Soul's Reckoning (Broken Well Trilogy)

by Sam Bowring

  A shockwave jolted him and sent him reeling, his sinuses buzzing with foreign power. He turned slowly as he fell, dragging as he tried to maintain a grasp on consciousness.

  I’ve got you, master.

  He felt Roma take firm hold of his body to float him downwards, and abandoned his own tenuous grip on the air. A moment later he bumped gently against the ground, and looked up to see Roma’s concerned face, while around them others stampeded past.

  ‘Old Magic,’ he croaked, sitting up woozily.

  ‘Are you hurt, lord?’

  ‘No. They sought only to stun me, I think.’

  ‘We must kill Battu,’ said Roma. ‘It is only through his enduring betrayal that they can use their trinket.’

  Kill Battu? thought Losara foggily. Lalenda would be pleased, on more counts than one. Where is she?

  Target Battu, went out Roma’s command to the shadow mages. The traitor must be destroyed.

  •

  Heavy in his hands was the helmet, bobbing up and down to match the footfalls of his horse, the slow beats of his heart. Not putting it back on – it would only mask his heightened senses, impede the sweet air that sucked into his flaring nostrils. He was now but paces from the enemy, a long line of them charging, the shadows of Graka passing across the last short space of empty grass between them and him. He could feel the immensity of the forces behind him, the shaking ground and battle cries, as he rode at the crest, the very tip of a breaking wave.

  Heavy in his hands was the helmet, and so he flung it. It flashed as it spun, over and over, turning prettily in the air to crack against the knee of a black horse. The horse stumbled, spilling its goblin rider forward from the saddle, onto Bel’s waiting sword.

  The wave broke. The armies clashed.

  This fancy armour had been a mistake. Too cumbersome when he needed the freedom to move, to dance, like a clumsy partner stepping on his toes. He sank his bloodied sword into its scabbard – not long to rest there – and wrenched off one pauldron with a gauntleted hand, then the other, flinging them away at the howling faces before him. Next, he pulled off the gauntlets themselves and, holding them like an extension of his hands, gave them an almighty clap together over an Arabodedas’s head. As armour and opponent fell away with a high-pitched ringing, he hoisted his breastplate up over his head, swung it by the shoulder strap and hurled it at an oncoming Graka. As he pulled his sword free again to swing it at a noxious Vortharg, his horse tramped sideways, putting him out of range . . . while battle-trained, his steed did not move exactly as he wanted, was not capable of sensing the right path to travel, as he was.

  I need no armour. I need no horse. I need nothing but myself.

  He vaulted from the horse, leaving it whinnying in alarm at its rider’s sudden departure, and landed with a clank in the greaves he still wore. Off with you, and he smashed his sword upon the joins, busting them open expertly enough to kick them off easily. Fully emerged from his metal chrysalis, he flexed with pleasure – there were no more restrictions cramping his muscles, nothing to stop him feeling the currents that coursed through the air, heralding oncoming attacks . . . nothing to hinder the splattering of blood on his skin.

  Rapture surged through him, and he dived into the fray.

  •

  Lalenda made her way through the camp, manoeuvring skilfully between streams of soldiers rushing here and there.

  ‘Flutterbug,’ came Grimra’s voice, ‘where we be going?’

  She gritted her teeth. She had been forgotten, maybe, or at least given no instructions to do anything in particular. Well, she thought, I would disobey them anyway.

  She would not sit and do nothing. If they could beat the Kainordans here and now, there would be no need for Losara’s idea, and the eventuality she had foreseen could be avoided.

  ‘Flutterbug?’

  ‘We are going to fight,’ she said.

  •

  As the armies drove into each other, there were still plenty of soldiers back from the fighting. With the forces mostly separated, there existed opportunity for wide-scale damage.

  There, sent Fahren. Battu joined him in channelling through the Stone, held by Fahren between them on the end of the staff. Each began casting a common offensive spell – a light bolt for Fahren, blue energy for Battu – but their trials the night before had shown there would be nothing common about the result.

