Noonshade

by James Barclay

  Movement caught Hirad's eye. Darrick had ridden back into the square, his cavalry once more under his command. He made for the dragon but changed direction at a wave from the barbarian.

  “I think he ought to be in on this,” said Hirad. Once apprised, Darrick's face was as gloomy as The Raven's.

  “Now,” said Styliann, who had remained silent and withdrawn thus far. “I accept that this rip, as you call it, represents a significant threat. I also accept that dragons are powerful creatures and we need to develop means of disabling and destroying them from distance.

  “What I don't see is why other Broods would want to come here to destroy everything and why, by all the mana in the Mount, does this Sha-Kaan care if they do?”

  “Now that's a good question,” said Darrick.

  “Ilkar?” asked Hirad. “This was where I got a little shaky in my understanding.”

  “Unknown, help me out if I get too vague.” Ilkar rubbed his face while he thought. “There is a link between our dimension and the Brood Kaan. The very existence of certain elements here helps the Kaan to live and breed. These elements feed their psyche and that is as important to them as feeding their bellies. Their existence depends on the base fabric of our dimension remaining intact. If we go, they go. That's why they care.”

  “Why don't they just station enough dragons around the rip to guard it?” Styliann said sniffily.

  “Well, because, strangely, they've got better things to do with their lives than die in our defence for the rest of time,” snapped Hirad. “They aren't our servants.” Ilkar laid a hand on Hirad's arm.

  “The point is, my Lord, that they are already forced into that action,” said the Julatsan. “But Sha-Kaan was insistent that, one, they couldn't guard the rip indefinitely and, two, we caused the problem and though the Kaan would help, it was up to us to sort it out.”

  “How long do we have?” asked Darrick.

  “We don't know,” said Hirad.

  “That's not helpful,” said Denser.

  “I think the straight answer is, Sha-Kaan himself doesn't know. He just said that when the shade covers the city, it will be too late.” Hirad shrugged.

  “What's that, then, some kind of dragon time-keeping code?” Erienne was nonplussed.

  “We're not sure yet,” said Ilkar.

  “Then you should open your eyes more,” said Styliann.

  “What?” Hirad bristled.

  “Calm down, Hirad Coldheart,” replied the Lord of the Mount. “I appreciate how difficult it must have been out there. But now is the time to think. There are no shadows at noon because the sun is at its highest point in the sky. Normally. But that rip will cast a shadow. No way is it big enough to shade the whole of Parve yet, but…”

  “Oh Gods,” breathed Denser. “He's saying it's not static. It's not contained. It's going to grow.” He turned from them, his face fallen.

  “So we've got a time limit but we don't know what it is,” said Will, glancing up at the rip.

  The Unknown nodded. “Yes, but we can work it out, can't we? Measure the rate of growth of the rip's shadow. It'll be rough but it'll give us an idea.”

  “Indeed we can,” said Denser bitterly. “But there are bigger issues to settle as well.”

  “Like how the hell do we close it,” said Erienne.

  “And what is happening east of the Blackthorne Mountains,” added The Unknown.

  “To name but two,” said Denser.

  “Not being funny, but the starting point has to be your casting of Dawnthief,” said Hirad.

  “Absolutely,” said Denser.

  “Sha-Kaan termed it ‘inaccurate.’” There was a smile on the barbarian's face which grew broader as the slight sank in, turning Denser's pale face to an angry red.

  “And that great fat lizard would know, of course,” he stormed, shaking off Erienne's calming touch. “For his information, my casting of Dawnthief saved his precious psyche-feeding dimension from its biggest ever threat. I trained my whole life for that moment…inaccurate. Bastard.”

  “Denser, you don't have to convince us. We know what you did,” said Hirad. “But Sha-Kaan doesn't see it that way. He doesn't much care who runs Balaia so long as its fabric remains intact and there are enough dragonene to serve his Brood.”

  “But he can't expect us not to try to save ourselves,” protested Denser.

  “I tried that one,” said Hirad. “No dice. He just accuses us of not understanding the power of the spell.”

  “Well, tough.”

  “For the Kaan and for us, yes,” said Thraun.

