Noonshade

by James Barclay

  “Anyone got a torch?” Hirad was smiling.

  “Dare I ask why?” asked The Unknown.

  “Perhaps the dragons are painted on the ceiling, or something.”

  “You really are hilarious, Coldheart,” snapped Denser. “I know what I saw.”

  “Then,” said Styliann, the quiet authority of his voice cutting through the still air, “someone must have built it.”

  Hirad looked askance at Styliann but before he could speak, the power of Sha-Kaan's mind gripped him.

  “Welcome to my world, Hirad Coldheart. Now you will see what your carelessness has caused. Jatha will guide you from the enclave.” As fast as the power had come it was gone and Hirad found himself looking into The Unknown's puzzled face.

  “You all right?”

  Hirad nodded. “It was Sha-Kaan. He knows we're here. He—” He was interrupted by movement from ahead of them. A shadow moved in the light. Seamlessly, The Raven formed up. Hirad, The Unknown and Thraun, responding automatically, unsheathing swords and spacing themselves centrally in the chamber. Ilkar, Denser and Erienne stationed themselves behind. A heartbeat later, the Protectors joined them on either flank.

  A short man, simply dressed, and with a sheathed weapon at his side, walked into view. He showed no fear at the line of warriors facing him, his face breaking into a smile above his long braided beard. Hirad relaxed and put up his sword.

  “Jatha?” he ventured, knowing he was right. The man nodded and with vocal cords sounding unused to regular speech, said:

  “Hirad Coldheart. Raven.”

  The Lord Tessaya received two messages via carrier woodruff within the space of an hour around midday, and they led him to preside over a slaughter he had thought to avoid.

  The first message, from the remnants of Taomi's force fleeing northwest toward Understone, confirmed all his worst fears about the state of the invasion of Gyernath and the defiance of the Baron whose wine he so enjoyed. But worse, it informed him of the destruction of the southern supply base and that Darrick not only still lived but still fought hard.

  And the second, while giving him the news he had craved from Julatsa, left him plagued with doubts because it spoke of a small force breaking through the siege line a few hours before the College fell. It spoke of a mission to a land of dragons, it spoke of cataclysm and death from the sky greater than any the Wytch Lords might have unleashed. And, coming so hard on the heels of the rout of his men chasing the cursed Xetesk mage, he felt uncertain for the first time since he rode from his village.

  Hating himself for doing it, he called on Arnoan to help him. The two men sat inside the inn, ate and talked, the old Shaman's eyes sparkling and mischievous. Tessaya knew Arnoan felt a great wrong had been righted and was happy to let the idea ride.

  “It will pay you to be calm,” said Arnoan, breaking bread and soaking it in his broth.

  “Calm?” echoed Tessaya. “The Raven, damn them, have escaped a siege city and apparently go to speak with dragons, to form an alliance against me. Styliann and his dread force which now numbers somewhere around five hundred have massacred, massacred, thousands of my warriors at precious little cost and, if my scouts are correct, appear to be travelling to meet The Raven. And now I find my southern brethren are fleeing from a town they thought was theirs and have now been forced to destroy to prevent its recapture. Their spirit is broken and those that are left are coming here expecting my sympathy. Something they will not get.

  “This is not a situation in which I see any reason to remain calm.” He drained a goblet of wine, Blackthorne red ironically, and refilled it, pushing a hunk of bread into his mouth with his free hand.

  Arnoan smiled gently. “But how much of it is true, my Lord? Darrick and Blackthorne, yes, I can see that. But dragons? And death from the sky? Are we not beyond these wild stories? I rather suspect that much of Senedai's report is the hysterical claims of a mage knowing his life is about to end and wishing to strike fear into his tormentor.”

  “He succeeded.” Tessaya regarded Arnoan over the top of his goblet.

  “But we must discount dragons. They are creatures of nightmare with no hold on the real world. They do not exist,” said Arnoan.

  “And supposing I accept that, why did The Raven leave, and where are they going? And why has Styliann not remained in Xetesk to defend his own city, taking with him their prime fighting force?” Tessaya drummed his fingers on the table.