  Now, said Fahren, and they released. Their amalgam shot forth – a violet vortex with a dark centre, pulsing out spirals to leave a fast-diminishing trail in the air. It landed amongst the enemy, where it exploded stupendously, and some twenty soldiers went down screaming.

  Such power, said Battu. A shame it only comes now, when I have to use it against my own.

  Do not let this newfound strength go to your head, Battu. We are not invincible, and neither do we have endless reserves.

  You think I don’t know that? As I stand here in the shining sun?

  Stay close to Bel, cautioned Fahren. The blue-haired warrior had broken away ahead of them to plough into the shadow with reckless abandon. Battu had to admire him for a moment – he moved with such fluid grace, spinning through a group of Vorthargs, cutting them down as they leaped at him, deftly avoiding their globules of poisonous spit.

  His attention refocused as blue energy bolts began to smack against their ward. At first they simply sizzled to nothing, but quickly their intensity increased, and Battu tightened his grip on the reins to steady himself.

  They are targeting us, said Fahren.

  Can you blame them? We brought attention to ourselves when we stunned the dreamer.

  Concentrate on the ward. We need to find Losara.

  Shadow mages were streaming in from everywhere, pummelling them with spells. A snake of shadow wormed a small way into the ward before vanishing, and conjured wraiths began to circle. Kainordans outside the ward began to fall at the wraiths’ icy touch. There were lightfists everywhere too, however, for Fahren had ordered that the majority of them stay close to him, and quickly conjured sunwings joined the wraiths in the air.

  Bel, stay with us! Fahren sent Bel – but Bel, seemingly lost in the heat of it, did not reply.

  •

  Fazel slipped through the battle carrying a slight shred of hope. Target Battu had been the order, and around him other shadow mages were flocking to follow it. Battu was protected by Old Magic, and well did Fazel remember his brief encounter with it, when he and Elessa had first channelled unknowingly through the Stone at Whisperwood. The power they’d unleashed had all but ignored his defences – so maybe, just maybe, attacking Battu was a good opportunity to get himself killed.

  A Varenkai ahead pulled his sword from an Arabodedas and ran at him screaming.

  ‘Overzealous,’ he said, pointing a finger, and a bolt slammed the Varenkai in the gut. ‘But commendable.’

  He added speed to his heels and zipped through the bloody crowd, coming to a stop with other shadow mages who stood on the outskirts of a growing clear area before Fahren and Battu, their strange ward wobbling under an onslaught of spells. Next to him a group was channelling together, the one who was casting sweating heavily as energy concentrated at his fingertips, readying for release.

  He can’t stand any more power, thought Fazel. But he is aiming at Battu, and I have my orders.

  Fazel funnelled his own power into the mage, whose eyes bugged wide as he realised another had joined the effort. ‘Too much!’ he cried, and released the massive bolt, but not soon enough to save himself. As he crumpled to the ground frothing at the mouth, the others glanced at Fazel in alarm. Meanwhile, the bolt smacked the Old Magic ward with great force, and Battu’s eyes came over to them. He pointed, and Fahren raised his staff. A moment later a violet vortex flared from the end – a combination of shadow and light energy, which Fazel mar
velled at even as it shot towards them. A second later he and the mages he stood with were flung like rag dolls, and he landed heavily amongst their corpses, his bones steaming with threads of deadening power. They wormed into him, certainly doing enough damage to kill a normal mortal, and yet as they faded Fazel was disappointed to feel himself repairing.

  Curse this resilience, he thought as he rose.

  He tried again to approach Battu and Fahren, who were sending more vortexes at the shadow mages swarming them, but there were lightfists too, gathering in great numbers around the Throne. It seemed the majority of magic wielders were concentrated here, and the air was crackling thick with spells. Fazel raised a ward as he struggled against the barrage, and immediately an invisible grip slid underneath to rip it away, a shell of shadow in his shape falling to the ground. With surprise he took in the counterspell’s caster – from across the way, Elessa Lanclara stared at him, a mix of confusion and anger on her face.

  You, she said.

  I had not expected to see you here, miss, he replied, taking the opportunity to recast his ward.

