Destiny's Rift (Broken Well Trilogy) (22 page)

•

Tyrellan stood on a simple stage before the gathered crowd – young men and women mostly, and a few pixies. It wasn’t a large village, whatever this place was – somewhere on the road to Fort Logale – but it all would count in the end.

‘The glory of the shadow,’ he said to them, ‘has long been castrated by the lights in the north. Arkus was intolerant of our people even before the breaking. Where Assedrynn was accepting of who we were, and our way of life, Arkus sought to control us, to shape us, to change us. And now that the world stands divided, he seeks to finish us. He wants nothing more than to stamp us out, to see our homes fall to ruin, our people excised from the world. Will you stand for this?’

‘No!’ cried the rabble as one. Tyrellan nodded, pleased with their enthusiasm.

‘We have tried, in the past, to free ourselves of this menace,’ he continued. ‘We have failed. But this time, my comrades, this time we have the blue-haired man on our side.’

Cheers. Good.

‘The Shadowdreamer Losara is blessed by the shadow, blessed by the gods, a champion of the dark. His power is without comparison, his conviction unwavering, and he desires his people to finally be free. Will you not join his cause?’

More cheers. Mob mentality, easy enough to channel while the mob existed.

‘I feel sorry,’ he went on, ‘for those too cowardly to march with lord Losara. These ones do not care if our land is lost, and might as well stick their friends and family with light-cursed swords
themselves.
Ours will not be their victory, for they have disavowed themselves of us. But we – we who march – will know grandeur. We will be the ones responsible for the dawning of a new era. Many of us will perish, but perish gladly, with honour – and what is one life, when in victory we live on forever? And if you are still unwilling to risk that sacrifice, I ask you this: would you rather die once only to be reborn from the Great Well again into a land of peace and prosperity, or would you hold onto your last few precious moments in this lifetime at the price of oblivion for all eternity? For
that
is what awaits us all if Arkus is able to crack our Great Well!’

Horror, consternation, anger, concern.

‘You will fight?’

‘YES!’

‘Then, as we march onwards to Fort Logale, march with us! Those without swords will be given swords! Those without armour will be given armour! But no one can give you what you must earn for yourselves . . .’ He lowered his gaze, meeting as many sets of eyes as he could. ‘Pride.’

A moment passed, then uproar. Excellent. It was better that these folk came willingly. He nodded to them, then stepped down from the stage to where another goblin, Commander Turen, stood waiting.

‘Have your soldiers sweep the town,’ said Tyrellan. ‘We’ll recruit them more easily while their hackles are raised.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Turen, then paused uncertainly.

‘What is it?’

‘If I may ask, I wonder why the First Slave concerns himself with these speeches? There are plenty of criers gone throughout the land to do the very same job.’

‘Their use does not void me of mine,’ said Tyrellan. ‘I will do all I can to ensure our supremacy. It will strengthen the resolve of the people to see their leaders speaking strong words.’

‘I do not doubt it, sir. And yet conscripters dog our heels, as they accompany the other criers, to ensure no able-bodied scraps are left behind.’

‘Yes,’ said Tyrellan. ‘Of course, while there are plenty who will feel passionate in a crowd, away from that fervour they may decide not to join us after all. Those, then, are fodder for the conscripters. But willingness is best. Most of these folk have never seen battle, and certainly not on the scale that will no doubt soon occur. Thankfully, the same goes for Kainordas, but we must use any edge we can. The compliant fight better than the forced. And now,’ he turned his gaze directly on Turen, ‘enough spoon-feeding you basic wisdom, lest I force the spoon down your gullet and make you choke on it.’

Turen bowed stoically and departed without another word.

Tyrellan watched as soldiers moved around speaking to groups of villagers, beginning to lead them off to where the army lay just out of town. His forces grew by the day, and reports from elsewhere stated that many more were on the way.

Personally he did not care for conscription – not because it violated the rights of the individual or any such nonsense. The people of Fenvarrow were united against this threat whether they wished it or not, and with their collective neck on the line, there was no place for an individual’s concerns. No, what annoyed him was the fact that conscription was even necessary at all. Didn’t these fools realise there was simply no other option than to fight? By pretending he was allowing them to join of their own volition, he was babying them, providing them with an illusion that should never have entered their tiny little minds – that they had a choice.

Idiots, everywhere.

