Soul's Reckoning (Broken Well Trilogy) (3 page)

‘Sir, we have seen that does no good.’

‘That thing must pay.’

‘The fort needs you, sir,’ she said. ‘Please, retreat, as you bid the others.’

Beneath his fury, Galfin knew she was right. Without other targets, the creature was now thundering towards them at breakneck speed – quite literally, for he could hear bones snapping beneath its claws.

‘Back,’ he muttered, although he needn’t have bothered – Kalda was already gone. Quickly he moved after her onto the long flight of stairs that went all the way down to ground level. As he took the first step, he felt a sudden rush of air by his ear and twisted around.

Galfin found himself staring into the creature’s eyes. Its claw was raised as if to strike again, and he tensed, expecting to be knocked from the stairs. Maybe he’d be dead before he hit the ground.

The creature brought its claw towards him, then stopped, as if it met with resistance. Elsewhere on the walls came the whimper of someone still alive, and its head snapped around before it darted away. Galfin watched it with confusion – why had it spared him? There was a brief gasp as another of his soldiers was snuffed out for good, and a moment later the creature was back, seeming to leer at him, but not taking the first step onto the stairs.

Galfin heard an explosion below and turned to look down into the fort. Beside the gate rocks were falling, and he knew the dreamer was blasting his way in.

Something clicked. In coming up the walls, the creature must have reached its limit; it could not take the final steps into the fort proper. But tethered as it was to the dreamer somehow, if he managed to make his way inside, so could it.

‘Defend the breach!’ Galfin heard himself bellow as he pounded down the stairs. If they could hold back the dreamer from entering, they could keep his monster from descending. Taskmasters and cerepans took up the cry, and soldiers converged on the opening. Lightfists poured spells through it, but Galfin could see flickers of shadow snaking in despite the force of the flow. The fort shook in other places as the enemy tried to create more breaches, and without anyone on the walls, there was little to be done to stop that. A hole opened and Black Goblins leaped through, but they were immediately cut down by the wealth of waiting blades.

Galfin was about halfway down the stairs when the dreamer’s opening blasted even wider. Shadow mages rushed in, many screaming as they fell to arrows, spells and blades, but others came fast on their heels. They spread out, pushing the fighting back into the centre of the fort. As they did, the dreamer entered, still under his heavy protective ward, still with that goblin by his side.

Galfin’s heart sank as he saw two reptilian feet edging over the wall above. Suddenly the creature was climbing downwards inside the fort. After a moment it simply let go, dropping to land amongst the troops, and the carnage began again. Multitudes fell in seconds, powerless before the attacking lizard, as simultaneously the dreamer forced his way forwards, and more holes appeared in the walls. Watching the creature carve its way through swathes of soldiers in the blink of an eye, Galfin felt at a loss as to what to do. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for this. He thought of Corlas Corinas, and the difficult decision the man had had to make. Corlas had looked at what was going on around him, weighed everything up, and made the right choice. A difficult choice indeed, but the right one.

Now it was Galfin’s turn.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and grabbed a cerepan who was running past, jerking him to a stop.

‘What?’ said the man angrily, then saw who it was. ‘Sir! What shall we do?’

‘Open the north tunnel,’ growled Galfin. The man stared at him for a moment, then nodded and bolted.

Galfin glanced at the sky. As if on cue, rocks came spinning into view. Further up, a dark blur showed him the Zyvanix still fighting the Graka – at least the wasps could get away from this menace.

He strode towards the fighting. Back from the breaches soldiers milled about, confused, ready to fight but unable to get to the multiple fronts that were already clustered thick with bodies. He spied Kalda directing troops to fill up gaps, and almost sent a prayer thanking Arkus for guiding him to her – but could not quite bring himself to, given that the gods also owed them this ruin.

‘Kalda,’ he said, ‘we’re retreating!’

‘But sir, our orders .
 
.
 
.’

‘I would rather be accused of insubordination than sacrifice countless lives for no reason. Do not question me further – there’s no time.’

