Sam Bowring

Soul's Reckoning

The third book in the Broken Well Trilogy series

To my little blister Anna, as is only fitting in a story about evil counterparts

Map

Part One

Convergence

It must be an old world, I think. Our recorded history goes back many millennia, but that isn’t why I arrive at such a conclusion. It is more that our knowledge grows fragmentary in the distance, then drops away into nothing, like an undersea cliff. There are no clues as to how much further it goes, and no beginning in sight. Perhaps no beginning exists, just ages that follow one after the other. Perhaps the age we inhabit now will become an unknown abyss to those in the next. I do not know.

I suppose I do not care. What is remarkable is to stand on the cusp of a new age forming, one foot in the past and one in the future. It almost seems as if change could be instant, forgetful of the centuries that precede it, the years spent building to such a point, the months of strife and struggle …and now, only days.

Time to break into a run.

A Quiet Departure

Bel parted fern fronds with the tip of his sword, managing to avoid the slightest rustling. Ahead a Black Goblin crouched behind the brush, taking in the two hundred or so soldiers camped between the trees – those who had survived the ill-fated charge against Holdwith. The failure still grated on him, and he pushed away memories of Olakanzar being torn from the sky, of Kainordans dying around him. Perhaps he had been too eager to attack, but how could he have guessed that such a monster would be waiting for them?

Someone started striking a hammer on metal, and Bel made small movements forward, in time with the echoing clanks. As he levelled his sword at the goblin’s back, anticipation of the blow warmed him, and he tensed to thrust. This spy of Losara’s would deliver no report.

The goblin turned his head almost imperceptibly and sprang away. Bel jabbed too late, coming about as close to missing as was humanly possible, extracting a single bead of blood from the small of the goblin’s back. He rose angrily from the undergrowth as the goblin fled, curving to avoid both Bel and the camp, where soldiers began to notice that something was going on. Bel had a sense of the path trying to form, and yet it failed to solidify. He chased the goblin nonetheless, but the little bastard was quick, and already gaining ground. Bel raised his sword to hurl it, but the goblin was keeping trees between them, and it was difficult to find the right moment. Seconds later he blundered unexpectedly into a stream, his foot plunging into soft mud …and knew that he would never catch up.

Why had the path failed him? he wondered irritably. A strange phenomenon it was, the way he sometimes saw the steps he needed to tread to achieve certain ends. Certainly the appearance of such preternatural lines was no magic that Fahren had ever been able to explain. His father had once described it as going berserk, but Bel had come to think of that state as a separate thing, for the path did not seem to apply solely to battle – it had also led him to escape when victory was impossible, and even encouraged him to speak with a dragon which he could not otherwise have hoped to defeat.

Maybe it is fate’s path . Maybe I feel the direction I am supposed to go. He took some comfort from the thought, but then frowned. Then why not show me how to kill a skulking enemy?

He stabbed his sword into a ripe log at the stream’s edge with an exclamation of disgust, feeling like a man promised a meal and instead delivered an empty bowl. The world darkened to suit his mood …the broken reflections of trees across the water lost their sheen, no longer a barrier to visibility beneath the surface. Leaves curled in the current like lazy dancers, catching on Bel’s legs. Clouds gathered in the sky and the first drops of rain began to fall, advance scouts of the storm that was coming. Circles expanded in the stream to disrupt the path of a water beetle, which changed course to skitter under reeds.

‘Which way did he go?’ came a sharp voice, and Bel realised he had gone blank. He turned to see Nicha, the leader of the Kainordan camp, flanked by lightfists. He stared at her a moment, then stabbed a finger after the goblin. Nicha gave a nod to her lightfists and they blurred in pursuit, spraying him with water as they churned through the stream.

They will earn the kill that should have been mine .

Only then did he notice the golden bird perched on Nicha’s shoulder.

‘A sundart,’ he said. ‘From whom?’

‘Gerent Brahl,’ she answered. ‘The Fenvarrow army is heading towards the Shining Mines, and our own forces march to meet them with all possible haste.’

‘Holdwith?’ said Bel.

‘Holdwith,’ she spoke the word with a kind of forced neutrality, ‘will be given up for now. Better to reinforce our standing defences, and meet the enemy at an advantage. We are ordered to return to Brahl.’ She glanced at the sky. ‘Dusk is not far off. We ride at daybreak.’

‘How distant is he?’

‘Not far from here, but some three days from the Mines.’

‘And the enemy?’

Nicha’s brow creased in consternation. ‘Maybe a little less, but the Mines are well fortified. If they can hold off the enemy until the bulk of our forces arrive …’

‘Yet Losara lingers in Holdwith,’ muttered Bel. ‘Surely his army won’t attack without him.’ He stepped from the stream and retrieved his sword. ‘I want,’ he said, ‘to be notified of any movement out of Holdwith.’

There was a hint of irritation in Nicha’s gaze, and he wondered if she disliked taking orders from him. She disapproved of his recent action, he knew, both beforehand and afterwards, when she had been proven right …but the mistake had been his to make, and who was she to question him? He held her eyes until she nodded.

‘As you wish,’ she said.

The rain grew heavier.

•

Losara stood on the walls of Holdwith, overlooking the dusty plain. Bodies of Bel’s soldiers still littered it from the previous day, and occasionally the wind brought him the stink of them. A group of shadow mages moved about below him, opening holes under the slain so they fell away into the ground. Tyrellan had said he did not understand why Losara paid them this respect, and Losara wasn’t sure either. Was it better to be dead under the ground? The dead did not care – maybe burying them was for the people above. Maybe Losara simply didn’t want to have to look at them any more.

As for Bel himself, he was not far away, and neither was the Kainordan army that travelled to meet Losara’s own. There would be great ruin soon, and more bodies on the way. Perhaps, Losara thought, while brutal, the shadowmander would at least bring the confrontation to a swift conclusion. There was no force in the world that could stop the creature carved from the legacy spells of hundreds of mages. He imagined it wreaking havoc amongst Kainordans, its great scarlet tail sweeping back and forth, snapping its jaws around Zyvanix wasps as they tried to flit away. Yet even the mander could not sweep through thousands in a heartbeat, was no guarantee of instant victory. He watched it now on the plain below, sniffing at the dragon’s corpse. The great beast hadn’t fallen fast to rot, and if not for the wounds that covered it, and the dull hue of its remaining eye, it could have been merely sleeping.

Above the fort was an extension of the Cloud that had crept out of Fenvarrow, proof of Losara’s success on the ground. Away over lands he did not yet control, other clouds gathered – natural clouds that came and went, emptying and re-forming, unlike this one, which was crafted and maintained by magic. It made him wonder if the Fenvarrow way was somehow against nature, forcing this coverage of the land. And yet there was light in Fenvarrow too, for shadow needed it to exist.

‘What will happen if Arkus is defeated?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Will there be no more light, no more sun? And what if Assedrynn falls – will all shadow fade away, everything left stark and bare?’

By his side Lalenda smiled faintly. ‘No, my lord,’ she said. ‘I have read enough during my days in the library to know that Arkus is not the sun, nor is Assedrynn shadow. They are the gods of these things, and draw their power from them, but the things came first.’

Losara frowned. ‘Then where did the gods come from?

‘It is not known,’ said Lalenda. ‘Only that they are the givers of life, our souls grown from their Wells. Maybe there was an original creator, who created them also. Maybe they came from somewhere else, found our world empty and made it their own. Or maybe Arkus was born of the sun, Assedrynn from the shadows, scions of the forces they represent.’

Losara folded his arms. These were daunting questions, and he did not feel there were any answers to be found in pondering them.

‘Perhaps there is no answer,’ said Lalenda. ‘Perhaps the gods just are , like trees and clouds and wind and sea. A part of the world, like any other.’

‘Except the wind,’ said Losara, looking up at the Cloud he had brought here, ‘does not ask me to kill thousands on its behalf.’

•

She reached up to Losara’s neck, to trace his skin with the very tip of a claw. Breaking the uppermost layer, she left behind the slightest furrowed line. Grinning, she signed it into an ‘L’. He did not seem to notice, for he had already drifted back into that deep place where he spent so much of his time, lost in strange thought. At any rate, as soon as he turned to shadow and back again, he would be unmarked once more.

Below, the mages burying the dead paused warily as the shadowmander moved amongst them. It poked at the ground where a body had just gone down, but the spark of light in the soldier’s soul that had once attracted it was gone. Lalenda was glad indeed for the creature’s existence – if it could turn the tide of battle in their favour, there would be no need for the other idea that Losara hesitantly entertained, the idea that had driven him to go to Bel, to travel with him and learn about him. He had not spoken about it much since, and she hoped that meant he had given it up, and did not simply withhold his thoughts because they upset her.

Then her eyes misted. Her hand fell from Losara’s neck, her knees turning to water. She collapsed, powerless to stop it, but did not feel herself reach the ground, as her mind was taken over by a vision.

She was standing somewhere …she wasn’t sure where. There were things around, maybe trees, but they were blurry, faded into a background mess of other indistinct objects, maybe people. Someone was holding her hand, but he was indistinct too, phasing and shifting as if his body could not settle on a permanent form. There was blue around his head, though it, too, took no definite shape. Something seemed to be tugging at him from his other side, and she leaned out to peer across his chest. There, holding the man’s other hand, the only clear being in the entire picture, was a lithe woman with long ringlets of red hair, her nose studded with a tiny emerald, her eyes green–gold. Although Lalenda had never seen her before, she knew that this was Bel’s lover, Jaya – and she was trying to pull away the man who stood between them.

The world came crashing back in. Lalenda blinked, finding herself staring up at the Clouded sky. Losara was kneeling by her, his shadowy hand on her brow, looking concerned. Relief took over his expression as he saw she was conscious.

‘A prophecy?’ he asked.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, brushing away his hand angrily.

‘What is it?’ he said.

‘I saw …’ What, precisely, had she seen? She wasn’t sure. And, for the first time, the prophecy itself had not seemed entirely sure either. Yet she knew what she feared.

‘I thought you had discounted that notion,’ she said.

‘What notion?’ he answered, but a moment later his face betrayed that he knew exactly what she spoke about. ‘Ah,’ he went on, admission in his tone. ‘I never said I’d discounted it, only that I hoped it would not come to that – that I could win in other ways, perhaps with the shadowmander. But if it comes down to it, as a last resort …I fear the gamble absolutely, but …’

‘Or maybe Bel succeeds,’ she said quietly.

His void-like eyes seemed to bore into her heart. ‘Lalenda,’ he said, ‘please …tell me exactly what you saw.’

•

The moon, high above, did little to breach the Cloud. They had not brought any dark ice with them, but a few lanterns from the fort had been lit. Losara felt uneasy about using Kainordan fire, as if it was some kind of hypocrisy. They did not need much, however, only slight illumination, to make organising a little easier.

His mages gathered on the plain south of the fort, hopefully away from the eyes of any Kainordans watching. Standing somewhat apart from them was Tyrellan, and every now and then the mander slunk out of the night to return to him, as if checking on its anchor to the world. A group of goblins and men, ordinary soldiers who had followed the mages to the fort after it had been taken, also waited. All were silent, as ordered, even in their minds. Only Losara and Roma conversed, in whispers, just outside the open gate to Holdwith.

‘Is everyone here?’ said Losara.

‘Yes, lord,’ replied Roma. ‘The fort is empty.’

‘Very well, then. Let us move.’

Roma held up a hand and blue energy coursed over his fingers. He waited until certain that all had seen it, then used it to point southwards. In response a thousand pairs of feet began to walk in that direction, their pace as yet unaided by magic. Losara could not risk the outpouring of power required to move so many at great speed, lest they be sensed by the light mages nearby. Some distance would have to be put down first, keeping the fort between them and the enemy.

Losara wondered if the offshoot of the Cloud would remain after they departed, leaving not a single shadow soul in Holdwith. Certainly it would disappear if the light took the fort back. They were welcome to the place – it was no longer much more than a broken shell, battered by magic and dragon fire. If Kainordas wanted to expend valuable soldiers and resources repopulating it when Losara had no desire to return anytime soon, that was something he had no issue with.

Air moved as Grimra wafted past, the ghost’s low growl a familiar heralding for Lalenda these days. She arrived by Losara’s side a moment later, and allowed him to take her hand, for which he was glad. She had been strange with him ever since her vision, angry and quiet. He understood, to a degree – what she had seen was disturbing, and he shared her trepidation over whether it would come to be, and how. An indication of him resorting to his back-up plan? Or of Bel succeeding in drawing him in, using the Stone to turn him into nothing more than the odd thought here and there?

After an hour or so of walking in silence, Losara judged that they were far enough from the fort to use magic without being sensed. Hold , he sent out, and all drew to a stop. We head west , he continued, with all possible haste.

Mages began to channel and, shadows in the night, speed west. The soldiers were taken care of by the more powerful, and Roma helped boost Tyrellan along. Losara lifted off the ground with Lalenda and, hand in hand, they flew over the departing mass.

‘Look at that,’ said Lalenda, and he followed her gaze. The shadowmander had no problem keeping up with Tyrellan as he bounded across the plains next to Roma. ‘Such a powerful weapon you have created, my lord.’

‘It has its flaws,’ said Losara.

‘Surely,’ she said, ‘it will be enough. You will not need to try the other way.’

‘I hope not, my love. I really do.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Let us see how we fare at the Shining Mines.’

Hither and Thither

Bel moved through the camp in the early morning. Fires were being stamped out and horses loaded as the soldiers made ready to ride to Brahl. Of the wounded, most could now ride, or at least suffer being strapped to horses’ backs. Only a few had been beyond saving by Nicha’s mages, and these now rested in the ground.

As he glanced around for Jaya, he saw a scout gallop into camp at full pelt and drop from his horse before Nicha. The man seemed excited and, as he spoke, Nicha glanced over to Bel. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she gestured at him to approach. He did so, arriving as the scout departed.

‘What’s happened?’ he said.

‘You wished to be informed if there was any change at Holdwith?’

‘Indeed.’

‘The scouts report no one mans the walls this morning. Not only that, but there’s no sound from within. And the south gate is lying open.’

Bel experienced a sinking feeling. ‘He’s gone.’

‘Yes. It seems the shadow has abandoned Holdwith.’

‘Any sign of the mander?’

‘None.’

Bel rubbed his eyes. So Losara had snuck away in the night, almost certainly to join his army – the army that was closer to the Shining Mines than Brahl was. Yesterday Nicha had voiced her hope that the soldiers already stationed at the Mines would be able to hold off the enemy until the rest of the Kainordan forces arrived, but if Losara had the mander in tow, Bel feared the worst. He had been hoping that the creature was somehow tied to Holdwith, because it had not been able to cross a kind of invisible line when last he had faced it. Now he knew it must be mobile somehow, and Losara had taken it …and there was only one way he could think of to ward it off.

‘What do you wish to do?’ said Nicha.

Bel made a snap decision. ‘The rest of you join Brahl as planned,’ he said. ‘As for me, I will require your fastest horse, and whichever mage is best at increasing its speed.’

Nicha looked surprised. ‘You will not come with us?’

‘No,’ said Bel, and glanced around. Where was Jaya? Then he spotted her, strapping her pack onto a horse. ‘Be quick, Nicha,’ he said. ‘There’s no time to lose.’

Without waiting for her reply he headed to Jaya, who smiled at him until she saw his expression.

‘What is it?’

‘Losara has gone to his army, with his creature.’

‘Oh,’ she said, seeming confused by the implications.

‘I must ride straightaway to the Mines. I’m sorry, Jaya, but you cannot join me on this leg.’

‘What?’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘Because I must be as swift as I can, and any more horses, and mages …well, it’s just more variables, and variables might slow me down. I know you will fight me on this, but Jaya, please, I have no time.’

She seemed to struggle with something interior, then an odd expression took over her face. ‘Very well,’ she said.

Bel was surprised by her acceptance, but glad he did not have to argue. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Go with the others to Brahl, and Arkus willing I shall see you soon.’

‘Be careful,’ she said softly, and stepped closer to embrace him. For a moment he allowed himself to hold her, savouring the warmth of her body. He felt like a feather in the eye of the storm, still for a moment, yet about to be swept away.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

‘Stand in Losara’s way.’

‘This is Querrus,’ came Nicha’s voice. She stood with a young man, dressed in red lightfist robes. He was lean and muscular, with bright blue eyes and a shorn head.

‘Greetings Blade Bel,’ he said, and bowed. ‘An honour to do you service.’

‘I see you’ve no hair to weigh you down,’ said Bel. ‘Truth be told, I have sometimes considered the same.’

Querrus grinned. ‘Hair gets caught in the wind. It only impedes.’

‘My kind of mage,’ said Bel. ‘And the horse?’

‘Right this way,’ replied Querrus, holding out a hand.

One last time Bel turned to Jaya, clasped her forearms. ‘I will see you soon.’

She nodded, still seeming unsure about whether to insist on coming or not, but Bel did not intend to give her the chance to reconsider.

‘Come!’ he said. ‘We may already be too late.’

Querrus led the way to a brown plains mare, dappled with white splotches, and as lean as he was. ‘This is Taritha,’ he said. ‘We’ve known each other only a year, but together we’ve travelled great distances.’

‘Where is it best for me to sit?’ said Bel.

‘Up front. You can steer her, and I can concentrate on lending her speed.’

Bel swung himself up into the saddle, then reached down a hand to Querrus. Jaya appeared by his leg with his pack.

‘Do you want to take this?’ she said.

‘Strap it quickly,’ said Bel, more brusquely than he intended, and she set about strapping it to the horse.

‘Ready?’ said Querrus.

In answer Bel slapped down the reins, and Taritha obediently broke into a canter. They moved out of the camp, attracting curious glances, and as soon as they were clear of the trees Bel urged the mare into a gallop.

‘All right,’ came Querrus’s voice in his ear, ‘be prepared for a jolt.’

Bel jerked in his seat as suddenly Taritha was moving unnaturally fast. The plains opened up before them, wide and dusty, and soon the wind was whistling in his ears, every step the horse took seeming to cover greater distance. Bel felt a surge of hope – he had been delivered excellent allies.

‘How long to the Mines?’ he called out.

‘Maybe a day, if we can sustain our current pace!’

‘And can we?’

‘It will be a sizeable drain on my power – I just might not be much good to you at the other end.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Bel. ‘Just get us there.’

•

As the wind swept back his golden hair, Fahren kept power streaming into his steed, spurring her to chew up the leagues more swiftly. He could sense her joy, helped by his mental reassurances that all was well, that she should enjoy the ground flashing past at a greater pace than she had ever experienced before. He steered her wide to avoid Drel Forest on the right, seeking to keep to open plains, while lamenting that he could not share her happiness – for both the aim of his journey and his companion kept him from that. Battu rode by his side, more careless of his horse’s feelings, less comforting. Fahren had, more than once, stolen over to the beast’s mind to whisper that there was no need to be afraid. If Battu sensed him doing it, he made no mention. The once-dark lord of Fenvarrow was surely distracted, for the place they headed towards must be the birthplace of his nightmares …and yet it was testimony to Battu’s newfound loyalty that he did not complain, instead facing the journey with steely determination. Fahren took Battu’s presence as a sign that fate was on their side, despite the fact that he did not entirely trust the man, and doubted that he ever would. It had been with some trepidation that he’d ordered his guards to remain behind in the Open Halls, but more horses would only slow them. The need for haste was extreme enough to warrant the risk, for in his mind’s eye Fahren could already see a huge shadowmander climbing the walls of the Open Halls. The light and fire that converged upon it were no more a hindrance than a barrage of promises, and too easily the creature penetrated their stronghold, destroying that which had stood untarnished by the shadow for a thousand years.

Still, he wondered if he had made a mistake. Could he really sleep soundly at night, with only Battu for company? Surely the man would not come this far, through so much, only to turn against him now? But that , he thought, is bestowing upon Battu a level of reasonability that he does not possess.

He found himself subtly letting his senses travel, to see if he could catch a glimmer of Battu’s thoughts. Like the mental equivalent of a breeze, he stole lightly over Battu’s mind. As he did a dark shape emerged, huge and hulking, turning to display the full length of its body, watching Fahren with pit-black eyes. He withdrew immediately, concerned that Battu would know his defences had been tested …and sure enough his companion’s face revealed a sort of harsh amusement.

‘My Throne,’ he said, ‘you know I do not mind allowing you into my head. In fact, if you recall, it was the very offer I gave to convince you of my sincere submission to your cause. However, it might be prudent to warn me next time before you attempt it. That way I can drop my more dangerous defences.’

Fahren, inexplicably, felt embarrassed. Was it the willingness with which Battu offered up his most vulnerable place, or simply that he had been caught when he’d sought to go undiscovered?

‘My apologies, Battu,’ he said. ‘It was not necessary, nor well done.’

Battu nodded, and returned his gaze to the fields ahead.

Sharks, through and through him , thought Fahren. As one who often spoke to animals, or rode along in their minds, he recognised the perils of getting too caught up, too entwined. Battu had, at some stage in his life, been touched by sharks, and had carried away something of them with him. Did he even know it? Fahren could, he supposed, offer to journey into Battu’s mind and pull loose some of the foreign threads, to rid him of the influences on his thoughts …but quickly he decided against it. Who knew what effect such healing might have? Maybe it would remove Battu’s hunting instinct, that propensity to put his own hungers before everything else. Maybe, once cured, Battu would no longer burn for revenge …and what good would he be to Fahren then?

•

On the horizon Losara saw his army, and knew a moment of awe at its greatness. Multitudes marched over the border into the sunlight, which glinted off armour and thousands of swords. Battalions of Arabodedas, Vorthargs and goblins tramped up clouds of dust, while Graka and Mire Pixies whirled in the sky. He caught sight of Mireforms, a small group of ten or so bobbing along on their bandy legs, given a wide berth by others – it seemed that his chastisement of Eldew had not stopped them from coming.

Strangely, the sight of such a force made him feel vulnerable – Fenvarrow had been emptied to create it, the strength of his people wholly concentrated in one place. If they were defeated, Fenvarrow would be severely and irretrievably crippled.

Well , he thought, best make sure we’re not defeated. Tyrellan , he sent to the First Slave, who was still running along somewhere below.

Yes, lord?

How long will it take for our army to reach the Mines?

Maybe a day and a half from here.

It was enough to get there before the Kainordans, even though not by much.

I aim to speed up the process , he sent. I would like to get there by dusk.

Today, my lord?

Today.

Very good.

It was humbling that the First Slave received his ambitious and perhaps unachievable plan with such calm and faithful acceptance.

Roma , he sent.

At your command.

Do you think you could lift a catapult or two?

There was a slight pause. Maybe one, my lord, if it is to travel some distance.

I imagine they are what slows us the most. If we are to reach the Mines before dusk, they will have to be levitated.

As you wish. I will think on how best to achieve it. Perhaps some groups working together …

I leave it to you. And I will want all other mages concentrating on speeding up the army.

Another slight pause. That might deplete them by the time we reach the Mines.

Do not exhaust them, just have them do what they can. If we can gain even a few leagues, it may be enough.

But why, my lord? The Kainordan force will not beat us to the Mines even at a normal pace.

It is not them I fear .

As Losara reached the edge of the army, his group began to peel off into the masses. He landed with Lalenda next to a catapult with huge wheels slowly turning, hauled by muscle-bound Arabodedas straining on ropes. They glanced at him in surprise, and bowed their heads.

‘You on the catapult,’ said Losara, ‘stand back.’

He reached out towards the machine, wrapping it in his power and, with a mental flex, hoisted it into the air. Soldiers ducked their heads as it floated over them.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘not too heavy.’

‘My lord,’ observed Lalenda, grinning proudly, ‘is sometimes a show-off.’

Losara turned his eyes to the north where, away across flat plains, on top of a hill, a grey blob stood on the horizon. The great fort around the Shining Mines, long coveted by Shadowdreamers before him, against which most had failed.

‘Time to change tradition,’ he said, and reached for another catapult.

Shadows on the Shining Mines

From the walls of the great fort, Gerent Galfin watched the sun setting behind the Cloudy blight in the sky to the south. Dusk was upon them, and with resigned certainty he knew that the Shadowdreamer meant to keep coming, and attack them in the dark.

Less than a league from the base of the hill, the horde crawled onwards, an army larger than he had ever seen. Despite the solidness of his walls, and the ten thousand or so soldiers he had with him, he could not help but hope that Brahl was closer than reports indicated. Solid or not, he wondered how long the walls would last against the might of all Fenvarrow.

Exorcise such doubt , he told himself. It would not serve him, or those who followed him. When I look these bastards in the eye and tell them they’re not welcome, I mean to do it without a quaver in my voice.

He glanced to his side, at the hundreds of bows and lightfists standing ready. How young so many of them were, how untried, for there had not been a real battle with Fenvarrow in years. As for Galfin, he could recall all too vividly the last time a Shadowdreamer had marched on the Mines, when he had been a young soldier himself, and a man named Corlas Corinas had led them out to face the wrath of Battu. The unexpected abandonment of the fort had won them the day, and cemented Corlas’s name into legend. Although Galfin would have liked to believe he could triumph here as well, somehow it did not seem his place. The blue-haired men were the ones destined to finish this fight, and maybe the best he could hope for was holding back the shadow an extra moment or two – and making its forces pay dearly in the meantime. If there was a lesson to be taken from Corlas, it was the man’s fearlessness, and the way he had inspired those around him to fight with all their hearts.

‘They are coming within range, sir.’ His second, Commander Kalda, a woman of the same middle years as he, had been here the last time too – he was glad he wasn’t the only one who remembered.

‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘They are impatient, it seems.’ He could see the enemy’s catapults suspended in the air just above the ground, a surreal sight indeed. ‘The Shadowdreamer must have been eager to arrive with the coming of night.’

‘The move will have cost his mages energy,’ she said.

‘We can certainly hope so. Are our own catapults ready?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He looked down into the fort. The majority of his soldiers waited in rows, along which rode cerepans, taskmasters and phalanx commanders. All were ready for what approached, and there was a rare quiet, the air alive with tension. In the midst of the soldiers was a flat area, where the ropes of their own catapults strained taut, ready to unleash large chunks of stone. Some of them had originally been Battu’s, left behind when he’d retreated all those years ago, and it seemed fitting that they would now be used against Fenvarrow. Galfin had assigned lightfists to each – the mages would be able to levitate rocks onto the catapults from their stockpile more quickly than soldiers could carry them. He meant to fill the sky with stone.

The forefront of the shadow army ground to a stop just out of arrow range. As the rest caught up, they began to spread out in a long line, encircling the entire southward side of the fort. Galfin felt as if he was staring into a great abyss that threatened to crash in and swallow him.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘this should be interesting.’

Kalda stared at her hand and clicked her fingers.

Galfin frowned. ‘Some kind of good luck thing?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I do it when there’s something coming that …well …’

‘You wish there wasn’t?’

‘Aye. After whatever it is has been dealt with, I look at my hand and click my fingers again.’

‘Why?

‘Because then it’s like no time has passed at all.’

Galfin gave a grim smile.

The sun was almost gone, and runners moved around the fort lighting torches. Mages on the walls began to conjure glowing beacons, which floated off like clouds, illuminating the ground below. The moon seemed to shine more brightly than usual, and Galfin wondered if Arkus was watching over them. The combined light sources were no substitute for daytime, but at least he could see that the enemy’s catapults were finally setting down.

‘I look forward to that second click,’ he said. Then he nodded out towards the enemy. ‘I’d say that’s close enough.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Galfin took a deep breath, feeling the many sets of eyes that were focused upon him …and bellowed into the fort. ‘Catapults ready?’

Cries in the affirmative answered.

‘Begin the barrage!’

There was a series of swishing noises as ropes were released and the first wave of stones sailed into the air. They cleared the walls and, as the stones reached their apex, for a moment seemed to hang lazily, catching the moonlight as they turned …then plummeted towards the ground.

Glimmers of blue energy showed in the front lines of the shadow army. Large blue bolts, conjured by more than one shadow mage, went hurtling up to meet the rocks. There were explosions in the sky as they were blasted to pieces, but not to dust. Shards of rock still fell, not as catastrophically perhaps, but enough to result in cries of pain and skulls smashed inside helmets. A couple of the boulders were missed entirely and fell unhindered upon lines of enemies. Meanwhile lightfists were working fast, levitating rocks off a great pile. As soon as they were set down in position, a soldier would release the rope and off the boulder would soar. They were not all firing at the same time, as the various teams fell quickly out of sync, but that was what Galfin wanted – a pelting that was constant, yet unpredictable.

‘That’s the thing about living in a mine!’ he shouted at the shadow army. ‘Always got a lot of rocks!’

Laughter came from his soldiers, a sound that gave him strength.

‘Lightfists!’ he called. ‘Make ready – they seek to hurl some of their own!’

Taskmasters repeated his orders along the lines. As the Fenvarrow catapults unleashed a wave, lightfists were already channelling bolts, which shot out to meet the oncoming rocks with a series of whump noises, making them shudder in the air and sending them falling back to earth, to land short of the fort. There they hit the hill and rolled back down with gathering speed. The shadow front lines scattered to avoid them, exposing those behind to be crushed.

‘Did you think it would be easy?’ Galfin yelled, and cheers of defiance rose from his soldiers. More boulders flew over his head, one of them even smashing into another that was only just rising from an enemy catapult, showering fragments on those who had unleashed it.

Then, out of the front lines, something moved that caught his attention. Long and sleek, hard to make out in the dark, it wound its way like some kind of enormous lizard. Behind it followed a group, led by …yes, a man with blue hair. He was accompanied by a goblin, and a group of mages conjuring a mighty shadow ward to protect them. The creature took off suddenly, up the slope towards the fort. It stopped about halfway up, then ran along a line parallel to the walls, as if it dared not come any closer.

‘Lightfists!’ shouted Galfin. ‘Let’s have some spells on that monster!’

In answer more bolts went forth, and fireballs, and streams of lava, and glowing orbs. The creature froze to cock its head curiously at the approaching storm of light and fire. The first lava stream hit its back and sizzled over it, and the creature gave its tail a flick. Light bolts smacked into it, not even rocking it on its feet. A fireball burst across its hindquarters, leaving a streak that quickly faded.

‘What is that thing?’ muttered Galfin.

Behind the creature, the Shadowdreamer and his entourage were making their way up the hill. As they did the creature came further forward, maintaining its distance from them and matching their speed.

‘As if it’s tethered to them,’ observed Kalda, and Galfin realised she might be right.

‘Then that’s who we need to stop,’ he said. ‘Lightfists! Attack the dreamer!’

As the order travelled down the line, the barrage of spells realigned from the creature to the blue-haired man. In response the dark lord’s mages expanded their ward, which wobbled as light spells began to slam against it. A rock fell from the sky towards the group, and Galfin saw the Shadowdreamer raise a hand. The rock stopped suddenly in the air as if caught, and Galfin felt awed by the power on display. Then the dreamer brought his hand forward, and the rock came rushing towards Galfin with a speed not born of any catapult.

‘Down!’ he shouted and dived, dragging Kalda with him. The wall where he’d been watching exploded, spraying him with chips.

‘Graka!’ he heard someone shout, and pulled himself to his feet. Sure enough, a great flock of the stony creatures was climbing into the sky.

‘Time to put our special recruits to work,’ he said. ‘Send forth the Zyvanix!’

He hoped the dreamer had not expected they’d have a swarm of the wasps on hand here. Indeed, Galfin had been grateful when they’d arrived, sent ahead from the main army by Brahl several days ago – not exactly a secret weapon, but one which the enemy may not have thought of. A great buzzing sounded as Zyvanix rose inside the fort, wielding their distinctive stinger-like spears and barbed arrows. They were faster than the Graka, and would meet them somewhere high above before they ever managed to get over the fort.

The dreamer was now halfway up the hill, his creature almost touching the fort’s base. As the light spells continued to pour down, one of the dreamer’s mages cried out and fell thrashing, on fire. The others ignored him, labouring on slowly under the bombardment. Meanwhile the creature reached the wall, and began to climb.

‘Bows,’ Galfin shouted, ‘kill that thing!’

Arrows pelted down, bouncing off the creature as it clawed its way upward. What manner of beast is it , he thought, that cannot be harmed by magic or steel?

Looking at the distance between the creature and the dreamer, he guessed that once the dreamer made it to the base of the fort, the creature would reach the top of the walls. They needed to halt the dreamer.

‘All bows on the dreamer!’ he shouted, frustrated with himself that he kept changing targets. ‘All lightfists!’

The air grew thick with projectiles, fireballs setting arrows aflame, light orbs bouncing off each other. The ground around the dreamer’s ward was instantly peppered with smoking shafts, and tracks in the dust left by streams of lava turned aside. Another shadow mage fell, and Galfin saw the dreamer himself raise his hands to strengthen the ward, turning back the tide of flashing metal and light. Silently the creature crawled higher up the wall, and Galfin felt his stomach sink. It had started so promisingly, but what could he do against such fell magic?

With his lightfists distracted, enemy stones were beginning to make the fort quake. Some hit the walls while others made it over, and he heard soldiers shouting and things smashing. All at once, the rest of the shadow army began to charge. Galfin felt overwhelmed – had they ever really had a chance? All he’d needed to do was hold back the shadow for a day, maybe two …and they weren’t even going to last the night.

Get yourself together, man. At the very least we can make them pay for what they take.

‘Bows!’ he shouted. ‘Ignore the damn dreamer! Take aim at their front lines!’

The cascade of arrows turned outwards in all directions. As the shadow swarmed up the hill, their soldiers began to fall. However, with the bows’ attentions elsewhere, the dreamer made better progress, arriving quickly at the base of the fort. As he did, the creature clambered up the last stretch of wall, over the side …and was amongst them.

‘Fall back!’ screamed Galfin, but it was too late.

The creature seized a man in its jaws and shook him violently. Others around it drew their swords, and one gallant bow screamed furiously as she swung with all her might at the creature’s hind leg. Her blade ricocheted as if meeting the hardest iron, with enough force that it almost flew from her hands. The creature dropped the limp body, and turned its empty eyes almost casually over its shoulder to look at her. Then it raised the leg she had tried to sever, and kicked her away, over the side.

Other bows backed away, frantically notching arrows and sending them whistling uselessly at the creature. Lightfists also shot forth spells, though each crackled just as impotently against the creature as the last. Its head turned this way and that, as if deciding what to attack next. Spoilt for choice , Galfin thought grimly.

Suddenly it surged away from him, moving in the opposite direction along the wall, its tail swinging wildly behind it. The narrow width of the space meant it hardly even needed to bite or claw – rushing along was enough to send soldiers flying over the edge, or squash them against stone or grind them underfoot. Cries of pain and terror filled the night as bodies tumbled over the walls, and the flood of arrows fired at the approaching horde quickly dried up.

‘Into the fort!’ yelled Galfin, but he heard no taskmasters take up the call. He spun to the soldiers immediately around him, who were staring at him wide-eyed. ‘You heard me! In!’

He pushed a young bow towards the stairs and the man stumbled, then fled. Others followed.

‘Sir,’ said Kalda, a tremor in her voice. Galfin followed her eyes.

The creature had reached the far end of the wall, and was now turning around. Between them, where moments ago hundreds of soldiers had stood, the stone was slick with blood and pulp. Galfin could barely comprehend that so many had been lost in such a short time. It was appalling, and it made his heart hot in his chest. Snarling, he reached for his sword, but felt Kalda’s hand on his own.

‘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.

Aftermath

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.

Behind Bel, hidden in a copse of half-dead trees, Sarshan and Querrus slumbered. Taritha whinnied softly and Querrus stirred, his eyes blinking open.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Fell asleep?’

‘You’d had a long day,’ said Bel.

Querrus rose to tend to Taritha, gently apologising for neglecting her the night before. Meanwhile Bel saw the mander appear out of the distant escape tunnel, and creep forward as if ready to pounce. Soldiers moved aside wherever it went – Bel could imagine that such a creature would be intimidating even if it was on your side.

Dawn became day, and a bright one at that. He wondered how uncomfortable the shadow army was on the baking plains. The sun beating down must seem like the eye of Arkus, a constant reminder that this was not their home.

‘Are you sweating?’ Bel muttered. ‘Most of you bastards have never seen the naked sun before. I’d warrant you’ve never sweated so much in your lives.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Querrus, arriving next to him. ‘Anything that undermines their morale is only good for us.’

A great roar sounded from the black masses, and they began to march. Querrus clicked his tongue, but neither of them said what the other was thinking – it did not look as if there was any problem with the shadow army’s morale.

‘Look,’ said Querrus. ‘Does it seem to you that the Cloud is closer today?’

Bel considered the mountainous grey vapour to the south. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘It is hard to say from here.’

‘I think it is,’ said Querrus. ‘I think it creeps to cover the Mines.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Bel. ‘It will not creep long.’

A cool kind of anger was with him this day. He felt together, in control. Strange, considering the situation. Or maybe he was exactly where he needed to be.

A group of Arabodedas hauling the catapults began to fall behind the rest. Sarshan had spoken of how the Shadowdreamer had arrived with the machines levitating, yet now he seemed content to let them trail behind.

Hmm , thought Bel. So you do not speed them this time, Losara. Are you giving your mages time to regain their strength slowly in the sun? Or was it so easy for you to take the Mines with your fell creature that you do not fear to be without them?

‘North they head, by the looks,’ said Querrus. ‘Maybe towards Jeddies?’

‘I think so.’

‘I’ve heard it said that Vorthargs and Mireforms are not able to survive long without water.’

‘Aye,’ said Bel. ‘Following the river makes sense, then.’ He turned away. ‘Sarshan?’

The woman sat up, wiping sleep from her eyes. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘Take word to Brahl – the dreamer moves towards Jeddies.’

She rose smoothly to her feet.

‘Tell him to come with all possible haste. I shall meet him a league south of the town.’

‘But what if the shadow reaches Jeddies first?’

Bel held her gaze for a moment. ‘It won’t,’ he said.

Looking a tad uncertain about the message she carried, Sarshan swung herself up on her horse and led it out of the copse. As she took off, Bel wondered if she would be spotted, perhaps by Graka in the air. Well, no matter. They were far enough away here that she should be safe.

‘So,’ said Querrus, ‘I take it you have some kind of plan?’

Bel put his finger to his neck and ran it under the chain of black gold, flipping the Stone of Evenings Mild out from under his shirt.

‘Do you know what this is?’ he said.

•

They set out, giving the shadow a wide berth. Querrus lent Taritha some speed, but it was not the frantic pelting of the day before. They were still leagues from Jeddies, more than enough time to get there ahead of the slow-moving shadow army. Soon the patrolling Graka were but dots in the skies behind, and the horde on the ground had disappeared from view. Once or twice they spied Kainordan scouts, and even a far-reaching patrol. Something floating high above could have been a Zyvanix, but Bel wasn’t sure. It seemed that Brahl was maintaining a many-threaded web, keeping close watch on the enemy’s progress.

As they went, the dusty plains were replaced by more fertile ground. Soon there was plush grass underfoot, and along the Nyul’ya trees grew like a fence, and insects chirped in the long grasses.

‘We should let Taritha graze a while,’ said Querrus.

‘Certainly,’ agreed Bel. ‘There’s no rush.’

He brought her to a stop, and they got off to stretch their legs. Taritha put her head down gratefully and set to work munching.

‘Well,’ said Querrus, ‘would you look at that.’

By the river was a little hut, the chimney smoking. A path led down from it onto a short pier, from which a man was fishing.

‘Do you think he knows that all Fenvarrow is about to knock on his door?’ said Querrus.

Bel felt himself going blank. It was an annoying interruption to the feeling of being in control. Querrus looked at him oddly – some response was required, he knew. He forced himself to speak.

‘I suppose not,’ he said.

‘We should go and warn him.’

Ah yes, that was the right thing to do. Why not?

‘Of course,’ he said.

As they moved towards the man, Bel realised they had left Taritha untethered.

‘Should we not tie her up?’

‘I don’t think she’d like that,’ said Querrus, and tapped his head. ‘So she tells me.’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Bel. Strange to think of the connection between the mage and his horse, to which Bel was not privy. He hadn’t considered it at all, even though he knew some mages were skilled at communing with animals. ‘How is she?’ he asked.

‘She’s fine,’ said Querrus. ‘I thought she might be crotchety about carrying the both of us, but she’s a strong one, and it has barely crossed her mind.’

‘Well, you’re quite light,’ said Bel, then checked to see if he’d offended.

‘Aye,’ said Querrus, not seeming to mind at all. ‘And she enjoys running around.’

‘Does she know …well …what’s going on?’

‘No, not really. I could try to make her understand, but why burden her?’

Bel nodded.

The fisherman noticed them approaching, and set down his pole.

Like we’re about to burden this fellow , thought Bel.

Morningbridge

Fahren had journeyed here once before, though he hadn’t gone all the way to the path’s end. It was never wise to attract a god’s attention frivolously, and that last trip had been in his youth, on the simple business of seeing the wonder of the Morningbridge Peaks, days that seemed long ago now.

‘And they are,’ he muttered, as he huffed his way upwards.

They were traversing a narrow stair, unevenly cut into red mountain rock. In the late afternoon the place was still torrid, the air wavering above parched stones. To their left gaped Morningbridge Valley, a deep bowl filled with sand, scorpions and skittering beetles. Ringing it on all sides were mountains like the one they climbed, reaching skywards with sharp-headed peaks, as if a giant crown had fallen from the heavens to be settled on by red dirt. Opposite them, across the valley, were the two tallest mountains, the Twin Sceptres, creating a deep V where they met. Beyond them was the Shallow Sea, and sunrise.

Ahead, Battu soldiered on grimly. How he must hate being here, thought Fahren, in Kainordas’s most holy of places, not to mention its hottest …yet here he was. It grew harder each day to doubt the man’s resolve.

‘Do you enjoy this?’ said Battu, as if in response to his thoughts, waving a dark-sleeved hand in a sweeping gesture that encompassed everything they saw. ‘This stifling heat? Is it pleasurable to your kind?’

‘No,’ said Fahren. ‘Perhaps you will draw comfort from knowing that I think it’s much too hot.’

Battu grunted, and slumped down on a rock by the side of the stair. He pulled off a boot with some difficulty, for sweat made it stick to his skin, and knocked out a pebble. Usually the man preferred to be barefoot, but Fahren had warned him not to come so here, where the ground could cook you from the feet up.

‘Come, Battu. We have almost reached the bridge.’

Slowly, begrudgingly, Battu slid his boot back on.

A little further up they came to a small plateau on the side of the mountain where the stair ended. At its edge the next mountainside loomed past but a stone’s throw away, though between was a drop of almost half a league. Overlooking the valley stood a pair of posts, from which rope was tied back to stakes in the ground – all of which proved, on closer inspection, to be carved from stone. It looked like the way onto a bridge, yet no bridge hung over the empty space.

‘This is it?’ said Battu, a touch of condemnation in his voice.

‘It is. Not what you expected?’

‘It’s a little on the modest side. But I suppose that is my own prejudice – I always expect the light to be garish, colourful …vulgar. To find the gateway to Arkus looking like this …well …’ He scowled. ‘It puts me in mind of my own throne room. Nothing fancy, just what’s needed.’

‘Do not fear,’ said Fahren. ‘When the bridge appears, nothing extra is needed to awe.’

Battu’s scowl deepened.

Afternoon began to relinquish its grasp, the harshness in the air losing its edge. Fahren was uneasy, for there was nothing to do but hunker down and wait for night to pass in each other’s company. He wondered if Arkus would be angry with him for bringing Battu to his doorstep – but then it was the god himself who had ordered a plan involving the use of a shadow mage. And here, of all places, Battu would surely not attempt anything nefarious. Maybe it was not Battu who worried him most greatly; maybe it was wondering if, at sunrise the next morning, Arkus would hear him at all.

‘So,’ said Battu, ‘we wait?’

‘Yes.’

Each of them had a small pack, the bulk of their supplies having been left at the base of the stair with the horses. Some food and a bedroll was all that Fahren had brought, so it was not long before he was set up for the night. The roll was neither large nor plush, and did little to disguise the hardness of the stone beneath. Sitting on his own roll, Battu wasted no time in removing his boots, and setting them aside. They steamed faintly.

‘Are you going to insist upon a fire?’ he asked, eyeing the darkening sky.

‘No,’ said Fahren. There was nothing to cook, no wood, and certainly no need for extra warmth. Light was the only thing, and Fahren could deal with that easily enough. He waved a hand and conjured a small orb – nothing too bright, for he found himself inexplicably considering Battu’s comfort – and placed it in a crevice of the cliff face not far away. Meanwhile Battu fished around in his pack for dried meat and fruit, which he began to chew on loudly. Supposing there was not much else to do, Fahren lowered himself onto crossed legs and started to eat also. Battu, busily working a shred of something from his tooth with a jagged nail, considered him with amusement in his eye.

‘What cause for mirth?’ said Fahren stiffly.

Battu smacked his lips. ‘Look at us,’ he said. ‘Two old enemies, once thought the greatest mages in the land, sitting together upon a bare mountain, sharing hard food at the edge of the world.’

Strangely, Fahren felt a touch of kindredness. For all their differences, they’d both had business in shaping the flow of history to this point. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘I suppose neither of us ever guessed this moment would lie in our future.’

‘If we had,’ said Battu, ‘perhaps we would not be here.’

The sun was gone, on the way to wherever it went. Somewhere came the cry of a bird, though whether it was setting out for the night or returning home to roost, Fahren wasn’t sure. Perhaps if Battu hadn’t been here he would have let his mind wander and find out, but as it was he preferred to remain contained.

‘Well,’ said Battu, ‘I’m tired. Unless I am needed for anything …’

‘No. There is nothing to do save wait for the dawn.’

Fahren found he was tired too – their journey here had been swift, their climb up the stair long, and both conspired to make his bones ache. He finished the plum he’d been eating and tossed the pip over the edge. A waste, perhaps, for if it did not crack from the fall, no tree would ever sprout from the barren rocks, the hot sands.

Can’t worry about every last little thing.

He lay down to stare up at a sky full of stars. The moon was bright, and he mentally snuffed out his glowing orb. He could already feel the unyielding ground taking its toll on his old joints.

He sensed Battu working magic and was instantly wary. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Just encouraging some shadows from the cracks,’ said Battu. ‘To make for a softer reclining.’ Around Battu’s bedroll, shadows spilled from the stone and wound together to create a kind of dark mattress, raising him slightly. ‘Do you object? I could do the same for you, if you wish.’

Fahren tensed as, beneath him, velvet darkness issued up. It was giving but alien, like lying atop the sea without breaking the surface. Although he felt it was wrong to accept shadow magic, especially here of all places, he had to admit it was a vast improvement.

‘What do you think, oh Throne?’ said Battu. ‘Since I’m at your beck and call, you may as well benefit from my talents. A comfortable night will serve us both well.’

‘A comfortable night in the caress of the shadow?’ said Fahren. ‘Remember who you are talking to.’

Battu’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight. ‘Of course I understand if you must inflexibly adhere to the ways of your folk,’ he said. ‘But if I can cope with the sun blazing upon my pallid brow, perhaps you can see your way to enduring a good night’s sleep.’

Odd to feel that such an offer was a test of character, thought Fahren. Perhaps he was being too precious. He let himself relax upon the shifting shadows, felt them mould to the contours of his body. It was hard to refuse them.

‘Good night, Battu,’ he said.

The dark mage chuckled.

Soon Fahren was listening to the man’s snores, lent extra volume by the way they bounced off the sheer slopes around them.

No , he thought, settling back into his bed of shadows on Arkus’s doorstep. Not a future I would have foreseen.

•

Fahren awoke to a lightening sky and sat up, worried. A quick glance towards the Twin Sceptres brought relief that he had not overslept, for the sun had not yet poked its head out from beyond the horizon. As he took in his dark resting place, he felt a touch of guilt. Quickly he rose, and with a wave dispersed the shadows that had made his bed. The move brought Battu jolting awake.

‘Gracious indeed, oh Throne,’ he grumbled. ‘A rude awakening in repayment for fitless slumber.’

‘Rouse yourself,’ snapped Fahren. ‘Sunrise comes.’

‘Ah.’ Battu’s eyes shifted uneasily to the bridge. ‘Yes.’

Fahren led the way towards it, arriving to stand between the two stone posts. Before him the valley lay immense, red stone and sand dull before dawn. At the bottom of the V between the Twin Sceptres he could just make out a smudge of ocean. Even as he watched, the water took on a brighter sheen, as the very first rays of light began to appear.

‘Do you think Arkus will be offended,’ said Battu, ‘if I wear my hood?’

‘If he is not offended enough by your presence to blast you to motes where you stand,’ said Fahren, ‘then I am sure he will not care a jot about your hood.’

Battu shot him an odd look, his hood hovering halfway up his neck. Then he let it fall, back from his uncovered head. Fahren raised an eyebrow at him.

‘It seems a shame,’ said Battu, ‘to travel so far, then not to see. Besides,’ he added, ‘perhaps, if I am to avoid a blasting, it would be best to look him in the eye.’

As the sun rose, its rays strengthened, finding their way across the valley to the ledge where the two mages waited. Here was the first place the sun touched every morning, so shaped by the mountains that it seemed as if a bridge of light hung suspended high above the ground.

Arkus hear me , prayed Fahren. Please receive us.

