by Sam Bowring
‘I wouldn’t mind staying here for a day or two,’ said Losara as they strolled along.
‘Me either, lord,’ Lalenda said. ‘Let’s.’
They ate and rested and walked about. No one paid them much mind, as the city bustled with all kinds of folk. They visited markets, where Lalenda was fascinated by so many things that Losara offered to buy her a gift. She took enthusiastically to the task of choosing one, but, after frowning at this and frowning at that, she simply took his hand and kissed it.
‘Thank you, my lord, for your kindness,’ she said, ‘but I simply cannot decide.’
Such an odd girl she could be.
They walked along the docks and watched fishing boats coming and going. Further on they saw some of the city’s famous water magicians who could manipulate the sea, conjuring up waterspouts and carving them like clay on a potter’s wheel. Soon they came to a place where the coast jutted out from underneath the walkway. Below, on an outcrop of rock that overlooked the ocean, a small crowd had gathered around a water mage dressed in a green robe, with a red streak in his ponytail. The mage reached out and pulled a jet of water from the sea. With a twirl of his fingers he set it spinning on its axis, then plucked away at it, sending off sprays of water to reveal the shape beneath. A fish flew out and plopped back in the water, and the people laughed. The mage’s hands conjured frantically as blobs shifted position, a furious look of concentration on his face. Finally the crowd gasped – rotating before them was a watery carving of Lampet. The serpent god’s curves shimmered in the light and Losara almost expected to see his eyes flash different colours. The mage wasn’t done, however – his arms shot out and the serpent came to life, his body unfurling as he ‘swam’ over their heads, dripping salt water as he circled upwards. High in the sky, he exploded into a fine mist. The mage bowed, the crowd clapped and tossed coins into a wooden box at his feet.
‘Come,’ said Losara. ‘I wish a word with him.’
They made their way through the dispersing crowd, towards the outcrop, where the mage still stood. As the mage saw them approach, a strange look came over his face.
‘That was a beautiful display,’ said Losara. ‘Lampet himself would have chuckled to see it.’
The mage inclined his head. ‘Thank you, my lord. I am sure by now you know that for a fact.’
Losara was pleased that he did not detect any jealousy in the remark.
‘Performing these tricks is the main source of my income,’ the mage continued, ‘now that my old mistress Memtas has cast me out for my failure. So it is gratifying to learn that my new master approves.’
Lalenda looked from the mage to Losara, confused by the exchange.
Losara smiled. ‘I would not worry overly, Roma,’ he said. ‘I told you I would build you a grand house . . . and I will. The time to serve me is coming.’
Roma bowed low.
The next day, before they left, they called Grimra back from the sea. He’d been spending all his time there, as he had never seen the ocean before. Enthusiastically he told them that ‘floating meat be everywhere’.
East they flew, past Fort Logale, to the southern edge of the Stone Fields and the ringlet of the five goblin cities. There was Trelter, smoky grey and awash with industry. Smalt was orderly and metallic, and they saw open areas where war engines were being assembled and furnaces glowed red in the night. Barramoor was the city of the Greys, clean and poor, but somewhat colourful. Froxen was the capital, densely populated and teeming with trade, livestock, markets, gambling dens, taverns and at least three of everything else ever seen in a city. Finally came Childris, the city of teachers, with academies and schools and an enormous barracks.
From there they went north, out over the Stone Fields. Although rocky, it was not a barren region. Moss grew, streams ran full of fish, spindly trees pushed their way up from beneath, and insects lived in stone mansions.
At the border they landed to look out over Kainordas. It was daytime and a bright wall of sun fell right at their feet.
‘Can I put my hand out?’ asked Lalenda.
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Losara.
Carefully, curiously, she reached out into the sun and held her hand there for a few moments. Then she withdrew, shivering. ‘Prickles,’ she said.
‘Grimra does not like it here,’ whispered the ghost. He flashed white along the border. ‘Too much warmth . . . but hello? What is this?’ Fangs flashed over nothing.
