Destiny's Rift (Broken Well Trilogy) (15 page)

Despite the orders he was about to give, Losara’s mind was elsewhere – back with his
other
, and the Stone. The morning had brought him doubts that snatching it away was the best course of action. He needed time to think – no, more than that: he needed more information to think
about.
An idea began to form in his mind, one he hoped was not too reckless.

‘Roma has arrived, my lord,’ came Turry’s announcement from the opposite end of the throne room.

Losara nodded and a moment later Roma strode through the archway. He was as impressive a figure as Losara remembered from that day they had fought each other in the duelling chamber – stony-faced and sleek, his black hair pulled tight into a ponytail streaked with red dye, an open-chested robe swishing around his feet. As he arrived at the throne, the shadowmander ran up Tyrellan’s leg to perch on his shoulder for a better view of the mage. Roma was clearly astonished by the creature.

‘An improvement on your last familiar, First Slave,’ he said.

Tyrellan pulled back his top lip to reveal a gleaming fang. ‘Thank you.’

Roma turned to Losara and bowed low. ‘I am sent for, lord. I come.’

For some reason Losara felt sure he could trust this man. Although Roma had once coveted the seat in which Losara now reclined, that singular feud had been ended decisively. There was no way Roma would risk returning to the pain Losara had engulfed him in, pain through which Losara had forged himself a loyal servant before plunging him into the cold water of mercy. Thus tempered, Roma was now unwavering in his support.

‘It is good to see you,’ said Losara. ‘I thank you for your patience in waiting to serve me. I promise that you will never again have to earn your coin performing idle tricks for passers-by.’

‘It was not the most . . . illustrious profession for a mage such as I,’ acknowledged Roma.

‘I agree,’ said Losara. ‘That is why I’ve called you here. I want you to help Tyrellan oversee the gathering of our army. Our target will be Holdwith, where many Kainordan mages train. Tyrellan will explain to you why we have need of them alive . . . at least for a while.’

Internally he was troubled by what he intended. He had only killed a person once before, and the Throne’s look of disbelief still came back sometimes to haunt him. Yet he had also seen much killing . . . seen how Bel would lay waste to all Fenvarrow if he could, leaving the parts he could not stick with his sword dry and dying beneath a sweltering sun. Did the fact that Losara only sought to defend his land against such devastation excuse his actions?

What choice do I have?
he thought.

‘For that reason,’ he went on, ‘we shall need the numbers for a decisive victory. Roma, I am making you Magus Supreme.’

It was a position that Battu had, if not done away with, at least never filled – the head of all magic in Fenvarrow, bar the Shadowdreamer himself.

Roma bowed again, even lower than the first time. ‘You honour me, master. I will not disappoint you.’

‘It will be your task to ready our mages,’ said Losara. ‘The Kainordans have many, and we must seek to match their numbers. For our student mages, whether in schools or with single tutors, their learning must be accelerated, and concentrated in the arts of war.’

‘It will be done.’

‘Tyrellan will see to the regular army. Marshall all at Fort Logale, and perhaps the enemy will think we intend to attack the more obvious target of the Shining Mines. And now . . .’

One last time he turned the idea over in his head. Was he sure? No, but how could one be sure of anything? And, with army-building delegated and set in motion, there was nothing further he could do to expedite proceedings. It would take weeks to accomplish the assignments he had given these two, if not more, during which he would essentially be at a loose end. Making up his mind once and for all, he spoke.

‘I will be gone for a time, on my own task. Perhaps a couple of weeks, perhaps longer. I may be able to return at times, but I cannot be sure of that. I am putting a good deal of trust in you both to carry out my orders while I’m away.’

Unspoken questions appeared on their faces, but neither asked where he was going. That was well with him, for he wasn’t quite sure if his idea even made sense.

‘What of general governance?’ said Tyrellan.

‘You would be my first choice, Tyrellan, if your priorities did not lie elsewhere. Let the Shadow Council oversee the day-to-day for a time . . . you can always overrule them if you deem it necessary.’

