They were still there but they had suffered huge losses. Blackthorne and his people had given them a real bloody nose but at great cost. Surely, the demons, even if they were temporarily depleted which he doubted, could simply reinforce. His numbers were severely diminished and they knew it. Yet there were no taunts, no displays and no shows of strength or intent. The town was quiet. So quiet that they were barely even being watched.

Later, having completed his tour of the grounds, gardens and buildings still in his gift, he went back to his chambers and sat with Luke. The boy’s eyes bored into the ceiling while he spoke.

‘What would your assessment be . . . it could be worse? That about covers it. We have the mage strength to cycle our casters. We have the secure area for mana replenishment and we have access to food and water; the latter indefinitely, the former for another forty days at least.

‘It would have been fewer but I’m afraid our losses have been steep. We might have a shell over the castle but realistically, we can’t defend much more than the kitchens, stables, ground chambers and banqueting hall. We should really relocate the infirmary too. If we do that, I feel we can hold out until there is no food in our bellies. We’re still strong, we have our belief. But we can’t break out though. We don’t have the people any more. At least, I don’t think so.

‘Your opinion would have been so valuable. Your insight and organisation too. And most of all, your optimism. I’m sorry I left you, Luke. I’ll grieve when I am alone.’

Blackthorne reached over and closed Luke’s eyes. He turned to look properly at the bodies of the healers and the sergeant he had brought up here only to die.

‘I am moved almost to tears, but I cannot cry. Was that speech for me or for him? He with the glorious soul that so sates me now.’

‘His name was Luke and it was for us all,’ said Blackthorne, standing.

‘And do you believe it? Truly?’ Ferouc moved from the shadows, wings furled at his back, his colour a resonant, relaxed deep green. ‘Or have I finally convinced you that this futile struggle is at an end?’

‘It’s funny, you know. Had you come to me as I walked outside instead of this,’ Blackthorne indicated the broken shutter, ‘I might have had half a mind to agree with you. But you have just killed the wrong man and now I will fight you to the very last. Do you find that funny, Fidget? What drives men on?’

Ferouc’s colour flared briefly bright. Its fingers clacked together.

‘Beware your insults, Baron Blackthorne. You are unarmed.’

‘And you are within my shield. Weak. Vulnerable.’ Blackthorne moved towards the demon. ‘Want to find out who would prevail?’

‘Just one lingering touch, human.’

‘Do you really believe I would succumb that easily?’ Blackthorne found he had no fear of the creature. Powerful though it was, he could feel only a brooding anger and determination. It gave him true courage and a line to every like-minded man and woman across Balaia. It was the perfect defence. ‘I am Baron Blackthorne. No one dominates me. No one takes from me what I am.’

Ferouc’s hands clasped together and in its throat, it forced a dry rasp.

‘It is a shame for Balaia that not all humans are so strong. Even so, you can be defeated. Broken.’

Blackthorne saw the reavers float in through the twisted shutter. Three of them.

‘We have won, Baron Blackthorne. Our strength is too much for you even inside your shell now. But believe me, surrender is painless.’

Blackthorne snatched the dagger from his pocket sheath, backhanded it across the throat of the nearest creature. The demon crashed backwards, dying quickly, and Blackthorne moved into the space and to the door. He felt small gratification at the genuine surprise on Ferouc’s face and the lightening of its colour.

‘Every Baron has enemies, Fidget, and none ever walk unarmed,’ he said. ‘We will prevail. The Raven and the elves will beat you and you will die never having taken my castle or tasted my soul.’

He took the stairs down three at a time, bellowing for his guards.

The furious barks split the Besharan sky. Immediately, the choreographed grace of the mock attack pattern dissolved. Broods pulsed and called their dragons together. Sha-Kaan watched helplessly while across the arena the structure broke up. Gost climbed high and circled. Stara bunched and gave themselves space in their homeland direction. Skoor sank into a cloud layer, taking on a defensive pattern.

Smaller broods scattered to the winds and the orb. Dragons bumped and barged. Flames lit up the fading day. Several dragons could be seen spiralling from the sky, trailing smoke. Tension flared, sudden anger drove the mood. Naik and Kaan dragons flew into the gap, appealing for calm.

From the south, Sha-Kaan watched the clutch of Brood Koli approach. None could fail to feel the fury that they pulsed into the psyche. And all knew instantly at whom it was directed. Space widened around the Skoor, who protested innocence and defiance in equal measure. Sha-Kaan requested Yasal follow him and he soared away to join the gathering of both their broods.

‘There must be no conflict whatever the crime,’ he pulsed. ‘Surround the Skoor. Yasal, please, with me to the Koli.’

‘Of course,’ said Yasal.

The forces of the Naik and Kaan flew onto the cloud bank where the Skoor waited. The psyche was packed with disgust, betrayal and anger, and tinged with a little conciliation.

Sha-Kaan felt a burgeoning sense of inevitability. Tension and grievance had taken longer to surface than he had anticipated. His naivety had been in beginning to think they’d escape without serious trouble. Flying towards the onrushing Koli, just seven of them, Sha could see flights of dragons from almost every brood detach and fly for their Broodlands. He had been tempted to do the same.

‘Slow,’ he pulsed to the Koli. ‘Slow.’

They ignored him, powering on and adjusting to fly by the two emissaries for peace. Yasal angled away too, Sha letting him go and continuing on his trajectory to bring him into formation with them rather than bar their passage.

‘Falon-Koli, you will stop and you will talk. You cannot reach them.’

‘Do not try and stop me, Sha-Kaan,’ pulsed Falon. ‘This is not your concern.’

‘Every conflict is my concern at this time,’ said Sha, letting irritation enter his tone. ‘We work for all our futures.’

‘I have no future!’ roared Falon. ‘The Skoor have attacked our Broodlands. We are destroyed. We are all that is left.’

Another pulse flooded Sha.

‘We trusted you, Sha-Kaan, and we have been betrayed. You fight for your future. All we have left is revenge.’

‘No,’ said Yasal, his pulse angry. ‘You must not attack. You must not risk all that we are building.’

‘You build nothing,’ spat Falon-Koli. ‘Alliance based on lies and rumours. Where is your threat, Sha-Kaan? I will tell you. It is the Skoor. And they have used you to destroy us. We will die but we will exact revenge. It is all we have.’

‘One more time. Slow. Please.’

Sha-Kaan was cruising in a high arc above them now. Closing fast. Yasal bored up from below on intercept.

‘Stop us and feel our flame.’

At a signal, the seven Koli split. Sha-Kaan bellowed his frustration. He pulsed his brood as Yasal would be doing. Skoor scattered from their cloud base. One hundred and seventy-five of them; completely overwhelming for the Koli.

‘Flame take you, Caval-Skoor,’ he pulsed. ‘What have you done?’

‘What we had to,’ came the calm reply. ‘And now the task will be completed and you will have my attention.’

Caval had broadcast to all that might hear. A flood of enraged responses filled the psyche. They would not fly with the Skoor; they had put aside their disputes; they would side with the Koli to drive the Skoor from the skies.