Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) (40 page)

‘Lalenda,’ he interrupted, ‘I wonder if perhaps . . . the time is long past that I should have attempted . . .’ He felt the sentence growing long on his tongue, clunky and awkward. These were not the right words, he knew, but could not stop them. ‘. . . to make known my admiration of you. By way of some . . . action, perhaps. With your permission, of course.’

She stared at him in a way that made him feel strangely uncomfortable, then shifted towards him a little. ‘You’ve never needed my permission for anything,’ she said. ‘But you gave me back my permission to give . . . and I do.’

Clumsily he put an arm around her, hesitantly, lightly. ‘Lord,’ she whispered, ‘I will not break like glass.’

The realness of her penetrated his calm exterior, awakening something inside him, bringing him out of his head. He kissed her, and felt her lips soft, and her cheek too. As he ran his shadowy hands over her skin, she gasped and he pulled back in concern.

‘Your touch,’ she said. ‘It’s truly like no other.’

She pulled him back to her, and he let the shadow spread out from himself over her, caressing her, exploring and, as they grew more entwined and her cries of pleasure became more insistent, seeking out the shadows within her.

Losara had never had fewer thoughts in his head.

When he became aware of himself once again, he was lying on his back with her small form slumped across him, her lashes tickling his chest as she dozed. He didn’t feel like moving, so he closed his shadowed eyes and joined her in sleep.

The dream he dreamt gave him the reason for his pilgrimage.

Thirty-five / A Few Drops

Thirty-five

A Few Drops

A Few Drops

Losara floated, disoriented for a moment, uncertain of where he was. He steadied and turned to see the Throne standing silhouetted by the open end of his quarters, a glass of bloodfire in his hand. The sun was low in the sky to the south, and the liquid caught its rays brightly, casting a red wash over the rest of the room. The Throne did not turn as Bel and Fahren entered, and waited in silence. Losara drifted backwards to take it all in, losing himself in the flow of the dream.

‘Are you not to blame?’ muttered Naphur eventually. ‘If you had not pursued Corlas, Baygis would still be alive. It was you who placed my son in harm’s way.’

He raised the cup and drank deeply. Bel opened his mouth, but Fahren caught his eye and shook his head.

‘Fahren has told me of the bird Iassia,’ said the Throne. ‘Of the part he played.’ His tone grew resentful. ‘You should know, then, that I have called off the hunt for your father.’

A moment of relief passed over Bel’s face, but he quickly returned to his stony demeanour.

‘As long as he flees far,’ added Naphur, ‘and stays a horizon’s length from my sight.’ He turned, but the glaring sun behind him still hid his face. ‘But that does not mean I am not angry.’

‘Naphur,’ began Fahren.

‘Enough, High Mage!’ said the Throne. ‘I’ve heard you speak, and granted the mercy you begged me for. But now I will have my revenge.’ He stalked forward, revealing the dark belts under his eyes. ‘We attack Fenvarrow with all possible haste!’ he said. ‘And you, Bel, will lead. The child of power will fulfil his obligations.’

‘My Throne,’ Fahren tried, ‘I have told you that Arkus charged us to find –’

‘Curse Arkus!’ shouted Naphur. ‘I am old, heirless, and done with waiting.’ His look to Bel became almost imploring. ‘If I must not blame you, Bel, nor your father, then help me attack those I can blame. We must let Kainordas see you, rally to you, as we march to crush the dark. I have already sent out word, on wing and hoof in every direction. I promise that war is coming, with or without you, and on this I will not be dissuaded. But will you help me, Bel? Will you help me cut down those who have brought such ruin upon us?’

Fahren cast Bel an alarmed look – it was obvious he didn’t agree with such action – but Bel didn’t care. Ever since Arkus had spoken to him, his destiny had felt like a crushing weight across his shoulders. It wasn’t a burden he’d chosen to bear, and Naphur was offering a chance to be rid of it. Why did he need to join with Losara if he could just kill him? Without its champion, the shadow would fall.

‘I will,’ said Bel. ‘The sooner I have something to kill, the better.’

The Throne’s eyes gleamed. ‘We’re of like mind,’ he said, and gave a twisted smile.

The dream swirled.

•

Losara found himself floating high in the sky. Though the bright sun shone upon him, he felt no heat from it.

Beneath, from the Halls, a great force set forth, the morning light streaming at their backs. Bel sat astride a white war horse, his blue hair gleaming for all to see. On one side rode Naphur in ornate golden armour, and on the other rode Fahren, with expression dark and brooding. Behind followed the soldiers of the Halls, tromping the grass flat. Jaya broke from the mob to speed forward on a sleek stallion, laughing as she reached out to grip Bel’s hand and hold it high.