‘Very well. What of protection? You should not go alone on this mysterious excursion.’

‘Ah Tyrellan,’ said Losara, ‘do not fear. I will not strictly be alone. For a start, I’ll have your old friend Fazel to keep me company.’ He rose, ignoring Tyrellan’s surprise. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, there is someone else I must inform of my decision.’

•

He tried to gather her into his arms but she backed away, staring into his void-like eyes. ‘Why must you do this?’ she asked again.

He sighed. ‘I have told you why.’

‘But why can’t you come back? You can whisk back and forth in an instant.’

‘Once I am there, I must remain for a time. Travelling back and forth would be too risky. Lalenda, be not afraid – no harm will befall me.’

‘It is not the external threats that scare me so much,’ she said. ‘It is the end you seek.’

‘I am yet to decide what end I seek.’

‘Even the possibility, the fact that you consider it, is enough to frighten.’

He now regretted saying too much. He could have left it at telling her he wanted to discover more about Bel, his so-called enemy, and that he was also worried Bel might get himself killed. She’d understood that, for he had told her about his dream, so she knew that if Bel perished, so did he. He’d then told her he had initiated a plan to create a weapon for Fenvarrow, to assure her that he was focused on victory. All of that would have been enough, but instead he had gone on to tell her the whole truth, for wasn’t that what lovers did? But now, he realised, he could have easily achieved what he wanted without upsetting her in the process. She now knew of his uncertainty over whether or not he should prevent Bel from getting the Stone, and the reason why.

‘And what about me?’ she said. ‘Have you considered what might happen to me if you pursue such a course? Bel has a lover too, you say.’

The question caught him by surprise, for in truth he had not thought about it. Unwillingly he remembered Jaya, of the slightly odd pull he had felt when he’d seen her in the dream. Still, it was not enough to negate his affection for the trembling little bundle in front of him.

‘You are mine,’ he said. Was there something to add to that? He couldn’t find the words. He could not say that he was hers, for he had a responsibility that came before all else. ‘I promise,’ he added, somewhat lamely.

He shouldn’t have shared his plan. It wasn’t even a plan yet, more an idea to be considered, a distant potential only. Again he tried to hold her, and though she did not move away this time, she remained stiff in his embrace.

‘Lalenda,’ he said, ‘I fight for us.’

She looked up into his eyes then, her expression softening. ‘Really?’

‘Of course. I fight for everyone in Fenvarrow.’

Her look told him that had been the wrong thing to say, though he was not sure why.

‘Then,’ she said, ‘I cannot believe you would wager the fate of all Fenvarrow on such a precarious notion.’

‘I do not yet know if I will,’ he said. ‘That is precisely why I must . . .’

But she strained against him, and he released her with a sigh.

A Change of Face

A Change of Face

A Change of Face

Gellan sat watch as the others slumbered. It wasn’t strictly necessary, he supposed, when they had an undead mage with them who did not require sleep . . . but in truth, no one exactly trusted Fazel yet. Gellan, for his part, did not doubt that Fazel’s intentions were good, but the intentions of a slave created by the enemy were a moot point. He wondered what would happen if Fazel received new instructions from the Shadowdreamer – would they override the control Bel was able to exert? Or would there be some kind of stand-off?

Fazel sat next to him, arranging his cloak over his black legs. Vaguely Gellan wondered why he bothered to cover himself – it wasn’t as if he’d feel the cold, if there had even been any. Perhaps he’d fallen into the habit of hiding his looks, or felt ashamed of what he had become.

He decided to voice his concerns – if anyone had answers, it would be Fazel.

‘I was wondering what might happen if the Shadowdreamer became aware of your existence.’

‘Ah,’ said Fazel. ‘I have been wondering that myself.’

‘Do you think Bel’s orders would hold?’

Fazel sighed. ‘I doubt it. While Bel may have some connection to Skygrip through Losara, there is no doubting that Losara is the source. All my willingness to serve the light will amount to nothing if he finds me, I imagine.’

