by Sam Bowring
‘Has it occurred to you,’ Losara said quietly, ‘that if a certain fact became widely known, it would place us both in peril?’
‘Of course.’
‘Yet you stand here with a mage, meaning by rights he is not as dense as cobblestones, tiptoeing around the truth so heavily you leave its outline clear?’
‘He already knows,’ said Bel. ‘How else could I convince him to stand here with me? But as you say, Losara, he isn’t stupid – he will not turn against me just to get to you, be assured. That would be but a short-term solution, and you want to see the shadow defeated for good, isn’t that right, Querrus?’
‘That’s right,’ said Querrus, eyeing Losara warily over Bel’s shoulder.
‘Risky,’ said Losara. ‘I hope you are not so open with everyone you meet.’
‘Necessity dictated in this circumstance,’ said Bel.
‘Meanwhile,’ countered Losara, ‘you leave me no choice but to return to my people, who do not know our little secret, and will therefore wonder why I haven’t killed you. Why do I tolerate you standing here in plain sight, why do I order them to cease their advance, why don’t I send forth the shadowmander to tear you apart? Do you not think it dangerous for both of us if I have to tell them why?’
Bel shrugged. ‘Not my army,’ he said. ‘Not my problem.’
Losara gave him a reproachful look, then fell to shadow and disappeared.
Querrus edged from behind Bel a little. ‘Did that go well?’
‘Of course,’ said Bel. ‘Didn’t I tell you to trust me?’
‘So what do we do now?’
‘We’ll sit and watch this army a while . . . and stay on the lookout for any sudden moves.’
A Troublesome Secret
Losara found himself uncertain about where to appear next. As soon as he did, there would be explanations required, and he was not sure what he could tell anyone. Certainly he did not want his entire army knowing that if they stabbed him in the back, Bel would fall also. It was not that he considered the ranks full of potential traitors, but out of thousands, there were surely one or two who might think that such a move would be the best solution for all.
And even if he told them exactly why he could not crush Bel where he stood, the news would no doubt soon spread to the enemy. All it would take would be one of his soldiers captured, or one light mage to snare an errant thought, and the secret would be out for both sides.
As he pooled between the bandy legs of a group of Vorthargs, a shadow mage glanced in his direction. He reminded himself that he was not invisible to everyone, and should not dawdle while his army waited. It was time to be decisive. Making up his mind, he went looking for Tyrellan. The First Slave was in the centre of it all, where Losara had bidden him to remain, thus keeping the shadowmander a safe distance from Bel – though even Tyrellan did not understand that yet.
Can’t keep being mysterious forever, thought Losara. My second at least should know the reasons for his master’s inactions. Bel is willing to tell people when it suits him.
Tyrellan, who seemed restless, was receiving a report from one of his subordinates, a goblin called Turen. Lalenda was nearby, conversing with a couple of her race.
‘Commander Turen,’ said Losara, appearing so quickly he made the goblin start.
‘Yes, my lord?’
‘We will make camp, for now. Spread the word. Find Roma, inform him also. Re-position our front line here, where we stand.’
‘Er . . . yes, my lord,’ said Turen, looking uncertain. That uncertainty would be echoed elsewhere, but there was nothing Losara could do about it. For now he would just have to be the Shadowdreamer, obeyed without question.
As Turen scuttled off, Tyrellan cast Losara a quizzical look. Meanwhile Lalenda moved towards him, others parting way for her. What had he made her? he wondered. His queen?
‘What has happened?’ she said eagerly.
‘You two,’ he said, ‘I wish to speak with you. In private.’ He waved his hands, and from the grass issued up shadows, to enclose them in darkness. Only a few small cracks above let in a little light.
‘What is it, lord?’ said Tyrellan.
‘Bel stands in our way.’
‘Then why not freeze his heart where it beats and be done with him?’
‘Because if Bel dies . . . then I die also.’