He took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge. He was almost surprised when his foot found solidness, though of course he had been counting on it. Beneath he could see through to the valley floor, but he forced his eyes up, back to the glowing path that lay ahead, all the way to the sun. Battu hesitated between the posts, seeming stricken, and Fahren felt a moment of sympathy for him. This was probably the hardest thing he would ever do.

‘Come,’ Fahren said kindly. ‘There is nothing to fear. Arkus will forgive you.’

He held out a hand and, tentatively, Battu edged onto the bridge. Fahren placed his hand on Battu’s shoulder and together they moved forward, step by step, out over the valley.

‘How far do we go?’ said Battu. There was something of the child in him then, a quiet fear and awe that touched Fahren’s soul. He smiled.

‘I don’t know.’

A crackling voice came at them from all sides at once, making them flinch, booming from the mountainsides, echoing its own echoes …

‘Throne Fahren,’ said Arkus. ‘What do you come seeking?’

Fahren licked his lips. Even though he had spoken with the god before, it was still a daunting experience.

‘My …my great lord,’ he called, his own voice tiny in comparison. ‘I come seeking advice. The shadow marches –’

‘Yes,’ said Arkus, drowning him out, ‘and you bring one of them with you. Lord Battu, once the Shadowdreamer, sworn enemy of the light – step forward.’

Squinting fiercely, his eyes watering, Battu haltingly obeyed. As he did, it seemed as if the sun itself pulsed.

‘Oh great Arkus,’ called Battu hesitantly, ‘I come to serve you!’

‘You,’ said Arkus, rumbling tremors accompanying his words, ‘who have killed my people for the sake of conquest …and killed his own as well, a beast amongst beasts …who sought the blue-haired boy, so you might destroy me  …’ Rocks tumbled from cliff tops as the air reverberated with the god’s fury. ‘You, Lord Battu, stand upon the very bridge of morning and entreat me to find you chastened ?’

Battu flung his arms wide, forcing his eyes open, tears streaming as he stared into the sun. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, my lord.’

The mountains ceased their trembling.

‘Then receive my messenger,’ said Arkus.

A twitter sounded from above. A small bird swooped down and landed on Battu’s outstretched hand, transparent save for the glowing lines that defined its body, and its distinctive blood-drop eyes. Fahren felt his stomach lurch as he realised who it was.

‘Iassia,’ he murmured.

The weaver cocked his head. ‘The very same,’ he said. ‘And I must thank you for this brief respite from my cage. For reasons known best to himself, our judicious lord has granted me the honour of binding Battu to his word.’

Battu stared at the tiny creature in horror, his arm frozen as if a venomous spider sat upon it. ‘But I have already betrayed the Dark Gods,’ he said, ‘and can never return to their service. I have journeyed here, to the light’s most sacred place, forsaking all that I once was. Why,’ he shouted to the valley, ‘must I be bound?’

‘Because,’ said Iassia, ‘as your death comes creeping, your fear of what lies beyond may overpower all else. What does Assedrynn have in store for you, should you return to him? Perhaps he’ll lock you away forever in a place containing nothing at all but your own thoughts, only letting you out to serve as a reminder of what can happen when we lesser beings incur the ire of gods. Or perhaps he will be more creative.’

The sun seemed to flare behind him, and Iassia gave a fearful twitter.

‘Faced with such punishment,’ he continued, ‘who knows what changes of heart the future brings, when grand examples can already be seen in your past, Battu. And, since you are required to retain your shadowy aspect in order to be of use to us, we cannot simply “cure” you of it and welcome you to the fold. You remain a hugger in the hen house, and hence require muzzling.’

‘If you’re true to us as you say,’ added Fahren quietly, ‘then such a binding changes nothing.’ Internally he felt the hypocrisy in his words – there was no reason, however noble, why he would enjoy sacrificing his free will to a weaver.

Iassia’s eyes flicked to his. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Look whose tongue’s worn smooth as a river stone. Thank you for your help, Throne Fahren, but I do not need you to put gloss on my words.’

Fahren felt tangible hatred from the bird then, and he realised that Iassia’s return to Arkus had not changed him a bit. Why did the Sun God not simply destroy him, and return his soul to the Great Well?

‘But,’ said Battu slowly, ‘in order to bind me to your will, you have to make a deal with me.’

‘Correct,’ said Iassia.

‘Which means you must do something for me.’

‘And so I will. Now, submit.’

‘But –’

‘Submit, Battu! Open your mind!’

Battu’s eyes snapped shut, and he snarled. ‘Do it, then.’

Iassia took off to hover before Battu a moment, then tapped his brow with his beak. Battu flinched. As the bird set down on the bridge before them, Battu slowly opened his eyes. Fahren noticed that, as the sun continued to rise, the bridge was growing less defined.

Not much time left, and I have not even asked what I came here to.

‘It seems we have an accord,’ chirped Iassia. ‘And as your favour to me, you will help the light achieve victory over the shadow until your dying day.’

‘Only that?’ said Battu. ‘And what favour will you do for me, not yet agreed on, and unasked for?’

‘I shall remove the foreign threads from your mind,’ said Iassia.

‘What?’

‘Did you not know? You spent too long with the sharks, Battu.’

Iassia spread his wings low, and Battu gave a jerk. From out of his forehead emerged shadowy lines, twitching like worms. They floated away, fading from the world. Battu blinked, and frowned.

Fahren wondered at the wisdom of the move – such a strong influence the sharks had been, on Battu’s single and bloody-mindedness, on the way he focused on his goals. There would be time to ponder it later, however, for more important was his question.

‘Oh Arkus!’ he called. ‘The bridge fades with the coming of day. I beg you to hear me.’

‘Speak, Throne Fahren,’ said Arkus. ‘The weaver’s work is done. Return, Iassia, to your cage.’

The bird gave an alarmed chirp, and disappeared instantly.

‘The shadow marches,’ began Fahren, ‘with a terrible creature, not of this world. A shadowmander, many times larger than any seen in nature. None can stand against it, lord, for its scales turn back all spells and blades.’

‘You were right,’ said Arkus, ‘when you guessed it was legacy magic.’

‘But how?’

‘Built from the souls of our departing dead, captured when Holdwith fell.’

So that was Losara’s reason for striking Holdwith – yet even in comprehending why, Fahren could not imagine how such defilement was even possible. But with the bridge fading quickly underfoot, he had to hurry.

‘How can we defeat it?’

‘The shadowmander is composed of many legacies,’ answered Arkus, ‘but it started with one – Elessa Lanclara’s, cast upon the First Slave Tyrellan as her final revenge.’

Elessa? thought Fahren. In a dream he had seen the very moment she had died, cursing Tyrellan with her legacy spell of a beautiful butterfly – which meant that if the shadowmander had been built on top of it, it was also attached to the goblin.

‘We must kill the First Slave?’ Fahren ventured. At his words Battu seemed to come back to himself, taking immediate interest.

‘No,’ said Arkus. ‘The creature would still be tied to his remains, and they could be moved wherever Losara desires.’

‘Then what, oh lord?’

‘The cornerstone on which the creature is built must be reclaimed.’

‘But legacy magic is impossible to affect.’

‘For all,’ said Arkus, ‘save the one who cast it. She could draw it back into her soul, where it belongs.’

Fahren’s jaw dropped open.

‘The bridge fades,’ said Arkus, his voice growing softer. ‘Make haste – there is no easy way out of the valley, should one fall into it.’

With Battu reeling from the changes wrought so swiftly on his mind, and Fahren’s own distress at what he thought he was being ordered to do, they now both stood stunned as the bridge disappeared beneath them. Forcing himself into action, Fahren took Battu by the shoulder and steered him back towards the cliff.

‘Hurry,’ he said. ‘Move those feet, up and down.’

‘Don’t mollycoddle me,’ spat Battu, and shifted from Fahren’s grip to stride ahead. He reached the end of the bridge, stepped off and spun around.

‘They may have taken away the sharks,’ he snarled, ‘but I was an angry man long before any boat ride across the Black Sea!’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Fahren, wondering what it was Battu tried to hang onto. As he put his front foot on solid ground, the bridge underneath vanished for good. His rear foot plunged suddenly into empty air, and Battu shot out a hand to grab his arm. For a moment the two of them stared at each other, Fahren half suspended over the drop, Battu’s expression somewhat surprised …and then he hauled Fahren up over the edge, safely onto the mountain.

‘Thank you,’ Fahren breathed.

‘It isn’t I you need to thank,’ said Battu.

Eyes of the Wood

Corlas trod carefully across moss-covered rocks towards the scrying pool. Vyasinth crouched by its edge, her twig-like fingers splayed over the still water. She raised her earthen face as he approached, dark and smooth save for the dead leaves of her eyelids, the green pinpricks of her eyes suspended deep in shadowy sockets.

‘My Lady,’ he said. She did not respond, merely turned her gaze down once more, the mane of sticks about her head rustling. He fell silent as he saw for himself what was reflected on the pool’s surface.

A crow circled downwards, following others of its kind. He tried to work out what it descended upon, being unfamiliar with the land from such a perspective. Then the grey square beneath him resolved, and he realised what he was looking at.

‘Harvest time for the skies,’ muttered Vyasinth.

There was damage along the walls, which were covered by a great many conspicuous stains. As the crow dropped further, he saw there were also multiple breaches at ground level, and abundant footsteps in the coagulating dust. No one moved in the fort’s interior. The once-bustling town was quiet and still, with roofs caved in and rubble everywhere, the dead bountiful. The crow landed, others nearby squawking and hopping aside, and yet there was plenty for all.

‘The shadow has been here?’ Corlas knew the answer even as he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Vyasinth.

It was strange and unsettling for him to see this, for years ago he had saved the Mines from ruin …yet it seemed that ruin had found them anyway. He could not help but feel a tinge of loss at the grisly sight, despite the fact that he was no longer allied to the light.

‘It is natural, what you feel,’ said Vyasinth. ‘Do not worry. It does not diminish your commitment to our people.’

‘I know that,’ said Corlas. ‘I will never enjoy seeing soldiers dead. You imply I consider this a weakness in myself? I do not.’

Vyasinth’s sparks flickered gently. A small brown beetle wandered out of her hair, waggled its antennae and whirred away into the wood.

‘My boy did this,’ said Corlas, gesturing at the pool.

‘Last night,’ said the Lady. ‘Losara commands great magic, and the Kainordans did not stand against him long. I fear what will happen if they cannot subdue him, as they will have to if they’re to merge him with Bel.’

Corlas frowned. ‘It is strange,’ he said.

‘What is?’

‘Shadowdreamers have always wanted the Mines for the precious ore they produce, and the strategic value of the fort. Yet Losara has left no troops behind.’

‘He intends to sweep on, perhaps,’ said Vyasinth. ‘Keep his forces together, maintain his strength.’

She rose from her crouch and the water rippled, fragmenting the image.

‘I suppose,’ said Corlas, also rising, ‘we shall just have to pray that Bel finds a way to match him.’

Vyasinth laughed. ‘You pray then, Corlas, if it enlivens your spirit, and I shall hear,’ she said. ‘But who, I ask, can I pray to?’

•

As he made his way back to his clearing, Corlas began to pass the dwellings of his people – some opted to build their huts at ground level, and others preferred to be up in the trees. He came upon an enclave of makers going about their work – Sprites who were skilled at using the resources of the wood. One was pounding an animal hide with a rock, while behind him along branches hung the beginnings of tough leather jerkins that would soon go to outfit Corlas’s warriors. It was likely that the material all came from the same animal, for a maker could stretch a single skin over four or five garments, making the best use of the life that had been given. Two others, young women, chatted as they laid out leaves and bracken, which they would use to craft an odd and slightly lumpy brown–green cloth, the same kind that Corlas’s trousers were made from. When they saw him they ducked their heads shyly, and he nodded and smiled. It was a wonder that their old ways had been so easily recovered, he thought. When Vyasinth had awakened the Sprite blood in his veins, he’d remembered much of his people’s ancient past, and the scene before him was remarkably unchanged from how it might have appeared a thousand years ago.

He stilled as a familiar feeling stole over him, as if he had breathed a sweet scent that made him heady. A moment later her hand slipped around his waist.

‘There you are,’ she said. She held onto his belt and swung herself around in front of him, while he stood planted as firm as a tree trunk. He marvelled at the sight of her, as he so often did …her blond hair shining in a shaft of sunlight, her orange-flecked blue eyes as bright as jewels. They were the same eyes as those of his first wife, Mirrow, mother of his child – for Charla had been grown from a part of Mirrow’s soul reborn, though she did not remember her previous life.

‘Have you forgotten, my Lord of the Wood,’ she said, ‘that you requested your warriors assemble in the clearing at midday?’

‘Nay,’ said Corlas, and glanced at the sky. ‘Ah. Vyasinth summoned me. Evidently I have lost track of time.’

‘They are waiting.’ She leaned back further, increasing the pressure on his belt, and he chortled.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You may let go – I am no stubborn steer to be hauled about. I will come of my own accord.’

She released him with a grin, and together they went through the trees. Charla was energetic as usual, light on her feet, and hurled her spear ahead of them, into an approaching knothole. She was a warrior, that was for sure – something she did not have in common with Mirrow. Or maybe it was just that Mirrow had never needed to pick up arms.

‘Did the Lady have any important news?’ she asked.

‘It seems our …’ He bit his tongue, and cast her a sidelong glance. She plucked her spear from where it wavered, and inspected the tip. Our sons , he had been going to say. It was curious to think that, although his boys were actually older than her, in a way she was their mother. He knew they were not in agreement on that point, however, and had no wish to visit the argument again.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Naught to worry about,’ he said quickly.

Charla hefted the spear and flung it again. It missed the next knothole she’d been aiming at, sinking instead into the bark of the tree. She gave a small grimace.

‘They are not my sons,’ she said. ‘I never grew them in my belly, or suckled them at my breast, or even met them.’ She looked up at him with a hard expression.

‘No,’ he said.

‘I’m my own person,’ she told him sternly, just as Mirrow would have done, and he smiled.

‘What is that look for?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing.’

‘Likely,’ she said in a tone implying it was anything but.

‘At any rate,’ said Corlas, ‘from what the Lady has shown me, it seems Losara is on the march.’

The look in her eyes turned to interest. ‘Yes?’

‘Aye. And now he travels north …towards us.’

•

In the clearing outside his hut, Corlas walked along rows of Sprite warriors. They did not exactly stand to attention, like the more regimented soldiers of Kainordas, but that kind of conformity was not really the Sprite way. Perhaps he should have worried about it – without discipline, how could any commander hope to succeed? But he had learned that just because a warrior conversed with his neighbour, it did not mean he would not leap to obey orders once they were given.

Of the some five hundred Sprites who lived in the wood, he had selected an elite, mainly from the younger ones who had grown up never knowing any different way of life. Those chosen were strong in Old Magic, the lost magic, yet even with such power at their fingertips, there was little hope of tackling the enemy armies head-on. They were going to have to choose their moment well if they were to bring his son back to the wood, once he was remade. Quite how this would happen remained a worrying question, but the Lady Vyasinth did not seem overly concerned. She had a degree of faith in fate, it seemed, that Corlas was not sure he shared – awakened to his Sprite past he may be, but he still preferred plans. And yet she might be proven right, for Losara was now drawing closer to the wood, and where Losara went surely Bel would follow. Corlas needed them both nearby to have any chance of victory. The Sprites could carry their magic out of the wood for a short time only, and once they depleted all reserves there would be no way to replenish them except to return.

‘Look at you all,’ he announced, and to their credit all fell to hush. He let them wonder for a moment at the hard tone of his voice, let them think perhaps they’d displeased him, and stroked his green beard as if in deep consideration. Then he let a fierce grin break through.

‘I remember our people from the days of old,’ he said. ‘And we do not look so different. Our ancestors would be proud – you are Sprites through and through!’

Cheer replaced worry, and his warriors raised their spears. Several expulsions of magic flew skywards, violet spirals that expanded as they went.

Yes , he thought, nodding at beaming faces. We are right to reclaim our place in the world. And they will never see us coming.

Control

‘Here,’ said Bel, reining his horse to a stop – a mare he’d bought from the fisherman the previous day. The man had been understandably shocked to learn that an army of shadow was about to come calling, and had willingly offloaded the horse in exchange for gold, which he would no doubt need to build a new life – unless by some miracle Losara left his house intact.

Querrus drew up alongside on Taritha. Ahead was Jeddies, close enough to see the brightly coloured buildings of the sprawling river town, with smoke rising from many chimneys.

‘I’d say that’s about a league,’ Querrus agreed.

Bel surveyed their surrounds. To the west the Nyul’ya bustled by, twinkling between two lines of trees, which only broke for a stone bridge. On all sides were open fields, the grass waxy and thick underfoot. To the south …it was hard to be sure. A darkness on the horizon?

‘Can you make that out?’ asked Bel, for mages could see further than most.

Querrus followed his squint. ‘It’s them,’ he said. ‘Probably be here by this time tomorrow.’

Bel turned to the east, hoping that the flashing armour of Kainordan troops had somehow appeared there since he’d checked minutes before. ‘Still no sign of ours?’

Querrus narrowed his eyes in the same direction. ‘Not yet,’ he muttered. ‘Although …’

‘What is it?’

‘Hard to say, but a smudge in the air – perhaps a swarm of Zyvanix?’

‘Hovering over the ground forces,’ said Bel. ‘Good. They are not too distant either.’

‘The shadow will arrive first,’ said Querrus.

‘So be it. Here I’ll stay. Losara will not sweep into Jeddies as easily as he wishes.’

Querrus had reservations, Bel knew, about what they were here to do – as should anyone, he supposed. He did not, however: if anything, he felt impatient, itching to swing a sword at those who came rolling so boldly across his land. He knew that fighting might not come tomorrow – tomorrow was about delay – but perhaps the day after that, or at least soon. In the meantime, the couple of cards he had up his sleeve made him feel empowered.

‘Blade Bel?’

Querrus had been speaking, but Bel hadn’t taken in the words.

‘Yes?’

‘I asked if there was anything in particular I should get from town?’

Bel shrugged. ‘I see no reason not to pass the time comfortably. Feel free to get some fine food for a picnic.’

Querrus grinned. ‘Best orders I’ve had in a while. You will remain here?’

‘Yes,’ said Bel. ‘I’m not in the mood for being stared at by townsfolk. I’m in the mood for being stared at by enemies.’

Querrus rode away towards Jeddies, and Bel dismounted. He didn’t know if the fisherman had named the horse, and certainly he hadn’t done so either. He did not think he’d bother with such sentiment. The beast would probably wander now, and although Bel could tie her to one of the lone trees that stood here and there, he didn’t see the point. The old thing wasn’t the fastest steed, and for the moment he had no need of her, since he intended to wait right here. Thus he left her to graze, free if she was smart enough to grasp such a concept.

‘So,’ he said to himself.

There was really nothing much to do. He took out his sword and gave a swipe. Maybe the approaching shadow army would send scouts or a vanguard this way, and he would soon have some skulls to bounce together.

Wishful thinking.

He tossed the sword high in the air, watched it spin upwards then scythe back to earth, and turned his hip to catch it neatly in its scabbard. Wishful thinking? Was that wrong, to wish for battle?

I don’t care. It’s what I was born for. If I enjoy it, so what? Better than railing against one’s fate.

He wondered how Losara felt about it. If his counterpart filled the gaps in him, and vice versa, then Losara would not share Bel’s excitement at the prospect of battle.

Mindless , thought Bel. Automatic, he must be. Brainwashed. And yet he has the gumption to accuse me of fighting for the wrong reasons, just because I did not fancy a crystal tree or two.

Did he hate the man? How could he, when Losara was a part of him? If their souls combined, would that mean he’d hate himself? No, he decided, he did not hate Losara. The man was too slight, too fey for hate. But that did not change the fact that Bel would enjoy defeating him.

He drew his sword again and stuck it in the ground, then sank down cross-legged beside it. He did not like being alone with his peculiar and troubling thoughts. ‘Arkus speed you, shadow,’ he muttered. ‘Deliver me from boredom.’

He checked inside his pack for the sundart statue, which cheeped softly as he moved it. Relieved at the distraction, he pulled it out and touched a finger to the scroll at its leg. Steam hissed out of its beak.

‘Bel,’ came Fahren’s voice from the air. There was a pause, as if that was all, and Bel wondered for a moment if the message had been lost somehow. Then Fahren continued.

‘I have spoken with Arkus. There is an idea about how to deal with the shadowmander, but …well, let me investigate further. I am not sure how to accomplish it, or even if it’s possible.’ The man sounded decidedly disquited. ‘In the meantime I thought you should know that our suspicions were correct – the creature is indeed created from legacy magic. That was why Losara took Holdwith, to force our mages to aid him in its building. How he did it I’m not sure, and I don’t really want to know either …in fact, I’ll be quite happy if he takes his unnatural methods to the grave …ah, well, you know what I mean.’

Bel did not think he had ever heard Fahren sound so frayed. Was it really so affecting, to discover that a great and terrible Shadowdreamer would do such great and terrible things? Or was it the solution that unsettled him?

‘This explains,’ Fahren went on, ‘why the creature’s movement is so restricted. It is tied to the First Slave Tyrellan, built upon the original legacy cast on him by Elessa Lanclara. Therefore the mander can only travel a certain distance from the goblin.’

That was interesting. Although Bel had guessed that the mander was somehow confined, he had imagined its limits were dictated somehow by Losara.

‘I shall inform you when I know more,’ said Fahren. The steam dispersed and that was that – none of the usual good-lucks or stay-safes that usually ended the Throne’s messages. Bel replaced the bird in his pack, wondering what had affected Fahren so.

He tried to occupy himself by thinking about Jaya. If she’d been there with him, the time would certainly pass more swiftly. They could have walked down to the river, retired to the shade of a tree, made love and had an argument or three, in no particular order …and yet she was out of reach. He missed her for the first time since parting ways – perhaps he would have done so sooner, but there had been plenty to occupy his mind since then. Despite his immediate desires, he was glad she would not be here when the shadow army arrived – he was free without her, not having to worry for her safety. Free to swing with reckless abandon.

Maybe an advance Graka patrol will spot me , he thought. Come in for a closer look.

The next best thing to Jaya might have been Hiza and M’Meska, but they too were out of reach, even further away than she was – probably still in Dennali, many leagues away. They would probably miss the battle entirely, unless it happened a lot later than Bel hoped.

He laid back with a shirt over his eyes and tried to rest. As he drifted into half-consciousness, he dreamed himself in the midst of goblins, fighting with Corlas by his side, united against their common foe. This was how it should have been, except Naphur had banished his father for no good reason …yet now they laughed as they culled the enemy, and he saw mirrored in Corlas’s eyes that frenzied joy that grew in him exponentially with each defeated foe. There was a sense of belonging and kinship, a sense of sameness.

As Querrus’s voice roused him from slumber the feeling passed, and Bel experienced a moment of great loss. He opened his eyes to find the mage nearby, pulling packs from Taritha.

‘Slain by idleness,’ the mage observed.

Bel forced a smile. ‘Not much to do around here,’ he said, ‘except wait.’

‘And eat,’ added Querrus, opening a pack to show off a collection of greens and cuts of meat. ‘I also bought us some cover.’

Bel rose and checked his horizons. The shadow was definitely closer now, a great black line in the distance – and thankfully, the flashing armour he had hoped to see was now also visible to the east.

‘Your horse wanders,’ said Querrus, gesturing at the mare, who was now away towards the river.

‘I have no need of her,’ said Bel. ‘Let her go free.’

‘If that is your intention,’ said Querrus, ‘it would be best to rid her first of tack and saddle.’ He waggled his fingers, and in the distance the horse gave a startled whinny as all her bindings fell away. Bel frowned – why hadn’t he thought of that?

‘Well,’ said Querrus, ‘I guess there’s nothing left but to enjoy the ebbing calm before the storm.’

Bel set to work erecting four poles and stretching a canvas between them, while Querrus collected wood for a fire. As dusk fell they cooked meat and chewed on vegetables. It was the best meal Bel had enjoyed in some time. The mage had also brought them bedrolls, quite large and comfortably impractical if they’d had any great way to travel. Despite what awaited the next day, Bel soon found himself drifting off.

•

‘I surely hope, Blade Bel,’ said Querrus, running a hand over his bald scalp, ‘that you know what you are doing.’

‘Just stay behind me,’ said Bel, ‘at all times.’

‘Oh yes, I intend to. Getting quite used to the view from back here, whether there be a horse underneath us or no.’

Bel did not reply, but stood with hands knuckled on hips, exuding a patience he did not feel. Before them, in the morning light, the shadow horde advanced. It was close enough now for Bel to make out individual soldiers …and there was order in the ranks, not the screaming unruly mass he had always pictured. Men and goblins marched side by side, whereas Vorthargs seemed more cloistered in groups, and on either flank were Graka and Mire Pixies who could take off at any moment. Groups of black-robed mages patrolled the outer edges, some on horses and others not, no doubt constantly scanning the land around. What did they make of the lone pair of Kainordans awaiting them on the field ahead, unmoving in the face of such oncoming force?

‘Do you see the mander?’ said Bel.

‘No,’ replied Querrus nervously, but even as he said so, it appeared running up the eastern flank, skipping almost gaily past rows of troops, as if this was all a wonderful romp. Then it tore into the field ahead, and there was no mistaking it had spotted them.

‘Bel …’ said Querrus.

‘Stand fast,’ said Bel. ‘It won’t make it this far.’

About a hundred paces away, the creature halted abruptly. It arched its back as if to leap, but instead opened its mouth to hiss hatefully.

‘The leash does not stretch,’ said Bel. ‘Nor will it.’

‘The shadow still comes,’ warned Querrus. There was fear in his voice – not unfounded, Bel supposed.

‘Steady,’ said Bel. ‘No doubt it takes a moment or two to rein in an army of such size.’

Shouts began to sound, and although Bel could not exactly hear the words, he knew their timbre. The shadow began to grind to a stop.

I will it , he thought, and so it is.

The shadowmander edged forward a little more.

‘Does Tyrellan stir?’ said Bel. ‘Does he seek to move to the front of the queue? Let us deny him that.’

He stalked forward suddenly, not bothering to check that Querrus came with him, heading directly for the mander. He moved with confidence, almost able to feel the way his blue hair must be shining in the light. Let them look upon him, these invaders, let them see who it was they faced – let them quiver in fear, and melt into a black puddle.

The mander stopped again and clawed at the ground, as if it might dig its way under the invisible barrier that hindered it. Had Tyrellan been given an order to stay in place, just as Bel had decided he would?

Control.

He stopped some fifty paces from the creature, and once again took up his bold stance. Jeering rose from the shadow.

‘Oh yes?’ bellowed Bel. ‘Come over here and repeat yourselves, you rabbit-hearts, you crawling worms!’ The concentrated focus of so many eyes sent shivers through him – not of fear, but electric and wild. He felt tightly coiled inside his body, ready to spring.

‘It is well that I’m here to witness this heedlessness,’ said Querrus. ‘If we survive it, someone should tell this story.’

Bel smiled fiercely. ‘Wait to see how it ends.’

He reached into his shirt and lifted the Stone up over his head, then looped the chain around his wrist.

‘Any moment now,’ he said.

Shadows wavered up from the grass, winding around each other to take form.

‘Well,’ said Bel. ‘Fancy seeing you here, Losara.’

Losara stared at him as if confused by his presence. ‘You know,’ he said eventually, ‘I feared something like this. But I did not think you would come alone.’

‘I did not come alone,’ said Bel. ‘I have my friend Querrus here. He’s a bit leery of your presence, but I’ve assured him that while I hold this,’ he raised the Stone, ‘there is nothing you can fling at us.’

Losara sighed and gestured to the east, where the Kainordan army marched. ‘I meant,’ he said, ‘that I thought you’d come with them.’

‘Ah,’ said Bel brightly, ‘but then you would have reached Jeddies first, and I did not wish another town to fall. Considering that you’re going to lose anyway, it seemed rather needless.’

Losara gave an odd little smile at that. ‘So,’ he said, ‘perhaps you would have excelled at Battu’s lessons on taunting.’ He began to pace, emulating the mander behind him as it ran back and forth, trying to discover a way through its trap. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘have you ever wondered what life would be like if I had been the baby to go to the Open Halls, and you had been stashed away in Skygrip Castle?’

Bel felt his sense of control slip a notch with the unexpected question. He was not in the mood to delve into deep thought. He was here to act, not to think.

‘No,’ he said. ‘And I see little point in such conjecture. Another dearth in you, Losara – spending your time in fantasies, failing to address the here and now.’ He shook the Stone at his other , who regarded it with some apprehension. ‘It won’t matter who was brought up where, when we are one again.’

Losara nodded. ‘I’m sure you’re right. As for the moment, I wonder if you would be so good as to stand aside while my army passes?’

Bel laughed. ‘What makes you think I’m inclined to such kindness? We both know you cannot sic your ill-gotten creature on me.’

Losara’s eyes flickered to Querrus, doing his best to stand in Bel’s shadow. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Bel, which Bel ignored.

‘And,’ Bel continued, ‘you can cast no spells to boot me out of the way.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Losara. ‘But there are always indirect ways.’

He flicked his fingers at the ground, and a rent appeared, ripping towards Bel. Bel dropped to one knee, dangling the Stone in the path of the crack and, just before it reached him, it crumbled to a stop.

Losara nodded. ‘What about wind, then, I wonder? Cast the magic up there,’ he raised a hand to the sky above, ‘away from the Stone, but send the result down here.’

Even as he spoke, a gust sprang up. It quickly grew in strength, whipping Bel’s hair like the grasses beneath, and Querrus dropped to a huddle behind him. The air became like a wall pressing against him, yet he stood firm, his vision blurring as all liquid was blasted from his eyes.

‘Losara,’ he shouted, ‘it will have to be a fast wind indeed to lift me from my feet!’

‘As you wish,’ called Losara.

The wind howled stronger, and the Stone thrashed about in Bel’s grip, bruising his knuckles as it thwacked against them. A cheer rose from the shadow army.

‘Querrus?’ called Bel.

The mage, who was holding Bel’s legs, removed a hand to gesture. He conjured a bubble of stillness, and the wind divided suddenly around them. Losara dropped his hand in frustration, and the wind died abruptly.

Bel smoothed tousled blue strands back from his forehead. ‘A good reason to have a mage around,’ he said. ‘Querrus tells me that indirect magic is about the easiest there is to defend against. And he doesn’t need to worry about watching his own back because I,’ he dangled the Stone, ‘have it covered.’ He glanced away towards the river. ‘What else could you do? Maybe hurl some trees, or bring the river gushing? Or …well, I’m out of ideas, but I imagine you’ll come up with something, Losara.’

His gaze intensified on his counterpart, who quickly wiped the look of consternation off his face.

‘I can’t think of anything right now,’ Losara said, and folded his arms. ‘Bold moves, Bel.’

Bel tapped his head. ‘Born to do great things.’

Losara drummed his fingers on his elbow. ‘But what’s to stop me,’ he said, ‘sending a battalion of soldiers at you? Even,’ again he eyed Querrus, ‘just to shift you?’

‘Nothing,’ said Bel, and rested a hand on his sword hilt. ‘Please hurry and do so.’

‘I know you are a great warrior, Bel, but surely you do not think you can stand against the totality of Fenvarrow?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Bel, ‘I’ve never tried it. However, I would warn the Shadowdreamer that, amongst so many swords, sometimes people get hurt. Even people we may just be trying to shift . You cannot guarantee the course of every blade.’

‘The thought has not escaped me,’ said Losara. ‘Perhaps I will merely send them heavily armoured, without weaponry, in waves – enough to pin you to the ground and drag you away?’

‘Send your folk disarmed against the blue-haired man?’ said Bel, letting false amazement creep into his voice. ‘You must command soldiers with strong spirits indeed, Losara! My congratulations on garnering such unquestioning loyalty.’

‘Has it occurred to you,’ Losara said quietly, ‘that if a certain fact became widely known, it would place us both in peril?’

‘Of course.’

‘Yet you stand here with a mage, meaning by rights he is not as dense as cobblestones, tiptoeing around the truth so heavily you leave its outline clear?’

‘He already knows,’ said Bel. ‘How else could I convince him to stand here with me? But as you say, Losara, he isn’t stupid – he will not turn against me just to get to you, be assured. That would be but a short-term solution, and you want to see the shadow defeated for good, isn’t that right, Querrus?’

‘That’s right,’ said Querrus, eyeing Losara warily over Bel’s shoulder.

‘Risky,’ said Losara. ‘I hope you are not so open with everyone you meet.’

‘Necessity dictated in this circumstance,’ said Bel.

‘Meanwhile,’ countered Losara, ‘you leave me no choice but to return to my people, who do not know our little secret, and will therefore wonder why I haven’t killed you. Why do I tolerate you standing here in plain sight, why do I order them to cease their advance, why don’t I send forth the shadowmander to tear you apart? Do you not think it dangerous for both of us if I have to tell them why?’

Bel shrugged. ‘Not my army,’ he said. ‘Not my problem.’

Losara gave him a reproachful look, then fell to shadow and disappeared.

Querrus edged from behind Bel a little. ‘Did that go well?’

‘Of course,’ said Bel. ‘Didn’t I tell you to trust me?’

‘So what do we do now?’

‘We’ll sit and watch this army a while …and stay on the lookout for any sudden moves.’

A Troublesome Secret

Losara found himself uncertain about where to appear next. As soon as he did, there would be explanations required, and he was not sure what he could tell anyone. Certainly he did not want his entire army knowing that if they stabbed him in the back, Bel would fall also. It was not that he considered the ranks full of potential traitors, but out of thousands, there were surely one or two who might think that such a move would be the best solution for all.

And even if he told them exactly why he could not crush Bel where he stood, the news would no doubt soon spread to the enemy. All it would take would be one of his soldiers captured, or one light mage to snare an errant thought, and the secret would be out for both sides.

As he pooled between the bandy legs of a group of Vorthargs, a shadow mage glanced in his direction. He reminded himself that he was not invisible to everyone, and should not dawdle while his army waited. It was time to be decisive. Making up his mind, he went looking for Tyrellan. The First Slave was in the centre of it all, where Losara had bidden him to remain, thus keeping the shadowmander a safe distance from Bel – though even Tyrellan did not understand that yet.

Can’t keep being mysterious forever , thought Losara. My second at least should know the reasons for his master’s inactions. Bel is willing to tell people when it suits him.

Tyrellan, who seemed restless, was receiving a report from one of his subordinates, a goblin called Turen. Lalenda was nearby, conversing with a couple of her race.

‘Commander Turen,’ said Losara, appearing so quickly he made the goblin start.

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘We will make camp, for now. Spread the word. Find Roma, inform him also. Re-position our front line here, where we stand.’

‘Er …yes, my lord,’ said Turen, looking uncertain. That uncertainty would be echoed elsewhere, but there was nothing Losara could do about it. For now he would just have to be the Shadowdreamer, obeyed without question.

As Turen scuttled off, Tyrellan cast Losara a quizzical look. Meanwhile Lalenda moved towards him, others parting way for her. What had he made her? he wondered. His queen?

‘What has happened?’ she said eagerly.

‘You two,’ he said, ‘I wish to speak with you. In private.’ He waved his hands, and from the grass issued up shadows, to enclose them in darkness. Only a few small cracks above let in a little light.

‘What is it, lord?’ said Tyrellan.

‘Bel stands in our way.’

‘Then why not freeze his heart where it beats and be done with him?’

‘Because if Bel dies …then I die also.’

Tyrellan took the news in stunned silence, while Lalenda frowned her displeasure at once again being reminded of this obstacle in their path. Losara knew she was still hoping desperately for the upper hand, even more so since her recent prophecy. He felt a twinge of annoyance that fate had even brought it to her. What possible purpose did it serve?

‘We are part of the same soul,’ he went on. ‘That is why I cannot let the shadowmander run free while Bel is near – I cannot risk that it will take him. And while he possesses the Stone of Evenings Mild, I myself am powerless against him.’ He sighed. ‘He stands in our way.’

‘So,’ said Tyrellan thoughtfully, ‘this is why you wished to be so hasty? To sweep across the land before Bel could get involved?’

‘Yes.’

‘We could never have achieved that. With an army of this size, one does not dodge.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Losara, ‘but I wanted to get a head start, at least …put the shadowmander to good use before it became too problematic.’

Good use? he thought, remembering the scattered bodies at the Mines.

A sliver of light coming in through a crack travelled slowly over Tyrellan’s black-orb eyes. ‘There are uses for it still,’ he said.

Losara was surprised by the harshness of his tone. Should I be? he thought. Had it been insensitive to openly doubt the strange construction they had tethered to Tyrellan forever? The First Slave had lost much freedom in its creation, at Losara’s request, yet here Losara was saying he lacked conviction of its worth.

‘Of course,’ he said.

Lalenda blinked, her anger focusing, and looked at him determinedly. What thought had steeled her?

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Plenty of uses. Why don’t you circle Bel in the dead of night? We know how fast you can go, and Jeddies is not well defended,’ she glanced at Tyrellan, who gave a brief nod, ‘so you would not have to take anyone else with you. Just you, Tyrellan and the mander – set down on the outskirts of Jeddies and watch it fall. By the time Bel realised what was happening, it would be too late.’

Losara wasn’t sure if he admired her zeal or not. He knew he could do with some more of it himself, but it was disturbing to see his once-timid lady so bent upon carnage.

‘The idea has merit,’ said Tyrellan approvingly.

Losara felt internal resistance, and tried to work out why.

‘It’s just one town,’ he said. ‘We cannot take all of Kainordas that way.’

‘Another loss will dispirit the enemy.’

Losara pictured the mander running amok once more, knocking down homes and ripping out whoever it found inside – not soldiers this time, but a town population. Old people, young children – it would not matter to the creature. The thought sickened him. But he could not tell them that.

I believe in what I‘m doing , he told himself instead. If I don’t, it will be done to us, and that I do not believe in.

‘And if Bel rides after?’ he said. ‘He has a mage, and could be in Jeddies quickly if I struck there. He would force us to retreat, and if we weren’t fast enough, the mander might even find him first.’

They fell silent, seeming to run out of arguments, though Losara knew he was frustrating them.

‘The soldiers,’ said Tyrellan eventually, ‘will wonder why we do not attack our greatest nemesis while we have the chance, as he stands before us with only a single mage to guard him. The talking will have begun already.’

‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘I am aware of that.’

‘Ho ho!’ came the voice of Grimra, booming in the enclosed space. ‘What be this? A party and Grimra not invited?’

‘How did you get in here?’ said Losara. He had sealed the shadows so that none could pass without permission, even invisible ghosts.

‘Through them little cracks,’ said Grimra. ‘Grimra can squeeze tiny when he needs. But not for chatting is he coming, rather for the bringing of news. The Kainordans, they be getting very close!’

Losara gave a wave and dispelled the surrounding shadows. All around, the eyes of his soldiers were trained northeast. Roma appeared by his side and really, Losara thought, he should have included his Magus Supreme in the conversation he’d just had. He would fill Roma in quickly, he decided, as soon as he had a chance.

‘Master,’ said Roma. ‘The enemy is arriving.’

‘I ordered this place here to mark our front line,’ said Losara, gesturing at his feet. Bel had chosen the distance for him, by setting up where he had. Losara wanted Tyrellan to be at the head of the army, not imprisoned in the middle, and thus the rest had to be moved back.

‘It takes time to move so many, lord,’ said Roma. He spun and shouted, ‘Hurry up, you louts! Stop ogling our new neighbours and fall back!’

Soldiers began to bustle and mill.

‘I am going to have a look,’ Losara told Tyrellan and Lalenda. ‘Stay here for now – this will become the front soon enough.’

He dissolved and sped through the grass beneath tramping feet. Re-forming at what was left of the original front, he stared out across the field.

Soldiers on horseback were riding towards Bel, led by a large man with short grey hair. Behind them came the rest of the Kainordans, a sea of glimmering blades and armour. Zyvanix wasps whirred through the air in golden swarms, and further back Ryoshi Saurians steered enormous scorpions, while groups of the snake-like Syanti slithered. Their ranks stretched for a long way, and Losara knew he was looking at an army larger than his own. Once they stood collected together, he imagined it would boggle his mind. And to wish them all dead …

Lalenda landed next to him.

‘I don’t want to have to give you orders,’ he said wryly, ‘but it would be nice if you respected my wishes once in a while.’

She said nothing, but stared out at the enemy as if hate alone could slay them. The grey-haired man was speaking to Bel, who was gesturing to indicate a line on the ground.

‘Looks as if he’s working out his front line too,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘While he stays there, neither of us can move against the other for the same reason – the mander lies between.’

‘So,’ said Lalenda, ‘the two greatest armies the world has ever seen will not fight each other?’

‘Not yet,’ said Losara.

•

For the rest of the day Kainordans arrived, spreading out and back from a front that mirrored the shadow’s own. Tyrellan watched, incensed that the enemy was able to set itself up so leisurely. This secret of Losara’s was an immense tactical hindrance. At least he now stood at the head of their own troops, no longer trapped in the belly of the army by the necessity of maintaining the mander’s distance from Bel. As for the mander itself, it patrolled the land between, relentlessly trying to find a way through its barrier. A stalemate again, akin to the stalemate that had existed for millennia. The two enemies so close to each other, yet neither daring to cross the threshold.

Tyrellan tried to think like his old self, without everything constantly coming back to the mander. It invaded his thoughts, constricting him just as he constricted it, influencing his decisions. The recent conversation with Losara had disturbed him – now it seemed the creature was not even necessarily an advantage in the present circumstances. Focus , he told himself. He was still second-in-command, and there was more to this war than worrying about a glorified lizard. Perhaps the catapults could be positioned to reach the Kainordans, especially if given a magical boost – but those were still catching up, and besides, the army was running low on rocks, not the easiest things to haul about. On the dusty plains around the Mines there had been plenty available, but here they were not so bountiful. He glanced at the river – a useful thing, for the bulk of the Vorthargs had set up next to it, but perhaps it would also be a good source of ammunition?

‘My lord,’ he said, approaching Losara, ‘we do not have to rely on the mander to harass them.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Assign some teams to dredge rocks from the river,’ said Tyrellan. ‘We should be able to stockpile a good supply before the catapults arrive.’

‘A worthwhile idea,’ said Losara. ‘Roma, can you organise some mages for that?’

‘As you wish.’

‘In the meantime,’ said Tyrellan, ‘although the enemy cannot advance its archers, there is no reason we cannot advance our own behind the protection of the mander.’

‘The distance between mander and enemy is still too far for arrows,’ said Roma. ‘But with mages as well …there are spells that could lend arrows extra distance.’

‘Are there indeed?’ said Tyrellan mildly, as if he hadn’t thought of such a thing. He glanced at Losara, who was staring off into space. It was a familiar look – the dreamer was lost in thought, perhaps mulling over the suggested course.

‘Anything that depletes their numbers is worth considering,’ urged Tyrellan.

Losara blinked. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Make the preparations. We shall take aim at the left and right flanks, away from the blue-haired man.’ He glanced at Roma, who nodded in understanding. It was well, Tyrellan supposed, that the Magus Supreme had been made privy to Losara’s reasons for that, not long after the secret had been shared with Tyrellan himself.

‘I shall prepare the mages,’ said Roma.

Tyrellan glanced around for Turen. The commander had become something like Tyrellan’s right hand, for he could move about freely while Tyrellan could not …but he was of no use if he could not be seen.

‘Shall I also pass word to Turen to organise the archers?’ said Roma, raising an eyebrow at Tyrellan.

‘Yes,’ growled Tyrellan from between clenched fangs.

•

Fazel walked with the shadow mages, just another black robe in the mass. It was strange being part of an organised group, so used was he to being out on his own. The mages, led by Roma, followed some two hundred archers, and carriers bringing more arrows – rather optimistic, in Fazel’s opinion. In fact, this whole plan seemed ridiculous.

As they tramped out onto the field, leaving the bulk of the army behind, ripples of activity in the camp opposite showed that the Kainordans had noted the approach. The afternoon sun bore down on Fazel’s charred skull, heating up his bones. He felt a scowl form in his mind, yet had not the flesh to give it life. Perhaps, he hoped, this would all go horribly wrong somehow.

Stay together, came Roma’s instruction.

As they neared the mander, still worrying at its barrier, the archers began to spread out.

Move to individuals , sent Roma. The mages obeyed, one for each archer, until they stood in two parallel lines. Fazel found himself behind a tall, nervous-looking Arabodedas. Whether the sweat on his brow was from heat or fear was hard to tell – until Fazel took a glimpse inside the man’s mind and found him to be deeply scared. The man checked on who was with him, and started with fright when he found Fazel grinning back.

‘You …you’re …’ he stammered.

‘Yesss,’ hissed Fazel. ‘ I’m. Don’t be afraid, comrade, we’re safe behind the mander. Unless of course the enemy stumbles across the exact same idea we’ve had and starts shooting back …but I don’t know how they would ever manage that!’

The man nodded shakily, but Fazel didn’t think he had really heard the words.

Ready , said Roma.

Along the line, archers notched arrows to bows. A number of the Vorthargs had larger bows, for they were able to draw the string back further with their strong, ropey limbs. Across the way Bel was standing out in front of his troops, hands on hips, looking almost comically indignant. Around him were packs and the remnants of a fire, and a canvas on poles beneath which bedrolls lay. He looked like a man rudely awoken by the two armies daring to face off across his campsite. As full of himself as ever, Fazel thought. There was also a slight, bald-headed mage with him, who looked decidedly less comfortable, and a well-marked plains horse.

How he had loved riding in his day, Fazel remembered – when he had torn about Kainordas on whatever enterprise he chose, ignoring repeated requests from the Open Halls that he return and become High Mage. Those days shone like a light at the end of the tunnel – except the tunnel was behind him, and ahead was only the dark.

Mages , said Roma.

Fazel lifted a finger and directed a little spell into his archer’s arrow, to speed it on its journey.

Remember , warned Roma, do not aim for the blue-haired man.

Fazel felt a wave of confusion move amongst the others. The poor fools did not know why they were being ordered to avoid Bel, for Losara had not told them. He would have to soon enough, however, or else think up some very convincing lie.

Focus! sent Roma, evidently having sensed the faltering as well. Take aim.

Archers tensed.

Fire.

Arrows whizzed into the air, shooting higher than they naturally would. Among the Kainordans, wards began to spring up, lightfists spacing themselves out evenly to protect the regular troops. As arrows hurtled down upon the left and right flanks, scores of them bounced off glowing barriers. Some fell on the front lines, others further back, yet Fazel did not hear a single scream. That was the thing about arrows – any mage worth his salt could turn them away, when that was all he had to concentrate on.

A shame we can’t cast spells from this distance , he sent Losara, who was watching from the army.

He received no answer.

Again , said Roma. At will.

Another wave of arrows rose, heading left and right. This time Fazel did hear a couple of cries.

Four hundred arrows , he sent Losara, and two deaths. Hardly seems worth the cost. If indeed anyone actually died.

Arrows continued to travel impossibly distant arcs as archers and mages fell into synergy. For Fazel the effort was nothing, and he could freely watch the other side without really paying attention to his Arabodedas. He saw Bel turn, shout something, and bows began to appear with accompanying lightfists – hundreds and hundreds of pairs.

Expect return fire , said Roma.

‘Now where would they have got that idea?’ muttered Fazel, loud enough for his archer’s benefit.

Every little rebellion , he thought. Any little way to undermine. Can’t help yourself.

The light’s arrows began to fly towards them, glittering in the sky almost prettily.

Defend.

Fazel waved up a ward and arrows began to hammer it, the dull sound of hail on a wooden roof. Nearby a Vortharg stumbled backwards, a shaft sticking from his chest. Unlucky for him, indeed, to have been assigned such a pathetic mage. Meanwhile, other mages were growing too distracted by defending to cast spells on the outgoing arrows. Shafts began to land haphazardly, more and more falling short of the Kainordans entirely.

As for Fazel, he had no problem maintaining both attack and defence simultaneously. He watched as Bel and his mage clambered up onto the horse, then raced quickly to the left flank. There they arrived and swung about in the face of approaching arrows, Bel taking out his sword and swishing it defiantly even as shafts sank into the ground around him.

Cease firing on the left , sent Roma. Everyone on the right.

The left stream of arrows shifted to strengthen that on the right, and there were more cries from the enemy. With their lightfists doing two things at once, just as the shadow mages were, the Kainordans’ defence was beginning to be penetrated.

Now Bel raced across the field towards the right flank, the little mage clutching him tightly. It was not a short distance, yet he covered it quickly.

A talented mage and a talented steed , thought Fazel.

Cease firing on the right , sent Roma angrily, as Bel reached it in time to stand among the last falling arrows. The shadow mages were now facing more oncoming arrows than they could give out, and holes were appearing everywhere in the lines.

Fazel sensed communication between Losara and Roma.

A moment later …Fall back , said Roma. Everyone fall back.

Fazel felt the command take precedence, and instantly dropped his defence. A moment later there was a sound like a wet slap, and his archer twisted about with a shaft protruding from his cheek.

You realise , Fazel sent Losara as he moved away, that you’re going to have to give them some reason for why they cannot kill Bel.

An arrow smashed against the back of his skull, and he brushed away the splinters.

Siege

Jaya made her way through the camp alone, having finally slipped away from the overzealous protectors assigned to her by Brahl.

