Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy)

by Sam Bowring

  ‘Yes,’ said Fahren. ‘Lightfists are trained there. It’s a good place, so close to the border, to sharpen their skills.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ll know some spell to help us.’

  Fahren shook his head sadly.

  ‘Come now,’ chuckled Bel. ‘Don’t be so defeatist. Surely you don’t think you’ve seen everything under the sun?’

  •

  After many weeks of marching, they arrived at Holdwith. Built on the edge of fertile lands, the farms on the north side were well tended, yet seemed somehow makeshift and temporary. To the south, battlements overlooked dusty plains that ran all the way to the border. Here the Cloud was so close that after midday the sun moved behind it and the light grew dim.

  As the army set up camp around the fort, Bel, Naphur and Fahren rode to the gates and entered. The walls of Holdwith fort encircled a large town that seemed to contain more buildings than people. From the town centre rose a cobblestoned tower, higher than the surrounding walls. The Throne immediately headed towards it, saying he would speak to the local gerent, not pausing to see if the others followed.

  ‘We should visit the Lightfist Academy,’ Bel said. ‘See if there’s some spell, or idea, or magical artefact to give us an advantage.’

  Fahren looked miserable and Bel knew he didn’t think searching would bear any fruit.

  ‘High Mage,’ he tried, ‘you always lamented my lack of magic, but don’t let that stop you from being my magic. This is the path we are on.’

  Fahren blinked, and his jaw tightened. He considered Bel for a moment, then nodded. ‘You are right. I must stop this moping. Come, we shall see what we can find.’

  They made their way to the Lightfist Academy. In a cobbled courtyard they found students wearing red and yellow robes unleashing fireballs at dummies of Black Goblins. A pair of Lightfists, dressed in pure red, walked back and forth instructing them.

  As the High Mage entered with the child of power, all turned to stare.

  ‘We need to see Methodrex immediately,’ bellowed Fahren.

  •

  A Lightfist apprentice, about the same age as Bel, frowned deeply in concentration. From the air he conjured a translucent sunwing that beat large butterfly wings. It strung an arrow to its glowing bow and loosed it at a distant target. Next to him, another student held out a flaming torch and waggled her fingers at it. Each time a speck of ash fell from the torch, it was caught by an invisible force and hurled expanding and fragmenting across the courtyard to pelt the dummies with scattershot fireballs. The next student in line held the end of a fiery whip, which lengthened and retracted as he lashed with stunning precision and considerable devastation. The dummies flew to pieces faster than they could be magically reassembled.

  Losara watched the display with interest – it was impressive; and so hot – he was grateful he felt nothing as he drifted along. Was this the extent of what he’d have to face?

  High Overseer Methodrex, a short old man in white-gold robes, turned away from the target range. ‘You can see we have some fine students,’ he said, as yet more dummies exploded behind him. ‘But I doubt they display anything the High Mage has not seen before.’

  Fahren grunted agreement.

  ‘If these spells are commonplace,’ said Bel tersely, ‘where are the rarer ones? What of those that can only be achieved when many mages work together? What of the spells that set student apart from teacher, mage apart from High Mage?’

  ‘There are many spells, lad,’ Fahren said. ‘Not all are easy or safe to demonstrate in such confines. Of those that have merit in war, there are none the enemy cannot match.’

  Bel scowled. ‘What of the library here, Methodrex? Has it been scoured for every strange and remote possibility?’

  Methodrex drew himself up straight. Losara noticed the man treated Bel with reverence, perhaps rightly so. ‘It could perhaps stand further investigation, my lord,’ he said.

  ‘Then by all means investigate!’ said Bel, and waved a hand dismissively.

  It took Fahren a moment to realise he was being included in the instruction, and he looked taken aback.

  ‘It shouldn’t surprise you that I give you orders, old friend,’ Bel said. ‘After all, you and Naphur raised me to be a leader.’