‘Mm,’ said Gellan. ‘Quite a worry. It is not as if Bel’s movements are of no interest to the Shadowdreamer. There’s no telling when his attention may be drawn to us.’

Fazel nodded. ‘You are right, of course. Travelling with me comes with great risk. As in fact does keeping me alive at all.’

Gellan knew what the mage was suggesting. ‘You desire to cease?’ he asked.

‘Would you not?’ said Fazel. ‘I have suffered well beyond my time in this prison of bones. I cannot eat or sleep, or enjoy any earthly pleasure. All I have are memories – memories of terrible deeds dealt to my people by my own hands. Not even this current reprieve affords me peace of mind, for any day I could be forced to turn again to the darkness.’ He chuckled humourlessly. ‘You tell me if that sounds like any kind of retirement.’

‘It does not,’ said Gellan. ‘You have my sympathies, old mage. And if you wish to put the case to Bel that we are safer without you, I will be your advocate.’

‘The sooner the better.’

‘Is there a way?’ said Gellan. ‘A sure way, after which you will not rise unwillingly from the ashes?’

‘I have lived a long time with the enchantment that animates me,’ said Fazel. ‘I fancy I could break it myself, were I given such a directive.’

‘I see.’ Gellan frowned. ‘There is one thing that gives me doubt as to the wisdom of losing you.’

‘And that is?’ said Fazel, sounding very tired.

‘The Stone of Evenings Mild requires mages of both light and shadow to work.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Fazel dully.

‘And Bel seeks to make it work – something I would have judged impossible a week ago. Where could we hope to find a shadow mage willing to help us? And yet here you are. If we do away with you, what chance of success do we have?’

‘I don’t know what chance of success you have anyway,’ said Fazel. ‘As we’ve just discussed, if it came to conflicting orders between Bel and Losara, I am sure I’d be compelled to follow Losara. Do you really think he’s going to stand there slack-jawed as I aid in the casting of magic against him? Or will he, perhaps, say “Stop that”?’

Gellan nodded gravely. ‘You are right, and we will put it all to Bel tomorrow. Now,’ he rose smoothly to his feet, ‘if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to a certain pressure.’

‘Even that I miss,’ he heard Fazel mutter as he went into the trees.

It was a serene place, this part of the world. It had been several days since they’d found their way down from the mountains, and now they travelled eastwards along the foothills. There was a path, of sorts – overgrown and sometimes invisible, sometimes marked only by the absence of trees. Moisture seemed omnipresent as streams gushed and sent up spray, dew dripped from ferns, and a spot of rain was never far away. It was pleasant enough, however, humid and still, and they did not see much evidence of settlement. Tomorrow, or the next day, they might come across a village, or spy a woodsman’s hut nestled somewhere off the path . . . but then again, maybe not.

A short distance from the camp, Gellan found some likely looking bushes and untied his trousers. As he relieved himself, he considered the dilemma with Fazel. The undead mage
couldn’t
stay, surely . . . having him with them was like walking around with a sword pointed at their backs. Yet how in Arkus’s name were they supposed to work the Stone without him?

Then he sensed something that brought his mind snapping back to his current surrounds. Had he felt . . . ? And then he was sure.

Somewhere in the night, something of the shadow lurked.

Instinctively he put up a defensive ward around him, and for a moment felt ridiculously exposed as he shoved his well-lit manhood back into his trousers. Off in the darkness the thing moved, as if it sensed him sensing it.
There
, in the lee of a towering oak, it was hiding . . . but what was it? Shadow magic obscured his own magical sight, but from the gap in his perceptions he could make out its outline. Something small . . . and making itself smaller? What manner of creature could do that?

Then it was coursing towards him through the trees, and he flung up his hands in readiness, his light growing brighter as he magnified his defence . . . but the shadow thing, a speck now, cut right through and flew towards him.

•

Bel sat bolt upright on his bedroll, sword already in hand.

