Noonshade

by James Barclay

  But Sha-Kaan did not move, an open act of aggression should Tanis-Veret choose to take it that way. But the damaged dragon merely shook his head.

  “I see,” he said.

  “Skies above, Tanis, no you do not!” thundered Sha-Kaan. “I came here and begged you not to ally with the Naik, to trust us that we would protect you from them but you would not listen and so we were bound to fight you and you were the weaker link.

  “It is of no succour but the Kaan took no pleasure in your destruction. And now, we have the chance to help you survive.”

  A laugh rumbled in the chest of Tanis-Veret and he growled in his throat. “How can you help us? The Kaan are finished too. This meeting is a meeting of the dead. The gateway is too big for you to defend any longer. We can all see it. When the Naik next muster their allies, you will be destroyed and your melde-dimension with you.”

  Sha-Kaan inclined his head. Tanis-Veret's incomplete knowledge led to his only possible conclusion. “But we now have the means to close the gateway and we need you to give us the time to do it.”

  “I can think of no reason why I should trust your words.”

  “I make you this offer, Tanis-Veret,” said Sha-Kaan. “It is your decision if you accept. I will place no pressure on you. I have travelled alone and at great risk to talk with you and am honoured that you still grant me audience. Natives of my melde-dimension have travelled here to use their skills to close the gateway in my sky. It was forged by their magic and can be undone by that same magic. But they will be on the ground and vulnerable while they work.

  “If you join the battle on the side of the Kaan, we can defend them. And should they succeed, the Kaan will return to strength quickly. I do not believe the Naik will leave you be, should they triumph. What I can promise you, and you know my words can be trusted, is that we will protect you after our victory. We will keep enemies from your borders while you heal and keep you safe while your numbers recover. Never again will the Veret and the Kaan fight. Our lands do not cross, we have no reason to be in conflict. So it shall be with the Kaan.

  “I do not expect you to answer now. It is your gamble and the fate of your Brood rests on your decision. I need your help. The Brood Kaan needs your help. And now I must leave. I have to prepare for battle, as do you. Perhaps I will see you dive on the Naik.”

  “The Skies go with you, Sha-Kaan,” said Tanis-Veret, his tone enigmatic, thoughtful. “I will respond to the call from the Naik as I must. But that is all I must do.”

  “As you wish, Tanis-Veret.” He unfurled his wings, barked a farewell and flew for the Kaan Broodland, his heart a little easier while his mind turned to battle.

  As evening gathered, the mist closed in and the pace of the Kaan Broodland, already sedate, slowed even further. No dragons remained outside, choosing Chouls, melde-corridors or private dwellings if they were of sufficient rank. The Raven sat outside near the river. They hadn't been given any quarters and were clearly expected to sleep outside in the open. But the night was warm and humid and sleeping by the river would present no problem.

  The real problem lay in the uncertainty of the mages and Hirad felt that keenly. He saw the anxious look in Ilkar's eyes and the fidgeting of Denser's lips as they worried at the stem of his unlit pipe.

  On the one hand it was extraordinary, he thought, as he watched the four of them arguing and practising a short distance away, sitting on a flat rock near the river, books and papers held open and down by small stones and pebbles. Here, four of Balaia's most talented mages, including the most powerful man in Xetesk, struggled with a problem for which they had practically all the information.

  And on the other, it was no surprise at all. They were being asked to close a hole in the sky, the size of a city, hundreds of feet above their heads. Hirad could only guess at the skill that must take. Again, he felt helpless. He knew his role as warrior meant they got here at all, but now, with the most important work still to be done, he was sitting around drinking coffee.

  Across the stove sat Thraun, silent and brooding, his long blond hair lank in the humidity, hanging in thick clotted strands around his head. The shapechanger had barely acknowledged his own existence since Will's death, coming to life only when The Raven were threatened. But, like so much of The Raven of the recent past, the man he had been was gone.