As he moved away, the shadowmander appeared from where it had been hiding under the stage. He still hated having such a thing attached to him, even if it was less horrible than a butterfly. Relief at the transformation had made him calmer, but still the creature was a blight on his existence. Scowling, he almost kicked dust at it, but knew it would not care. The act would be futile, and a waste of his energy. The Dark Gods had told Losara there was only one way to be rid of it – by reuniting it with the soul whence it came. Tyrellan bared his fangs. What hope of raising Elessa from the dead? About as much as of being kissed on the arse by Arkus.

Well, there was Losara’s scheme, at least. Perhaps the mander would do some good in the end. And as he had said to those gathered simpletons, sacrifices must be made. The rights of the individual were void, and Tyrellan was one of those rare leaders whose rules applied also to himself.

The Ruined Village

The Ruined Village

The Ruined Village

‘No game here.’ M’Meska scowled around at the open fields they travelled through. ‘Nowhere for them think they can hide from M’Meska.’

‘Don’t worry, my friend,’ said Bel. ‘Look there, you see those woods?’ He pointed to a dark smudge on the horizon.

‘Yes?’

‘Fazel says there’s a village there. We’ll eat properly tonight.’

‘What about lunch?’

‘Lunch,’ said Bel, ‘will have to be bread and apples.’

‘Bah,’ said M’Meska.

Over the course of the day they moved towards the wood, which spread out from the base of the mountains in a great circle. By afternoon they began to make out individual trees, and the buildings of Valdurn.

‘You see, M’Meska?’ said Bel. ‘You’ll get roast rabbits tonight after all.’

‘Not rabbits,’ said M’Meska. ‘Too many rabbits already. I want
beef.
’

‘I doubt you’ll have much luck with that,’ said Fazel. ‘Folk living this close to a dragon know better than to keep cows wandering nearby. Or anything of real value, for that matter. It’s likely they live off what the woods afford them.’

‘
Rabbits!
’ growled M’Meska.

Bel thought he heard a muffled chirp from his pack. A message from Fahren?

‘Hold up,’ he said, then surreptitiously glanced around at the group. Did he still feel the need to move out of earshot when listening to a message? His eyes fell on Fazel and decided it was prudent. He nodded to Jaya, and the pair of them moved away. Some distance from the group, he retrieved the bird from his pack and touched his finger to its scroll. Steam hissed from its mouth.

‘I pray you are safe,’ came Fahren’s voice. ‘Here at the Halls we’ve had a rather interesting morning. The once Shadowdreamer lord Battu has arrived here and surrendered to us.’

Bel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Jaya frowned.

‘He has declared himself an enemy of Fenvarrow,’ continued Fahren, ‘for harms done to him by Losara and the Dark Gods. I am still uncertain about how far we can trust him, but questioning indicates he’s telling the truth. It may be that he is just what we need, in which case we do not have to fear losing Fazel to the Shadowdreamer.

‘In addition, word has arrived that shadow forces are marshalling at Fort Logale, their closest major settlement to our border, some fifty leagues south of the Mines. Our own efforts continue at Kahlay, and Gerent Brahl is now on his way to oversee preparations. We think Losara may intend to strike first at the Shining Mines, which, as I’m sure you remember from your lessons, is due north across the border from Logale. However, Losara would hardly underestimate the likelihood of us noticing an enormous force amassing near the border, so he may be seeking to misdirect our attentions. Nonetheless the threat cannot be ignored, and reinforcements are being sent to the Mines. It could be that war is coming sooner than we wished it, so I urge you to hurry.’

‘We do not dawdle,’ muttered Bel.

‘I am eager to hear of your progress,’ came the last words, and the flow of steam ceased.

Bel stared off across the fields, his mind ticking over this new information.

‘It’s all really beginning,’ he said. ‘Yet here I am stuck at the edge of the world.’

‘You have your reasons,’ said Jaya.

‘Why are they in such a rush to start this war without me?’

Jaya laughed humourlessly. ‘I do enjoy your arrogant side, my love.’

He shot a glare at her.

‘It’s only preparations,’ she added hastily. ‘Fahren would be foolish to stand idle while Losara collects his troops.’

‘As long as they remember they can’t win without me. It’s
my
war. Don’t they know the prophecy? How do they expect victory if I’m not there?’

Jaya shrugged. ‘War doesn’t last for a day,’ she said.

Bel nodded. ‘At least we have Battu. It
must
be that he will help us. He is a delivery from fate.’ He looked back to where the others waited. ‘Stop listening in,’ he muttered, and from a distance Gellan glanced at them in surprise, then quickly turned away.

‘Knew it,’ Bel said. ‘Damn mages.’

•

As they neared the village, a lazy breeze stole towards them, flattening many heads of grass in a rolling wave. Riding on it was the stench of death.