Tyrellan took the news in stunned silence, while Lalenda frowned her displeasure at once again being reminded of this obstacle in their path. Losara knew she was still hoping desperately for the upper hand, even more so since her recent prophecy. He felt a twinge of annoyance that fate had even brought it to her. What possible purpose did it serve?
‘We are part of the same soul,’ he went on. ‘That is why I cannot let the shadowmander run free while Bel is near – I cannot risk that it will take him. And while he possesses the Stone of Evenings Mild, I myself am powerless against him.’ He sighed. ‘He stands in our way.’
‘So,’ said Tyrellan thoughtfully, ‘this is why you wished to be so hasty? To sweep across the land before Bel could get involved?’
‘Yes.’
‘We could never have achieved that. With an army of this size, one does not dodge.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Losara, ‘but I wanted to get a head start, at least . . . put the shadowmander to good use before it became too problematic.’
Good use? he thought, remembering the scattered bodies at the Mines.
A sliver of light coming in through a crack travelled slowly over Tyrellan’s black-orb eyes. ‘There are uses for it still,’ he said.
Losara was surprised by the harshness of his tone. Should I be? he thought. Had it been insensitive to openly doubt the strange construction they had tethered to Tyrellan forever? The First Slave had lost much freedom in its creation, at Losara’s request, yet here Losara was saying he lacked conviction of its worth.
‘Of course,’ he said.
Lalenda blinked, her anger focusing, and looked at him determinedly. What thought had steeled her?
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Plenty of uses. Why don’t you circle Bel in the dead of night? We know how fast you can go, and Jeddies is not well defended,’ she glanced at Tyrellan, who gave a brief nod, ‘so you would not have to take anyone else with you. Just you, Tyrellan and the mander – set down on the outskirts of Jeddies and watch it fall. By the time Bel realised what was happening, it would be too late.’
Losara wasn’t sure if he admired her zeal or not. He knew he could do with some more of it himself, but it was disturbing to see his once-timid lady so bent upon carnage.
‘The idea has merit,’ said Tyrellan approvingly.
Losara felt internal resistance, and tried to work out why.
‘It’s just one town,’ he said. ‘We cannot take all of Kainordas that way.’
‘Another loss will dispirit the enemy.’
Losara pictured the mander running amok once more, knocking down homes and ripping out whoever it found inside – not soldiers this time, but a town population. Old people, young children – it would not matter to the creature. The thought sickened him. But he could not tell them that.
I believe in what I‘m doing, he told himself instead. If I don’t, it will be done to us, and that I do not believe in.
‘And if Bel rides after?’ he said. ‘He has a mage, and could be in Jeddies quickly if I struck there. He would force us to retreat, and if we weren’t fast enough, the mander might even find him first.’
They fell silent, seeming to run out of arguments, though Losara knew he was frustrating them.
‘The soldiers,’ said Tyrellan eventually, ‘will wonder why we do not attack our greatest nemesis while we have the chance, as he stands before us with only a single mage to guard him. The talking will have begun already.’
‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘I am aware of that.’
‘Ho ho!’ came the voice of Grimra, booming in the enclosed space. ‘What be this? A party and Grimra not invited?’
‘How did you get in here?’ said Losara. He had sealed the shadows so that none could pass without permission, even invisible ghosts.
‘Through them little cracks,’ said Grimra. ‘Grimra can squeeze tiny when he needs. But not for chatting is he coming, rather for the bringing of news. The Kainordans, they be getting very close!’
Losara gave a wave and dispelled the surrounding shadows. All around, the eyes of his soldiers were trained northeast. Roma appeared by his side and really, Losara thought, he should have included his Magus Supreme in the conversation he’d just had. He would fill Roma in quickly, he decided, as soon as he had a chance.
‘Master,’ said Roma. ‘The enemy is arriving.’
‘I ordered this place here to mark our front line,’ said Losara, gesturing at his feet. Bel had chosen the distance for him, by setting up where he had. Losara wanted Tyrellan to be at the head of the army, not imprisoned in the middle, and thus the rest had to be moved back.
