Soul's Reckoning (Broken Well Trilogy)

by Sam Bowring

  He took a deep breath, and was more afraid than he had ever been.

  •

  The shadow mages scattered to reveal Losara, standing with a calm expression on his face. Fahren had expected to have to track him down in the fighting, yet it seemed he had come to them, and without any aid either. Could he really think he was powerful enough to best Fahren, Battu, the power of the Stone and the hundreds of lightfists who stood with them? Or was it some kind of trick?

  Greetings, Throne, came Losara’s voice. I have to say, I am somewhat displeased with you.

  ‘See what I mean?’ said Battu, leaning on his saddle. ‘He probably thinks that was menacing.’

  Fahren waved him to silence.

  That is a remarkable ward you have, continued Losara. Shadow and light combined, potent indeed. Still, I do not see how it will stop me.

  Your minions, sent Fahren, could not penetrate it.

  Losara chuckled. There is a reason they are my minions. He made a swiping motion, and the Old Magic ward shattered to pieces with a force that jarred Fahren’s teeth in his head. Instantly lightfists began to cast spells in retaliation, and casually Losara waved up a ward of his own.

  Do not attack him, you fools! sent Fahren. You know the plan!

  ‘I’m impressed,’ growled Battu begrudgingly.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Fahren. ‘He just used up a great deal of power, which he cannot easily replenish on such a bright day . . . and we can summon a new ward in an instant. Besides, even without a ward, anything he casts at us will get sucked into the Stone.’

  Battu barked a laugh as he joined Fahren in recasting their defence. ‘So serious all the time, Throne.’

  Losara extended a hand and cast a beam of shadow that jumped between him and the lightfists on Fahren’s right. As it travelled along the row, cutting through wards like a sword through apples, the mages exposed at their cores were flung away violently.

  Lightfists, sent Fahren urgently, contain the Shadowdreamer!

  Many hands sprang forth, emanating light. Waves of it cascaded towards Losara, meshing together into a sphere.

  This is how you intend to trap me? Losara sounded genuinely inquisitive. He pulsed his power outwards, shattering the light that encircled him.

  Keep at it, sent Fahren.

  More waves descended, but before they could enclose Losara completely, he fell to shadow and reappeared elsewhere.

  The circle must be complete, said Fahren. Below ground and above!

  ‘Should we not help?’ asked Battu.

  ‘No. I do not want to confuse the trap with tainted magic.’

  ‘Tainted?’ Battu scowled. ‘Your mind is narrower than your spindly legs.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Fahren absently, his concentration absorbed by what was going on around him. He needed Bel back here – why had he run off? Also, Fahren had begun to sense that shadow magic was being cast elsewhere, in areas of the battle where he knew for a fact that lightfists were in short supply. Without protection the regular troops would be extremely vulnerable, and he hated to think what damage was being done. He could not afford to keep all the lightfists here for much longer.

  Elessa, he sent, find Bel, fetch him back here! Don’t even ask, just bring him.

  As you command, came Elessa’s reply.

  ‘Let’s at least shock him as we did before,’ said Battu, ‘to stop him manoeuvring around so easily!’

  ‘Very well,’ said Fahren. ‘Ready?’

  As Losara slipped through yet another flood of light, Fahren raised the staff for him and Battu to channel through. Unleashing the spell, they compressed the air around Losara suddenly. Old Magic rippled through his ward, and he fell to his knees, clutching his head.

  CONTAIN HIM, Fahren sent out, hoping to make full use of their advantage. Once again a glowing sphere began to form around Losara, thickening as more mages added their efforts.

  You know, said Losara, once your globe is complete, no shadow magic will be able to get out.

  That’s the idea, sent back Fahren, trying not to sound uncertain – the figure on the ground seemed to be struggling too much for the serenity in his voice.

  Out, or in, said Losara.

  As light filled the sphere’s last gaps, the figure inside faded away. Some paces beside it, Losara appeared.

  Misdirection, he sent. Even with all my power, these simple spells are still the most useful.