‘Smell that?’ said Bel.

‘Strong,’ said M’Meska, her nostrils flaring. ‘Not one person only.’

‘Weapons out. Be wary.’

The road ran into the village between a line of wooden huts. Now they saw that some of the huts had been smashed, as if by a cyclone, while others stood completely unharmed.

‘By Arkus,’ breathed Hiza.

A headless body sprawled chest down in the middle of the road, a coagulated pool around the stump of the neck thick with flies.

‘And there,’ said Jaya, pointing, her complexion paler than Bel had ever seen it.

Protruding from the smashed-in wall of a hut was a ragged pair of legs.

Bel gave Jaya’s arm a squeeze, but she shivered and moved away. He always assumed she was going to be all right, but perhaps he was wrong to do so. Not everyone could shrug off ruin as easily as it turned out he could. Not everyone, he knew, would have a private part of themselves wishing they had been here to experience whatever had gone on.

To stop it happening
, he told himself.
To preserve these people from whatever befell them. Not just because my blood would have sung.

‘And there,’ said Hiza.

‘And all around,’ said Gellan. ‘Many, many dead.’

‘Stay close to me,’ said Bel, leading them forward through the carnage. ‘Eyes open.’

From somewhere towards the village centre came a wooden knocking sound. They heard something drop, followed by a curse. Somewhere else, the sound of sobbing.

Leaving the road, they stepped out onto a grassy area between huts. Bel trod on something and looked down to discover a severed hand. ‘Watch your step,’ he said. As they passed other bodies and body parts, crows hopped away, squawking.

They came to the village square, which wasn’t much more than an earthy area on which no huts were built. There a man laboured with planks of wood, taken from destroyed homes, dropping them into a large pile. As the group approached he spun with a cry, then his knees gave out and he fell. He was a stout and portly woodsman of about fifty, his face streaked with tear-tracked mud.

‘Are . . . are you them?’ he gibbered. ‘Have you come back?’

‘Are we who?’ said Bel.

‘I . . . I . . .’ The man glanced at the pile of wood, then gave a hysterical giggle. ‘Too many to bury, you see. Was going to burn them instead.’ His eyes widened as they fixed on Fazel. ‘What?’ he shrieked. ‘What is that?’

He scrambled to his feet and fled. Bel gave Gellan a look, and Gellan held out a hand. The man halted with a yelp, frozen to the spot, facing away.

‘Fazel,’ said Bel, ‘perhaps you can do something to make your appearance more friendly? You know, less . . . dead?’

Fazel gave a wave. Instantly, his charred face was replaced by that of an old man, with thin brown hair, double-pointed beard and piercing grey eyes.

‘Quite an improvement,’ said Jaya. ‘We should have asked you to do that ages ago.’

Bel approached the terrified villager. ‘Please, sir, we mean you no harm. I will have my mage withdraw his hold on you.’ He gestured at Gellan, who lowered his hand. Suddenly released, the man stumbled a few more steps in the direction he’d been heading.

‘Sir!’ said Bel commandingly.

The man stopped and slowly turned, though it was plain it took all his courage to do so.

‘I thought I saw the spectre of death amongst you,’ he said, and tittered. ‘No change there. He’s everywhere in Valdurn this day.’ He stared hard into Bel’s eyes. ‘You ain’t them? You sure? You ain’t . . . Oh, oh,’ he began to moan. ‘If it be true, thank Arkus! Thank Arkus!’ He reached to grasp Bel’s hand. ‘The blue-haired man! Could it be? Come to deliver us in our time of need?’

Bel struggled not to lose his patience, for the fellow was obviously highly traumatised.

Hiza stepped in to take the man by the shoulders. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘you are safe now, but you must tell us – what has happened here?’

The man’s eyes failed to focus, instead seeing the horrors of his recent past.

‘Was it the dragons?’ said Hiza.

‘Dragons?’ said the man, confused. ‘No, they don’t bother with us.’ He shivered. ‘I don’t know what they were. Monsters.’

‘I have a peep around,’ said M’Meska.

‘Be careful,’ said Bel.

‘I’m not sensing anything nearby,’ said Gellan. ‘Apart from a few more people hiding in huts.’

‘M’Meska trusts her eyes,’ the Saurian informed him, and went slinking off with her bow notched.

‘What kind of monsters?’ said Hiza.

‘They looked like men,’ said the man. ‘At first. Warriors, mercenaries maybe. Then they changed into huge things, muddy, with claws and horrible, horrible tongues.’ Tears streamed down his cheeks. ‘They called us the enemy, they . . . they . . . slaughtered . . .’ He broke down.