‘It takes time to move so many, lord,’ said Roma. He spun and shouted, ‘Hurry up, you louts! Stop ogling our new neighbours and fall back!’
Soldiers began to bustle and mill.
‘I am going to have a look,’ Losara told Tyrellan and Lalenda. ‘Stay here for now – this will become the front soon enough.’
He dissolved and sped through the grass beneath tramping feet. Re-forming at what was left of the original front, he stared out across the field.
Soldiers on horseback were riding towards Bel, led by a large man with short grey hair. Behind them came the rest of the Kainordans, a sea of glimmering blades and armour. Zyvanix wasps whirred through the air in golden swarms, and further back Ryoshi Saurians steered enormous scorpions, while groups of the snake-like Syanti slithered. Their ranks stretched for a long way, and Losara knew he was looking at an army larger than his own. Once they stood collected together, he imagined it would boggle his mind. And to wish them all dead . . .
Lalenda landed next to him.
‘I don’t want to have to give you orders,’ he said wryly, ‘but it would be nice if you respected my wishes once in a while.’
She said nothing, but stared out at the enemy as if hate alone could slay them. The grey-haired man was speaking to Bel, who was gesturing to indicate a line on the ground.
‘Looks as if he’s working out his front line too,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘While he stays there, neither of us can move against the other for the same reason – the mander lies between.’
‘So,’ said Lalenda, ‘the two greatest armies the world has ever seen will not fight each other?’
‘Not yet,’ said Losara.
•
For the rest of the day Kainordans arrived, spreading out and back from a front that mirrored the shadow’s own. Tyrellan watched, incensed that the enemy was able to set itself up so leisurely. This secret of Losara’s was an immense tactical hindrance. At least he now stood at the head of their own troops, no longer trapped in the belly of the army by the necessity of maintaining the mander’s distance from Bel. As for the mander itself, it patrolled the land between, relentlessly trying to find a way through its barrier. A stalemate again, akin to the stalemate that had existed for millennia. The two enemies so close to each other, yet neither daring to cross the threshold.
Tyrellan tried to think like his old self, without everything constantly coming back to the mander. It invaded his thoughts, constricting him just as he constricted it, influencing his decisions. The recent conversation with Losara had disturbed him – now it seemed the creature was not even necessarily an advantage in the present circumstances. Focus, he told himself. He was still second-in-command, and there was more to this war than worrying about a glorified lizard. Perhaps the catapults could be positioned to reach the Kainordans, especially if given a magical boost – but those were still catching up, and besides, the army was running low on rocks, not the easiest things to haul about. On the dusty plains around the Mines there had been plenty available, but here they were not so bountiful. He glanced at the river – a useful thing, for the bulk of the Vorthargs had set up next to it, but perhaps it would also be a good source of ammunition?
‘My lord,’ he said, approaching Losara, ‘we do not have to rely on the mander to harass them.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Assign some teams to dredge rocks from the river,’ said Tyrellan. ‘We should be able to stockpile a good supply before the catapults arrive.’
‘A worthwhile idea,’ said Losara. ‘Roma, can you organise some mages for that?’
‘As you wish.’
‘In the meantime,’ said Tyrellan, ‘although the enemy cannot advance its archers, there is no reason we cannot advance our own behind the protection of the mander.’
‘The distance between mander and enemy is still too far for arrows,’ said Roma. ‘But with mages as well . . . there are spells that could lend arrows extra distance.’
‘Are there indeed?’ said Tyrellan mildly, as if he hadn’t thought of such a thing. He glanced at Losara, who was staring off into space. It was a familiar look – the dreamer was lost in thought, perhaps mulling over the suggested course.
‘Anything that depletes their numbers is worth considering,’ urged Tyrellan.
