Noonshade

by James Barclay

  “I was resting,” he said. “Tell me what you require and we will discuss a price.”

  Barras shivered inwardly. That price would be the soul of one of the Council for as long as Heila wanted it.

  Kerela met Heila's eyes without flinching.

  “Our College is at risk from invasion. The enemy must not breach our walls. We require a Shroud to encircle the walls, protecting those inside and taking everyone who dares touch it. The Shroud must encompass the principal mana flow of the College which must not be lost.”

  “And for how long will this Shroud be needed?” asked Heila.

  “Until the siege is lifted. Several weeks. We cannot be definite.”

  Heila raised his eyebrows. “Really? Well, well.” His rotating motion began again, his bleak eyes searching deep into the faces of the Council.

  “There is a price,” said the demon. “You understand our energies are depleted by the maintenance of a Shroud. We must have fuel to replenish ourselves.”

  Barras felt a cold trickle through his body. Human life reduced to fuel for a demonic conjuration. It was barbaric, hideous. It was also Julatsa's only choice. Heila had stopped and was looking at him. He fought briefly and successfully to maintain his concentration on the portal.

  “And you are the lucky one,” said Heila. “I cannot touch you. Shame. Your elven soul would have been my choice.”

  “We are none of us lucky.” Barras’ calm voice was no reflection of his inner bearing. “Today, we will all lose people we know. Choose and begone.”

  Heila smiled, his body snapped round to face the High Mage.

  “You, Kerela, are the chosen. You will fuel the Shroud your College so desperately needs.” There was a hiss of indrawn breath. No demon should take the High Mage. It was like felling the tree before its fruit had grown. But Kerela just smiled.

  “So be—” she began.

  “No!” shouted Deale, his face pale, his body shaking. “If she goes, saving the College is worthless. Don't be bloody-minded, Heila. If you want an elf, then take me. When I entered this chamber I knew I would be chosen. And when you were summoned, you knew it too. Take your rightful victim. Take me.”

  Heila spun to face Deale. “Remarkable,” he said. “But I fear you are in no position to bargain.”

  “We can always dispatch you back to where you came from, empty-handed,” said Deale evenly, his face slick with sweat.

  “Then you would not have your Shroud.”

  “And you would not have the soul of a Julatsan Council member, let alone that of the High Mage.”

  “Deale, I—” began Kerela

  “No, Kerela. He will not take you.”

  Heila regarded Deale coldly. “I am not used to being challenged.” Deale shrugged. “Very well.” Heila began his rotation once more. “Hear me, Council of Julatsa. This is the bargain I offer you.

  “The soul of Deale the elf is not so highly prized as that of either Kerela, the High Mage, or Barras, the elder negotiator. But I will agree to take him over any of you on one condition. If, after fifty of your days, you still need the Shroud to keep your enemies at bay, either Barras or Kerela shall walk into the Shroud to provide new fuel. I leave it to you to decide who it should be. If neither of you approaches the Shroud, it will be removed and you will be left to die. Do we have a bargain?”

  “The price for a DemonShroud is only ever one soul,” snapped Kerela. “If mine is prized enough, then…”

  “Kerela, the College cannot afford to lose you,” said Deale. “Not at this time. We need a leader. You are it. You have to stay.” Deale spun to take in his colleagues. Barras could see each of them struggling to avoid his eye. “Well, don't you agree? I should be taken and Kerela should remain? Well?”

  The old mage watched as first one, then another of them nodded. All reluctant, all knowing that by their agreement they saved themselves but none wishing to condemn Deale to death.

  “There,” said Deale, his voice strong though his body still shook. “We have agreement.” He faced Heila who was regarding him solemnly, one hand on his chin, lipless mouth partly open to reveal his tiny razor-sharp teeth. “Heila, Shroud Master and Great One, we have a bargain.”

  The demon nodded. “Never before have I heard man or elf argue so strongly for his own death.”

  “When will the Shroud be raised?” demanded Kerela, looking not at Heila but at Deale, her eyes brim with tears.

  “The moment I am gone and the portal is closed. It shall stand outside your walls and encompass the core threads of your mana as you require.”

