Rise of the Fifth
The Hidden College Part 1
Pages 181 to 195

The time was near. They could feel it in the air They breathed, in every movement of every fibre of Their muscled bodies. Cries tore through the air, for They knew that soon He would open the gateway. The Skalah readied themselves, gathering Their numbers. They knew not how many would travel. They knew it would not be all of Them, and so the strongest moved closer to the portal, Their beasts beside them clawing and snapping at each other, the ground in front of them and the tortured Shadows thrown to them by the Skalah.

A hiss came from one of the largest Skalah, terrible and cold, and there was silence. The time was near, and nothing could stop it from happening...

~*~

They entered the town, drawing curious looks from various occupants and a couple of the resident militia, who began to walk towards them. Kane, still in the lead, turned in his saddle,

"Follow my lead. This is my home town remember, so the guards know me. They do not however, know you three, and will watch you until the Baron tells them otherwise. I'll handle the guards when the time comes, and then I'll take us to a place I know here where we can get fresh horses, food and lodgings. Then we'll see about speaking to the Baron, okay?" All three nodded their agreement. "Good. Del - follow my lead - you'll know when and what to do. Let’s get rid of these two bone-heads first," he said, winking at the elf.

"Funny to see ya back 'ere again Kane," said the first guard. "We was told that ya packed for a long trip and wouldn't be back for a season or more - how comes ya back so early? Forget to lock ya door?" The second sniggered. Kane looked at both of them, mere boys when compared to the troops they had fought with against the Shadows but a few days before.

"It's a long story Arrin, and one that I will hold to tell the Baron himself," he said, his voice filled with nothing but annoyance. "If you don't mind, myself and my friends have some urgent business to attend to and do not have time to waste telling stories to kids playing soldier. Now get out of our way before my elf friend here puts an arrow into both of your thick skulls."

Both guards looked to the elf, who had vanished from his horse. A bow string tightened and they turned around to find Delenar stood behind them, arrow notched and ready. The second man nearly passed out there and then, only his friend beat him to it. Lena tried - and failed - to stifle a laugh, and Veygan shook his head sadly,

"If this is the strength of men in the Baronial lands, then we are already doomed," he whispered to the female mage, drawing another smile and a louder laugh.

"Take Arrin to the well over there and wake him up Dorrin. Then one of you two wannabes go and bring one of the guards to the Inn on the north side of the Main Square." Dorrin looked down at his friend, then back at the mounted group in front of him to find Delenar already back in his horse, his bow over his back and arrow back in its quiver. "Understand me, boy? Or do I need to speak Wes?" Kane said, his voice increasing in volume. Dorrin nodded, stuttering out,

"Y..Y..Yessir!!" and began dragging Arrin off the street in the direction of a small well.

"Come on - let’s get our gear stowed away and the horses stabled. When our escort turns up we'll head to the castle." The four moved off, Lena still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes at Veygan's despairing looks at the two they left behind them.

~*~

"I WANT THEM STOPPED NOW!" the Master yelled, pointing at the casting Apostles. "TAKE THEM OUT!" He turned back to the marauding beast that was tearing his Shadows apart, and at the fine soldier who kept his creatures at bay taking few strikes in return. He turned again to the beast and felt a pang of pride. Every craftsman knew when they had accomplished something exquisite, and the Master recognised his early work in what he saw before him. “So Xetesk found my research," he mused to himself. "Very good of them to do so. I shall reclaim it when I stand in the Dark Tower once more, but you are now no longer needed."

The Master raised his arms above his head. An explosion of dust from a flying Shadow colliding with the earth around the doorframe covered the entrance. When the dust settled the Master, and his casting team, had gone.

~*~

The Wolves, now an army of three thousand well-equipped college men, breasted the last hill into Julatsa. They marched in neat block formations, as Gailen hoped their discipline would strike fear into the massed Xeteskian ranks. The only problem was that there were no Xeteskian ranks - there was no sign of the army at all. The plains around the city of Julatsa were completely empty.

Mikadun broke formation to halt his men and ran to where Gailen had stopped his horse.

"What’s going on Sir? Where are they?" Gailen bit his lip in thought, his mind racing.

"I don't know but I don't like it. Have Tol'amun raise communion, and bring me one of the scouts!"

"Yes Sir!” Mikadun disappeared into the ranks of mages to relay the orders.

"What are you thinking, Sir?" asked Kumonai from behind Gailen.

"That an army of over ten thousand doesn't just disappear." Kumonai nodded.

"General! General!" the sound came from Mikadun as he bounded towards Gailen. "General! Tol made contact, Sir - you won't believe it," he paused for a brief moment to regain his breath, "The Xeteskians have joined the alliance! They are in the city!"

Gailen was taken back - Dystran was not a man that surrendered power so easily, even to save the whole of Balaia. But he could not deny that it was good news, for the Xeteskian army was huge, not to mention the added power of the Protectors. Balaia actually stood a chance.

"Sir, there’s more!" Mikadun continued now he had regained his breath, "You have orders to return to the city and report to the council. The Xeteskians have one condition; they wish to lead the army." Gailen felt anger swell up within him - how could the council be so stupid? "Sir, do we obey?" asked Mikadun, already looking eager for the fight.