‘Mmf?’ came a sleepy objection from Jaya at his side.

‘Did you hear that?’

He was certain that somewhere, off in the night, someone had just cried out. There was a rustle nearby as M’Meska clambered to her feet, drawing her bow.

‘I hears,’ she said.

Over by the fire, Fazel was staring into the dark.

‘Fazel,’ said Bel, ‘is something amiss? Where’s Gellan?’

‘He . . . went off to relieve himself,’ said Fazel. ‘I . . .’ He trailed off, as if listening to something no one else could hear.

‘Fazel,’ said Bel impatiently, ‘what has happened?’

Fazel did not reply. Bel scowled and turned away.
Damn mages
.

Jaya was awake now, and Hiza too, grim-faced enough to indicate that he had expected trouble all along.

‘Come on,’ said Bel, and strode past the fire into the trees.

He tried to remember the cry, half-heard in sleep: only the last note had crossed over into waking. There had been alarm in it, that was certain.

‘Gellan!’ he called, and quickly the others took up the cry. M’Meska went bounding away into the brush, not at all silently. ‘Stay close,’ Bel told Jaya, whose eyes scanned the night, her sword at the ready. Hiza had brought a brand from the fire to light their way. It was a sensible thing to do. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Shadows danced away from the flame, scattering in strange shapes through the trees.

‘Fazel?’ said Bel over his shoulder.

‘I’m with you.’

‘Can you sense anything of what just happened?’

The mage remained oddly quiet, and just as Bel was about to demand an answer, a group of bushes before him quivered.

‘Gellan?’ said Bel. ‘Show yourself!’

From out of the bushes Gellan staggered, twisting free of their thorny clutches. He looked dishevelled, as if he had fallen. A moment later M’Meska landed by his side and, ‘Found him,’ she informed them proudly.

‘What happened?’ asked Hiza. ‘Have we cause for concern?’

Gellan blinked, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Hiza.’

‘Yes?’ said Hiza.

‘I am sorry,’ said Gellan, ‘to have woken you all. Everything is all right. I took a bit of a tumble in the dark, is all.’ He glanced past them at Fazel, and for a moment the two of them were silently intense.

‘Are you two communicating?’ Bel demanded. ‘Speak aloud, damn you!’

‘Forgiveness please,’ said Gellan, shaking his head. ‘I am overtired, perhaps. I should have concentrated on where I was putting my feet.’ He paused for a moment, seeming to collect his thoughts. ‘Let us return to the camp. We have another long day in front of us.’

There was something strange about his manner, and Bel could not help but feel he wasn’t telling them everything. Still, that was the way of mages, was it not? He was well used to Fahren and his mysterious airs, it was no surprise to find that Gellan was cut from the same cloth.

‘All right then,’ he growled. ‘Everyone back to camp – we should still be able to salvage some rest from this night. And Gellan?’

‘Yes?’

‘Watch where you’re going.’

•

It always took a while for the morning light to arrive, with the mountains towering between them and sunrise. In the dimness of the day’s beginning, Bel walked alongside M’Meska, listening to her talk about her homeland in the Furoara Sands. Someday, thought Bel, he would like to try riding a dune claw himself.

‘Rabbit,’ said M’Meska and suddenly leaped away. He did not begrudge her sudden departure, for it was the Saurian and her arrows that kept them well fed.

Ahead Jaya walked with Hiza, chatting easily. He was glad that those two got along, and smiled as she giggled at something and punched Hiza’s arm. Hiza gave a look of mock affront and rubbed the ‘bruise’. The interaction reminded Bel of the way he and Hiza had been until recently. Although everything was perfectly amicable between them, they were no longer the simple, easy friends of days gone by. In fact, ever since finding out who Bel really was, Hiza had treated him almost like a different person, as if Bel himself had changed and not just the world’s view of him.

At least Jaya was in good humour. As she laughed at something Hiza said out of earshot, he found himself chuckling along with her.