  ‘Hit him again,’ snarled Battu. He seized the staff, which Fahren had lowered, lifting it back up. ‘He cannot make doppelgangers forever!’

  Once, twice, three times in succession they created shockwaves, and each time Losara avoided them, materialising just long enough to shoot offensive spells at lightfists before disappearing to the next place.

  ‘Be pre-emptive!’ snapped Battu. For a moment the look in his eyes made Fahren doubt that the sharks had really left him.

  As Losara fell to shadow again, they started casting without yet knowing where they aimed. As Losara formed, instantly they released the spell. Finally it caught him – even as a blue bolt left his fingertips, the air about him snapped, and he gave a little cry. As he stumbled, the sphere began to build around him for a final time, a hundred streams of light feeding into it from the lightfists. Fahren released the staff to Battu in order to add his own unsullied power to the mix. Under the blazing sun his reserves felt limitless, and in moments the sphere surrounded the dreamer entirely, its surface alight with bright swirls. He felt Losara push against it from within, but now they had him fixed in place, and with so many maintaining the trap there was no way he could break free. Still, Fahren knew overconfidence was a hazard that often foreshadowed failure.

  He needed Bel here now.

  Evenings Mild

  Tiny hairs along the length of his arm tickled his skin as they moved in the air, as his sword thrust forward at a face rising out of the thrumming tableau. In every direction weapons crept towards each other like shadows around sundials, each clink resonating in his ears. Arrows flew overhead, their shadows running up bodies then down to the grass, the uneven surface making them warp and wiggle as they travelled onwards. Enemies were endless, like a promise of joy unending, and he a hungry boar in a field of ripe pears.

  Paradise.

  A spark of sunshine ran down his blade as it moved towards the hate-filled face. At the last moment he turned the blade slightly, making the spark leap into the creature’s eyes. A wince started to form, crossing the mouth in one direction even as the sword came from the other to slice into the skull. As the leading edge severed the last thin layer of scalp on the other side, splitting the creature’s head cleanly, the sword’s speed increased again, unhindered. He followed through with the swing, landed it across a Vortharg’s back, deep into the rubbery skin.

  Two deaths for one stroke.

  He punched the air and roared. Other voices joined his, Kainordans inspired by the blue-haired man, thickening to a declaration of strength. He pulled his sword free and ploughed on, next through a cluster of Mire Pixies lifting up on their wings, all but dandelions to his switch.

  Didn’t you tell them not to fight me, Losara? he thought. Did you not think to protect yourself that way? One way or another, he was glad for the abundance of partners willing to dance his favourite steps.

  Bel.

  The voice, soft and feminine, only distracted him for a moment. He turned aside the axe of an Arabodedas, step here, weight there, and pushed the man backwards off his feet.

  Fahren needs you, Bel.

  He grew angry at the interruption, a wrong note inserted into his harmony. A Black Goblin leaped at him and he drove his fist upwards – there was an axe-head held there, from somewhere – to punch the metal into the goblin’s guts. He heard the grass crunch under his feet, its tiny veins bursting.

>   Go away, he willed her.

  Black Goblins were all around him now, and he looked up to see one on horseback, a cruel and jagged blade in his grip.

  ‘Leave him!’ called the goblin. ‘We do not bother with that one! To me!’ He steered the horse into a group of Bel’s countrymen, and the others followed. Tyrellan. Bel tried to go after him, desiring to make the First Slave a personal prize, but already there were others in the way. The paths he could take split into fractals, and he forgot about pursuit.

  Fireballs rained down around him, setting enemies ablaze and punching holes in the pattern of the fight. He spun, furious with whoever had robbed him, and there sat Elessa astride her horse, her white dress smattered with red drops.

  He tried to form words, and they came with difficulty, thick in his mouth. ‘Be gone! I need no help!’

  ‘But we need yours.’ She flicked her fingers, and he lifted from his feet in her invisible grip. Threads of the pattern broke, waving from him freely. As she rode away, he bobbed along in the air behind her, screaming bloody rage at this indignity, at being torn from the place where he truly belonged.