‘The blue-haired man will not thank me if I lose his lady,’ Brahl had told her. ‘You will be reunited soon enough – let us just work out the lie of the land here first.’

That had been several hours ago, before Brahl himself had ridden off to speak with Bel, leaving her with a troop of blades and lightfists towards the back of the immense gathering. Since then she had seen clouds of arrows rising in the sky, and heard the cries as soldiers fell. From the confused gossip floating about, apparently Bel stood at the front, somehow holding the enemy back from full-scale attack. There was also word that the shadowmander patrolled the area between the two armies, but did not venture close enough to do any harm. Knowing more than the average soldier, Jaya was able to make a guess or two why, but that did not stop her being determined to find out what the blazes was going on from the source itself, then kiss him.

The rumours stirred her in a way she found surprising. She had to admit she loved Bel’s courage, reckless as it sometimes was. She could see him at the final battle, an immovable rock against which flowed a red and roaring stream. What would she be doing? Jaya had a harder time these days, picturing herself there. Maybe at one stage she had intended to fight by Bel’s side, but some of the horrors of their recent journey had left dints in her confidence. She remembered all too well being caught helpless in the grip of a Mireform as it hauled her up to its dripping maw. Then the retreat from Holdwith, in which soldiers had been torn asunder by the mander, while blue bolts sizzled in from shadow mages on the fort walls – through it all she had showed a brave face, determined that no one think her weak, when really inside she did not feel so dauntless. More and more she realised that the ways of a thief had been safe in comparison with her current life. Certainly there were dangers in her profession, but a slip from a high wall seemed somehow preferable to row upon row of fangs descending, or being fried in her skin by foul magic, or dragon fire. And unlike in battle, when you were a thief, the danger did not come at you randomly from all directions at once.

I never wanted to be a soldier , she thought. When did I forget that?

She knew that Bel didn’t want her riding into peril – in fact, he often entreated her to remain out of harm’s way. Always she’d railed against him, for no one told her what to do, no one was allowed to doubt her spirit …yet maybe the next time he attempted persuading her to take a safer route, she would allow it. After pretending to be strongly opposed, of course.

She moved through a group of Varenkai putting up tents under the supervision of a penulm. From the mixture of their armament, they obviously weren’t trained soldiers, but regular folk who had answered the call. Mostly younger men, they joked loudly with each other, trying to hide their nerves under a mask of high spirits.

‘Hello darlin’,’ leered one, as she traversed the edge of their firelight. He was younger than Jaya, his stubble patchy, his leather vest seeming to hang on him too largely. ‘Looking for a place to bed down tonight?’

‘Missing your mother?’ she responded, and he scowled, though the others chuckled.

Quickly she moved on. As dusk turned to night, it became more difficult to navigate. The camp sprawled in every direction, twinkling lanterns and fires dotting the landscape. Off on the flanks she could hear the sounds of horses whinnying and dune claws clicking their enormous appendages. Order was forming.

She noticed two blades – muscular women, proper soldiers – stooped over a burrow in the ground, holding a smoking brand inside the entrance. A clumsy attempt to catch whatever creature found its home so encircled? As smoke sucked down into the burrow, each blade drew back her sword, ready to skewer dinner. Some ten paces away, a rabbit sprang from another entrance and dashed away in panic. The blades cursed as other soldiers began to aim blows at the hapless beast, for there was no way they could claim the prize if someone else caught it. It darted into a clearer area where Syanti Saurians were being given some berth by the other races, where the end of a serpentine tail smacked down upon its head and killed it instantly. The tail coiled to lift the rabbit up to its owner, who reached out casually to wrench the body in two, giving half to a companion. The blades’ shoulders sagged as they watched their would-be meal so casually claimed by the snakes.

As Jaya continued towards the front, she began seeing evidence of the archer attack. Arrows lay underfoot, some still sticking up from the ground. Nearby a bow bent to retrieve one, turned it for inspection, and placed it in a basket under his arm.

A sky-blue tent denoted the presence of healers, and she saw mages in blue robes tending to the injured. There did not seem to be many, and if there were dead, they had already been taken away. When she heard two healers talking about Bel, she stopped and pretended to retie her boot.

‘…to hold back all of them by himself?’

‘I don’t know. And then when they shot their arrows, he rode in their way and they stopped.’

‘I heard he wears a magical artefact, which gives him some kind of power that makes the shadow fear to attack.’

Finally Jaya arrived at the front. Away down the line a lone camp stood, some twenty paces in front of everything else. There, she knew, was Bel, and not just because of what she’d been told, but because the Sprite in her blood sang at his presence. The days since they had parted seemed long, and she hated that she could not stand to be without him. Had it been the same for him? She doubted she would ask.

Jaya made her way along the line until the camp was just a skip across the grass. Here the troops seemed more vigilant, and lightfists stood scrutinising the distant shadow army. It was comforting to know that Bel was watched over. She left the army to make the short journey over the grass to his camp, but as soon as she did, vines shot up from the grass to entwine her legs.

‘Hold, miss.’

She managed to twist her torso around, and found a grizzled lightfist with a hand raised at her.

‘Release me,’ she said.

‘What business do you have in Blade Bel’s camp?’

‘The first thing,’ she said, ‘will be telling him to make it known that I can come and go as I please.’

‘There you are!’ came his voice. ‘I was wondering what was taking you so long.’

She smiled sweetly at the lightfist, who shrugged, and the vines fell away. She turned to find Bel hurrying towards her, his blue hair shimmering in the moonlight. Almost she could not help herself from running to him, grabbing him tightly …but then he did it instead. As his strong arms enclosed her, it felt like coming home.

‘Damn you,’ she whispered.

‘Why?’ he said with genuine concern.

‘Never mind.’ She kissed him fiercely.

‘Come,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I do not like to be away from my camp, even so short a distance. I missed you,’ he added, giving her hand a squeeze.

At the camp, the mage called Querrus sat by a fire roasting a possum on a stick. Nearby his sleek horse was standing head down, maybe asleep. It seemed oddly prosaic here, considering the surrounds.

‘I must keep close watch on Losara,’ explained Bel, looking out into the night.

Jaya could make out ice lanterns across the field, and a few vague outlines, but that was all.

‘Can you see him?’ she asked dubiously.

‘Not right now,’ said Bel. ‘But I can see that.’ He pointed at a dark shape moving across the field. ‘He may try to take his creature elsewhere. If he does, he can move swiftly, and I must be ready to move just as swiftly if I’m to continue standing in his way.’

‘Want some possum?’ said Querrus, waving the stick at her.

‘Sure,’ she said, sitting down by the fire. Querrus handed her a smoking leg.

‘Bel,’ said Querrus, rising, ‘I shall watch the mander for a while. You sit down with your lady if you like.’

‘Hmm?’ said Bel. ‘Oh, yes.’ He sent one final glare into the dark, then came over to sit next to Jaya. Querrus moved off, chewing on his possum as if it required great concentration.

Bel placed his hand on her knee. ‘How has it been for you?’

‘As you might expect,’ she said. ‘We rejoined the army after you left, and it’s been a march ever since. Brahl pushed them hard after receiving word that you wished to converge here.’

‘I see.’

‘And for you?’ She swept her hand to encompass everything around them. ‘What have you been doing?’

Bel smiled and settled into updating her, telling her how he had reached the Shining Mines too late, then circled around to halt Losara’s advance. ‘He cannot attack with the mander while I wait here,’ he said, then glanced off towards Querrus. ‘And I had to tell the mage the reason why.’

Jaya frowned. It was dangerous, people knowing that killing Bel would kill Losara also.

‘You should be more guarded with that knowledge,’ she said.

‘I had no choice. I had to convince the man to stand with me alone against all Fenvarrow. What was I supposed to tell him?’

‘But you have not made it common?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I heard the troops talking …there is open speculation over how you managed to hold back the shadow by yourself, and why they do not use the mander against us now.’

‘I’m sure there is,’ said Bel. ‘I have told Brahl that the Stone wards them off. I’m hoping he will put it about.’

‘That seems rather general,’ murmured Jaya.

‘Why should they doubt me?’ asked Bel. ‘The situation does not call me a liar.’

‘I suppose not.’

She realised she still held some of the possum in her hand, now gone cold.

‘Want some?’ she asked, holding it out.

‘Thanks,’ he said. As he sat munching slowly with shoulders hunched, for a moment he seemed very tired.

‘It is a shame,’ she said, ‘that we’re in plain view of so many. There are things I have missed about you besides your conversation.’ She nuzzled his neck. ‘You should get yourself a better shelter.’

‘Maybe I will.’

‘Walls would be a good start.’

Querrus appeared back by the fireside. ‘Sorry, but I thought you’d want to know – I just felt a great many of our mages start channelling.’

‘What goes on?’

‘Hard to say,’ said Querrus. ‘But …’ He trailed off, looking to the sky. From high above came the sound of wind, though on the ground things remained unruffled. Several horses clomped up next to the camp – Brahl and some of his guards. With the sudden influx of people, the illusion of serenity was quickly dispelled.

Brahl dismounted. ‘Ah,’ he said, glancing at Jaya, ‘so you found your way, mistress Jaya.’

There was no accusation in his voice, though they both knew she had disobeyed him when she’d abandoned her protectors.

‘Yes,’ she replied, giving him a cheeky grin. ‘Thank you for your help getting me here.’

‘A pleasure,’ he said blandly. ‘You must have been one step ahead of the man I sent to guide you to this camp.’

‘It was easy enough to find myself.’

‘Of course.’

‘ Excuse me,’ said Bel snippily, ‘but what is going on? Why does the sky sound like it’s full of the howling dead?’

‘Ah,’ said Brahl. ‘Well, it seems the shadow is trying to do something about the weather. See?’ He pointed at the moon, which was beginning to be obscured by wispy clouds.

‘This far from the Cloud, they seek to create their own?’ asked Bel.

‘Yes,’ said Brahl. ‘It would give them relief during the day, and make it easier for their mages to replenish their power.’

‘And weaken ours in the diminished light,’ said Bel.

‘Well,’ finished Brahl in a jolly tone, ‘luckily we have plentiful mages of our own, to blow away their efforts. Easier to summon wind, I’m told, than create vapour out of the air.’ He cast a glance at Querrus, who gave a nod of confirmation.

Jaya took heart at Brahl’s demeanour. The man spoke with such confidence that for a moment he made the situation seem less overwhelming.

‘Mind if I sit by your fire?’ asked Brahl.

Bel gestured for Brahl to join them. Despite the gerent’s apparent ease, he could not forget the roaring wind above them.

‘You don’t seem worried,’ he said.

‘There’s not much I can do,’ said Brahl. ‘Nor you. A plain old sword-wielding soldier must sometimes realise that mages’ work is mages’ work.’

‘Aye,’ said Bel darkly.

‘Take heart,’ said Brahl. ‘I am told the shadow mages were trying to hide their conjuring. Chances are they knew we’d have the advantage if we realised in time what they attempted. Which we did.’ He leaned forward. ‘And now we must talk about our next move. You said before that the Stone you wear keeps back the shadow?’

Bel wondered how he was going to keep the truth from Brahl. He had only given the man a brief explanation when he’d first arrived and, with much to organise, Brahl had asked no more. Now it seemed as if greater lies would be required.

‘Yes,’ Bel said. ‘The Stone is a way to defeat Losara, and thus he fears it.’

‘Can you be more specific?’ said Brahl, neatly cutting through Bel’s attempt to be vague.

He glanced at Jaya who, unseen by Brahl, gave a little shake of her head. He well understood why she didn’t want people knowing the truth, and he was inclined to agree. Having Losara floating about in the world already made him feel vulnerable, exposed in a way he could not control. On the other hand it seemed wrong that he had told Querrus the truth and yet withheld it from the gerent of the army.

‘Fahren is really the one to ask,’ he said. ‘I don’t completely understand it myself.’

Brahl frowned. ‘I’m not a fool, Blade Bel. I can tell when someone is being cagey. However, I will respect your desire for secrecy, given who you are. At times like this, one should have a little faith. But I must know this – given the apparent advantage you possess with the Stone, are we to attack?’

‘No,’ said Bel. He rubbed his eyes. This ambiguity was becoming a headache.

‘Bel,’ said Jaya quietly. ‘The gerent knows he isn’t being told the whole story. And has declared himself a man of faith.’ She looked at Brahl, who seemed about to say something, but then instead merely nodded. ‘Some of the withholding,’ she told him almost apologetically, ‘is for the greater good, believe me.’

Bel supposed that was true. It wasn’t just himself he protected by not telling Brahl. Anyone could be tempted to do him in, if they knew it would also kill the much-feared Losara – and yet such an outcome would really be no solution at all. Balance would return to the world, and the war might drag on another thousand years. By protecting the information, he was also protecting the possibility of outright victory.

‘I can accept that,’ said Brahl.

‘But,’ went on Jaya, ‘without telling him why, he should know what he is dealing with.’

Bel regarded her curiously. If Jaya had some idea that solved his problem, he was happy to let her run with it. He spread his palms wide, indicating for her to continue.

‘Know this then, Gerent,’ she said. ‘While Bel stands in their way, the shadow cannot attack us with the shadowmander – but that does not mean we can defeat it either. We are each held back by its presence.’

Brahl frowned. ‘I see.’

‘Fahren is working on the problem,’ put in Bel. ‘We must wait for him to arrive, and in the meantime I will keep close watch on the mander to make sure Losara does not take it elsewhere to create more mischief.’

‘So it is a siege,’ muttered Brahl. ‘Except there are no walls …only a rotten, big lizard.’

‘Something like that.’

Brahl scratched his grey stubble. ‘We are not so badly set up for such a thing,’ he said. ‘We have Jeddies close by, and other towns besides, for our supplies. They, on the other hand, have only what they brought with them, whatever else they can catch from the land, and ultimately they will have to bring more from Fenvarrow. I could organise raiding parties to move around behind them, and try to interfere with any supply parties that may be bringing up their rear.’

Bel nodded.

‘That is acceptable?’ asked Brahl. ‘I’m still trying to work out my parameters here.’

‘As long as it does not involve putting great numbers at risk from that creature,’ Bel waved across the plain, ‘for it will simply tear them apart.’

‘Well,’ said Brahl, ‘now we’re getting somewhere!’ His eyes glinted as he considered possibilities. ‘We could attack from the air! The Zyvanix are faster than the Graka, although less durable. I could send them high, and they could pepper down arrows before the Graka could rise to meet them.’

In his mind’s eye Bel saw Losara collapsing to his knees with a barbed arrow in his head …but he dismissed the vision instantly. He could not allow his secret to stop the army doing anything at all.

‘Maybe …’ continued Brahl, then stared off towards the Nyul’ya. ‘They need the river, not just for fresh drinking water, but also because those amphibious Vorthargs rely on it. We are upstream from them here, so if we could do something to the water, some poison or magic …’

Bel nodded. ‘These sound like good ideas, Gerent.’

‘You are happy for me to proceed?’

‘Keep me informed,’ said Bel, ‘but yes. If we can think of ways to attack them indirectly, they are most welcome.’

Brahl rose. ‘I shall start planning.’

‘What will you tell the troops?’ said Jaya. Brahl glanced at her without comprehension. ‘About why they cannot simply charge,’ she clarified.

‘They have heard stories of the mander,’ said Brahl. ‘They know it cannot be touched by mortal blade. I will put it about that Bel’s pendant keeps it back. Beyond that, I need tell them nothing. They are soldiers, after all, who will follow orders or get a good thrashing.’ He paused. ‘One more thing, though.’

‘Yes?’

‘What is to stop the shadow from attacking us without the aid of the mander? I assume they can move it away if they want.’

Bel gave a faint smile. ‘Nothing,’ he said.

Brahl smiled in return. ‘You welcome the idea?’

‘I do like to swing a sword around.’

Brahl nodded, returned to his guards, and they all headed back to the main camp.

‘Well,’ said Bel, looking at Jaya admiringly.

‘What?’

‘That was some very reasonable logic just now.’

‘Reasonable?’ said Jaya, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Yes,’ said Bel. ‘I agree that it doesn’t seem much like you either.’

She grinned, then suddenly looked annoyed.

‘What?’

‘Forgot to ask for a proper tent.’

Eosene

‘We have failed, master,’ said Roma.

Losara turned away from the incandescent moon, hanging in the sky free and clear of cloud. Around him the shadow mages who’d been channelling in groups lowered their hands. Roma had thought they were far enough to the south of their army, and therefore the Kainordans, to avoid detection. Seemingly not.

Losara was not surprised. This had not been his idea, and he’d been doubtful about it from the start. The sheer volume of magic needed to affect the weather, sent up into the sky like a flare – how could the enemy fail to sense it? Yet he had allowed Roma to try it anyway, for he did not wish to discourage his servants from offering ideas …and besides, there was always the slim chance it would work. Unfortunately, even the idea of sending the clouds rolling in, rather than creating them directly above the army, had proven inadequate.

‘The light has scouts watching a wide area,’ said Losara, ‘as our own report. It would be difficult to pull off a feat of this magnitude without them knowing.’

Roma nodded. ‘May I be excused, master?’

‘You may.’

‘And also take my leave?’

Losara considered Roma for a moment, wondering if that had been an attempt at a small joke, yet no humour showed on the Magus Supreme’s face.

‘Yes. Take these others with you.’

As Roma set about organising the group, Losara dissolved and went back over the fields to the quiet camp. It seemed that most of his folk were sleeping, as well they deserved, for it had been a long day. The majority of the tents were set up back from the front line, but one stood alone there. In front of it a solitary figure sat on a simple stool cut from a circle of log.

‘You are not asleep, Tyrellan?’ said Losara.

The goblin raised his head slightly. ‘I was.’

‘Oh.’

Tyrellan smoothed a hand over his scalp, then held out one of his claws before his eyes for examination. The silver sheen of moonlight crept across it.

‘So,’ he said, ‘Roma’s plan did not work.’

‘No. It was too hard to disguise so much magic.’

‘As you predicted, master.’

From over in the enemy camp, Losara could sense magic pouring up into the sky to feed the wind above. Perhaps the lightfists would exhaust themselves maintaining it, not realising that Losara had already given up. But even as he had the thought, the distant flow of magic ceased, and the wind died away.

Tyrellan cleared his throat and Losara looked at him expectantly. It took him a moment to realise that Tyrellan was actually waiting for him to speak, yet he could not think of anything to say.

‘Was there something else, master?’

Losara thought about it – was there anything else? Or had he simply come to tell Tyrellan what was going on? He felt bad for the First Slave, restricted as he was, all for a weapon that was proving a nuisance …but now Tyrellan was looking at him as if he did not need to be there. The goblin had his own sources, Losara knew. He probably did not need the dreamer to personally deliver him news, nor would he approve of such a thing.

‘No,’ said Losara.

‘It has been a long day,’ said Tyrellan. ‘The Shadowdreamer does no favours to himself or his people by failing to rest.’

He held Losara’s gaze until Losara nodded.

‘You are right. Good night, Tyrellan.’

‘Good night.’

•

Lalenda lay awake, staring at the roof of the large black tent, on a plush and comfortable mattress that smelt a bit like horse. It seemed strange that it was someone’s job to be responsible for the dreamer’s comfort, and lug about his bedding. They weren’t all soldiers, she supposed. With an army this size, there were plenty of things to do besides fight.

She had slept already, and awoken again to wonder where Losara was. Thoughts of her prophecy kept her so anxious that it was a marvel she’d been able to sleep in the first place. She kept seeing the vision of herself and Jaya both holding the hands of a blue-haired man. Foggy it had been, uncertain. Would it come to pass? Finally there came a shifting in the corner, and she sat up to see that he had arrived, and was now undressing.

‘Hello flutterbug,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘I was awake already.’

Once naked, he flowed under the sheets and re-formed next to her, his eyes already closed. She cuddled up to him, and put a hand on his chest. He stirred slightly, whispered something under his breath, and wrapped his arms around her. Then he was asleep, and she lay trapped, wide awake in his embrace. Frustrated, she tried to get comfortable. She had been entertaining the notion that she would jump all over him when he got to bed. She felt a burning need to consolidate their connection in the face of the prophecy, or maybe just simply forget about it all for a few blessed moments …but he slumbered, and although she half-heartedly explored his body, it seemed he was too deeply gone.

She no longer felt like lying down. Disentangling herself roughly, Lalenda pulled a frayed green dress down over her wings and left the tent. Outside, the tents of Losara’s commanders stood about in a circle, in the centre of the dense camp. Without much purpose she headed into it all.

Many of the regular soldiers slept in the open, their scant belongings piled around them. She stepped nimbly over a Vortharg who lay slobbering quietly, curled against an ice lantern. There was a kind of order to the camp, she knew, but right now it was hard to see. Off at the edges, patrols moved, and there came the occasional voices of Graka overhead. There were so many here it seemed impossible that all could be defeated …yet across the way lay just as many, if not more, of the cursed enemy.

She flapped and took off directly upwards. As she did, she felt air rise under her wings that could not have been caused by any wind.

‘Grimra feels a tugging at his pendant,’ said the ghost. ‘Wonders why Lalenda is up and about when he think she be sleeping.’

‘Sleep finds me not this night,’ she said.

‘Ah,’ whispered Grimra. ‘Grimra remembers not much about sleep, but sometimes he makes himself small and still. Then for a time he forgets everything, and hunger does not bother.’

‘Something akin to sleep, then?’ she said. They were high enough now that she could see the sweep of the Kainordans, and tried to work out how greatly they outnumbered the shadow. ‘But I cannot escape my hunger that way tonight.’

‘What does flutterbug hunger for?’ said Grimra.

‘For them,’ said Lalenda, pointing at the distant fires, ‘to be gone from the world.’

Grimra swirled, steadying her as she hovered. ‘That is not the concern of Lalenda,’ he said. ‘There be great warriors and deadly mages aplenty for such business. Lalenda’s job is to be small and cutesy.’

Lalenda laughed. ‘Would that it were so.’

‘Is it not? What brings flutterbug so high?’

Her laugh was quickly strangled by worry. She could not tell the ghost about Losara’s uncertain and secret plan, for he had sworn her to silence.

‘I had a vision,’ she said.

‘Oho yes, some trick or fancy of the sleep-time.’

‘No, not a dream. A prophecy.’

Grimra growled. He did not like her prophecies, for the last one had led them to the undead of Duskwood, an enterprise he had not cared for at all.

‘What does Lalenda burn next?’ he said bleakly.

‘It showed no burning.’

‘What it be showing, then?’

Well , she thought, telling him what I saw isn’t the same thing as betraying Losara’s trust.

‘I saw myself …I am not sure, but I think I was standing with a blue-haired man, holding his hand …and on the other side was another woman.’

‘Sharing?’

‘Perhaps,’ she said angrily. ‘Or trying to pull him away.’

‘Well, where be this imposter?’ said Grimra. ‘Grimra could chew her face off, not so tempting then she be!’

‘Over there,’ said Lalenda, gesturing at the Kainordans.

Grimra groaned. ‘So that is why flutterbug wants so much to see them fall.’

‘Yes,’ she said, and the claws flicked from her fingertips. ‘And one in particular. Lalenda does not care to share.’

•

Losara did not realise how much he’d been missing Fenvarrow until he drifted there in his dream. How cool it was, how quiet and peaceful under the Cloud, away from battle. He had almost grown used to the sun, from his days with the army and, before that, travelling with Bel. He did not enjoy it, but like a niggling old wound he sometimes forgot its presence. This was what he fought for, he reminded himself – so that this peace would go undisturbed by the encroaching light in the north.

He found himself on the ashen fields where Duskwood had once stood. New plants were finally beginning to grow, in ground long untouched by life – Lalenda had told him how the Shadowdreamer Assidax had cast an enchantment on this place to keep the wood dry and dusty. It seemed that with the wood’s destruction, the enchantment had gone too. His flutterbug had done well, but it had been a favour to the future, worth nothing if Losara could not save them all.

The land began to flash by, and he wondered if this dream had a purpose, for it seemed to be taking him somewhere. When he slowed he was at the base of the Bentemoth Mountains, ancestral home of the Graka. In the lee of the peaks lay an area of coarse swampland called the Thin Soup, where spindly trees grew out of soft mud, crisscrossed by streams no bigger than trickling tears. It seemed a desolate place, lacking the vibrant growth of other mires he had seen. A movement in the trees caught his eye – a bird, its colourful plumage dull in the grey light. He watched as it flitted from branch to branch, eventually coming to a stop and staring at him with blood-drop eyes.

He awoke. Under the black tent roof the air was growing muggy as the canvas absorbed the rays of the rising sun. By his side Lalenda snoozed, her sheets unconsciously flung aside. Let her sleep , he thought. The heat of the coming day would wake her soon enough.

A weaver . That’s what he had seen. He hadn’t given much thought to the creatures since the end of Iassia. They were difficult to find, and unlikely to serve anyone but themselves, so there had seemed no reason to seek one out. But now the Shadowdream had shown him where he could find one.

Why?

Maybe there was no purpose. There often wasn’t.

More immediate problems came to the forefront of his mind. It had only been a day since the armies began their stand-off, yet it felt longer, and Bel seemed ready to remain where he was indeterminately. Why not? It cost the light little to defend – this was their land, where they were well supplied. Losara, on the other hand, was the invader. He needed to keep the momentum going, or supplies would dwindle and morale would suffer. The first step towards countering that, he felt to the bottom of his bones, was that his underlings understood why they did not simply stampede with the shadowmander and wipe out the Kainordans, just as they had done at the Shining Mines. Tyrellan counselled that he need not tell them anything, insisting that no commander in history had ever given his soldiers the full story …but Losara felt that sitting here in the baking sun while the enemy flaunted itself just there made the situation a little different. Yet how could he possibly trust all his folk with his secret?

He fell to shadow and went creeping out into the camp. Many were waking, and some, who had been watching during the night, were retiring. He found one such, a Vortharg, lying in the shade of a tree down by the river, and crept up to the doorstep of his slumbering mind.

Tentoy, the Vortharg’s name, was the first thing he learned. Losara hovered on the threshold, not seeking to enter Tentoy completely, merely to ask him questions that he would not later remember answering. A sample, he supposed, taken at random.

Tentoy , he said, how do you feel?

Hot. Tired.

How do you feel about the war?

It is good, if it brings peace. I wish the light would just leave us alone, but I know they won’t. I want it all dealt with, so I can go back to my caves, safe in the knowledge that no Kainordan wishes me harm.

Losara was surprised by the resigned determination in the Vortharg’s words.

How do you feel about the current situation?

Hot. Tired.

No , said Losara, I mean what do you think about the Shadowdreamer’s lack of action, when the Kainordans are right in front of him?

Mages always behave strangely. There’s no point trying to understand them.

And what would you do if you knew a secret that could potentially harm the dreamer?

Keep it , said Tentoy. I want him to win. I want to go back to my caves.

Losara was gladdened, and yet not wholly.

What if this happened? he asked.

He seeped Tentoy into a dream, in which the Vortharg was tied, stretched out on the ground, with ants crawling over him. Around him stood Kainordans, and one pricked Tentoy with his sword, a shallow but painful cut. Tentoy cried out, and Losara knew a moment of shame for testing his loyal subject so harshly.

‘What do you know?’ said the man.

‘Nothing!’ burbled Tentoy.

The man cut him again.

‘What do you know?’

The Vortharg gibbered, then gnashed his tusks defiantly.

‘Will you tell us the Shadowdreamer’s secret?’ the Varenkai said.

Would you, Tentoy? Losara pushed himself to keep the nightmare going, reminding himself that the pain he inflicted was not real.

There was hesitation in the Vortharg’s mind, distress and bewilderment.

You don’t know? said Losara.

I would try, for my family, to be strong, but …

There came an incoherent commotion, as Tentoy tried to know for himself what he would do in such a circumstance. For Losara his uncertainty was enough of an answer in itself, and he decided to let the soldier have his rest.

What to do.

Tentoy was just one of many. Losara spread out, not as shadow but mentally. Here on the plane of thought, he could sense thousands of minds around him like a great, low chattering. He could speak to them all at once, if he wished, and for a moment he was tempted to do so …but he still had no way to bind his secret to them.

Bind my secret to them , he thought.

Weavers knew how to do such a thing.

Perhaps the dream had come for a reason.

He sought Roma, found him just stepping out of his own black tent next to Losara’s, and materialised.

Roma bowed his head. ‘Lord Shadowdreamer.’

‘Magus Supreme,’ acknowledged Losara. ‘I will be away this morning for a time. I leave you in charge.’

‘As you command.’

As Losara sped away towards Fenvarrow, he thought about how Roma had not asked him where he was going, or for how long, or why. Perhaps Losara should have more faith in his people’s loyalty, and their ability to take orders without reasons. But then again Roma was special, and not all were as strong, or as moulded, as he.

One day, Roma , he thought, I will build you that grand house in Afei Edres. Hopefully one day soon.

Then he was across the border, heading towards the Bentemoth Mountains. He did not tarry, and a blink later the ice-topped peaks in the distance were towering above him. He slipped around them, pooling to a stop at the edge of the Thin Soup.

Weaver , he sent out, loud and clear in the psychic landscape. I ask that you visit me.

If the creature was close enough to have heard him, it did not appear. He moved on, trying to discover the place he had seen in the dream. The flat mud and trees were blandly uniform, and it began to seem something of a hopeless exercise.

Weaver , he tried from a new place. The Shadowdreamer seeks your counsel. Please attend.

Losara sat down to watch the mire. It was a bleak place, and he wondered why any creature with choice would make its home here.

‘The bugs,’ tweeted a voice.

There was a fluttering of wings, and a small bird flew out of the trees to land on the ground before him. Its feathers were blue and purple, with a breast of silver. Like all weavers, it was a colourful and striking creature indeed.

‘Sorry?’ said Losara.

‘The bugs are good,’ remarked the bird. ‘Plenty of fat ones in the mud, and plenty in the trees. Dragonflies too, though you can’t eat them all the time. Too bitter.’ She gave a chirp of amusement. ‘Well, you asked.’

‘I suppose I did.’

‘There’s a couple of us here, actually,’ said the bird. ‘Though the other doesn’t want to talk to you. Grouchy fellow, right from the start. So you’re the Shadowdreamer at the moment, are you?’

‘Yes. I’m called Losara.’

‘Eosene,’ said the weaver.

Losara stared at her in surprise. Eosene had been one of the three weavers who had sworn to serve Kryzante, the first Shadowdreamer. They had done so in exchange for the souls of all their kind being converted to shadow, thus hiding them from their maker, Arkus – but that bargain had ended with Kryzante’s death.

‘Nice head of hair you have there,’ observed Eosene, cocking her head at him.

‘I thank you for heeding my call,’ said Losara. ‘I realise you did not have to.’

‘Well,’ said Eosene, ‘you fight Arkus, do you not? I have a vested interest in him suffering a tragic defeat.’

‘You are aware of the battle in the north?’

‘Certainly,’ said Eosene. ‘A little bird told me all about it.’

Losara gave a smile. ‘Perhaps you are not aware of the latest moments, however?’

‘True enough.’

Losara nodded. ‘I have a need,’ he said. ‘I wish to bind my soldiers to the keeping of a secret.’

Eosene gave a soft twitter. ‘I do like secrets.’

‘I wonder if you and I can strike a bargain, then,’ said Losara. ‘I will tell you my secret and, in exchange, you will never tell anyone else.’

‘Very well,’ said the bird. ‘A similar bargain to the one you would strike with your soldiers?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you wish to see it demonstrated?’

‘Yes.’

‘As you wish.’

She flew up onto his head. Losara sensed something happening, but it was hard to make out what – then she tapped her beak on his brow, and something clicked into place. She flew back to the ground.

‘The deal is struck,’ she said.

‘But I did not see how it was done.’

‘No, I expect not. It is harder to see when you are the target.’ She scratched at the ground with a claw. ‘Perhaps we need a third party, so you can view the whole thing from an outside perspective. There is a village not far from here, where no doubt we can find someone tending their pigs, and entreat them to help us. And now,’ her eyes glittered, ‘I cannot keep a secret if I don’t know what it is.’

Losara felt an urge take hold, beyond his control, and opened his mouth to spill forth words. ‘My soul is shared by Blade Bel, the blue-haired man on the side of the enemy. If one of us dies, so does the other.’

Eosene went very still.

Losara shivered – the feeling of possession left him, but a sense of violation remained in its wake. Too casual he had been about giving over control to this creature he did not know. Stupid. Hasty.

‘That is very interesting,’ said Eosene.

‘You are bound to tell no one.’

‘That was our bargain, of course. Now,’ she fluttered up to land on his shoulder, ‘do you want to see how one is made?’

•

It was not far to the tiny village, built on flats slightly higher than the swamp. Pig sties hemmed in a few central buildings, loosely constructed of piled stones. Eosene directed Losara to the outskirts, from where they could see a middle-aged man with a limp tending to his pigs.

‘Bad foot,’ said Eosene. ‘That’s why he remains. Most of the others have answered your call to arms.’

Looking around, Losara saw no one else. It was hard to tell whether or not the houses were falling to disrepair, for they were so meagre to begin with. He felt a moment of guilt at being the reason these people had abandoned their lives.

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ said Eosene. ‘Their lives weren’t very exciting in the first place. They probably welcomed the chance to be away from them.’

Disturbed, Losara shored up his mind from the bird – he had to remember how adept weavers were at getting into people’s heads.

‘Besides,’ continued Eosene, ‘their pigs are being attended to. Reddle, there, he looks after the ones whose owners are gone, and as payment he’ll take any that no one returns to claim.’

‘Where are the children?’ said Losara.

‘Oh,’ said the bird, ‘they’re around …playing somewhere, no doubt – you know how children are. Now, shall we do what we came here for?’

Losara nodded slowly.

As they drew closer, the man called Reddle looked up, and blanched in disbelief at what he saw. Losara wondered if he should have cast an illusion to disguise himself, but then, why should he?

‘Reddle,’ chirped the bird in amusement, ‘meet the Shadowdreamer.’

Reddle fell to his knees in the filthy dirt. ‘Forgive me, lord,’ he grovelled. ‘It is my foot, or I would have answered your call! Had a break that did not heal well several seasons ago, and now I can barely put weight on it, you see, and –’

‘Silence,’ said Losara, and Reddle cringed. Perhaps he had spoken too harshly, when he had simply wanted to correct the man’s mistake. ‘I have not come to command you to fight,’ he continued more kindly, ‘but perhaps you can help me in another way.’

‘Anything, lord!’

The man was virtually floundering in the mud now, and it bothered Losara to see him prostrate.

‘Please rise,’ he said.

With some difficulty Reddle did so, leaning on one of his pigs.

‘Reddle,’ said Eosene, ‘the Shadowdreamer wishes to see me demonstrate my magic. But I cannot do so with this one, lord, as Reddle and I already have a bargain.’

‘Oh?’ said Losara.

‘A band of Mire Pixies set up in the Soup a while back,’ said Eosene. ‘They were stealing pigs. I was able to give them the impression, however, that there would be easier pickings elsewhere. Isn’t that right, Reddle?’

‘Yes,’ said Reddle quickly. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And the favour you asked in return?’ said Losara.

‘Haven’t really needed anything yet,’ said Eosene. ‘The favour owing does not need to be specific.’

‘I see.’

‘At any rate,’ said the weaver, ‘I wonder if your dear wife is about, Reddle? Perhaps she would not mind helping the cause.’

At that Reddle looked deeply afraid, his eyes darting between Eosene and Losara. ‘You want my wife to make a bargain with the weaver, lord?’ he asked miserably.

Losara did not know what was making the man so unhappy. Most feared weavers, that was true, yet Eosene had already proved she was different by helping to rid the farmer of bandits. In fact she seemed to emanate trustworthiness so strongly that Losara felt sure she meant no harm to anyone. It must be Losara who terrified Reddle, he decided, something that was not uncommon.

‘Reddle,’ he said, ‘it’s only so I can learn how it’s done. It will be a great service to our people. And I am sure Eosene will not hold your wife to anything she objects to.’ He cast a glance at the bird on his shoulder.

‘Of course not, lord,’ said Eosene indignantly. ‘Why, I have already aided these people and not asked for anything in return. Come, Reddle, you know me – I will bring no harm to Clandra.’

Reddle stared at the bird a long moment, then bowed. ‘As you command, lord.’ He hobbled off around his hut.

‘What bargain will you make with her?’ said Losara as they waited.

‘Oh,’ said Eosene, ‘I don’t know – maybe to find me some bugs? Or maybe I won’t lay down my end for certain – who knows what needs the future may bring?’

Losara nodded. That seemed reasonable enough.

Reddle reappeared leading a weathered-looking woman with stringy hair and fear in her eyes. She faltered when she saw Losara, but Reddle took her by the arm.

‘This is my wife, Clandra, lord,’ he said.

‘Lord Shadowdreamer,’ quaked Clandra.

She was scared of him too, of course. Battu had a lot to answer for, if everyone thought the dreamer must be so terrible. Losara found himself growing quite angry that these people saw him this way. Bad enough to get it from the other side, but from his own as well …

‘Clandra,’ he said, his voice gentle, ‘I wish to see weaver magic demonstrated, and we need a subject. Will you allow Eosene here to strike a bargain with you?’

‘Wh …whatever you wish, lord,’ she whimpered.

‘All right,’ said Eosene. ‘Let’s keep this simple. Clandra, I will find you some prayer weed from the mire. In return, you can do a favour for me in the future.’

‘Yes,’ whispered Clandra.

‘Now observe, lord,’ said Eosene. ‘I shall do this slowly.’

A thin twine of thought issued out from the weaver. Losara concentrated hard, and thought he could sense something of its contents – a promise to find the prayer weed.

‘And now you hold the idea in your head, Clandra,’ continued Eosene, ‘that you will owe me a favour.’ A pause, and then, ‘There it is, lord, at the forefront of her mind. Now I just coax it out.’

Another thread, this time for Clandra, wound up into the air where the first was floating free. They wrapped around each other, until there was just one thread.

‘Now a part for each,’ said Eosene. She flew up and bit the intertwined thread in two. One disappeared into her head, and the other she took in her beak and guided down to Clandra. She gave the woman a tap on the brow, and the thread sank away into her. Clandra blinked.

‘It is done,’ said Eosene. ‘Did you see, my lord?’

‘I did,’ replied Losara. ‘But I am not sure I can do that.’

‘No?’ asked Eosene sweetly. ‘Could it be, perhaps, that the gifts given to weavers by Arkus himself are not as easily learned as cutting up bread or squatting to shit?’ She chirped cheerfully as she flew from Losara’s shoulder. ‘Reddle, as my favour I ask you to kill the Shadowdreamer !’

Reddle’s eyes flickered in fear, but he picked up a blunt rake that had been leaning against the sty fence. He lurched towards Losara, raising the weapon. Clandra grasped him with a cry and roughly he shook her off to shamble onwards, slow but driven, the rake ready to strike.

Losara frowned. Surely the bird did not think this cripple represented any real threat? He dissolved to shadow and re-formed on the flats some distance away. Reddle looked around, perplexed, spied Losara a moment later, and began shuffling towards him again. At his current pace, it would take him some minutes to arrive.

Lord? Where did you go? Ah.

The weaver flew out of the sky and landed on Losara’s shoulder.

‘What was the purpose of that?’ asked Losara, a vague irritation nudging at him.

‘Just something to think about,’ said Eosene. ‘The fact that someone keeps a secret does not stop them from acting upon it. Someone in your ranks could decide to kill you without uttering a single word about why.’

‘I take your point,’ said Losara gloomily. ‘But there was no need to illustrate it so. Will that man now wander forever trying to find me?’

‘Let us head back to him,’ said Eosene. ‘I will nullify what I asked him for.’

‘Anyway,’ said Losara, ‘if I cannot replicate weaver magic in the first place, there was no reason to learn such a lesson.’

‘I thought it might make you feel better,’ said Eosene, ‘to know your idea was flawed from the start, so cannot be blamed on any deficit in your own abilities.’

Losara nodded. ‘I see.’

‘Reddle,’ called Eosene as they drew nearer, ‘I retract my favour. You owe me nothing.’

Reddle collapsed to his knees, sobbing. ‘Forgive me, lord! It was the weaver! I could not stop! Please …’

Clandra fell beside him, encircling him protectively in her arms. ‘He did not mean it, lord! It was that bird!’

Their voices combined to a pitiful gabble, which Losara quickly found irksome. ‘Enough! You will not be punished.’ He grimaced. ‘I have learned what I needed to, and cannot ask for more.’

‘Do not fault yourself, lord,’ said Eosene. ‘Weaver magic is a complex thing, bestowed only upon my kind.’

‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘I will have to find some other means.’

Eosene flew down to the ground, and hopped about to face him.

‘Taking your leave now, lord?’

Losara stared at her blankly for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘I should return to the army.’

‘Yes,’ said Eosene. ‘Return to your army, and do not pander to them any more. They are yours to do with as you will, and just as you have no right to weavers’ secrets, they have no right to yours.’

Losara felt the words sink in and take root in his mind. Eosene was right. There was no need to waste time getting sidetracked in this attempt to indulge the curiosity of those who were born to serve him without question.

With a renewed sense of purpose he sped away across the Ragga Plains, and as he went he found his head beginning to clear. Strange, as he had not noticed it fogging in the first place, but looking back now he remembered his recent actions only dimly, as if he’d taken a strong drink. Surely the bird had not …but yes, as the distance between them grew, he began to feel sure that Eosene had been manipulating him. Then came the realisation that this expedition had put him in danger, and he had not even noticed it happening. At worst he had been toyed with. At best he had received advice that now seemed tainted despite the truth of it. But still, it was as he’d always been told, yet somehow forgotten in his need – never trust a weaver.

•

Eosene watched the Shadowdreamer depart, impressed with the way he could come and go wholly in the shadows. Thank goodness the champion of Fenvarrow had some talent, at least. She shook her little head. Such arrogance to think he could master her gift simply by seeing it occur.

She glanced at Reddle, still snivelling in the dirt. Would she have preferred that he had somehow succeeded in killing the dreamer? With the death of the blue-haired men, balance would have been restored, but that mattered little to Eosene – all she cared about was that Arkus did not win.

I suppose a good way for that to happen would be if he were destroyed for all time , she thought. Thus I suppose I will hope for such an outcome, and not be the one to try killing you, Shadowdreamer.

Meanwhile the two pig farmers were finally realising that Losara was gone.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘it seems you no longer owe me a favour, Reddle, although your wife now does. So unless you want me to have her walk into Ryme Lake up past her head, or close her legs to you forever, you’ll go fetch me some fresh meat.’

She cast a last look in the direction Losara had departed. ‘Bugs indeed,’ she said, and twittered merrily.

Abomination

Fahren tried to steady his hands despite the roiling in his guts, and closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of her as she lay there, so peaceful, still looking like that young girl who’d shown such promise. ‘Surely there is another way,’ he murmured.

‘You have the orders of your god,’ came Battu’s voice behind him. ‘If you cannot follow him, who do you fight for?’ Once again Fahren found himself wishing that Arkus had left Battu as he had been. It was true that, after being bound to help, Battu’s trustworthiness was no longer in question …but as a side effect Battu was now free to be as unpleasant as he liked, and the subservient, even friendly, demeanour he had previously carried was gone. Evidently he no longer felt he had to impress Fahren with decorum, as he had nothing left to prove.

Taking a deep breath, Fahren began to channel. His power entered Elessa’s corpse, and dimly he sensed the path her soul had taken when it had departed beyond the veil of the world, like footprints of the soul almost faded away. He let his power follow those footprints, felt it meet some kind of resistance, then slip through into an unknown other side.

‘Like fishing,’ said Battu. ‘Except the fish is already hooked and you create the line.’

It was odd to think that part of him was now entering Arkus’s Great Well of Souls. He let his power spool out, felt a warm glow travel back along it to suffuse him.

‘Do not be seduced,’ he heard Battu say. ‘Search.’

He concentrated, trying to find anything that recognised the body he channelled through. For a time there was nothing, and he wondered if he had done something wrong. Then he felt a contact at the end of his ‘line’. It bounced brightly as he seized it tightly, mercilessly.

It , he chastised himself. No kind word for that which remains of Elessa’s soul.

As he retracted his power, she struggled frantically. It sickened him to hold onto her so fast, drawing her towards him. The warmth he had been feeling turned stiflingly unpleasant, hot in his lungs. There was a faint popping as he dragged her through whatever barrier separated the Well from the world, into herself. For a moment nothing happened, and he dared to hope that he had failed.

Then Elessa Lanclara opened her eyes with a gasp. Fahren’s hands trembled as he lowered them, staring with disbelief upon what he had wrought. In all his life he had never done anything that felt so viscerally wrong …yet he had stepped through the door and there was no turning back.

‘Well,’ said Battu. ‘Didn’t think you had it in you.’

Elessa’s hand went unsteadily to her chest, as if she sensed she had no breath, and that her heart did not beat. Slowly she lifted her head, and Fahren forced himself to meet her gaze, though he wanted nothing more desperately than to bury his ashamed face in his hands. He tried to smile, and felt as if his face would crack like dropped crockery if he managed it. How much of her is left ? he wondered. So long in the Well meant that parts of her would be gone, dissipated into the collective, perhaps reborn. Would she even remember who she was? Maybe it would be a blessing if she didn’t.

‘Fahren?’ she croaked, dispelling the notion that he might escape so easily. Then she looked about at the casket she was in, and gave a little cry that almost broke him.

‘Here,’ he said with an attempt at a comforting tone, going down on one knee and reaching towards her. ‘Let us get you out of that thing.’

She reached back, but then her eyes widened. Her hand twisted from reaching to pointing, and a blazing beam shot over Fahren’s shoulder. Battu staggered under the attack, the air around him dark with a hastily cast defence.

‘Elessa!’ shouted Fahren, over her howl of rage.

‘Call her off,’ grunted Battu through gritted teeth as the shadows around him wavered under the onslaught.

Fahren crawled along the side of the open casket until he could put a hand on Elessa’s shoulder.

‘Elessa! Battu is not the enemy!’

She did not seem to notice – maybe she did not even feel his touch. He gave her a shake and her gaze snapped to his, while the beam continued burning at Battu’s ward.

‘Please listen to me,’ said Fahren. ‘You must stop – Battu will not harm you. In fact, he helped me bring you back.’

‘Bring me back?’ she echoed, confused.

The beam sizzled out as she raised her hand before her eyes, turning it for inspection.

‘A strong one, that,’ puffed Battu, the shadows around him fading.

The horror on Elessa’s face was more than Fahren could bear.

‘High Mage,’ she said, ‘what have you done?’

•

Elessa wound her way haltingly through the graves of the Inviolable. Smooth white pathways ran out before her, leading off in various directions through well kept gardens and graves. They passed polished glass plates set in the ground, beneath which lay perfectly preserved bodies. It was a serene place, though the last thing she felt was serene. Beside her trod Fahren, and the man who had been Shadowdreamer the last time she had known of him. For nearly twenty years now she had not been confined to a body, and functions that had once been mechanical and instinctual now demanded intense concentration. Worse, the flesh atop her skeleton had the sensation of a heavily constrictive cloak. Certainly as she touched things she knew they were there, but there was no depth to that knowing, no pleasure or pain. The sun was shining, yet there was no heat on her skin.

In the Well she had floated free, part of a collective, but as an individual her memory was fragmented, her sense of self uncertain. All that remained were the barest structures. Maybe it was a blessing, considering the supreme wrongness of what had been done to her – the last thing she needed was more of herself present to feel such deep violation. She had been at peace, in paradise, yet now she was back, pulled harshly into a world she should never have seen through these eyes again.

The High Mage – now the Throne, it seemed – was gabbling away about something, his voice piercing with a metallic ring. In fact, everything she heard seemed that way, as if sound was not entering through her ears, but being magnified directly into her mind. It was the same with sight – she was not really looking , but rather knowing things instantly for what and where they were. With such elevated senses, it all fast became busy and confounding. If she’d been able to feel her guts, she would have emptied them.

He was talking about why he’d done this thing to her, asking her to forgive him, bringing up their time together as student and teacher, maybe in an effort to reignite her identity, or make her somehow feel a part of things again. She felt about as much a part of things as a bird drowning in mud. She tried to listen, but anger distracted her …of all the people who might inflict this on her, she would not have suspected Fahren! Certainly the presence of Battu, and Fahren’s evident alignment with him, was something she did not yet understand. Of her mortal life, the night she remembered best was her last, when she had died at the hands of Battu’s minions – and yet here the man was, walking beside her, casting her dark glances. She thought of the dagger wound that had been her undoing, ran a hand under the white dress they had buried her in. There – a patch of smooth skin like the hide of a drum stretched tight, ringed by the ridges of a blade’s entry, where she had sealed herself to stop the bleeding. She had never actually healed properly underneath, so the slightest tear and the wound would gape open …yet in her present state it would not harm or hinder.

What did she look like? She suddenly needed to know. Was her face grey and rotting, her eyes dim and lifeless? Had she been bruised when she’d died, or even as they had put her in her grave? Was every scratch now permanently affixed?

‘A mirror,’ she said, interrupting whatever Fahren had been saying.

‘Sorry, Elessa?’ he said.

‘Bring me a mirror!’ she shouted.

He took a step back before her wrath, pale and stricken. What did he expect, that she would happily return to this wasted carcass?