"We always obey," replied Gailen through gritted teeth. 'Even if the order is suicidal,' he thought.

~*~

Veygan sat on the balcony basking in the sunlight. The day almost seemed too beautiful considering what Balaia would soon face. Kane had made true on his promises and taken the four of them to an inn to the north of Blackthorne. It was a wealthy part of the city and Veygan was still surprised by the quality of the room. Long and narrow, it had four luxurious beds, a balcony, a large fireplace and a reasonably-sized table.

The food had also been superb; Veygan had enjoyed a huge piece of steak that was lightly minted and a cool glass of Blackthorne wine. He could quite easily say it was the finest meal he had ever tasted. The group had retired early, as the fast-paced travel had taken its toll on them all. Veygan and Delenar had arranged a makeshift curtain around Lena's bed to provide her with some privacy and then both of them had also fallen into bed exhausted and slept.

After a fantastic night’s sleep, Veygan had awoken alone. He had rose to find a hastily written note explaining that Kane had gone to seek a meeting with the Baron, Delenar had gone to check on the horses, while Lena was purchasing supplies. This suited the soldier, since he had had very little time to himself within the ranks of the Wolves and found to his surprise that he enjoyed his own company. For an hour he had put his body through a series of stretches and exercises until he felt his muscles loosen, then he took a seat on the balcony and began oiling the links of his mail-shirt.

"Do you ever stop cleaning?" asked Lena as she entered the room.

Veygan struggled for a witty response but found himself muttering something about it being a habit. He cursed himself inwardly for the stupid remark and tried to hide the fact he was blushing. Lena laughed sweetly and sat opposite the soldier.

"You already outshine any of the soldiers in Blackthorne - I'm not sure it’s possible for your armour to shine any more," she said, staring at him. He smiled,

"Swords sharp, armour bright, hearts brave, head strong." Lena looked at him quizzically. "It’s something the Captain used to say. One of his many lessons," Veygan said, trying hard not to stare at Lena. He couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked in the sunlight.

"Do you miss being with the rest of the Wolves?" she asked.

"Not when I'm with you," he heard himself say before he could stop it. He looked up quickly, panic flooding him, his cleaning now forgotten. "I mean - when I'm with....all of you - such good company..." he said in desperation. Veygan suddenly felt very foolish and focused hard on brushing his greaves. He never saw her smile.

Feeling ready to die of embarrassment, Veygan was rescued by Kane's arrival. He burst through the door excitedly, a broad grin on his face.

"Is Del back yet?" he asked as he made his way onto the balcony to them.

"No," Lena answered.

"Well he’d better hurry, we have an audience with the Baron!"

~*~

The small swordsmith was not at all easy to find, given that it was buried in the bustling streets of Blackthorne and that it looked no different from many of the local houses. It was a plain white building with only one small window and a small door for an entrance. There were no signs or advertisements, no examples of work in the windows, nothing. Delenar had walked around the building several times to be sure he had the right place, but he had been told to expect a simple establishment.

Hence his surprise upon entering the armoury - it was beautiful. From every wall hung different works, each mounted neatly and each labelled with a description of the processes and components used. There were small knives, short swords, broadswords, claymores, scimitars, tulwars and a huge steel-tipped war spear. And the quality of the work was high indeed.

"May I help you?" a young woman asked from behind Delenar as he gazed at a selection of fine knives. He didn't divert his gaze from one particular set of three blades as he replied,

"This work is incredible, very fine. It is a shame they are not designed for throwing." The young lady smiled,

"And what makes Sir think that?" Delenar smiled, still without turning to face the assistant,

"Well the blade is flared, which adds too much weight to the blade end, while the hilt is too thin to be weighted for a throw. The thrower would have great difficulty getting the blade to fly first."

"Is it throwing knives you wish to see, Sir?" she asked in a slightly provocative voice.

Something in her voice made Delenar turn and for the second time in the day he was taken aback. She was gorgeous, gorgeous beyond anything Delenar had ever seen and she wore an expression that was far too suggestive for Delenar to ignore.

"Well there are many things of beauty in here I wish to see," he said, smiling, "But first off let’s see the knives."

She raised one eyebrow at him, almost mocking his attempt to charm her but it only increased the elf's interest. He knew the game and how it was played, and this woman would not be easy to win over, her expression alone told him that much.

Half an hour later Delenar left the armoury now armed with a stunning new set of seven knives. Each was perfect in weight and balance, a tempered edge with a heavy pommel and a black leather grip wound in gold wire. They had cost a small fortune, which was the only type of fortune Delenar had, but money worries were far from the hunter's mind. The young woman occupied his every thought. The way she had swayed as she walked, the expression on her face when he first turned to see her, and the half smile she had given him as he left.

"Oh yes my dear," Delenar said to himself, "You know how to play the game."

It had been very difficult for Delenar to leave without another word. A simple thank you and then he had walked out of the display room, he had wanted to turn to see the effect his quick departure had made but he knew that the effect would then be lost. Smiling to himself, Delenar made his way back to the inn and up to their room.

"Del, Kane's been looking for you, we have an audience with the Baron...are those new knives?" asked Veygan, his eyes lit up at the sight of such fine weaponry.

"Yes, I found the most excellent swordsmith. The work was incredible."