  Kerela nodded. “Be of your words, Heila. Our friend sacrifices himself for this. Deale, the blessing of the College shall go with you. I…Your sacrifice is such that…” She trailed off and smiled at Deale. It was the saddest smile Barras had ever seen. “Find peace quickly.”

  “Time is short,” said Heila. “You have fifty of your days. Count them, as I will.” His gaze snapped to Deale. “For you, my friend, those days and any after them that I choose shall each seem an eternity. Come with me.” His hand extended, stretched beyond the confines of the portal, passing through Deale's chest and suffusing his body with blue light. At the end, Deale was calm. His face displayed no fear. He jerked once as his soul was taken, his body falling to the ground betraying no evidence of the violence of his mortal death.

  Heila rotated fast and fell through the portal, Barras slamming it shut behind him. There was a momentary whispering, then all was still.

  “It is done,” said Kerela, and her voice cracked. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she sank to the floor. Seldane walked quickly to Deale's body and closed his eyes.

  “We must—” The door to the Heart burst open and Kard staggered in, hands clutching at his ears, his face colourless, his eyes wide. He should not have been able to cross the threshold, such was the weight of mana in the Heart, but the clamour that followed him in told its own story.

  The stifling pressure of the fuel of magic was as nothing compared to the screams of those, Wesmen and Julatsans, that soared over the noise of battle, silencing every blade. It was a sound quite unlike anything that could be associated with the Balaian dimension. Piercing, driven cries that emanated from the depths of human bodies as souls were torn from their living frames, echoing through the skulls of everyone who heard them, grinding teeth and freezing muscle.

  Kerela raised her head and locked eyes with Barras, all the horror of their actions reflected there for the old elf to see.

  The DemonShroud had risen.

  As it always does, curiosity eventually got the better of fear. The return of Sha-Kaan to his own dimension removed the immediate threat of death and, by the time The Raven walked slowly into the Central Square, a crowd was gathering around the body of the dragon.

  “Back in a while,” said The Unknown, trotting away toward the corpse. Ever the warrior, ever the tactician, thought Hirad, watching his friend shoulder his way through Darrick's cavalry. A knot of Protectors with their backs to him parted instinctively to let him through. He hadn't gone to stare and shake his head at the enormity of it all. He'd gone to check closely for weak points; any chinks in the dragon's hide that might help them.

  Hirad wasn't convinced he'd find any and for his part had seen enough of dragons for one day. For a lifetime, come to that, but that wasn't a choice that was his to make any more. He trudged back toward Will's spluttering cook-fire and the tunnel that led into the pyramid and the former tomb of the Wytch Lords. He needed something to calm his nerves and hoped there was at least a drain of coffee left in the pot balanced precariously on the shifting embers.

  Ilkar had walked back with his arm around the shoulders of the nervy barbarian, not saying a word all the way. Hirad felt him tense as they neared the tunnel. Just in the shadow stood Styliann, above the prone form of Denser and the kneeling Erienne.

  “Can't that bastard go somewhere else?” muttered the Julatsan mage. “His presence offends me.”

  “I don
't think he'll hang around long after he's heard what we have to say.”

  Ilkar snorted. “Well, I'd like to think he'd take the quick way back to Xetesk, too. Unfortunately, we're all going the same way.”

  Hirad was quiet for a time. “You know, I was looking forward to joining the war against the Wesmen,” he said after a while and just as they stopped at the fire. “It seemed like a return to the simple things. But this…”

  “I know what you mean,” said Ilkar. “C'mon, sit down. I'll check the pot.”

  Denser had heaved himself to his feet and stood leaning against Erienne, expectancy and anxiety radiating from his pale features in equal measure.

  “I think you'd better come out here and listen to this,” said Hirad. “That includes you, Styliann. Things aren't so good.”

  “Define ‘not-so-good,’” said Styliann, emerging into the sunlight and absently adjusting his shirt collar.

