Noonshade

by James Barclay

  Hirad spat out the gristle. There was no doubting the injustice of their position but mulling on it solved nothing. The stew pot was empty and The Raven had all but finished the meal.

  “It's time we were moving,” said Hirad. “Will, cool the stove please. Unknown? A route if you would be so kind. Anybody needing to relieve themselves, now is the time. We aren't stopping till nightfall.”

  Denser grumbled, hauled himself to his feet and crackled away toward the water's edge.

  “Cheerful soul, isn't he?” said Ilkar.

  “Hmm. Just like his old self, unfortunately,” replied Hirad. “Erienne, are you sure you want to hang around with him when you're old and grey?”

  Erienne smiled. “Who says I'll go grey? At this moment, he's a little hard to love but, well, you know…” Hirad nodded. “But I'll tell you something,” she continued. “You could help by being a little more tactful. His fuse is short.”

  “You're telling me,” said Hirad.

  “Him, tactful?” Ilkar jerked a thumb in Hirad's direction. “You might just as well ask Thraun to have slightly shorter fangs. It's not going to happen.”

  “Thanks for your support, Ilkar,” said Hirad. He turned his back on the mage and grinned over at The Unknown who didn't respond in kind. “Which way, Big Man?”

  The Unknown Warrior moved fluidly to his feet and helped Will kick dirt over the stove.

  “I could be flippant and say ‘east’ but no one would laugh,” he said. “If we've decided Triverne Lake isn't an option, that leaves us with few alternatives. My view is that we should drive straight for Julatsa. Given Denser's announcement of our dwindling time, we have to chance running into some Wesmen. Now the only reason I think that's a risk worth taking is that Thraun will almost certainly give us ample warning. We should strike away from the river now and head for the city. The ground is flattish and the cover most of the time is adequate.”

  “Whatever you say,” said Hirad. Denser came back into the small clearing. “Bowels empty?”

  “Yes, thank you, Hirad,” he replied somewhat testily.

  “Let's go.” The barbarian gestured for The Unknown to show them the way. Thraun loped off on his own toward the river. Will, the stove tied into its leather, shouldered the burden for the time being and brought up the rear behind the trio of mages.

  It was, Hirad thought, a long way to Julatsa on foot and he found himself hoping for an encounter with some unwary Wesmen.

  Thraun lapped at the cool water of the slow-flowing river, feeling the liquid chill his throat as it rushed to his belly. His mind was confused but he didn't remember a time when it wasn't.

  Earlier he had felt fear and he hadn't enjoyed it. He could find nothing to strike out at so he had crouched, defeated, while the huge animal power caused such pain to the man who led. The man had cried out, the power in his head and filling the space around him, flowing over the ground and covering the leaves of trees and the flowers of the bush.

  Thraun had felt it before any of the men had done. They knew too little even to show fear of the power but they should have done. Because it came from nowhere. It had no face, no shape and did not breathe. Yet it was still animal. Thraun knew that and knew also that because it had no form, it was to be feared.

  Only the one man had felt it and though he had spoken pain, he had not been harmed. There were no marks on his body and his mind kept its sharpness—Thraun had established that himself.

  But he wasn't sure the man who led was safe. The power could return at any time. And Thraun had to watch over man-packbrother. He would suffer no threat to him. He was the man, the only man, whom Thraun truly recognised though the others around him were lodged in his memory. And man-packbrother was calm in their company, which was good. While he protected man-packbrother he knew he would protect the others. The woman who had life within her, the two men with mists around their souls and the one man whose soul was uneasy, yearning for another time though his heart resisted it.

  Thraun would watch and Thraun would protect. Thraun would hunt and Thraun would kill.

  He lifted his muzzle from the water and sniffed the air. The scent of the pack was strong in his head and the call of the forest lured him, its ties around him hardening, pulling him back to its heart where he would be free of man.

  Julatsa's Council room was a cold place. Around the oval table, Kerela, Barras, Seldane, Torvis, Endorr, Cordolan and Vilif listened to General Kard outline the battle to come.