  “Right,” said Will into the pause that followed. “So what are we going to do?”

  Sha-Kaan emerged from the gateway into a blizzard of wings, fire and snapping jaws, the noise of a hundred cries of exultation, pain and command mingling with the whoosh of wings and the whiplash of tails. The battle covered as far as he could see in any direction, the sky full with scale and claw and enough wing to shroud Parve from the sun. It was impossible to estimate the number of dragons in the vicinity of the rip or the number of Broods involved in the battle. All he was sure of was that, barring skeleton defence of their lands, structures and peoples, the entire Brood Kaan was fighting for its collective life. There were in excess of four hundred Kaan in the sky and they were outnumbered.

  Sha-Kaan roared to rally his Brood, the answering barks and cries tearing the air from all points, a surge of strength filling his mind. Sha-Kaan arced sharply upward to gauge the situation in the skies around and below him, a phalanx of guards flew with him, defending his back.

  The immediate area around the gateway was charged with battle. Better than fifty Kaan flew a defensive network across its surface, denying any attacker even the slightest chance of an entry. And for those that tried, small packs of Kaan, eight or nine strong, flew attack waves, ready to drive off portal divers.

  Not for the first time in his long and fertile life, Sha-Kaan had cause to thank the intensely familial nature of dragon Broods. Together, they could overwhelm the Kaan in a matter of days, but they would never hold peace long enough to organise a concerted assault. What Sha-Kaan saw were disparate groups of attackers, none with the individual strength or guile to beat the Kaan's defence which was well drilled and properly executed. It was no secret why the Kaan were the strongest Brood. They had order.

  Even so, too many beats of this battle and the Kaan would weaken. He hoped he had instilled a sense of urgency in the humans and prayed to the Skies that they had the skill to close the gateway. If not, the Kaan would inevitably perish. All of them.

  But for now, more immediate concerns crowded his mind. Below and to his left, three of the Brood Naik had isolated a Kaan from his attack phalanx. As he watched, helpless, the young dragon, twisting through every evasion move he'd been taught, caught blast after blast of flame. Eventually, the heat ignited one wing, the thin membrane gushing to fire as the oils which both lubricated the wing and provided a barrier against dragonfire were driven off, scorching bone and breaking sinew and muscle.

  With a cry of mixed pain, defiance and fear, the young Kaan fell from the sky, spiralling out of control, one wing trailing smoke, the other beating in a vain attempt to steady its tumbling body, the tail coiling and straightening reflexively, head twisting as it sought aid. None would come. Sha-Kaan did not look to see the end but he knew what to do.

  “With me,” he pulsed to his wing guards. He dived steeply, silent, wings angled back and in, bulleting through the air, reaching a velocity at which he would kill or be killed. The three Naik had no inkling of what was coming. Sha-Kaan's jaws latched on to the right wing of one, pulling it wildly off balance and dragging it groundward, his huge body barely in check as it collided with his enemy, the sound of the impact clattering dully across the sky, scales grating together. The smaller beast, flailing talons, tail and free wing, barked its fury and fear, unable to turn its head fast enough to see its assailant, flame wasted on empty sky.

  Sh
a-Kaan's momentum took them in to, for him, a controlled tumble, dragon falling slowly over dragon until with a sharp twist of his jaws, Sha-Kaan freed his victim. But the freedom was short and agonising. The Great Kaan opened his mouth again and unleashed a torrent of fire, taking the disoriented dragon across the head, neck and along the left wing.

  Half-blinded, the Naik breathed a choking gout, scorching nothing but air. Sha-Kaan's jaws snapped open again and this time the fire dragged the Naik from head to tail, critically injuring wing and tail muscle. Unable to fly, the Naik dropped to its death.

  Sha-Kaan barrel rolled, bellowing triumph and vengeance. He twisted his neck to assess the progress of the battle, picked another target and flew.

  “The question really is, was rip formation an unavoidable side effect of the Dawnthief casting?” Styliann's question was not criticism but observation and Denser's reactive tensing eased when he saw the Lord of the Mount's expression.