Veygan still had his eyes fixed on the blades as Delenar spoke. His time with the Wolves had taught him to appreciate fine equipment and he knew good work when he saw it. Seeing the interest in Veygan's eyes, Delenar saw an opportunity arise.

"I was thinking of going back there tomorrow for another look around. Why don't you join me?"

"Is all the work as good as this?" asked Veygan in reply, indicating the knives.

"Oh yes," said Delenar with a smile, "Everything there is perfect."

~*~

Though the image of Pen with the shadow’s flesh and blood hanging from his mouth never left his mind, Gasta ploughed back into the battle, steadying himself after parrying several heavy blows from the Shadows, before thrusting his blade into the midriff of the first before slicing through the throat of another.

The first came at him again, aiming for his head. Gasta dodged the attack feeling a slight breeze as the claws of the Shadow whipped above him where his head had been just a matter of seconds beforehand. The Shadow, now unbalanced, left the gap wide open for Gasta to strike him down, with a single blow where he assumed its temple would be. Black squirted into the air and into Gasta’s face as he continued; the numbers though did not appear to subside.

He spared a moment to look across at Pen. The warrior was stood, eyes blazing, staring at the figure before them all, who had also taken a moment to look at Pen. It was at this moment, that Gasta realised, with Pen no longer attacking, the Shadows were free to move past him, though they did this with the utmost care, something Gasta had never witnessed. He turned, and what he saw sent a chill through his bones. The Shadows... they were heading for the Dais and Joibri, Balaia’s only hope of survival.

“Shit,” he murmured, turning to run back towards his friend. “Pen! Pen get your arse down here, now!” Gasta thundered back across the floor, away from the scene of carnage where Pen still remained, eyes locked with those of the Master. As he approached them, Gasta let out a roar, turning the attention of the Shadows back towards himself. “Did no one ever tell you what happens to people who try to kill my friends?” he shouted, slicing and thrusting his blade into the Shadows, who had now all turned their attention to him. “They regret it.” He grunted, downing another, as they all moved in towards the former General who was now outnumbered by over twenty to one. “Pen!” he yelled.

His fight was hopeless, as he sliced through the midriff of another and thrust his blade into another’s eye, his own body began to receive serious blows itself. Blood streaming from a cut above his left eye, he was near blinded by it. He went to one knee to avoid the slicing movement of one of the Shadow’s arms, looking up to see one of the mages fall. Momentarily Gasta noticed a slight change in Talo’s concentration. Joibri’s acceptance of the mana would have been greatly affected. Renewed power surged through his body, he no longer wasted any on calling to the warrior who had still not cut eye contact with that of the Master. He glanced at Joibri, a small smile there, one that was defeated and mirthless,

“With honour.”

Gasta let out a gasp of pain as a Shadow drove its claws into his stomach, spilling his blood over the ground. He fought back as hard as he could, killing three more before they overcame him by sheer numbers. As the former General fell, Shadows piling in on him, he was momentarily aware of Pen’s sudden movement. But then all was gone.

~*~

There was a jolt in the pain of the Awakening. Joibri felt the breath be knocked from her forced ManaForm body and her eyes opened. She knew something was wrong when the chanting stopped and she turned her head.

Without a sound Fieron fell to the ground, and his ManaForm vanished.

The spell fluctuated, Talo trying to hold it steady almost on his own as Harcetch in particular cried out at the mage's loss - what did it mean? Who was next? Harcetch dropped his portion of the spell completely, as did Lirant. Unliore desperately tried to pick up their loose ends as Joibri let out more, darker screams.

"Close it down Unliore! We can't hold it! Something has happened!" Talo insisted, the two of them plucking more feverishly at the strands of red to deconstruct the shape. Joibri continued to writhe. "Keep her here, but we exit."

Joibri looked across to him, a maddened, fearing look on her face - leave her here, alone? With the mana continuing to painfully flush into her?

Lirant and Harcetch had gone, then Unliore. Talo looked regretfully and equally fearfully at her,

"We'll return, dear love, I promise you!" His ManaForm vanished.

"NO!" Joibri screeched as the safety disappeared. The alter-world grew a darker red.

~*~

Pen saw Gasta fall, Shadows overwhelming him, blocking him from Pen’s view as he ploughed into them, ripping them all to pieces, their black blood covering him, their bodies turning to ash on the ground. The mages seemed to be coming out of their ritual, one of their number down. As Pen slew the last of the Shadows, ripping its throat from its body, he turned to find the Master gone.

“What in all the hells happened?” roared a familiar voice from behind him. Ignoring the voice of Talo, Pen stared down at his friend.

Gasta lay on his back, weapons whipped from his grasp as he’d fallen. A gash in his stomach where blood still seeped onto the wooden floor of the hall, cuts all over his body, and several slice marks across his throat - this along with a crushed skull had been the fate of the former General. A fate he may not have suffered had Pen helped him earlier in the battle. Sinking to the ground, Pen blocked out the angry shouts of the head mage who stood ranting behind him, oblivious to his sudden weakness.

As Harcetch and Lirant rushed to the fallen Fieron, wary of Shadows, and Talo proceeded to shout at the warrior before them, Unliore let out a short wail and dropped to Gasta's torn side, pale hands sinking into blood-coated armour, fabric and flesh.