A boulder smashed through the roof of the armoury not far away.

‘I’ve ordered the north tunnel opened,’ said Galfin, ‘but we cannot send all at once. I’ll join the attacks, you see to the rear. We must flee in stages, Kalda. I will hold back the shadow for as long as I can. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then be off!’

She disappeared into the mass, and he heard her shouting orders.

‘Right,’ he muttered. ‘Let it not be said that I fled hastily, abandoning those who covered the passage of the rest.’

He moved into the throng, pushing soldiers aside. ‘Let’s keep them busy!’ he called. ‘Make them pay for every step they take!’

He felt like a poor imitation of Corlas, but around him soldiers seemed to take heart at his words.

At one of the breaches, the wall was still smoking with foul shadow magic, and enemy soldiers were funnelling through. With a cry of rage, Galfin launched towards an Arabodedas wielding a mace, slashing him across the face.

‘Protect the gerent!’ he heard someone call, and quickly he was flanked by several young soldiers.

‘Push them back!’ he shouted, as arrows came in through the hole from enemy archers outside. He glanced behind, trying to make out how many soldiers were already moving towards the north tunnel, but could not see through the jostling.

A Vortharg landed on him, knocking him onto his back. He saw the creature’s rubbery lips descending, opening, its long tusks dripping, and knew he was about to get a face full of poison. Then an arrow plunged through the side of its warty head and it rolled off him. For a moment he lay dazed, then he shook his head and clambered unsteadily to his feet.

No time to take a nap.

A great crackling came from his left and he looked over to the next breach along. The Shadowdreamer stood inside a circle of his minions, now well within the fort. More streamed in behind him. They had established a solid front, the dreamer himself maintaining his own powerful ward over them all. Light magic could not penetrate it, yet the ward did not stop shadow mages from firing outwards, or warriors from swinging their swords. Shadow tendrils crept from the dreamer, seeking any that were near, making them convulse as dark energy rippled through them.

Again Galfin thought of Corlas, who had managed to wound the dreamer at the end when all seemed lost. But staring at the protection around Losara, Galfin knew he had no chance of getting through. His soldiers were being battered and beaten, dying on their feet all around him. The best he could do was to salvage what he could. Hopefully Kalda had had enough time.

‘Fall back!’ he called. ‘Come on, you fools! Fall back! You,’ he ordered a lightfist, ‘no more attacks! Protect our folk! Wards! Fall back!’

Somehow his orders were passed along, and as one his soldiers began to retreat from the breaches. Lightfists turned their attention to defence, and light wards appeared scattered randomly about. As they deserted the inside walls, more of the enemy was able to get through.

Galfin saw the dreamer’s creature scurrying past nearby, leaving a grisly path of death behind it. Even retreat is a massacre, he thought. Hysteria kissed him, but there was no fear for himself .
 
.
 
. all he wanted was to save those he still could from this terrible mess.

‘Disperse!’ he bellowed. ‘Save yourselves! Make for the north tunnel! Abandon the fort!’

He turned and ran, leaping over corpses. Others joined him, fleeing through the dusty town in the centre of the fort. Off to the side rose the top of the hill on which the fort was built, the entrance to the mine at its crown.

Such a towering monument
, Galfin thought gloomily,
just to protect a burrow in the ground.

He approached the north tunnel – a failsafe dug after Corlas’s time. Its gate, made of the magical metal shine, was raised and wide enough for some twenty people abreast .
 
.
 
. but soldiers were stampeding now, pushing others aside and even trampling them underfoot. Kalda was standing at the gate, shouting about maintaining order, her voice barely audible above the panicked throng. Galfin reached her side.

‘How many through?’ he puffed.

Kalda wiped her face with a dirt-stained hand, leaving a black smear across her brow. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Not enough. You should get inside, sir.’

‘No. I’ll stay with you. We shall see our people safely through.’

As soldiers continued to rush past, the creature appeared around a building and lazily knocked a sprinting blade from his feet.

‘By the light,’ said Galfin. ‘If that thing gets in the tunnel .
 