  They have done to me what they did to you.

  Fazel was aghast, for the light had always outlawed all forms of necromancy. Why had Fahren allowed such travesty?

  I am truly sorry, he said.

  Then both their wards shuddered under attacks from elsewhere, and each turned to tend to their own defences.

  •

  Nearby, a rain of burnt-out Zyvanix husks fell to the ground, some still smoking as acid ate them away, the wing stumps of one still whirring uselessly.

  Lalenda rose for a better view. In the centre of it all, she saw shadow and light crashing, where the mages of both sides seemed to be gathering – an area definitely best avoided. Elsewhwere, in the absence of magic wielders, the regular troops were free to hack at each other without fear of spells shooting in, and they had seized the opportunity with gusto. There was no more front line, for the forces had driven deep wedges into each other, mingling as the fighting spread in all directions.

  ‘Oho!’ said Grimra. ‘Such delicious chaos. Where do we be joining it?’

  Below, a troop of Varenkai riders were being swamped by Black Goblins. As she watched, a horse collapsed with several daggers sticking in it, and the goblins moved in on the rider. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

  ‘How about there?’ she said, and brought in her wings. She landed neatly on a horse behind a Varenkai rider even as he kicked away a goblin’s blade, and sunk her claws into his sides. The man gasped and she pushed him off. Grimra rushed on another, his fangs becoming visible long enough for an almighty bite, through the entire front half of a horse and its rider’s legs as well. Meanwhile the horse Lalenda was on bucked wildly, and she leaped off to glide down between two Varenkai on foot. Grimra thundered over her shoulder to barrel one backwards as she sprang at the other, beating her wings hard to close the distance as his sword rose. Her claws flicked out and she spiked him through the throat before he had a chance to slash. She swung herself around his toppling body and landed to see a severed limb fly upwards and disappear with a slurp.

  ‘No time for that, you greedy ghost!’ she snapped. ‘This isn’t breakfast! Keep me safe!’

  There came a loud clomping, and over the tops of heads she saw two dune claws approaching, the Ryoshi astride them plugging down arrows. Goblins were being trampled underfoot, or skewered by the wildly plunging scorpion-like tails, or crushed in the huge pincers.

  ‘Grimra!’ she shouted, and flew upwards as a spiked tail scythed into the ground where she had just been standing. As the dune claw struggled to pull itself free, Grimra’s fangs appeared at one of the tail’s segmental joins, gnawing through a weak spot in the chitinous armour. The creature strained in panic, but a second later the ghost had managed to work all the way through, messily severing the tail in half. The remaining part whipped back over the rider’s head, spraying him with sticky brown fluid. She dived towards him but he saw her coming, swung his bow at her and cracked her across the head. She dropped out of the air, landing hard, and with a bloodied brow. Through the stunned fug of one half-open eye, she saw the injured dune claw move past, riderless now and out of control. Had Grimra managed to dispatch the Saurian?

  ‘Flutterbug,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘All right? Get up?’

  She heard strange hissing voices not far away, and managed to lift her head. Two Syanti were standing over the fallen dune claw rider, who lay with a Grimra-sized hole in his side. As the Ryoshi opened his eyes and saw the Syanti, he tried to rise without success. The Syanti ignored him, speaking in their own language . . . then one of them waved a thin-fingered hand over him as his eyes cried out in silent protest. The hand then shot out at a group of Black Goblins and a mist of blood sprayed forth from the rider’s wound. The goblins screamed as it hit them, clutching at their melting faces, and the Ryoshi went still.

  ‘Get up!’ came Grimra’s insistent whisper, then he left and she heard someone dying behind her. As she struggled to her knees the Syanti noticed her, their yellow eyes cold and considering. She edged backwards, not knowing exactly what she was edging towards . . . then Grimra swirled under her wings and she summoned her strength to give them a beat. Shakily she lifted into the air.

  ‘Undead?’ said a Syanti, light collecting at its fingertips.