‘Allow me,’ said Battu. He waved at grass nearby, and dewdrops rose from the ground. He whorled them together into a sphere, then flattened it out into a circle. As it drifted towards her, she wondered vaguely how such a prettily shining thing could come from such a man. Then she noticed it was backed with shadow, a thin film that stopped the other side showing through, ensuring she would see her reflection clearly. It arrived to hover before her face, the watery surface taking a moment to still …and then she saw herself.

Whatever abhorrence she had feared to find staring back blankly, what she actually saw stunned her. She went on looking, on and on, and time must have passed, for Fahren started talking again. He was explaining about something she had to do, something involving that goblin Tyrellan, the one who’d stuck her with his dagger, whom she had cursed forever in return. She turned her face this way and that, but could not bring herself to believe that so little had changed. A moment of relief came to her, a relic of vanity that left her grounded as she rediscovered something human in herself …but the moment passed quickly. Perhaps she looked normal, yet how could she be, when she felt so different? The vanity was nothing but an echo of a woman’s concern, not one for a ghoul.

She waved her hand and shattered Battu’s mirror to mist. It sprayed against him and he grinned, beads dripping from his nose. Inexplicably, she felt an odd affinity with him. Battu understood what had been done to her more than Fahren did, she felt sure – at least he was not nattering away, trying to distract her from dealing with her own desecration.

‘How could you?’ she said to the man she had once revered. ‘It is not the way of the light. I should not be here.’

Fahren wiped his cheeks with his sleeve – how long had he been crying?

‘We are in very great need, Elessa,’ he said. ‘Please, you will not be long amongst us, but your presence could save us all.’

Something else sparked in her then, very deep and dim, a firefly trapped in a jar that sank into the sea – the love she had once held for her land and her people, her family and friends. Days spent in the shining sun. Holding Kessum’s hand.

No , she thought. I never did that. I only dreamed about it.

A sob wanted to burst from her chest, but all that emerged was a grating rasp, and no tears formed in her dry, dead eyes.

Maybe she could try to endure for a while.

A Chase at Dawn

Losara re-entered Kainordas via the Nyul’ya river. A couple of leagues past the Mines he spotted a supply group – Greys working large carts, guarded by some Blacks and Graka circling overhead. Despite their swords and resolute bearing, and the size of the army they journeyed to, they looked vulnerable out here by themselves. This was still Kainordan soil.

As he watched them from the shade of a willow tree, there came a rustle from above. Looking up, he was surprised to see a Varenkai lying on a branch, spying on his soldiers. What tales will you tell your masters? he thought. Will you set them upon my supply route?

He stole up the tree trunk and out along the branch, coming to rest underneath the oblivious Varenkai. As he looked up into the man’s eyes, so unsuspecting of the danger, he felt like a lurking monster.

At least he could make it quick.

He came half into being, real only from the waist up, and froze the scout’s heart. The man gasped briefly, went stiff, and slowly toppled from the branch.

Just one , Losara thought. But there will be others, and plenty of them.

Another non-accomplishment for the day. At least the encounter with Eosene had made him realise that there was no easy way to be open and honest with his people. They were just going to have to trust him – or, at the very least, do as he commanded. Some secrets, it seemed, were meant to remain so.

He rejoined his army to discover that nothing had changed. Both his people and the enemy seemed more organised, perhaps. They were settling in, which irritated him. He did not want to get bogged down too long.

He pooled by two Graka sitting in their camp.

‘…attack soon?’ one was saying.

‘We can only hope. I don’t think his Greatness realises quite how much we black and stony fellows heat up in this infernal sunlight. I feel like I’m sitting in a blacksmith’s forge.’

‘Why do we wait? Why doesn’t he send that mander in to gnash them to pieces?’

Losara made a snap decision. If he was going to keep his secret to himself, at least he could make it known that his actions were not to be questioned. Quickly he formed, seated on a stone beside the Graka.

‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘you’re just going to have to accept that I have my reasons.’

The two Graka stared at him, open-mouthed.

‘And it seems,’ said Losara, ‘that we may have to remain here for some days, but rest assured I still intend to crush the enemy.’ He tried to give his words conviction. ‘So it would be better if you ceased your doubting, and instead endured this adversity with the stern stuff that we shadow folk are made of.’

The Graka scrabbled to their knees. Losara did not wait to hear their supplication, but dissipated and left. Hopefully the story would spread throughout the camp, a reminder to all that Losara was still focused on winning …and perhaps, just a little like Battu before him, that it was dangerous to question him out loud.

All of a sudden, a great wailing went up at the river. Some of the voices were abruptly silenced even as others rushed in to fill the gaps, thickening to an ululating chorus of terror. Losara froze for a second in the lee of a tent, fearful of what was happening, then changed course towards the sound. A couple of heartbeats later he arrived, and the sight that met his shadowy eyes left him appalled.

In the heat of the day, a great many Vorthargs had taken to the river to protect themselves from drying out. Prone bodies now bobbed in the water, while the living struggled between them to reach the shore. Bright spots in the water flared against them, making them thrash and die. It was hard to tell who was screaming in distress, and who in pain.

Losara expanded his senses and discovered a multitude of little spells perfectly disguised as sparkling motes, which seemed to be activating when they touched skin. He flowed beneath the surface of the water where he could see them more clearly, actual shining dots flowing past in large numbers – some concoction of the lightfists upriver, no doubt.

Clever , thought Losara, with more revulsion than admiration …and took physical form at the bottom of the river, his feet buried amongst stones to root him against the current. He threw up a shadow ward and, weaving his hands as if he was stretching dough, widened it all the way from one side of the river to the other. The little light spells began to catch in it, flickering and fading as they touched shadow. Losara made sure the ward was fastened securely, then left the water to reappear, dripping, on the bank.

‘What has happened, lord?’

Roma had arrived, his ponytail frayed from speeding through the camp.

‘It is all right,’ said Losara, the words like cotton in his mouth. He did not believe them, so how could he expect anyone else to?

Along a sizeable stretch of river, hundreds of the dead were drifting, swirling. Many had been Vorthargs, but there were others too. He saw an Arabodedas woman pawing at a still body, trying to drag it to shore, and reached out to help lift her free …but she gave a yowl as the water around her glowed with one of the last spells this side of his net. He dropped his hand, disquieted, as others scrambled up the bank in droves, and many sets of scared eyes turned to him.

It was far from all right.

Suddenly and strongly, he felt the need to do something. Perhaps he could not tell his troops why they were delayed, but he needed to show them that they weren’t simply targets, waiting to be picked off at any moment.

‘They sent spells at us in the water,’ he told Roma. ‘I have stopped them, but we’ll need mages stationed here at all times to maintain the net I’ve set up. For now the river is safe again – have that put about.’

‘I doubt anyone will be going back in soon, lord,’ said Roma gloomily.

‘They will have to, as we both know. It is so damned hot.’

‘It is that.’

Downstream, bodies were snagging on rocks and submerged branches, or washing up onto the shore. At a bend further on, they were collecting in a large and grisly pile.

‘Maybe they will be more easily encouraged to return once the dead are cleared away,’ observed Losara.

‘I will see to it, lord.’

Up the river he noticed the shadowmander stretching its head out over the water, peering in curiously – could it sense the hidden light magic riding along in the current? There must be a way , he thought determinedly, to make the creature work to our advantage. And, as he considered it, an idea began to form.

‘I leave this to you, Roma,’ he said. ‘There is something I must discuss with Tyrellan.’

And then , he thought, perhaps we’ll give the enemy a surprise of our own.

•

Bel realised he had worked the blade of grass between his teeth until it was thread-like, and spat out bitter fibres.

The day, as he’d sat and waited, had been uneventful.

‘Others watch too, you know,’ Jaya had told him, which was true. On Bel’s wishes Brahl had set several scouts about with the specific task of tracking the shadowmander’s movements, yet that did not change the fact that Bel had to remain right here – and so with nothing else to do, he watched also. Jaya had grown bored with it, and had disappeared a couple of hours ago to ‘poke around’, scowling when he’d told her not to steal anything from the army. Meanwhile Querrus, who had been up all night, slept on his bedroll under the stretched canvas. That was now his domain entirely, for Jaya had managed to procure a sizeable tent for her and Bel. There had been some cat-calling from nearby soldiers as they’d erected it together, but any singled out directly by one of Jaya’s looks had been quick to fall silent.

Bel turned on his stone to consider his army. Brahl was in sight, just returned from the front, where he had set up with his officers. Bel could almost see the multiple strands of control radiating from the man, as if he stood at the centre of an enormous web. The troops answered to the troop leaders, who answered to the cerepans, under the control of the phalanx commanders, who reported to their respective gerents, all of whom reported directly to Brahl. And then a single strand from Brahl, over the grass to Bel.

His army.

Distant shouting met his ears. He turned back to the field, and leaped to his feet when he did not immediately see the mander. Then he spied it by the river – a break from its usual mindless loping up and down the same line. Maybe it had seen a fish it now wanted to destroy?

The shouts continued for a while, but Bel was unable to pinpoint their source. Eventually they died off, and the mander returned to its pacing.

‘Blade Bel?’

Bel glanced about. ‘Ah, Gerent Brahl. How goes it?’

‘Quite well,’ said Brahl, sitting down at the dormant fireside. ‘Our mages have poured spells into the river, and we think we claimed quite a few lives before they worked out what was going on. So it will make any of them thinking about a nice cooling swim think twice.’

‘Good work,’ said Bel, as if it had been his idea.

‘No word yet from Fahren?’

‘Only to reiterate that he’s working on the problem and we should wait for him to arrive.’

‘I see,’ said Brahl. ‘Well, we shall continue to pick away at them, then. I’ve sent raiding parties circling around to the south, with orders to attack any likely targets bringing up the shadow’s rear.’

‘Excellent,’ said Bel.

‘I tell you, though,’ said Brahl, rising, ‘I look forward greatly to the end of that creature. Then we can have an honest advance.’

‘Soon enough,’ said Bel, hoping he wasn’t wrong.

As Brahl moved away, Bel grew bored again quickly. Where was Jaya? Even as he had the thought, she emerged from the army to make her way across the grass, her flame-red hair wetly slick down her back.

‘Gone for a bathe?’ said Bel.

‘Yes. Something you should attempt one of these days.’

‘Very funny.’

‘I wasn’t joking.’

Bel sighed. ‘Well, you try sitting out in the sun day after day and see how you smell.’

‘As I have said,’ remarked Jaya, ‘there are others who watch – enough of them for you to steal away to the river for a time. At the very least a man such as yourself should have no trouble ordering a tub hauled to him.’

‘True enough,’ acceded Bel. ‘Anything to break the monotony.’

‘Good,’ said Jaya, ‘because I have already organised it.’

Bel nodded. ‘And if you were at the river, did you happen to see the mages casting their spells?’

‘I didn’t. Had to go quite far upstream to get any privacy – damn soldiers everywhere.’

•

Slowly afternoon turned to evening. Querrus awoke, and relit the fire. A tub arrived, and a procession of servants carrying buckets to fill it. At Jaya’s insistence Bel got in for a scrub before they both retired to their tent, leaving Querrus to keep a lookout. Bel had to admit he felt better for being clean, and soon he was resting more peacefully than he had done in days. As he was teetering on the verge of sleep, he heard a cheeping from his pack. He rolled over to fish out the golden bird carving, and touch the scroll on its leg.

‘Hello Bel,’ came Fahren’s voice, sounding drained. ‘I have …well, I suppose you could call it good news, though it troubles me to call it that, and perhaps it will trouble you to hear. I am about to leave the Open Halls, and I have with me an old friend. There’s no easy way to say this …it is Elessa Lanclara.’

‘What?’ said Bel, sitting up and staring at the bird, as if it would answer him itself.

‘She has been …returned to us, by the will of Arkus, in a sense.’ Fahren’s sigh was audible in the steam. ‘Although it was my hand that raised her from the ground.’

‘Why?’ said Bel, still dumbfounded.

‘We need her,’ continued Fahren, as though responding to Bel’s question. ‘It is her legacy upon which the shadowmander is built. Only she has the power to end it.’

‘Does he mean she is …. undead?’ said Jaya with a shudder.

Bel frowned, experiencing an odd mix of emotions – he had never heard of anyone being resurrected in the name of the light , but on the other hand it was welcome news that there was a way to defeat the mander.

‘We will be travelling as quickly as we can,’ said Fahren. ‘I shall send another message when I have a better idea of our progress. Stay safe until we arrive, please.’

The steam hissed out. Bel stared at the bird for a moment longer, though he could barely see it in the dark of the tent, then placed it back inside his pack.

‘Strange tidings,’ he muttered, easing back down.

‘I thought we did not raise the dead?’ whispered Jaya.

‘No,’ said Bel. ‘We don’t. But, well …Fahren has always been so condemning of the practice that if he has allowed it, there must really be no other way.’

‘Well,’ said Jaya uncertainly, ‘it is a means to a very great end, I suppose.’

As Bel lay thinking about Elessa, he abandoned hope of a restful sleep – but he must have found it anyway, for sometime before dawn he was roused by Querrus’s excited voice just outside the tent.

‘Blade Bel! Blade Bel!’

‘What is it?’ he answered, sitting up to rub his eyes. By his side Jaya groaned and rolled over.

‘It moves!’ said Querrus.

In a flash Bel was wide awake, another and he was outside the tent. It was still night, with maybe just a touch of lightening in the north. As he searched the field for the darker patch that would delineate the mander, he could not see it anywhere.

‘When?’

‘Just now,’ said Querrus, leading Taritha over. ‘Away to the west, over the river – moving very fast indeed.’

‘Then we shall have to be very fast too,’ said Bel, swinging onto Taritha and reaching down to haul the mage up behind him.

Jaya poked her head out of the tent. ‘Can I do anything?’

‘Inform Brahl,’ said Bel, and slapped the reins down hard. As Querrus channelled power into Taritha, she lurched underneath them, picking up pace quickly.

‘Much as you can!’ called Bel.

They angled towards the bridge that lay across the river halfway between the two armies. There came shouts from the enemy as they were spotted, but they reached the bridge a moment later, sped across its fifty paces or so in a couple of breaths, and raced out onto the grassy plains on the other side.

‘Which way?’

Querrus paused, and for a horrible moment Bel thought he may not be able to sense where Losara had gone. Then he pointed.

‘Towards Ortem!’

‘Give it everything you have!’

Taritha all but flew across the ground, until the wind in Bel’s face was stinging his eyes. He forced them open, sweeping his gaze across the land before them. There, away in the distance, was a dark shape moving, ahead of which sped two smaller ones.

‘He is powering a horse while he flies along after,’ said Querrus. ‘Would that all mages could fly as he does! But the division of his power may allow us to catch him.’

‘I don’t want to hear any of this “may”! If we cannot get ahead in time, the mander will make short work of Ortem.’

‘I am not as powerful as the Shadowdreamer, Blade Bel.’

‘Are you giving up?’

‘Blazes, no.’

‘Then shut up and concentrate.’

Ahead they saw the lights of a village, and the shape that was the mander broke towards it. A moment later and Losara veered wide, forcing the mander to give the village a wide berth.

‘He dares not slow,’ said Bel. ‘He must know we’re here, and wants to get to Ortem first.’

‘Yes,’ said Querrus. ‘The capital of Tria is a more tempting target than a few farmers.’

‘ We’re catching up!’ exclaimed Bel excitedly. It was true – gradually, along a parallel path, they were closing the distance to Losara. As the sun began to rise, it was easier to make out the strange party they chased. The First Slave rode upon a sleek black horse with Losara gliding behind, while the shadowmander variously trailed them, caught up, streaked ahead …yet always stayed within its range around Tyrellan.

Ortem appeared on the horizon, its buildings long ago spilt out from behind the old circular wall of the city proper. Its people would have no warning to draw back inside, and even if they did, the mander would follow.

‘He’s overshot the mark,’ said Bel. ‘We can still wedge ourselves between him and the city!’

Beneath him Taritha was coated with sweat, but to her credit she did not slow. Bel steered her towards Ortem while to the side Losara seemed to do the same, yet he could not quite approach at a direct angle without putting Bel inside the mander’s range – something Bel knew he would not do.

‘Bel!’ shouted Querrus warningly. A bolt of blue energy sped over the land towards them …no, not towards them, towards Taritha. Quickly Bel reined her in, and she slowed just a jot, enough so that the bolt passed just before her nose.

‘He’s trying to kill the horse!’ said Querrus, outraged.

Bel reached around his neck and pulled free the Stone, looping it around his wrist. With one hand he held it out, ready, while with the other he grasped the reins. Another bolt came, sizzling a brown streak in the grass as it flew close to the ground, and Bel held on tight with his legs as he leaned down to dangle the Stone in its path. The bolt was sucked up with a dull whoomph , and Bel felt the hairs on his knuckles burn.

‘And ahead!’ warned Querrus.

Before them, rents were appearing in the ground, earth cascading inwards.

‘Speed or safety?’ said Querrus.

‘Speed!’

Taritha leaped, and with her already great momentum, for a moment they seemed to fly. They landed with a jolt beyond the holes as several more energy bolts came rushing in. Bel made deft work of snatching them up into the Stone. As they drew closer to Losara, the mander raced towards them, hitting its limit only a few paces away. Taritha whinnied in fear, and Querrus whispered to her reassuringly. The mander hissed and snapped, though it was still too far away to reach them.

They arrived just outside Ortem, and drew up on the main road that ran up to the city gate. There were farms scattered about, and Bel watched helplessly as the mander tore away, to smash through the walls of a freestanding home and quickly silence the screaming inside. Then it moved on to the next one.

‘We have to get word to those people,’ said Querrus.

‘No,’ said Bel. ‘We must stay here.’

‘But –’

‘They will die,’ said Bel. ‘Better those few than a whole city.’

Over the plain, Losara had also come to a standstill. Across some half a league they watched each other, as between them the mander made short work of the scattered buildings and poor folk inside.

‘Thought you might sneak off in the night and put your creation to work, eh Losara?’ said Bel. ‘Thought you might casually fell a major city or two? Yet you find yourself in the same predicament as before – you cannot approach!’ He bared his teeth as though standing face to face with his counterpart. ‘What now, Losara?’

As if in answer, his other began to move again. Not quickly, but deliberately, circling the city widely. As he did, Bel moved Taritha to keep them between his counterpart and Ortem. At the northern side, again they stopped.

‘How does Taritha fare?’ asked Bel.

‘She’s fine,’ said Querrus. ‘Well rested and well fed. She could do this all day.’

‘Good,’ said Bel.

Losara suddenly broke away to the north.

‘Arkus!’ cried Bel. ‘He’s positioned himself ahead of us in terms of the next place.’

‘Fort Tria?’

‘Fort Tria,’ said Bel.

Again they were off, this time to the north, but Losara had a head start, and there weren’t the leagues they’d had previously to catch up.

‘Can you attack them?’ called Bel.

‘I doubt it would do any good!’ shouted back Querrus. ‘They are so far ahead, the dreamer would see my spells coming with plenty of time. It will only slow us if I do.’

‘Then,’ said Bel, ‘I see no other choice.’

There was adrenaline pumping through him already, but in the face of what he was about to try, it quickened. He began to sense a glimmer of the path, was glad for its presence – but then grew confused and irritated as it seemed to suggest a different direction, back east towards his army.

‘Useless,’ he muttered. Then came the terrifying thought that maybe a battle raged back there, now that nothing stood in the way of the two armies – but surely they would not commence without their leaders? And he was damned if he wasn’t going to try to stop Losara tearing down Fort Tria.

Hang you, path.

He urged Taritha on, no longer trying to catch up with Losara himself, but instead to drive himself right into the shadowmander’s territory.

‘What are you doing?’ shouted Querrus.

‘Forcing his hand! If he fears that the mander will kill me, he must fall back!’

The mander was at the edge of its perimeter, dancing backwards to keep up with its anchor, almost comical if not for how murderously it stared at them. Beyond it, Tyrellan and Losara rode directly towards the grey walls of Fort Tria in the distance.

‘Can you send Losara a message?’ said Bel.

‘I can.’

‘Tell him we’re going to keep on coming straight, whether that puts us inside the mander’s range or not!’

They were almost upon the creature now, galloping full pelt.

‘Does he reply?’ said Bel.

‘No,’ said Querrus.

‘Very well, Losara. Prepare to be steered.’

Veering wildly, Bel sent Taritha dashing past the mander into its domain. It snapped at their heels and spun after, and Querrus dug his hand into Bel’s side even tighter.

‘If the horse has any reserves,’ called Bel, ‘now is the time!’

‘I don’t think this is a very good idea,’ wailed Querrus.

Taritha put on another burst of speed, but it was a fitful one and came in spurts. The shadowmander leaped and sailed past behind them, hitting the ground some way off and rolling to its feet in an instant.

‘Losara says pull back!’ said Querrus. ‘The mander will kill you both!’

‘Tell him I’m not heading anywhere but Fort Tria!’ said Bel. ‘It is his course that must change!’

The mander ran ahead of them, turned, and prepared to leap again. As its feet left the ground, Bel urged Taritha directly towards it.

‘Heads down!’ he shouted, and they ducked as the mander went flying over.

‘Look!’ said Querrus.

The two shapes ahead were now moving to the left, away from Fort Tria. The mander hissed angrily as it was suddenly pulled away, once again to a safe distance from Bel. They continued until they stood between the mander and the fort, still a league or two away. In the early morning there were lights showing in the windows, though not in great number – many of the fort’s inhabitants would have travelled already to join the Kainordan army.

Not even a worthwhile target, Losara , thought Bel.

Out on the field Losara stopped, and set down on the grass next to Tyrellan. Elated, Bel lifted the Stone into the air and gave a roar.

‘Bel,’ said Querrus.

‘What?’

‘He just disappeared.’

Tyrellan was still standing there, little more than a smudge on his horse at this distance, while the mander ran madly about – but there was no Losara to be seen.

‘He’ll be here in a moment,’ said Bel, slipping the Stone back over his head.

Sure enough, from the grass, the Shadowdreamer erupted.

‘Well, well,’ said Bel, leaning forward on his saddle. ‘Thought we’d steal off and get in a couple of easy defeats, did we?’

Losara sighed. ‘What would be the point of that? Your army is the real problem, and after that, the Halls. Once those both fall, so will all else. Why would I attack some out-of-the-way city, or some empty fort of no strategic value?’

‘Was just wondering the same thing,’ scowled Bel, trying to retain his composure. ‘I assumed it was because you’re such a spiteful bastard.’

Losara smiled faintly. ‘Funny,’ he said. ‘You really don’t seem to know me at all.’ He waved a hand, and behind him Tyrellan and the mander faded away.

Querrus gasped. ‘Illusions,’ he said. ‘Curse me, I should have spotted them!’

‘Don’t fault yourself overmuch,’ said Losara. ‘I am a very powerful mage, after all.’

Bel couldn’t believe what he was seeing – or, rather, what he wasn’t seeing. ‘A trick,’ he muttered, his heart suddenly feeling like a stone beneath the Stone.

‘Strange, don’t you think?’ said Losara. ‘That after all this, our armies do battle without us? Mine with the real mander, of course.’

Bel wheeled Taritha about and brought down the reins.

Upriver

As Bel rode off in an ever-increasing blur, Jaya scrambled from the tent to her feet. She headed over the grass to the main army, where Brahl’s tent stood tallest amongst the other officers’. As she approached, a guard at the entrance barred her way.

‘The gerent is sleeping, Miss Jaya.’

Jaya fixed him with an intent stare. ‘As sure as Arkus shits fireballs, he’s going to want to know about this.’

The guard looked uncertain, but ‘What is it?’ came a voice from inside. A second later the flap was pulled back to reveal a blearily blinking Brahl. ‘What goes on?’

‘Losara has made off with the mander as Bel feared he would,’ she said quickly. ‘Bel’s taken Querrus and chased after it, to try to stand in its way.’

Brahl frowned thoughtfully. ‘So there’s no lizard guarding the shadow?’ He stepped out of his tent, straightened to full height, and peered off for a moment at the shadows in the distance. The mander was nowhere to be seen.

‘Officers awake!’ he bellowed suddenly, making Jaya start. ‘Ready the troops!’

It was loud enough for troops nearby to hear for themselves, and activity spread right away. Soon officers were running about shouting orders, and Jaya was amazed at how quickly the army rippled to alertness. She hovered on the edge of the officers’ camp, watching as Brahl strode about shouting, wondering what she was expected to do with herself. Everyone except her knew precisely where they fitted in to the military machine.

‘The enemy approaches!’ came a shout, taken up and carried down the line.

‘What?’ snapped Brahl.

Jaya followed as he went to look. Across the field, in the dim light of early morning, the Fenvarrow horde was starting to march.

‘Well,’ announced Brahl, ‘if it’s a fight they want …’

He fell silent as something emerged around the eastern flank – something long and scarlet and cruel. Slowly he turned to Jaya.

‘I thought you said it was gone.’

Jaya stared perplexed at the shadowmander, as behind it Tyrellan appeared on a horse. He drew up alongside the troops, and several mages converged to protect him.

‘Querrus said it was,’ she murmured. ‘Bel took him and they went off after it.’

‘Some foul play,’ said Brahl, grimacing. He pointed his sword at the approaching creature. ‘I have heard the tales of that thing, but you’ve seen its work first-hand – tell me, is there any hope we can stand against it?’

Jaya remembered fleeing from Holdwith as the mander slew soldiers with complete disregard for the arrows and fireballs bouncing off it.

‘No,’ she said baldly.

‘Piss and blood and fire! Curse magic and all who wield it!’ He turned to one of his commanders. ‘Fall back. And,’ he pinched the bridge of his nose, ‘Jeddies must be evacuated. Have them bring whatever supplies they can carry without slowing them too much.’

The commander nodded, and disappeared.

‘What are we going to do?’ said Jaya.

‘Get away from that thing.’

There was a roar across the field, and the shadow army charged.

‘Retreat!’ blared Brahl. ‘Abandon the camp!’

As much as she had been impressed by how fast they’d risen to arms, Jaya was dismayed by how long it took the army to get moving. As the mander came within five hundred paces of the melting front line, her survival instincts kicked in, and she left Brahl to flee through the crowd.

‘Lightfists!’ she heard him call. ‘Cover our retreat!’

She was faster than most, unencumbered by armour, dodging and weaving around running soldiers. To her right she saw Syanti Saurians knocking others from their feet with their rippling tails. She steered away from them, into the heart of the army, pounding across someone’s bedroll and narrowly avoiding getting buffeted into a smoking fire pit. Ahead, the crowd streamed around an unmanned catapult – were those to be left? What choice did they have?

Somewhere behind, someone screamed – then another, and another. She knew she was hearing the sound of the mander’s first victims. A burning smell reached her nostrils. She chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw the tops of flames. A great plume issued up as fire consumed the catapult she had just passed.

‘Not yet, you fool!’ a lightfist shouted, backhanding another who looked fresh to robes. ‘After our people go by!’

So the lightfists were burning the camp, and there was nothing a shadow creature hated more than fire.

She jogged on until she could no longer overtake, and fell into a groove as part of the great sweaty press of moving flesh. A long time seemed to pass, and she could have sworn they’d come further when she saw the outskirts of Jeddies. People were fleeing from the town, being swept up into the army. The sounds of the enemy fell away, yet officers still called out continuously to maintain the pace. As the sun moved higher in the sky, she began to think of the waterskin she had left behind in her tent. Some way along the river past Jeddies they finally slowed, and officers set about trying to impose a semblance of order on the enormous, jumbled mass. Jaya slipped between them with no regard for the commands being given, making her way to the rear.

Smoke rose from where their camp had stood, but no great fire raged – shadow mages and their icy ways would have seen to that quickly enough. There was no doubt the shadow now held Jeddies, for its vast numbers surrounded the town as if they meant to swallow it, and were streaming into it from all sides. The shadowmander was briefly visible leaping over a wall, and there came the distant shriek of someone unlucky enough to have been left behind.

She spotted Brahl, and moved towards him.

‘There,’ Brahl was saying, as she sidled up next to his group of officers. ‘I saw blue hair, I am certain. The dreamer has returned. Hopefully that means Bel is not far behind.’

‘What is our plan, sir?’

‘Let them follow us, if they like. We will keep our distance, but only as much as we must. I want Bel to find us quickly when he returns. We can move more swiftly than before, now that we’re free of all our cumbersome earthly possessions.’ Jaya wasn’t sure if the expression on his face was a grin or a snarl.

And so it went, for the next couple of hours. The shadow advanced, but it had been delayed long enough by fire and the taking of Jeddies for the Kainordans to keep ahead. Lightfists remained vigilant to the possibility that Tyrellan might speed ahead of his troops bringing the mander with him, yet no such attempt was made. Jaya stayed close to Brahl, listening for any news. The gerent was on horseback now, but surrounded by soldiers on foot, so it was not difficult keeping up with him. He seemed to know she was shadowing him, but said nothing.

‘If we keep on this way,’ she heard one of the phalanx commanders say, ‘they will drive us up against that ghostly wood.’

‘He comes!’ sounded a cry. ‘The blue-haired man returns!’

Jaya felt relief sink in, but was surprised to hear some dispirited muttering around her. It seemed that some of the soldiers felt Bel had abandoned them, that it was somehow his fault they had been forced to flee the camp.

‘Idiots,’ she muttered to herself. ‘If not for him, you would have been mander mash days ago.’

She followed Brahl to the army’s edge, and spotted Bel right away, galloping in on Taritha from the east.

‘Must have circled around,’ muttered Brahl.

As he got closer she could see he had a face on him like storms brewing. Holding onto him limply, Querrus looked drained, as did the horse.

‘A trick,’ Bel spluttered furiously, bringing Taritha to a rough stop.

‘So it seems,’ glowered Brahl.

‘Illusions,’ spat Bel, though he seemed not to wish to go into it any further. He did not catch her eye, but swept his angry gaze back and forth across the army. ‘You had the good sense to retreat, I see. How many lost?’

‘Hard to say,’ said Brahl. ‘A few hundred at least. The mander could not follow us far, for we set fire to the camp, thus holding Tyrellan back for a time. Plenty of gear is gone, not to mention our catapults.’

‘I see carts,’ said Bel, gesturing.

‘Some were saved,’ said Brahl. ‘We are not in the habit of keeping our supply carts on the front lines. But some were left behind, for the sake of lives.’

Bel nodded, then finally looked down to see her.

‘How are you?’ he said shortly.

‘All right,’ she said, though the tremor in her voice threatened to contradict her.

Bel dismounted abruptly, leaving Querrus rocking in the saddle. ‘We will set up again, then,’ he said. ‘As best we can. Here. They may have gained a little ground, but that is all.’

They have crippled us , thought Jaya, but she kept it to herself.

‘What chance of resupply?’

‘Erling’s Vale is close enough,’ said Brahl, ‘and some smaller settlements also. We shall not want for food, but the rest will be harder to replace. There will be plenty of bodies sleeping on hard ground.’

‘So be it,’ said Bel. ‘It will not be lightly that I go chasing off after lies again.’

Brahl nodded and turned away. Jaya went to Bel, who was looking out at the approaching shadow.

‘We are to return to a stand-off?’ she asked quietly.

‘Should never have left,’ growled Bel.

‘You weren’t to know.’ She reached out to hold his hand, and after a moment he took it tightly.

‘The path was telling me to return,’ he said. ‘I ignored it.’

He seemed to have a thought, and craned his head to the north.

‘What is it?’

‘We must be close to …’ He drifted off, and though she followed his gaze, it was impossible to see anything past the thousands of soldiers.

‘What?’

‘Whisperwood,’ he said, in a tone of voice that was hard to read.

•

Across the Nyul’ya, from the shade of willows, three figures watched the two armies.

‘They’re setting up again,’ said Charla.

‘But they’re closer to us now,’ added Nindere.

Corlas didn’t answer – he was staring at the distant figure standing on the field in plain view of all. It had been too long since he had seen his son, and the fact that he couldn’t simply go to him was resting hard upon his heart. And in the shadow’s midst, somewhere, was his unknown boy, Losara.

‘Let us go further along the river,’ urged Charla, her eyes bright.

‘No,’ said Corlas. He did not like to be the cause of the disappointment in her eyes, but he knew she understood the reason. Although Charla, Nindere – and many of the others, for that matter – had never ventured far from Whisperwood, they knew that the further they all got from the seat of their power, the more vulnerable they would be.

He brushed Charla’s hair out of her eyes.

‘Some day soon,’ he promised. ‘When all this is settled. When Old Magic can survive in the world once more.’

He said it as if it was fact, belying the doubt in his mind. The assembled forces before him were maybe the greatest the world had ever seen. Even with Old Magic on his side, it was not lightly that he chose to tangle with them.

Charla pouted, but Nindere nodded. ‘We should listen to Corlas,’ he said. ‘It would be a shame to be captured so early in the game.’

Early for you, perhaps , thought Corlas wryly, though he was glad for Nindere’s level-headedness.

‘When do we attack, then?’ asked Charla. She did insist upon calling it attack, even though that was not quite what they planned to do.

‘Patience, forest flower,’ he said. ‘For now we must content ourselves with watching and waiting. We will know when it is time. Now come,’ for even now he could feel his power beginning to wane, ‘we must return.’

Begrudgingly, the other two turned away.

As for Corlas, he found it harder than ever to take his eyes from his boy.

Soon , he promised himself. Soon.

Part Two

Sunny Days

And so we watched each other across the gulf, like a scaled-down version of what had been going on for centuries, our new border worn clear in the grass. In retrospect it seems something akin to looking in the mirror – but is that mole on the right side of your face, or the left? Is the shadowmander a hindrance, or a help? I suppose it depends on where you stand, and whether you are what’s real, or what’s reflected.

At any rate, there we sat – one who could see the path, the other left to navigate as best he could, alone in the dark, on those sunny days.

An Unfortunate Encounter

As she stepped through the inn doors, Elessa was relieved to be out of the sun. Although she did not feel its touch, she imagined it drying the flesh that still clung to her, hastening her towards desiccation. How soon until she became like Fazel, as she remembered him? She had thought of him often during these days of fast travelling across Kainordas. Long had he lived in this same suspended state, almost a hundred years without pleasure or comfort. Pain there was still, she had come to understand, but only in her bones, where she herself resided underneath her old flesh, no longer really a part of it. How had he coped? He had not been given any choice, she knew, but the thought of being trapped so long surpassed all previous notions of dread. Fahren had promised to release her as soon as he could, but his words did little to relieve her.

It was not that she did not try to be strong. In the days following her resurrection, traces of her old self had bobbed to the surface. She had been an Overseer, charged with finding the right and wrong of things. That sense was muddied now, for while objectively she knew Fahren was doing what he must, necromancy was outlawed for good reason and her own personal dismay was proof of why. To be ripped from such peace, attenuated into this form …and yet she reminded herself that if the light failed, there would be no Great Well for her to return to. For her own sake, and the sake of countless others, she had to go on. Making up her mind to do so brought some respite, and she was now sometimes capable of not thinking about her own situation for a moment or two at a time.

Despite being glad to escape the sun, she felt uncomfortable here. Until now Fahren had avoided settlements, and Elessa was not sure if he hid her, Battu, or both, but she had not protested – she didn’t want to be seen. Yet he made this exception, bringing them to this little village because they had run out of supplies. Or rather, Fahren and Battu had, since she did not need to eat.

The inn was small, neat, and as conspicuously empty as the village, and indeed most of the land they had travelled through. Many had gone to join the army, it seemed. The innkeeper, behind the bar polishing a mug that didn’t need polishing, looked pleased to see them. Battu had cast an illusion on himself so that he appeared to be Varenkai, and Fahren had one that hid the Auriel and turned his robe the red and gold of a lightfist. The three lightfists who travelled with them remained as they really were, while she – well, she still looked normal, for now.

‘Gentlemen, ladies!’ said the innkeeper. ‘Welcome to my humble inn. Travelling to the battle, I suspect?’

‘Indeed,’ said Fahren. ‘Though we will break our journey here. Can you sleep six?’

‘At a room apiece,’ said the innkeeper. ‘Not much trade for the likes of me at the moment, as you might imagine. Was good for a bit there, but I think most of the folk journeying to join the great Blade Bel have been and gone. But even during such bare times, for the defenders of Kainordas, I will happily reduce my rate.’

‘Very generous, I’m sure,’ said Fahren blandly.

As he and the innkeeper settled down to working out the particulars, Elessa heard footsteps approaching from outside. A moment later the tavern door banged open, and with it came a voice she recognised with startling certainty …

‘All right, soldiers, I suggest you make the most of this – there’ll be no taverns at the front. Don’t overdo it, mind! We need to be sharp tomorrow.’

She couldn’t help but spin around, even as she tried to stop herself. Leading a band of soldiers, a cerepan now by the badge on his leather armour, was – Kessum! Remembered as a young noble her own age, here he was grown into a man! They had never kissed, never held hands, had only just started the very beginnings of courtship – and yet thoughts of him had kept her fighting in Whisperwood on the last night of her life. Out of the wreckage of her soul sprang a horror that he would see her like this. Everything in her screamed hide , and before she knew it she had cast an invisibility spell on herself. Too late, for Kessum stood stunned, his soldiers bumping into him as he came to an abrupt halt in the doorway, staring aghast at the place she had been.

‘Elessa?’ he murmured, his face ashen.

Elessa backed away, quaking. Fahren? she sent.

Fahren broke off his conversation with the innkeeper – whose eyes had lit up at the unexpected overflow of custom – and glanced between her and Kessum with growing realisation. The Throne could still sense her, as all the mages could, and Kessum noticed him looking at the space where she had just disappeared.

‘You, lightfist,’ he said. He came forward, his soldiers spilling into the room behind him. ‘Did you see a woman just now, standing right here?’

I don’t want him to see me , she pleaded.

It’s all right, my girl , came Fahren’s reply, though his worry was apparent.

‘Pardon?’ he said.

‘Don’t play games with me, mage,’ said Kessum. ‘I saw her, plain as day, right in this spot. Did no one else see?’

‘Are you all right, sir?’ joked one of the soldiers. ‘Seeing things that aren’t there …and we haven’t even started drinking yet!’

The others began to chortle, but ‘Silence!’ barked Kessum. From the surprised looks on their faces Elessa thought they must not often have seen him angry. That was how she remembered him too – calm and peaceful.

‘Er …’ said the innkeeper, and she could see him doing a mental count of the lightfists. Five, when they had asked for six rooms. ‘There was a –’

Fahren gave an almost imperceptible flick of his fingers, and the man descended instantly into a coughing fit. Kessum stalked forward, right towards her, and in panic she cast a dodge spell, blinking from where she stood into a dark corner of the room. It wasn’t her that Kessum had been approaching, however; it was Fahren. Given the Throne’s current disguise, a cerepan was well within his rights to demand cooperation. Two of the lightfist guards, who knew Fahren’s real identity, stepped forward, but he waved them back.

‘What is going on?’ demanded Kessum. ‘Are you playing some mage trick?’

Clear his memory , pleaded Elessa. She had never learned how to do so herself, but she knew it was an ability Fahren had. Make it so he doesn’t know he saw me.

What of those with him? I cannot do them all at once.

‘Excuse me,’ interrupted Battu, ‘but I think I may know what’s caused this.’

‘What?’ said Kessum, rounding on him.

Battu fished in an illusionary pocket, and produced a small silver locket. As he held it out on his palm, black wisps escaped from its surface.

‘Shadow!’ exclaimed Kessum, his hand going to his sword.

‘Yes,’ said Battu. ‘We found this trinket on a shadow mage sneaking about north of here, no doubt on some nefarious errand. It’s a weapon of sorts, designed to give us folk of the light waking nightmares. I thought I had its influence contained but …’ he frowned at it, ‘maybe not.’ He held a hand over it, concentrating hard. ‘Ah, there – it wormed through my seals, insidious thing. But now it will bother you no more.’

Kessum looked as if he did not know what to believe – he was angry, confused, and Elessa saw that the sight of her, even after all this time, had affected him strongly. Had he not moved on? They had never truly been together, and many years had passed. Surely he did not feel the same as he once had done?

As Kessum stared at the ‘magical artefact’, Battu closed his fist and replaced it in his pocket. It was an unexpected thing to have him help her – she still could not think of the man as anything but evil.

Creative , she heard Fahren send him.

‘I am trying to gauge more about how the device works,’ said Battu. ‘Maybe you could help me – what was it that you saw, precisely? Who was this girl, someone from your past?’

Kessum stared at him darkly for a moment. Then, ‘Mages,’ he growled derisively. ‘Come, comrades, let us do what we came here for – and move away from these before any more ghosts come haunting. And you,’ he pointed Battu square in the face, ‘keep that thing away from me.’

‘We will buy your first round,’ said Battu, ‘to amend for the upset.’

Kessum did not say another word, but led his soldiers away to the tables.

As Fahren turned back to the innkeeper, miraculously the man’s wheezing abated. ‘Now,’ said Fahren, ‘about those rooms.’

The man, somewhat pale, nodded quickly. ‘Did …how many did you want?’

‘The original number,’ said Fahren. ‘And not another word on that, understand?’

•

Elessa sat alone in her room, staring into the mirror. It seemed some sort of cruel joke to see how normal she looked, in stark contrast to how she felt. She longed to go to Kessum, could sense how close he was – and yet, separated by only a wooden door and a flight of stairs, she was a world apart. He produced in her such real emotion, it made her feel more like the young girl she had been than anything else had since her resurrection – and that, in turn, was wretched, because there was nothing she could do about it.

Getting closer to the mirror, she could finally make out subtle traces of decay. Her body produced no moisture and her dry eyes had begun to yellow. Miserably, she gave a wave of her hand and settled an illusion over herself, chasing away those dead eyes and replacing them with ones that shone brightly. She added a glow to her pallid cheeks, and removed small scratches from her skin. These days it was all too easy to damage herself without noticing, and no damage to anything but her bones would heal.

There – if she went to him now, he wouldn’t know she was undead. But would he think it odd she had not aged? She added more refinements to the illusion, giving herself a few lines on her face, a little sag in the elbows – it was tricky, guessing what she would have looked like in her middle years.

Suddenly angry that she’d allowed herself to come so far down this line of thought, she dropped the illusion entirely. It did not matter what she looked like! She would not feel his kiss on her lips, and he would find her cold and sour. Her body might even come apart in his hands.

Making herself invisible once more, Elessa slipped out of the room and went to the top of the stairs. She could see him down there, his soldiers drinking while he stared out through a window with an untouched ale. One of his troop gestured for him to join them in a game of cards, but he waved her away. Shrugging, the woman returned to her companions, who sent concerned glances towards their superior. Damn fate for delivering him here, and damn it again for letting him see her! How could he be so affected? Did he really still love her, after all this time? Or did he have a wife and children, and the sight of her had merely brought back difficult memories, stirring old hurts to the surface? She decided she did not want to know.

Tearing herself away, she marched on to Fahren’s room. Without bothering to knock, she opened the door and stormed inside, only just remembering to make herself visible. Fahren was sitting on the edge of his bed, smoking a brittleleaf roll.

‘Elessa,’ he said, ‘I was just coming to see you. I am so sorry for putting you through this.’

‘So sorry, so sorry,’ she echoed. ‘Always the same words, yet you won’t do anything about it. And now you bring me to this place so you can eat and sleep, while I can no neither and must sit in my room thinking of the man I could have loved.’

‘I know,’ he said, his face crinkling in sorrow. He went to the window and set his roll down on the sill. ‘I do not know what I can do, Elessa.’

‘Release me from this torment,’ she begged. ‘Let me return to the Well, gone from the world!’

‘Please, my girl –’ he said, but she cut him off.

‘Do not call me that. I am no longer a girl. I am not anything!’

‘You are our best hope for defeating the shadow,’ said Fahren. ‘You know how important that is.’

‘If you won’t,’ she said, ‘then let me end it myself.’

Tears fell from Fahren’s eyes. ‘I cannot. And I forbid you from doing so.’

She felt the command sink in – as the one who had raised her, his words were binding. She fell to her knees, wanting to sob, uncaring of what effect the fall would have on her flesh. She reached out to grasp the floor as great, soundless upheavals shook her. Fahren knelt beside her, put a hand on her shoulder.

‘You see?’ she said. ‘You seek to comfort with touch, but your actions have the opposite effect. You might as well prod a side of beef. Everything reminds me of what I am.’

Shamefacedly, he withdrew his hand.

‘It is not just me who asks this of you,’ he said. ‘It is the will of Arkus, your very god. Do you not wish to protect the Well?’

Elessa could not answer, her former resolve shattered. All she knew was what she wanted – she wanted Kessum, she wanted to be normal again, she wanted to be dead again …anything but this.

‘It’s only for a few more days,’ said Fahren. ‘I will release you as soon as it’s done, I promise. I’m so s …it’s unfortunate indeed that we encountered Kessum. You were not doing so badly for a bit there, were you? It will be better again once we’re away from here. He will never beat us to the battlefield, and you will have completed your task before he arrives there. You will remember again that what you do is good and worthwhile. You can get through this.’

She pulled herself up. She was not drained, as she once would have been from such a racking fit, for her strength was constant. Looking at Fahren, she vaguely recalled the way they had been once – she the student, he the kindly teacher. She tried to believe that he was right. Really, what choice did she have?

She retreated to her room, and stayed there all night while the others supped and drank. The noise was boisterous at times, but she did not hear the voices of her companions. As the night grew old the noise died down, and finally she heard the downstairs door close, and a bolt slide into place.

Goodbye, Kessum , she thought.

She would see him again, in a way, she supposed – but in the Well love was not the same.

That’s right , she thought. Until a week ago I had no concern with earthly love. That will be the case again soon.

In the quiet of early morning, she found a modicum of calm.

Then came a knock at the door, signalling time to move on. One last stretch to the army, then a task to perform, and she would know harmony once more.

I can do it , she thought, rising from the bed. I will help my people win.

Peace

There they were, hiding in a small wood not far from the river. Raiders who had ransacked his supply carts and left his servants dead, their bodies stiff amongst the woodchips, the sun they’d dared not look upon in life reflecting full in their empty eyes. There were three lightfists with the troop, and although Losara tried to keep himself small, one of them sat bolt upright and turned in his direction. He knew he had been sensed. A moment later all three were on their feet, light suffusing their bodies as the wards came up.

Losara withdrew, perhaps too readily. He was not fleeing, he told himself, merely gathering himself together. He had wanted a moment or two to think …but really, what would thinking accomplish, or change? He did not intend to do anything to these Kainordans that they had not already done to his own. Yet he was tired. He had walked through Jeddies after their ‘victory’ there, seen the ruin he had inflicted. Tyrellan had urged him to continue in pursuit of the fleeing Kainordans – what was the purpose of the ruse with the illusionary mander if not to strike a grievous blow? But had they not done that already, Losara had asked, by taking the camp, and the town that had kept the enemy so easily supplied? More , Tyrellan had wanted – another charge, another try at unleashing the mander through their lines unhindered – and Losara had said no. He had given his excuses: with the light already at some distance, Tyrellan would have had to ride free of the main army to catch up to them, which would put him at risk even with Losara and mages to protect him. Also, if Bel returned to discover his army being savaged by the mander, he would think nothing of riding straight in amongst it all, as he had proved on their journey that morning.

Tyrellan had seemed unconvinced by these reasons, and Losara tried to tell himself they were the real ones. After all, what would be the point of delaying? There was no avoiding the violence, no miracle on the way to end all of this peacefully. He had come this far, hadn’t he? He had murdered the mages of Holdwith, made a mockery of the defences at the Shining Mines, let loose the mander on a retreating army and toppled Jeddies …he even counted that single scout watching the river in his tally. So why stop right when a push could have ended things for good?

You don’t know that , an interior voice countered. Maybe you were right. Running headlong after the light could have been a terrible mistake.

Even now something inside him wanted to slip away, to forget he’d ever seen the Kainordan troop hiding in the trees, even as they waited to do more harm to him and his people. But he knew he could not.

They deserve it.

The words felt hollow in his head. There was nothing ‘deserving’ about any of this.

Where is my calm? I want it back. How many times must I make up my mind? Always I arrive back at the same point – that if I do not act, Fenvarrow will fall. The answer is always the same. The answer is always the same!

He flowed back to the trees, and appeared in the midst of the Varenkai. The lightfists, who were still wary, saw him first. Glowing bolts flew towards him, but their small magic was nothing against his, and he barely felt the impact against his ward. He reached out, pushing through the lightfists’ defences, and shadowy snake heads darted in to slam against chests, flinging bodies backwards with trailing limbs. One, two, three, and the lightfists were down.

‘Faster than a sword blow,’ he told the stunned soldiers. ‘For that you can be thankful.’

He waved his hands, and shadows twisted through the soldiers. They barely had time to cry out.

‘And on and on,’ he said sadly, as they fell.

•

That night, Losara dreamed. He drifted above the armies, watching them as they really were. Several days after the attack on Jeddies, the Kainordans had managed to reinstate something of a proper camp, though rations were strict and resources stretched thin. Bel had a new campsite at the front, looking much like the old one – in fact, despite the ground Losara had taken, it was as if nothing had changed. He circled in closer, and set down.

‘It’s not that far away,’ Jaya was saying, drying her hair with a cloth.

