Hirad dragged himself to his feet, his limbs quivering, his mace discarded for the moment. The gloomy playhouse was full of noise, activity and dust. Outside, the demons were hammering on doors, walls and roof, the sound reverberating dully through the heavily draped space. He counted off The Raven. There was a gaping hole in their ranks. Thraun and Denser were kneeling over Erienne who was lying where the injured were being gathered in one part of the standing area that circled the stage.
Rebraal was with Dila'heth on the stage which rose from the centre of the playhouse. He was already snapping out orders to his warriors, she organising her mages. Spells crackled away, disturbing dust during their otherwise invisible progress across the open space. Al-Arynaar warriors ran to all corners, checking for unforeseen access ways. LightGlobes hung over the scene, casting gentle light that slowly lifted the gloom.
The Unknown was making for the stage and Hirad followed him, aware of the aches washing over his body. His left arm was still tingling where the karron strike had been blocked and his head itched interminably from the sweat mingling with the scratches inflicted by the strike-strain.
'Gather all the wounded on the north floor. Pheone and Denser are assessing them,' said Rebraal. 'ColdRoom teams to the stage, please. Prepare and wait for the casting order. Let's hope we don't need you.'
His smile was grim and weary when he saw Hirad coming towards him. He grasped the barbarian's shoulders.
'You saved a lot of lives,' he said. 'Thank you.'
Hirad shrugged. 'Not quite enough, eh?'
'You know what I mean.'
'Difficult space to defend,' said The Unknown.
Hirad could see what he meant. The standing area around the circular stage was flat ground ten yards in all directions. It ended in a
rail beyond which a series of fourteen rows of benches were bolted onto steep steps. Gangways led from each of the bolted and Ward-Locked doors and a thin path ran all around the periphery of the playhouse. Stairs ran up the side of the outer wall to the. left of each door, leading to the ornate and overhanging boxes for the rich of Xetesk. Empty windows now, drifting with the memories of privilege. Strange. He could all but hear the applause and smell the expectancy of the crowd. As if the walls retained the atmosphere of past triumphs.
'We need numbers, stamina and sustainability estimates now,' said The Unknown, bringing him back to himself.
'We also need a way out,' said Rebraal, wheezing.
'First things first,' said The Unknown. 'Dila'heth, what have you got?'
Dila blew out her cheeks. 'It's not a good picture,' she said, biting back her emotion. 'We left Julatsa with one hundred and eighty mages not three days ago. And now' - she began indicating as she spoke - 'I have six mages keeping ForceCones on the ceiling. I have thirty investing the walls with WardLock constructs. I have nine ready to cast ColdRooms, five are on healing duty and the other seven are injured too badly to cast. That's fifty-eight including me.'
'We've all lost people,' muttered Hirad.
Dila let the figures sink in. Hirad looked about him. It had seemed such a throng when they had run for the playhouse but now, in the enclosed space, the scale of their losses was all too clear.
'And what about the warriors, Rebraal?' asked The Unknown.
'Less than a hundred,' he said, face drawn and pained. 'We can't know the numbers Auum still has with him but at worst we've lost well over half our sword and two thirds of our mage strength. And it gets worse, I suspect. Pheone?'
The Julatsan High Mage looked up from her search of the wounded.
'How bad is it?'
Pheone's face was a picture of despair. Her face was streaked with fresh tears and she was shaking, the fear setting in to her body. She took a moment to compose herself and walked onto the stage, the mage Geren at her shoulder.
'I've lost almost everyone. There's only ten left. Pathetic isn't it,
but Geren and I are the only human Julatsan mages left. Everyone else is dead or a non-mage.'
'There'll be others, Pheone,' said Hirad. 'Hidden and scattered. Blackthorne has Julatsans in his employ. You can rebuild.'
'From this?' blurted out Geren. 'You talk like it's over and we've won. Look at where we are. We've just swapped one trap for another. There's no way out, is there? Nowhere for us to go.'
'There is always a way,' said Hirad, his tone ominous and stilling Geren's outburst. 'That's what we do. What you do is go back and get our people fit to fight again. And I will do the same with mine.'
Geren nodded.
'And Geren?'
'What?'
'We're all tired and scared,' said Hirad. 'But fear is a disease. And it spreads where it shows. Remember that when you look into the eyes of those you are healing or you're no good to us.'
Geren backed away, Pheone laying a comforting hand on his arm as he retreated. The battering on walls and doors was incessant and intensifying. Loose plaster fell from the balcony-box carvings and from the pillars which were hung with dramatic deep red drapes.
The Unknown spread his arms. 'So, what's the prognosis? Presumably we're at a stage where we can keep them at bay. The question is, how long can we maintain it?'
They all looked at Dila'heth.
'There's no easy way to say this. Even if I cycle the ForceCone mages and rest the WardLock casters now, we can't keep this up until nightfall.' She shrugged. 'Three days in the open and under attack. We just didn't come in here with enough stamina. Then they'll break in and all that we'll have are the ColdRooms. I'm sorry.'
'Looks like Geren might have been right,' muttered Pheone.
Hirad looked at her sharply but didn't have the heart to rebuke her. Part of him agreed with her. He could still see walls collapsing and Darrick disappearing beneath them, helpless. He shouldn't have died that way. Not him. Outside, die demons were baying for their souls, sensing the parlous state in which their captives found themselves. The endless thudding on the playhouse was giving Hirad a headache. There would be thousands of them out there, most of
them just waiting for the inevitable while reavers picked at the roof and karron thrashed at the walls and doors. Far too many for them to hope to break through.
'Anyone know a secret way out of here?' he asked.
Rebraal shook his head. 'We've checked. The trapdoors just lead to dressing rooms and closed storage. There are only four ways out and none of them is appealing.'
Over on the north floor, Denser slapped Thraun on the back, the ghost of a smile on his face. On the ground in front of them, Erienne was stirring.
It would probably have been better for her had she stayed unconscious.
Chapter 37
They had run into the tower complex under a guard of ForceCones, Xeteskian warriors flanking them. The cursyrd had pulled away when they had entered the dome, shrieking their anger and frustration, promising lingering death.
Auum had barked for healers, for a place to lay Duele. Evunn shadowed him. The Tai was cut and bleeding, his eyes fierce and furious. Someone had shown them the path deep into the catacombs he remembered so well. Through multiple turns and antechambers to where the Xeteskian mages slept under guard to replenish their mana stamina. It was empty now. Just an anonymous chamber with bare walls, a single table and rolls of bedding.
Al-Arynaar had followed them through the maze and immediately began to prepare. Auum laid Duele on a bedding roll on the table. The Tai moaned feebly, blood bubbling from his lips. Auum smoothed his semi-conscious frown and kissed his forehead.