  ‘Get back, Grimra!’ she cried, desperately trying to flap away. There was no safety in rising, so just a little way on she let her giddiness take over and dropped heavily to the ground behind more goblins. There came a sizzle after her, but the spell caught some other unfortunate in the wall of flesh she had protected herself with.

  ‘We retreat?’ said Grimra. ‘Flutterbug hurt?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘we do not retreat. Not until,’ she bared her teeth, willing away the pounding in her head, ‘they are all dead.’

  •

  Jaya moved amongst the injured, of which there were already a great many. There was an odd feeling of separation here, with the evidence of mass encampment everywhere around, grass crushed and brown, tents standing empty, while she and the healers busied themselves on an island within it. And while they stayed here, in the middle of nothing, the battle raged but half a league away.

  A healer rode in, levitating two groaning soldiers, and set them down on the grass. Without a word she turned around and headed towards them. All the other healers were currently busy, so Jaya knelt down by the two new arrivals.

  ‘Someone will be over shortly,’ she said, trying to sound reassuring. It wasn’t really her, this role of looking after people. She felt like some kind of impostor, trying to muster kind words that did not come naturally.

  One of the soldiers closed his eyes. A bad sign, but there wasn’t much she knew to do about it. The healer who had brought him had already sealed his wounds with regrown skin, so she could not even tell where they were. The other soldier, a woman, looked up at her dazedly.

  ‘Did we win yet?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Jaya, abandoning the question she was about to ask regarding how the battle was progressing.

  ‘Should take with me these,’ came a voice. Jaya looked up to see a Syanti, idly flexing an arm that ended in an ugly stump. She remembered the Saurian being brought here, unconscious and bleeding from the newly severed limb, which was now sealed up and apparently not causing it much distress.

  ‘Pardon?’ said Jaya.

  ‘Dying,’ the Syanti observed, gesturing at the prone soldiers. ‘Good still though for blood magic to use. Kill many shadow for price of one death. Death that will come anyway.’

  Jaya frowned. She had heard about the Syanti’s technique of channelling magic through blood . . . was that what the creature was asking? To be given the injured in order to sacrifice them?

  ‘Get out of here,’ she said.

 
‘Go they to Arkus,’ said the Syanti. ‘No need for fear.’

  ‘Don’t let it take me,’ murmured the woman.

  ‘Be gone, back to the battle if you’re so eager to find death!’ shouted Jaya. ‘Use your own if you like!’

  The snake bobbed its head as if this was sage wisdom, and moved away across the field.

  •

  The heart of the battle drew Losara, the amount of power pouring in from both sides a giant bloom to his senses. Perhaps he should avoid the area, for that was where Fahren and Battu wielded the Stone, but he could not stand by and watch his mages shoulder such enormous blows. So into the thick of it he went, re-forming by some black rags pinned down by smoking lumps, flapping with his four-fingered insignia. Already so many had been lost.

  KILL BATTU, came Roma’s thundering command, and Losara saw his Magus Supreme just ahead, twisting angrily to take in how many shadow mages were left. Beyond him, over a space full of nothing but spells, Battu’s head turned, and Losara saw him say something to Fahren. Fahren raised his staff and together they cast at Roma.

  Watch out! sent Losara, as Roma’s eyes met his. The Magus Supreme’s face turned grim, the ward around him darkening, and Losara reached out to help him strengthen it. A moment later a vortex exploded against it, knocking Roma to his knees and pelting him with rippling energy. His back arched in a pain reflected briefly in his eyes, as he collapsed forward slowly onto his face.

  Losara stood frozen in dismay, but every second cost more lives. His mages were not coping well with this onslaught, and if many more of them fell, there was little hope they would ever go on to defeat the light.

  It was time.

  Shadow mages, he sent, leave Battu to me. Spread out and attack those areas they leave undefended while they concentrate their magic here.

  He felt resistance from them, puzzlement. Did they balk at the idea of letting him face this threat alone?

  GO, he commanded.

  As the shadow mages departed, streams of fireballs and light bolts travelled after them, but the lightfists did not follow as they moved out of range. Losara, now standing alone, felt many pairs of eyes settling upon him.