"Alarius!" she wept angrily, "You promised me!" she added more woefully, looking up to the high ceiling. Then her gaze came back down to earth, focusing not so pleasantly on Pen. "You."

But Pen's attention had been diverted from his lost friend to Joibri. The red haze was starting to grow darker and more...violent. Her body writhed, but it didn't breathe.

"You left her there by herself?!" he screamed at Talo. Talo bit his lip and looked back to the woman in question.

"It will be difficult...there are only four of us..."

Suddenly another loose Shadow raced towards the ManaDais, striking though Lirant's throat in his distracted instant and Harcetch nearly getting the same fate. Talo had formed a large FlameOrb in a matter of seconds and flung it at the creature, whose bubbling mass tumbled back off the Dais with a screech.

"Three," Talo said, holding back his grief.

"What will be difficult?!"

"The Awakening," he replied shakily. Then his resolve returned as he caught Joibri's movement out of the corner of his eye. "Harcetch, Unliore, gather yourselves. We must complete this."

Both of the other mages, riddled with grief, were slow and shaky to obey, but they did, leaving the bodies of their fellow Apostles where they fell and returning to their positions, casting their own ManaForms again.

He didn't know what to do. Before him lay Gasta, a good man and friend, the person he loved trapped within a horrific red world of darkness with another desperate for her love - as he could tell by now that Talo was in love with her, even if the kiss hadn't told him so - and there was nothing he could do about it.

When the remaining mages went back to the ManaDais Pen turned - he couldn't watch, hating to think that HE was there in that world with her and not him. He'd never met her before half of this had happened, and yet he saw Joibri’s affection towards him and it made Pen passionately jealous.

Drawing his sword he walked back to the giant doors which were now half smashed to the floor. Silence was all that was there, that and the mutterings of the mages and the sounds of his love’s writhing body in the noisy mana as she fought the pain of it entering her.

A tear rolled down his face.

~*~

Gailen's troops were all resting in Julatsa whilst the general went to meet Xetesk. So much for an alliance he thought as he entered the college and made his way to the main meeting room. Everywhere he looked were Xeteskian troops making themselves at home in his college. Too many Julatsans were now no more than glorified slaves attending to the dark college’s every wish.

Gailen entered the large room and saw Chandyr seated at the top of the table. This was an insult to the college - that was Pheone's chair, that was the Head of Julatsa's chair. Now Xetesk had effectively taken control of the city. Under other circumstances Gailen would have challenged the Xeteskian, but now was not the time. The perpetrator rose and addressed Gailen,

"Welcome, please sit," there was a slight element of disdain in his voice, and it felt wrong for Gailen to be offered a seat. They weren’t Xetesk's to offer - if anything they were more his. With every mark of a true soldier and complete understanding of the situation Gailen held his tongue and took a seat to the right of Chandyr. He knew what was coming and allowed Chandyr to continue. "We have allied with you to create a four college force on certain conditions." Gailen nodded, his eyes and head dropped. "Xetesk will take control of the army starting with immediate effect, all decisions will be run through me or Dystran. Also, Julatsa will remain under Xeteskian control."

"What?" Gailen rose to his feet and made a move towards Chandyr. His worse fears were realised; indeed Xetesk wanted to keep their foothold and would no doubt use Julatsa when the war was over. Gailen stopped when he saw Chandyr instinctively move and pull part of his sword from its scabbard.

"Do you have a problem?" Chandyr's reply was slightly sarcastic. After a pause where both men just stared at one another he added, "I hardly think you are in a position to offer terms. Now go." Chandyr had no respect for the leader of the Wolves.

Gailen, cursing his sudden outburst, turned and left. He should not have moved to Chandyr, he was too good to make a mistake like that. But what the Xeteskian general had said was true, the other colleges were in no fit state to overthrow them. The Xeteskian army was too large and if by some miracle the other colleges defeated them the losses would hand Balaia to the Master. On his way out Gailen stopped and asked Chandyr,

"What is the plan General?" More to ease his fears then anything else.

"We will march on the fifth college, stop this ‘Master’ if that is where he plans to attack."

Gailen sighed and shook his head. This man did not know what he was doing, they needed to prepare for the attack that was to come, not send their best forces off to the slaughter so the Master could pick off what resistance remained at his own leisure.

"I will give you more details later," said Chandyr. "Now go prepare your troops." He paused and let out a little snigger. "I mean my troops."

~*~

"I can't...do this anymore Talo!" Joibri grated out, her arms forcing themselves to her side as she tried to curb her screams.

"Just hold on! I promise you!" Talo's concentration fluctuated again in the alter-world - he could barely see her now in the red darkness, save for the glowing of the tiny orb in the pendant. 'Hold on, the glass is half-full...' he found himself thinking as he continued to pluck and guide the ever-more rebellious mana.

Her breathing was coming in ragged, juddering gasps, as now the mana had no concern for how it entered her ManaForm. It was no longer seeping in - it was flooding, shocking to her core and threatening to rip her assunder. Ye gods it hurt so much. She just wanted it to end.

"Stop it, Talo! It hurts!"

"We have to keep going, dear love!" he insisted shakily. Her screams started up again, louder than ever.