Bel turned to Gellan. ‘Sounds like Mireforms,’ he said.

The look on Gellan’s face was hard to read.

•

He sometimes underestimated Bel, Losara realised. Why shouldn’t his counterpart know what Mireforms were and recognise them from this brief description? After all, Bel had been educated by the Grand High Mage of Kainordas.

It wasn’t that which dominated his thoughts, however. This devastation had not been included in his instructions! Anger flared, ran through him briefly and was gone, replaced by annoyance and then grim acceptance. He hadn’t
not
instructed the Mireforms to do this, and these villagers
had
technically been enemies, he supposed, though he bore them no personal animosity. They were enemies who’d posed no threat, so why,
why
had the Mireforms busied themselves with such violence? Tonight he would risk stealing away, he decided, and find Eldew. After that, there would be no more unnecessary bloodshed.

‘Where did the monsters go?’ he asked the man.

‘They . . . left.’

‘In which
direction
?’ said Bel forcefully.

Losara considered his
other
curiously – did Bel possess no sympathy? Certainly Losara felt it, as well as guilt over what he had inadvertently caused here. Was that weakness? Why should he care if tiny peons from the opposing side were torn asunder?

‘Into the forest,’ sobbed the man.

So,
thought Losara,
at least the Mireforms will reach the cave first.
There was still no way he wanted Bel facing dragons, patterns or no.

M’Meska returned, bringing with her two more villagers. A little girl clutched a bloodied rag doll tightly to her chest with one hand and held onto a plump young woman with the other. That made three of the five survivors Losara could sense.

‘Found these,’ said M’Meska.

‘What are you doing, Seb?’ said the woman dazedly to the man.

‘I was . . . we have to do something about the bodies. Help me build a pyre?’

‘We should burn this whole place,’ the woman said dully.

‘Kera! You don’t mean that. This is our home.’

‘Home?’ She looked around. ‘What home? Who are you people?’ she demanded suddenly, as if seeing the others for the first time.

As Hiza dealt with explanations, Bel approached Losara with a dark look on his face. ‘What do you think it means?’ he said.

‘Pardon?’

‘Snap out of it, man. What do you
think it means
that we discover such powerful agents of the shadow this far north
at
the very same time
we happen to be passing through?’

‘Oh!’ said Losara. Lying had never been a strength of his, but he needed something convincing. ‘I . . . well . . .’

Blessedly not waiting for him to finish, Bel looked off towards the woods. ‘After me, no doubt . . . sent by my
other.
Do they mean to ambush us in the woods? If so, why advertise their presence first? Are they so arrogant they think it easy to best the blue-haired man, and care not if I know they await me?’

‘And,’ said Losara, ‘are
you
so assured as to think Mireforms represent no threat to you?’

‘Of course not! Do not twist my words.’

‘You put much faith in these patterns of yours. Sometimes too much, I fear.’

‘Would you have us turn back?’ said Bel. ‘Give up?’

For a moment Losara wondered if he could convince Bel to do just that, but doubted Bel was asking the question seriously.

‘No,’ he said.

‘I realise you are worried,’ said Bel, ‘by opponents who are resistant to magic. And I worry,’ he glanced at Jaya, who had stooped down to talk to the little girl, ‘about how well I can protect you all when I’m lost in the dance. I should never have brought her,’ he added to himself. ‘She would not stay behind, but I should have been stronger.’

‘Maybe,’ said Losara, thinking of his own little Lalenda, tucked away safe in Skygrip.

‘There is something else I find troubling,’ said Bel. ‘And I’m going to have to ask you to trust me on this, and not ask the reason why.’

‘All right,’ said Losara.

‘The Shadowdreamer does not want to kill me.’

Clumsy, Bel
, thought Losara, staring at him long and hard. Any half-decent mage, given that information, may be able to guess the reason why
.
It made him uncomfortable enough that Fahren probably knew it, from witnessing his exchange with Bel after the murder of the Throne.

‘I’d be very careful,’ he said, ‘who you share that with.’

‘Of course,’ said Bel. ‘I do not tell you lightly. But you understand my confusion – why would Losara send these creatures after us, if not to destroy me?’ His eyes blazed with realisation. ‘They want the Stone!’

Again Losara was impressed by his counterpart. Straight away he wondered why. Was he surprised because he thought of himself as intelligent, and therefore how could Bel also be intelligent? Perhaps there were different kinds of intelligence – cunning, logic, wisdom, instinct?