  He held Fahren’s stare until the High Mage nodded and joined Methodrex in departing. Bel stalked off along the line of students, further inspecting their spells. Lava bubbled out of the ground, vines twisted to follow their caster’s wishes, white light crashed in waves and golden bolts of energy shot forth. It was all very impressive . . . and ultimately useless. With a stormy expression, Bel left the academy and walked out onto the cobblestoned street. Naphur was coming towards him, along with Holdwith’s gerent and several officers.

  ‘There you are!’ called Naphur. ‘We must make ready – the longer we wait, the longer Fenvarrow has to prepare!’

  ‘No, Naphur,’ said Bel, quite clearly. ‘We must wait. There are others still journeying to join our army, and it will take time to outfit them all. We must pool our resources.’

  ‘Bah,’ said Naphur. ‘You sound like Fahren, always wishing to delay. What do you seek in the academy, Bel? Magic? I thought we were beyond that, you and I.’ He drew the sword from his hip and ran it over his gauntleted palm. ‘I thought we believed in steel.’

  ‘If I say we wait,’ said Bel, ‘we wait.’

  ‘How dare you give me commands!’

  ‘You asked me to lead this army,’ said Bel, ‘and lead it I shall. The many who have joined us – some no more than peasants – why did they so readily leave behind their homes, their families? Because of a promise given, Naphur – the promise of me. You gave it yourself many times as you rode amongst them, and now you must reap what you have sown. They follow me, Naphur. And I say we wait.’

  Naphur’s eyes blazed and for a moment the sword was stationary across his hand. Then he slid it into its scabbard and gave a curt nod. The gerent and other officers present witnessed the Throne of Kainordas bow to the will of the blue-haired man. It was a story that would spread quickly.

  A booming cry echoed around the fort, full-bellied and animal.

  ‘What was that?’ Bel demanded.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, lord,’ said the gerent. ‘We captured a whelkling a short while back – must’ve got blown off course somehow. We’ve just been working out what to do with it.’

  ‘A whelkling!’ Bel recalled the creature from his lessons with Fahren.

  ‘It were carrying supplies to Skygrip,’ continued the gerent. ‘Overburdened, so maybe that’s why –’

  ‘Enough!’ said Bel. ‘Did you say it was bound for Skygrip?’

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  ‘So if it were released with someone on its back, it would bear them to Skygrip Castle?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ chuckled the gerent. ‘But that particularly insane person would meet a very nasty end, I’m sure.’

  Bel stood in silent thought for a moment, then walked away.

  ‘Well,’ snapped Naphur, ‘don’t just stand there like hair stuck on shit. You heard him – we have to see to the arming of the army!’

  •

  The town’s inn had a ‘garden’ comprised of large pots and long stone trays. These housed plants from the surrounding plains, unspectacular yet somewhat pleasant. This was where Bel found Jaya, lazily twirling a knife as she sat on a bench. He sat down next to her and she rearranged herself against him.

  ‘Any luck?’ she asked.

  ‘I know little of magic,’ he replied. ‘Fahren and the head of the academy are searching for something to help us, but they don’t seem optimistic.’

  Losara watched them curiously – they were so easy with each other, so naturally entwined. Would it be this way for him and Lalenda? Did he love her as thes
e two clearly loved each other? And what if Losara had met Jaya – would he have fallen in love with her? Would Bel have fallen in love with Lalenda?

  ‘You are worried that your other has such great magic at his disposal?’

  ‘I’d be a fool not to,’ Bel said with a sigh, and she kissed his neck. ‘It is well and good to be a great warrior, but a man is still just a man. What can one man do?’

  ‘The answer will come,’ she murmured. ‘It has to – fate got you this far.’

  The door to the inn opened and a willowy girl in a red and yellow robe emerged. She went to an urn of water, then spotted them and gave a start.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said, trying not to stare at Bel’s hair. ‘I didn’t see you there. I’m Gertrum, the innkeeper’s daughter . . . I was just going to water the plants, but I can come back later if I’m disturbing you . . .’

  Jaya giggled softly. ‘What a sweet girl,’ she whispered sarcastically.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Bel with a wave. ‘Water the plants.’