~*~

"What do you mean Xetesk have taken control!" pulsed Danyon. Heryst and Pheone felt his anger hit them like a wave as the three leaders held communion.

"It's a terrible situation for all of us Danyon, but survival is all that matters now, under Xeteskian control if absolutely necessary," Pheone pulsed back.

"I agree, I underestimated the seriousness of this threat and because of it, I lost half my force. Xetesk will realise we need to be unified to stand a hope of winning," Heryst thought to the others.

"Besides, Gailen still controls our forces, even if it is under overall control of Xetesk. If the time ever came for us to break away from Xetesk, we would still have something of an army to defend ourselves," Pheone suggested.

Danyon calmed, knowing they had no choice but to accept the rule of Xetesk over them. Better that than the Master, he thought.

~*~

Aenkalos was hunched over the tattered research tome just as he had been the previous day and the day before that and the week before that. In fact he had spent every waking moment pouring over the script once he had realised what it stood for.
Not only did it confirm the existence of a fifth magic - a rumour that had been circulating for months now - but it actually described it's practice!

For a week after he stole the book, Aenkalos was certain he would be found and expelled from the college. After all, a book of such importance was surely the most valuable possession hidden within Xetesk's labyrinth. But a week had passed and then another and still no one had appeared for the boy, nor had anyone mentioned the theft.

So he decided to study the book and every night he resumed his study of the fifth power, and the unusual way it could be applied to his own Xeteskian magic. He heard how the fifth power had vastly increased the mana stamina of the wielding mage, how it could be used to create spells inaccessible by regular college magic, but mostly it was referred to as the only reasonable defence against something called the 'Skalah'.

"I have failed again," Aenkalos read, "To subdue the Skalah and their subjects. Though the minions are controllable, the summoning is too dangerous, as it allows the Skalah through, and the Skalah are far from controllable.

“Youlvi,” (who Aenkalos had discovered was an assistant research mage), “Was almost torn in half during the last attempt. The Skalah had slain its own minions to escape the portal but luckily Arithmus had let the portal fall in time. He remains certain that we should cease our attempts to subdue the demons, as does Youlvi. I am inclined to agree that we must not summon them in their own form, at least not until we understand how to combat them. However, a possession of a host would greatly reduce the power of the Skalah whilst in our dimension. It is my belief that we could teach a human host to absorb and control one of the demons, perhaps then we would have a weapon with which to summon more."

Aenkalos read long into the night until he reached the final chapter of the tome. The chapter looked large and complex, upon flicking through it finding mana shapes, spell definitions and experiment results were spread over every page. So he decided to rest and resume his study tomorrow, after all he had already made several advances through the book and needed time to consider what it all meant. Making his way to his bed, Aenkalos collapsed his LightGlobe and let darkness swallow him. Within minutes he was sleeping fitfully.

The book was left open on his desk where he had left it, opened to the title page of the final chapter;

"The Skalah and their minions: Shadow-Demons."

~*~

It was not how she had imagined it to be. Her resources had led her to believe that Ereth was a thriving town, led by a competent and good man, but what she saw before her made her sick. Townsfolk walked around aimlessly, blank expressions on their emotionless faces, half starved and suffering from shock as much as diseases that were slowly beginning to take hold of their victims.

It had taken her the best part of a whole day to beg an audience with the town’s leader, an arrogant bastard of a man named Naris, and when she had finally left his company she felt no better for her visit. The man was a power-loving, over-eating zealot who cared little if at all for the people of the town as they starved outside the windows of his luxurious house. Food was in no shortage whatsoever and wine too, was plentiful, though no doubt stolen.

The man who had sat before her had once clearly been some form of warrior, but now he had grown accustomed to his luxury and had fast put on weight, clearly caring little for his appearance so long as his power remained within his grip.

She sighed, and walked to the tavern entrance to find a bed for the night.

~*~

The atmosphere in the alter-world changed, and it appeared that at first Joibri was the only one to sense it. She bit down on her screams, weakened beyond belief, as the mana grew ever darker and thicker until she could barely see Harcetch, Unliore or Talo. Only the small pinpricks of bright red where their fingers touched the mana indicated to her that they were even there. It was like looking through thick stained glass.

But Joibri's attention was brought to the area over her head. There, also, was another pinprick of light, and also red. Something in her head screamed out that it was wrong and evil, but she pushed it away, her tiredness at resisting the mana overcoming her. Her writhing stopped and her body straightened limply again. A hungry cold seemed to descend from that point of light.

Harcetch, Unliore and Talo began to notice the change of atmosphere, looking to one another uncertainly but continuing to tend the construct. Then Talo realised that another spell construct was quickly forming within their own. His eyebrows furrowed. It couldn't be Joibri...she didn't know how to...

As the three mages watched, an ether-claw of cold, misty electric violet fell from the small point of red light and grazed Joibri's exposed throat. Her newly-born mana-signature fluctuated and weakened as the claw faded to one side, ice hanging in the air after it. The whole area in which they stood began to grow icier, their breath showing as mist in the air. Another ether-claw, larger and more solid this time, began to descend.

"Deconstruct Harcetch, Unliore!" Talo yelled, moving his hands skilfully but his eyes never leaving Joibri. The claw came to rest this time on her throat instead of fading away, growing brighter as it seemed to feed on the ManaForm.