It took Losara a moment, but suddenly he was aware of the shadowy souls that floated listlessly all around them. He remembered hearing about the Trapped – undead without bodies, who wanted to return to the light but could not. Undead whose souls were now of shadow, whom the gods wanted sent onwards to the Well. He watched as Grimra shredded one to pieces and it faded away in relief.
‘Bah,’ said Grimra. ‘No good for eating. All show and no taste.’
Losara felt sorry for the poor creatures. They needed to be put out of their misery, and indeed the gods had ordered it so. Why had Battu left them to drift?
‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said.
He dissolved into the shadows and stretched out until he was weblike. Then he rushed along the border, catching the Trapped in a net of himself. At the edge of the Stone Fields they petered out, so he changed direction and rushed the other way. Bundled against him, the souls were barely able to struggle, but he could feel their terror. Best to end it for them quickly. At the western end of the Stone Fields, he came to a stop, a swag of the undead souls wriggling in his grasp. As he gathered his power, finally they seemed to understand what he offered them. They became still, eagerly awaiting, and he let his power ripple through them. There was a collective sigh as they disintegrated.
‘Safe journey to the Well,’ Losara whispered, and sped back to join the others. Lalenda gave a little start when he solidified out of the rocks.
They wandered along the border, though there wasn’t much to see – the land was barren on each side. One creature interested Losara – the shadowmanders that darted out over the border to kill anything born on the other side. They seemed to possess such instinctive hatred of the light, and reminded him of Tyrellan. Losara knew he must learn to be like the shadowmanders if he was to succeed, but how? He didn’t want to kill something just because of what it was.
They went east along the border, and eventually the land on both sides became fertile once more. Where the Dragon’s Sorrow River crossed into Fenvarrow, it became the delta that surrounded the Dimglades, and here they stopped.
•
Losara sat by the stream with his legs tickled by reeds, careless of the moisture that soaked his robe. Frogs croaked, and dragonflies chased each other across the delta. The air was temperate and still, as lazy as he felt.
A fluttering of wings heralded the arrival of Lalenda. She touched down lightly and sank to her knees.
‘Hello there, Miss Pixie,’ he said.
‘This is a strange place,’ she said. She took hold of a reed by the water’s edge, pulling its puffy white end up towards her. ‘Of all that we’ve seen, this one makes me uneasy.’ Her finger curled and a single claw flicked neatly in and out, cutting the head from the reed with a quiet snick.
‘Is that because it reminds you of Swampwild?’ he asked.
‘No, my lord,’ she said, and he believed her.
‘Why then?’
‘Because it is so . . . between.’
Losara knew what she meant. Here on this fertile borderland were creatures that lived happily in both shadow and light. The frogs did not seem to mind whether they hopped about on the Fenvarrow or Kainordas side. Amphibians were used to living in two worlds, Losara supposed, but four? Water, air, shadow, light? Birds from the Dimglades flew down to catch insects in Kainordas, and fish swam the channels and ponds around the entire circumference
of the delta. These were lives on the edge of two places, and they didn’t seem to notice or care.
‘Why cannot light and dark exist like this?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Living side by side without discernment?’
‘I don’t know my lord,’ said Lalenda quietly. ‘I only know that they can’t.’
‘Why?’
Lalenda struggled to find an answer. Perhaps she felt it instinctively, he thought, like those shadowmanders. She was born of shadow, after all. He was not – he had been born in a between place too, he realised, in Whisperwood. Did he therefore not possess the hatred of the light that would carry him to victory? Perhaps there was another way. But how could that be the conclusion of his pilgrimage? Why would the Dark Gods, who wanted only triumph, send him to learn such a lesson?
‘My lord?’ said Lalenda.
He stirred from reverie and turned to look at her. She didn’t seem to realise, but there was a silver-winged fly tangled in her hair. He reached up to offer it his finger and it pulled itself free.