  Gertrum nodded and turned back to the urn. She put her hand in the water and a hissing began. The water bubbled and boiled, and vapour rose rapidly from its surface. Gertrum waggled the fingers of her other hand, magically collecting the vapour into a ball. After a couple of minutes, she had created a dense little cloud.

  ‘Well,’ said Jaya, ‘I’d been wondering why there wasn’t a watering can.’

  Bel watched with interest as the girl walked around the courtyard with the cloud. She would wave it into position above a plant, then mumble something and rain fell.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ said Jaya. ‘Back in Athika, our family sometimes paid for the services of a weather mage. Dry plains out there, sometimes too dry for the crops we planted. I’ve seen a mage gather moisture from a cloudless sky and make it storm . . . if only for a moment.’

  Bel’s gaze turned slowly from Gertrum’s little smudge of vapour to the grey mass of the Cloud that loomed above them. Suddenly he leaped to his feet. ‘You there!’ he exclaimed, so forcefully it made Gertrum jump. He strode over and took her by the arm. ‘This spell you’re casting – what is it?’

  ‘Um . . . er . . .’ She glanced at his hand but did not pull free. ‘It’s just a rain spell my lord. Most mages can do them – it’s just basic magic.’

  ‘And it affects the whole cloud on which it is cast?’

  ‘Um . . . well, yes, lord.’

  His hand shot up to the sky, finger pointing at the billowing darkness. ‘Could it be cast on a cloud like that?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know,’ the girl stammered. Jaya stood and gently prised Bel’s unthinking grip from her arm. ‘Maybe. If you were close to the heart of it.’

  ‘The heart of it,’ repeated Bel, as the cry of the whelkling boomed off the walls.

  Thirty-six / The Storm

  Thirty-six

  The Storm

  The Storm

  Suddenly Losara was himself in the dream, watching Battu striding back and forth and shouting orders at the troops.

  Let him, he thought. He was certain that he was meant to eventually supplant Battu as Shadowdreamer, but the gods had not specified a time frame, and there was no point making trouble with Battu before a battle. They needed all the strength they could muster.

  He dissolved into shadow and travelled swiftly to the border to look upon the growing army of his other. It was an impressive force, many tens of thousands strong, and each race was fierce and determined. He wondered if the great power he felt inside himself – as yet not truly tested – would be able to hold them all back. Certainly thousands would fall to him, but would it be enough? He didn’t like to discover himself thinking this way – loss of life on such a scale brought him no joy.

  Meanwhile, the Fenvarrow army was growing larger by the day, but the gods had been right – the population had never grown back to its full force under the Caretaker. They had a greater diversity of soldiers, that was true, with Arabodedas, Vortharg, Goblin, Graka and Pixie. The Mireform too had kept their word, and though only eight had met Losara’s summons, the arrival of such mighty allies had boosted morale considerably. It was interesting that the Mireforms answered only to him, refusing even to speak with Battu – a fact that Battu glowered over but pointedly failed to mention.

  Somehow it all felt wrong. It was happening too fast. It didn’t feel as if he was treading the right path.

  Suddenly he was wrenched free of himself as the dream swirled again and thrust into his other, into Bel . . . and it was as before, when he had seen through Bel’s eyes in Drel Forest . . .

  •

  The whelkling grunted as it dropped from the top of the cobblestoned tower and Bel knew he accounted for most of the weight. Fahren, behind him, was as light as thread and sinew, but Bel was broad and wore steel bands on his legs and arms, along with sword, boot knives, steel skirt and chest piece. Fahren had promised that he could give the whelkling a helping boost and, as they plummeted downwards Bel prayed he would be swift to do so. A moment later he felt an upsurge of warm air and the whelkling suddenly gained height. It began flapping heavily, bearing them up towards the Cloud. He dared to glance downwards, saw those on the ground watching, saw the worry on Jaya’s face as she faded into a pinprick far below.

  The whelkling climbed until the Cloud was but paces from their heads. Beneath them sprawled Fenvarrow, dark and unwelcoming. The temperature was dropping rapidly too, and Bel shivered.

  ‘Look!’ he shouted over the rushing wind.