  ‘May you live forever in that fetid carcass,’ he howled, ‘with only the maggots in your eyes for company!’

  He flung his sword at her, and she grunted as it lodged firmly in her back . . . but she did not bother to turn as the bouncing of the horse began to work the blade loose. She swerved to avoid a brace of goblins and Bel managed to land a kick on one of their necks as he flew past, and was rewarded with a crack.

  It wasn’t enough.

  ‘Let me go!’ he screamed.

  •

  A shadow mage flashed past Tyrellan’s knee, and quick as a cat he reached down from his horse to snatch her by the hair. Her momentum almost ripped him from the saddle, but he tightened his legs and held fast, feeling some of her hair come loose in his grip. She jolted to a stop with a cry, her legs almost shooting out from under her, and twisted around ready to attack . . . but froze as she stared into Tyrellan’s impassive face.

  ‘None of that,’ he said, and released her.

  ‘No, First Slave,’ she said, rubbing her head painfully. ‘I did not know it was you.’

  Tyrellan reached for a dagger and flung it without looking at a Varenkai who came at them.

  ‘Where is the dreamer?’ he demanded.

  She pointed. ‘He bade us leave him, to inflict damage elsewhere while their lightfists are distracted with attacking him.’

  What foolish heroism is this? thought Tyrellan.

  ‘You,’ he said, jabbing her chest with a claw, ‘send out a message to all of our mages – on the authority of the First Slave, get back to the dreamer! Do it before my eyes find you again, or I’ll run you through and find another.’

  He glanced around – the fighting was thick here, but over where the mage had indicated, there seemed to be a clearer patch.

  ‘You lot with me!’ he ordered the goblins around him, who were fending off various attacks. Then he turned back to the mage.

  ‘It’s done?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Then obey.’

  She nodded and sped away. Tyrellan kicked his horse after her, his goblins helping to cut a path. To his left and right, the two armies had well and truly intermixed, but ahead, where they’d first clashed, it was a different scene. The Throne stood with hundreds of lightfists, Battu as well – may his bones roast while he lives – together with overseers, healers and even some mercantile mages. It seemed that Fahren had brought casters of any quality to stand with him.

  Stupidity, Tyrellan thought, taking in the different robes, to advertise one’s particular skill in bold colour.

  The area before Fahren was inhabited only by corpses, and a brilliantly glowing orb resting on the ground, some five paces across. Each and every one of his mages was channelling their own stream of light into it, a fearsome web coursing through the air. Tyrellan squinted at it, trying to see through the flashing surface . . . what did they seek to contain so fervently? And with the thought came the answer. Who else?

  His hands began to shake. They had the Shadowdreamer trapped! A fear rose in him the likes of which he had never known, threatening to freeze him in place, if not for the rage that melted it instantly away. He reared his horse and screamed, ‘Shadow mages, to me!

  •

  We are here, came Elessa’s voice, and Fahren’s gaze shifted in the direction of her sending. A moment later she appeared through a group of Arabodedas, flinging them aside with her power and riding out into the clear space. Behind her Bel floated in the air, his face a mask of rage. So, he had not been plucked easily from the battle.

  Look Bel, sent Fahren, we have Losara trapped!

  How dare you interfere, mage, replied Bel. I can drown this field in blood – I don’t need the help of your odious magic. Release me!

  Fahren was stunned by the response. He had seen Bel wrathful before, but what he felt from him now went even beyond the day when they’d told Bel his father had been banished. How lost he must be in the fervour . . .

  Elessa pulled up, bringing Bel around the horse to set him on his feet – and yet she had to restrain him still, for he struggled to tear off immediately.

  ‘Thieves!’ he shouted. ‘I have waited so long for this moment I was born for, and now you snatch it from me?’

  ‘Bel,’ said Fahren quietly, finding his own anger stirring, ‘this moment was hard fought for, long planned for, by you and me both. See?’ He pointed off at the sphere. ‘Losara is there – you can draw him in then fight anew, your soul complete!’