.
 
. hey!’ he shouted, striding suddenly from the gate. He noticed a sputtering lantern that had been dropped and stooped smoothly to pick it up, then swung it over his head. The creature’s gaze snapped to his.

‘Remember me?’

He flung the lantern at it, then dashed away up the hill. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, he saw that he’d succeeded in catching the creature’s attention. It chased after him, squeezing through buildings, knocking down walls.

Just have to get it away from the tunnel.

Galfin wondered where he was going, for there was nowhere to hide in the direction he fled, save inside the mine itself. A hiss met his ears from not far behind. The mine entrance loomed before him, and into the dark he plunged, forcing himself to slow lest he crash into a wall. Lanterns weren’t lit, as work had ceased some days ago, preparations for the impending attack taking priority. Thankfully he knew the network well and moved further in, around a corner, then paused to look back and watch the entrance. Only a sliver of moonlight crept in, and for a moment he feared the creature had given up on him, and turned back towards easier prey. The noise, the explosions, the screaming – all would surely entice it away from one lone man. Or perhaps the Shadowdreamer was too far away for the creature to pursue him any further?

Then a great shadow blotted out the moon as the creature passed inside.
Of all the things to be thankful for
, thought Galfin.

In the wall by his hand Galfin felt a bracket, in which a lantern hung unlit. Carefully, slowly, he pulled it free, even as he heard the thing sniffing its way towards him. If memory served, just opposite him was a passage that sloped sharply downwards. Praying for his aim to be true in the pitch dark, he flung the lantern with all his might. A few moments later it hit the ground, clattering down the steep passage. The creature’s footfalls paused at the sound, and Galfin flattened himself against the wall.

Down the tunnel with you
, he prayed, sweat beading from every pore. Surely he reeked, surely the thing would smell him in an instant. Then he heard it move into the opposite passage, its claws scratching smooth stone as it slid down the slope after the lantern.

He dared wait only a few heartbeats, then eased off the wall. Treading as lightly as he could, he moved back to the entrance. Then, as he imagined claws reaching out of the dark behind him, his terror spurred him on and he raced through, back into the moonlight. In contrast to the mine, it seemed as bright as day.

As he ran down the hill, he had a view of the fort almost in its entirety. Half the town was turned to rubble, and fires from spells and spilled lanterns burned everywhere. Away to the south, the wall was pummelled and broken through in many places, and the majority of the shadow’s forces collected there, cleaning up stray pockets of resistance. A few of his soldiers still headed for the escape tunnel, but it seemed as if most had either managed to leave already or returned to Arkus’s Well.

It was time to go.

Remarkably, he found his second-in-command standing by the gate.

‘Kalda!’

‘Sir,’ she replied, and smiled.

‘Everyone is gone – at least, everyone who can be. Come, we must follow them!’

‘Yes, sir.’

A dead Graka plunged out of the sky and hit her with bone-crunching force, slamming her to the ground.

‘Kalda!’ said Galfin, going to his knees. Her jaw dropped open and blood spilled out. He resisted the urge to shake her, knowing it wouldn’t help. Blearily, she managed to open one eye, and gurgled.

Galfin leaned close. ‘What is it?’ he said.

She mumbled something incoherent, and her crushed side twitched as if she were trying to move it. Then her other hand came up before her eyes, and weakly she rubbed her fingers together.

‘Bah,’ she whispered. ‘Never could click with my left.’ She focused on him for a moment. ‘What are you still doing here? Get gone, sir.’

With tears in his eyes Galfin drew his sword and ran it through Kalda’s chest. Then he fled into the tunnel.

As Taritha galloped onwards, Bel heard faraway shouts and screaming, heavy impacts, and the sizzle of magic. He cursed, not for the first time. The elevation of the Mines above such open plains meant that sound travelled a long way to meet them, and it agitated him to hear fighting going on yet know he was still some distance from joining it. As the hulking shape of the Mines became visible on the horizon, he took heart from the flashing lights streaming from the walls .
 
