Bec

I don’t wait for that. Magic has brought understanding. I know that when the last of the demons has been blown back to its own land by the final gust of wind, Brude’s rock-infused bones will follow, then the tu

ESCAPE

Trying to race to safety. Hindered by the wind, which is returning to its source, blowing fiercely against us, a gale in the tu

Abandoning our efforts to stand, we lie on our stomachs and crawl, side by side. But even this would be impossible if we were normal, since the wind—and its captive demons—fills the tu

But we’re not normal. We’re beings of magic and I use that power to protect us. I draw from deep down and around me, using the magic in my body and the walls of the tu

Bran was laughing when we started up the tu

I’m in no better shape. I have to pause frequently to wipe blood from my eyes. A few of the toes on my left foot have been ripped off—I don’t stop for a close examination. The tunic on my back has been torn to tattered shreds and much of the flesh underneath too.

I ignore the terrible pain. Battle against the savage wind. Shrug off the blows of the beastly demons. And drag myself ever further up the tu

Crawling. Panting. The demons hitting us more often as my power dwindles. The closing spells took a lot out of me. I was all-powerful clutching the lodestone, but now I’m the weakest I’ve been in a long time. It’s a struggle to move, never mind cast spells. I want to abandon the shield and divert all of my strength to my flesh and bones, but I’d be swept away within seconds if I did that, and Bran beside me.

Part of me thinks about letting Bran go. It’s hard enough protecting myself. If I halved the problem, I’d stand a better chance of getting out alive.

I turn a deaf ear to the treacherous thoughts, gasp as nails dig along the length of my spine, then strengthen the shield around us. At the same time I let the light die—it didn’t require much power, but every last bit of magic might count in the end. I don’t want to fall just short of the exit because of some u

Impossible to tell in the darkness how much further there is to go. Forcing our way on, the wind deafening, demons striking freely. I can’t maintain the shield. I now use magic to root us to the floor when we’re struck and on the point of being blown away. Quick bursts instead of extended spells. Dangerous—if I’m knocked unconscious, we’re doomed—but I don’t have the strength for anything else.

How long is this damn tu

Onwards by slow, painful, bloody, hard-fought-for patches. So sore and weak. Struggling to breathe. Every spell dug up from the deepest depths of my spirit. Thinking each time I cast one,

“This is it. The last spell. I can’t do any more.” But constantly surprising myself, finding a smattering of power here, a glimmer there.

Barely aware of Bran, sticking by me doggedly, patting my arm every few seconds to reassure himself that I’m here. Poor Bran. He didn’t ask for this. The rest of us understood the risks. Did he? No way of knowing. He can comprehend some things, but how much did he really know of what he was letting himself in for? I listen to him panting, heavy and fast, and…

The thought dies unfinished.

I can hear him panting. But I haven’t been able to hear anything since we started crawling, because of the roar of the wind and screams of the demons. I raise my head and realise the wind has died away. It’s over. Which means…

Panicking, I find another burst of magic and create light again. It flares around us, blinding after the darkness. I shut my eyes against it, then force them open and stare ahead desperately, expecting to find nothing but rock, the pair of us buried alive, to die beneath the earth in a ready-made tomb.

For a moment I think we’re lost, that we’ve won the battle but surrendered our lives in the process. My heart sinks. I ready myself to sob with terror.

But then—a gap! The exit still exists and we’re close to it. The walls are just walls now, no traces of Brude’s veins or guts. But they’re grinding together, the mouth of the tu

“Bran!” I gasp, struggling to my feet. So weak, near the end of my resources. But one last surge. One final effort. Then we’ll be safe. We can sleep. Recover. No demons. We’ll have all the time we need.

“Bran!” I shout, dragging his head up. He looks around, dazed, defeated. Then he spots the opening and cries out with fresh hope. He leaps up beside me, stumbles, then finds his feet and lurches forward, taking my hand, gurgling happily.

We reel towards the exit, a pair of barely living, impossibly weary spirits. The hole in the rock continues to close, but at the same regular pace. If we keep moving as we are… if we don’t collapse… if we don’t give up…

We’ll make it! I don’t want to let myself hope too strongly—that might tempt the gods to act against us—but if we can maintain our slow, steady stagger, I’m sure we’ll—

Something clatters into my back. I fall, crying out with pain and surprise. Teeth lock around my right leg and bite through to the bone. I scream and try to shake my attacker loose, but can’t.

The light fades. But in the dimness I catch sight of my assailant—Lord Loss’s pet demon, Vein! The one with a dog’s body, strange long head and a woman’s hands. She’s gnawing at my leg. The pain is dreadful. I scream again, kicking at her with my free foot, to no effect.

Then Bran’s by her side. He tries to tug the demon loose. When that fails, he kneels beside her and murmurs desperately, stroking her head, smiling shakily. After a few seconds Vein stops biting, lets go and yaps at Bran with delight, falling under his spell as she did before.

As soon as I’m free, I freeze out the pain, leave Bran to deal with the demon, and turn and focus on the gap. My insides harden. The delay’s ruined us. The hole has been narrowing steadily. We’re not going to make it, even if we pick up our pace. I search within myself, digging deep for magic, going to the very core of my spirit, trying to find enough power to propel us forward and shoot us to safety like a pair of arrows fired from a bow.

But it isn’t there. I’m magicked out. Enough for one last minor spell perhaps—definitely no more.

Sorrow overwhelms me. I feel madness coming on. But I force it back and turn my gaze on Bran. He’s still playing with the dog but his eyes are flicking from me to the hole. He knows it’s closing. He knows I can’t make it in my condition. He also knows that at the speed he can run, he could abandon me and escape.