Destiny's Rift (Broken Well Trilogy) (27 page)

‘Yes,’ said Bel. ‘Maybe he’ll stop chasing us, come nightfall.’

‘The fire won’t,’ said Jaya.

Without another word, they moved on.

•

As Losara sped away amongst the grasses, it felt good to be unconstricted by the maintenance of illusion. Finally he was heading back home to his people, to Lalenda. His wound did not bother him greatly in shadowform, but he knew that when he was flesh again it would need seeing to. The malevolence of Bel was truly remarkable – or maybe it was he who should be taking things more seriously? The two of them were enemies, after all, he supposed. Had he expected Bel to be pleased to see him revealed, to respect his cunning ruse? Was he so naive as to think they could have discussed the situation rationally?

His failure to retrieve the Stone bothered him, as Bel now had a way to stand against any magic thrown at him. As for the intent that had led Bel to hunt for it in the first place, this idea of putting them back together . . . perhaps Losara would be well served by Bel retaining the Stone after all.

An enormous gamble to think so?
he wondered. Was the idea he had considered during his travels with Bel, the idea that had upset Lalenda so greatly, strong enough to warrant conviction?

Either way, fate had seen to it that the Stone was out of his hands.

Part Three Legacy’s Scion

Part Three

Legacy’s Scion

—

Balance – that eternal problem between our lands, a force requiring upheaval for there to be a victor. Balance – a concept almost the same as harmony, but perhaps not this time. This was not the balance of a great juggler, keeping many balls flowing through the air, or the balance that exists in a forest, where lives feeding into each other keep the generations turning.

If two men stand facing each other, each with a sword to the other’s breast, ready to plunge yet unwilling to try lest the other do the same . . . is that balance?

Each waits for any advantage . . . a cry that distracts, or a crack of thunder. A readjustment of footing, a bead of sweat rolling into the eye, or a beautiful butterfly flitting past, leading the eye astray at just the wrong moment.

What troublesome things butterflies can be.

Holdwith

Holdwith

Holdwith

Night was falling, and thousands of blue dots speckled the Stone Fields as ice lanterns were lit. From the black walls of Fort Logale, Tyrellan looked out over the gathered army. They had come from all over Fenvarrow – contingents of pale Arabodedas men, Black Goblins and their subservient Grey cousins, bat-winged Graka, crystal-winged pixies and the tusked and bandy-legged Vorthargs, collecting in numbers without precedent. Production of siege machines in Smalt had been doubled and every day more rolled in, hulking and slow on wheels of iron. Hastily built warehouses outside the walls were brimming with food, and the clinking and clanking of blacksmiths hard at work could be heard day and night. Whelklings continuously flew back and forth, adding to the supplies.

It bothered Tyrellan that assembling so many in one place had left the rest of Fenvarrow sparsely defended. Thankfully word had arrived of the Kainordans concentrating their strength also – at Kahlay, with a smaller contingent at the Shining Mines. It was well that they did not suspect Losara’s true intention of attacking Holdwith. They had no reason to – the mage fortress was a dangerous target and had never been first on any Shadowdreamer’s list before.

‘Most impressive,’ said Roma beside him, and Tyrellan gave a slight nod. He’d come to respect the new Magus Supreme, who had done an admirable job of bringing together Fenvarrow’s magic-wielding population. All levels of mages, from young students to wizened elders, now swelled the amassed ranks. Tyrellan was also pleased to note that there was no trace of ego left about Roma – gone was the cockiness he’d seen in the man who had once thought himself fit to challenge Losara. Roma now strove to do his master’s will unquestioningly, hungrily almost. He had been well chosen.

‘Are there more to come?’ Tyrellan asked.

‘Not many,’ said Roma. ‘The cowards have hidden, the incapacitated have been excused, and the rest are here. A chosen few remain elsewhere, where they may be needed, but if necessary I can summon them also.’

‘No,’ said Tyrellan. ‘It would be imprudent to drain the land of all protection.’

There was a scuttling at his feet as the shadowmander ran past, pausing to sniff here and there. He barely glanced at it, for when he did, he remembered what Losara intended and barely dared to dream it possible. It bothered him greatly that he did not know where Losara was, or what he was doing. Supplies were not endless, and an army of this size required constant maintenance. How long until the Shadowdreamer returned?

‘Have you thought of a plan,’ he asked Roma, ‘to achieve the Dreamer’s ends?’

Roma frowned. ‘It’s unusual to wish to capture so many of the enemy alive. With surprise and numbers I do not foresee great issue, but I hope that Losara has some method in mind.’

‘I do,’ said Losara, stepping out of the shadows.

Tyrellan bowed low, his worries abating most pleasingly.

‘Master,’ he said, and Roma echoed him.

Losara turned to gaze over the army. ‘I wended slowly through,’ he said, ‘on my way here. I am pleased; you have both done well. It is . . . humbling . . . to see the magnitude of this support.’