  “Let's wait till we're all gathered, all right?” said Ilkar, handing a half mug of coffee to Hirad and sitting beside the barbarian. He nodded in the direction of the dragon's body, from which Will and Thraun were coming. The Unknown hadn't finished his examination. “I don't want to report anything inaccurately.”

  No one had dared even to reach out a hand to touch the dragon's cooling corpse until The Unknown crouched by its head and heaved back a heavy eyelid. From another dimension, it might have been, but The Unknown knew a dead animal when he saw its eye and this one was dead.

  He let the lid snap back over the milky white eye rolled up in the skull of the beast and leaned back on his haunches, appraising the dragon, which lay on its side. Close up, he could see its rust-brown colour was due to two distinct scales, one a deep red the other, less prevalent, a dull brown. He let his eyes flicker over the head, a wedge shape about three feet long from the nostrils, which overhung the jaws, to the base of the neck. One fang was visible beneath folds of tough hide that served as lips. Another, broken, lay a few feet away. The shard was about four inches long. The Unknown picked it up, turned it over in his hands briefly and pocketed it.

  The bony skull wedge swept back to protect an apparently vital area of neck beneath it. Inadequately, The Unknown decided, given the multiple-puncture wound inflicted so easily by Sha-Kaan.

  He leant forward again and attempted to open the jaws, levering against the huge muscles in his arms. They parted slightly but sprang back together as he sought to look inside the mouth. He glanced up and caught the eyes of two of the thirty or so men and Protectors prodding at the carcass.

  “Give me a hand here, would you?” he asked. The cavalrymen practically fell over themselves in their haste to aid not merely a member of The Raven but The Unknown Warrior to boot. Together, the three of them laid the dragon's head flat on its side and, while Darrick's men held the upper jaw, The Unknown levered down the lower and looked inside, gasping at the foul stench from within.

  There was nothing too unusual about its teeth. Four large fangs, two up, two down, were the mark of a predator, as were the rows of shorter, conical incisors at the front of each jaw. Crushing molars lined up as the jaw went back but it was the gum below and inside the jaws that interested The Unknown.

  He counted half a dozen angled flaps of skin, each covering a hole. Working at one of the flaps, he could feel the retractor muscle move and, as he did so, a drop of clear liquid spilled on to his palm, evaporating quickly. It was all he needed to understand about where the fire came from.

  He nodded his thanks to the two cavalrymen and stood up, letting go the lower jaw which closed with a wet squelch. He looked along the dragon's length and began walking slowly down it. Slightly kinked, the neck was perhaps eight feet long, letting into the bulk of its belly. It was an altogether more slender beast than Sha-Kaan, built for speed but, thought The Unknown, given the ease with which it was killed, inexperienced. Young. Elbowed forelimbs ended in small claws, an evolutionary trait that suggested a move toward a need for relative delicacy. Each claw was hooked and sharp and forged from bone, not a hardened material like nails.

  Just above the forelimbs were the roots of its wings and The Unknown didn't have to get close to see the immense muscle groups that powered the animal through the sky at such speeds. At another request, ten willing men dragged the free wing wide against the strain of its contracted muscles.

  The outside arc of the wing covered a length of around thirty feet and was a flexible bone as thick as The Unknown's thigh. A further twelve bones led from a complex joint at the end of the bone and stretched between them all was a thick, oily membrane.

  “Hold it taut.” The Unknown drew a dagger and stabbed down at the membrane, drawing a scratch which yielded a little dark fluid. Not blood, more of the oil. He dragged a finger through it and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, feeling its smooth texture. “Interesting,” he said. But the membrane, although perhaps only a half inch thick, would not tear. “Thank you,” he said. And the men let it go. It snapped back against the body, a protective mechanism that transcended death, creating a breeze that kicked up more dust, merely emphasising the incredible power of the beast.

  The length of its neck was a fifth of its main body. With the dragon on its side, its bulk was taller than The Unknown and he traced his fingers along the softer, paler underbelly scales, feeling the rasping roughness of those that armoured its sides and back. Again he drew a dagger, this time squatting by the belly. But again, his stabbing made no impact.