  At least he and Barras had been successful in persuading Senedai to hold from his killing of innocents. The Wesmen commander had, though, promised to sacrifice every one of those he still held if he was double-crossed. It was a gamble worth taking—when the fighting started, a full day before the Wesmen believed the Shroud would fall, the odds were stacked very heavily in favour of Senedai concentrating all his effort on the College walls. If that was so, the prisoners had a chance.

  The brazier behind Kard's chair guttered suddenly, throwing his face into shadow. The breeze, no more than a whisper of night air, spent itself and the flame brightened.

  “It is critical that we cause as much damage as possible to those immediately outside the walls before Senedai's army can be mustered. The sequence will be as follows. An hour before dawn, the DemonShroud will be dispersed. Assuming the guards in the tower don't sound the alarm immediately, eight mages will attempt Communion with our forces outside the city. We have no idea how successful this will be but we can cover all points of the compass with eight. There are also some more obvious places to hide a camp and we'll target those specifically at the outset.

  “To a certain extent, we will be driven by the tower guards. Should they see us quickly, the whole process will happen that much faster. If not, we will hold our attack until the alarm is raised. At this time, a dozen mages will FlameOrb the tower and both North and South Gates will be opened. Archers and the balance of mages will be sent to the ramparts while my entire College and city Guard force will get outside.

  “Their job is to cause as much damage as possible to Senedai's defences and guard posts before the balance of his army arrives. At this time, they will fall back, the gates will close and be strengthened by craftsmen and WardLock and the siege can begin again.

  “Finally, I've hand picked a dozen men to attempt to find and free the prisoners. It's all in the cause of creating confusion. Any questions?” Kard leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. Around the table, nods greeted his summary.

  “We can augment the Communion by having the casting take place in the Heart,” said Vilif.

  “Noncouncil and senior circle members are expressly forbidden to enter the Heart,” remarked Endorr. Kerela chuckled.

  “And you so young,” she said. “I might have expected such an utterance from Torvis, but not you. I am pleased you seek so fervently to uphold our traditions and laws.”

  “Though this is not the time to do so,” added Torvis.

  “My feelings exactly. Unless there is further dissent, I approve the use of the Heart for this emergency,” said Kerela.

  Barras nodded his support and looked over at Endorr. The young mage scowled but said nothing. Barras had certain sympathy with him. His work, diligence and genius had brought him to the Council and its privileges. It must be hard to see them so easily eroded, whatever the situation.

  “How will your men know when to fall back?” asked Seldane.

  “Once the tower is empty of Wesmen, I will post ShadowWinged mages, three should be sufficient, above the city to gauge the buildup. I'm really only looking to bite at the guard force of Wesmen, not the army. I will not burn Julatsa to free us; there is no time and I don't believe it will be an effective tactic. If we do fall to fighting in the streets, it will benefit us as the smaller force, to fight them in smaller, tighter spaces.

  “Once the flying mages see forces strong enough to potentially overwhelm us outside of the gates, we will fall back. They know what to look for and the signals have bee
n learned.”

  “Why risk your men in such an action at all?” asked Vilif. “Better surely to keep them fresh and on the walls.”

  Kard shook his head. “I disagree. I don't expect us to be outside for long and the action will have two effects. Most importantly, if we strike first blood, it gives us confidence. I can assure you that standing on the ramparts watching an army advance is, pardon the expression, soul-destroying. Second, if we can wreak small havoc it might knock their confidence just that little bit. That, plus our opening spell barrage, could just serve to weaken their resolve.”

  “Hardly,” said Vilif. “They outnumber us almost ten to one.”

  “But theirs is a fragile morale. And when the rear of their line is also struck, well, we can only guess at their reaction.”

  Barras raised his eyebrows. Yes, he could guess at the reaction of the Wesmen. Slaughter. But there was no way out. Even if they hid behind the Shroud for a hundred days it would still end in failure. Ultimately, their food would dwindle, more souls would be taken to fuel the Shroud and open revolt would ensue inside the grounds.