Talo went out on a limb and left the spell deconstruction to Unliore and Harcetch alone, running forward with an adapted FlamePalm in one hand which he slammed on the claw. There was a screech from above, and a call,

"Get out of my way! I'll do it myself!" Another ether-claw struck Harcetch’s ManaForm from behind, catapulting him forwards with a scream to the ground. His ManaForm disappeared, and in the real world he did not get up again.

Talo's breath caught in his throat as another aura became apparent. He pulled Joibri from the air, practically dragging her away. Unliore, meanwhile, heavily put-upon with the spell deconstruction, was suffering. After several attempts to do it all she realised she couldn't, and simply let it go. The backlash resounded though her skull like a sonic boom, throwing her to the floor with bleeding ears, mouth and nose. Her recovery was not immediate.

Talo's concern for his last fellow Apostle was suddenly distracted by the new ManaForm coming to rest in the mana-saturated air in front of them. Talo's grip tightened on Joibri - that thing wasn't even a ManaForm...

~*~

He thought everything within a five-mile radius could have heard the cry and the commotion that followed it. Turning, Pen saw first Harcetch then Unliore fall to the ground, the latter bleeding from her ears, nose and mouth.

"Gods not more," he whispered running towards the one fallen mage whom he could see was only semi-conscious. Harcetch had not been so lucky. "Unliore? Unliore? What's going on in there?"

"Claw...claw...going for her...Talo trying to-" She passed out in his arms.

"Shit!" Again, there was nothing he could do, again having to leave her in Talo's hands.

Taking a great risk, Pen took off his leather armour, and pulled off his shirt, screwing it up and laying it under the mage's head, supporting her neck as he wiped the blood from her head and face. Picking his armour up again, he fitted around his torso before getting a container of water from his pack. Unscrewing the top, he poured a little of it into Unliore's mouth causing her to stir from her unconsciousness to thank him.

Now all he could do was wait.

~*~

The shape in front of Talo twisted, gaining form and then collapsing on itself again. It grew in size, and the colour changed, becoming a far darker shade until it was almost black. It was then that they heard it, a voice almost a whisper, chanting. The shade began to swirl, the edges blurred and became clear again before they seemed to freeze, locked into place by some unseen force. Within the edges the shade became a turmoil of movement, until finally the chanting stopped. A small pin-prick of light appeared in the centre of the shade and began to slowly grow.

Talo, still gripping Joibri, felt it then. Cries of pain, of despair and of loss flooded the mana-space, the assault on his senses almost too much for the seasoned mage to cope with. He clung on, his need to protect the elf in his arms enough to keep his concentration. But then he was bombarded again, his mind attacked then with new sensations. Desires of conquest, the longing to feast on new flesh, and images of beings more horrible than anything ever witnessed on Balaia. It was too much, and the risk was too great to remain. Then he heard it. The noise he had thought was coming from the abyss was now all around them, growing louder. He strained his ears as best he could, and then it became clear to him. Laughter. Cold, chilling to the bone.

~*~

Snarling jaws snapped, claws dug deep into the rock face, gaining purchase easily. The portal was opening, and the beasts moved closer to it, their Skalah lords allowing Them a little room to manoeuvre. A pin-point of red light appeared in the dark shape before Them, slowly growing. Their senses filled with scents that set Their instincts wild; smells of new prey, of new country to roam and destroy.

At the very front of the invasion was one particularly large beast. Its hide rippled with colour before settling back to the brown of the surrounding rock. Its master had been unaware of the land through the black door, and pulsed to it the need to keep its camouflage ready for anything. Around it, others did the same, the hillside awash with flashes of colour. It flexed a set of limbs out to the sides, exposing five long claws from each paw. It did the same with its rear limbs then, more claws flashing in the dull light.

Its front set remained still, for the Shadow beneath one great paw was still alive, its head moved madly from side to side as it sought a way out. A long tail snaked in then, a poisonous spike protruding from the end. The movement was swift, the tail spearing the spike through the chest of the Shadow, all movement ceasing as the poison paralysed the victim slowly. The prey stank of it then. Fear. It was what drove the senses mad, and finally it could take no more. The pincers on each side of the jaw opened as the head lowered, revealing rows of razor-sharp fangs. A swift end followed in a spray of black gore, the head bitten clean off, slightly more than a mouthful but easily crushed by the powerful jaws.

When it finished its snack, it looked back to its master, the four eyes searching for more, for its hunger was ravenous.

"Patience, my pet. There is more through the black door. He will let us have all we want," the Skalah pulsed back. Satisfied with the answer, it turned back to the portal and rested its head on its front legs, forked tongue flicking out to lap at the remaining blood on the ground.

~*~

Sitting beside Unliore on the wooden floor, Pen felt them getting closer. He knew what they were without knowing how he knew. He knew they had to get out somehow.

"I will help you human, if you will help me," the voice was a harsh whisper within his own head.

"What the fuck?"

"Speak not verbally!" it hissed. "I can't hear you if do that."

'What?' Pen thought.

"That's better. You see, you only have to think and I will hear you, human. I know who you are and how you feel, even in my most dormant state. I know your past, your strengths, your weaknesses, your feelings for your friends... for the elf girl."