  He frowned and turned his attention to the scorch mark along the flank which ran for twenty or so feet. Here, the skin was blistered and blackened, deep wounds showed in half a dozen places and a gory black ooze filled the tears and hard burns. But even this had not been a fatal wound. Not even the full force of Sha-Kaan's breath could inflict that in one strike.

  “Gods, but you're tough bastards,” he murmured. The search for a weak point went on.

  “What the hell is he doing?” asked Denser dully. The Unknown could be seen striding along the dragon's upper flank toward the twenty feet of thin, balancing tail, poking his sword in here and there, striking hard in other places and always shaking his head.

  “Working out how to kill one, I expect,” said Ilkar.

  “Fat chance,” said Hirad.

  “So why does he bother?” asked Denser, pursing his lips and lying back, his interest gone.

  “Because that's what The Unknown does,” replied Hirad. “He has to know, for better or worse, the enemy he's facing. He says knowing what you can't do is more valuable than knowing what you can.”

  “There's sense in that,” said Thraun.

  “This is all very fascinating,” said Styliann. “But do we really have to wait for him?”

  “Yes,” said Hirad simply. “He's Raven.” The Unknown was walking back toward them. He rammed his sword back into its scabbard, having first unlinked the chains that held it in place, hilt over his right shoulder, point below the back of his left knee, and dropped it at his feet as he reached them. He sat, frowning.

  “Well?”

  “Sha-Kaan was right. Even assuming we could get near it, the only soft tissue is inside the mouth and I can't see it opening its jaws and showing off its throat to help us out. Our one chance is to dry out the wings. They secrete some form of oil and, without it, I think they might crack under heat. But again, covering the area they do, that much flame is only going to come from another dragon.”

  “Eyes?” Hirad shrugged.

  “Small target. Not viable if the head is moving. One of those things in this dimension could kill anything and any number it wanted.”

  “You've forgotten the power of magic,” said Styliann stiffly. The Unknown ignored him.

  “The hide is incredibly tough. Even on the underside and the wings. Acid might have an effect, so will certain flame- and perhaps ice-based magics. But, as with all these things, our real problem will be getting close enough.” The Unknown breathed out through his nose. “The bare fact is that if one atta
cks and you've nowhere to hide, you're dead.”

  “That's not the answer we were looking for,” said Ilkar.

  “So going there will be suicide,” said Hirad.

  “So will staying here, apparently,” said Will.

  Denser raised a hand. “Hold on, hold on. What are you talking about now?” The Dark Mage was staring straight at Hirad.

  Ilkar nudged the barbarian. “Go on then. Sha-Kaan's your friend, after all.”

  “He's not my friend,” said Hirad.

  “Closest thing to it,” returned the elf.

  “Oh, right, yeah. I noticed how he went out of his way to not actually burn my skin off or bite me clean in two. If that's not friendship, I don't know what is.”

  Ilkar chuckled. “See,” he said. “Bosom buddies.”

  “So just because—”

  “Must you?” Denser's voice cut across Hirad's next remark. “We just want to know what's up.”

  “You don't,” said Hirad. “But here goes anyway. The situation, I think, is this.” He breathed in deeply and pointed behind him. “That rip in the sky is a direct corridor to the dragon dimension. Apparently, there's a similar mess in the sky on the other side. The trouble is, Sha-Kaan's family, he called it a Brood, the Brood Kaan, has to defend the rip to stop other Broods coming here to destroy us.” Hirad nodded at the dragon's corpse. “That's because they have no way to close the rip. Sha-Kaan says we have to close it.”

  “Oh, no problem,” said Denser. “We'll just snap our fingers and the job's done. How the hell are we supposed to achieve that?”

  “That was pretty much our reaction,” said Ilkar. “Sha-Kaan pointed out rather bluntly that it was our problem and we'd better not fail.”

  “Or else what?” asked Erienne.

  “Or else, ultimately, another Brood will get in here in sufficient strength to do exactly what it wants,” said Ilkar. “And those of us who travelled through Septern's rip have a good idea what that means.” For the Julatsan mage, the scenes of blackened devastation, the chaotic weather and air of violent death were all too easily recalled.