‘They have the greatest of causes to fight for,’ said Tyrellan. ‘Any who fail to answer the call are no better than betrayers.’

‘Which does not negate the courage of those who are here,’ said Losara.

Tyrellan held his tongue. Losara sometimes had a lofty way of looking at things, a way that he did not always share. There was no great courage in choosing the only option available – the people must fight, and that was that. He did not draw attention to the fact that many here had been conscripted.

‘How was your journey?’ he asked instead. ‘Did you find what you went looking for?’

‘I believe so,’ said Losara vaguely.

‘Is there anything we should be apprised of?’

‘The answers I sought were . . . personal.’ He dared not yet mention his ‘precarious notion’, as Lalenda had called it. While that was foremost in his mind, he also realised that his commanders should know as much as he did about the enemy’s plan.

‘I suppose there is actually much to tell you,’ he sighed. ‘But first I will have your reports.’

He began to drift along the wall, and Tyrellan and Roma fell in step behind him.

‘It will be good for morale for the troops to see you,’ said Roma. ‘Many have asked where their leader is.’

‘And see me they shall,’ said Losara. ‘I am planning no further absences. Tell me, how are our mages?’

‘There are varying degrees of skill amongst their number,’ said Roma. ‘Of the elite, about a thousand.’

‘Excellent. More than enough. There are some six hundred at Holdwith, and many of them are only students.’

‘Yet they have defences,’ said Roma. ‘And we are somewhat disadvantaged by needing to take them alive.’

‘Not all of them. And besides, capture or kill, either way we need to get spells through their defences.’

‘This is your plan then, lord?’ said Roma.

Losara nodded. ‘We will separate our elites from the main force. We can travel more quickly that way, and make good on the surprise it affords us.’

‘You do not intend to take any soldiers?’ said Tyrellan.

‘Not to Holdwith. A small contingent will follow us, but by the time they catch up, the outcome will already be known. The bulk of our army will head towards the Shining Mines and, if we are successful, we will join them there.’

‘But
I
 will go with you?’ said Tyrellan.

‘Oh yes,’ said Losara. ‘You will go . . . and that slithery little friend of yours too.’

•

Lalenda sat in a grand room, high up in Logale. It had initially surprised her that she’d been shown here to stay, by Tyrellan no less, after her unannounced arrival. She still remembered, with a sweet savour, the moment she had decided to leave Skygrip and how there had been no one to thwart her – just as there had been no one to prevent her from burning Duskwood to the ground.

Her adventure in the wood had not kept the castle feeling empty on her return, although for several days she had enjoyed going up to the roof to watch the smoky haze she’d created. Despite this satisfaction, the thought of waiting for Losara in Skygrip, killing the hours with idleness and books, fast became unbearable. Lalenda had spent her life reading, and for some reason it ceased to enthral her as it once had – maybe because it had been an escape, and now other means of escape were available. If Losara was allowed to go shooting off to Kainordas on some journey of
self
-discovery, she didn’t see why she should have to wait around for him all cooped up. Grimra had accompanied her, of course, and together they had flown to Logale, taking their time along the way, watching others who marched below. Since Logale was where Losara’s supporters were heading, why should not his greatest supporter be there also?

Guards stopped her at the fort’s gate, and she demanded that they fetch Tyrellan to verify her identity. When the First Slave had arrived, his gaze had been as unknowable as ever, but there had been a certain acceptance in his voice. After all, she was no longer merely Battu’s plaything; now she was his master’s lover, and Tyrellan would not do anything to displease his master. She suspected the goblin privately thought she had not done anything to deserve such elevation, but what was, was.

‘Let her through,’ Tyrellan had said. ‘This is Lalenda, the Shadowdreamer’s woman, who will be shown every courtesy as befits her.’

The Shadowdreamer’s woman.
She’d liked the way that sounded. She knew that Losara did not think of her as a possession, but she was his nonetheless and did not mind being labelled as such. Or maybe it was just the word ‘
woman
’ she liked, because for her whole life she’d been just a girl, until the word had crossed Tyrellan’s lips, spoken so matter-of-factly it was hard to doubt.

Tyrellan had brought her to these beautiful chambers, even evicting a noble to do so. She had not protested at that, for she was tired of her old shyness and had dismissed errant feelings of being undeserving. She was the Shadowdreamer’s woman – and these would be his quarters too when he arrived.

It was no surprise to discover that Tyrellan knew about Duskwood. A column of black smoke reaching into the sky was no common sight in Fenvarrow and had not gone unreported. She hadn’t hidden from anyone that she was the cause of it, or made excuses for an act she saw as serving the Dark Gods. She had told Tyrellan as much when he’d questioned her about it, and there’d been something in this exchange that made her think he did not find her so unworthy after all.