‘Who...what are you?’ Pen asked, flinching at the mention of Joibri and not sure he wanted to know what the thing inside him was.

"I am one of them, and yet I am different. I will not work for the Master and his plans - I have seen too much of what he's planning for our races. We must work together, Penrold. Or we will all fail and die. I am a Skalah. The most powerful of demons. We have no weaknesses, and that is where I can help you. If of course you will help me. Will you help me, human?"

'I...I don't know.'

"Well think then!" the Skalah's anger shook Pen's mind.

'How would I help you?'

"I need a body, and currently I am within you. If I leave you now, you will die and I will not. However you are a powerful human, Penrold, and I want to you to be the host. You will fight what you need to, with the help of my powers that will flow naturally through your body, being my accepting host. Then, when the time is right, you will allow me to take hold of you again and strike down the Master."

His head felt fuzzy from communicating with the beast, but he felt clear enough to give his answer.

'I accept your terms. On one condition.'

"What?" the beast hissed loudly.

'That when I am myself, you are not inside my head.'

"That goes without saying," he replied smoothly. Almost as smoothly as Talo, Pen noted with a twinge of irony.

'One more thing,' Pen said. 'Well two actually.'

"You ask many questions, human."

'One: My emotions. You know them, but... but do you feel them? Experience them?' Pen asked nervously.

The demon laughed, a deep rattling sound that spread throughout Pen's head making him cringe.

"Oh yeeeessssssss, yessssss that is something I can do." The Skalah clearly enjoyed Pen's discomfort, so he moved onto his second question.

'Two: How can I trust you?'

"Ahhh he finally asks the all important question. The fact is, Penrold, that you can't. There is nothing I can tell you that will make you believe me, so I would say you'll just have to take my word for it."

"Great," Pen muttered.

Unliore stirred, her eyes opening to see a very confused-looking Penrold poised beside her. He looked to be having an inner debate, and she didn't dare disturb him - she felt the aura. Without saying a word she ducked back into casting her ManaForm.

~*~

Talo stood, holding Joibri against him and feeling Unliore rise again into the alter-world. She rushed over to him, wiping the blood from her face and neck.

"They are come," she whispered, looking briefly at Joibri, "She is not complete..." The cold laughter at the black doorway grew clearer. "Gods in hell she is not complete..."

"We must not let Them or Him here," Talo said remarkably smoothly. "For now, we protect Her," he looked down on Joibri's exhausted, shivering body. "She cannot be taken from here yet."

Unliore nodded, watching the orb on Joibri's pendant grow dim as the final remnants of the spell faded.

"Your HardShield was always steadier than mine," Talo admitted. "We will need one." Unliore nodded again, looking to the deepening black doorway,

"And you?" she asked as she stood. Talo sighed,

"A thought, nothing more." Unliore looked confused but trusted him - yes, she had to trust him with her life.

There was an obscure crack like the ripping of metal, agonisingly slow and one that made the mana-ground shudder. Talo raised one of his hands, using the other to clutch Joibri to him. Crimson already seeped from his casting hand to collect in an ever-rising horizontal wave in front of him. Little strands of electric violet lightening played at its crest, which rose to a few feet above the mages' heads.

There was a cry of demonic glee, and the first change in the mana that signalled movement.

"CrimsonTide."

~*~

"We go now," the Skalah hissed.

'Go where?'

"To the mana world of course." Panic flooded through him, clearly amusing the demon. "Your nerves seem a little, how should I put it?"

'How about not putting it any way and getting on with what you're doing, demon.'

"Please, if I am to remain in your body for the rest of your life, then at least call me, Hashkar."

'Fine, whatever, just get on with it.'

Pen felt himself stand and his eyes close. Then he felt a strange sensation, as though he were walking in the open air, a cool breeze on his face. Then it was hot, and red. Even with his eyes shut Pen could see only red.

'Hashkar, I could do with some of your demon vision here.' A harsh laugh, and then Pen's sight improved immediately. Unliore, a shield up, Talo, holding Joibri and casting.

"Hmmm... the elf man's spell is doing well. Not bad, considering. You may get the girl, but don't take too long. I want Minshpall to know I am here, and that he will, sooner or later, fall at my hand."

At the demon's words Pen ran towards Talo, grabbing hold of Joibri and pulling her away from the elf. Talo looked, half devastatingly angry and half surprised, at the figure before him trying to take his love from him. The figure was familiar, but it surely couldn't be... how could he have learned to do that?

And sure enough, it was. A growl rose unbidden from Talo’s throat unchecked,

“Penrold.” For the briefest of seconds the two men locked gazes, the jealous fire leaping invisibly to life between them. Then Joibri stirred, and their fury was contained. Yet Pen saw ever so clearly the loving madness that had been in Talo’s eyes, the words ‘she is mine, not yours’ unspoken but there nonetheless, and wondered if that same madness could be seen in his own eyes.

~*~

It was almost noon when the group finally entered the castle walls. Their escort was made of several of Blackthorne's prized House Guard and a trio of his best-kept mages. On seeing the trio Lena whispered that the three looked as though they had spent most of their time in the Baron's service in his kitchens. The whole group stifled their laughter, but the smirks towards the mages drew odd looks from those around them. Kane played the diplomat role between the parties, often speaking to the guards on a first-name basis. He had enjoyed seeing his hometown again, but upon reaching the main reception room his face betrayed his worry and fears of future events to come.