‘All I said was be careful,’ said Bel. ‘Just because you don’t like bathing with soldiers is no reason to take risks.’

‘Risks?’ she laughed. ‘A quick dip in a stream within shout of this many? What do you expect me to do? A lady has some modesty.’

‘And you are this alleged lady ? Who is in possession of modesty , she claims?’

‘You can’t blame me,’ said Jaya. ‘After all, it was you who lost our bathtub!’

‘I’m sorry Brahl did not realise that rescuing it was such a priority. I will tell him next time to abandon the food and instead make sure my lady is well watered. She cannot run from shadowmanders if she isn’t feeling fresh, I will say.’

Jaya thumped him on the arm, and he smirked.

So , thought Losara, my cunning plan has resulted only in friendly jocularity.

Still, a part of him had to admire Bel’s ability not to think about things too much. Would that I had it too.

The dream swirled. Losara found himself seated in a stark room without a door, looking across a table at Bel. Bel clasped his hands together, while behind him light streamed in from a window, through which Losara could see rolling fields. He turned to find a window behind himself too, but this one showed dark plains, with a fine rain falling from the great Cloud.

‘You said you wanted to talk of peace?’ said Bel.

Losara frowned. Was that why he was here?

‘I’ve only thought about it a little,’ he said. ‘In truth I did not imagine that you, or the light in general, would be open to such an idea.’

‘While your own people are such martyrs,’ said Bel, raising an eyebrow. ‘Forced against their will to invade our lands, when all they really want is peace.’

Losara nodded. Bel was right – things were too far gone for peace. A shared one, anyway.

‘It would be, as you say, difficult to convince them,’ he said. ‘But I have wondered, once or twice …what is to stop each of us simply retiring to our own realms, and leaving the other alone forever? We could build a wall, very high, along the border. We could make a mutual law that no one crosses it.’

‘Bel and Losara, the wall-builders? Not quite what I had in mind for history’s pages.’

‘Just an idea.’ Losara shrugged. ‘Greatness is not always measured by what it replaces. Are you not yet tired of this war, Bel?’

‘Tired?’ said Bel, amused. ‘We’ve only just begun!’

‘I suppose. But would it not also be worthwhile to convince the world not to rip itself apart? History’s pages would remember that, if indeed you care about such things.’

Was that what he really believed? Somehow he did not feel in control. He was watching from within himself, unsure of where the words he spoke came from.

‘Have you forgotten?’ said Bel. ‘It is not just the people you must convince, but the very gods they follow.’ He pushed back from the table, rose and went to the window. For a while he looked out upon his sunny lands, then a smile tweaked the edge of his mouth. ‘Just say,’ he began, ‘that I decide your idea has some merit. Say that you and I are able to work out some kind of accord, allowing us to end this conflict. Our armies disperse, returning to their homes as if nothing ever happened. We even manage to convince the gods that their age-old hatred is just a little misunderstanding, and could they please stop our people despising each other for their different looks, their different ways, and all the harm already done.’

‘Say.’

Bel turned. ‘How long do you think it would last?’

Losara stared at him.

‘How long,’ said Bel, ‘until some disagreement, some dispute, some ruler with zeal in his eye and hunger in his belly …how long until tolerance gives way, until the old divides again seem insurmountable?’ He came forward, planted his fists on the table. ‘Until the end of time, Losara? Are you so naive?’

Inside Losara a great pressure built. He should be feeling something, and he could guess what it was.

Rage.

It was not caused by Bel, for he was no more sitting at this table than Losara was. They were puppets in a dream, a dream he felt certain he was being shown for a purpose. By whom? Fate, the Dark Gods?

Perhaps he could not truly feel the rage, but it was trying to exist nonetheless, an empty shape filling him up. It came because he was doubted, because his hesitance to kill had been noted, and because someone, somewhere, had decided to put him in this place. Mentally he asserted himself, took control of the dream and tore it apart, revealing only void beneath. As he floated free, he thundered.

I AM NOT TRYING TO MAKE PEACE , NOR EVER WAS. DO NOT TREAT ME AS A CHILD WITH THESE TRANSPARENT FIGMENTS.

He thought, for a moment, that he heard water lapping, and a splash …and then he woke. As his mind left the dream, the feelings it had planted crossed over. A great blankness consumed him. He fought to stay abreast of it, to retain sentience. He was doubted despite all he had done, despite the cost to himself and to others …and yet the rage that should have come did not. There was nothing in its place, and that nothing threatened to take over.

They seek to strengthen my resolve , he thought, yet all they achieve is to distract and disturb.

How well did they know his mind, his actions, to think such a vision necessary? They would not see as clearly here in Arkus’s domain, but maybe some skerrick, some moment of dithering, had reached them without the surrounding context. It was hard to know.

He rose from his bedroll – for some reason just then he did not feel like travelling in shadowform – and left the tent. He walked through the camp without really seeing the curious looks he was inspiring.

I do not desire to fight, yet I do. Surely when someone does something in spite of their personal qualms, that should be less reason to question their conviction, not more.

‘No wonder I did not swear to serve you first and only, Assedrynn,’ he muttered. ‘You have shown a lack of judgement with this sending. You should have more faith.’

He found that he had unconsciously wandered to Tyrellan’s camp. There sat the goblin as he usually was, cross-legged on a log watching the enemy. With a sigh, Losara sank down beside him.

‘How goes it, lord?’

‘Uncertain.’

Tyrellan considered him, unblinking.

‘Perhaps,’ said Losara, ‘we should have pushed a little harder, after we took Jeddies.’

‘Perhaps. But my lord had many factors to consider. The enemy retreated faster than expected, and we underestimated their willingness to burn their camp. Perhaps after that it would have been foolhardy to ride within their range, so far ahead of our own troops, even with the shadowmander. My lord would have had to accompany me to withstand their might, and though I would willingly lose my life to such endeavour, yours is not so lightly given.’

‘Sound justifications,’ said Losara, relieved to find that they actually were. He grew a little calmer. ‘Though you should value your life too, First Slave.’

‘I did not say otherwise.’

Losara smiled. ‘Good. May it be a long one, then – though I admit I have no small trouble picturing you after this war, if we should win.’

Tyrellan glanced at him uneasily. ‘Pardon?’

‘What will you do, if there is no light left to fight?’

Tyrellan ran his tongue over a fang. ‘I have not given it much thought, lord. I imagine I’d continue to serve the shadow.’

‘No desire to settle down?’ said Losara. ‘Maybe raise a family?’

Tyrellan shot him a look of undisguised disgust. ‘You speak as if it will be a clean sweep, lord. No doubt there will be pockets of resistance for years to come.’

Losara chuckled. ‘Already talking yourself out of retirement, Tyrellan?’

Tyrellan grunted. ‘Retirement is for those who find no value in their work.’

‘Or those who know when a job is done.’

Presently, Losara returned to his tent. This time he did travel in shadowform, and appeared in bed to find Lalenda missing – strange, for she had been here when he’d left, and it was still an hour or two until dawn.

As his head found the pillow, proper restfulness finally came. Drifting off easily, he did not notice Grimra’s amulet under the sheets on Lalenda’s side of the bedding.

A Bit of Privacy

She climbed and climbed, higher than she had ever flown. She sought to avoid patrols of Graka or Zyvanix, and well coloured she was for such clandestine enterprise – brown skin in the dark night, and wearing the blackest dress she had. The moon was low and dim on the horizon, making for less chance of any glimmer showing along her crystalline wings. She was nervous but angry and determined too, all mixing to form a churning cocktail in her stomach. What she attempted seemed unreal, and yet here she was attempting it.

She reached an empty space in the sky with no patrols nearby, and turned east. Zyvanix were her main concern, for if she could fly this high, so could they. They lacked her night vision, however, and she was sure she would see them coming. She felt naked without Grimra, but she could not trust even him to keep quiet about what she intended. While Losara might have tolerated her independent actions in burning down Whisperwood, she doubted very much that he would approve of her current course.

Well , she thought, he should not toy with certain dangerous notions so frequently.

It was easier to navigate than she had feared, for the enemy’s army was twinkling with light, giving her a clear indication of its edges. As she moved widely around them, her heart pounded so hard she thought it might knock her off course. Searching, she found the spot she looked for, and positioned herself directly over it – a stream, part of which ran cloistered between trees, some three hundred paces off the eastern side of the army. For days she had watched Bel’s camp, and every morning his Jaya went off to bathe, not to the river, but to this secluded little spot.

‘Precious,’ muttered Lalenda.

Did she really mean to follow through? It was not too late to turn back and pretend this had never happened. Then she pictured the prophecy, saw herself and Jaya each pulling on the hands of a blue-haired man – and she drew in her wings to fall. No one below should see such a dark spot plummeting, and although she noted a Zyvanix patrol, it was only a vague shape far away. She held her wings tightly to her, trying to fall faster. As the ground rushed up towards her, and the enemy grew rapidly larger in her field of vision, her misgivings quadrupled. She had slightly misjudged the stream’s location – understandable given the distance from which she had started this fall – and eased her wings out gradually. To spread full length at this rate would probably rip them from her back, so she found herself necessarily slowing at exactly the point at which she was most likely to be spotted. The trees came at her and she veered between them, thinking for a dreadful moment she was going to crash – but a split-second decision led her to bring herself down in the stream with a great splash.

She coughed as she rose from the water, worried about the noise of her landing, but it was better than breaking her legs. Quickly she waded to the stream’s edge, climbed out on the side furthest from the perilously close army, and dragged up the bank to hide underneath a group of ferns. Mages, she knew, would not become instantly aware of her as they would have with a shadow mage, but that did not mean they couldn’t quest forth with formless sight and find her. Moments went by slowly as she strained her ears, but there came no rushing of feet, no yelling about an enemy being near, and soon the insects she had disturbed were chirping again. She settled down in the mud, part of her enjoying the abeyance of heat. There was nothing to do but wait for the coming of dawn.

•

Grimra wafted through the camp on the lookout for anything tasty. Lalenda usually made sure he had plenty of food, but his hunger was more of a monster than he was. It did not help that he was surrounded by delicious humans and little goblins. Even the tougher Vorthargs sometimes took his fancy, for their bones were hard and did not break easily when he ran his teeth down them to scour every last bit of meat. He did not like stony Graka, so at least obeying Losara was easy on that count.

Behave , he was constantly being told.

‘Grimra does behave,’ he muttered, as he slipped through someone’s legs and made them jump in alarm. ‘He behaves like Grimra, ho ho!’

He discovered a camp in which two Arabodedas women were watching a man skin a rabbit. Not many of those left with such a crowd camping here, so it was a prize indeed for these three. Grimra knew it wasn’t his to take, but still he watched, fascinated and unseen, as the man started to cut the rabbit and toss the pieces in a bowl. When he was done he produced a small pouch from his pocket, and the women glanced at each other eagerly.

‘You brought herbs?’ said one.

‘Of course!’ said the man, grinning. ‘What is food without a little spice?’

The man shook fine brown dust from the pouch into the bowl, and rubbed it into the rabbit with his fingers. Grimra swallowed a growl – he cared not for the subtler flavours of herbs, with the exception of prayer weed, but there was not much hope the man used that, given that it was toxic to humans.

The man finished and set the bowl down proudly in front of the women. Their eyes glistened as they leaned forward to inspect.

‘We can have the first bite?’

‘You may,’ said the man.

Grimra could not help himself. He lunged and grabbed the bowl, smashing it against his teeth so all the rabbit flew into his mouth.

‘Rar, ha ha!’ he laughed, guzzling it up. So surprised were the Arabodedas that they fell backwards off their stones.

‘What was that?’ cried one of the women, clambering to her feet.

‘I’d say it was the Golgoleth we’ve been warned of,’ said the man, stepping in front of her warily. ‘Stay back – they say we need not fear him, but …’

The other woman still lay on the ground, looking mournfully at the smashed and empty bowl. Grimra felt a moment of pity – he knew this was not exactly behaving . Maybe he could make it up to them?

‘Grimra bring you a replacement,’ he informed them, startling them again.

He whirled away to the river to prowl the banks, where a few rabbit holes had escaped being covered by tents or mounds of supplies. Soon he found one, and squeezed into it and along.

‘Little rabbits?’ he said. ‘Where be thou?’

He entered a larger part of the burrow, where three rabbits clustered in the dark. A fine gift they would make for the Arabodedas he had stolen from.

‘Rar, ha ha!’ he cackled gleefully as he rushed in and tore them to pieces, his promise instantly forgotten. Tasty, tasty indeed!

Dawn was breaking, and Grimra decided he would check to see if Lalenda had woken yet. As he breezed into her and Losara’s tent, he was surprised to find she wasn’t there. He knew his amulet was close, however, for he could feel it always, his link to this plane. He drifted up beside the deeply sleeping Losara and tried to pull back a corner of the sheet on Lalenda’s side with his claw. As usual he was lousy at any action more delicate than rending things asunder, and tears appeared in the sheet. Growing impatient, he began to shred it to pieces.

‘Grimra,’ said Losara. He was sitting up, looking perplexed at waking to find the ghost attacking the bed. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Lalenda?’

‘Gone,’ wailed Grimra, having finally revealed the amulet. Slowly Losara’s eyes fell on it. ‘Flutterbug has gone!’

‘Gone?’ Now Losara was truly awake. He fell to shadow and re-formed on his feet. ‘Where has she gone?’

‘Grimra not be knowing. Grimra see her last night sleeping, but now, now, gone!’

He whirled around the tent, knocking things over.

‘All right, Grimra, settle down,’ said Losara. ‘I’m sure she hasn’t gone far.’

‘Why does she take off Grimra’s amulet then?’ keened Grimra. ‘ So Grimra cannot follow .’

Concern showed on Losara’s face.

‘Loves him too much,’ moaned Grimra.

‘What do you mean?’

‘So angry she be! She is watching the other lady every morning, watches her get up from blue-hair’s camp and off through his army, watches her pop out and go to swimming hole, every morning for days and days – such good eyes flutterbug has! Grimra says what be you thinking, and flutterbug says nothing, but Grimra knows, Grimra can tell from the hate in her eyes. She starts trying to go without him, to go and sit and watch the lady, tells Grimra to go find rabbits – but Grimra is watching her anyways, and she doesn’t be knowing.’

‘Grimra,’ said Losara, his voice resonant with power. It caught the ghost’s attention, made him slow.

‘Yes?’

‘Tell me,’ said Losara, ‘where she has gone.’

•

Jaya wandered through the army in no particular rush. No need, for the days had begun to blend, and there was little for her to do save keep Bel company as he sat around on display. It was not exactly boring, but it was sometimes …limited. So she enjoyed these little excursions away, a quiet time to herself, without thousands of eyes upon her. Some of the other folk here knew about the stream, of course, but she found if she visited at dawn when it wasn’t yet hot, between patrol changes, she usually had the place to herself. As she came to the edge of the army, there it was – a small copse of trees hiding a nice secluded spot.

Over the grass she trotted, passing a troop of soldiers on foot heading in the opposite direction. A young man who looked very new to armour glanced at the cloth she’d brought to dry herself, and shot her a quirked eyebrow – no doubt imagining her naked, silly boy – but she found herself grinning and sending him a wink in return. At least he hadn’t been openly lewd, like some of the soldiers around here.

She arrived at the trees and slipped inside, padding lightly through the undergrowth and coming out into a clearing through which the stream burbled. Blessedly there was no one here, and she wasted no time removing her belt and stripping down to her undergarments. She eased into the water and made for a deep spot towards the middle, diving as she reached it and enjoying the rush of cool water through her hair. She surfaced, her feet planting on smooth stones beneath her, and blinked. An odd beating sound reached her, and she shook her ear with a finger to unplug it. As the audibility of the world grew crisp once again, the beating sound descended upon her rapidly. She spun and flung up her hands.

Claws like needles slashed her arm but her cry was stifled as she fell under the weight of her assailant. Her feet kicked for the bottom but she was already off balance, and succeeded only in bouncing along backwards. Clawed hands came at her face, and her own hands shot out to seize them at the wrist. Wings beat at her, and a muddy brown face came close to hers just before she was pushed underwater.

The creature …a Mire Pixie …was pulling in her grip now, trying to get free, but she dragged it down with her. As its wing tips broke the water’s surface, it collapsed from the air to sink after. She twisted away, pushed it from her, kicked free, and came up gasping. About a pace away the pixie rose, breathing hard and watching her with hooded eyes from under a tangle of sodden black hair. Jaya glanced to the shore – her pile of things, including her sword, was downstream.

‘You will not steal him from me,’ the pixie said, wading into the shallows between Jaya and her gear. Jaya had a moment to really see her – a little over a pace tall, her eyes were a piercing blue that shone with fervour from the darkness of her face. She gave her wings a flick, sending a spray of water in either direction.

‘What,’ spluttered Jaya, ‘in Arkus’s name are you talking about?’

‘Arkus?’ said the pixie, cocking her head. ‘A strange name to invoke to me.’

She launched at Jaya with a whir. Jaya dropped down and her hand closed around a submerged stone, which she wrenched from the water and sent hurtling at the pixie. It glanced off her arm and she gave a little yelp, knocked off course. Jaya dashed from the shallows and along the bank to her things. She fell to the ground to scrabble with her belt, the sword end caught under her clothes, even as she heard wing beats coming closer. Flinging clothes away desperately, she yanked the sword free, and spun just in time to smash away the pixie’s outstretched hand with the hilt, deflecting her claws. The pixie spun in the air and half glided, half fell to the ground. Jaya strode to her even as she tried to rise, and put a boot in her side that set her on her back. The pixie opened her eyes to find Jaya’s sword point glinting over her throat.

‘Caught me by surprise, shadow,’ said Jaya, breathing hard.

The pixie hissed, but Jaya let the blade touch her flesh, and she quieted instantly – though her eyes were still brimming with accusation.

‘Why have you come here?’ demanded Jaya. ‘Do you realise I won’t feel safe in this nook again? You have ruined my bathing time. Who are you?’

The pixie slumped a little, her body finally seeming to realise the fight had halted. ‘Lalenda,’ she said.

Jaya frowned – she had heard the name before, but where? Then she remembered.

‘You’re Losara’s lover,’ she said, surprised. Her eyes travelled down Lalenda’s small form. ‘What peculiar taste he’s got.’

Lalenda scowled. ‘You can talk, Sprite.’

‘My love is also part Sprite,’ countered Jaya, then wondered why she was defending herself. ‘Why have you come here? You tried to kill me – why shouldn’t I run you through right now?’

‘Why do you always ask more than one question at once?’ spat Lalenda. ‘Decide what answers you really want before wasting my time.’

‘What did you mean by saying you would not share him?’

Lalenda stared up with pure malice. ‘What do you suppose will happen,’ she said, ‘if the men we love are made into one? What do you think will happen to their love for us ?’

Jaya frowned, unsure what to make of that – in truth, she tried not to think too deeply about Bel’s plan to absorb his other into himself. Always her concerns, when she dared to have them, were dismissed with talk of how Losara was the lesser part, and Arkus had told Bel that he would remain dominant, and she should not worry.

‘We are bonded,’ she said. ‘Our Sprite souls entangled. Bel will never stop loving me.’ She laughed. It was true.

‘Bitch,’ said Lalenda quietly. ‘We know you think Losara is nothing. You are fools. You believe that because of some quirk in your heritage, your love is special? Losara and I did not rely on tradition to match us – we chose each other .’

‘You must not be overly confident,’ said Jaya. ‘After all, you are trying to kill me. Why do that, if the love of your man is so unshakeable?’

‘I felt sorry for you,’ said Lalenda. ‘Knowing how kind and compassionate my Losara is, and thus knowing Bel is without those qualities, I thought to put you out of your misery.’

‘Compassionate? After what he’s done? I should run you through where you lie.’

And why not? she thought. She isn’t on the ‘must not kill’ list.

Yet this talk of Losara and Bel combining had disturbed her. Their fates were uncertain but intertwined, and they involved both her and this angry pixie as well. Also, Losara had saved her from the Mireforms – admittedly ones which he had sent in the first place – but that did not change the fact that without his actions, she would be dead. Would she repay him by destroying his happiness? And if she did, would he not be angry with her, vengeful – and then what if Bel combined with him? Would that fury cross over as well?

Something yanked the sword from her grip and sent it spinning into the stream. She looked up and there was Losara, his torso floating upon shadows issuing up from the water. Lalenda scrambled to her feet as Jaya backed away, but before the pixie could do anything further, Losara beckoned his finger and she gave a cry as she lifted off her feet. He moved her through the air and set her beside him. She struggled for a moment, then gave an exclamation of frustration. Losara glanced at her and she stilled.

‘My apologies,’ he said, turning back to Jaya. ‘This was not done with my knowledge.’

‘Well, now,’ rang a jolly voice through the trees. All three pairs of eyes slid to the sound of its approach. ‘Just thought,’ said the young soldier, appearing out of the trees, ‘that I’d come here for a wash, for no particular …’ The smile faded from his face as he saw the dreamer and Lalenda floating over the stream. Jaya recognised him as the one she’d winked at on her way here. She rolled her eyes.

Should have known better , she thought.

‘The …the dreamer,’ stammered the soldier, pale as snow. He glanced at her and she felt suddenly exposed, her undergarments clinging to her slickly. The sight of her seemed to make him find his spirit.

‘Stay back!’ he warned, and reached for his bow, falling to one knee and notching an arrow.

‘No!’ Jaya shouted, and ran at him. At the moment the arrow left the bow she collided with him, knocking him to the ground and sending the arrow wide. He looked up at her in confusion, and she rolled off him quickly. Meanwhile Lalenda was staring at her with an odd expression on her face. Jaya felt a strange moment between them.

‘I would not want Losara to die,’ she said quietly, ‘just as you would not kill Bel.’

Sounds of yelling came from the direction of the army, growing louder fast.

‘I am sensed,’ said Losara. Without another word he shot along the stream, dragging Lalenda with him. A moment later lightfists skidded out of the trees, but Losara and his pixie had already disappeared.

‘Why did you stop me firing?’ whined the young soldier, rubbing his arm.

‘You think that one arrow can kill the Shadowdreamer?’ she said, stooping to gather her clothes. ‘I probably saved your life.’ As the lightfists came towards them, she sighed. ‘All I wanted,’ she said, ‘was a little damn privacy.’

Preparations

Bel had his sword in hand, and yet there was nothing to strike. ‘I warned you,’ he shouted, ‘about leaving the army!’

‘Don’t snap at me, Blade Bel,’ said Jaya levelly, crossing her arms. ‘I was the one who got attacked, remember? And, I might add, it only happened because I put up with you on such a regular basis.’

‘I’m not snapping at you!’ said Bel, unsure of who he really was most angry with. Jaya for her insistence on leaving the safety of the camp, himself for allowing it, Lalenda for initiating such maliciousness, or Losara for failing to control her …or even for being the one to rescue Jaya once again? It seemed, when he thought about it, that he was angry with all of them in equal measure. He was confused, too, over Lalenda’s motives. Losara had been curious about Jaya, he remembered, from the time his counterpart had spent disguised in their company …should he in turn be curious about Lalenda? But why, when he already knew he could never love anyone but Jaya?

‘I’m just angry I wasn’t there,’ he said, forcing himself to put away his sword. ‘Instead I sat here dumb and bored, ignorant of you in danger elsewhere.’

‘Well,’ said Jaya, ‘you do insist on remaining here, my stubborn friend, even though surely Losara won’t try to trick you with any more mander-ish illusions. Surely you can now allow yourself a wider range?’

‘If I saw him leave with the mander again,’ said Bel, ‘how could I be certain he’s not actually doing what he only pretended to before, this time banking on my disbelief? That’s what I’d do.’

Jaya placed a hand on Bel’s shoulder. ‘Exactly why he won’t.’

Bel calmed a little at her touch. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m just so utterly out of my mind with tedium here.’

‘Well,’ she gave him a squeeze, ‘careful what you say, or I’ll start to think you’re unhappy you missed the excitement for the wrong reasons.’

From Bel’s pack there came a chirp. As he knelt down to fumble inside, Querrus, who was snoozing nearby, said something unintelligible in his sleep.

‘Ridiculous.’ Bel scowled. ‘This is what I have to deal with! To be in plain view of the enemy, yet comfortable enough to nap. No wonder I’m going mad!’

He produced the bird, and touched the scroll.

‘Bel,’ came Fahren’s voice, ‘I thought you’d like to know we are drawing close, and should arrive around nightfall. Perhaps you could let Brahl know as well? See you in a short while.’

That was all, and the steam hissed to an abrupt end. Bel did not care, for his mood had instantly improved tenfold.

‘Finally!’ he said, his eyes flashing eagerly. ‘Fahren will be here by evening!’

‘I heard,’ said Jaya, not seeming to share his mood.

For a moment Bel’s exuberance faltered. ‘Which means she’ll be here too,’ he added, almost to himself.

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

•

As they approached the Kainordan army, Battu couldn’t help but feel trepidation. That, he thought angrily, was a side effect of his encounter with Arkus. Iassia had said he must be sworn to serve because there was a risk he’d change his mind – and then proceeded to take away the very aspect of him that kept him so focused. To sharks, consequences were not high on the list of things worth considering. Now, alone with his thoughts, he found himself more greatly fearing the consequences of failure. What would the Dark Gods do to him, if he should return to them? He shuddered to think. Was that Arkus’s motivation, then? To punish him, by making him fear the choice he was locked into? Was the Sun God so petty?

‘Hold!’ an edgy voice called out. A group of lightfists on horseback appeared from the darkness ahead, illuminated by their wards, with hands held ready to cast. Fahren cantered forward, conjuring an orb that lit him also, and particularly the Auriel.

‘Calm yourselves,’ he said. ‘The one you sense is Lord Battu, here under my protection.’

The lightfist leader squinted at Fahren – searching out any illusions, most probably – then bowed his head. ‘My Throne,’ he said.

Warily the lightfists lowered their hands, though several kept close watch on Battu. He shot one young lady a grin, and was amused to see her flinch.

‘My Throne,’ said the leader, ‘with all due respect …are you sure it’s safe to let him into the camp?’

Battu chuckled. ‘Why thank you, lad,’ he said, deliberately misunderstanding the lightfist’s words, ‘for your concern for my safety. I am sure, however, I’ll be all right once you put word about that I’m bound by the will of Arkus to help your sorry lot. And anyone who gets it into their head to seek me out for past misdeeds should realise that I provide better help when I’m alive, and nothing in my oath prevents me from defending myself.’

The leader stared at him a moment, then looked to Fahren, who gave a nod.

‘And now,’ said Fahren, ‘take us to Blade Bel.’

•

‘Bel,’ said Jaya. ‘Look.’

There, emerging from the front lines, smiling ear to ear and spreading his arms wide, was Fahren. Bel rose and jogged across the grass, joyous that the monotony was broken at last. As he reached Fahren he went to embrace him, but only got as far as clasping his shoulders, when he saw who followed behind, and froze.

It was a lot to take in at once.

Elessa Lanclara was just as he remembered her from her grave. Her white Overseer’s dress showed nothing of the time that had passed, or the hardship it had seen. Her blond hair – for a single moment he remembered it wet – hung free and vivid. Her bright eyes did not look dead. In fact, she was beautiful. In sharp contrast, next to her was Battu, a hulking figure with silken black hair, his once-pale skin now blotched with sunburn, his mouth twisting as if it could not decide where it wanted to be. Instantly Bel was fascinated by him, this man who had once been the greatest enemy of his people. It was Battu who had ordered him found when he’d been a baby, had sent Fazel forth to rip him apart, had raised his other off in Fenvarrow, had been defeated by Corlas at the Shining Mines …and who had sent the weaver to trick his father to the detriment of so many. Yet Bel’s deferred anger had always been for some distant shadowy figure, not this person alone amongst Kainordans, looking awkward and uncomfortable.

Side by side stood these two who had helped make him what he was, now here to serve him.

Not knowing quite how to behave, he reverted to an old mask. ‘Welcome!’ he said expansively, smiling. ‘I am Bel Corinas. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?’

Battu gave a half-chuckle. ‘Already I can tell you are different from Losara.’

‘Well,’ said Bel, ‘I should certainly hope so.’ He turned to Elessa. ‘Been a long time, Miss Lanclara,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘I cannot tell you,’ said Bel, ‘how grateful I am that you have come.’

Elessa glanced at Fahren, then nodded. ‘I will do what I can to help the people of the light,’ she said stiffly.

‘Throne!’ came a voice, and Brahl bustled out of the darkness. He stopped short, eyeing Battu warily.

‘It is all right, Gerent,’ said Fahren.

‘I know, I know,’ said Brahl. ‘Still, you cannot blame me for having reservations.’

‘You would be a fool not to,’ said Battu. ‘But as Fahren will assure you, I am a scorpion whose claws are bound.’

The gerent stroked his chin. ‘It is the tail that does the harm,’ he said. ‘Nonetheless you, in turn, are safe in camp. I have let it be known that anyone who puts a sword through you will get a very harsh rap on the knuckles.’

‘Come now,’ snapped Fahren, a hint of how frayed his nerves were, ‘let us not begin this way.’

Bel clapped his hands together. ‘Fahren is right,’ he said. ‘And there is much to discuss.’

‘Shall we retire to my camp?’ suggested Brahl. ‘I think it would be wise to get out of plain view.’

Soon they were sitting around Brahl’s fire. They were a strange collection indeed. For Bel it was the first time away from his own camp in days, Fahren erected some kind of spell to keep their conversation contained, but that did not stop others nearby from casting curious looks. Talking about what they would do the next day made it seem very real – finally , things were going to happen – and Bel constandly had to force himself to focus.

‘Next,’ said Fahren, and his gaze fell on the Stone around Bel’s neck, ‘we should speak about whether or not we attempt the …recombining …during the fighting.’

A ripple of nervousness went through Bel. It must have showed on his face, for Jaya took his hand.

‘And you are sure that’s what we must do?’ said Brahl.

‘Arkus was very clear,’ said Fahren. ‘There must be one champion – our champion.’

‘Then it should be tomorrow,’ muttered Battu. He had been quiet for some while, but their plans had not really involved him yet. Now all eyes turned to him. ‘To make best use of the surprise,’ he said. ‘We may not have another opportunity.’

Fahren nodded slowly. ‘Then we must somehow root Losara in place, where Bel can be near, long enough for us to cast the spell on them both.’

‘Tricky,’ said Battu. ‘He can travel in shadowform, which makes him hard to pin down. The only thing I can suggest is …’ he grimaced, ‘…a circle of light. One that encloses him completely.’

Fahren looked troubled. ‘He will be protected, no doubt, by his own mages. We’d need a whole host of lightfists to aid us, which would leave other parts of the army scarcely defended.’

‘If it yields the result we seek,’ said Bel, trying to sound assured, ‘it will be worth it. How long will the …process …take?’

‘Hard to know,’ said Fahren. ‘Battu and I must practise tonight with the Stone.’

Unconsciously Bel’s hand went to his neck. He had come to rely on the Stone’s protection, almost thought of it as a part of him now – but, he told himself, by the morrow’s end, perhaps he would not need it. Could he really believe such a thing? It seemed impossible, after all he’d been through, that the end might actually be in sight. And that that end, for him, was really a beginning, for he would finally become a complete person. What changes would be wrought? he wondered. Would they be small and unnoticeable, or greatly influencing? Would Losara blend with him peacefully, or would inner demons claw at him forever? Would he gain Losara’s magical talent? If so, how would that magic express itself? Not as shadow, surely. Fahren had said it was possible to convert souls from shadow to light, so maybe it was the same with magic.

‘May I see it, Bel?’

Slowly and reluctantly Bel removed the Stone and handed it over. Fahren considered it for a moment, passed his fingers over it, and frowned. He caught Bel watching closely, and slipped it into his robe. ‘You can have it back,’ he said. ‘Afterwards.’ He looked around at the rest of the group. ‘So. Once we have Losara trapped, Battu and I will draw him, and Bel, through the gateway of the Stone.’

Jaya’s hand seemed sweaty in Bel’s. She looked worried, and he tried to give her a reassuring smile, though right then it was hard to muster.

‘And in the meantime,’ said Brahl, ‘the rest of us fight on – so when Bel emerges from that thing, he still has an army to lead!’

Soon everyone was eager to go about their own preparations. Fahren and Battu wanted to test the Stone, and Brahl had orders to give to his officers. As people began to leave, Bel felt uneasy, at a loose end. He was suddenly wary of a night spent worrying, uncertain over what would happen once Losara re-entered him. Surely the changes would be slight – Arkus had said his counterpart was but a shred of a man. Maybe it would be as simple as an end to the blankness? That he could live with.

Across the fire he saw Elessa staring off into space.

‘You go on back to camp,’ he whispered to Jaya. ‘I’ll be along shortly.’

‘Don’t be too long.’ Again he saw apprehension plain on her face. What could he tell her?

‘I won’t be,’ he said lamely.

As Jaya left, Elessa realised it was just her and Bel left.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘Who would have guessed that you and I would sit here together on the eve of it all?’

‘Not I,’ she said.

‘Do you mind if I talk to you?’

She paused, considering his question for longer than seemed necessary. ‘Why not?’ she said eventually, then shook her head. ‘It wasn’t you who made me this way, not really. You did not ask for your fate, just as I didn’t ask for mine. At any rate, some would see it as justice.’

‘Justice?’

‘That I damaged your soul, and in turn find mine damaged.’ She seemed to hearken to her own words, and he realised they had something in common.

‘Fahren said …’ he licked his lips. It was hard to know how to relate to this woman, or how open he could be with her. ‘That you did not come back …well, entirely.’

She chuckled, a grating noise that did not seem in keeping with the soft lips it came from. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I am no longer the person I was. It is …well, it is hard to describe.’

‘Bits of you are missing,’ said Bel matter-of-factly.

‘Indeed.’

‘Can you tell?’

‘Pardon?’

Bel sighed. ‘All my life a part of me has been gone. And yet I have no comparison, remembering no time before that was the case, as you do.’

‘Oh,’ she said. For a moment she would not meet his gaze. ‘Yes, I can tell.’

‘Ah. And it is not pleasant, I take it?’

‘Not especially.’

Bel pursed his lips. Did he suffer the same as she did, and just couldn’t know? Was he missing more, or less? Looking back, he knew he’d often been troubled or confused, but he did not think of his existence as being tortured. But maybe, when he and Losara were joined, he would suddenly experience life as he’d never imagined it before. Maybe he would learn that he’d been missing out on many things, as if there were colours he had never seen, scents he had never smelled. And there was his old excitement, coming to the fore – maybe the morrow would bring him not only glory, but fulfilment.

He found he wanted to share his newborn good mood. ‘Well,’ he said, spreading his hands, ‘we may not be all there, but at least we look good.’

No answering mirth showed in her. After a pause she gestured at her face dismissively. ‘Illusions,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why. Maybe there is a skerrick of vanity left in me somewhere.’

‘Oh,’ said Bel, suddenly imagining a ghastly face beneath the projected shell he stared at.

‘Just a few touches,’ she added, noting his look. ‘Most of what you see is me.’

Bel nodded as if he understood. After an uncomfortable silence, he rose. ‘I should return to my camp.’

‘As you wish. Enjoy the warmth of your lady’s arms.’

As he moved away, he glanced back at her sitting alone by the campfire.

‘What will you do?’

‘Wait,’ she said simply.

Bel wondered if there was anything he could do for her. He had tried to lift her spirits, and it had only depressed her more.

‘Elessa,’ he said, ‘thank you for giving us this chance. You will be remembered twice over for great deeds.’

She put a hand to her forehead in a casual salute, then quickly took it away to stare at it in disgust. ‘Let us hope so,’ she said. ‘And Bel?’ Again a long pause, and finally she lowered her hand. ‘I am sorry for my part in what happened to you.’

He forced a chortle. ‘Don’t be silly. If not for you, who knows where I would be right now?’

And then he did walk away, for she was beginning to disquiet him.

•

A smoking stump in the distance was the only standing remnant of the shattered tree. Battu turned to Fahren with a mad glint in his eye. Between them hung the Stone, its chain looped around the end of a staff planted in the ground.

‘That worked well,’ said Battu. ‘Shall we try another?’

Fahren was too shocked to respond right away. The sheer power that they’d been able to produce, channelling to combine their magic to a single purpose, was staggering.

‘Let’s change tack,’ he said. ‘What about a ward?’

Battu nodded eagerly – too eagerly, and Fahren had to remind himself that Battu could not make the Stone work by himself.

‘Ready.’ Battu raised his hand.

‘Wonder what will happen?’ said Fahren. ‘Shadow and light together in defence?’

‘Channel and we’ll find out!’

Each cast at the Stone, and Fahren felt a slight tweak as his power was caught up and sucked into it. A moment later a ward suffused them, but like no ward he had ever seen. It was a dark light, deep orange with tinges of blue, yellow, grey and black, like an expansion of the colours that constantly flashed across the Stone’s surface – the sunset sky in evening.

‘Impressive,’ observed Battu. ‘Now we need to see how it stands up to attack!’

‘I am sure the ward is strong,’ said Fahren.

‘You stand here,’ said Battu. ‘I can both help maintain the ward and attack it at the same time.’

‘But –’

Battu was already stalking off. When he was some twenty paces away, he turned. ‘Are you ready?’

Fahren braced himself. ‘Nothing too powerful, Battu,’ he called.

Battu laughed. ‘Don’t be such a cringing kitten! Weren’t you once the Grand High Mage?’

He unleashed a flurry of blue bolts that sizzled towards the ward. Fahren tensed, but felt only a slight jolt against the defence, with none of the force he would normally have expected.

‘Not bad,’ called Battu. ‘How about …’ He glanced at the sky.

‘No,’ said Fahren. ‘If you conjure some blue vortex up there, it will be seen for leagues around. We do not wish to advertise your presence.’

‘Very well. How about this, then?’

He concentrated hard, and two thick shadow tendrils unfurled from his hands. As they neared the ward, each darted in to attack it at the same place. At the point of contact the colours of the ward suddenly congealed and thickened, there was a great crack, and the shadows disintegrated.

Battu cackled gleefully.

‘Don’t get cocky,’ warned Fahren. ‘I felt that spell penetrate a little – the ward might be strong, but it isn’t invincible.’

‘It doesn’t change the fact,’ said Battu, ‘that you and I wield the most potent magic heard of in millennia.’

‘And I,’ said Fahren, ‘am not sure whether I find that a comfort or not. Now come, we have other things to try.’

•

Requested by Gerent Brahl to return to the officers’ camp, Bel was relieved to find Elessa now absent. He did not inquire after her whereabouts, but spoke instead with Brahl about some of the arrangements for the following day. Brahl also showed him an impressive suit of armour, suggesting that Bel might consider wearing it. Certainly the majestic gold plate was fitting for a hero, but Bel wondered if he really needed it. The path was his protection, and heavy armour might impede him as he travelled it. As he stood considering his answer, Fahren and Battu returned.

‘How did you go?’ said Brahl.

The two mages exchanged a glance.

‘Fahren?’

Fahren licked his lips. ‘We had no problem making it work. In fact, it works quite well.’

‘In the same way that the sky,’ added Battu, ‘is quite high up.’

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ said Fahren quickly, ‘I must talk to my mages.’ He set down the staff, removed the Stone from the top and moved away. Battu watched him go, then shook his head.

A cerepan arrived and whispered something to Brahl. ‘Excuse me,’ said the gerent. ‘I have much to see to. Bel, we can decide about this later.’

Left standing alone with Battu, once again Bel found himself curious, not just about the man himself, but because Battu knew Losara better than anyone else Bel had met.

He gestured at the fireside. ‘Will you join me?’

Battu glanced at the flames with unease.

‘Or maybe a walk to the river?’ suggested Bel.

Battu stared at the troops sprawling in the direction of the river and looked even more uncomfortable. ‘I will sit by the fire, if that is what you wish. Better than strolling amongst your horde.’ He lowered himself onto the rock furthest from the heat. Bel took one also.

‘Really,’ Bel said jovially, ‘I should kill you.’

Battu grunted. ‘You have reasons enough.’

‘And a very strong reason not to, I suppose.’

Battu shrugged with mock exaggeration. ‘I suppose.’

‘You are not scared of me – is that what you intimate?’

Battu considered him for a moment. ‘Perhaps. You have more pluck than Losara, I’ll say that for you. He never could master intimidation.’

‘No?’ said Bel. He tried not to let his eagerness to learn more about his counterpart show too obviously.

‘Perhaps I would have had better luck with the type who sits down to make casual death threats.’

‘I never would have served you, Battu.’

‘Not in this unravelling. But if it had been you I retrieved from Whisperwood instead of Losara, you would have been brought up with shadow ways and never known different. And then,’ he rested his large head on his fist, ‘since you have no magic I would not have lost my throne to you.’

Bel scowled. ‘You don’t know that. You don’t know what paths fate would have shown me in such a circumstance. And if you had stood in my way as you must have done Losara’s, I would not have been so sloppy as to let you live.’

Battu grinned. ‘So the greatest exception is taken not to whether you would have served the shadow, but to being told you couldn’t defeat me? Ha! Spirit then, a fighter’s heart …why could I not have been delivered this one?’ He cast an imploring look at the universe.

‘You did not get along with Losara?’ said Bel, trying to bring the conversation back where he wanted it.

‘You and I,’ said Battu, ignoring the question, ‘are not without our commonalities, Blade Bel. I am a fighter too, you know. In fact, I disobeyed orders from the Dark Gods themselves because of my quarrelsome nature, when I marched upon the Shining Mines …where I met your father, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

‘I obey my god,’ said Bel darkly.

‘Yes, yes. But it’s the desire I draw on to make my comparison, to prove oneself through strength.’

‘And the example you provide,’ said Bel, ‘goes to show that a warrior can threaten the life of an almighty Shadowdreamer.’

‘And yes,’ smiled Battu, ‘here is another divide between you and your counterpart. You argue that you could have overthrown me just as he did, indeed you persist with the topic when I consider it already dealt with, whereas such a competitive thought would never enter Losara’s mind.’

‘What do you mean?’

Battu shrugged, a real one this time. ‘I suppose he does not measure his deeds against those of others.’

Bel shook his head. Why were they even talking about this? What did it matter whether Bel would have bested Battu or not, had he been raised in Losara’s place?

‘Enough,’ he said. ‘This has nothing to do with anything. I wish to know about Losara.’

‘I thought that’s what I was telling you.’

‘Be more direct. Come, you have a vested interest in our victory tomorrow. Here is a chance for you to help secure it.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Is Losara weak? Is he slight of character?’

‘Ah,’ said Battu, a glimmer in his eye, ‘I see. You are fearful of the change, and who wouldn’t be? In which case I will tell you – I have ever found Losara a disappointment. Oh, he has power enough, yet he is weak in its wielding. As you can see,’ he gestured at himself, ‘he allowed me to escape, before which he was even reluctant to fight back. During our battle, he had the opportunity to kill my guards, yet he did not take it. He did not finish Roma when they fought, though the man sought to steal from him the title of Apprentice and would gladly have murdered him where he stood. But it isn’t just that type of thing. When he was a child, he was difficult to stir. Whether I was meting out punishment or praise, he’d stare at me as if he never understood anything. He’d wander about the castle endlessly by himself, not doing much of anything, not laughing and running or causing mischief, just drifting about. His only friend was as insubstantial as he, a demented ghost. And he never,’ Battu screwed up his face, ‘took pleasure in fine food. The Dark Gods bless him because they have no other choice, yet he is nothing but torn skin in their grasp.’

Bel found Battu’s words, and obvious disdain, extremely encouraging. ‘Then it will be as Arkus promised,’ he murmured. ‘I will remain, and Losara will disappear.’

‘Let us pray to Arkus that it will be so,’ said Battu, wearing a twisted expression.

He needs to believe it as much as you do , whispered a voice in the back of Bel’s mind, so he tells you what you both need to hear.

Be gone, little niggle , he replied. You will have company enough soon, in what-used-to-be-Losara, and he will be as easily suppressed as you.

‘Suppose I should try to get some sleep,’ he said, rising.

He left Battu and returned to his camp. Querrus was nowhere to be seen – maybe Fahren had summoned him, for he had spoken of needing each and every mage.

Hang watching the mander , he thought. I’m going to bed.

•

Jaya lay awake, staring at the roof of the tent, nervous about tomorrow’s charge. Perhaps she was no soldier, but neither were plenty of others who would fight. Still, she preferred night and subtlety to open sky and clashing swords. One could not sneak through a battlefield.

If it weren’t for Bel, she would not even be here.

The tent flap pulled back and he crawled into the tent. ‘Still awake?’ he said, lying down and slipping an arm around her. She rolled into his embrace and grunted an affirmative.

He took a deep breath. ‘I’m worried about you tomorrow.’

‘Why?’

He paused, and she guessed he was choosing his words carefully. ‘I know you want to fight, Jaya, and …well, I do not doubt your ability, let that be plain. But I will need to concentrate, more than I ever have in my entire life. I worry that knowing you’re somewhere in that fray will distract me.’

‘I can look after myself,’ she said, trying to sound stubborn.

‘I know you can, but don’t you see what I mean? My mind will be on you constantly, wondering where you are and if you’re all right. It is no,’ he gave her a squeeze, ‘slight on your skill.’

‘And what about you?’ she said. ‘You think I won’t worry about you?’

Here it was, then, the moment she’d been waiting for. Pride dictated that she argue, though she wanted nothing more than to agree with him. She couldn’t let him know that, however.

‘There is no backing out for me,’ he said. ‘Jaya, you know I have to go.’

How to make her acceptance seem reluctant?

‘Remember the trolls we fought at the Arkus Heights?’ she said.

‘Of course.’

‘Afterwards you asked me to fight at your back. That way you don’t have to watch out for me so much if you’re taken by the frenzy, and we can protect each other.’

‘That was different. Those stupid trolls didn’t know who I was, but tomorrow I’ll have the largest of targets on me. Standing at my back is probably the least safe place to be.’ He rested a hand on her bare stomach. ‘Jaya, please understand …my effectiveness tomorrow is of paramount importance, even if it comes at the cost of insulting you. If I lose focus for a split second at the wrong moment, it could spell disaster for all Kainordas. Can’t you please, for once, see the grander scheme of things?’

The comment riled her, and she felt objections building in her mouth, clamouring to get out. Don’t go too far , she warned herself. If you manage to convince him to let you fight, it will be hard to take back. She swallowed her anger, and fell silent.

‘Jaya?’ he ventured.

She gave a big sigh, trying not to seem too affected. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘If it is that important. Let it not be said that Jaya Kincare is the reason why the light failed.’

He held her tight then. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you, my good friend. I was afraid you would not see my point, but knowing that you’re safe, I’ll be able to enjoy myself properly.’

‘Enjoy?’ she said.

‘Just a turn of phrase,’ he said quickly. ‘Maybe not the right one. You know what I mean.’

‘Just so long as you remember that I’ll be fearful for your safety too. All this talk of the grander scheme, when really you’re looking forward to having some fun? You make it sound like you’ve just talked me out of attending a drinking session with your old barracks comrades.’

‘No, no! That’s not how I meant it.’

She decided to let him off lightly. ‘It’s all right, Bel. I know you like to swing your sword about. Maybe it’s right that you do. I just hope you aren’t trivialising the situation.’

‘Honestly, I am just relieved you won’t be at risk.’

Me too , she thought.

‘Very well, then,’ she said. ‘And now, just in case we both die tomorrow, how about …’ She took his hand where it lay on her stomach, and moved it upwards.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘it would be unfair to talk my lady out of all her wishes.’

‘How kind of you, sir,’ she said with a throaty chuckle.

•

Fahren sat in his tent, smoking and poring over a map of Fenvarrow. He wasn’t exactly sure why …maybe because, if they defeated the shadow army, there would still be a lot of enemy land left standing. Emptied and depleted, maybe, but standing.

A worry for another day.

He pushed the map away wearily, for it was suddenly the last thing he wanted to look at. He felt less sprightly these days, less like a young man in an old man’s body, and more just like an old man.

War will do that, I suppose.

‘Someone here to see you, my Throne,’ came the voice of a guard from outside the tent.

Fahren sighed. Always there would be someone to see him, forever and ever. ‘Who?’ he said.

‘My name is Querrus,’ came another voice. ‘I’m the mage who has been with Blade Bel these past –’

‘Enter,’ said Fahren.

Querrus, a bald, wiry fellow, pulled back the tent flap.

‘Have a seat,’ said Fahren, gesturing at his little table, a luxury afforded the Throne in a camp short on supplies.

‘Thank you, lord,’ said Querrus, sitting down.

‘And thank you,’ said Fahren, ‘for aiding Bel. I’m told you have a gift for speed.’

‘The horse helps,’ said Querrus, and Fahren smiled.

‘What did you wish to see me about?’

Querrus’s expression grew serious. ‘I felt I had to come,’ he said. ‘I do not want to betray a confidence, especially that of a friend, but …well, you are the Throne. And perhaps you already know what I’m here to report, but I still consider it my duty.’

‘Report, then.’

Querrus ran a hand over his scalp. ‘During my time with Bel, I learned something disturbing. It might not have been his first wish to tell me, but he needed to convince me to stand by him while the shadow rolled towards us.’

‘Go on,’ said Fahren, though a weight had begun to press on his stomach.

‘I will just come out and say it,’ sighed Querrus. ‘I have come to understand that if Bel dies, so will the Shadowdreamer, and vice versa – such is the nature of their connectedness.’