Losara blinked. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Make the preparations. We shall take aim at the left and right flanks, away from the blue-haired man.’ He glanced at Roma, who nodded in understanding. It was well, Tyrellan supposed, that the Magus Supreme had been made privy to Losara’s reasons for that, not long after the secret had been shared with Tyrellan himself.
‘I shall prepare the mages,’ said Roma.
Tyrellan glanced around for Turen. The commander had become something like Tyrellan’s right hand, for he could move about freely while Tyrellan could not . . . but he was of no use if he could not be seen.
‘Shall I also pass word to Turen to organise the archers?’ said Roma, raising an eyebrow at Tyrellan.
‘Yes,’ growled Tyrellan from between clenched fangs.
•
Fazel walked with the shadow mages, just another black robe in the mass. It was strange being part of an organised group, so used was he to being out on his own. The mages, led by Roma, followed some two hundred archers, and carriers bringing more arrows – rather optimistic, in Fazel’s opinion. In fact, this whole plan seemed ridiculous.
As they tramped out onto the field, leaving the bulk of the army behind, ripples of activity in the camp opposite showed that the Kainordans had noted the approach. The afternoon sun bore down on Fazel’s charred skull, heating up his bones. He felt a scowl form in his mind, yet had not the flesh to give it life. Perhaps, he hoped, this would all go horribly wrong somehow.
Stay together, came Roma’s instruction.
As they neared the mander, still worrying at its barrier, the archers began to spread out.
Move to individuals, sent Roma. The mages obeyed, one for each archer, until they stood in two parallel lines. Fazel found himself behind a tall, nervous-looking Arabodedas. Whether the sweat on his brow was from heat or fear was hard to tell – until Fazel took a glimpse inside the man’s mind and found him to be deeply scared. The man checked on who was with him, and started with fright when he found Fazel grinning back.
‘You . . . you’re . . .’ he stammered.
‘Yesss,’ hissed Fazel. ‘I’m. Don’t be afraid, comrade, we’re safe behind the mander. Unless of course the enemy stumbles across the exact same idea we’ve had and starts shooting back . . . but I don’t know how they would ever manage that!’
The man nodded shakily,
but Fazel didn’t think he had really heard the words.
Ready, said Roma.
Along the line, archers notched arrows to bows. A number of the Vorthargs had larger bows, for they were able to draw the string back further with their strong, ropey limbs. Across the way Bel was standing out in front of his troops, hands on hips, looking almost comically indignant. Around him were packs and the remnants of a fire, and a canvas on poles beneath which bedrolls lay. He looked like a man rudely awoken by the two armies daring to face off across his campsite. As full of himself as ever, Fazel thought. There was also a slight, bald-headed mage with him, who looked decidedly less comfortable, and a well-marked plains horse.
How he had loved riding in his day, Fazel remembered – when he had torn about Kainordas on whatever enterprise he chose, ignoring repeated requests from the Open Halls that he return and become High Mage. Those days shone like a light at the end of the tunnel – except the tunnel was behind him, and ahead was only the dark.
Mages, said Roma.
Fazel lifted a finger and directed a little spell into his archer’s arrow, to speed it on its journey.
Remember, warned Roma, do not aim for the blue-haired man.
Fazel felt a wave of confusion move amongst the others. The poor fools did not know why they were being ordered to avoid Bel, for Losara had not told them. He would have to soon enough, however, or else think up some very convincing lie.
Focus! sent Roma, evidently having sensed the faltering as well. Take aim.
Archers tensed.
Fire.
Arrows whizzed into the air, shooting higher than they naturally would. Among the Kainordans, wards began to spring up, lightfists spacing themselves out evenly to protect the regular troops. As arrows hurtled down upon the left and right flanks, scores of them bounced off glowing barriers. Some fell on the front lines, others further back, yet Fazel did not hear a single scream. That was the thing about arrows – any mage worth his salt could turn them away, when that was all he had to concentrate on.
A shame we can’t cast spells from this distance, he sent Losara, who was watching from the army.