‘Will you punish the creature for sullying my hair, my lord?’ she asked, a playful note in her voice.
‘I think you know me a little better than that by now,’ he said.
‘I do.’
What a beautiful thing she was, he thought. He had seen plenty of beautiful things on their journey, but this . . . this was different. Why had he brought her with him? It wasn’t just that she’d needed rescuing, it wasn’t just compassion. He knew the answer, dimly, far back in his mind. He knew why most men would ask a woman to accompany them.
‘My lord?’ she said. ‘You’re . . . well, you’re staring at me. I don’t mind, of course, it’s just . . . well . . . are you . . . that is to say, I’ve been wondering –’
‘Lalenda,’ he interrupted, ‘I wonder if perhaps . . . the time is long past that I should have attempted . . .’ He felt the sentence growing long on his tongue, clunky and awkward. These were not the right words, he knew, but could not stop them. ‘. . . to make known my admiration of you. By way of some . . . action, perhaps. With your permission, of course.’
She stared at him in a way that made him feel strangely uncomfortable, then shifted towards him a little. ‘You’ve never needed my permission for anything,’ she said. ‘But you gave me back my permission to give . . . and I do.’
Clumsily he put an arm around her, hesitantly, lightly. ‘Lord,’ she whispered, ‘I will not break like glass.’
The realness of her penetrated his calm exterior, awakening something inside him, bringing him out of his head. He kissed her, and felt her lips soft, and her cheek too. As he ran his shadowy hands over her skin, she gasped and he pulled back in concern.
‘Your touch,’ she said. ‘It’s truly like no other.’
She pulled him back to her, and he let the shadow spread out from himself over her, caressing her, exploring and, as they grew more entwined and her cries of pleasure became more insistent, seeking out the shadows within her.
Losara had never had fewer thoughts in his head.
When he became aware of himself once again, he was lying on his back with her small form slumped across him, her lashes tickling his chest as she dozed. He didn’t feel like moving, so he closed his shadowed eyes and joined her in sleep.
The dream he dreamt gave him the reason for his pilgrimage.
Thirty-five / A Few Drops
Thirty-five
A Few Drops
A Few Drops
Losara floated, disoriented for a moment, uncertain of where he was. He steadied and turned to see the Throne standing silhouetted by the open end of his quarters, a glass of bloodfire in his hand. The sun was low in the sky to the south, and the liquid caught its rays brightly, casting a red wash over the rest of the room. The Throne did not turn as Bel and Fahren entered, and waited in silence. Losara drifted backwards to take it all in, losing himself in the flow of the dream.
‘Are you not to blame?’ muttered Naphur eventually. ‘If you had not pursued Corlas, Baygis would still be alive. It was you who placed my son in harm’s way.’
He raised the cup and drank deeply. Bel opened his mouth, but Fahren caught his eye and shook his head.
‘Fahren has told me of the bird Iassia,’ said the Throne. ‘Of the part he played.’ His tone grew resentful. ‘You should know, then, that I have called off the hunt for your father.’
A moment of relief passed over Bel’s face, but he quickly returned to his stony demeanour.
‘As long as he flees far,’ added Naphur, ‘and stays a horizon’s length from my sight.’ He turned, but the glaring sun behind him still hid his face. ‘But that does not mean I am not angry.’
‘Naphur,’ began Fahren.
‘Enough, High Mage!’ said the Throne. ‘I’ve heard you speak, and granted the mercy you begged me for. But now I will have my revenge.’ He stalked forward, revealing the dark belts under his eyes. ‘We attack Fenvarrow with all possible haste!’ he said. ‘And you, Bel, will lead. The child of power will fulfil his obligations.’