Casually Fahren reached for his tobacco pouch, his heart pounding. ‘I see. And have you told anyone else of this?’

‘No, my Throne, I thought only to come to you. You knew already?’

Fahren gave the slightest nod. Well did he know of what Querrus spoke, for it had kept him awake many a night. Kill Bel and the dreamer dies, the single worst danger to Kainordas eliminated. It was a terrible thought, the very last option if everything went bad, if it looked as though Losara would win. Yet it was Fahren’s choice alone to make, and he did not trust it to any other.

‘What do you suggest we do with this information?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps – by Arkus I do not suggest this lightly – but it could be something worth knowing if things don’t go according to plan.’ The mage suddenly looked worried. ‘Honestly I do not wish Bel any harm. I only dream of suggesting it because there’s so much at stake. And it is not my decision – I merely thought to report what I had discovered to you, my Throne.’

‘No one wants to return to the old balance,’ said Fahren. ‘A world at war and no one ever winning.’

‘Of course,’ said Querrus, his head bobbing up and down.

‘A very last resort,’ said Fahren.

He sat back in his chair, imagining the two armies fighting. Querrus was standing with Bel while around them Kainordans fell in droves, the shadow clearly having gained the upper hand. A moment of doubt would be all it took, weakness when one thought one was doing the right thing – and yet battles could turn when all seemed lost. Fahren hated knowing what he did about Bel and Losara, wished he did not …and certainly could not trust it to anyone else at this critical stage, for now was when it could do the most harm.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Querrus looked quizzical. ‘My Throne?’

Fahren flicked a finger at him, shooting out a sleep spell that clouded Querrus’s eyes. The mage slumped forward, began to fall from his seat. Fahren caught him and lowered him gently to the ground.

‘I cannot abide you knowing this,’ he whispered, ‘when I don’t even trust myself to.’

It had been a long time since he’d tinkered with anyone’s memory, for it was not something he chose to do frivolously. The last time had been when baby Bel was first retrieved from Whisperwood, and the mages who had found him foolishly announced it to the world. Seeking to protect Bel, Fahren had had them falsify his death and give out that he’d been a fake, then ordered them brought to him one by one to erase events from their minds. And now, years later, he would use the same method to protect Bel once again. Closing his eyes, he set a hand on Querrus’s brow and delved into his mind. It was no simple matter to find specific memories, for minds were large and tangled places. As he searched, he became privy to various random moments in Querrus’s life, which made him feel like an ugly invader. A recent one rose to the surface – Querrus clinging to Bel as they rode a horse towards the Shining Mines, the mage’s excitement mixed up with the draining of his strength. Commendable that he had put everything into speeding Bel so quickly …but at this point he did not yet possess the dangerous knowledge. Fahren followed the line of the memory – from where to pluck it loose? He did not want to remove all of Querrus’s recent doings from recollection – not only was that cruel, but the mage might still be useful. If he could just find the place where Querrus had learned Bel’s secret, perhaps he could remove it cleanly …but the line was short, disappearing into darkness. As a scout and a mage, Querrus was prepared for this type of violation, had realised the information was important enough to bury somewhere.

Trained to keep it safe from the enemy, should he be caught , thought Fahren. But he was as skilled as any Overseer at discovering things hidden in minds, and so he persevered. There , he saw it, just a glimpse for a moment, a conversation had between Querrus and Bel. It receded into other threads, which tried to hide it again amongst them. Desperately, Fahren grasped at it and held on fast. As he wrenched, there was a snapping, as the threads that entangled it came loose too. He shook the memory free, knowing he was damaging other parts of the mind, but he could not stop now – it was done already, he had come too far. Finally, he held the memory alone, and dissolved it away until it was no longer a part of Querrus. He withdrew to his body once again, fearful of what injury he had done to the mage.

On the ground, Querrus’s eyes were open, yet unseeing.

Oh, Arkus.

‘Can you hear me?’ said Fahren. He snapped his fingers in front of Querrus’s face, but the mage did not blink.

Fahren sat back, horrified by what he had done.

The secret had been buried too deeply.

Clash

As dawn heated the air inside the tent, Losara rubbed his eyes, wishing for the argument to cease. Across the bedding, an incensed pixie was crouched on all fours as if about to pounce. Actually, he did not put it past her.

‘You are, aren’t you?’ she cried. ‘You’re still thinking about it!’

‘Lalenda,’ he said, ‘I have to consider all the options. I do not care for this war, it taxes my heart –’

‘Assedrynn eat your heart! It does not matter how you feel as long as your people are safe! Remember your dream …remember how Fenvarrow will fall if you do not prevail.’

‘I do,’ he sighed. ‘I remember it well. And that is why we both must accept that this may be necessary. I am not talking about giving up.’

Shouts arose in the camp and Losara cocked an ear, wondering what was going on this time. Then the shadow-shape of Roma rose in the corner of the tent.

‘My lord,’ he said excitedly, looming in. ‘Forgive the intrusion but – they are coming!’

‘What?’ said Losara.

‘The Kainordans – they are coming!’

He and Lalenda exchanged wide-eyed looks.

‘Go!’ she said.

‘I love you,’ he told her. Then he turned to shadow and sped after Roma. Around him the army was alive with movement, readily stirring from the stagnation of waiting. A thundering sounded in the distance, and as Losara appeared at the front line between Roma and Tyrellan, he saw that the Kainordan army was indeed charging towards them.

‘Archers make ready!’ shouted Tyrellan. ‘Graka to formations! Catapults set!’ He noticed Losara. ‘Shadowdreamer! They advance despite the mander.’

Out on the field, the creature was running back and forth hectically, desperate to get at the masses who pounded towards it – was Bel amongst them? Did his other call his bluff, and expect him to move the mander out of the way, as he had done outside Fort Tria?

Leading the charge was a figure he recognised – Fahren, his vibrant blond hair streaming behind as he bounced up and down on horseback, his beard over his shoulder, the Auriel a bright spark on his brow as he raised a staff over his head. Four others rode alongside him, and Losara took them in with varying degrees of interest.

A tall man wearing a silver breastplate rode upon a large grey horse, its tack glinting with metal studs. From his hip he pulled an ornate broadsword, which most would need two hands to wield, but which he held aloft with one as he roared. Gerent Brahl.

Next to Brahl was a man in full armour, gold and resplendent in the sun, his head hidden by a heavy helmet – could that be Bel? Why would he hide his face, especially if he wanted Losara to withdraw the mander?

There was also a fair young mage in a white Overseer’s dress who seemed vaguely familiar somehow, and yet Losara could not place her.

Finally, black-robed and pale on a black horse, his meaty hands large on the reins, his lips pulled back with fixed rabidity, was Battu. Losara knew from his travels with Bel that Battu had done the unthinkable and joined the light, but it was still a strange thing to see his old teacher riding with these others. How strong his hate must be.

‘If they keep coming,’ said Tyrellan, ‘the mander is going to tear them to pieces.’

As the group neared the shadowmander, they and the entire army behind them began to slow – all but the female mage, who broke out ahead of the others.

‘Who is that?’ said Roma.

Losara didn’t know what to tell him.

•

Although she could not feel the wind whipping her hair, Elessa Lanclara knew a moment of exhilaration. Beneath her the horse moved powerfully, speeding her on towards the great scarlet monster that chomped and champed in anticipation. The others she rode with drew away, leaving her to spearhead the charge. As she neared the line worn clear in the grass by the mander’s endless pacing, she hauled on the reins and her horse reared, its hooves working the air in front of the mander’s snapping face. Enraged by the proximity of light-born prey, the mander slammed itself soundlessly against its barrier, only making a thud when it bounced back to the ground.

‘Greetings, my pretty,’ said Elessa. ‘I believe you have something that belongs to me.’

Ignoring the frenzy of the creature, she reached out a hand and quested forth. For a moment the mander did not even register as being there – it was legacies upon legacies, tiny bits of lives departed, not hers to touch. Then, in the core of the creature, as if it floated there alone, she sensed something small and precious, like a diamond, that called to her. As she reached for it, her very being began to thrum, her soul aching for togetherness. It came towards her easily, though she had a sense of things breaking, as if she pulled it through cobwebs. The mander opened its mouth, its whole body quaking, and from out of it floated an incandescent wisp. It flitted lazily over the grass towards her, rising on the breeze, and landed on her outstretched hand in the shape of a butterfly. For a moment she stared at it in wonder.

‘There,’ she murmured. ‘Such a little thing …can you really be the cause of so much trouble?’

The butterfly spread its wings as it sank slowly into her skin. Perhaps she had imagined that drawing the last piece of her soul into herself would enliven her somehow, make her more complete …yet she felt no grand changes taking place. Whatever kernel of herself she had left behind when she’d died, it was too small to make any difference upon return.

Meanwhile the mander’s unblinking eyes fixed on her with great malevolence. It wound forward, a little unsteadily, and Elessa’s horse stepped skittishly backwards. As the creature hissed, a hairline crack appeared, running from the tip of its snout, back up between its eyes …then it put its front claw down beyond the line of its old perimeter.

‘What …’ Elessa muttered, and then realised – she had drawn the butterfly back into herself, thus severing the creature’s connection to Tyrellan. He was no longer the anchor for the creature – she  was.

‘Stay back!’ she shouted at the others, urging her horse about. The mander leaped, and as its limbs stretched out more cracks appeared along them, crisscrossing its body and letting slivers of daylight shine through. She tried to give her horse a burst of speed, but it was too late. A claw smashed across her side, knocking her from the saddle. To her intensified hearing there came a muffled rip – and, as she tumbled, she realised the old dagger wound in her side had finally torn open. It would still be hidden under her illusion of a mortal woman, but she knew …the blow that had killed her had returned.

She landed on her feet in time to watch the mander land. As it set down, its legs cracked to pieces, spilling to small scarlet chunks. Without support its belly hit the ground, where it thrashed like some kind of strange snake, trying to right itself onto limbs that no longer existed. As it struggled, it continued to break itself into lumps, each representing some poor mage’s legacy spell. What would happen to these soul-bits now? Elessa wondered. Would they return to the Well, or were they doomed to sit in the grass forever, hard little blocks of claw and fang and leg? She moved amongst them, towards the last remaining part of the mander – the baleful head, lying in the ruin like the final intact piece of a shattered statue. It snapped at her as she approached and, as its jaws closed with force, it too finally disintegrated.

There came a roar of triumph, and she turned about to see Bel ripping off his golden helm, shaking free his blue curls.

‘The shadowmander is no more!’ he shouted. ‘Charge, by Arkus! For all Kainordas, charge!’

Behind him the army howled, and charge they did, with Bel in the lead.

What of me ? she sent to Fahren.

Will you not join us, Elessa, for this one last fight, some scant extra hours? Would you not rather die defending your homeland?

I did , she sent angrily, and swung back up onto her horse.

•

Tyrellan could not believe his eyes. One moment the mander had been standing there, solid as ever …the next it had crumbled to hundreds of pieces, glistening in the grass.

‘Elessa Lanclara,’ he muttered, finally having recognised her. ‘Master, it is the mage bitch who cursed me with the butterfly …who was there at Whisperwood the night we took you!’

‘Ah,’ said Losara quietly.

Tyrellan wondered if the broken bits of mander were going to come flying over the grass towards him, if he was going to be followed around by an orbiting swarm of scarlet chunks for the rest of his days. Mercifully, they stayed where they had fallen. It seemed that only the butterfly had been connected to him, the foundation on which all else had been built. Somewhere in his heart, Tyrellan knew a sharp joy – he was back to his old self again.

‘Master,’ he said, watching the oncoming Kainordans, ‘we seem to have reached a certain point.’

Losara nodded. ‘It appears so.’

Tyrellan drew his sword, almost forgotten in its scabbard. It had been a while since he’d been able to get close enough to an enemy to use it.

I can move again , he thought. You may have destroyed the shadowmander …but when you did, you unleashed me.

•

Losara rose in the air for all to see, drawing shadow power to him. When he opened his mouth, the voice that sounded was amplified tenfold.

‘MAKE READY FOR THE FINAL BLOWS,’ he told his people. ‘STRIKE THEM FOR FENVARROW.’

Cheers went up, as along the line archers drew back their bows, and shadow wards sprang from mages.

‘LET THEM COME TO US THROUGH A RAIN OF DEATH IF THAT IS WHAT THEY CHOOSE.’

His voice must have carried, for across the way Kainordans screamed defiance. At their forefront came a wave of riders – soldiers and lightfists, Saurians on dune claws, and of course Bel. Over them rose an enormous mass of Zyvanix to blot out the sun, while behind, thousands on foot flattened the earth. Their mages seemed to be concentrated mainly around Bel’s central group, and Losara could not see many wards going up on the left and right flanks. Did Bel still have the Stone, he wondered, or had that passed to others? Was his counterpart safe?

You will have to be, Bel – I cannot hold back. Your fate is out of my hands.

The Kainordan bows began to fire, and lightfists sent forth spells. Tyrellan barked an order below, and several catapults triggered towards the enemy. The leading Zyvanix parted to allow hurtling rocks passage, and light bolts from below rose to shatter them.

‘NOW,’ said Losara, ‘GET THEM.’

Preceded by arrows and shadow magic, his army charged. Graka flew past him towards the Zyvanix, while others climbed higher with cauldrons of acid. As his airborne forces divided, squads left the Zyvanix to meet them on all fronts. Beside him an old Graka, the tips of his wings grey and weathered, flapped past laboriously with a scratched bow in his hand.

‘Good luck to us, master,’ he puffed. ‘It was gladly that I served you.’

Strangely moved by the Graka’s stoicism, Losara waved a hand to send wind under his servant’s wings. The Graka cackled joyfully as he surged forwards.

‘I’ll catch those fledglings yet!’ he hooted.

‘Thank you,’ whispered Losara.

Far above, he noticed clouds forming, or trying to, while a high wind continuously blew them to dark ribbons. It seemed that the gods themselves were present, and trying to establish a hold on the weather!

Shall we channel to you, lord? came Roma’s thought from below.

Yes. Channel to me.

As the combined power of his mages reached him, Losara unstoppered his own. Between his thumb and middle finger he created a whirl of air, rippling with tiny blue threads. It pulsed as he fed it more, the immensity of its potential straining inside its tight confines.

‘Go then,’ he said, and flicked it at the Kainordans’ right flank. As it left his fingers there was a great whoosh , his creation expanding monumentally as it hurtled away. It reached the enemy as a whirlwind of crackling power, to smash through wards and fling bodies in the air. As it crashed and broke, its energy spilled out, sparking between armour and sending swords spinning.

Master, you are a target up there.

As Roma’s words reached him, Losara’s gaze came to rest again on Bel’s group. There was a strange ward around them, soft light and darkness both, many colours combined. He did not recognise the magic, and thus knew what it must be.

A shockwave jolted him and sent him reeling, his sinuses buzzing with foreign power. He turned slowly as he fell, dragging as he tried to maintain a grasp on consciousness.

I’ve got you, master.

He felt Roma take firm hold of his body to float him downwards, and abandoned his own tenuous grip on the air. A moment later he bumped gently against the ground, and looked up to see Roma’s concerned face, while around them others stampeded past.

‘Old Magic,’ he croaked, sitting up woozily.

‘Are you hurt, lord?’

‘No. They sought only to stun me, I think.’

‘We must kill Battu,’ said Roma. ‘It is only through his enduring betrayal that they can use their trinket.’

Kill Battu? thought Losara foggily. Lalenda would be pleased, on more counts than one. Where is she?

Target Battu , went out Roma’s command to the shadow mages. The traitor must be destroyed.

•

Heavy in his hands was the helmet, bobbing up and down to match the footfalls of his horse, the slow beats of his heart. Not putting it back on – it would only mask his heightened senses, impede the sweet air that sucked into his flaring nostrils. He was now but paces from the enemy, a long line of them charging, the shadows of Graka passing across the last short space of empty grass between them and him. He could feel the immensity of the forces behind him, the shaking ground and battle cries, as he rode at the crest, the very tip of a breaking wave.

Heavy in his hands was the helmet, and so he flung it. It flashed as it spun, over and over, turning prettily in the air to crack against the knee of a black horse. The horse stumbled, spilling its goblin rider forward from the saddle, onto Bel’s waiting sword.

The wave broke. The armies clashed.

This fancy armour had been a mistake. Too cumbersome when he needed the freedom to move, to dance, like a clumsy partner stepping on his toes. He sank his bloodied sword into its scabbard – not long to rest there – and wrenched off one pauldron with a gauntleted hand, then the other, flinging them away at the howling faces before him. Next, he pulled off the gauntlets themselves and, holding them like an extension of his hands, gave them an almighty clap together over an Arabodedas’s head. As armour and opponent fell away with a high-pitched ringing, he hoisted his breastplate up over his head, swung it by the shoulder strap and hurled it at an oncoming Graka. As he pulled his sword free again to swing it at a noxious Vortharg, his horse tramped sideways, putting him out of range …while battle-trained, his steed did not move exactly as he wanted, was not capable of sensing the right path to travel, as he was.

I need no armour . I need no horse. I need nothing but myself.

He vaulted from the horse, leaving it whinnying in alarm at its rider’s sudden departure, and landed with a clank in the greaves he still wore. Off with you , and he smashed his sword upon the joins, busting them open expertly enough to kick them off easily. Fully emerged from his metal chrysalis, he flexed with pleasure – there were no more restrictions cramping his muscles, nothing to stop him feeling the currents that coursed through the air, heralding oncoming attacks …nothing to hinder the splattering of blood on his skin.

Rapture surged through him, and he dived into the fray.

•

Lalenda made her way through the camp, manoeuvring skilfully between streams of soldiers rushing here and there.

‘Flutterbug,’ came Grimra’s voice, ‘where we be going?’

She gritted her teeth. She had been forgotten, maybe, or at least given no instructions to do anything in particular. Well , she thought, I would disobey them anyway.

She would not sit and do nothing. If they could beat the Kainordans here and now, there would be no need for Losara’s idea, and the eventuality she had foreseen could be avoided.

‘Flutterbug?’

‘We are going to fight,’ she said.

•

As the armies drove into each other, there were still plenty of soldiers back from the fighting. With the forces mostly separated, there existed opportunity for wide-scale damage.

There , sent Fahren. Battu joined him in channelling through the Stone, held by Fahren between them on the end of the staff. Each began casting a common offensive spell – a light bolt for Fahren, blue energy for Battu – but their trials the night before had shown there would be nothing common about the result.

Now , said Fahren, and they released. Their amalgam shot forth – a violet vortex with a dark centre, pulsing out spirals to leave a fast-diminishing trail in the air. It landed amongst the enemy, where it exploded stupendously, and some twenty soldiers went down screaming.

Such power , said Battu. A shame it only comes now, when I have to use it against my own.

Do not let this newfound strength go to your head, Battu. We are not invincible, and neither do we have endless reserves.

You think I don’t know that? As I stand here in the shining sun?

Stay close to Bel , cautioned Fahren. The blue-haired warrior had broken away ahead of them to plough into the shadow with reckless abandon. Battu had to admire him for a moment – he moved with such fluid grace, spinning through a group of Vorthargs, cutting them down as they leaped at him, deftly avoiding their globules of poisonous spit.

His attention refocused as blue energy bolts began to smack against their ward. At first they simply sizzled to nothing, but quickly their intensity increased, and Battu tightened his grip on the reins to steady himself.

They are targeting us , said Fahren.

Can you blame them? We brought attention to ourselves when we stunned the dreamer.

Concentrate on the ward. We need to find Losara.

Shadow mages were streaming in from everywhere, pummelling them with spells. A snake of shadow wormed a small way into the ward before vanishing, and conjured wraiths began to circle. Kainordans outside the ward began to fall at the wraiths’ icy touch. There were lightfists everywhere too, however, for Fahren had ordered that the majority of them stay close to him, and quickly conjured sunwings joined the wraiths in the air.

Bel, stay with us! Fahren sent Bel – but Bel, seemingly lost in the heat of it, did not reply.

•

Fazel slipped through the battle carrying a slight shred of hope. Target Battu had been the order, and around him other shadow mages were flocking to follow it. Battu was protected by Old Magic, and well did Fazel remember his brief encounter with it, when he and Elessa had first channelled unknowingly through the Stone at Whisperwood. The power they’d unleashed had all but ignored his defences – so maybe, just maybe, attacking Battu was a good opportunity to get himself killed.

A Varenkai ahead pulled his sword from an Arabodedas and ran at him screaming.

‘Overzealous,’ he said, pointing a finger, and a bolt slammed the Varenkai in the gut. ‘But commendable.’

He added speed to his heels and zipped through the bloody crowd, coming to a stop with other shadow mages who stood on the outskirts of a growing clear area before Fahren and Battu, their strange ward wobbling under an onslaught of spells. Next to him a group was channelling together, the one who was casting sweating heavily as energy concentrated at his fingertips, readying for release.

He can’t stand any more power , thought Fazel. But he is aiming at Battu, and I have my orders.

Fazel funnelled his own power into the mage, whose eyes bugged wide as he realised another had joined the effort. ‘Too much!’ he cried, and released the massive bolt, but not soon enough to save himself. As he crumpled to the ground frothing at the mouth, the others glanced at Fazel in alarm. Meanwhile, the bolt smacked the Old Magic ward with great force, and Battu’s eyes came over to them. He pointed, and Fahren raised his staff. A moment later a violet vortex flared from the end – a combination of shadow and light energy , which Fazel marvelled at even as it shot towards them. A second later he and the mages he stood with were flung like rag dolls, and he landed heavily amongst their corpses, his bones steaming with threads of deadening power. They wormed into him, certainly doing enough damage to kill a normal mortal, and yet as they faded Fazel was disappointed to feel himself repairing.

Curse this resilience , he thought as he rose.

He tried again to approach Battu and Fahren, who were sending more vortexes at the shadow mages swarming them, but there were lightfists too, gathering in great numbers around the Throne. It seemed the majority of magic wielders were concentrated here, and the air was crackling thick with spells. Fazel raised a ward as he struggled against the barrage, and immediately an invisible grip slid underneath to rip it away, a shell of shadow in his shape falling to the ground. With surprise he took in the counterspell’s caster – from across the way, Elessa Lanclara stared at him, a mix of confusion and anger on her face.

You , she said.

I had not expected to see you here, miss , he replied, taking the opportunity to recast his ward.

They have done to me what they did to you.

Fazel was aghast, for the light had always outlawed all forms of necromancy. Why had Fahren allowed such travesty?

I am truly sorry , he said.

Then both their wards shuddered under attacks from elsewhere, and each turned to tend to their own defences.

•

Nearby, a rain of burnt-out Zyvanix husks fell to the ground, some still smoking as acid ate them away, the wing stumps of one still whirring uselessly.

Lalenda rose for a better view. In the centre of it all, she saw shadow and light crashing, where the mages of both sides seemed to be gathering – an area definitely best avoided. Elsewhwere, in the absence of magic wielders, the regular troops were free to hack at each other without fear of spells shooting in, and they had seized the opportunity with gusto. There was no more front line, for the forces had driven deep wedges into each other, mingling as the fighting spread in all directions.

‘Oho!’ said Grimra. ‘Such delicious chaos. Where do we be joining it?’

Below, a troop of Varenkai riders were being swamped by Black Goblins. As she watched, a horse collapsed with several daggers sticking in it, and the goblins moved in on the rider. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

‘How about there?’ she said, and brought in her wings. She landed neatly on a horse behind a Varenkai rider even as he kicked away a goblin’s blade, and sunk her claws into his sides. The man gasped and she pushed him off. Grimra rushed on another, his fangs becoming visible long enough for an almighty bite, through the entire front half of a horse and its rider’s legs as well. Meanwhile the horse Lalenda was on bucked wildly, and she leaped off to glide down between two Varenkai on foot. Grimra thundered over her shoulder to barrel one backwards as she sprang at the other, beating her wings hard to close the distance as his sword rose. Her claws flicked out and she spiked him through the throat before he had a chance to slash. She swung herself around his toppling body and landed to see a severed limb fly upwards and disappear with a slurp.

‘No time for that, you greedy ghost!’ she snapped. ‘This isn’t breakfast! Keep me safe!’

There came a loud clomping, and over the tops of heads she saw two dune claws approaching, the Ryoshi astride them plugging down arrows. Goblins were being trampled underfoot, or skewered by the wildly plunging scorpion-like tails, or crushed in the huge pincers.

‘Grimra!’ she shouted, and flew upwards as a spiked tail scythed into the ground where she had just been standing. As the dune claw struggled to pull itself free, Grimra’s fangs appeared at one of the tail’s segmental joins, gnawing through a weak spot in the chitinous armour. The creature strained in panic, but a second later the ghost had managed to work all the way through, messily severing the tail in half. The remaining part whipped back over the rider’s head, spraying him with sticky brown fluid. She dived towards him but he saw her coming, swung his bow at her and cracked her across the head. She dropped out of the air, landing hard, and with a bloodied brow. Through the stunned fug of one half-open eye, she saw the injured dune claw move past, riderless now and out of control. Had Grimra managed to dispatch the Saurian?

‘Flutterbug,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘All right? Get up?’

She heard strange hissing voices not far away, and managed to lift her head. Two Syanti were standing over the fallen dune claw rider, who lay with a Grimra-sized hole in his side. As the Ryoshi opened his eyes and saw the Syanti, he tried to rise without success. The Syanti ignored him, speaking in their own language …then one of them waved a thin-fingered hand over him as his eyes cried out in silent protest. The hand then shot out at a group of Black Goblins and a mist of blood sprayed forth from the rider’s wound. The goblins screamed as it hit them, clutching at their melting faces, and the Ryoshi went still.

‘Get up!’ came Grimra’s insistent whisper, then he left and she heard someone dying behind her. As she struggled to her knees the Syanti noticed her, their yellow eyes cold and considering. She edged backwards, not knowing exactly what she was edging towards …then Grimra swirled under her wings and she summoned her strength to give them a beat. Shakily she lifted into the air.

‘Undead?’ said a Syanti, light collecting at its fingertips.

‘Get back, Grimra!’ she cried, desperately trying to flap away. There was no safety in rising, so just a little way on she let her giddiness take over and dropped heavily to the ground behind more goblins. There came a sizzle after her, but the spell caught some other unfortunate in the wall of flesh she had protected herself with.

‘We retreat?’ said Grimra. ‘Flutterbug hurt?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘we do not retreat. Not until,’ she bared her teeth, willing away the pounding in her head, ‘they are all dead.’

•

Jaya moved amongst the injured, of which there were already a great many. There was an odd feeling of separation here, with the evidence of mass encampment everywhere around, grass crushed and brown, tents standing empty, while she and the healers busied themselves on an island within it. And while they stayed here, in the middle of nothing, the battle raged but half a league away.

A healer rode in, levitating two groaning soldiers, and set them down on the grass. Without a word she turned around and headed towards them. All the other healers were currently busy, so Jaya knelt down by the two new arrivals.

‘Someone will be over shortly,’ she said, trying to sound reassuring. It wasn’t really her , this role of looking after people. She felt like some kind of impostor, trying to muster kind words that did not come naturally.

One of the soldiers closed his eyes. A bad sign, but there wasn’t much she knew to do about it. The healer who had brought him had already sealed his wounds with regrown skin, so she could not even tell where they were. The other soldier, a woman, looked up at her dazedly.

‘Did we win yet?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Jaya, abandoning the question she was about to ask regarding how the battle was progressing.

‘Should take with me these,’ came a voice. Jaya looked up to see a Syanti, idly flexing an arm that ended in an ugly stump. She remembered the Saurian being brought here, unconscious and bleeding from the newly severed limb, which was now sealed up and apparently not causing it much distress.

‘Pardon?’ said Jaya.

‘Dying,’ the Syanti observed, gesturing at the prone soldiers. ‘Good still though for blood magic to use. Kill many shadow for price of one death. Death that will come anyway.’

Jaya frowned. She had heard about the Syanti’s technique of channelling magic through blood …was that what the creature was asking? To be given the injured in order to sacrifice them?

‘Get out of here,’ she said.

‘Go they to Arkus,’ said the Syanti. ‘No need for fear.’

‘Don’t let it take me,’ murmured the woman.

‘Be gone, back to the battle if you’re so eager to find death!’ shouted Jaya. ‘Use your own if you like!’

The snake bobbed its head as if this was sage wisdom, and moved away across the field.

•

The heart of the battle drew Losara, the amount of power pouring in from both sides a giant bloom to his senses. Perhaps he should avoid the area, for that was where Fahren and Battu wielded the Stone, but he could not stand by and watch his mages shoulder such enormous blows. So into the thick of it he went, re-forming by some black rags pinned down by smoking lumps, flapping with his four-fingered insignia. Already so many had been lost.

KILL BATTU , came Roma’s thundering command, and Losara saw his Magus Supreme just ahead, twisting angrily to take in how many shadow mages were left. Beyond him, over a space full of nothing but spells, Battu’s head turned, and Losara saw him say something to Fahren. Fahren raised his staff and together they cast at Roma.

Watch out! sent Losara, as Roma’s eyes met his. The Magus Supreme’s face turned grim, the ward around him darkening, and Losara reached out to help him strengthen it. A moment later a vortex exploded against it, knocking Roma to his knees and pelting him with rippling energy. His back arched in a pain reflected briefly in his eyes, as he collapsed forward slowly onto his face.

Losara stood frozen in dismay, but every second cost more lives. His mages were not coping well with this onslaught, and if many more of them fell, there was little hope they would ever go on to defeat the light.

It was time.

Shadow mages , he sent, leave Battu to me. Spread out and attack those areas they leave undefended while they concentrate their magic here.

He felt resistance from them, puzzlement. Did they balk at the idea of letting him face this threat alone?

GO , he commanded.

As the shadow mages departed, streams of fireballs and light bolts travelled after them, but the lightfists did not follow as they moved out of range. Losara, now standing alone, felt many pairs of eyes settling upon him.

He took a deep breath, and was more afraid than he had ever been.

•

The shadow mages scattered to reveal Losara, standing with a calm expression on his face. Fahren had expected to have to track him down in the fighting, yet it seemed he had come to them, and without any aid either. Could he really think he was powerful enough to best Fahren, Battu, the power of the Stone and the hundreds of lightfists who stood with them? Or was it some kind of trick?

Greetings, Throne , came Losara’s voice. I have to say, I am somewhat displeased with you.

‘See what I mean?’ said Battu, leaning on his saddle. ‘He probably thinks that was menacing.’

Fahren waved him to silence.

That is a remarkable ward you have , continued Losara. Shadow and light combined, potent indeed. Still, I do not see how it will stop me.

Your minions , sent Fahren, could not penetrate it.

Losara chuckled. There is a reason they are my minions . He made a swiping motion, and the Old Magic ward shattered to pieces with a force that jarred Fahren’s teeth in his head. Instantly lightfists began to cast spells in retaliation, and casually Losara waved up a ward of his own.

Do not attack him, you fools! sent Fahren. You know the plan!

‘I’m impressed,’ growled Battu begrudgingly.

‘I’m not,’ said Fahren. ‘He just used up a great deal of power, which he cannot easily replenish on such a bright day …and we can summon a new ward in an instant. Besides, even without a ward, anything he casts at us will get sucked into the Stone.’

Battu barked a laugh as he joined Fahren in recasting their defence. ‘So serious all the time, Throne.’

Losara extended a hand and cast a beam of shadow that jumped between him and the lightfists on Fahren’s right. As it travelled along the row, cutting through wards like a sword through apples, the mages exposed at their cores were flung away violently.

Lightfists , sent Fahren urgently, contain the Shadowdreamer!

Many hands sprang forth, emanating light. Waves of it cascaded towards Losara, meshing together into a sphere.

This is how you intend to trap me? Losara sounded genuinely inquisitive. He pulsed his power outwards, shattering the light that encircled him.

Keep at it , sent Fahren.

More waves descended, but before they could enclose Losara completely, he fell to shadow and reappeared elsewhere.

The circle must be complete , said Fahren. Below ground and above!

‘Should we not help?’ asked Battu.

‘No. I do not want to confuse the trap with tainted magic.’

‘Tainted?’ Battu scowled. ‘Your mind is narrower than your spindly legs.’

‘Indeed,’ said Fahren absently, his concentration absorbed by what was going on around him. He needed Bel back here – why had he run off? Also, Fahren had begun to sense that shadow magic was being cast elsewhere, in areas of the battle where he knew for a fact that lightfists were in short supply. Without protection the regular troops would be extremely vulnerable, and he hated to think what damage was being done. He could not afford to keep all the lightfists here for much longer.

Elessa , he sent, find Bel, fetch him back here! Don’t even ask, just bring him.

As you command , came Elessa’s reply.

‘Let’s at least shock him as we did before,’ said Battu, ‘to stop him manoeuvring around so easily!’

‘Very well,’ said Fahren. ‘Ready?’

As Losara slipped through yet another flood of light, Fahren raised the staff for him and Battu to channel through. Unleashing the spell, they compressed the air around Losara suddenly. Old Magic rippled through his ward, and he fell to his knees, clutching his head.

CONTAIN HIM , Fahren sent out, hoping to make full use of their advantage. Once again a glowing sphere began to form around Losara, thickening as more mages added their efforts.

You know , said Losara, once your globe is complete, no shadow magic will be able to get out.

That’s the idea , sent back Fahren, trying not to sound uncertain – the figure on the ground seemed to be struggling too much for the serenity in his voice.

Out, or in , said Losara.

As light filled the sphere’s last gaps, the figure inside faded away. Some paces beside it, Losara appeared.

Misdirection , he sent. Even with all my power, these simple spells are still the most useful.

‘Hit him again,’ snarled Battu. He seized the staff, which Fahren had lowered, lifting it back up. ‘He cannot make doppelgangers forever!’

Once, twice, three times in succession they created shockwaves, and each time Losara avoided them, materialising just long enough to shoot offensive spells at lightfists before disappearing to the next place.

‘Be pre-emptive!’ snapped Battu. For a moment the look in his eyes made Fahren doubt that the sharks had really left him.

As Losara fell to shadow again, they started casting without yet knowing where they aimed. As Losara formed, instantly they released the spell. Finally it caught him – even as a blue bolt left his fingertips, the air about him snapped, and he gave a little cry. As he stumbled, the sphere began to build around him for a final time, a hundred streams of light feeding into it from the lightfists. Fahren released the staff to Battu in order to add his own unsullied power to the mix. Under the blazing sun his reserves felt limitless, and in moments the sphere surrounded the dreamer entirely, its surface alight with bright swirls. He felt Losara push against it from within, but now they had him fixed in place, and with so many maintaining the trap there was no way he could break free. Still, Fahren knew overconfidence was a hazard that often foreshadowed failure.

He needed Bel here now .

Evenings Mild

Tiny hairs along the length of his arm tickled his skin as they moved in the air, as his sword thrust forward at a face rising out of the thrumming tableau. In every direction weapons crept towards each other like shadows around sundials, each clink resonating in his ears. Arrows flew overhead, their shadows running up bodies then down to the grass, the uneven surface making them warp and wiggle as they travelled onwards. Enemies were endless, like a promise of joy unending, and he a hungry boar in a field of ripe pears.

Paradise.

A spark of sunshine ran down his blade as it moved towards the hate-filled face. At the last moment he turned the blade slightly, making the spark leap into the creature’s eyes. A wince started to form, crossing the mouth in one direction even as the sword came from the other to slice into the skull. As the leading edge severed the last thin layer of scalp on the other side, splitting the creature’s head cleanly, the sword’s speed increased again, unhindered. He followed through with the swing, landed it across a Vortharg’s back, deep into the rubbery skin.

Two deaths for one stroke.

He punched the air and roared. Other voices joined his, Kainordans inspired by the blue-haired man, thickening to a declaration of strength. He pulled his sword free and ploughed on, next through a cluster of Mire Pixies lifting up on their wings, all but dandelions to his switch.

Didn’t you tell them not to fight me, Losara? he thought. Did you not think to protect yourself that way? One way or another, he was glad for the abundance of partners willing to dance his favourite steps.

Bel .

The voice, soft and feminine, only distracted him for a moment. He turned aside the axe of an Arabodedas, step here, weight there , and pushed the man backwards off his feet.

Fahren needs you, Bel.

He grew angry at the interruption, a wrong note inserted into his harmony. A Black Goblin leaped at him and he drove his fist upwards – there was an axe-head held there, from somewhere – to punch the metal into the goblin’s guts. He heard the grass crunch under his feet, its tiny veins bursting.

Go away , he willed her.

Black Goblins were all around him now, and he looked up to see one on horseback, a cruel and jagged blade in his grip.

‘Leave him!’ called the goblin. ‘We do not bother with that one! To me!’ He steered the horse into a group of Bel’s countrymen, and the others followed. Tyrellan. Bel tried to go after him, desiring to make the First Slave a personal prize, but already there were others in the way. The paths he could take split into fractals, and he forgot about pursuit.

Fireballs rained down around him, setting enemies ablaze and punching holes in the pattern of the fight. He spun, furious with whoever had robbed him, and there sat Elessa astride her horse, her white dress smattered with red drops.

He tried to form words, and they came with difficulty, thick in his mouth. ‘Be gone! I need no help!’

‘But we need yours.’ She flicked her fingers, and he lifted from his feet in her invisible grip. Threads of the pattern broke, waving from him freely. As she rode away, he bobbed along in the air behind her, screaming bloody rage at this indignity, at being torn from the place where he truly belonged.

‘May you live forever in that fetid carcass,’ he howled, ‘with only the maggots in your eyes for company!’

He flung his sword at her, and she grunted as it lodged firmly in her back …but she did not bother to turn as the bouncing of the horse began to work the blade loose. She swerved to avoid a brace of goblins and Bel managed to land a kick on one of their necks as he flew past, and was rewarded with a crack.

It wasn’t enough.

‘Let me go!’ he screamed.

•

A shadow mage flashed past Tyrellan’s knee, and quick as a cat he reached down from his horse to snatch her by the hair. Her momentum almost ripped him from the saddle, but he tightened his legs and held fast, feeling some of her hair come loose in his grip. She jolted to a stop with a cry, her legs almost shooting out from under her, and twisted around ready to attack …but froze as she stared into Tyrellan’s impassive face.

‘None of that,’ he said, and released her.

‘No, First Slave,’ she said, rubbing her head painfully. ‘I did not know it was you.’

Tyrellan reached for a dagger and flung it without looking at a Varenkai who came at them.

‘Where is the dreamer?’ he demanded.

She pointed. ‘He bade us leave him, to inflict damage elsewhere while their lightfists are distracted with attacking him.’

What foolish heroism is this ? thought Tyrellan.

‘You,’ he said, jabbing her chest with a claw, ‘send out a message to all of our mages – on the authority of the First Slave, get back to the dreamer! Do it before my eyes find you again, or I’ll run you through and find another.’

He glanced around – the fighting was thick here, but over where the mage had indicated, there seemed to be a clearer patch.

‘You lot with me!’ he ordered the goblins around him, who were fending off various attacks. Then he turned back to the mage.

‘It’s done?’

‘Yes, master.’

‘Then obey.’

She nodded and sped away. Tyrellan kicked his horse after her, his goblins helping to cut a path. To his left and right, the two armies had well and truly intermixed, but ahead, where they’d first clashed, it was a different scene. The Throne stood with hundreds of lightfists, Battu as well – may his bones roast while he lives – together with overseers, healers and even some mercantile mages. It seemed that Fahren had brought casters of any quality to stand with him.

Stupidity , Tyrellan thought, taking in the different robes, to advertise one’s particular skill in bold colour.

The area before Fahren was inhabited only by corpses, and a brilliantly glowing orb resting on the ground, some five paces across. Each and every one of his mages was channelling their own stream of light into it, a fearsome web coursing through the air. Tyrellan squinted at it, trying to see through the flashing surface …what did they seek to contain so fervently? And with the thought came the answer. Who else?

His hands began to shake. They had the Shadowdreamer trapped! A fear rose in him the likes of which he had never known, threatening to freeze him in place, if not for the rage that melted it instantly away. He reared his horse and screamed, ‘Shadow mages, to me!

•

We are here , came Elessa’s voice, and Fahren’s gaze shifted in the direction of her sending. A moment later she appeared through a group of Arabodedas, flinging them aside with her power and riding out into the clear space. Behind her Bel floated in the air, his face a mask of rage. So, he had not been plucked easily from the battle.

Look Bel , sent Fahren, we have Losara trapped!

How dare you interfere , mage , replied Bel . I can drown this field in blood – I don’t need the help of your odious magic. Release me!

Fahren was stunned by the response. He had seen Bel wrathful before, but what he felt from him now went even beyond the day when they’d told Bel his father had been banished. How lost he must be in the fervour …

Elessa pulled up, bringing Bel around the horse to set him on his feet – and yet she had to restrain him still, for he struggled to tear off immediately.

‘Thieves!’ he shouted. ‘I have waited so long for this moment I was born for, and now you snatch it from me?’

‘Bel,’ said Fahren quietly, finding his own anger stirring, ‘ this moment was hard fought for, long planned for, by you and me both. See?’ He pointed off at the sphere. ‘Losara is there – you can draw him in then fight anew, your soul complete!’

Bel stared for a moment at the sphere, but his eyes narrowed and he twisted once more in Elessa’s grip. ‘To blazes with you!’ he howled. ‘Let me go!’

Fahren could not believe what he was hearing. Where was the Bel he knew? Who was this wild-eyed hateful man, greedy for nothing but death, uncaring of the sacrifices others had made to shape this moment?

‘Drunk,’ observed Battu. ‘You know, you do not need his permission to fling him into the orb.’

Elessa lifted the ranting Bel slightly off the ground, and sent Fahren a querying look. In the back of his mind, Fahren became aware of numerous shadow mages converging on the area. He felt sick. It wasn’t meant to be like this.

‘Put him in,’ he said.

•

The water curled about his toes, belying the depths that lay beneath. Around Corlas some two hundred of his best warriors fanned out atop the river’s surface, watching the battle that stretched from the shore into the distance. A shadow mage dashed past on the bank, shooting bolts at fleeing Varenkai. He glanced in their direction and stopped suddenly, his targets forgotten as he squinted at them. Old Magic would not shine in the perceptions of light or shadow mages, but at such close range it seemed this one had picked up some hint of the invisibility spells that hid the Sprites, or the water-walking that supported them.

‘He senses us,’ said Nindere.

‘Yes.’ Corlas made a grasping gesture. Water shaped like a giant hand reached from the river to seize the mage, and dragged him flailing into its depths. As his head plunged beneath the surface, Corlas made a fist, crushing the slight resistance offered by shadow magic as he squeezed the air from the man’s lungs.

‘They are so weak!’ cried Charla, delighted.

‘Not so brash,’ said Corlas. ‘We may be stronger, but they outnumber us greatly.’

He narrowed his eyes as he pushed his sight into the distance. The sphere was flashing mightily, enclosed around his other boy, the one he had never met, never even spoken to. Would he soon? No, for if the one called Losara was put back together with Bel, neither of them would be the same.

‘That is Lord Battu?’ said Charla, also watching the unfolding scene.

‘Yes.’

She reached to grasp his bulky arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘I will thank him, if I get the chance.’

‘What?’ he said, wrenching his gaze away to hers.

‘Without him you’d never have been delivered to the wood,’ she said. ‘Or to me.’

She smiled, and Corlas felt the hard look disappear from his eyes.

He saw a blond woman ride up to Fahren and Battu – and there, turning in the air behind her, was Bel! His son did not seem happy or compliant, and Corlas’s immediate instinct was to rush to him …but he dug his toes into the water, as if he could root himself to such shifting stuff.

‘It is as the Lady said,’ announced Nindere excitedly. ‘The players are in their rightful places. Soon the blue-haired man will be reborn! And then …’

‘And then he comes with us,’ said Corlas.

•

Bel knew there was no point struggling, yet he couldn’t help himself. As Elessa drove him forward, the glowing sphere loomed wide in his vision. The fight still called to him noiselessly under the constant clamour, threads of the pattern still wavering from him, looking for an enemy to latch onto …and then suddenly they twined and thickened to one, leading straight and true into the heart of the globe. He stared into the pulsing light, suddenly calm.

That’s right , he thought. This is how I’m supposed to win.

He passed through the surface – a warm touch on his skin – and, as Elessa’s hold disappeared, landed on his feet. There sat Losara, cross-legged on the grass.

‘Hello, Bel,’ he said.

‘Hello,’ said Bel.

‘How are you?’

Bel stretched his arms. He hadn’t realised how covered in blood he was. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Never better.’

•

‘They are returning,’ muttered Battu, and Fahren knew what he meant. From every direction, the briefly dispersed shadow mages were swarming back towards them.

‘We cannot cast through the sphere,’ said Fahren.

‘Order it dropped, and we will stun them.’

Fahren nodded. He did not like treating Bel this way, but there wasn’t time for anything else.

‘Are you ready?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

On my mark , he sent his mages, cease your casting. A blue bolt sizzled past, hitting someone behind him. The shadow mages were back.

One , he sent …two …three!

The streams of light feeding the sphere abated and it disappeared. For a split second Bel and Losara were revealed, Losara sitting on the ground while Bel stood – and then Fahren and Battu channelled a shockwave that set Losara on his back and Bel to his knees.

‘Now,’ said Fahren.

Please, Arkus , he prayed, let this work.

Together, he and Battu sent forth power to seize both Losara and Bel …and discovered that through the Stone, their magic seemed to consider the blue-haired men a single target. A good sign!

‘ Stop them! ’ came a shout, and he saw Tyrellan frantically rallying shadow mages. While Fahren felt sure the Old Magic ward would keep them protected, now was not the time to leave anything to chance.

Attack , he sent his mages, and light spells began to flash past.

Battu grunted and shielded his eyes. ‘Curse you all,’ he muttered.

Groggily Bel and Losara floated towards the Stone. It began to throb, so hard and fast that Fahren felt pain in his eardrums. Threads crackled from it, the darkest shadow and the brightest light, sunset orange and the grey of dusk. He raised the staff as high as he could, fearing the vortex that was forming. As Bel and Losara drew closer, they began to grow translucent. The next moment their bodies were overlapping, though the outlines of each remained visible. Power jumped at them from the Stone, their heads thrown back as they were seized by it. Fahren flinched as there sounded an almighty crack, the staff shattering in his grip, the Stone flying off to land in the grass. He raised his eyes, then glanced from side to side.

Bel and Losara were nowhere to be seen.

Part Three

Unbroken

It is true that the whole world once had a name, though by my time it had become rare to hear it used. So long had Kainordas and Fenvarrow stood divided, with so little common ground between, that not even a unifying word survived. It was us and them, neighbours living in separate lands, broken so long we had forgotten what it was like to be whole.

Ah, but how things change. How they fade away.

The Third Power

Lalenda’s wings gave out and she fell the last pace to the ground.

They had done it. They had stolen her Losara.

Tears threatened to burst from her scrunched-up eyes. She forced them back, raised her head, hardly saw the shadow mages around her mustering attacks.

‘No!’ she screamed, scrambling to her feet, and raced towards the place Losara had been sucked into the Stone. As she was just about to clear the mages, an iron grip caught her wrist and swung her about.

‘Do not,’ said Tyrellan, ‘get yourself killed for no reason.’

She wrenched her eyes back to the field. On the grass, about halfway across the clear area between the lightfists and the shadow mages, lay the Stone. Fahren was labouring towards it, his body wreathed in protective light, against which shadow spells drummed repeatedly.

‘Where is he?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing has emerged yet from the Stone,’ said Tyrellan, and for a moment she heard in his voice a note of the worry they both felt. As he stared hard into her eyes he seemed to reach some conclusion, and released her.

‘Go and get him, then,’ he said. ‘Assedrynn guide your steps.’ Then he turned and shouted. ‘A shadow ward for the Mire Pixie! As for the rest of you, beat back that filthy grasping light mage lest he steal our Shadowdreamer .’

As she moved onto the field, a darkness settled on her. She had never been the subject of a shadow ward before, but it was as if she stood just inside a tunnel mouth looking out. Fahren was closer to the Stone but slow under the rain of blue bolts and shadows. As she came to be about the same distance away as he, light spells began to break across her field of vision. The shadow mages must have actually attached the ward to her somehow, for when it juddered so did she. A blazing hot beam momentarily pierced the darkness, and she rolled as it passed overhead, flattening her wings as she felt the heat of it along her back.

‘That be a close one,’ said Grimra. She had not realised that he’d come with her.

‘Back to the army!’ she told him. A fireball painted the edge of her ward molten red. ‘It’s not safe out here!’

‘Exactly,’ said the ghost.

She began to claw along the ground, pushing against the streams of light. Ahead Fahren also struggled, his hands spread wide as he shuffled on. As the leading edges of his ward and hers met above the Stone, each of them ground to a halt. She reached towards it uselessly, but it was still too far away.

A mistake , came Fahren’s voice in her head, to have sent one who is not a mage herself.

His light began to push into her shadow, creeping towards her. Without magic of her own to push back with, she was reliant on the shadow mages channelling to her from a distance.

‘Come on, you fools,’ she muttered, as Fahren’s brightness made her squint.

‘Fly away!’ said Grimra’s voice urgently. ‘They do not be protecting us much longer – we must fly!’

