for life essence.

‘There are so many of them. Can we beat them?’ asked Hirad.

‘Our role is not to beat them,’ said Sha-Kaan, a trimmed gout of fire withering the arm of a demon who pushed in too far. The creature disappeared. ‘The more we can attract, the less pressure on the Julatsan Council. We must keep them occupied. It might give the mages the opportunity to close the Shroud.’

‘And if not?’

‘Then we were all dead anyway.’ Sha-Kaan turned his head and stared briefly at his Dragonene. Hirad felt the confidence flow through his body. ‘Fight, Hirad Coldheart. Fight Raven. Like you have never fought before.’

The first of the demons braved the torture of the Cold Room and the battle for survival began.

The battering at their minds grew more persistent, like a gale turning to a hurricane, tearing at the strands that held the crown together, ripping mana stamina from their bodies and striking at their concentration. But with it came the voices and the laughter. As the demons gained strength and confidence, as the mana they hurled in great waves at the Julatsan Council sapped the will of their enemies, so they moved closer, all but daring to breach the Balaian dimension.

It was a whispering at first from which Barras could glean nothing coherent. Then slowly the volume increased and coalesced into a single voice supported by many others and carrying with it the scorn of millions. And it promised misery. An eternity of suffering for him and all he held dear to his heart. It assured him of pain, of agony and of unending sorrow. It promised him hell.

Though only if he clung on to his futile spell.

If he were to let it go, if he would allow the demons to finish their work, he would be spared. They would all be spared. Yes, a few might die out in the streets but was that such a large price to pay for the saving of the Council who were the very core of Julatsan magic? Was it so unthinkable that, after a life’s selfless sacrifice he should consider himself for once? And in this case, the price in human lives now would be far outweighed by the benefit to future generations. Let it go. All he had to do was let it go.