Then Sariel was on the scene, clamping her claws on either side of the Nanaue’s maw and levering them open. Sylva wriggled free and Sariel hurled the creature back down the corridor, before following it into the darkness with a snarl of hatred.
As the two demons tore at each other in the passageway, Othello staggered beside Sylva, pulsing healing energy over her. The row of bloody bite wounds closed slowly, and Fletcher added his own healing spell, giving it all he had as Sylva gasped in pain.
‘She pushed you out of the way,’ Othello said in a tight voice.
The wounds were only half healed, but the dwarf’s healing spell flickered and died. His brow creased with confusion.
‘Something’s wrong,’ he muttered, his head lolling drunkenly against his chest. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped over.
‘Solomon, I need you,’ Fletcher cried, dragging Sylva upright. ‘Get them out of here.’
The Golem wailed at the clumsiness of his rough hands, as he struggled to pick Cress up from the ground. Ignatius and Athena were dragging Othello by the arms.
‘Jeffrey, move!’ Fletcher yelled, but all the alchemist could do was cower in the corner with Lady Cavendish.
Sylva pointed down the corridor with a gasp. Behind Sariel, scores of demons were bearing down upon them, their shadowed forms illuminated by the fire elemental in their midst – an Ifrit, a humanoid fire-demon that burned with roaring flames.
Sariel looked into their eyes. Her opponent was dead, though the brave Canid had paid dearly for it. There was blood dripping from a horrific wound in her hind leg, torn to the bone. She inclined her head and gave a gruff woof, her soft eyes wet with tears. Ignatius lapped at her wounds, but the Canid gently pushed the Salamander aside.
‘No, Sariel,’ Sylva sobbed, sensing her demon’s intent.
The Canid turned and limped into the darkness, howling a challenge to the approaching demons. She was buying them time.
Fletcher raised his hand as Sariel slammed into the ranks of the demons, slashing left and right with her claws. As the Ifrit took Sariel by the throat and hurled her aside, Fletcher roared, unleashing a huge kinetic blast into the ceiling of the corridor. Dust billowed out and the stone imploded, scattering razor shards. An avalanche of rubble followed, burying the corridor and its inhabitants with a rumbling crash.
Then he sensed it. Ignatius and Athena, filled with fear. He turned to see their bodies spread-eagled on the floor, unable to move. A dart was buried in each of their backs, injecting paralytics through their veins. Sylva yelped as she was struck, her head flopping as the poison took hold.
As Fletcher searched wildly for the perpetrator, a sharp stab of pain emanated from his shoulder, and he tugged out another dart. Instantly, he felt the cold spread of paralysis disseminate through his body, leaving his arm hanging uselessly by his side. He had just enough time to snatch the red vial from his belt before his other arm numbed, but he did not have time to bring it to Sylva’s lips. The crash of Solomon’s body as it hit the floor told Fletcher the Golem had fallen too. He lay there, his eyes flicking around the room for their hidden enemy. He did not have to wait long.
‘I can’t even begin to tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this,’ Jeffrey chuckled, walking out of the shadows. He checked that Lysander’s eyes were closed, then squatted beside Fletcher and twiddled a blowpipe in front of his face.
‘Very useful, these poisons,’ he said. ‘From the curare plant, if you didn’t know. Got the blowpipe and darts from Blue, bless his heart. Far too trusting, the both of you.’
‘Why?’ Fletcher managed to gasp. It was becoming hard to breathe, the poison spreading across his chest.
‘I’m a patriot, Fletcher,’ Jeffrey said, ‘pure and simple. I love my country and my race – more than life itself. But look at what is happening to Hominum. Dwarves and elves mixing with humans, tainting our bloodline with half-breeds. The king elevating them to our equals, allowing them to join our exalted military. It makes me sick to my stomach.’
He spat at Othello’s frozen body, the mask of the scared servant boy gone. The face of a mad fanatic was all that remained.
‘As soon as you befriended that dwarf, I knew you were trouble. Such a shame, we did hit it off so well. Didn’t you ever wonder why I was avoiding you? Or did you forget me so quickly?’
In truth, Fletcher had barely given Jeffrey a moment’s thought since that first week at Vocans, what with everything else that had been going on. He had barely seen the boy for the rest of the year.
He glanced at Sylva and was relieved to see her wounds were almost gone. She would live, for now. Jeffrey gripped his face, turning it back to him.