  “Thraun?” ventured Hirad. The young man lifted his gaze from the grass he'd been studying and looked squarely at Hirad. There was no strength in his eyes. No determination. Nothing but a brooding sorrow. Now he'd got Thraun's attention, Hirad had little idea how to go on, knowing only that he had to get through somehow, that the silence could not be allowed to continue.

  “How are you feeling?” Hirad cringed inwardly as he asked the lame question. Thraun ignored it.

  “Will would have loved this place,” he said, his voice a low growl. “He was quite nervous, you know. Strange that, for such a talented thief. This place is so tranquil. It would have calmed him.”

  “Despite the large number of huge dragons flying about?”

  Hirad was rewarded with the ghost of a smile on Thraun's lips. “Despite that. Funny, isn't it. Something as small as Denser's Familiar scared him so badly while something as large as dragons hardly even ruffled his feathers.”

  “I don't know,” said Hirad. “There's much good in dragons, or the Kaan anyway. Nothing too holy about the Familiar.”

  “I suppose.” Thraun fell silent, resuming his study of the ground. “I can't bear this,” he said suddenly, catching Hirad off guard.

  “Bear what?”

  “Only he knows what it's really like.” Thraun indicated The Unknown who stood near the mages with the three surviving Protectors. “Having something in you that you hate and love in equal measure. Something that you wish didn't afflict you but could not live without. Only his friends didn't die while he was a Protector.”

  “Richmond did.”

  “But The Unknown wasn't standing next to him, was he? You thought him dead. He had gone and Richmond couldn't be saved.”

  “And neither could Will,” said Hirad earnestly, leaning forward. “Listen, when Sirendor Larn died, I felt the same. Like I let him down by not being stood by him at the moment of the attack. I had to accept quickly that there was nothing more I could have done. Yes, I had my revenge but you know something else? It doesn't make the pain any less. You just have to go on as best you can. Enjoy the things you still have, don't dredge up the things you don't.”

  Thraun looked at Hirad again, nodding gently, tears brimming his eyes. “I know you mean to help, Hirad. And I thank you for that. But Will was my only link to the human world when I was in wolf form. He was the only one I could trust to bring me back. The only one brave enough to stand up to me at my wildest. And I let him down. I hid inside my invulnerability because I was scared. It cost Will his life.

  “It's something you can never really understand. He was my family and I loved him because he knew what I was and refused to judge me because of it. Now the only ones who won't judge me, the only ones who are my family are the pack. When we get back to Balaia, I will find them.”

  “The Raven are your family now,” said Hirad. “We're strong and we care. Stay with us.” Thraun's words had shaken Hirad. He felt the shapechanger slipping away from him.

  That ghost crossed Thraun's lips again. “That is an offer and a commitment stronger than you know. But I don't belong, not really. Not without Will.” He gazed deep into Hirad's eyes for a moment. “But I won't let The Raven down.”

  “I know,” said Hirad.

  It was curious, the force that drew The Unknown to the Protectors. But he saw their loneliness, their anxiety at separation from their brothers. He knew how they felt. And so he stood with them, lending them his immediacy. There were no words at first but The Unknown could sense the same lack of focus he had observed earlier. But stronger now, verging on confusion. He broke the silence.

  “Cil, Ile, Rya. I am Sol. You knew me. You know m
e still. You are troubled.”

  Cil inclined his masked head. “We cannot feel the brethren. Or the chain that binds us. Our souls are distant. We fear their loss.”

  “Is the chain broken?” The Unknown was startled. To remove the DemonChain binding Protector to the Soul Tank would be to kill the body and lose the soul. But no Protector had ever travelled the dimensions and these Protectors were very much alive.

  “We cannot feel it,” said Rya. “It is not there.”

  “But you can still feel your souls.”

  “Distantly,” confirmed Cil.

  “Then…” began The Unknown.

  “Are we not free?” continued Cil. “We will only know by removing our masks. And if we are wrong, torment is eternal. And how can we truly be free when our souls are not within our bodies.”