  “It seems clear to me that, knowing the College was falling, The Raven ran. They have no allegiance, they are mercenaries,” said Arnoan. Tessaya almost smiled, though irritation at the Shaman's dismissal of circumstance lent his mood anger, not levity.

  “I would sooner believe dragons exist than that The Raven ran from a fight. Don't try to smooth over what is going on. Senedai's message was quite clear that they broke through with the aid and, I must presume, the blessing of the Julatsans.” He held up his hand to silence Arnoan's next utterance. “Something is going on. I can feel it. And we are sitting here just waiting for the storm to break. I will not wait any longer.”

  “We can track them and watch them as we are doing now,” said Arnoan. “Understone is important to us. We must not desert it.”

  “Perhaps you have lost your stomach for the fight now you are toothless, my Shaman, but I have not.” Tessaya's voice was quiet and cold. “Let me tell you the way it is. The Raven are riding to parley with dragons and if not them, something equally powerful they believe can stop us. Styliann and his bastard creations will join them. At the very best, if we do not hunt them down and kill them, they will advance the defence of Korina and I do not want that. At worst, they might just find an ally we cannot beat.

  “Lord Senedai has treated it seriously enough to give chase with much of his army, Lord Taomi is running here with Baron Blackthorne and perhaps General Darrick in his bootprints. Our goal is to control Balaia through the capture of the capital and we will not achieve that sitting here waiting for Taomi to lead trouble to our door.

  “You will instruct Riasu that he is to man the eastern fortifications of Understone Pass. No mage must get close enough to cast the water magic. He has enough men and he can call on the reserve. We will march first to The Raven and then to Korina. Time is slipping from us, my old friend, and we must grasp the opportunity while we still have it.”

  Arnoan was quiet for a time, sucking his top lip and nodding his head as he thought. “It is a bold move, my Lord. But what of Understone itself? We have expended such effort securing it.”

  Tessaya glanced around him at the almost complete stockade and tower system. He shrugged. “Its purpose has been served. It has kept us safe and our warriors busy. We are under no threat of losing the pass again. The Colleges do not have the will now that Julatsa has fallen and Styliann is absent. We will leave it.”

  “For Riasu?” said Arnoan.

  “No.” Tessaya shook his head. “We will leave no building standing.”

  “And our prisoners?”

  The Lord Tessaya sighed and passed a hand over his face. “We are warriors, not warders. And they must not be allowed to rejoin the battle.”

  “My Lord?” Arnoan's face had paled.

  “They have no value to us and they have become an encumbrance. I wish to be unencumbered.” Tessaya rose and walked away down the street toward Understone Pass, his heart not matching the chill of his voice. This was not how he wanted it to be. But too much was happening and conquest by any means was now the only way. He stopped and turned, his eyes coming to rest on the billets where the prisoners were held. He breathed out heavily and marched to give the orders.

  Perhaps sensing their urgency, or feeling pressure of his own, Jatha hurried The Raven plus unwelcome guests from the rip, moving quickly through several turns of the man-made cave before coming to a blank wall. Pausing only to glance over his shoulder and beckon them on, he disappeared into it. The Raven pulled up short.

  “Ilkar?” asked The Unknown.

&nbs
p; The elf stepped forward. “Illusion, I should think.” He placed his hand on the wall. It was solid. “And an exceptional one at that. I'm not sure…” His voice trailed off. He pushed again, this time his hand sank into its surface. “Extraordinary.” Denser came to his shoulder.

  “Interesting,” he said. “This isn't a mana construct.” Erienne and Styliann crowded the end of the passageway, probing at the rock illusion.

  “What do you think?” asked Denser.

  “Well, it's actually rock, isn't it?” said Styliann. “But modified.”

  “Perhaps it recognises certain people or something,” ventured Denser. He sank a hand through up to the elbow, feeling his fingers reach open space beyond it. “There's only token resistance here.”

  “How would it know to recognise me?” said Styliann. “There was no word of my coming.” He too probed the rock.

  “Good point,” said Erienne. “To me, it feels fluid, though I agree with you that it's rock. The question is, how does it maintain solid appearance and form?”