‘Must be nice,’ came Gellan’s voice, ‘to share the road with your lady.’ The mage had caught him smiling to himself, and he found he didn’t mind.

‘It is,’ he said. ‘And you, do you have someone also?’

‘Oh,’ for a moment Gellan looked uncertain, ‘. . . yes. Back home. But I would not risk bringing her on such a dangerous excursion.’

Bel pondered whether there was a subtle slight intended in the mage’s words.

‘Well,’ he responded gruffly, ‘I’m afraid I don’t have much say in the matter. I’d like to see anyone try telling Jaya what she can and can’t do.’

‘I meant no offence,’ clarified Gellan. ‘I simply meant that mine is . . . well, different from yours. More fragile, I suppose, though she’d no doubt protest otherwise.’

‘I see.’

‘She is very beautiful, though, your Jaya. You must love her deeply.’

‘I do,’ said Bel. He wondered why Gellan was questioning him about this, but then again, why not . . . they had plenty of time to kill on this journey, and had already exhausted a number of topics.

‘Certainly exotic,’ continued Gellan. ‘Has a touch of Sprite about her, if I’m not mistaken. But then again so do you. Made for each other, you could say.’

‘You could,’ said Bel, remembering his father’s words about the soul kiss of the Sprites. Where was his father anyway? He shook his head.
Later.

Jaya glanced around as if she knew they were talking about her, and stuck her tongue out at Bel.

‘You could indeed.’

Gellan fell into thoughtful reflection, then glanced behind at Fazel bringing up the rear.

‘Come on Fazel, stop dawdling,’ he called, and instantly the mage quickened his step.

•

Later that day the path grew firmer, and they began to pass dwellings amongst the trees. Coming around a thick grove, they found themselves at the top of a hill looking down upon cleared land, with smoking chimneys in the distance. A wooden sign by the roadside, chipped and faded, read ‘Talforn’.

‘Well,’ said Bel, ‘perhaps we’ll sleep in beds tonight.’

‘After a few mugs of ale,’ said Hiza with a wink.

‘Ale?’ said M’Meska. ‘Weak as cat water.’

‘If they have an inn out here in the middle of nowhere,’ added Jaya gloomily. ‘Personally I’ll be happy if they’ve invented chairs.’

‘Don’t trample on my dreams,’ groaned Hiza.

‘Will you join us, Fazel?’ said Bel. ‘Have you some illusion you can cast to disguise yourself?’

‘I don’t think that wise,’ said Gellan. ‘If there are any mages about, they will sense his presence . . . and that may cause the villagers unease.’

Fazel gave a stiff nod. ‘I will circle wide, and meet you on the other side tomorrow.’

‘Very well,’ said Bel. ‘Now, let us go and see if we can discover that cat . . . I mean ale.’

Down the path they went onto flatter land. In fields hats bobbed up and down as their owners tended to crops, though they remained firmly up as the strange procession appeared on the otherwise quiet road.

Talforn didn’t seem to have a clear beginning or end – at a point the buildings simply began to stand closer together. The villagers looked mainly to be farmers, strong and weatherbeaten. The stares Bel received did not quite hold the amazement he had attracted in other places; they contained a more frank and appraising curiosity. He wondered if these fringe dwellers had heard that the blue-haired man had made himself known . . . or even knew who he was.

‘Ho, strangers,’ called a burly, bronzed fellow who had been digging in his yard. ‘How do you fare?’

From out of the house behind him appeared a buxom woman cradling a toddler.

‘Well enough,’ answered Bel. ‘Maybe a bug or two caught between our teeth, but nothing we can’t swallow. Is there a Citizen Prime here?’

‘No Prime,’ said the man. ‘Though if the village needed a voice, it might be mine.’ He rested on his shovel. ‘I’m Barnus. And, if you don’t mind me sayin’, you don’t look like the kind of folk we normally get through here.’ He frowned at Bel’s hair. ‘That the fashion in the cities these days?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Your hair. Dyed blue as the sky. A strange look, some would think . . . but each to their own, I s’pose.’