  “Does Styliann know?” asked The Unknown, wondering whether he was truly free himself. Yet his hope for his brothers rose even as he feared their reaction to permanent separation from the totality.

  “We are still his Given,” said Cil. “We will not undermine his belief.”

  “I will support you in whatever you choose,” said The Unknown.

  Cil, Rya and Ile nodded, an exact movement.

  “We are one,” they said. “It is ever so.”

  Darrick had decided his course of action before the parley team had reached their camp at a gallop, the hooting abuse of the Wesmen loud in their ears. Shouting for his regimental commanders, he slid from his horse and strode into the command post, Blackthorne and Gresse on his heels, a little winded from the hard ride.

  The General stood behind the map table and his senior ranks were arrayed in front of him awaiting his words. His orders were swift and sure. Never show weakness. Never hesitate. Ask for comment. Prepare to adjust but never change.

  “Tessaya will not yield, which we can't say is too surprising though I was disappointed in a man of his apparent education and intelligence. He thinks he has us where he wants us. We cannot break through his lines to reach the Manse and we cannot beat his march to Korina. We will, of course, attempt neither.

  “We will move to engage his army immediately but with no thought of breaking it, merely occupying it. This is because we will not be attacking with our full strength. It is estimated that the army pressing the Manse is eight to ten thousand strong with only the Protectors keeping them away. Here is what will happen.

  “The second, third and fourth regiments, under the command of Regimental Commander Izack, will depart immediately, heading south before turning east through Grethern Forest, aiming to attack the Wesmen at the Manse from the south tomorrow at first light.

  “Tessaya will naturally anticipate this move. He is not a stupid man. Therefore the balance of the army under my command will meet them head on. We will try to draw them into the forest where our lack of numbers will be less of a disadvantage. Specifically, we will break the regiments into their component centiles and each Captain will have a particular area to guard. It's a risky strategy but will allow us to cover a wider front. It will be a running battle unless we can convince Tessaya he has us all trapped in the forest. Comment.”

  “Sir,” said Izack, a black-haired middle-aged soldier with small brown eyes and an impeccably trimmed moustache. Darrick motioned for him to continue. “The way through the woods is slow. If you are creating a diversion in Grethern, should we not march north and turn east beyond the first crag?”

  “But then if the Wesmen threaten to overwhelm us, you could not help. By the time you're far enough south to turn east unseen, we'll know if we can hold them without you. And you aren't to travel the forest all the way. A mile beyond the Wesmen encampment, you should rejoin the main trail. Overall, a quicker journey than by crag.” Darrick had considered and dismissed Izack's thought earlier. But at least the man had the balls to speak up and the brain to speak well.

  “General, you are trying to hide a great many men in the forest. Do you really think they can escape the Wesmen?” asked Gresse.

  “Yes, but only if we make ourselves appear larger than we are. We must make full use of our mage strength to block the gaps. That is also why we need them in the forest to fight us and why Izack must travel three miles south before turning east.”

  “And if we don't hold them?” asked Blackthorne.

  Darrick shrugged and gave the answer he always did to such a question. “Perhaps that is something you should ask Izack because I will not be here to issue new orders.” The fact was that he never considered failure or defeat. He had never experienced it. And he firmly believed there was nothing lucky about it. “Anything else.”

  Heads shook and “No sir,” rippled around the tent.

  “Then come to me in turn to receive your area orders. Barons, I would be obliged if you would brief your farmers and vintagers, who built the camp so expertly, to defend it in a similar manner.”

  Gresse's laughter echoed back as he and Blackthorne left the tent.

  The night was full when The Raven gathered around the stove to talk briefly before grabbing what rest they could. Tomorrow, the fate of two dimensions would be decided. Around them, the Broodlands were quiet. Light shone from the odd opening in one or two dwellings but the Balaians were the only people outside.

  “Can you do it?” asked Hirad, yet another mug of coffee warming his hands.

  “In theory,” said Erienne. “We can construct the shapes.”