  “I suspect it's a bounded magic, a little like the rip,” said Ilkar. “It has clearly been placed here deliberately to hide the rip.”

  “So has the whole cave system, come to that,” said Denser. “Though the rest of it is solid enough.”

  Hirad, who had been leaning against a wall, idly scratching his chin, blew out his cheeks, winked at The Unknown and stepped forward, a smile on his lips.

  “All this wisdom and none of you have a bloody clue, have you?”

  The quartet of senior mages turned as one, their supercilious expressions mirrors for each other.

  “Hirad, do you mind?” said Ilkar. “We're trying to solve this before we walk blindly through it. That is our way, isn't it?”

  “Oh yes,” said Hirad. He placed a hand on the construct and leant hard. “But you're missing the point.” He pushed himself away then leant in again, more gently this time, his hand moving easily through the rock.

  “Oh no.” Ilkar's face betrayed a brief comical alarm. “You know exactly what this is, don't you?” Hirad nodded. Ilkar sighed and addressed the mages. “You'll just have to live with the fact that he knows something we don't. It doesn't happen often but you'll never be allowed to forget it.”

  “Well?” demanded Denser.

  “It's not magic. Not like you know,” said Hirad. “It's a piece of interdimensional material carrying the signatures of the Kaan and Balaia. No one outside of those groups can go through it. To them, it's solid rock. Clever, these dragons, aren't they?” He walked through the wall.

  Outside, the accuracy of Denser's memories of the landscape was confirmed. They emerged into a vast valley of blackened earth and scorched trees, dead trunks reaching for the sky, fingers searching in vain for rescue. Only the most tenacious of undergrowth grew on the blasted ground and an acrid burnt smell permeated the air.

  Behind them, the rock appeared like an area of tumbledown crag, indistinguishable from a dozen like it scattered along the valley slopes. Above, the sky was a deep and beautiful blue, blown through by wisps of high cloud. Nothing stirred. No animals nosed under the trees, no birds twittered in the boughs or swooped through foliage. The atmosphere was heavier here, thick and moist, every smell alien in their nostrils; and the air settled uncomfortably in their lungs, though there was no ill in it.

  “It's so quiet,” breathed Erienne. The Raven stood together a few paces distant from Styliann and his half dozen Protectors, the latter seeming just a little distracted; a fact not missed by The Unknown. To the left, Jatha stood with two dozen of his people, all small men by Balaian standards, similar in height to poor Will but stockier, powerful in the shoulders and legs, their bodies used to hard physical labour. All were men and all wore beards of varying lengths tied with braiding, Jatha's being the most complex.

  While The Raven studied the devastation, Jatha's people scoured the sky or held their ears to the ground, listening for attack, never letting their hands stray too far from their weapons; flat-bladed stubby broadswords and short maces, weapons designed to deliver uncultured power in battle.

  “What now?” asked Ilkar.

  “Now we travel to Wingspread. To the Kaan homeland,” said Hirad.

  Jatha came to Hirad's side and turned an anxious face in his direction.

  “Come,” he said, uncomfortable with the speech. “Bad place.” He gestured away along the valley floor with his left arm. In the distance, hills shimmered in the sun's haze. “Home,” he said.

  “It's time to go,” said Hirad. “Looks like we're walking it.”

  “No dragons to give us a lift?” asked Denser.

  “Never,” said Hirad, his face stony.

  They set off after Jatha and his people, the Kaan's servant race setting a brisk pace, their eyes always tracking the sky above. Underfoot, the ground was baked hard by sun and fire and, here and there, as they crossed the valley floor, the white of bone showed bright against the earth.

  “How far is it?” asked Erienne, her hand on her belly, eyes troubled. Hirad shrugged.

  “We're very short of time,” said Ilkar. “We have a great deal to learn if we are to cast an effective spell.”

  “Or anything at all,” agreed Denser. He placed an arm around Erienne's shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “Tired, I think.” She smiled up at him. “I'll be fine.”