‘Losara …’ she whispered. She could not leave. She would die here and never see him again. Despite the warmth touching her face, she continued to strain forward, the Stone gleaming brighter than all around it. If she could but touch it, maybe she would touch him again, somehow, somewhere …wherever he had gone. But she could not reach. A single tear broke loose from her eye, the first since the death of her mother, since she’d vowed never to cry again. It lived on her cheek for only a second, evaporating quickly in the heat. Her strength left her, and Lalenda lowered her head to rest on the grass.

The horrible heat disappeared, the blazing light too. There was a thump nearby, and a footfall. Wearily she looked up. Fahren’s ward was gone, as was hers. Fahren himself lay on his back, the air around him fizzing slightly. Over them both loomed a man Lalenda did not recognise.

He was broad and muscular with tree-trunk arms, his fingers aimed at Fahren still crackling with residual violet power. His clothes were strange – a jerkin of incredibly smooth animal hide, and matted trousers that looked like the forest floor beaten into shape. Piercing grey eyes flecked with gold stared out from a stormy face framed by a wild green beard. Around his bare feet, the grass curled anew around his toes.

Pages of books turned in her head, and she was intrigued, despite herself. This man could only be a Sprite, of fuller blood than any seen in recent history. She realised that the zap and crackle of spells had grown dim …and fell breathless when she saw the reason why. All around them stood a ring of Sprites, each one conjuring an Old Magic ward, and the spells of the forces beyond could be seen breaking on the other sides.

The man bent to pluck the Stone from the grass. Fahren managed to rise on his elbows, his brow furrowing.

‘Corlas?’ he asked disbelievingly.

‘Aye,’ said the man.

Befuddled, Lalenda still registered the name. ‘Losara’s father,’ she breathed.

Grimra swirled small near her ear. ‘Looks nothing like him,’ he said.

‘But …but …’ Sitting up now, Fahren was taking in the Sprites nearby, and the wards they’d erected. ‘You wield Old Magic now?’

‘Aye,’ said Corlas.

‘But how can this be? What has happened to you?’

‘Remembered who I am,’ said Corlas. He held the Stone out in his palm. ‘What have you done to my boy? Is he dead? Or is he in this?’

‘He cannot be dead,’ murmured Fahren.

Lalenda stared desperately as Corlas closed his fist around the Stone.

‘Stay low, flutterbug,’ whispered Grimra. ‘We cannot be fighting these.’

She did not know if she was terrified of Corlas holding Losara or not. Surely his father did not wish him any harm?

A blond Sprite woman arrived at Corlas’s side, took his arm, and they turned away.

‘Corlas!’ cried Fahren, scrabbling to his knees. ‘What are you doing?’

Corlas paused. ‘Reclaiming my son from you,’ he said. ‘For the last time.’

Suddenly he and all his folk blurred, their wards streaming towards the river, flinging aside the forces in their way. Once they had headed out onto the water, they shimmered and disappeared.

‘Corlas!’ shouted Fahren, to no avail.

The opposing groups of mages found themselves staring dumbly at each other over the clear space, while elsewhere the battle continued to rage.

•

Far too many questions at once vied for attention in Fahren’s head. Of all the eventualities he had considered in terms of what might happen this day, Corlas turning up transformed into a Sprite, with warriors wielding Old Magic at his back, had not been one of them.

You may want to think about moving , came Battu’s voice.

Immediately, Fahren saw what he meant. The Mire Pixie was backing off towards the shadow mages, who had once again erected a ward around her. Others were readying to attack, and Fahren lay in the open.

Or maybe you’re too much the worn-out old dog, his fleas starved for the thinness of his blood.

I thought you were sworn to aid me , said Fahren angrily, getting to his feet.

Precisely what I’m doing.

As Fahren rejoined the ranks, Brahl could be heard approaching, loudly ordering lightfists aside. He rode into view, his armour badly dented at the shoulder, blood oozing from between a join.

‘Take that pauldron off,’ said Fahren. ‘I’ll heal you.’

‘What’s this,’ snapped Brahl, ignoring his offer, ‘about the blue-haired man being kidnapped?’

Fahren paused uncertainly, but Battu stepped forward. ‘His soul has gone into the Stone and hasn’t come out again – quite the surprise, actually. The Stone itself has been captured by Corlas, the boy’s father, you remember, who has most probably taken it to Whisperwood.’

Battu was right of course, though his inexplicable enjoyment of the chaos around them was beginning to grate on Fahren. Still, there was no doubting where Bel and Losara had been taken.

‘Whisperwood?’ said Brahl.

‘The only place Old Magic remains,’ explained Fahren. ‘The last sanctuary of the Sprites.’

‘But why?’

Battu shrugged. ‘Can’t imagine.’

‘We must go and find out,’ said Fahren, giving Battu a glower.

‘But Throne,’ said Brahl, steadying his restless horse, ‘a battle still goes on, if you’ve forgotten. We need mages out there with our troops – there have been too many tied up here for too long.’

Fahren knew he spoke the truth. Every last able pair of hands would be needed here. Quickly he reached a decision. ‘You take command,’ he told Brahl. ‘I shall go. Battu with me, and maybe one other.’ He cast his mind about.

Elessa.

Yes?

You are needed.

You are supposed to release me.

You are needed! he said forcefully, vexed that she would not, could not seem to remember that all the releasing in the world would do her no good if she had no Well to return to …and yet instantly he regretted the harshness of his tone. Please , he added, knowing it was an empty word, and that he was giving her no choice.

Sighing, he turned to Battu. ‘Fetch our horses,’ he said.

•

Tyrellan did not know what to do. A rare feeling, and one he cared for about as much as the sunlight piercing his eyes. He sent his gaze skywards – why didn’t the Dark Gods see fit to interfere, as he had seen them do before in this lifetime? Where were the dark storm clouds rolling in – did they not realise how critical these moments were? Then, as his sight adjusted to the glare, he noticed wispy clouds far above, though they were small and moving quickly. Perhaps the gods were trying, but Arkus was too strong here, and blew their clouds away like wishes.

Whisperwood. That was where he had seen the gods war with weather, on the night he had gone to capture the blue-haired baby. Whisperwood, where Losara’s father had been living, the man Tyrellan had recognised under his Sprite vestiges, who had taken the Stone and therefore Losara …

What to do?

No doubt the light would be sending someone, and Losara would be caught between two enemies …although would he see his father as an enemy? What were Corlas’s intentions?

With the dreamer gone and Roma dead, Tyrellan was left solely in charge. If he could smash the light’s forces here and now, would it matter what shape Losara emerged in from the Stone, if he even did?

‘Their mages are finally spreading out,’ came Turen’s voice beside him. ‘What are your orders, sir?’

He could not abandon the blue-haired man! The prophecy might still hold, and there were other reasons besides. For a moment he saw the little boy, reaching up to tweak him on the claw, so unthinkingly bold when others cowered in terror and wanted nothing to do with any claw of Tyrellan’s.

‘Take charge,’ he said. ‘You’re up to it.’ He turned to Turen. ‘Aren’t you?’

Turen did not blink. ‘Of course, sir.’

Tyrellan nodded. ‘I’m going after the Shadowdreamer.’ He cast his gaze about the shadow mages, and found whom he searched for.

‘Fazel!’ he barked.

Yes?

Attend me. You are going to speed us to the river.

•

As Lalenda made it back to the mages, they dropped the ward upon her. She spotted Tyrellan and Fazel on horses galloping off towards the river, while Commander Turen was striding about shouting orders. Stepping in his way, she interrupted him mid-sentence.

‘Where has Tyrellan gone?’ she demanded.

‘To Whisperwood, mistress,’ he said, and strode on.

‘Whisperwood,’ she muttered. Was that where they had taken Losara?

‘What we be doing, flutterbug?’ said Grimra.

She considered the way north. Travelling to Whisperwood would mean flying over enemy troops, but maybe if she climbed high enough …most of the Zyvanix seemed to be fighting the Graka anyway, so she should be able to steer clear of them.

‘Going to get Losara,’ she said, spreading her wings.

•

‘Would you mind doing that elsewhere?’ came a voice, and Jaya turned in irritation to discover a healer frowning at her.

‘What?’ she said. She had not been doing anything …and that was the problem.

‘The pacing,’ said the woman, gesturing at the grass, and the furrows Jaya had evidently tramped there. ‘It’s unsettling the wounded.’

‘Fine,’ said Jaya, and turned back towards the battle. ‘You’d think,’ she said to herself, ‘that with all that’s going on, a bit of Arkus-damned pacing wouldn’t matter to anyone.’

Three riders broke from the fray heading towards her. They were moving unnaturally quickly, and moments later she could make out Fahren’s blond hair, and Elessa’s, and the dark tangle of cloak and scowl that was Battu. What had happened to make them return? Yet as they approached the camp, they didn’t look like slowing down. Without thinking, she dashed to stand in their way, holding up her hands, but they broke around her.

There’s no time , came Fahren’s voice in her head.

What goes on ? she said.

Bel and Losara are in the Stone , said Fahren. Corlas has taken it to Whisperwood. We shall do our best, I promise you, to get him back.

Wait! she yelled in her mind, but there was no more.

They blurred through the camp, on towards the distant wood. Incomprehension swamped her – Bel and Losara were in the Stone? What had happened? Didn’t Bel merging with Losara mean victory? And Corlas, Fahren had said – Corlas was back?

Overhead she saw a dark blot in the sky, and squinted.

Lalenda.

Avoiding the mindless chaos of battle was one thing, but if Fahren, or Bel, or anyone, thought she was going to idle here while others raced to decide the fate of her man, they had lost their collective mind.

She spun and saw the healer who had just chastised her stooping over a horse’s hoof and waggling her fingers. Jaya ran and leaped onto the beast’s back.

‘Wait!’ said the startled woman. ‘I’ve only just mended her! She should not be ridden right away!’

Jaya ignored her, kicking the horse into action.

In the distance, storm clouds were beginning to gather over Whisperwood.

•

With three potent mages each speeding their own horse, it took little time to reach the wood. Fahren dismounted before the tall grey trees, and stared in with some trepidation. There was something there, something on the edge of his senses that he could not identify, which could mean only one thing: Old Magic. He reached a hand between the trunks and met resistance, a grey shimmer appearing at his fingertips.

‘There’s a barrier of some kind,’ he said.

The world darkened as a shadow fell across them.

‘Look,’ said Battu, and Fahren followed his gaze skywards.

Clouds were forming thick and fast, though each floated distinctly separate. In the spaces between them the sun still shone, even more brightly than usual perhaps, great golden rays stabbing down at the wood.

‘They’ve been at it all day up there,’ said Battu. ‘You have noticed, no doubt? Assedrynn has not been able to get a foothold. So why …’ He averted his eyes as the cloud they’d been standing under floated onwards, replaced by glare.

‘Why now?’ finished Fahren. ‘Why here?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Elessa, ‘they are cooperating.’

Fahren and Battu turned to her slowly.

‘Well,’ she continued, ‘each of them wants what’s in the wood. If there’s something standing in their way, perhaps it’s better to join forces now and fight over it themselves later.’

‘My enemy’s enemy …’ said Battu. ‘You may be right.’

Disturbed by the idea of the gods banding together, Fahren turned back to the wood. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Old Magic may be strong, but so are we. We must,’ he cast a bolt, punching the barrier and making it wobble greyly, ‘break our way in.’

•

Corlas had drained his power mightily while out of the wood, but now he felt it slowly replenishing. He stepped onto the coiled root at the edge of his clearing, as the warriors who’d been with him joined the other assembled Sprites below. They were waiting for their lord to address them, though he remained uncertain of what to say. He raised the Stone to show them, its chain clutched tightly in his fist, but hardly heard the triumphant whoops that sounded at the sight of it. Were his sons, his son, inside? He, they, had to be …but what now, what next?

Corlas.

My Lady! I have the Stone, but …I do not know …

Do not fear for your boy’s life.

He is inside the Stone?

Yes.

Why does he not emerge?

There must be a reckoning of some kind. Perhaps not all is easy, when fitting dissident parts together.

How long will it take?

Corlas, I have not all the answers. Listen, for I must away swiftly. Arkus and Assedrynn are enraged, and have joined forces to attack our defences. I don’t know how long I can maintain the barriers that prevent their folk from entering. I must see to them, and you must send warriors to bolster my efforts! In the meantime, protect the Stone. I shall return once your son emerges, to awaken his Sprite blood as I did yours.

‘Warriors!’ called Corlas. ‘Our enemies seek to invade our realm! Scatter to our southern borders and stop them!’

Resolute anger greeted his words, and Sprites ran into the trees. Corlas stepped off the root to land heavily in the clearing, where those remaining parted for him. There were many who had not the training or skill to fight, but he knew that before the day was out he might need the aid of all of them.

‘The rest of you,’ he said, ‘protect the clearing!’

He went to his hut – still the same old shelter it had always been, except the flower garden had grown tall enough to spill over the roof. He put the Stone down on the bed, then stared at it for a long moment.

It lay right about where his boy had been born while Mirrow lay dying.

•

The shade of a cloud found Lalenda, and she was thankful for the relief it offered. The treetops of Whisperwood stretched out beneath as far as she could see, and she had no clue where to start looking. All she knew was that Losara had been born in a hut in a clearing, but that had been almost twenty years ago now. There was no telling if the clearing still existed, or if that was where Corlas would take him.

She dropped lower, intending to take a look underneath the canopy. It was a mean tangle, however, branches unnaturally twisted around each other, twigs poking out at all kinds of angles, leaves clustering to obscure her view. She flew on, looking for a better place. A few minutes later, frustrated, she set down on a branch.

‘Can you gnash your way through this?’ she asked.

‘Not be looking very tasty,’ said Grimra. Nonetheless his fangs appeared and he went at the trees. Woodchips started flying, branches cracking and shards raining down …yet even as he bored his hole, before Lalenda’s eyes other branches snaked in, intertwining to seal it up again.

‘Wait, Grimra,’ she said. As the ghost made a series of spitting noises, the wood closed up once more until it showed no sign of having been attacked. Overhead a cloud moved on, and the sun that replaced it was blistering.

‘Let’s find another way in,’ she said, and rose to head south. As she came to the edge of the wood, she heard a neighing beneath, and instantly set down. Stealing forward over the blockade of vegetation, she peeped over to see who it was.

Jaya.

Lalenda both could not, and somehow very much could, believe it. Of course Jaya would be here, just as of course Lalenda had come. She felt the tips of her claws poke from her fingertips, heard Grimra mutter, ‘Lady light creature. Grimra to bite her in the heart?’

She hesitated, unsure why. There was so much uncertainty now – Jaya had not killed her when she could have, and had stopped that soldier shooting at Losara.

Grimra apparently suffered no such ambivalence, for he swooped down immediately.

•

Jaya stared warily into the wood. Dark patches moved between the trees as the clouds that cast them floated on, stealing over branches and ferns, sending strange shadows shifting. Interspersed were patches of brilliant sunshine, cut into multiple beams by their passage through the canopy, brightly lighting up spots of foliage. The whole effect was entirely otherworldly.

Summoning her courage, she stepped inside. As she crossed the brink there was a whoosh and a great howl behind her, and she shrieked and leaped away. Landing with her heart pounding, she tried to make sense of what she saw. Across the threshold of the wood a grey barrier shimmered translucently, against which a disembodied flurry of long flashing teeth and claws threw itself. Beyond it a Mire Pixie set down on the grass – Lalenda.

Jaya rose cautiously, her hand going to her sword, but despite whatever it was hurling itself repeatedly at the wood, it rebounded every time.

‘Desist, Grimra,’ said Lalenda, and trotted up to the trees to peer in. She held out her hand cautiously and met with the same grey resistance. Jaya raised her sword in warning and the pixie backed away a little. Jaya approached, wary not to cross the barrier, only holding out a hand to wave it through and back where these others had failed.

‘What trick is this?’ said Lalenda.

Jaya found herself angry with the Mire Pixie. ‘Damn you, girl,’ she said. ‘Have you nothing to do with your time but attack me?’

‘I did not attack you.’

‘What was that thing, then?’

‘That be Grimra,’ said Lalenda. The air about her swirled, lifting her skirt and stirring her hair. ‘You could say he’s my guardian. I did not bring him the last time we met, or else you wouldn’t be standing there. But I did not set him on you just now.’

Jaya laughed suddenly, having worked it out. ‘I’m a Sprite,’ she said. ‘That’s why I can enter the wood and you can’t! This,’ she looked around, ‘is my ancestral home.’

Lalenda’s face fell as she took in the news. For a moment she looked terribly lost. ‘I can’t get in above either,’ she said miserably.

As she had done at the stream, Jaya found herself strangely empathising with the pixie. Of all the beings in the world, this was the only other who knew what it was like to love a blue-haired man. And, like Jaya, her man was trapped inside some Arkus-forsaken rock, stolen for reasons she did not comprehend. Had he emerged yet? No way to tell. Who would he be when he did?

‘Listen, Lalenda,’ she said, ‘can we not agree that we want the same thing?’

Lalenda stared at her with suspicious cobalt eyes.

‘We both,’ continued Jaya, ‘want to get to wherever they have taken …him.’

‘Yes.’

‘And, without knowing what in four shades of shit he is going to be like when he comes out of that thing, we ,’ she moved a finger between them, ‘can do nothing more than go and see. There’s no point killing each other, is there? We do that and maybe Bel emerges hating you, or Losara hating me, or …something else. Who knows?’

Lalenda bit her lip. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘This guardian of yours – can he be taken off my scent?’

‘Yes.’

Jaya held out her hand. ‘Well, come on, then.’

Lalenda took a hesitant step towards her. ‘You think you can usher me through the barrier?’

Jaya shrugged. ‘Not sure. Worth a try, don’t you think?’

Lalenda’s brow creased uncertainly, but she reached out to take Jaya’s hand – the skin of her fingers rough around the slits that hid away her claws. Jaya pulled and Lalenda stumbled forward, through the barrier. A few steps later she came to a halt, and patted herself down as if worried she wouldn’t be intact. Finding that she was, she looked around at the wood, and gave a disbelieving little chuckle. As her eyes met Jaya’s, however, the mirth faded.

‘But why?’ she said.

Jaya quirked a smile. ‘Look around. This wood is too spooky to be sneaking around in without company.’

‘I think it’s quite nice,’ said Lalenda.

‘Well, you would, I suppose. But we stand a better chance together, don’t you agree?’

A curl of white frothed at her knee and there was a low growl.

‘Hush, Grimra,’ said Lalenda. ‘There is to be no eating this woman. For now.’

‘Too kind,’ said Jaya, then cocked her head. Someone was coming.

‘What is it?’ said Lalenda, but Jaya held a finger to her lips. She glanced around, spotted a large cluster of ferns at the base of a tree, and gestured towards them. Lalenda frowned without comprehension, but Jaya led the way, going down on her knees and crawling into the plants. A couple of moments later, the pixie followed.

‘What are we doing in here?’ she whispered.

‘Hiding,’ breathed Jaya, and pointed out from the fronds.

A Sprite woman appeared, treading quietly through the undergrowth. She was fluid and yet exact in her movements, even her long hair swishing to a standstill when she did. She was lithe and slender, not much younger than Jaya herself, and Jaya wondered if there was reason to fear her. The ferns rustled as a chilling breeze crept through them and stole onwards towards the woman. For a moment she paused, as if listening to something. Jaya wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard voices.

‘Others in the spirit plane here,’ muttered Grimra.

The Sprite’s gaze came to rest on the ferns. She raised a hand and violet bands began to twine through her fingers.

‘Who’s there?’ she called. ‘Show yourselves.’

Jaya stiffened, unsure what to do. Was this woman an enemy? She had her answer quickly, for without saying anything else, the woman shot her hand forth and a vortex rushed towards them. Jaya seized Lalenda by the wrist and propelled them out of the ferns to land in a tangle. Grimra roared and there was a flash of white as he surged towards the Sprite. A howling wind rose out of nowhere and slammed against him, and together they whirled away, engaged in some ephemeral battle.

As the ferns crackled with strange magic that seemed to do them no harm, Lalenda stared up at Jaya. ‘Thank you,’ she wheezed.

‘Save your breath,’ said Jaya. ‘We must flee!’

She rose to her feet, hauling Lalenda up with her, but they had no chance to do anything more. Vines burst from the forest floor beneath them, tightly winding up their legs, rooting them in place. Jaya tried to draw her sword, but sprouts leaped from her waist to encircle her wrist and draw it in, pinning it to her side.

As they grunted and struggled, the Sprite woman walked around in front of them. ‘Well, well,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Look what strange manner of beasts my hunting brings today.’

Fate’s Echoes

Vyasinth whirled up to the treetops, beyond which the sky was a tapestry of shadow and light. In the belly of clouds lightning flashed, while sunbeams so hot they were almost white wilted the leaves of her branches.

Have you no shame ? she raged. This place is mine, given as sanctuary for my people!

You have interfered in events that do not concern you , came Arkus’s reply. Return what you have stolen.

Hypocrisy still comes to you easily, I see , she said. It was the both of you who stole the child from me!

There is no ownership , said Assedrynn. Only what we are strong enough to keep. And you have done well, Lady Vyasinth, to keep your people alive all this time since the breaking. Why place them in peril now? What use is this resistance?

You imperious marauders , said Vyasinth. Meant to watch over this world, we were, and instead you tore it apart. No wonder fate has delivered me a champion!

Arkus laughed, booming harshly from the heavens, a gratingly ugly sound. Your champion? You really think your little briar patch can stand against our might? I have the endless sun to draw on.

And I the seas , said Assedrynn, and the underneath of every rock.

Your power is so finite , said Arkus, I almost pity you.

Now it was Vyasinth’s turn to laugh. Pity? she said. Maybe I have naught but a few trees on my side, yet I do not have to outlast you long. Soon the blue-haired man will return, then all that’s left is to wake his blood, and he will be mine, cold forever to your plans.

She felt their ire build at her words, and the pressure they exerted on her barriers increased. She channelled more of the wood’s power to maintain them, yet feared there would be none left for her people to fight with. They would not need to fight, however, if she could but keep the minions of Arkus and Assedrynn at bay.

Leaving her age-old adversaries to continue battering her defences, she went down into the clearing, into Corlas’s hut. Still the Stone lay pulsing, and still nothing had emerged.

•

‘Try again,’ said Tyrellan, and Fazel obliged. It did not matter to him that he made no headway. As long as he stood here plying this Old Magic barrier with spell upon useless spell, the shadow’s will was not being served. Once more he sent tendrils pushing against it, trying to worm their way in. The barrier wobbled as usual …and then, just for a second, the tip of a shadow seemed to curl through. Fazel paused uncertainly, then regretted having done so, for Tyrellan picked up on it immediately.

‘What is it?’

‘Made some progress,’ muttered Fazel.

‘Again,’ said Tyrellan fiercely.

Fazel obeyed, and this time the barrier did not seem as strong; it seemed as if it was failing somehow. He searched for weak points and found a place that gave a little. Shaping his power to a sharp point, he forced it through to the other side, then expanded it. Wedging the hole wider, it was soon big enough for them to step through.

‘Try there,’ he said dully, pointing.

Tyrellan reached a hand into the wood unimpeded. Giving a grunt of approval he stepped through bodily, and Fazel followed. Once they were both inside, Fazel released his spell, but the barrier did not close behind them.

Somebody’s magic wasn’t holding.

‘Well,’ said Fazel. ‘We’re back.’

‘No time to reminisce,’ snarled Tyrellan, heading into the trees.

•

‘It’s breaking,’ said Elessa.

Fahren, who was sitting with his chin on his fist trying to think of another solution, looked up. His pose reminded her of herself, when she had once sat at his feet.

‘Pardon?’ he said.

‘The ward,’ she said. ‘It’s giving way.’ To demonstrate, she sent a beam of light through the pinhole she’d created. Fahren rose, vitality returning to his movements.

‘All together!’ he said.

Elessa took aim again at the pinhole, joined by the other two – and inexplicably, moments after seeming strong enough to hold back a thousand mages, it tore open.

‘Quickly, get through!’ said Fahren, and through they went, coming to stand beyond the barrier inside the wood.

‘Wonder what’s happened?’ said Battu, glancing at the sky.

He didn’t have long to wonder, for almost straightaway up in the trees, three Sprites swung into view. ‘Attack!’ shouted one, and they released their holds, casting violet vortexes even as they fell to the forest floor. Old Magic slammed against Elessa’s ward, but not as strongly as she would have expected, unfortunately. Why had she not been obliterated completely? Earlier the Sprites had been strong enough to hold back an entire battle’s worth of lightfists and shadow mages!

By her side Fahren moved so that his own ward overlapped hers, while Battu stood all by himself. Vines wound out of the ground at his feet and he sent power at them. They flopped away limply, but he was already sweating profusely, as further spells shook his defence.

They are not as powerful as before , she sent Fahren.

Interesting , said Fahren. He issued forth a glowing orb that dodged erratically through the air and planted itself right on target, bludgeoning a Sprite’s ward and interrupting her casting.

Now is not the time for ‘interesting’ , said Battu. They are still more than our match.

Elessa , said Fahren, we may not survive this.

Good.

You are the hardiest of us all! He was angry again, and it made her even angrier that he dared to be. You must leave us here. Do your best to find the Stone and retrieve it for our people! We will join you if we can.

Elessa felt the command take hold and knew she must obey. Once upon a time she had looked up to this man, had sat at his feet with her chin on her fist while he read to her from books, or showed her how to conjure creatures from the air. She had been hand-picked by him, and had been both excited and nervous to take her place as a student with promise, though quickly comfortable in his kindly presence. How delighted she had been to surprise him by casting her first dodge spell, an infamously difficult trick that many great mages would never master – she had been only fourteen at the time.

No longer did she identify with that old self in the slightest. Now Fahren was nothing to her but a slave master.

Fourteen? That had only been six years or so before her death. She felt so much older than she was.

Try the clearing first , sent Fahren. It’s my best guess for where they might have taken him.

Directing power to her heels, she turned and fled. Last time she had been in the wood she had dared not use magic, for fear of being sensed by the enemy. Now she poured it forth with abandon, hoping to be sensed. She also realised that, somewhere along the line, she had failed to maintain the illusion that kept colour in her cheeks, light in her eyes, the wound in her side from showing.

No consequence , she thought, bitter that she had even bothered with it in the first place. Let all see me as I am .

Behind her, Fahren cried out in pain.

Who would release her if he died?

•

Come on , thought Corlas, watching the thrumming Stone. Where are you, boy?

Something was not right with the wood – outside the hut, sunbeams and shadows roved through the clearing in equal measure, and he had no doubt he and the Sprites were under some kind of attack. His power, only partly recovered, seemed to be returning in a mere trickle. He had sensed streams of Old Magic nearby, diverted by Vyasinth, but now even those were beginning to thin. When what he had stored up was gone, it would be gone, and there was no telling when he could replenish again.

He rolled his massive shoulders. ‘Well,’ he rumbled, reaching above the fireplace to heft his axe from the wall, ‘old habits …never did think of myself as much of a mage type anyhow.’

And so Corlas found himself standing in his hut, guarding his boy with an axe, for a second time.

‘The world will have its fancies, I suppose,’ he muttered.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Who is it?’

A voice that seemed dryly amused with itself answered. ‘Representatives of the Open Halls.’

He went to the open window, and grunted in surprise. Elessa Lanclara stood there, her skin a pallid shade of grey, her eyes dry and unblinking, her white dress stained with blood. Vyasinth had told him she’d come back from the dead, but he had not expected to come face to face with her. Behind her in the clearing lay the bodies of Sprites – dead, stunned, or sleeping? It was hard to tell.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I tell a fib. It’s only me, this time.’

‘And what was it I said?’ he asked, his bushy brows clumping in thought. ‘Ah, yes – warm yourself.’

A hand jumped from his axe to shoot forth a vortex, but she disappeared. A moment later the door blasted inwards off its hinges and she strode into the hut.

‘When are you going to learn,’ she said, ‘that the future of your son affects the whole world, not just your little home in the forest?’

‘The world,’ said Corlas, ‘can kiss my axe.’

He flung it at her, charging it with magic as it left his fingertips. It caught slightly in her hastily erected ward, ricocheting off course, and cut a chunk from her shoulder, exposing bone beneath.

Elessa gave a sickly smile, and warily Corlas raised a ward of his own – but it was not strong, he thought desperately, feeling his pool of power drying up. Elessa held up the hand attached to her damaged shoulder, gave the fingers an experimental waggle – and Corlas slammed against the wall, falling unconscious to the floor.

She went to the bed and scooped up the Stone.

•

Charla considered the strange women she had caught. Having lived her whole life in the wood, she had little experience of races other than her own. She had seen some just now, of course, upon entering the battle to fetch the Stone – but that had been swift and hectic, too much to take in at once.

The smaller of the two, the dark one with wings, had to be a Mire Pixie. As for the other, as Charla drew closer, she saw that the woman had pointy ears and multicoloured eyes. She was not a Varenkai, as Charla had first thought, but a Sprite as well. Did that make her a friend, or foe?

‘I do not recognise you from the wood,’ said Charla. ‘And I know all who dwell within.’

‘I am not from your wood,’ replied the woman, still straining against the vines that bound her.

Charla frowned. ‘But this is the only place where Sprites can live.’

‘I’m only part Sprite.’

‘Let us go!’ demanded the little one, and claws flicked from her fingertips. She managed to slice through some of the vines, but Charla gave a wave and they wound around her more firmly. Charla paused, feeling odd – the small amount of magic used to maintain the living bonds was taking more effort than it usually did. She tried not to let her misgivings show.

‘Let you go?’ she said, arching an eyebrow. ‘Nay, I think not. You are of the folk who sought to deny us our champion, he who will return the Sprites to prominence, and restore Old Magic to the world!’

The tall woman grimaced. ‘That’s why you’ve taken him? You are a third contender for Bel’s auspices?’

‘Third?’ said Charla haughtily. ‘We are the first. It is your people who interfered, your people who –’

‘Never mind any of that,’ snapped the woman. ‘I really could not care less about it right now.’

‘Then why have you invaded our wood?’

‘Because before they were put back in the Stone, Bel and Losara were our men.’

Charla was taken aback. Corlas, of course, had spoken at length about Bel’s life, and so she had heard of the half-caste Sprite with whom he shared it.

‘You’re Jaya?’ she said.

‘Yes.’

‘And I’m Lalenda,’ said the pixie. ‘The Shadowdreamer’s woman.’

‘And you are here …’

‘Because we want to know what’s happened to our men,’ said Jaya. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

Charla bit her lip – this was a bit more complicated than she had expected. She knew what it was like to be bonded to another Sprite, of course, and could not imagine being without Corlas. Also, there was the other, stranger thing.

They were almost family.

Once or twice Corlas had ventured the notion that Charla was the closest thing Bel had to a mother. Charla had stamped him down immediately – while her soul may have been composed partly of another’s, it was only partly , and she fiercely upheld that she was her own person. It was not her womb from which the baby had sprung, not her lovemaking that had put it there. Bel and Losara were the same age as her – she could scarcely imagine dandling them on her knee, or exposing her breast to feed them! That was for her own children, which she did intend to have one day. However, when she was away from Corlas, when he did not require slapping for his offensive ideas, she had thought about the situation more carefully. In a way she had to admit that she was connected to the blue-haired man – not in quite the way that Corlas had suggested, but in a way that was not entirely dissimilar either. And even if she’d had absolutely no hand in his creation, that didn’t change the fact that he was her love’s son, and these women were his son’s loves. For a Sprite, to whom kinship was an important thing indeed, that made them …well, something.

‘I am Charla,’ she told them. ‘Bonded to the Lord of the Wood, Corlas.’

‘ You are with Corlas?’ said Jaya. ‘Well, he hasn’t done badly for himself, has he?’

‘You do not seek to snatch the blue-haired man from us?’ said Charla, ignoring her words.

‘All we want,’ said Lalenda, and shot a glance at Jaya, ‘is to discover what has become of him. Would you not be concerned if Corlas was squished into a tiny rock?’

Charla nodded thoughtfully. She raised a hand, noting again with unease how her power had lessened, and the vines fell loose from Jaya and Lalenda and slipped back into the ground.

‘Come,’ she said. ‘I will take you to him. But try nothing sneaky, or it will be a branch through the ribs for you, understand?’

The women nodded and, hoping she had not made a mistake, Charla set out for the clearing.

•

Fahren ignored the pain in his arm. One of their assailants had flung a thorny wreath to wrap around it, which had squeezed tighter and tighter until he’d ripped it off. The attacks from the three Sprites had become easier to deal with for some reason. The wood folk seemed confused about that themselves. Now they were focusing on defence, yet even their sunset wards were not proving impenetrable.

We can finish them , came Battu’s voice.

Fahren conjured a sunwing, which flew at the Sprites, notching an arrow to its bow. Quickly vortexes came up to meet it, and it was knocked backwards, fading.

Your thinking is limited, Throne. The ancient enemy of the Sprites was always the Ebon Elves.

Cackling, Battu weaved his hands, and from out of the air stepped a figure of legend – a humanoid with dark skin, and crystals for eyes. The Ebon stalked forward, and the Sprites’ eyes filled with fright.

There was a reason Ebons were the Sprites’ enemies , said Fahren. They wielded Old Magic also. But you cannot imbue your creature with such ability.

Still , said Battu, they are scared of it.

Sure enough, the three Sprites backed away from the advancing conjuration, all channelling together. As one they expended a large vortex, which flattened the Ebon instantly. It was a waste of power when dealing with such an insubstantial foe, and as a result the Sprites’ wards faltered. Fahren seized the opportunity. A white-hot beam sprang from his outstretched hand, puncturing a wavering ward to hit a Sprite full in the chest. The Sprite did not even have time to cry out, collapsing with a smoking hole through his heart. Fahren directed the beam onto the others, cutting through their wards easily. A second fell, sliced in half, and the third shrieked in alarm and pelted off through the trees, dropping her ward in exchange for speed.

Fahren released the beam, puffing from his exertions.

‘Hold still,’ said Battu. He set a hand over Fahren’s cut arm, rejoining the skin and even knitting the flesh beneath.

‘You have a gift for healing?’ said Fahren incredulously.

‘One of my lesser-used talents,’ admitted Battu. ‘Only because I’m sworn to help, I can assure you.’

‘Well, no thanks required then.’

‘Please don’t.’

Fahren flexed his newly mended arm. ‘Why is their power waning?’

‘What does it matter?’ said Battu. ‘Stop wondering about the why, you doddering fool, and press the advantage.’

Much as it galled him, Fahren had to admit Battu was right.

‘Come then,’ he said, and they set out after the fleeing Sprite.

•

Tyrellan supposed that, just like other races, there were Sprites who could wield magic and Sprites who could not. From the plain clothing on the bodies in the clearing beyond, he guessed these were the latter – the simple folk who saw to tasks other than battle, yet who had been caught in its hold anyway.

‘Someone’s already here,’ said Fazel.

‘If you’re in the mood to be obvious,’ growled Tyrellan, ‘I could punch you in the face.’

‘What face? I trust you will enjoy your bruised fist.’

‘Can you sense anything?’

‘In the hut,’ said Fazel. ‘A light mage and another, dimmer, presence.’

Through the smashed door of the hut strode Elessa Lanclara, holding the Stone.

‘Off you go, then, and stop her,’ ordered Tyrellan.

As for himself, he would stay in the trees – he had seen these two fight before, and knew better than to get in their way. He glanced around, found a likely trunk, and began to climb.

•

Elessa left the hut, considering the Stone. If she cast spells while she possessed it, would it suck them in, meaning she could not protect herself with magic? She tried a simple experiment, and sent forth a tiny mote of light. The mote glanced across the Stone’s surface and flew onwards unimpeded. It seemed that the Stone was, for the moment, closed.

Something pricked her senses – there was a shadow mage nearby. Glancing towards the edge of the clearing, she saw a black-robed figure emerge onto the coiled root. It pulled back its cowl, revealing the charred skull beneath.

Greetings, Elessa.

She waved a hand over her body, suffusing herself with a warm glow. Before her ward was fully raised, an invisible hand dug its nails in under the shine. She gripped it in a grip of her own, wrenching it back as if to snap its invisible wrist, and across the way Fazel recoiled. Then he stepped off the root and floated down into the clearing.

Better than last time , he sent.

I’m a changed woman.

The Stone sprang from her grip, flying towards him. Quickly she made the air above it crash downwards, slamming it to the dirt.

Interesting , he said. The Stone no longer absorbs power?

Your interest will be short-lived. I will stop you again, as I stopped you before.

I pray that you do. But we do not need these threats, do we?

A snake head curled out of his darkness towards her. She waved a hand through the air, conjuring a glowing sword. Allowing her ward to part briefly, she let the snake inside, and lopped its head off almost casually.

I wanted you to win that night, Elessa. I want an end to my damnation.

We have that in common, then.

Well , he said, breezing forward, shadows expanding all around him, let’s hope that one of us can do the other a favour.

They came face to face in the middle of the clearing, the Stone lying an equal distance between them. As the light flowing from Elessa met Fazel’s shadows, they locked into a familiar place. If she could have, she would have thrown down her defences, let him finish her there and then – but the command from Fahren compelled her, and so she pushed against him. This, then, was what it was like for him – fighting when he did not want to, for purposes that were not his own.

What odd kinship amongst us undead , she said.

Indeed.

A blue bolt sizzled into her ward, and she tried hard to deflect it – but he had put a lot of effort into it, and it hit her square in the chest. She flew backwards, her ribs concaved to squash her dormant heart. As she landed with a thump on her back, she looked down to see dead flesh melting over the white of her ribs, which started – immediately, and painfully – to knit themselves back together. It was almost good to feel something again, even if it was this.

She rose easily from the blow, back on her feet in an instant. The ground beneath her rumbled, and without actually breaking the surface, black jaws came yawning upwards. The conjured creature closed on her thigh and yanked downwards, its teeth scraping along her leg to shear the flesh from her bone like a boot. As the creature faded, her flesh flopped limply to the ground.

Come on, girl , said Fazel. You did better than this when you were alive.

Elessa surged forward, drilling him with blazing light and piercing hot beams.

There , he said, that’s more like it .

Ashes and Dust

Vyasinth paused just above the canopy, looking out over fields at the great battle in the distance. Dots floated above a swelling horde as Graka whirled and Zyvanix swarmed.

May your people destroy each other , she sent her adversaries, while your attention remains here.

Then she let the protective barriers drop. The narrowing streams feeding them fell apart, spilling their contents back into the wood. Her people needed their magic again, and defence of the wood itself no longer mattered. Those who had sought entry had already gained it.

Quickly she headed back to the clearing, where she was stilled by what she saw. The Stone lay in the open air, and two mages staggered around it – a burnt skeleton too thin for the robe that whipped around him, and a Varenkai with chunks torn from her. The skeleton conjured, and shadows of shadowmanders raced across the ground towards the woman. She gestured at the air, and translucent eagles dived down and carried the shadowmanders away.

Where was Corlas?

She flowed into the hut and there he lay, slumped against one wall, beginning to groan.

Corlas!

He grunted, pushed himself back from the wall, and cast his eyes around blearily. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘at least there’s no tree through the hut this time.’

The fight is not over! Get to your feet!

He glanced to where she swirled above him, and blinked slowly. When his eyes opened fully, they were hard. ‘Of course, my Lady. Where is my boy?’

Outside.

Corlas went to the window to stare out at the carnage.

‘How can I intervene? My power has left me.’

Our strength is greatly sapped by Arkus and Assedrynn, but there is still some remaining.

His finger twitched, and she saw him draw on the power she had returned.

‘There is some,’ he said.

He went to the door.

•

Tyrellan crammed further into the shade between the branch he crouched on and the tree’s trunk. As Elessa and Fazel fought each other in the clearing, he had to admit there was something odd about being here again. Was it a good sign that things had come full circle like this? And if so, a good sign for whom? His practical mind clashed with his faith. There was some kind of unseen force at play, of that he was sure – but was it beyond his control to influence the outcome?

Above the crackle of magic, he heard sounds approaching below, and tensed.

‘There!’ said Fahren.

‘Looks like fun,’ came Battu’s voice.

•

Corlas stepped out of his hut as a cloud moved above, for a moment casting him half in shadow and half in light. He leaned on the doorframe, head still spinning. Some of his power went to the bruise on his brow, tightening it up and ebbing away the pain. More trickled into him from his surrounds: no longer the dry stream bed he had lapped at before, yet not the torrent needed to quench his thirst either.

He did not know what to do about Fazel and the increasingly bloody Elessa. They seemed certain, however, about what to do with each other, and Corlas saw no reason to intervene until one of them was destroyed.

We do not need the Stone in our very hands , sent Vyasinth. As long as it stays within the wood, there’s no place they can hide it where I cannot touch him, once he emerges.

You are certain he will emerge? said Corlas.

Nothing is certain.

Comforting. He grunted. He damn well better emerge , he thought, or I will destroy Fahren and Battu, and all who helped them.

Surprisingly, at that point both targets of his enmity stepped into the clearing. The Throne held up a hand for caution, while beside him Battu wore an expression somewhere between grimace and grin. And then, further up near the coiled root, Charla appeared with two others – he recognised Jaya, and there was a Mire Pixie too. His brain fuzzed as he tried to comprehend these two strange groups, old alliances seemingly fallen away. Fahren and Charla saw each other at the same time, and instantly their wards sprang up. Battu backed away, unable to erect his own ward while he stood so close to Fahren.

Battu. Oh, how this man had dogged him through life. Images cascaded through Corlas’s mind: the Shining Mines shaking around him as blue whirlpools boiled in the sky …cold steel sliding into his side as beyond, on a hill, the Shadowdreamer rained down destruction …the night Battu had sent his minions to capture his child …Losara being taken, far away where Corlas could never go, never find him …the weaver bird, Iassia, spinning his lies and chirping merrily at his own treachery …Battu, Battu, Battu.

Everywhere things were happening, yet his sight narrowed to this man, this twisted, baleful man. Blood rushed in his ears, and the core of his being howled for Battu’s head. He took a step forward, shooting out his hands, and Battu’s eyes flickered to see the vortex coming. A shadow ward showed the slightest sign of coming to be …then the vortex lifted Battu from his feet, sent him soaring out of the clearing with limbs trailing.

Not enough! Corlas cursed. His reserves were still low, and it had consumed most of his power to fire off that one spell. It would be dangerous to try another, yet he felt sure that Battu still lived.

•

Tyrellan saw Battu go flying and, quick as a cat, was on his feet. He ran along the branch and leaped for the next tree, sinking his claws into the trunk. Hand over hand he worked his way around, until his feet found another branch. There, below, Battu had landed upon a soft cushioning of undergrowth. At the least he would be winded, but hopefully he was also stunned from the foreign magic that had hit him. Tyrellan knew he might have only moments.

He drew his sword, clutched the hilt with both hands, and dropped head-first from the branch. As he fell he held the blade before him, leading him towards the ground. Battu opened unfocused eyes, which rolled to see Tyrellan plummeting. He frowned uncomprehendingly, tried to raise a hand, but was slow to do so as his coordination momentarily failed him. The sword, with all of Tyrellan’s weight behind it, drove through his chest with a crunch and into the earth beneath. Battu’s back tried to arch but he was pinned fast, his legs kicking out straight.

Tyrellan balanced for a moment on the end of the sword, his lean muscles bulging, his agile body still horizontal.

‘Greetings, my lord.’

Battu wheezed through ruined lungs. Tyrellan let his legs curl in, flipping down gently by Battu’s side. Battu’s mouth opened and closed as if trying to capture escaping words, the fingers of his prostrate arms dancing across the ground as though he might find something there to save him.

‘Seems all your betrayal,’ said Tyrellan, ‘has amounted to nothing.’

With jerky little movements Battu turned his head, to stare in horror at Tyrellan.

Tyrellan raised a rock, and brought it down on Battu’s face.

•

Like a sudden awakening, Battu came back to himself. He floated as if in sluggish water, turned over to see his body beneath. Beside it, Tyrellan looked up as if he could see him, while the world around faded to grey. Realisation dawned.

The First Slave had killed him.

Anger came, but sparked only briefly as he felt an unmistakable pull, and knew the Great Well of Assedrynn awaited. Then it was only fear he felt, fear of the fate he’d tried so hard to avoid.

No , he tried to shout, clawing at the air as if he could swim back to his body. But this was no journey in the Shadowdream, and there was nowhere to travel save the ultimate destination. The great risk he’d taken had been stymied by bad luck and an opportunistic goblin, and the Dark Gods would be waiting for him to account for his sins. The most he could hope for now was that the light would win, and the Great Well of Assedrynn would soon be broken, releasing him from whatever torment they saw fit to visit on him.

Maybe there was one last thing he could do, at least. Vengeful to the end, as Battu was, the idea came naturally, offering itself up with a malicious wink. Was it wise? He did not wish to give Tyrellan reason to bring him back as an undead slave – and yet maybe that would be a way to escape Assedrynn. At any rate, wise was never a word that had bothered him overly.

Battu released a part of himself, his legacy flowing back into the world. Then the pull became too great, and he journeyed on towards the Dark Gods, in dread.

•

Bit of havoc round these parts , said Fazel, pushing aside a fireball that went roaring away to hit a tree near where Jaya and Lalenda peeped out from hiding.

Some things never change , replied Elessa.

Scant paces away, Fahren and a Sprite woman were locked in their own struggle. Corlas was heading towards them. Meanwhile, Battu’s presence in the trees seemed to have faded. Fazel took no solace from that – such an end was what he had coveted.

A cloud passed over him, and he drew strength from the shade it cast. Dully he knew he was gaining ground. He forced his way forward, thrusting into Elessa’s ward, and curled shadows to rip it apart. She fell backwards onto her rump, her skeletal leg stretched out before her. He had but a moment to press his advantage before she erected another ward …but if he killed her, once again hope of finding peace for himself would be lost. With a heavy heart he extended a finger, yet he desperately did not want to end her, this one who had nearly bested him before.

So he hesitated.

Light expanded from her as she returned to her feet. Fazel stood dumbly, wondering what had happened. There had been a clear opportunity for him to attack, and yet he had not taken it, even though that went against his express orders.

What is this? he thought.

What is what? she responded, though he had not meant her to hear him.

He turned a hand upon himself and, hardly daring to dream it possible, directed a little power inwards. The beginnings of a spell that would destroy his animated bones forever began to form. He expected the attempt to fail, for his hand to turn away of its own accord, as the directives inlaid in him took over – but they did not.

At his feet the Stone flipped over, vibrating.

There is no Shadowdreamer.

What?

His soul has gone out of this world. There is no one tying me to Skygrip Castle.

For the first time in years, Fazel experienced delight. How long, he wondered, had he been free? Since the moment Losara had disappeared into the Stone? Had he simply been following orders out of habit, because he was so used to obeying them? It had not occurred to him for a second that things might have changed.

He increased the power of his spell. All that remained was to release it.

Wait! she sent desperately, even as her beams of light played over his still-standing ward. He could drop it now, he supposed.

What?

Don’t leave me! You cannot leave me!

I must.

You’d consign another to the fate you so deplore?

Fazel glanced at the Stone. Something was happening, for it was thrumming violently, making little bounces over the ground. Not much time, perhaps, until someone came out of it – someone who might constrict him again.

Please , she sent, you share some responsibility for what has happened to me.

No, I don’t.

Please. You were a good man, once.

Her remaining eye blinked, and he knew that if she could have, she would have cried. Then, maddeningly, he remembered himself as the man he had been, who had travelled Kainordas helping his people. He had removed blights from crops, chased down thieves and murderers, beaten back monsters and shadows wherever he found them, healed hurts and overseen disputes …and for some reason, at that moment he remembered a little sundart with a broken wing, too badly hurt to be saved, which he had put out of its misery.

He had been a good man, once.

He sighed.

Hardly able to believe what he was doing, Fazel dropped the spell that would finish him and redirected his attack to her. Hoping to re-create the moment they’d just had, he tried to rip into her ward – but now she was expecting it, and he hit a wall.

They could fight like this forever, he thought despairingly.

A rent appeared in the air over the Stone, beyond which he could see a realm of tumultuous flashing colours. It was happening. He was running out of time.

He dropped his ward and walked towards her.

What are you doing? she screamed.

A light bolt hit his arm, shattering it at the elbow. Ignoring the blow, he strode into her light, and instantly his bones began to smoke. A thousand white-hot spots cooked him, the extremities of his charred body turning to white ash. All his power went into keeping himself moving – it was as if he struggled against a great wind, as her ward tried to fling him out even as it destroyed him. If he could just avoid a spell or two …

She flung a fireball at him, too close for him to push it away. It burst where his stomach would have been, exploding his spine to fragments. His torso hit the ground heavily, and pain thundered in his bones. She stared down at him in consternation.

You seek to end yourself without saving me , she said accusingly.

No , he said, and his remaining hand seized her leg.

Opening the floodgates as wide as he could, he poured his power into her. She shrieked as shadow filled her, her knees trembling as she fell to them. His vision swam with blazing light as he flung his remaining arm around her neck like a grapple, hauling his bones up against hers. Every last drop went into her …all his reserves, and then even the magic that animated him. She shuddered in his grip, her bones clacking against his, her ward failing as she tried to shake him off. He held on as tightly as his fading strength allowed, and her hand came to rest on his chest, exploding it with fire.