Word had spread throughout Kainordas that the blue-haired child had announced himself and was leading the charge of charges to defeat the shadow once and for all. To rally to him was to secure one’s place in history. Every day the army grew as troops arrived from all directions. Folk who had never touched a sword before fell into step, from nobles and their entourages to farmers and beggars. In jails across the land, prisoners were offered the chance to fight in exchange for pardon of all but the most heinous crimes.

Of the non-human races, the Saurians were the first to arrive. They made a fearsome sight to behold, approaching quickly over the Grass Ocean. The lizard-like Ryoshi Saurians, like monstrous pale scorpions, rode hulking dune claws. Their cousins, the Syanti Saurians, were more snake than lizard, with legless serpentine bodies and yellow slit eyes, and carried cruel-ended whips and impossibly thin swords. As the army reached the Great Rass River, a swarm of Zyvanix descended, their collective buzzing loud enough to vibrate teeth. They were a welcome addition indeed, and there was much celebration that night in the camps.

The army slowed as it grew, and at Kahlay Bel ordered them to stop, to allow others following to catch up. Naphur, unable to rest, it seemed, took to riding around the sprawl of camps. He preached like a prophet about the blue-haired boy, about victory and revenge on Fenvarrow. Those priests amongst the ranks took up the Throne’s words, speaking of the champion Arkus had delivered. Losara watched Bel listening in on the words with gleaming eyes.
Do they give him strength?
he wondered.

When the army left Kahlay a week later, it was greater than any Kainordas had ever seen.

•

One night, as they camped, Bel found Fahren smoking a brittleleaf roll and gazing with concern over the red glow of many fires.

‘Old teacher,’ he said, ‘I know you disagree with this action.’

‘I’m trying to accept it,’ said Fahren. ‘I’ve seen there’s no talking you out of it.’

‘What do you think about so deeply then?’

‘If this is indeed the war to end all wars,’ said Fahren, ‘as our poor lost Throne calls it, then I think about the only thing that bears thinking about. How to win.’

‘Ah,’ said Bel. ‘I’ve been giving that some thought myself. I don’t think we can simply march into Fenvarrow and expect to sweep through.’

Fahren cast a glance at him. ‘I’m glad to hear you say that, for it’s precisely what Naphur intends. We are in need of a better plan.’

‘Have you thought of anything?’

‘Nothing to speak of.’

‘We’ll make final camp at Holdwith,’ said Bel. ‘I understand there are many mages there.’

‘Yes,’ said Fahren. ‘Lightfists are trained there. It’s a good place, so close to the border, to sharpen their skills.’

‘Perhaps they’ll know some spell to help us.’

Fahren shook his head sadly.

‘Come now,’ chuckled Bel. ‘Don’t be so defeatist. Surely you don’t think you’ve seen everything under the sun?’

•

After many weeks of marching, they arrived at Holdwith. Built on the edge of fertile lands, the farms on the north side were well tended, yet seemed somehow makeshift and temporary. To the south, battlements overlooked dusty plains that ran all the way to the border. Here the Cloud was so close that after midday the sun moved behind it and the light grew dim.

As the army set up camp around the fort, Bel, Naphur and Fahren rode to the gates and entered. The walls of Holdwith fort encircled a large town that seemed to contain more buildings than people. From the town centre rose a cobblestoned tower, higher than the surrounding walls. The Throne immediately headed towards it, saying he would speak to the local gerent, not pausing to see if the others followed.

‘We should visit the Lightfist Academy,’ Bel said. ‘See if there’s some spell, or idea, or magical artefact to give us an advantage.’

Fahren looked miserable and Bel knew he didn’t think searching would bear any fruit.

‘High Mage,’ he tried, ‘you always lamented my lack of magic, but don’t let that stop you from
being
my magic. This is the path we are on.’

Fahren blinked, and his jaw tightened. He considered Bel for a moment, then nodded. ‘You are right. I must stop this moping. Come, we shall see what we can find.’

They made their way to the Lightfist Academy. In a cobbled courtyard they found students wearing red and yellow robes unleashing fireballs at dummies of Black Goblins. A pair of Lightfists, dressed in pure red, walked back and forth instructing them.

As the High Mage entered with the child of power, all turned to stare.

‘We need to see Methodrex immediately,’ bellowed Fahren.

•

A Lightfist apprentice, about the same age as Bel, frowned deeply in concentration. From the air he conjured a translucent sunwing that beat large butterfly wings. It strung an arrow to its glowing bow and loosed it at a distant target. Next to him, another student held out a flaming torch and waggled her fingers at it. Each time a speck of ash fell from the torch, it was caught by an invisible force and hurled expanding and fragmenting across the courtyard to pelt the dummies with scattershot fireballs. The next student in line held the end of a fiery whip, which lengthened and retracted as he lashed with stunning precision and considerable devastation. The dummies flew to pieces faster than they could be magically reassembled.