  The party continued along the valley floor for over an hour before Jatha turned left and scrambled up a dried-up watercourse that wound up the slope, alternately steep and shallow in the climb. He and his men halted at the top where the line of blackened trunks thinned out. The sight that greeted The Raven was breathtaking.

  In front of them, and sweeping away for mile after unbroken mile, lay a softly undulating plain of tall grass that whispered in the breeze. Gusts of wind played across its red- and blue-flecked straw yellow surface, driving dark colour in swirling patterns that ebbed and flowed like eddies on the sea. Here and there, unmoving dark scars spoiled the totality of the plain and the land rose and fell in gentle rolls until it butted against the foothills of a cloud-shrouded mountain range that ran across the horizon, its ends lost in mist.

  But it was the scene above and ahead of them that caused hearts to flutter. Staining the cloud-flecked blue of the sky like a monumental smear of dirt on fine cloth, was the rip. Around its edges, cloud bubbled and roiled; across its surface, red lightning flared and coursed and the whole rippled, its periphery agitating ceaselessly at the blue.

  And then there were the dragons. Hirad counted forty flying in complex but ordered patterns in front of the rip while two dozen more circled in groups of three at wider distances, plunging through the thin cloud, wheeling left and right, their cries echoing faintly to the ground.

  Jatha pointed. “Kaan,” he said.

  “Can it be done?” asked The Unknown with another glance at the Protectors, none of whom stood ready to defend Styliann, their eyes also fixed on the rip and its guardians.

  Styliann let out a long hissing breath. “Magic has an answer to everything.”

  “Eventually,” added Ilkar. “But time is something we don't have. I suggest we get moving and work every break. Just look at the size of that thing.”

  Hirad looked, and the short time they had pressed on him like never before. He almost believed he could see it growing as he watched. Perhaps he could.

  “Hirad?” It was The Unknown.

  “Hmm?” He tore his eyes from the rip and its attendant Kaan to focus on the big warrior. “What?”

  “It's time to go.” He gestured at Jatha who was staring at Hirad reverently. Hirad nodded.

  “Jatha. Wingspread?” The Great Kaan's attendant frowned then beamed.

  “Wingspread,” he said and pointed away across the plain to the distant mountains. His smile faltered a little. “Careful.” He indicated the sky and made swooping motions with his arms. “Careful.” He indicated his eyes then pointed in all directions around him.

>   “Got that, Raven?” Hirad asked. Their silence told him they had. The party set off down the slope toward the seductively swaying plains grass.

  The grass was taller even than Cil and The Unknown but its dense growth made travel tortuously slow. It smelled of fresh fields but also contained a beguiling sweetness, like ripe fruit on a hot day. And while it gave them good protection from ground threat, none of them were under any illusion about how the path they left appeared from above.

  Jatha had been more optimistic, gesturing to them how the strands sprang back. But even his expression turned to worry as he saw the damage the heavier Balaians were causing.

  He kept them moving at as fast a pace as was possible for the entire afternoon, stopping only briefly for food. As the evening drew on, Jatha and his men began to look for something, though to Hirad there was no break from the monotony of the grass.

  At a signal from one of his men, Jatha brought the line to a halt. He turned to Hirad and made exaggerated tiptoe. The barbarian nodded and turned to The Raven.

  “Try not to break too much grass, eh?”

  Jatha led them from their path, moving very slowly, watching his every step as he handed the grass aside. His men mimicked his careful movement, Hirad shrugging and doing likewise, knowing The Raven would follow his lead. The deliberate movement continued for a good half hour but again the result was obvious—it would take a tracker of Thraun's skill to find them.

  As it had been for much of the day, their destination was unclear until they were on it. Hirad, following the last of Jatha's men, almost walked into the back of him as he stopped abruptly. In front of him, four of them crouched in a loose half circle. Each man grasped at the earth, lifted and moved back a soil- and grass-covered wood and sacking lattice some three feet on each side. Without pause, Jatha led his men down into the gloom.

  “Neat,” said Ilkar, standing by Hirad.

  “I'm amazed they could find it,” said Hirad.

  “Don't be,” said Thraun, his voice flat and emotionless. “The trail is well marked.” The Unknown patted him on the shoulder.