“What about—” I begin.

“No time!” he shouts. “Ask them to fight and buy a few seconds for us, and pray that’s enough.”

His lips start moving at an unnatural speed and his hands come up, glowing a dark blue hue. Brude curses him but Drust ignores the foul insults and carries on with the spell.

I turn my attention to Connla and Goll. Connla is standing by the side of the entrance, whistling merrily, cleaning under his fingernails with the tip of his bloodied knife. Goll has helped Lorcan back to his feet—Connla must have missed the young warrior’s heart because although he’s wounded fatally, he isn’t dead. Bran stares at the blood on Lorcan’s chest, head cocked sideways, not sure what to make of it.

From the shaft come screams of outrage. The demons must have piled down too fast, too many of them, and jammed. But the blockage can’t last long. They’ll be upon us in a minute or so, I guess.

“Why?” Goll roars at Connla. “We’ll all die now!”

“You’ll die,” Connla replies smugly. “Not me. I’ve cut a deal with the demon master, Lord Loss.”

“The night when he was talking to you!” I gasp, remembering our first encounter with Lord Loss, finding him crouched over Connla, whispering.

“Aye,” Connla smiles. “I wasn’t asleep. He came to me. Told me everything, of Drust’s quest, his real reason for coming, what would happen if—when—he failed. For my cooperation he promised great power. In the new world I will be a high king, in command of all those whom the demons choose to spare.”

“Weren’t you listening?” I cry. “They won’t spare anyone!”

“Of course they will,” Connla laughs. “Every master needs slaves.”

“Did Lord Loss actually say that?” I ask.

“Not directly, no, but it was implied.”

“You’re an ass!” Goll spits. Then he squints at Connla. “What do you mean by cooperation! What did you do for the demon?”

“Information,” Connla murmurs. “I told him about you all, your pasts, your strengths and weaknesses. I told him about Orna’s children—that’s how he knew to fetch them. And then there were the services rendered…”

From the sounds in the shaft, the jam has cleared and the demons are moving forward again. Time’s almost up. I glance desperately at Drust but his lips are still moving and he hasn’t stepped forward.

“Be quick!” Goll shouts at Connla. “They’ll be on us in seconds and I don’t want to die without knowing the full extent of your treachery.”

“Very well.” Connla grins at Lorcan. “I killed Ronan—I pushed him off the cliff.” Lorcan tries to curse but his face twists with pain and he only doubles over and grunts. “And Fiachna,” Connla continues, laughing at me now. “Lord Loss gave me a pouch of poisoned powder. I rubbed it into Fiachna’s wound after he’d been bitten by the demon, when everyone was asleep or preoccupied. I—”

Whatever he was about to say is lost as the first demon crashes through the entrance into the cave. It falls on its face but is up in an instant, head swivelling, searching for the source of danger. It spots Connla, takes a step towards him, then sniffs the air, pauses and turns its gaze on the rest of us, leaving the smirking traitor alone.

The demon bounds forward, shrieking. Goll meets it solidly, drives his sword through the tip of its head, then kicks it into the path of those which are following.

Lorcan shrugs off his death and lays into the demons with his sword, pushing forward, keeping one hand over the hole in his chest to stem the flow of blood.

Bran dances around the cave, over, under and around the demons spilling into it, confusing and enraging them, doing what he can to draw their attention away from the rest of us—and especially from Drust, still muttering his spell in front of the abusive Brude.

I reach within, call upon my magic and unleash it. I set a demon on fire. Make another’s eyes pop. I drive one mad by squeezing its brain—in its madness it attacks those around it.

The spells come quickly to my tongue, power flowing through me, building up and dispersing through my fingers, lips and eyes at a frightening speed. I make one demon’s stomach explode. I cause a host of the V-shaped formations overhead to snap free and fall, killing several demons in the process.

But it isn’t enough. More come. An endless flow. Streaming into the cave. Lorcan has disappeared under an avalanche of monsters. I see one of his ring-pierced ears fly high into the air— my final glimpse of him. Goll’s stomach has been ripped open and half his face clawed away. He fights on but it’s hopeless. I can’t save the old warrior. Bran is still going strong, fast and agile as ever, but what good is that?

I catch sight of Connla, moving among the demons like a master through a pack of hounds. Many growl at him suspiciously but when they smell his blood they leave him be. He’s laughing at the carnage. Angling for Drust, twirling a knife, preparing to kill the druid. I start a spell to make his brain melt in his head—but then I have a better idea.

A moving spell. I cast it quickly and Connla flies across the cave, colliding with the wall beneath the waterfall. He falls heavily, then sits up, wincing but otherwise unharmed, shaking his head as water cascades over him.

“You’ll have to do better than that!” he chortles, wiping water from his eyes.

“I don’t think so,” I retort.

He frowns at my tone. A demon standing close to him, with a head that’s mostly human except for an extra eye in the middle of its forehead, sniffs at Connla uncertainly, then hisses with delight. Its mouth opens wider than any human’s—row upon row of dagger-like teeth and two forked tongues.

Connla stares at the demon, confused. Then he realises—the water has washed the blood from his face! A moment of panic. He tries to cut his palms again, to redaub his cheeks. But the demon’s upon him before he can restore his protective spell. It bites at his face. Catches his lips. It looks as though the pair are kissing—until the demon rips free, tearing Connla’s mouth away, leaving him to fall, gibbering madly, and be set upon by a handful of other savage demons.

“Hah!” Goll shouts, taking great pleasure from Connla’s savage death. “That’ll teach him! Well done, Little One!”

Then a demon knocks the old warrior’s legs out from under him. He falls. Demonic bodies fill the space around him. And the one-eyed ex-king who was like a father to me—who gave me my name—is gone.

Alone. No time to mourn. The demons are closing in, ignoring the dancing Bran, focusing on me. I lash out at them with every spell at my disposal, wreaking havoc. But I can’t kill them all. They’re getting closer. Almost upon me. Any second now, one will lurch within striking distance and then—

A hand grabs the neck of my tunic. I’m hauled backwards. I cry out, but the cry’s cut short by the V of the tunic digging into my throat. I land hard on the ground. Scrabble to my feet, trying to clear my throat, to cast a spell, to take at least one more demon down with me before…

I stop. I’m in the gut-studded tunnel. Drust is beside me. The demons are at the mouth, howling, reaching for us, lashing out with all their force and fury—but not connecting. Unable to break through the invisible barrier which separates Drust and me from them.

“A positive start,” the druid says. He smiles quickly, then half-closes his eyes and moves down the tunnel, muttering the words of the next spell.

I laugh hysterically and pull faces at the furious, thrashing demons. But then I recall the deaths of my friends and my crazy humour passes. I look for the bodies of Goll and Lorcan but I can’t see through the demons crowded around the mouth of the tunnel. There’s no sign of Bran either, but I’m sure he’s safe—daft as he is, he leads a charmed existence. I don’t think any of these demons can harm him.

I sigh heavily and wipe tears from my eyes, thinking about Goll and Lorcan, all the good times and adventures we shared. Then, putting soft thoughts behind me, I make myself hard, turn my back on the demonic chaos and set off after Drust, readying myself for a swift, victorious death.