  The four mages still sat around the fire. Denser's pipe smouldered in his mouth and it was an effort even to suck to keep it vaguely alight. He rested in Erienne's lap, she absently stroking his hair, and Ilkar sat with them, poking at the embers with a hardwood stick. Styliann, his dark hair brushed back into its more usual tight ponytail, sat alone on the opposite side of the fire.

  Out in the square, the rest of The Raven stood with Darrick, discussing the most accurate way to measure the noon shade. They hadn't long to come up with a solution. It would soon be midday.

  Those of Darrick's cavalry and Styliann's Protectors not involved in guard and sentry duties had been detailed grimmer tasks. The city had to be cleared, corpses burned and every building searched for hidden enemies. Parve had to be returned to its dead state. Not a soul could remain save the volunteers Darrick would have to find to measure the shadow day by day and commune their findings.

  For the quartet of mages, their talk was the heart of the problem. How could the rip to the dragon dimension be closed before the Kaan strength collapsed and Balaia fell victim to a deluge of fire?

  “To answer your question, my Lord, we'll have to pull out every text of Septern's held by the Colleges,” said Erienne. “It seems obvious now that the basis for Dawnthief's power is the creation of a rip into a vortex in interdimensional space. Presumably, the complete casting opens a rip big enough to suck everything in, hence ‘light-stealer.’”

  “And my training focused solely on control of the casting parameters, not on withdrawal,” said Denser with a shrug.

  Ilkar ceased his prodding of the fire. “So what you're saying is that there could have been a way to close off the vortex as you shut down the mana shape.”

  “Yes, but that was not detailed in the main casting texts. It might be in the Lore somewhere. Septern's understanding of dimensional magic was very deep.”

  “Well, it wouldn't ever be in the casting texts,” said Erienne. “If you think about it, closing the vortex at both ends, which is what you're talking about, requires a new spell.”

  “You're assuming that nothing in the Dawnthief text and shape formation produces the same effect,” remarked Ilkar.

  “Well, there isn't.”

  “And what makes you so sure, Dordovan?” Styliann stared at Erienne straight down his nose.

  “Oh, please, Styliann, we can do without your pious condescension,” snapped Ilkar, surprised at his tone with the Lord of the Mount. “This is far bigger than any one College. Just listen to her.”

  Styliann bridled but Denser cut across any words.

  “My Lord, Ilkar is right,” he said. “Erienne is an Arch Research Mage.”

  “You have studied Septern?” asked Styliann.

  Erienne shrugged. “Of course. He was Dordovan.”

  “By birth alone,” said Styliann.

  “Dordovan,” affirmed Erienne. “But you don't need research to get my point, just common sense. Listen, and don't interrupt. I'm not criticising anybody.” She laid a hand on Denser's arm. “All right?” Denser nodded, frowning.

  “Good,” said Erienne. She breathed deep. “Sha-Kaan was right in that, technically, Denser's casting of Dawnthief was inaccurate.” She squeezed Denser's arm as he tensed. “But we mustn't forget Septern's original vision for the spell, though we might question why he created it.”

  “He was an experimenter,” said Ilkar. “He just wanted to see how far he could go.”

  Erienne nodded. “Probably. Dawnthief, properly cast, by which I mean at full creation, duration and power, would open a vortex capable of sucking in the whole of Balaia and that includes the Southern Continent too. Let me ask you this. Would you write into the spell a method of closing the vortex when you wouldn't be around to use it?”

  “So what did you do, Denser?” asked Ilkar.

  “I just dismantled the shape. Rather hurriedly, I admit, but the drain on my mana reserves was critical,” said the Dark Mage. “I considered that to be safer than simply withdrawing from the spell and shutting out but there was a balance. Had I not dismantled as quickly as I did, there was a danger that the shape could have grown beyond my control and I couldn't risk a backfire. Not with Dawnthief.”

  “And you're sure there were no other ending options?” asked Ilkar.

  “You've not studied the texts beyond the mana theory, have you?” said Denser. Ilkar shook his head. So did Styliann. “No. When you examine the casting, it's quite unlike anything else you'll see. Every spell in your teaching deals with creation, catalyst if necessary, intonation, placement, duration and deployment. And that's it. When the spell shape is released, it is stable because that is built into the lore construct.