Since then she had come and gone as she wished, flying out over the troops, laughing as she disturbed groups of Graka training in formation. Grimra was with her always, her secret guard. Not too secret, really, for word spread fast that if anyone saw a Mire Pixie with cobalt eyes floating about, chances were a Golgoleth Ghost was not far away.

Still, for all her newfound freedom, there was also an undercurrent of concern – over where Losara had gone and the answers he searched for. She knew more about his motivations than anyone, and they worried her greatly. This idea of his, of letting Bel keep the Stone . . . surely he must see that it would place him in danger?

Tonight she sat by her window, eating dinner at a small silver table, while behind her the large sweep of her quarters lay dimly illuminated by a grand iceplace. Occasionally she threw a bit of delicately spiced meat in the air, and there was a flash of white as Grimra snapped it up.

‘Me doubts flutterbug be seein’ Losara coming,’ the ghost said. ‘Losara not be flying in like us gaddin’ about Fenvarrow, seeing this and that and the other.’

‘I know,’ said Lalenda. ‘It’s a romantic gesture though, is it not? Waiting by the window for a lover to return?’

‘Grimra not be understandin’.’

‘It makes me feel better,’ she said.

‘Ah,’ said Grimra. ‘Well, sit then.’ Teeth flashed. ‘Those little puffy pastries be good, yes?’

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling, and tossed one in the air.

‘Look at you both,’ said Losara warmly. ‘Like old friends.’

Lalenda jumped to her feet when she saw him standing before the bed. Without thinking she ran to him, her wings lifting her up at the last so that she slammed into his chest, sending them both sprawling onto the bed with him pinned beneath. He winced but then laughed, reaching up to run his four-fingered hand through her hair. Grimra circled, hooting in satisfaction.

‘Hello there, flutterbug,’ Losara said. ‘Careful of my shoulder, it’s quite tender.’

‘Why, what have you done?’

‘Stabbed myself,’ he grimaced.

‘
What?
’

‘Never mind for now. Just let me look at you, little wanderer. I did not realise you’d follow my army here.’

‘Where you go, I go,’ she said, and her eyes dared him to say otherwise. ‘From now on.’

‘Is that so?’

‘It is.’

‘I would have come to you tonight in Skygrip, had you been there.’

‘And you would have returned here in the morning.’

‘Perhaps. I hear that you have done quite a thing, and turned Duskwood to embers.’

‘There were many undead there,’ she said. ‘I remembered my lord’s words about the Dark Gods wishing them returned to the Well.’

‘Where is my retiring flutterbug?’ Losara wondered aloud. ‘Who is this fierce creature wielding fire and destruction?’

‘Gone she be,’ moaned Grimra. ‘Replaced by some winged troublemaker who listens not to me!’

‘Is my lord upset with me?’ Lalenda asked demurely, though a quirk of a smile tweaked the corner of her mouth.

‘No, little hellion. I may have worried for you if I’d known what you attempted, but as it’s gone and done, there seems little point. All that’s left is to be proud of you.’

His words made her heart skip. ‘Grimra?’ she said. ‘Why don’t you swirl off and terrorise the kitchen servants? Maybe they’ll give you a chicken.’

‘Oho!’ hooted Grimra. ‘Maybe they will! And maybe while me be gone, you two sit and natter about the weather?’

‘By Assedrynn, I do not care a jot about the weather,’ she said, and Grimra chuckled as he slipped under the door.

•

Morning came, and Losara awoke to bittersweetness amidst tangled sheets. Thin trails of broken skin along his chest marked where she’d run her claws the night before. It was good to be with Lalenda, in this moment, and he appreciated it for what it was – for he did not look forward to the task ahead.

Perhaps his
other
would have, for it involved the spilling of much blood.

She rose with him and began to pack herself a small satchel.

‘Truth be told, my love,’ he said to her, ‘I would prefer if you did not accompany me on this venture.’

‘Life does not always deliver what we want,’ she said sagely, as if quoting from one of her books.

He let it go. As he had told her of his journey the night before, she had listened with avid interest, especially to how Jaya accompanied Bel. He had realised too late that he was only strengthening her own determination to do the same with him. And with her concern over his failure to capture the Stone and all that it potentially meant, he did not think he could easily dissuade her.

There would not be much risk to her, he supposed. She could be kept well back from any conflict, he’d make sure of that. And he would not be like Bel, forgetful of those within his protection. Besides, after what he’d learned about Duskwood, he did not like his chances of caging his increasingly bold little pixie.

•

Tyrellan met them for breakfast, after which they walked from the fort together in plain view of the army. Soldiers stirred to attention and bowed, and Losara smiled and waved, stopping to thank them for their support. Lalenda bounced along beside him with her wings spread, taking steps that lifted her from the ground, as if she could not wait to take to the air. He could sense word spreading that the blue-haired man had finally arrived, and today went to battle. Tension filled the air – maybe it was excitement, maybe it was hope.