.
 
. but then, quite suddenly, they stopped.

‘Not a good sign,’ he muttered.

Over the whistling wind, Querrus did not hear him.

‘Perhaps a good sign?’ the mage called hopefully. ‘Perhaps the shadow has been beaten back!’

Bel slapped the reins down hard, though it made little difference. Taritha had been moving at a heroic pace for hours, and Bel knew they had already pushed her to the limit. Two riders were not ideal for any horse. As they drew closer he began to make out the line of the walls, could see they were broken in places. A few minutes more and he saw shadowy figures moving up the hillside, unhindered by defenders, entering the fort.

Too late?

‘How could anyone make such short work of the Shining Mines?’ wondered Querrus aloud. ‘Even the Shadowdreamer, with all his power .
 
.
 
.’

He trailed off as the shadowmander emerged from inside the fort to stand on the parapets. It paused in front of the moon, perfectly silhouetted for a single moment, before dropping away again into the dark.

‘Losara’s foul new pet,’ said Bel grimly. ‘That’s how.’

There were still shouts coming from the north side of the fort, although they seemed to be growing more distant.

‘Let’s circle around,’ said Bel. ‘Widely.’

He steered Taritha, noticing that she was finally slowing. A slick of sweat coated her, and he knew he must give her, and probably Querrus, a rest very soon. As they came within sight of the northward side, they saw figures appearing out of a tunnel just behind the fort. Further on was a whole host more – hard to tell in the dark, but they did not seem overly organised.

‘A retreat?’ asked Querrus.

‘Looks like it. Let’s intercept someone. One more burst, is that all right?’

‘One more,’ said Querrus, his voice strained. ‘Then we might have done our dash for the day.’

Again they picked up speed, angling for a bobbing torch. As they caught up, Bel saw soldiers on horses, one holding the torch aloft.

‘Ho, Kainordans!’ he called.

The horses slowed, and Taritha drew up beside them.

‘The blue-haired man,’ he heard someone whisper.

‘Shame he did not arrive sooner,’ muttered another.

One of them, a man of middle years with square shoulders and close-cropped blond hair, cantered forward.

‘Blade Bel, I presume?’ he said. There was a haunted look about him, and Bel wondered what horror he’d endured this night.

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m Gerent Galfin. I must apologise for the state in which you find us.’

The formal words seemed at odds with his appearance and their situation.

‘I saw the shadowmander in the fort,’ replied Bel. ‘I daresay there was little you could do.’

‘That’s what it is?’ said Galfin. ‘But they don’t grow so big – and even if they did, there is something terrible about that one. It turned back all arrows, all blades, all spells, as if they were but .
 
.
 
. but .
 
.
 
.’

‘Aye,’ said Bel darkly. ‘The dreamer has conjured or created it impervious, I do not know how. The Throne is working on discovering more. In the meantime, I am not surprised it has forced you out. If I could have been here .
 
.
 
.’

‘You have some way of defeating it?’

‘Not exactly. Waylaying it, maybe. At any rate, the Mines have fallen.’

‘Yes, I am sorry to report.’ The man looked miserable.

‘Take heart, Gerent,’ said Bel. ‘I am sure you did what you could. There’s no shame in retreating from an untouchable foe to fight another day – and you will be needed.’

Galfin stared at him a moment, then nodded slowly.

‘You ride to join Brahl?’ said Bel.

‘Yes.’

‘He is not far, a day or so. Currently he marches here, but I imagine word will soon reach him that there is little point.’

‘You do not mean to take back the Mines?’

Bel shook his head. ‘The shadow will move again soon enough, unless I’m very much mistaken. If I am, then they are welcome to sit and cook in the Mines for as long as they like, and we can wait them out.’

‘Will you accompany us to Brahl?’ said Galfin.

‘No. Brahl will join
me.
Now, it is not safe here, and you must be on your way. I only ask that you leave me one scout, so I may send word to Brahl when I need to.’

‘As you wish. But what will you do?’