‘My Throne,’ Fahren tried, ‘I have told you that Arkus charged us to find –’
‘Curse Arkus!’ shouted Naphur. ‘I am old, heirless, and done with waiting.’ His look to Bel became almost imploring. ‘If I must not blame you, Bel, nor your father, then help me attack those I can blame. We must let Kainordas see you, rally to you, as we march to crush the dark. I have already sent out word, on wing and hoof in every direction. I promise that war is coming, with or without you, and on this I will not be dissuaded. But will you help me, Bel? Will you help me cut down those who have brought such ruin upon us?’
Fahren cast Bel an alarmed look – it was obvious he didn’t agree with such action – but Bel didn’t care. Ever since Arkus had spoken to him, his destiny had felt like a crushing weight across his shoulders. It wasn’t a burden he’d chosen to bear, and Naphur was offering a chance to be rid of it. Why did he need to join with Losara if he could just kill him? Without its champion, the shadow would fall.
‘I will,’ said Bel. ‘The sooner I have something to kill, the better.’
The Throne’s eyes gleamed. ‘We’re of like mind,’ he said, and gave a twisted smile.
The dream swirled.
•
Losara found himself floating high in the sky. Though the bright sun shone upon him, he felt no heat from it.
Beneath, from the Halls, a great force set forth, the morning light streaming at their backs. Bel sat astride a white war horse, his blue hair gleaming for all to see. On one side rode Naphur in ornate golden armour, and on the other rode Fahren, with expression dark and brooding. Behind followed the soldiers of the Halls, tromping the grass flat. Jaya broke from the mob to speed forward on a sleek stallion, laughing as she reached out to grip Bel’s hand and hold it high.
Word had spread throughout Kainordas that the blue-haired child had announced himself and was leading the charge of charges to defeat the shadow once and for all. To rally to him was to secure one’s place in history. Every day the army grew as troops arrived from all directions. Folk who had never touched a sword before fell into step, from nobles and their entourages to farmers and beggars. In jails across the land, prisoners were offered the chance to fight in exchange for pardon of all but the most heinous crimes.
Of the non-human races, the Saurians were the first to arrive. They made a fearsome sight to behold, approaching quickly over the Grass Ocean. The lizard-like Ryoshi Saurians, like monstrous pale scorpions, rode hulking dune claws. Their cousins, the Syanti Saurians, were more snake than lizard, with legless serpentine bodies and yellow slit eyes, and carried cruel-ended whips and impossibly thin swords. As the army reached the Great Rass River, a swarm of Zyvanix descended, their collective buzzing loud enough to vibrate teeth. They were a welcome addition indeed, and there was much c
elebration that night in the camps.
The army slowed as it grew, and at Kahlay Bel ordered them to stop, to allow others following to catch up. Naphur, unable to rest, it seemed, took to riding around the sprawl of camps. He preached like a prophet about the blue-haired boy, about victory and revenge on Fenvarrow. Those priests amongst the ranks took up the Throne’s words, speaking of the champion Arkus had delivered. Losara watched Bel listening in on the words with gleaming eyes. Do they give him strength? he wondered.
When the army left Kahlay a week later, it was greater than any Kainordas had ever seen.
•
One night, as they camped, Bel found Fahren smoking a brittleleaf roll and gazing with concern over the red glow of many fires.
‘Old teacher,’ he said, ‘I know you disagree with this action.’
‘I’m trying to accept it,’ said Fahren. ‘I’ve seen there’s no talking you out of it.’
‘What do you think about so deeply then?’
‘If this is indeed the war to end all wars,’ said Fahren, ‘as our poor lost Throne calls it, then I think about the only thing that bears thinking about. How to win.’
‘Ah,’ said Bel. ‘I’ve been giving that some thought myself. I don’t think we can simply march into Fenvarrow and expect to sweep through.’
Fahren cast a glance at him. ‘I’m glad to hear you say that, for it’s precisely what Naphur intends. We are in need of a better plan.’
‘Have you thought of anything?’
‘Nothing to speak of.’
‘We’ll make final camp at Holdwith,’ said Bel. ‘I understand there are many mages there.’