  Some few leagues back from the border, a vast army of shadow creatures camped upon the Stone Fields. There were raised stone paths along which moved war engines and wagons. One, carrying an entire load of dark ice, glowed eerily.

  ‘You are certain they won’t see us?’

  ‘No, our invisibility spell is cast.’

  ‘Good!’

  ‘Let us just hope that Battu and Losara are both down there seeing to their minions, far from Skygrip.’

  Bel felt as if he’d dived into cold water. They were high above and well inside enemy lands, with no turning back. His blood began to tingle.

  For hours they flew, passing thousands of shadow creatures below. The glowing lights of the five goblin cities lit up the horizon for a time, blazing against them as they passed over. Bel couldn’t help but feel exposed, despite Fahren’s assurances. Soon the cities fell behind and Skygrip loomed on the horizon. Bel had seen pictures, but he was still awed by the towering fortress of twisted rock and the great spikes of its sceptre head.

  ‘This is total madness,’ came Fahren’s voice in his ear. ‘Good luck to the both of us!’

  The whelkling began a slow decline, which seemed to Bel to stretch an age. Skygrip was so massive that he kept thinking it was closer than it was. They circled about the sceptre head, then angled towards a cave mouth that opened in its side. The whelkling gave its booming cry as they swooped.

  A patrol of six Graka appeared around the tower, moving to intercept the whelkling. Angry shouting erupted as they spotted the intruders on its back. Fahren sent crackling bolts of energy at them, and three fell screaming. Two wheeled towards Bel, and he felt a zing through him as he instantly plotted the necessary movements of his sword and saw them transpire a second later. The two Graka shrieked, each missing a wing, and began spiralling like leaves towards the ground. The one remaining Graka turned and dived, managing to dodge Fahren’s bolts. The whelkling flew on obliviously, its course unaltered.

  ‘They’ll know we’re here!’ Fahren yelled.

  ‘Let them come!’ screamed Bel.

  The cave mouth swallowed them suddenly and they landed in darkness with a heavy thud. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust, aided when Fahren conjured a glowing ball of light to see by. They were in a large cavern populated by stalls of whelklings and
cages of birds. Several Grey Goblins stood frozen in surprise, and gasped as Fahren’s light found them. Bel slid from the whelkling and moved forward with a slash and a stab, cutting them down without resistance.

  ‘Come when I call you,’ whispered Fahren in the whelkling’s floppy ear and pressed his fingers to the side of its head.

  ‘There,’ said Bel, pointing to a staircase heading upwards. Together they ran towards it.

  Skygrip was a maze, but Bel was sure they would find a way to the roof if they kept going up. At the top of the stairs they ran along a tunnel, and heard the sound of running feet echoing behind them. They turned into a wide corridor with a mural of the Dark Gods cut into the wall and came face to face with a goblin patrol. ‘There!’ barked the leader, and without another sound the goblins charged.

  Bel rushed to meet them, feeling as if he overtook even himself, and clattered against their knives as a blur. The goblins were faster and more conniving than any hugger, and the path his sword had to travel to keep him alive was tighter and stricter than before. He swished at one hissing face that ducked, but others that rose against him met with steel. The fury overtook him and he laughed as he rent limbs asunder and spattered the walls with black blood. He spun as the last goblin fell and saw that others had caught up from behind. Fahren was backing towards him, one hand holding the glowing sphere that blinded the goblins and made them curse, while his other pumped back and forth sending fireballs that burst messily against whatever they hit and ran like liquid. Bel heard himself yell as he charged past, crunching over sticky charred remains to hack at any who still stood. From somewhere lower down in the castle came wails of rage and the sound of many, many feet.

  ‘Hurry, Bel,’ shouted Fahren, and they dashed along the corridor and up another flight of stairs. At the top they found a thick wooden door with a lock that Bel’s sword couldn’t smash.

  ‘Let me,’ said Fahren, pushing him aside with a nudge of power. The mage focused on the lock, which glowed briefly in his hand and clicked open. They toppled out onto the roof, where ahead of them rose the billowing Breath of the Cloud.