‘I will watch and wait, to see where Losara intends to strike next.’

Galfin turned to one of his soldiers, a brown-haired young woman wearing the badge of a penulm. ‘Sarshan, you will accompany Blade Bel.’

The woman saluted.

Bel realised that Querrus had been silent during all of this – and a moment later he felt the man’s head rest on his back, accompanied by a soft snore. The mage had given everything he had to this journey.

‘Come,’ Bel told Sarshan, ‘we will find a safe vantage from which to watch the fort. As for you, Gerent Galfin, I bid you safe journey.’

‘Thank you,’ said Galfin. ‘And, uh .
 
.
 
. I just wanted to say .
 
.
 
. I fought many years ago at this place with your father. It was an honour.’

Bel was jolted by the change of subject. He tried to avoid thinking overmuch about Corlas, for he still hadn’t had any news of him. Why hadn’t he resurfaced since his pardon? Surely he knew his son would worry about him, but just as surely he must realise Bel had enough to worry about as it was! Why would his father put him through this uncertainty, unless something terrible had happened to him? And yet there was nothing Bel could do to investigate further, not on top of everything else that was happening.

‘I shall tell him,’ he said, ‘when I see him.’

‘Where is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Bel shortly.

‘Well,’ sighed Galfin, ‘would that I could have held the Mines, as he did.’

‘Different times,’ said Bel. ‘Different circumstances.’

Again that haunted look crossed Galfin’s face. ‘As you say. Farewell, Blade Bel. Good luck.’

•

Losara walked amongst the ruined houses of the town in the fort’s interior. Here there was less blood, fewer body parts, but still the evidence of their attack was plain. A place where yesterday people had lived, loved, and whatever else it was that people did was gone. Meanwhile his army scoured and secured the fort. There was still resistance here and there – soldiers who had barricaded themselves into rooms, or otherwise been cut off from retreat. They were falling fast, though, at last report.

Soon he would order his folk to rest, before they moved on in the morning. No point stopping here, no point even leaving anyone behind to defend it. If he was to bring down the Open Halls, he would need all his army with him .
 
.
 
. or would he? The mander was so powerful by itself – he would never forget the sight of it rippling along the walls, sweeping aside the multitudes as if they were mere beetles in its path.

Who was he, to inflict such terror? What had he become?

What I need to be.

There was a whirring of wings, and Lalenda set down next to him.

‘Victorious, my lord,’ she said approvingly.

‘Lalenda,’ he sighed, with a touch of weariness. ‘I told you not to enter this place.’

‘But it’s safe now,’ she said, pouting mildly. ‘And I wanted to see what you have wrought.’

‘Wrought,’ murmured Losara. ‘That word has a sense of creation about it. The antithesis of what I’ve achieved here.’

‘No, my lord,’ she said. ‘You are building a new world. A world without fear.’

‘There was plenty of fear here just moments ago.’

Lalenda reached up and took his hand. ‘When the dam bursts, the water flows strong for a time .
 
.
 
. but soon enough the dam will empty.’

Losara smiled at her. ‘Where’s Grimra?’

‘Not sure. Probably gnawing on something.’

There came a scratching noise nearby, and Losara turned to a caved-in house with its door just hanging from the hinges. A hand reached out shakily to push it aside; it belonged to a young Varenkai soldier bleeding from his head.

Lalenda hissed, claws extending from her fingertips.

The man blinked in confusion, then touched a hand to his scalp. It came away red. ‘Roof caved in, I suppose,’ he said. His eyes seemed to have trouble focusing, and Losara thought him concussed.

‘Kill him!’ said Lalenda. ‘Before he can –’

‘Before he can what?’ finished Losara. ‘He’s by himself in a fort surrounded by his enemies, his kinsmen fled.’

‘Where is everyone?’ the soldier asked.

‘Dead or gone.’

‘You!’ cried the soldier suddenly, staring awed and terrified at Losara. Some of his cognition, it seemed, had returned.

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Losara.

The man fell to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground.

Losara found himself disturbed. What was he supposed to do with this man?

