‘Back!’ he yelled to his guard. ‘Looking up!’

Four of them dropped from above. Claws in front, wings swept back and tails streaking behind them. As he had been taught, Blackthorne held his shield above his head and peered round it, waiting for the beasts to strike. He and his men bunched close.

‘Steady,’ he said. ‘Waiting.’ The demons were on them. ‘Crouch!’

They dropped to their haunches, feeling the clatter of demons on their shields and the swish of claws. Next to him, one of his guard crumpled, talon marks deep in his face, his soul taken. Blackthorne bellowed fury and surged upright, bringing his other four men with him. The demons flittered away but the killer not far enough. Blackthorne smashed his shield into its face and whipped his sword through its chest, practically dividing it in two. Like its victim, it didn’t have time to scream.

Around him, his guards beat back the others, leaving Blackthorne a run back towards the square which was holding firm. Sword squads ran in from three sides and he joined them. Demons were cut down, blades opening up their backs, the cuts as easy as scything corn.

‘Hold, they’re weakening,’ he called. ‘Let’s hear you!’

A roar greeted his shout and he punched the air with his sword, backing off a pace again, collecting his guards and looking up. Around the periphery, the activity was lessening. Ferouc was up there, flitting from side to side, his pigment close to white in his unfettered rage.

‘Got you this time you bastard!’ Blackthorne laughed upwards.

And it was true. The sword squads came in again. More demons perished, more alien blood spattered his ground. With one ear-splitting shriek, Ferouc called the attack off. Blackthorne saw winged figures climbing back into the sky from three locations and heard cheers sound around his town.

He nodded and breathed out heavily. A quick count around him told him he’d lost eight men, but the price for the demons had been much heavier. Even so, it was an attrition rate with only one outcome. He turned to a guardsman.

‘Find me Luke. They’ll be back and they won’t be so easy next time.’

Blackthorne strode back towards the castle. He could see Ferouc’s game plan. It was as obvious as day followed night. Weaken them enough, then go after the lattice mages. He wasn’t sure if the demons really knew where they were but he would have to increase the guard on them. Either that or pull them further underground. It was an option but doing so reduced the ceiling above the town.

He and Luke had much to discuss.

Dystran and Vuldaroq stood side by side and watched the demons drift slowly across the ColdRoom shield above Xetesk. There were hundreds of them, if not thousands, like a carpet across the sky. So many that the light of day was dimmed and lanterns were lit inside. It was a new departure for them and a new class of demon. Unlike the classic terror shapes of myth, legend and now hideous reality, these had already been dubbed ‘gliders’ when they first appeared in the sky two days before. Since then, their number had multiplied dramatically and he had received reports of flights of gliders heading north towards Julatsa and north-east to Lystern.

They were a strange-looking demon and that was among a race of unusual creatures. Flat, coloured and textured not unlike a beaten and tenderised steak. Thousands of fine hairs covered their undersides, which also housed eyes and mouth. These hairs rippled and swayed as the creatures moved, undulating their bodies gently. They had little in the way of limbs. Vestigial arms either side of their head section and no legs at all.

That they weren’t soul stealers had become apparent very early on, not to mention a huge relief. The gliders were present in numbers enough to really threaten them but instead they had crawled over the lattice, directed by the tentacled masters who hovered nearby, eyes on everything.

‘You know what they’re doing, don’t you?’ said Vuldaroq.

Dystran looked across at the man at his side. He had discovered a respect for his former enemy during the few days of their enforced close contact. The Dordovan Arch Mage had worked tirelessly with Suarav and Sharyr, helping them in the aftermath of their ordeal in the library and bringing them, if not out of their shock, then at least to a place where they could begin to deal with it. Neither had taken up his duties to the full and the other survivor, Brynel, was still in the makeshift infirmary, the chill deep in his body.

‘Enlighten me,’ he said.

‘Watch the way they move across the shield. It looks random when you first look but there is an order to it. I’ve counted greater densities in some areas that then disperse and allow other even more concentrated groups to form in the same place. Like they’re confirming what they think they’ve discovered. It’s actually very logical.’

‘You haven’t done a lot else but stare at them, I take it.’

Vuldaroq shrugged. ‘There is so much time for your mind to play tricks on you and undermine you. Best to keep busy.’

‘What are they tracking?’

‘The mana trails feeding the ColdRooms, I think.’

Dystran pulled his cloak tight around him, a chill gust whistling through the open doors of the tower complex in whose shadow they stood.

‘That’s a worrying thought.’

‘I suppose it rather depends why they’re doing it,’ said Vuldaroq.

‘Much as I’d like to, I can’t believe it would be out of curiosity,’ said Dystran.

‘No, but there is more than one possibility.’ Vuldaroq had never had much of a sense of humour but these last two years had removed whatever vestiges remained.

‘They shouldn’t be able to detect the trails, you know,’ said Dystran as the thought occurred. ‘They would dissipate instantly on contact with the edge of the construct.’

‘Well, I think they can and you only have to see where it is they’re hovering for longer periods and where their density increases. It’s always above the mana-feed trails.’ He shook his head. ‘They’re getting stronger.’

‘Agreed,’ said Dystran. ‘Mana density is rising fast out there now. So, you think they’re coming in?’

‘Yes, and it won’t be too long. The most likely reason for tracking the feed trails is to target the casting mages. But they could be doing something as simple as probing the linkages. After all, where the overlap is less, we are more vulnerable.’

‘But you don’t think so.’

‘No. If I was them, I’d be wanting to fly straight down the trails as far as I could and take out our only real defensive weapon. It’s blindingly obvious.’

Dystran blew out his cheeks. ‘And now they think they’re strong enough to do it.’

‘We’re moving into another phase, young Lord. Best we’re prepared. ’

They assembled on the plains of Teras over the course of three days. The burnished red Naik; aquamarine Veret; golden-scaled Kaan; dark green Gost; bronze Skoor and pale brown Stara. And these representatives of the largest broods were joined by those of another seventeen. All the colours of the brood spectrum were represented in the largest single gathering of dragons ever seen.

It was a scene that would never be repeated. Sha-Kaan and Yasal-Naik sat on a small rise in front of the mass of scale and furled wing. Both chose upright, respectful stances, their necks in ‘S’ shapes and belly scales revealed. Both dragons wore the scars of their recent work. The Skoor had attacked them. Yasal bore a long burn along the top of his head and down the first third of his neck. Sha-Kaan’s displayed belly was scorched black and painful. Six Skoor had died before the reluctant emissaries had forced their leader to hear them. Six they could ill afford to lose.

Immediately before Sha and Yasal, the brood fathers were gathered. It was an uncomfortable grouping. Old animosities were barely hidden, postures were hostile. Some would not rest within scent of others. But these dragons had at least agreed to carry the message to their broods gathered behind them. They would relay by thought pulse what could not be heard across the crowded plain.