Losara watched the display with interest – it was impressive; and so hot – he was grateful he felt nothing as he drifted along. Was this the extent of what he’d have to face?

High Overseer Methodrex, a short old man in white-gold robes, turned away from the target range. ‘You can see we have some fine students,’ he said, as yet more dummies exploded behind him. ‘But I doubt they display anything the High Mage has not seen before.’

Fahren grunted agreement.

‘If these spells are commonplace,’ said Bel tersely, ‘where are the rarer ones? What of those that can only be achieved when many mages work together? What of the spells that set student apart from teacher, mage apart from High Mage?’

‘There are many spells, lad,’ Fahren said. ‘Not all are easy or safe to demonstrate in such confines. Of those that have merit in war, there are none the enemy cannot match.’

Bel scowled. ‘What of the library here, Methodrex? Has it been scoured for every strange and remote possibility?’

Methodrex drew himself up straight. Losara noticed the man treated Bel with reverence, perhaps rightly so. ‘It could perhaps stand further investigation, my lord,’ he said.

‘Then by all means investigate!’ said Bel, and waved a hand dismissively.

It took Fahren a moment to realise he was being included in the instruction, and he looked taken aback.

‘It shouldn’t surprise you that I give you orders, old friend,’ Bel said. ‘After all, you and Naphur raised me to be a leader.’

He held Fahren’s stare until the High Mage nodded and joined Methodrex in departing. Bel stalked off along the line of students, further inspecting their spells. Lava bubbled out of the ground, vines twisted to follow their caster’s wishes, white light crashed in waves and golden bolts of energy shot forth. It was all very impressive . . . and ultimately useless. With a stormy expression, Bel left the academy and walked out onto the cobblestoned street. Naphur was coming towards him, along with Holdwith’s gerent and several officers.

‘There you are!’ called Naphur. ‘We must make ready – the longer we wait, the longer Fenvarrow has to prepare!’

‘No, Naphur,’ said Bel, quite clearly. ‘We must wait. There are others still journeying to join our army, and it will take time to outfit them all. We must pool our resources.’

‘Bah,’ said Naphur. ‘You sound like Fahren, always wishing to delay. What do you seek in the academy, Bel? Magic? I thought we were beyond that, you and I.’ He drew the sword from his hip and ran it over his gauntleted palm. ‘I thought we believed in steel.’

‘If I say we wait,’ said Bel, ‘we wait.’

‘How dare you give me commands!’

‘You asked me to lead this army,’ said Bel, ‘and lead it I shall. The many who have joined us – some no more than peasants – why did they so readily leave behind their homes, their families? Because of a promise given, Naphur – the promise of me. You gave it yourself many times as you rode amongst them, and now you must reap what you have sown. They follow me, Naphur. And I say we wait.’

Naphur’s eyes blazed and for a moment the sword was stationary across his hand. Then he slid it into its scabbard and gave a curt nod. The gerent and other officers present witnessed the Throne of Kainordas bow to the will of the blue-haired man. It was a story that would spread quickly.

A booming cry echoed around the fort, full-bellied and animal.

‘What was that?’ Bel demanded.

‘Nothing to worry about, lord,’ said the gerent. ‘We captured a whelkling a short while back – must’ve got blown off course somehow. We’ve just been working out what to do with it.’

‘A whelkling!’ Bel recalled the creature from his lessons with Fahren.

‘It were carrying supplies to Skygrip,’ continued the gerent. ‘Overburdened, so maybe that’s why –’

‘Enough!’ said Bel. ‘Did you say it was bound for Skygrip?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘So if it were released with someone on its back, it would bear them to Skygrip Castle?’

‘I suppose so,’ chuckled the gerent. ‘But that particularly insane person would meet a very nasty end, I’m sure.’

Bel stood in silent thought for a moment, then walked away.

‘Well,’ snapped Naphur, ‘don’t just stand there like hair stuck on shit. You heard him – we have to see to the arming of the army!’

•

The town’s inn had a ‘garden’ comprised of large pots and long stone trays. These housed plants from the surrounding plains, unspectacular yet somewhat pleasant. This was where Bel found Jaya, lazily twirling a knife as she sat on a bench. He sat down next to her and she rearranged herself against him.

‘Any luck?’ she asked.

‘I know little of magic,’ he replied. ‘Fahren and the head of the academy are searching for something to help us, but they don’t seem optimistic.’

Losara watched them curiously – they were so easy with each other, so naturally entwined. Would it be this way for him and Lalenda? Did he love her as these two clearly loved each other? And what if Losara had met Jaya – would he have fallen in love with her? Would Bel have fallen in love with Lalenda?

‘You are worried that your other has such great magic at his disposal?’

‘I’d be a fool not to,’ Bel said with a sigh, and she kissed his neck. ‘It is well and good to be a great warrior, but a man is still just a man. What can one man do?’