‘Is all well, lord?’ asked one of his soldiers, whose approach Losara had not noticed. ‘Shall we kill this one for you?’

So pitiful this Varenkai was, so alone. Not a threat to anyone, and he knew it. He did not even choose to keep his weapon in hand. Helpless, harmless .
 
.
 
. but if Losara did not kill him, or have him killed, would that seem weak?

No, not weak. My people have seen what I can do. How could any think me weak?

What then? Send him away, allow him to rejoin his comrades, and die on his feet another day?

The mander surged out from between buildings and bit the man in two.

•

They were gaining momentum, Tyrellan knew. Losara intended to sweep as fast as he could across the land, laying a trail of waste all the way to the Open Halls. He seemed impatient – well, as impatient as his lord could seem. Driven, maybe, as if he feared something, yet rushed towards it. Tyrellan could understand most people, could see the workings of their tiny minds, guess what forces motivated them as they went about their ordinary lives trying to balance reward with pain. His master, however, was ever a mystery.

And why not? He is touched by the gods, an extraordinary being. Who am I to fathom him? Not so – only one to do his bidding.

Whatever was going on in his master’s mind, it was clear that Losara meant to make use of the shadowmander to its full potential. Their next stop was to be the river town of Jeddies, which Losara intended to reach ahead of the Kainordan forces. Another thing Tyrellan did not understand – why did the dreamer dog the enemy so? Why not use the mander to rip them to shreds? Once the Kainordan army was defeated they could march unhindered wherever they chose.

Something to do with his counterpart .
 
.
 
. he fears to meet this Bel in battle? Why? The man is nothing, just a sharper sword in a storm of swords.

He was twirling his dagger absently, he realised. Hopeful of something to kill? No, he was not one for such baseness. He killed because he needed to, which was why he was so good at it – because he could
think
about it clearly, dispassionately. And yet something about this victory felt hollow. He had watched it all unfold from the safety of a bubble, shielded by Losara, unable to give orders of his own .
 
.
 
. an anchor for the mander, to be protected. As others drew blood or lost it around him, as walls exploded and swords clashed, he had hung back in a frustratingly calm pocket of air.

‘Is it glory you seek?’ came Fazel’s voice. The black-boned mage was standing amongst smashed fragments of rock, watching him.

‘No,’ said Tyrellan. ‘It is
satisfaction.
Now get out of my head or I will have you bury yourself under a hundred of your dead kinsfolk and forget about you.’

‘You will do nothing of the kind,’ replied Fazel. ‘Losara may have bidden me to follow your orders, but I doubt he’d approve of you dispensing with me entirely – not you, the dagger
he
twirls in his fingers.’

Tyrellan let a momentary flicker of anger pass through him, and out.

‘How are you enjoying your new uniform?’ he inquired, as if politely, uncurling a claw at the black robe that hung from Fazel’s shoulders. ‘I trust you do not miss that green rag you were wearing when you rejoined us at Holdwith? The last illusionary shred of your imagined independence?’

Fazel rasped a chuckle. ‘A good attempt, First Slave, but if I were you I’d avoid kicking skeletons while they’re down. The most you’ll achieve is a stubbed toe.’

Tyrellan nodded. ‘You’re right. I don’t know why I’m even bothering to speak to you. Get out of my sight.’

He watched Fazel mope away, into the ruin Tyrellan had had no hand in creating.

He shook his head.
Satisfaction does not matter. What we do is right.

•

As day began to dawn, Bel watched shadow soldiers trickling out of the fort to gather on the plain, while those who had not entered it moved in two streams around both sides. It seemed Losara had allowed only a few hours of rest, and now they were to move on, relentless as a swarm of locusts. The question was: in which direction? In his mind’s eye Bel pictured maps studied under Fahren’s tutelage, and picked out two likely targets for Losara’s next stop. If he crossed the Nyul’ya into Tria, he would likely be heading to the state’s capital city of Ortem. If he followed the river to the north, he would be making for the river town of Jeddies.