They were not kept long, for the Baron was eager to hear of any news they had of the mysterious new college his "intelligence" had informed him of. Veygan wondered where he managed to get his information, but Kane told him the Baron often knew of things well before most others did - a measure of his influence across Eastern Balaia. The Baron led them to the banquet hall, where they were seated and told that nothing more would be said until they had eaten. They were treated to a hearty broth, filled with fresh vegetables. That was followed then by plates of bread, cheese, cuts of tender meat and a couple of bottles of some of the finest Blackthorne red any of them ever had the privilege to drink.

After the meal, the Baron took them to one of the side rooms, where he sat with a young lad named Luke. He, Kane had already told the others, was the Baron's secret weapon when it came to negotiations in the KTA. He had a sharp analytical mind, and a brilliant head for figures considering his farm-hand upbringing.

"A real diamond in the rough," the Baron had said, causing Luke to blush and avert his awe-filled gaze to the table in front of him. "Now then - to business," said the Baron. "I understand you have some news to tell me about a certain unknown institute practicing unknown magic. Who wants to go first?"

They took turns telling their stories - first Kane, then Delenar and Veygan. Lena was the last, having been part of the Hermetic College itself. The Baron said nothing throughout, merely nodding at appropriate places. At the end he gazed down at the table, saying nothing. He swirled the remnants of his wine around in the glass, thoughts and emotions clear across his face as he considered the possibilities and the dangers posed to his lands by the Shadows. Luke sat as silent next to him, his worries clearer as his face had paled towards the end of the tale.

"This is most grave news which you bring to my castle. Most distressing indeed. Yet you have mentioned that these things can be defeated, which brings some light to my heart. Tell me, my dear guests, what we can do to defend ourselves and win this coming war?"

The question left a moment’s silence as each of the group looked to each other. It was Veygan who finally said what they were all thinking,

"Quite simply my Lord, not much."

Veygan let his reply linger for a moment as he studied the Baron's reaction, which was to drain his entire glass of wine. So far he had been impressed with the Baron whose reputation as a leader was something of a legend. Veygan was sure that few of the Balaian nobility would have listened or paid heed to the small group, as Blackthorne had done.

"You see, the Shadows will simply walk through your walls - they could appear inside your keep, they could appear in here right now. Where there is a large enough shadow, one of the creatures could appear."

Blackthorne locked eyes with each of them in turn, perhaps looking for some sign of hope. Then he stared at his own hands as if looking for an answer in the lines there.

"I'm not a man who is used to defeat, my friends, and I don't intend to start now. You mentioned that your mage friend, the Xeteskian, used a spell that killed the beasts and another to protect his home. Could these spells be of some use to us?" he enquired. Kane shook his head sadly,

"Youlvi was one of three men who knew how to wield the Fifth to its full extent. Two are now dead and the last is the person responsible for summoning them. Those spells are lost to us."

"That isn't to say that there is nothing you can do Lord," said Delenar, who had until now remained silent throughout the exchange. "Like we said, where there are shadows, there is a risk. So remove the shadows. Have torches ready to light in every corridor and room in your castle. Have your people gather in the town hall as darkness approaches and then ensure it is lit. Then station every man and mage you have to fight them and defend the people.” Luke nodded, his face betraying his hope that the Barony had a chance at survival,

"We must remove any objects that would cast shadows, my Lord - we still have time before sundown!" said the young aide. Blackthorne nodded, a smile stretching along his mouth. He was a man of action, that much was obvious, and no doubt he felt better for doing something to prepare, no matter how small. He stared hard at Delenar, then at the rest of the group.

"I don't have a vast amount of mages, but my warriors are the best, they will teach these Shadows to regret invading Balia!" he said enthusiastically.

"My Lord, I would ask that you let us help to prepare your men, we have experience in fighting these creatures which would be useful. They are not easy to kill, your men will need to be ready," said Kane.

"Of course," replied the Baron, "Any other suggestions?"

"Actually my Lord, I have one idea," said Delenar. The Baron looked to the elf expectantly. "How much wine do you have?"

~*~

Mana was swirling out of control, the normally blue haze now a deep purple with bright flashes of red. The young boy picked drastically at the mana, desperate to form the shape in his mind, but the merged mana was just too erratic. Spikes were shooting outwards from the complex design and were quickly pulled back into place by the will and skill of the young man, but the mana was slowly winning the fight.

Aenkalos forced himself into one last attempt to form even part of the spell, and stop the entire construct failing.

"Light...Burst.." he managed to mutter through gritted teeth as he cast.

He held out his palm and watched the mana construct blossom. An intense light burst from the young boy’s hand, searing parts of his room as it moved. The flash lasted only a brief second, but Aenkalos felt a searing pain move up his arm and found himself blown backwards onto his bed.

Then the room was silent once more and the darkness had returned.

The battered and burnt boy got up and took in his surroundings, as if to check he was still in the same room. But before he could contemplate his success he heard the voice of his father bellowing from his own room. Aenkalos allowed himself a smile of success, and then ran to answer to his father.

~*~

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