  “What in hell's name did we think we were doing raising the Shroud in the first place?” he said, a feeling of desperation sweeping suddenly across his body like dead leaves over stone. There was a moment's quiet in the chamber. Kerela placed a hand on his arm as it rested on the table. It was Kard who spoke.

  “Buying ourselves time,” he said gently. “We all knew that from the start, our brave friend Deale included. And stopping the Wesmen from simply overwhelming us in the rout. For all our brave words and assertions, we have all been hoping for the same thing, to see an army breasting the hills to save us, our city and our College. But now, twelve days later, we have to accept that's not going to happen, at least while the Shroud remains, and it's no longer acceptable to watch the murder of our people. In a way, it would be easier to see them put to the sword, disembowelled even. At least then they would retain their souls. But in the Shroud…Gods in the sky, we can only imagine their torment.”

  “So, should we sully their sacrifice by surrendering meekly now?” asked Endorr.

  Kard's eyes flashed but Barras stared him out of his anger. The General's voice remained calm.

  “It is too late to do anything for those lost in the DemonShroud. But it isn't too late to save those still alive out there. Endorr, my naive young mage, there is to be no meek surrender. Indeed, I expect you to play your full part in ensuring the Wesmen forever fear Julatsa. And if, in our battle, we all die but just one child from within these walls escapes the clutches of the Wesmen, I will deem it a victory worth the fight.

  “Do I have your permission to begin?” Kard asked of the entire Council. One by one, its members nodded and said “aye.”

  “Then it is done,” said Kard. “An hour before first light tomorrow, I will visit you here to request you disperse the DemonShroud. From that moment, I will command all forces of the Julatsan city and College, mage and soldier, man and woman. Do I have this authority?”

  “Yes, General Kard, you do,” said Kerela. “And you have the backing, the blessing and the prayers of all of us. Save our College. Stop our people dying.”

  Kard smiled. “I'll see what I can do.”

  Sha-Kaan's entry into the Broodlands had none of the triumph of his previous return. He slipped through the mists all but unnoticed, announcing his arrival to a ministering Vestare only as he landed. Dispensing with the usual formalities of welcome, he enquired about the use of the Melde Hall, stilled his body and switched straight inside.

  There, lying flat on his flank, neck and tail both stretched out, was Elu-Kaan, all manner of cuts and scores evident on his head and neck. One wing was unfurled, its membrane marked and dry but mercifully unbroken. But it was his breathing which worried Sha-Kaan. Rapid and ragged as if his lungs had lost capacity and his every inhalation dragged their surface over teeth of stone.

  Though tired, stiff and in considerable pain after his battle and bone-wearying flight to Teras, he immediately ordered his ministering Vestare to tend to Elu-Kaan. He moved his great bulk out of their way, sat down and snaked his head to the ground by Elu-Kaan's.

  He hardly had to ask the question. The reason Elu was damaged had to be an encounter with the Arakhe and the reason he was not in the flow of interdimensional space was because he had clearly not found a way through to his Dragonene inside Julatsa.

  Close to, Elu-Kaan's muzzle was covered in myriad scratches from the claws and teeth of the Arakhe. All but impervious to Dragonfire, they were a dangerous foe but seldom ventured from their dimension to trouble the huge animals whose souls they dare not take. But this DemonShroud penetrated the sanctity of interdimensional space and Elu-Kaan had stumbled into their innate fury and had almost paid the ultimate price.

  There was no formal contact between the two races. For all that dragons were hard to negotiate with, Arakhe would not talk at all. Theirs was a simple doctrine that assumed all other races in all other dimensions were inferior to them, to be used and destroyed as necessary. Sha-Kaan, who had only one encounter with them in his long history, would concede that in most cases, they had reason to believe so. But dragons and now humans and elves had learned to either use them or deal with them effectively and this made them more unpredictable still.

  Elu-Kaan's eyes flickered open as he felt Sha-Kaan's breath on his face. A dark discharge ran from his nose but this was so far ignored by the Vestare who concentrated on his wing and the scales and skin that covered his chest cavity.

  “I am sorry, Sha-Kaan, I have failed you,” he said, voice rasping and wheezing.

  “Speak with your mind, Elu, I am open to you. Rest your throat and your lungs.”