•

Fahren heard Elessa’s cries, could sense the fonts of power behind him, but facing Charla and Corlas together was taxing despite their weakened state. Something was happening, however, and he knew his attention was needed. With a great push he knocked Corlas from his feet, the man’s sunset ward seeming to have all but set.

‘Stop this, Corlas!’ he called. ‘I do not wish to kill you!’

‘What a coincidence,’ said Corlas, pushing up on his elbows. ‘I don’t wish you to either.’ He flicked a finger at Fahren, and Fahren tensed for more Old Magic – but nothing came. Corlas scowled, exhausted by the look of him. Charla ran to his side, covering him with her own waning ward. The moment of distraction was what Fahren needed, and he dared to glance at what was happening in the middle of the clearing.

Fazel was wrapped around Elessa, the broken end of his spine wiggling in the air, his once-black bones now seared white. Although she struggled against him, his grip was strong, as if his hand was the last place any strength remained. She was truly undead now, to his eyes as well as mind, for much of her flesh had torn away, her skull revealed down one half of her head. Her hand plunged against Fazel’s chest, and she released a fireball. It burst between them messily, shattering his rib cage and spilling through what was left of his back …and yet they did not fly apart, but embraced each other in the flames. The last of her flesh smouldered to nothing and they collapsed, bones upon bones falling to the ground, puffing to ash as they landed.

Elessa and Fazel were gone.

Near the ashes and fading flames, a tear in the world was growing larger. As its edges crackled with all the spectrum, the outline of a body formed within.

‘Look!’ cried Fahren. ‘Corlas, let us put aside our quarrel a moment! Your son is being reborn!’

As Charla helped him to his feet, Corlas did not take his eyes from the silhouette forming in the gateway of the Stone. Meanwhile there was movement by the trees as Jaya and Lalenda stepped out of hiding. Slowly they all converged around the Stone, casting untrusting glances at one another as they formed a ring around it.

‘There is nothing to be gained,’ cautioned Fahren, ‘from further strife.’

‘Silence,’ said Corlas.

Another figure padded out of the trees. Tyrellan, his face impassive as he took them all in.

’Nothing to be gained,’ he echoed, warily moving to stand by Lalenda. ‘Losara will be represented too.’

‘It will not be Losara any more,’ said Fahren.

Behind Tyrellan floated a beautiful butterfly. It circled the goblin once and then landed on his shoulder, where it opened and closed its colourful wings. Tyrellan barely glanced at it, but instead met Fahren’s eyes.

‘Your have poor taste in allies, Throne.’

‘Silence!’ shouted Corlas, making them all start.

The gateway opened wide …and yet the figure inside had not taken a final shape.

Soul’s Reckoning

Losara’s recollections became like tributaries into the stream of Bel’s past. It was an odd feeling as his history reshaped itself, concurrent events mixing in with each other, remembered by the one they were becoming, yet also by the both that had been …

A boy ran through the Open Halls, the strip of fur tied round his head signifying that he played the hugger. A young Hiza chased after him, brandishing a wooden sword …while a boy also sat unseen in a dark corner of Skygrip, watching others play nearby, wondering why they took such joy in hurling a ball of string to one another. Should he try to join in, he wondered, to understand what it was they did? The ball came towards him and he stepped from the shadows to catch it – but it banged against his fumbling hands and fell to the floor. He crouched to retrieve it, looked up to find the other children whispering to one another, casting about worried glances.

‘Is this how?’ he asked, raising the ball to throw it to the nearest – but the boy backed off, shaking his head.

‘That’s all right, lord,’ he said. ‘You keep it.’

They left him there, standing alone, the end of the ball unwinding between his fingers. He looked about and realised that shadows had stuck to him, stretching elastic from the wall to his body, and shook them off in annoyance …

‘Ho ho, you rascals!’ chortled Corlas as Bel and Hiza raced past, knocking over a shield. ‘Get him, Hiza – I hear that one hugged an entire village to death!’

‘Grar!’ yowled Bel, and made for a tree …

The memories flowed both ways, to him and from him, going to the other part, which he could not yet control.

Losara.

Yes?

Why do you persist?

A pause.

Bel. A statement more than anything else.

Yes, that’s right. I’m Bel. We are Bel.

Lessons with Battu arrived …and those with Fahren flowed away. Heron looked down into his crib, emaciated and miserable …and Corlas picked him up, jiggling him in the air. Tyrellan, thought of with affection, pointed a claw down a winding corridor …and now the First Slave was in the distance, riding along behind the shadowmander, terrorising his people.

Do not fight, Losara. You are the lesser. Take your place quietly so we may go on to win the war for the light.

Losara considered the words. Maybe , he said.

There is no maybe. You should never have existed. All you are is your magic. Without it, you are nothing.

Do you really believe that?

Let us see how you would fare in my place.

Suddenly Losara stood in the throng of battle, his feet firm on the ground.

No shadow to turn to and whisk off as , came Bel’s voice.

Metal clashed a finger’s breadth from his ear. He was pushed to his knees as two warriors battled by, a Saurian and a huge Arabodedas repeatedly clashing two-handed swords.

Get up , said Bel. You’re vulnerable down there.

Losara scrabbled to his feet, felt a scabbard bang against his leg.

You have no magic. The sword is your only ally. Remember the prophecy, Losara – the blue-haired man raises a sword high in victory.

Losara drew the blade, heavy in his grip. A Mire Pixie came at him, holding a small shield with one hand, claws extending from the other.

Your enemy , said Bel, for this moment.

No.

In this heartbeat.

No.

It is my memory, Losara. You are playing my part, albeit with your own weak carcass.

The pixie hissed, and Losara backed away. Around him he could feel the heat of bodies, the ground trembling with the thud of feet and the falling dead. Someone jostled him from behind, and he did not know if it was friend or foe.

What is it like? said Bel. Without your power? The knowledge that, at any moment, from any direction, you could feel cold steel slide into you?

An axe struck the limply held blade from Losara’s hands. The Arabodedas who wielded it moved before him, glowering from under spiky brows. ‘They sent a scrap like you?’ he said in a disgusted tone, and raised the axe again. ‘What did they think you were going to do?’

The scene began to fade and the axe-head, now ephemeral, passed through him.

So , said Losara, because I wouldn’t make a great warrior, you are superior – is that your point?

Bel found himself unsure what his point had been.

Your strength is a talent , continued Losara, just like my magic. What’s the difference, really? Let us be fair, then, and see how you would manage in one of my memories.

Bel raced towards a copse of trees, marvelling at how it felt to travel through the grass in this strange shadow form. He could sense his power, great and deep, knew how to wield it – power that should have been his, he thought jealously.

I do not guard my knowledge from you , said Losara, as you did your swordsmanship . I am more interested in seeing how you use it, rather than watching you flounder about looking lost. Anyone can tell you that a fish thrown from a mountain will not fare well.

Bel entered the trees, and discovered a troop of Varenkai who had been ransacking the Fenvarrow supply carts. The mages in the group sensed his presence immediately.

I shall do better than you, I suspect , he said, stepping from the shadows. You, I now seem to recall, when faced with such clear enemies, chose instead to dally. He extended his hands, revelling in the power that sprang forth. Blue energy swept through the soldiers, and the mages’ light wards did not stand for more than moments. As they shattered, the mages screamed with the rest, their muscles melting and their brains boiling. Bel was ecstatic with what he wielded, but too quickly it was over.

You see? he said triumphantly. I do not flee to cogitate when faced with such a simple scenario.

No , said Losara. Instead you seize with gusto the opportunity to murder your own countrymen.

Do not twist things . We both know these are insubstantial figments, less than ghosts, and this but an exercise.

Our talents are not the sum of who we are. It is how we use them that defines us.

Bel grew angry. Why were they even having this conversation? Why had Losara not disappeared into him yet?

And you do not use yours as you could, he said, pausing instead to ponder every move . Ambivalent in the face of a single path, seeking ways to get lost in the brush.

There was a laugh then, but Bel was not sure if it came from him or Losara.

Yes , said Losara. I would not deny that your focus is mighty. Your sight narrows to your aim exclusively while the rest fades to unimportance. For a time I was worried that you are so directed …

…while you meander thoughtfully, reticent to take action.

Thinking about my options, Bel, about what course to take. That is the way of things when one is not a follower.

I am not a follower.

Self-denial …something new to me. All your life, you have done as others wished. Fahren –

It was never Fahren’s wish that I turn out a soldier.

– has been a guiding hand, steering you always, teaching you that the shadow is to be feared …

Just as you were taught by Battu, by Tyrellan, by Heron, to hate the light.

Naphur …

Whom I defied when I returned to the peacekeepers after Drel. Whom I wrested command from when we marched to conquer Fenvarrow.

That never happened, Bel. It was just a dream.

Maybe. Or maybe I could have won without resorting to any of this.

And in the end we both would have died. Is that what you want?

No.

Corlas …

Corlas never told me how to live.

Losara paused. I suppose he did not. Arkus …

Do not invoke Arkus when you have followed instructions from your own gods also …what of the pilgrimage you made?

As he said the words Bel experienced a rush of images, remembered travelling around Fenvarrow, taking in its beauty …but the sense of wonder disappeared quickly, not yet his emotion to possess.

You follow, Bel. How else can you pursue your end so vigorously and yet not even know what you fight for?

Around them, Crystalweb appeared.

Remember this place?

Of course. What does it have to do with anything?

Bel fell silent as he saw his past self walking along the raised path through white-barked trees. Following him were Jaya, Hiza, M’Meska, Fazel and Gellan, all of whom were taking in the surrounding sights with fascination. Rain broke across crystal leaves while the sun still shone, and refracted colours raced across branches and down thick trunks, into glimmering piles of broken shards that twinkled like dangerous treasure.

Look at your face.

Past-Bel seemed dour, annoyed.

You cannot understand what makes the rest of us marvel , said Losara . Even I, the disguised spy from Fenvarrow, am forced to take stock of a place such as this. Yet you feel nothing, do not appreciate what you fight for, cannot.

I don’t fight for weird trees and magical spiders, that’s for sure.

Nor for the architectural triumph of the Open Halls, or the golden sands of the Furoara …or a tiny fish in the Shallow Sea, or the towering Arkus Heights. Where does it begin with you?

If you enjoy my land so much, why do you resist joining me?

My own land is beautiful too.

What? Dankness and darkness?

Since you cannot admire your own, I hardly think you’re in a position to judge mine. Don’t you think we shadow folk like where we live?

Blades clashed again, and they were back in the battle, this time as it was happening at that very moment. A Mireform roared as swords fell upon him – Eldew was no longer his towering self, for he had taken much damage. An arrow sank into his beady white eye, but he blinked it out rapidly.

‘Hack it to pieces!’ called a troop leader. ‘Arrows do no good!’

Eldew cut gaps in the line of soldiers attacking him, but others filled them quickly, closing in from all sides. As his legs were slashed from under him, he collapsed to the ground to pool amorphously. He was overwhelmed, and tried to escape his muddy remains as a worm-like thing.

‘Get it!’ screamed the troop leader, and the forest of surrounding feet began to stomp. Eldew dodged once, twice, and then slithered under a heel that came down hard upon him.

What is in his mind’s eye? said Losara. His last thoughts as he departs this world?

Eldew stood at the edge of Swampwild as dawn broke, the shadows just beginning to soften. Green hills stood lump-like above the bog, netted together by willow and bridge, rotting slowly and ripe with the smell of wet wood. There were ten types of moss underfoot, twenty types of ferns, and all manner of things in the mud and water. How his home pulsated with life, an unfelt heartbeat, yet the air was still enough to hear a dewdrop falling into a pool twenty paces away …

What makes you think I care , said Bel, that your monsters romanticise some muck-hole? Do you expect me to be sympathetic to this one, who butchered a whole village for no good reason?

Losara sighed. You accuse me of thinking too much, but you do not think enough …and you call yourself a leader …

And so I am.

Then why, when you were offered the Throneship …

A meeting room in the Open Halls barracks where Bel, Gerent Brahl and Fahren sat at a table.

‘The people will surely rally to you,’ said Brahl. ‘I could not imagine a more natural figurehead.’

Bel nodded. ‘And when the time comes, I will gladly lead the charge. However, I was born to fight, not to rule.’

You said it yourself, Bel.

Do not use my own recollections against me. I was there, you know. Let us see how this continues.

‘You have heard Fahren speak of what I must accomplish,’ said Bel. ‘I have been charged by Arkus himself to retrieve the Stone of Evenings Mild. Thus, for a time at least, my path leads elsewhere.’

‘I agree,’ said Fahren. ‘A direct order from Arkus should not be ignored.’

There , said Bel, I obey my god. And if you’re somehow suggesting you would not do the same, why not cede that you have no loyalty and give in right now? As for how this relates to my supposed following , a strong sense of purpose means a strong sense of self. Do not seek to make me believe that knowing one’s place in the world is indicative of weakness.

You are skilled, it seems, at remembering things the way you want to. Do you not recall your other thoughts that day, considering the Throneship? The fact that you like being special, but not the burden it arrives with …how you rush towards your goals to get them over and done with …how the Throneship does not appeal because it would be a lasting responsibility …are those the marks of a true leader?

Bel did not like how comprehensively Losara was becoming privy to his past, even to thoughts he’d had at the time. He needed to turn this back on his counterpart’s head.

Perhaps you chose to become a ruler , he said, but you have never been a strong one, never had conviction, never liked to see yourself win. Here …

Past-Losara stood with Tyrellan on the parapets of Holdwith, looking north over a field strewn with Kainordan corpses. The shadowmander ran back and forth sniffing at the dead, leaping to capture the crows that shared its interest. Losara sighed, his void-like eyes haunted and haunting at the same time.

Look at you. You have won this bout, yet are you gladdened?

‘How terrible,’ said Losara, ‘that we must exchange such violence.’

Could it be , said Bel, that you cannot accept success because a part of you knows it isn’t right? Look at this …

Battu, Tyrellan, Lalenda and Losara sat in Skygrip’s dining hall, while Grimra swirled over plates of delicacies. Losara reached for an anemone and put it in his mouth.

You know they are poison , yet you eat them anyway.

‘I’m so glad you like them,’ Battu said.

Losara swallowed. ‘Ah, but I am being rude. Would you like them passed to you?’

‘Oh, no,’ waved Battu, sitting back in his chair and patting his stomach. ‘I am …quite full. Please, if you are enjoying them, have more.’

You don’t understand your own motivations , as you sit there letting Battu think he’s won, when really you’re about to turn the tables on him. You think to yourself, ‘Why this charade? What do I hope to gain?’

I remember.

Do you want to know why, Losara?

Tell me.

Because THE BLAZES WITH BATTU. Because I, the missing part of you, would relish the expression on his face when he realises his plan has failed, and he is the one who’s actually been tricked. It should have been fulfilling to fool such an opponent, but you are incapable of appreciating it, so instead you sit there going blank. You have no passion, no heart for your work.

You are calling me weak because I don’t enjoy pain? Here …

The academy hall at Holdwith. Losara placed a hand on a lightfist’s head as he channelled. She gave a small sigh, and died in his lap.

I killed again and again to build the shadowmander. I did not like to but I did it anyway, because I know what’s at stake for my people. That is strength, Bel, which goes beyond your childish need for personal satisfaction. It takes compassion, which you once rather laughably accused me of lacking, to really consider the effects of one’s actions. You have no compassion, you know it only as a word. You do not know guilt …

In a clearing in Drel Forest, Bel lay unconscious while around him were the mounded dead – huggers and soldiers who had been in his troop.

…although you imagined you did, after your comrades were slain in Drel. But that was something else – your worry over the weaver’s influence, your failure to achieve clean victory and thus return to celebration, your fear at losing control, the discovery of the fact that you enjoy killing so much …guilt is about accountability to others, yet all these concerns are about yourself. I, however, know that I am accountable for my actions. And I’ve become, if not comfortable, at least accepting of who I am.

The ruined village of Valdurn, just after Bel and his party had fought the Mireforms …Losara’s disguise had been dropped and he was reaching towards Bel, attempting to snatch the Stone.

I was not the one who sought Evenings Mild , said Losara. And here I try to take it from you, so that we may never find ourselves floating inside it having this argument. I was not afraid to remain who I was. It was you who wanted this, you who could not live without it.

I was following instructions from Arkus!

And in the end …

Elessa rode through the battle, levitating behind her a furious Bel, who was trying to kick in the heads of the enemies they passed.

…you did not even make the decision to enter. You had to be forced.

Bel felt himself losing the thread, wasn’t even sure what they were talking about any more.

You really believe yourself on the side of right? he snapped. Look at your land, covered by a Cloud of unnatural occurrence – that’s not the way the world was made!

Do you consider it wrong to live in a house that someone has built? Do you think things constructed are not part of the world?

I take a dim view of a land rife with barbarism …

A younger Losara leaned against Skygrip’s entry arch as a struggling Vortharg was brought to Grimra to be devoured.

…ruled by tyrants …

Battu grew angry with his student, and sent little Losara crashing to the floor.

And look …

A young Arabodedas man tried not to cry as he was led from his hut by conscriptors, forced to join the final charge.

Outside Holdwith, Grimra circled a pile of dead lightfists in a pit not yet closed over, and dived down to take a large bite.

Assidax ran her tongue over pointed fangs, as she directed her army of ghouls and skeletons across the plains at the Shining Mines.

Fazel, undead but not yet burnt, just shy of the border on the shadow side, sent magic into a thrashing blade he had captured, extracting information against both their wills.

Heron, in the throne room, begged Battu for release, and he laughed at her.

What are these things , said Losara, of which you have no personal knowledge, and no shared memory with me?

Bel wasn’t sure – they had simply come when required.

Do you use the shadowdream against me? A dangerous game to play, Blade Bel.

Would you like to go further back, perhaps? See how Fenvarrow has attacked Kainordas for a thousand years?

Only if we can also see how Kainordas has attacked Fenvarrow. You want to use the dream – let’s use it, then.

A flotilla of barges brimming with blades and lightfists worked its way down the Dragon’s Sorrow. They passed the Hinter Swamplands and entered the Dimglades Delta, where the going became ponderous, and soldiers leaned on poles to poke the vessels through the shallow mire. At the edge of the Delta was a town populated by pixies and goblins, from which shouts rang out as the approach was spotted. Barges nudged the banks and soldiers poured into the town, quickly and vastly outnumbering its denizens.

Never rebuilt , said Losara.

Recompense, I imagine, for some other atrocity.

And recompense for some other, and some other, and some other, way back into the folds of forever. You lecture me on right and wrong, Bel? You really think Kainordas is good and Fenvarrow evil?

Elessa sat in a tavern room somewhere, alone and disconsolate, looking in the mirror and trying not to touch her own face.

You condemn our use of undead, yet when it suits your own purpose, apparently there’s no issue.

Battu and Fahren were walking over a bridge of light in the Morningbridge Peaks.

You showed me Battu the tyrant – but you seem to forget that he was cast out, rejected by the Dark Gods for his nefarious and self-serving ways. Yet you took him in and made him one of your own.

And who’s this? replied Bel, as a spectral weaver bird flitted onto the bridge. Could it be someone cast out from our side, someone your lot took in?

Why, yes – the difference being that we took the weavers without a great need to.

Because you share their love of evil acts.

Because we accepted them for what they are, even though they were created by our greatest enemy.

At least Arkus can admit when he’s made a mistake.

Then they were back in the barracks, again with Brahl and Fahren, who were now talking about what to do regarding Thedd Naphur.

Brahl licked his lips. ‘I could arrange for something to …befall him,’ he said.

Murder, Bel, of the rightful heir to the Throne – something you were a party to considering.

We didn’t do it.

Only because you found another way. And you, personally, I now recall, were all for it.

We could ill afford one such as Thedd.

Why do you think Fenvarrow’s ‘tyrants’ are chosen for their strength? At least we are open about our process.

We were operating under unusual circumstances.

During which you broke every moral you profess to defend. Look at this …

Fahren, in his tent, stared down in horror at the prostrate Querrus, whose eyes were empty, a trickle of spittle oozing from his mouth.

‘Forgive me,’ murmured Fahren. He waved a hand over Querrus, who stiffened for a moment, then fell still. Fahren reached down to close his eyes, then opened the ground beneath to swallow him up.

Bel could not believe what he was seeing. Fahren had said Querrus had been sent off on some errand!

That did not happen. It is some trick, some lie.

We are close enough now that you would sense if I was lying. And while we’re taking a look at Fahren, let us glimpse one possible future …

The battle raged across the Grass Ocean, just as it had been doing when Bel had left it – except that he saw himself still there, fighting wave upon wave of attackers. Meanwhile Losara and his mages were gaining ground, Kainordans falling in their hundreds, the tide turning vastly against them. Fahren blasted a Graka from the air and spun, desperately seeking Bel. Bel, lost in his frenzy, did not notice Fahren approaching. They were surrounded by the enemy, closing on them like a giant fist. The light was losing.

This is not how it happened.

But if it was , said Losara, then what would Fahren do, I wonder?

Fahren saw Losara looming, his shadow growing larger up the funnel of a hurricane that blasted aside lightfists like leaves.

‘Blade Bel!’ he called, but Bel did not turn, merely howled as he put his sword through another foe. Fahren paused, tears in his eyes – then he shot a light bolt into Bel’s neck. Bel was flung flat on his face and Losara reeled, the hurricane unspooling as both of them died together.

You see , said Losara. Even your greatest advocate could potentially betray you.

He had no other choice , said Bel dully.

Perhaps if your leaders had implemented conscription , your army would not have been overwhelmed.

We have NOT been overwhelmed . This is but conjecture.

It is an outcome that Fahren has considered. Do not fool yourself – if it came to this, he would kill you if it meant killing me also. Better to return to balance than be defeated.

Would Fahren, as good as any grandfather, really do such a thing? But then he was also the Throne, and as such had to make difficult decisions.

Perhaps I would not blame him , said Bel, though he was thankful the theory had not been tested.

This is not about blame. It is about you supposing to know the difference between good and evil, and attributing them in a broad sweep to entire lands, when in fact they are hard enough to discover in individuals, and certainly have little to do with the conflict between us.

What do you call this, then?

Lalenda rose from hiding to fly out and attack Jaya in the stream.

How can you profess not to know evil, and yet love one such as her?

Losara watched his little pixie, her face a mask of rage, as she struggled to slash at Jaya.

She is not evil , he said sadly. She is driven to hate by love, for she fears the light will take me away.

So she directs a malicious attack on a woman who never did her any harm?

She fears that once you and I combine, we will love Jaya and not her. I have tried to reason with her, but passion and logic do not share a bed.

Oh, I don’t know. She has reason for concern.

Why? You did not choose Jaya, nor she you. You were assigned to each other by some echo of ancient magic, love not earned, but arbitrary. Look at this …

Bel and Jaya sat together on the ridge, watching Hiza and Fazel collecting firewood while Gellan healed M’Meska. Bel had just learned that Fazel would obey him because of his soul’s shared connection to Skygrip Castle.

‘It was enough,’ said Bel, ‘when I realised that Losara’s life is tied to my own. And now this.’ He turned to her. ‘Not seeing some slick of shadows under my skin, I hope?’

‘Would it matter?’ she said, sounding more contemplative than reassuring.

Would it matter? asked Losara. Would it matter if her man was on the side of shadow or light, when she has no choice but to love him?

Do not belittle us, Losara . Look at her – how beautiful she is, how strong, how cheeky …the soul kiss of the Sprites is not arbitrary, and if you had any understanding you would not say so. It is a recognition of compatibility, not the creation of it – and if I was not a Sprite, I would love her anyway. Even you cannot deny that you have been curious about her. You even saved her from the Mireforms against the possibility that losing her would one day be your anguish.

Losara remembered, and Bel was right.

As for you , said Bel, and your woman, if we are examining such things …

Losara and Lalenda were in his quarters in Skygrip, making love. She moaned as he caressed her, her wings flat beneath her, the tips fluttering. He started to fall to shadow, streams of it curling to encircle her, to hold her fully in his grasp, running over every part of her …into her.

For a moment Bel found the scene alluring, but he steeled himself to the point he was making. Look at this aberrance , he said derisively. You call yourself a man, yet this is how you show it? How does this finish, Losara? With a squirt of squid ink?

He willed them into another memory. The great green dragon Olakanzar dozed as he soared over the land, nothing above but twinkling stars. Across his back, between his spines, ran a network of ropes that kept Bel and Jaya secure. Bel held on fast as she scrambled to sit astride him.

Look at us , said Bel. Now that is something. How many couples can say they made love atop a dragon?

There , chuckled Losara. You did it so you can say you did, for the sake of vanity.

You diagnose one symptom, and claim it the single motivation?

Pride and vanity ripple through you, Bel – it cannot be denied.

Bel walked through the streets of Kadass with Jaya. It was the Throne Naphur’s funeral day, and his hair was shining its newly revealed blue. Around him people stared, worried and frightened.

It became so important the world knew who you were that it eclipsed all else – you did not think of the effects on the populace, of the fact that the only blue-haired man they knew of had just murdered their Throne. After years of hiding, pride finally got the better of you, and robbed you of the most basic wisdom. And here …

Arkus stood before Bel and Fahren in a circle of light, while the rest of the world faded around them. The Sun God had come to claim the weaver Iassia, but also to deliver a message to Bel.

‘If Bel and Losara return through the gateway of the Stone, to emerge as the individual soul they once were, we will have won.’

‘How?’ asked Bel.

‘Because you are stronger than Losara,’ said Arkus.

You accept his words so easily , observed Losara. You want to believe them, so you do. Vanity prevents otherwise, but I suppose you can be excused when your god presents his fervent hopes as truth – perhaps he is as vain as you?

While the Dark Gods are faultless?

I would not say that.

Even Battu, supposed to be their most loyal servant, hated them so much he turned against them. And now he has returned to them, to be punished for all time.

While Arkus is so merciful? He would rather torment Iassia, his own creation, than simply deconstruct him. And he punished Battu as well, even though the man risked everything to help him – shall we see if the same is true of the Dark Gods?

Battu’s soul drifted from his body, even as Tyrellan noticed his new butterfly. The goblin’s rage was too great for a simple scowl or growl; instead he fell still, watching the creature that was Battu’s legacy. Meanwhile Battu journeyed on through the veil of the world and out across an endless sea, dark beneath stormy clouds.

I don’t think I should be here , said Bel.

Do not fear , said Losara. We are but observers.

I am not afraid , bristled Bel, wondering if either one of them believed him.

Battu struggled as he raced over the waves, but there was nothing he could do to halt his passage. From out of the sea a great cauldron rose, water frothing against its sides. Barnacles grew richly along the lower half, and strange sucking things, and all manner of stationary sea creatures. Shapes loomed out of the depths – the twins Mokan and Mer, and Elsara the lionfish, Chirruk the watcher, and finally the serpent Lampet and the great Assedrynn, his wide mouth brimming with whiskers. Before them, Battu came to a floating stop.

‘Battu,’ rumbled Assedrynn, ‘you have defied us. Attacked the light when we said to rest, failed to deliver the suspended dead, sought to kill who you were charged to protect, sought indeed to end us .’

Lampet coiled forward, his luminescent eyes flashing from green to red. ‘You were not a good choice,’ he hissed.

‘We had no other!’ wailed Mokan.

‘He killed Raker!’ shrilled Mer.

‘None to replace him!’

‘No more offerings across the sea!’

‘Caretaker, we named you,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Yet no care was taken.’

‘Am I to be punished?’ said Battu, his voice rising as he tried to contain his fear. ‘I should not be blamed – it was you who chose me!’

Assedrynn gurgled, the twins gave a long, low moan, and Battu quailed.

‘What good in punishment?’ said Assedrynn. ‘You think we wish to concern ourselves with you any longer, little soul?’

‘Destroy you,’ said Lampet, and Chirruk clicked his immense lobster claws. Battu glanced between them, terror writ plain on his ghostly face.

‘You can destroy souls?’ he whispered.

‘We are the gods,’ said Assedrynn. ‘We can do what we please.’

Elsara, whose glassy eyes had remained half submerged in the waves until now, rose with her spines standing up strong. ‘Enough of this,’ she said in a voice like metal grinding.

Assedrynn’s eyes rolled to her slowly …then back to Battu.

‘You,’ he said, ‘will enter the Well.’

Battu looked up. ‘What?’ and then, ‘my lord,’ he added.

‘All experiences enter the collective,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Nothing is wasted, whether they be lives well lived, or lessons in the perils of avarice.’

‘But …but …it is said that those who betray the Dark Gods will be punished for all time!’

‘Of course it is said,’ hissed Lampet. ‘You think we want you running about doing whatever you wish, with no thought for those who govern your souls? We put that about. But now you are here.’

‘Now you are here,’ echoed Assedrynn. ‘And perhaps you will make a good shark, next time.’

Battu gave a cry of surprise as he was suddenly sped towards the Well. He passed through the side, and was gone.

Assedrynn’s gaze came to rest on Bel and Losara.

You said they couldn’t see us!

I merely said we are observers.

In a panic Bel took over, forcing their retreat, returning them to the first memory he could seize on as a means of escape …and shouts rang out over the fading sea, the waves replaced by warring soldiers.

I don’t understand.

It’s called mercy, Bel. Ah, here I am.

Losara of the recent past appeared out of the shadows, too late to save Roma from a violet vortex.

Let us both be me in this memory.

It was time.

Time to try the idea that scared his Lalenda so, the idea he had journeyed in disguise with Bel to explore. During that period he had come to know his other as best he could, to try to predict what might really happen if they joined each other through the Stone.

He took a deep breath, and was more afraid than he had ever been.

Along the row of lightfists he faced, many pairs of hands sprang forth emanating light. Waves of it cascaded towards him, meshing together into a sphere. He went on to play a little game with them, letting them think that they had encased him, when really he stood apart from an illusion of himself. As the sphere formed, it broke his connection to his doppelganger, which faded. Fahren and Battu started casting shockwaves of Old Magic at him, and he ducked and wove, falling to shadow and re-forming in new places. Finally they hit him, and he did not have to pretend that the blow stunned him. Foreign magic shook him to the core, and he fell. The light grew around him again, and soon the sphere was complete. He pushed against it so Fahren would know he did, but not hard enough to escape, even though he could have done so if he’d wished.

He was exactly where he wanted to be.

Why? thundered Bel. Why did you allow yourself to be caught?

You say I think too much? Well, I have thought long and hard about this , Bel – about what would happen if we entered the Stone.

Bel felt parts of him swirling away, into the single soul that spun between what remained of their individual selves.

What did you decide?

That you’re a simple creature, Bel …a collection of surface and base motivations, whom I find lacking. You have never worked things out for yourself, driven instead by unquestioning focus and sharp aggression. Nevertheless I desire these qualities, for no longer can I shrink from the necessary bloodshed, no longer can I meander when I need to take action. These qualities you will provide me with, to ensure I meet my true potential.

But …but …

Even here you fight me, even though you have tasted what is meant to be. You have revelled in my power, lusted for my woman, seen that my gods are just, and yet you fight on because that’s what you do. You are too full of pride to give up, even though you are beginning to understand that I speak the truth, and that it is really yourself you fight.

More of them went into the swirl, a black hole pulling in the last orbiting moons.

One final thought kept Bel able to maintain a sense of self. What of the path? he cried. It guided me through battles, kept me safe from dragons, urged me to walk into the sphere of light and stand with you as they cast the spell that brought us together …

What of it?

I thought it was fate’s threads, guiding me to victory!

Losara chuckled. It was.

The noise in Bel’s mind grew louder as he broke to pieces, unable to hold on.

Do not fight any longer, Bel, and I shall promise you something.

What?

All you ever really cared about was winning, my friend. Well – and there was a surge of elation as Bel shared the realisation …no, not shared, for they were no longer apart – you can.

Emergence

‘Stand back!’ shouted Corlas. ‘Give him space!’

The others backed off as the gateway continued to expand. A body was forming – a man, his long, curly blue hair swept about by unknown forces. He spilled forward suddenly into the clearing, onto his hands and knees, his hair falling to obscure his downcast face. Behind him, the gateway snapped closed.

Nobody dared breathe. The man reached down with a finger to scratch at the clearing floor, as if seeing earth for the first time. His arms were muscular, but they did not have the bulge of Bel, or the slightness of Losara. A tiny crumb of dirt caught in his fingernails, and he stared as if unsure what to make of it.

‘Can it be …’ he whispered.

‘No,’ whispered Lalenda. She was staring at his hands – human hands, no trace of shadow. She clutched her own hands to her chest as hairline cracks began to split her heart.

Quietly, surreptitiously, Tyrellan pulled a dagger from his belt.

‘Bel?’ said Fahren, not yet daring to edge forward. Jaya began to, taking hesitant steps – but it was Corlas who felt none of their fear.

‘Boy?’ he asked, kneeling beside the figure, putting a hand upon his back. ‘Are you returned, boy? Are you all right? Come, speak to your worried old man.’

The man looked up and, as the cocoon of his hair fell back, he revealed a pitch-black gaze. Even Corlas faltered at that, withdrawing his touch.

The man frowned at him. His face had the smooth-featured boyishness of Losara, but there was something of Bel there too. ‘Father?’ he said, and lurched up to fling his arms around Corlas. Corlas, surprised, rocked backwards, but at the same time held on tight. Forcefully he rearranged his embrace, clutching his son to him, his eyes streaming with tears. Charla went to be with them, grinning at her husband’s happiness, placing a hand on Corlas’s shoulder as he wept.

‘My son, Charla,’ said Corlas.

‘I see, my love. I see.’

The man pulled free, and blinked around at all of them: Fahren, fingers twitching, ready for the worst …Tyrellan, dagger twisting idly in his grip …Jaya, seemingly caught between running to him and running away …Lalenda, her hand unclenching from her breast as she stared into his dark eyes …

‘Who are you?’ said Fahren.

‘The both of us,’ he said. He raised a hand to his brow, pressed his fingers to his temple and thought deeply for a moment. ‘But I think you had best call me …Losara.’

Lalenda gave a cry and ran to him, and he rose from the ground to meet her. As she clutched him, his eyes came over her to rest on Jaya. Hers were open wide and blinking quickly, and her mouth was hanging open in unspoken question.

‘You can still feel it?’ he said to her. ‘Our connection endures, Jaya.’

Lalenda pulled back, her claws now pricking his sides. ‘What?’

He laughed as he smoothed tangled hair from her eyes. ‘It does not exist at the expense of what we share, flutterbug. But there’s no denying it is still there.’

Lalenda glanced at Jaya uncertainly.

‘But your hands,’ said Fahren desperately. ‘How can you be Losara?’

The man held up a hand, turning it for inspection. ‘Bel was always good with his hands,’ he said. ‘It was something we agreed to keep.’ He smiled then, a mischievous smile that Fahren remembered well from another face. ‘A warrior needs his hands, Fahren.’ He wiggled the finger that had been missing.

‘My lord,’ said Tyrellan, sinking to one knee, his voice full of ardour. Unusually, his hand shook as he slid the dagger back into his belt.

‘But …’ said Fahren, ‘…you were the lesser.’

‘Was I?’ said Losara. ‘How can that be defined? What attributes are worth what? Which traits are shadow and which are light? Certainly I now have what I needed from Bel …his determination, his bloodlust  …’ He shook his head. ‘Though I fancy it is now more under control.’

Panic showed on Fahren’s face, and he brought up trembling hands to conjure a ward. Losara reached out and ripped it away, and Fahren fell to the ground, asleep.

‘Watch over him for me, Father,’ he said.

There was a rustle in the trees. Corlas glanced around, as if looking for someone who wasn’t there. ‘My Lady …’ he doubtfully addressed the air. ‘He has already been through so much …’

Twigs and leaves whipped up suddenly, and a funnel of earth rose to mesh with them. Losara started and pulled Lalenda behind him as Vyasinth formed.

‘Who …?’ he said.

The green pinpricks of her eyes flared brightly. ‘I am the Lady of the Wood,’ she said. ‘And your true god.’

‘She wants to reawaken your Sprite blood,’ muttered Corlas.

‘Oh,’ said Losara. He held out his hand, and closed his eyes. ‘So be it.’

Vyasinth paused for a moment …then firmly clasped Losara’s hand with her own twig-like fingers. Losara tensed, and Lalenda exchanged a look of concern with Jaya. A few moments passed in silence.

‘Ah,’ said Losara eventually, opening his eyes. ‘I remember our people now, as you wish me to. But if you think, my Lady, that changing my purpose is as simple as that, you are mistaken. Maybe if I had grown up here,’ he gestured around, ‘as you had intended …but my blood is full of dreams and memories now, enough for two men, and a few more will not change me.’

Her hand fell slowly, and several of the leaves growing from her withered. ‘But you are my champion,’ she whispered. ‘A champion for our people.’

‘Your people are a long time gone,’ said Losara. ‘I am sorry. But I will allow you to remain here. This place will go on as it was – as a sanctuary, not a power.’

‘But …’

‘Now,’ said Losara, ‘I must away.’ He reached for Corlas’s wrist, clasped both his hands around it. ‘We shall have our time, Father. Soon. And you both,’ he looked from Lalenda to Jaya, ‘I love you each very much.’ He left Lalenda to go to Jaya, and she did not flinch. Instead she reached to touch his face, her eyebrow quirking for a moment.

‘You’re still in there?’ she asked quietly, rubbing a thumb on his cheek.

‘I am, my thief.’

Lalenda hissed behind them. ‘Hush, flutterbug,’ said Losara. ‘It will be all right.’ Then he stepped away, looking up to the sky.

‘Where are you going, my lord?’ said Tyrellan.

‘To battle,’ said Losara. He gestured at Tyrellan, who was startled to lift up into the air. ‘And you shall come with me.’

Together they rose out of the forest.

Grimra swirled amongst those who remained. ‘Ho ho!’ he said. ‘Nasty spirits took some shaking. What did Grimra miss?’

•

As Losara and Tyrellan flew over the Grass Ocean, the armies battled on.

‘We are going to win, lord?’ said Tyrellan.

‘Yes,’ replied Losara. ‘We are going to win. I shall put us down there.’

They descended from the sky. Losara set Tyrellan down amongst a group of Varenkai where he knew the First Slave would excel. Then lightfists’ spells shot towards him and he sent up a billowing ward, strong and dark. The attacks burst against it with the impacts of flies, yet excitement bubbled and his body began to sing. So this was what it was like! He both remembered the glorious feeling and experienced it for the first time – he was full, he was whole, and doing what he’d been born to do. Not only that, but with his Sprite blood awakened, everything seemed more vibrant, every detail clearer.

How many favours , he thought exuberantly, my enemies have done me!

Torrents of shadows poured off him, curling to seek Kainordans. He gestured at a sword sticking from the churned ground and it flew into his grip. Whooping, he ran at a Saurian on a dune claw, leaped into the air and hurtled along, swinging hard and ripping through the both of them, ecstatic as his warrior side melded perfectly with the mage. He landed to see a group of bows plying his troops with arrows, and released a mighty blue bolt that crackled with the sound of a thousand fires, turning them to a gaping hole. He saw wasps circling and flew upwards, zipping between them as he slashed them from the sky. The air around him whorled into a tornado.

Oh, how they fell, life after life, their souls streaming to Arkus’s well. They will be ours in the end , he thought. None could stand against him, now that he was truly himself. As enemy stocks dwindled, those remaining began to realise they faced something that was beyond them. They fled before him and he let them go, for no place in the world was far from his grasp.

And, as the sun began to set, he raised his sword high above his head and roared victory at the sky.

•

Tyrellan wended his way between scattered groups of shadow folk as the last Kainordans retreated. He found Losara standing as if in a daze, gazing out across the plains to the north. The butterfly circled down to land on a dented helmet, where it fluttered its colourful wings. Much to his surprise, Tyrellan found he did not care. Maybe because it reminded him of who he had killed to get it …or maybe he was simply beyond it.

‘My lord?’

Losara said nothing.

‘Shadowdreamer?’

Slowly Losara turned. He glanced at the sword in his hand, stared at it for a moment as if he didn’t recognise what it was, then cast it away.

‘We have defeated them,’ said Tyrellan. Around them Arabodedas, Vorthargs and the rest were beginning to realise this as well. Laughter began, and calls of triumph, and jubilation breaking out. ‘Lord? We are victorious.’

‘Just a little further,’ said Losara.

•

As they marched north, towns and cities lay empty behind them, evacuated or defeated. Losara had not yet thought he could allow mercy, but maybe here. Maybe now.

His collected forces stood at the base of the hill, looking up at the Open Halls. The Cloud that followed in their wake had fallen behind, as yet unable to cover this part of the world. Here the light still shone upon Kadass and the Open Halls, the last stronghold of its power.

‘This is where we met,’ said Jaya. She seemed somewhat haunted, and he didn’t like to see her so. Bloodshed made her anxious, he had realised – something that Bel alone had never picked up. Around her neck the Stone glinted, given to her for protection. It seemed only fitting, when Lalenda had Grimra’s pendant.

‘It is not my wish to destroy it,’ he told her, slipping his hand into hers reassuringly.

‘No,’ chimed in Lalenda. ‘I want to have a drink at this Wayward Dog of yours. If that is allowable?’

Jaya favoured her with an even stare, then nodded. ‘I would like that myself.’

As Lalenda turned back to watch the city, she unconsciously entwined her hand with Losara’s on his other side.

Tyrellan emerged from the Halls and rode down the hill, flanked by goblin guards. He passed a group of shadow mages who had finished breaking apart a ward stone and were moving on to another. On the walls of the Open Halls, Kainordans gathered to watch the swell of the shadow army at their doorstep.

‘What news?’ said Losara as the First Slave drew up.

‘I have spoken with a man called Thedd,’ replied Tyrellan. ‘It seems he is the closest thing they have to a leader.’

‘And does he agree?’

‘He agrees, lord.’

Losara breathed a sigh of relief. Then he wheeled his horse about, and injected power into his voice so it carried clearly over the assembled masses.

‘We have their surrender.’

An answering clamour rose as his people rejoiced, up to the heavens where the Cloud had begun to steal slowly towards them again …but something else was happening in the sky. Great dark shapes circled something bright, which jumped about as if trying to escape. The shapes blocked it at every turn, then suddenly rushed in to smother it. There sounded an unearthly howl, like a great pair of lungs on fire, loud enough that every owner of a pair of ears had to clutch them.

And then it stopped.

And then a great crack.

Losara watched as the dark blotches receded, nothing remaining in their wake. One seemed to stretch long for a moment, serpent-like …and then they were but vapour, drifting away.

‘The Great Well of Arkus,’ breathed Losara, ‘is broken.’

Something in his heart railed at the notion. There would be little fighting now, he knew. The Dark Gods would empty Arkus’s Well into their own, where souls would now return on death regardless of how they’d come into this life. He had won, and the killing would stop.

He squashed down the part of himself dismayed at the thought.

He hoped he would never need it again.

Epilogue

Losara paused in the shadows of the coiled root, watching as Corlas organised the reconstruction of the hut. It had caught a spell or three during the fight, and Charla had seized the opportunity to convince Corlas to rebuild it more grandly, ‘as befits the Lord of the Wood’. Sprites were dragging in logs from the forest, and Corlas stood in the middle of the clearing chopping them, sweating as he rolled his shoulders and brought down the heavy axe.

Losara stepped from the darkness and made his way over. When Corlas noticed him, he set down his axe, wiped the beads from his brow, and smiled.

It gladdened Losara no end that his father accepted him, for with Bel now a part of him, he had inherited their bond. Thank goodness Corlas had given up his allegiance to the light, and was simply happy to have his family back.

‘Hello, Father,’ said Losara, clasping Corlas’s hand. ‘How goes it?’

‘Quite well,’ said Corlas. ‘Although hopefully she will stop wanting extra additions at the last moment.’

Losara chuckled.

‘And you?’ said Corlas. ‘I take it you have succeeded.’

‘You heard the crack?’

‘Aye,’ said Corlas. ‘And the voice.’ He picked up a cloth and wiped his hands. ‘It is the end?’

‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘Arkus is gone, and light magic has failed.’ He frowned, momentarily troubled by the idea of crystal spiders dropping dead from peeling trees.

‘In that case,’ said Corlas, glancing at the roiling Cloud above, ‘I was hoping perhaps you might do me a favour.’

‘Which is?’

‘Let us have some sun. The trees would be grateful.’

Losara nodded. ‘I have done the same for the Saurians, off in their desert.’ He raised a hand to the sky and gave a little wave. The Cloud began to part, sunlight streaming through.

‘Thank you,’ said Corlas.

‘Where is Charla?’

‘Off at her friend’s place while all the hard work is being done,’ Corlas said, then revealed a wry look. ‘Can’t say I blame her, though. Not in her condition.’

‘Her condition?’ Losara stood dumbstruck, and his father laughed at his expression.

‘You are going to be a brother,’ he said.

Losara laughed too. He could not believe it.

‘Hopefully,’ added Corlas, ‘his hair will not be blue.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Losara. ’We’ve had quite enough of that.’ He shook his head in amazement, then glanced around. ‘What about Fahren? I would see him while I’m here.’

‘Not sure,’ said Corlas. ‘Though he’s taken to wandering the edges of the forest. Will you return for dinner?’

‘I will,’ said Losara. There was still much to be done in this new world, but it could wait.

Turning to shadow he whisked off to travel the outskirts of the wood. He wondered briefly if Vyasinth would appear to him again, but somehow he doubted it. Perhaps in time she would learn to accept what had happened …to be content that her people had been preserved, that her sanctuary would endure. Perhaps.

He found Fahren sitting on a rock overlooking the place where the Nyul’ya entered the trees, staring out across the shadowy Grass Ocean with a faraway look in his eyes. Loosely dangling from his hand was a golden band that sagged as if melted – and Losara realised it was the Auriel. He formed next to Fahren, who started, then turned his face away.

‘How do you fare, my friend?’ said Losara.

Fahren sniffed and gave a disconsolate flick of his fingers. ‘My magic is gone,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’m just an old man now. I still cannot believe …ah, but I don’t think I ever will.’ Tears welled in his eyes. ‘I didn’t even get to ask her forgiveness.’

Losara watched him sadly. He still loved the man – that he had also inherited from Bel, and other relationships besides, which he hoped might continue in some way. Hiza and M’Meska were still out there somewhere, had probably been slogging their way towards the battle even as it ended without them. Well, he would find them, if they were alive, and ask them for understanding …but he knew that things would never be the same.

‘I’m sorry, Throne.’

Fahren grimaced at the word. ‘I thought we were meant to win,’ he said. ‘I thought we were on the side of right.’

‘If there is a right, Fahren, then everyone thinks they’re on its side. If we shared the same perspective of what it was, we’d never have fought in the first place.’

Fahren sighed.

‘Someone always had to lose,’ said Losara. ‘That is the way of war. It is not your fault. You did all that you could.’

‘Yes indeed, and much that was difficult, or against my own liking …yet I built myself a rich collection of compromises, all for nothing.’

Sunlight found them, for the gap in the Cloud had grown wide enough for the whole wood. Fahren looked up in surprise, then to Losara in question.

‘Corlas asked me for it,’ said Losara, shrugging. ‘I do not mind. The sun is no longer the eye of Arkus.’

Fahren nodded. ‘Nice to feel it again.’

‘You are welcome to stay here as long as you like.’

‘It is strange, you know. I did not expect this …this afterwards . If we had taken Fenvarrow, none of you would have been left alive.’

‘I know,’ said Losara. ‘I have seen it.’

‘Then why?’

Losara rose. ‘The harm I’ve done was to save my people. Well, they are saved. And, in a way, so are yours.’

‘How so?’

‘There is no more war to worry about. We have turned a page and, after a thousand years …’ He paused as, upriver, he saw a man arrive carrying a fishing pole. ‘…there is peace.’

He patted Fahren’s bony shoulder. ‘Take heart, my friend. When your soul is reborn from the Well, you won’t remember any of this. You will be happy again, I promise. In the meantime there’s nothing for you to do …except maybe take some well-earned rest.’

He held out a hand.

‘Come – will you join us for dinner?’

Fahren looked up at him a long moment …and then took his hand. Losara helped the old man up and, together, they walked into the wood.

And so, and so …as for me, sometimes my past deeds bother me still, but a man who would change the world must do great and terrible things. And although a part of me sometimes grows restless, and longs for the old days of battle and adventure …well, we all have butterflies to carry around.

About Author

Sam Bowring is an author, television writer, playwright and stand-up comedian. Soul’s Reckoning is the final book in his Broken Well Trilogy. Sam has also written two books for children, Sir Joshua and the Unprofessional Dragon and The Zoo of Magical and Mythological Creatures . He lives in Sydney, Australia.

sambowring.com

Content

Sam Bowring
Soul's Reckoning
The third book in the Broken Well Trilogy series

Map

Part One Convergence

A Quiet Departure

Hither and Thither

Shadows on the Shining Mines

Aftermath

Morningbridge

Eyes of the Wood

Control

A Troublesome Secret

Siege

Eosene

Abomination

A Chase at Dawn

Upriver

Part Two Sunny Days

An Unfortunate Encounter

Peace

A Bit of Privacy

Preparations

Clash

Evenings Mild

Part Three Unbroken

The Third Power

Fate’s Echoes

Ashes and Dust

Soul’s Reckoning

Emergence

Epilogue

About Author