  “There's a but in there somewhere,” said The Unknown. “A big one.”

  “Several,” agreed Erienne. “We have no idea how much stamina will be needed to close the rip this side, only that we have the ability to project the casting from the ground. Just. If the draw is too great, we won't be able to close the corridor. We have had to estimate the effect of randomisation in interdimensional space on the mana construct. We have had to guess at how much strength the knit construct needs to seal the corridor rather than cause collapse. The list goes on and grows in technicality.”

  “Meaning those were the simple ones,” said Hirad dryly.

  Ilkar chuckled and patted his leg. “Poor old Hirad. Magic will always be a closed book to you, I'm afraid.”

  “Less of the old,” growled Hirad. “I'm not having that debate start again. All I wanted was a yes or no answer.”

  “We'll do it,” said Denser. “We always do.”

  “Has Hirad been teaching you what to say?” asked Ilkar.

  “You have to believe.” Denser shrugged. Erienne put an arm around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Clearly he has,” said Ilkar.

  “And what about him?” Hirad nodded his head toward Styliann who sat with his back to a hut, Septern's writings clutched hard to his chest. “Does he believe?”

  “With a zeal I find hard to credit,” said Denser. “Frankly, it worries me. His eyes are wild at times. I don't know whether he's scared or excited.”

  “Well, we need him,” said Erienne. “So don't go upsetting him.”

  “And he needs us,” said Hirad. “Don't forget that. He dies just as much as we do if this fails.”

  The Raven fell silent. Hirad sampled the heavy, warm atmosphere. The Brood Kaan were at rest. But they knew, as their minds recovered from their last fight, that the next would decide whether they prospered or ceased to exist. They knew the Naik were coming back. They knew more of them would suffer the pain of flame and claw and they knew that no matter how hard they fought, their destiny was not in their hands.

  The Raven's responsibility weighed heavy on Hirad very suddenly. Sha-Kaan was returning from his mission to the Veret and would want an answer from Hirad more certain than that he had been able to give earlier. And despite Denser's apparent confidence, Hirad could not shake his anxiety. Before he faced the Great Kaan, that was something he would have to rectify.

  “Still you try and talk your way out of extinction, Sha-Kaan. Still you choose your mouth to speak rather than breathe the fire that makes a true dragon. Few will lamen
t the passing of the Kaan. You preach that which no other Brood wants to hear.”

  Sha-Kaan continued his lazy circling. The Naik's leader, Yasal-Naik, flying with two escorts had intercepted the Great Kaan on his journey back from the Veret Broodlands of the Shedara Ocean. It was clear he had not come to fight. It was also clear that he had not come to talk of peace. Sha-Kaan was not surprised though he was disappointed in himself that he hadn't chosen to vary his route back to Teras.

  High above the cloud in the chill streams where he could let the wind do the work to speed him home, he had seen the Naik trio by the light of the stars and had decided not to try and evade them. He felt able to defeat three of the smaller rust-brown Brood despite the weariness in his bones, scales and wings.

  As they neared, he had picked out Yasal by the v-shaped cut in the wedge of armour behind his head. Sha-Kaan had put the damage there himself over a hundred cycles before, in a battle over Beshara. If Yasal was flying it meant only one thing. He had come to gloat over his impending victory.

  The two elder dragons circled each other, their minds meeting to speak, while the escort stood off below.

  “The Naik are the only Brood whose minds remain closed to the havoc we wreak on our lands. We cannot battle forever. If we do, there will be no land left to win. There will come a point where even you will have to recognise that.”

  Yasal-Naik growled a laugh. “But the battle is already won, Sha-Kaan. With your Brood destroyed and your melde smouldering, we will have dominion and all other Broods will furl wing to the Naik. The Veret are already doomed to subservience. The Gost will follow, and the Stara will follow them, until every Brood does the Naik bidding.”

  “Your overconfidence will be your downfall, Yasal,” said Sha-Kaan, though he knew the Naik's summation to be correct. “Don't preside over victory before it is assured.”