  “Thank you,” said Elu-Kaan, a pulse of gratitude for the honour of mind speaking with the Great Kaan accompanying his words.

  “Soon you will be able to do so as of right,” said Sha-Kaan. “Now, tell me of your journey and your encounter with the Arakhe. And I will hear no talk of failure. Yours was a mission of risk and that you survived at all is testament to your ability and strength. If you should tire, tell me and we will talk at a later time.”

  “You are hurt, Sha-Kaan.”

  “Look to your own injuries, Elu. I need to take your information to my Dragonene. Speak while you are able.”

  Elu-Kaan took as deep a breath as was possible for him. His body shuddered with the effort and the pain. Sha-Kaan again wondered what the damage could be but thought to ask a Vestare later.

  “It is hard to follow the corridor without a Dragonene as beacon but I could follow the streams and markers I knew, and the signature of Balaia is strong.” Elu-Kaan's eyes were closed once more and Sha could allow the frown of worry to spread across his features. Another breath, shorter this time, heaved across Elu's body. His voice faded for a moment and then recovered. “I could feel the presence you call the Shroud as I approached Julatsa and the location of my Dragonene but behind it was silence like the void we felt when the Balaians cast their spell that tore our gateway.”

  “Calm yourself, Elu,” said Sha-Kaan as he felt the increase in the younger dragon's heart rate. He glanced across at the Vestare who worked feverishly on his chest with heated mud balms and scented steams. They would take some time to filter through the skin. One of the Vestare moved between the two dragon's heads and rested a steaming pot beneath Elu-Kaan's mouth and nostrils. His surprise at the new scent was followed swiftly by a relaxation of the muscles in his neck as the gentle fragrance of mist and leaf carried its healing properties to his lungs.

  “The Vestares’ skill is a blessing,” said Sha-Kaan, nodding to the servants of the Kaan, who bowed in response to his notice though they could not hear the exchange between him and Elu. “Now, how did the Arakhe get close to you?”

  “I felt I could move through the Shroud but as I touched its presence, I could feel the magic was strong and a link between the Balaian and the Arakhe dimension, not of the Arakhe alone.

&
nbsp; “And it was full of Arakhe and they flooded my corridor, repulsing my fire and attacking me with their feet, their hands and their teeth. Those that bit inside my mouth hurt me. It was like ice and it quelled my fire and now it burns in my neck and deep within me…” He trailed off again as a cough racked his body, causing his tail to reflex and slap the ground behind him and the Vestare near him to jump away sharply. New discharge shot from his nostrils and bowled over the pot whose contents drained into the hot moist earth of the Melde Hall. It was immediately replaced by another.

  “Enough, Elu-Kaan, you must rest.”

  “No, Great Kaan, there is one more thing,” Elu's mind voice was fading and Sha-Kaan guessed the balms and scents were designed to force sleep upon the wounded dragon. “The Shroud is full of Arakhe and they are baying for the souls of the Balaians. They think they have been given a way to breach the Balaian dimension that the Balaians cannot close. We must pray to the Skies that they are wrong because there is no way we can help them, the power is too great and we are too stretched.”

  “But what might it mean?” asked Sha-Kaan, trying to close on the ramifications of the new threat. Elu-Kaan had the answer.

  “If they can beat the mages with whom they made the Shroud, they can expand its compass at will. It is another gateway, Great Kaan, and without Balaians to control it, could swallow our melde-dimension as easily as the gateway over Teras.” Elu-Kaan's mind contact slipped away and, for a moment, Sha-Kaan thought he had died. But a glance at the Vestare and their calm ministrations told him that Elu-Kaan was merely at healing rest.

  He pulled his neck away from the ground and stood. There was no time to be lost and there was no time to rest and heal his own wounds. He had been right. Again, Balaians, trying to protect themselves, had set in train an event over which they no longer had any proper control. This time he could not talk just to Hirad Coldheart. This time, the entirety of The Raven had to hear him. Without another backward glance, he walked to his corridor and sought to travel interdimensional space, Hirad Coldheart's signature as his guiding beacon.