  “With Dawnthief, it was different. Because there was no proper provision written for anything other than a full strength casting, limiting the power as I trained to do makes the mana shape inherently unstable. That meant I couldn't release the shape because it would have collapsed, and that is what drained my mana stamina.

  “The way I had to cast meant the spell had no end other than crude reversal through dismantling. I defy anyone to come up with a better solution.”

  “Academic, Denser, since Dawnthief can never be recast,” said Styliann. “Besides which, we are all second to your knowledge of the spell. Unfortunately, it means we can't use it as a basis for our current predicament.”

  “Which takes us back to our original starting point which is pooling all College papers on Septern and dimensional magics, largely one and the same thing. We also have Septern's last diaries but I suggest a return to his workshop is a must,” said Ilkar.

  “So we all go back to our Colleges and pilfer from the libraries?” Erienne's tone expressed clear doubt. “I don't think I'm welcome there any more.”

  “That won't be necessary,” said Styliann. “As we near the Blackthornes, I will commune with Xetesk and issue instructions to all the Colleges to find everything they have for us. I believe Dordover and Julatsa hold the bulk of his works. Scholars there can sift the mass and we can view anything relevant at Triverne Lake.”

  “I think you're forgetting something rather important, my Lord,” said Ilkar. “There are fifty-odd thousand Wesmen running about over there. Triverne Lake won't be an option.”

  Styliann smiled. “Indeed,” he said. “How easily one can forget.”

  “We'll have to visit the Colleges ourselves,” said Ilkar.

  “Assuming we can reach them.” Denser adjusted his position. “There are bound to be armies marauding around the Colleges. You know the Wesmen's ultimate goal.”

  “Yes, but they have no magic,” protested Erienne.

  “That won't stop them encircling the Colleges,” replied Denser tersely. “There are other methods of victory than hand-to-hand warfare.” Erienne frowned at his tart reaction but said nothing.

  “And you haven't heard The Unknown's assessment, have you?” Ilkar raised his eyebrows. “I'll let him fill you in if you want but in a nutshell, he doesn't see we necessarily have much of a home to go to.”

 
; Styliann snorted. “No College will fall to a non-magical army, however big.”

  “They don't have to batter it, they can starve it,” said Ilkar. “And anyway, none of the Colleges has the strength of offensive mages to halt an advance by an army that doesn't care about the level of casualties it takes. That's what is worrying The Unknown. Nevertheless, it seems our course is clear. Dordover and Julatsa must be apprised of our needs. Following that, we, that is The Raven—” he looked pointedly at Styliann “—will revisit Septern's workshop, and perhaps the Avian dimension should that be necessary. It all depends what we find in the libraries.”

  “So, no real problem there then,” said Denser, smiling. “I can't see why we're so worried about it. Any chance I can sleep now?”

  Funeral pyres were burning for the fallen members of Darrick's cavalry. Wytch Lord acolytes, Guardians and Wesmen burned together in one corner of the square, filling the air with an acrid taint and the ash of battle's end.

  Near the pyramid, which Darrick's mages had assured him was the exact centre of Parve, the General and The Raven's warriors had waited for midday. Brisk conversation had died to the sporadic remark, then quiet.

  Now, with the sharp-edged shadow of the rip cast from the cloudless sky etching the ground, the stone of Parve was stained by more than blood. The shadow covered an area of around five hundred paces on the longer side, three hundred on the shorter—as far as the irregular shape could be said to have sides. It was, at best guess, ten times the size of the rip itself. The Unknown, watched by two of Darrick's Dordovan Communion mage specialists, marked the shade at four points.

  Already in agreement was a calculation of noon based on the disappearance of shadow from the east face of the pyramid.

  The Unknown straightened. “There we are. Today, of course, tells us nothing. Tomorrow won't either as we will have no idea of the rip's rate of growth until we have made measurements for a week or so. Are we all agreed on the calculations?”

  The mages and Darrick nodded. So, after a pause, did Will. Thraun simply shrugged.