  Bel stared for a moment at the sphere, but his eyes narrowed and he twisted once more in Elessa’s grip. ‘To blazes with you!’ he howled. ‘Let me go!’

  Fahren could not believe what he was hearing. Where was the Bel he knew? Who was this wild-eyed hateful man, greedy for nothing but death, uncaring of the sacrifices others had made to shape this moment?

  ‘Drunk,’ observed Battu. ‘You know, you do not need his permission to fling him into the orb.’

  Elessa lifted the ranting Bel slightly off the ground, and sent Fahren a querying look. In the back of his mind, Fahren became aware of numerous shadow mages converging on the area. He felt sick. It wasn’t meant to be like this.

  ‘Put him in,’ he said.

  •

  The water curled about his toes, belying the depths that lay beneath. Around Corlas some two hundred of his best warriors fanned out atop the river’s surface, watching the battle that stretched from the shore into the distance. A shadow mage dashed past on the bank, shooting bolts at fleeing Varenkai. He glanced in their direction and stopped suddenly, his targets forgotten as he squinted at them. Old Magic would not shine in the perceptions of light or shadow mages, but at such close range it seemed this one had picked up some hint of the invisibility spells that hid the Sprites, or the water-walking that supported them.

  ‘He senses us,’ said Nindere.

  ‘Yes.’ Corlas made a grasping gesture. Water shaped like a giant hand reached from the river to seize the mage, and dragged him flailing into its depths. As his head plunged beneath the surface, Corlas made a fist, crushing the slight resistance offered by shadow magic as he squeezed the air from the man’s lungs.

  ‘They are so weak!’ cried Charla, delighted.

  ‘Not so brash,’ said Corlas. ‘We may be stronger, but they outnumber us greatly.’

  He narrowed his eyes as he pushed his sight into the distance. The sphere was flashing mightily, enclosed around his other boy, the one he had never met, never even spoken to. Would he soon? No, for if the one called Losara was put back together with Bel, neither of them would be the same.

  ‘That is Lord Battu?’ said Charla, also watching the unfolding scene.

  ‘Yes
.’

  She reached to grasp his bulky arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘I will thank him, if I get the chance.’

  ‘What?’ he said, wrenching his gaze away to hers.

  ‘Without him you’d never have been delivered to the wood,’ she said. ‘Or to me.’

  She smiled, and Corlas felt the hard look disappear from his eyes.

  He saw a blond woman ride up to Fahren and Battu – and there, turning in the air behind her, was Bel! His son did not seem happy or compliant, and Corlas’s immediate instinct was to rush to him . . . but he dug his toes into the water, as if he could root himself to such shifting stuff.

  ‘It is as the Lady said,’ announced Nindere excitedly. ‘The players are in their rightful places. Soon the blue-haired man will be reborn! And then . . .’

  ‘And then he comes with us,’ said Corlas.

  •

  Bel knew there was no point struggling, yet he couldn’t help himself. As Elessa drove him forward, the glowing sphere loomed wide in his vision. The fight still called to him noiselessly under the constant clamour, threads of the pattern still wavering from him, looking for an enemy to latch onto . . . and then suddenly they twined and thickened to one, leading straight and true into the heart of the globe. He stared into the pulsing light, suddenly calm.

  That’s right, he thought. This is how I’m supposed to win.

  He passed through the surface – a warm touch on his skin – and, as Elessa’s hold disappeared, landed on his feet. There sat Losara, cross-legged on the grass.

  ‘Hello, Bel,’ he said.

  ‘Hello,’ said Bel.

  ‘How are you?’

  Bel stretched his arms. He hadn’t realised how covered in blood he was. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Never better.’

  •

  ‘They are returning,’ muttered Battu, and Fahren knew what he meant. From every direction, the briefly dispersed shadow mages were swarming back towards them.

  ‘We cannot cast through the sphere,’ said Fahren.