by Sam Bowring
‘Stay close,’ urged Gellan, moving beside Bel to ensure that he was mostly back inside the ward. ‘For the love of Arkus, do not run ahead again.’
‘What’s he doing?’ said Jaya.
There was a crackling in the air, and something brushed Bel’s arm where it hung just outside the ward – something cold.
‘Stay within the light,’ warned Gellan.
There was a whiz next to Bel’s ear.
‘He’s freezing the mist,’ said Gellan.
Everywhere, tiny suspended particles of moisture were crystallising to ice. They flew, sharp and tiny, in their thousands. There was a sharp, shooting pain in Bel’s exposed arm like a wasp sting, and he glanced down to see minuscule shards burying in his flesh, where they melted amidst the damage they caused. He drew his arm back into the light.
Heat emanated from Gellan and the ward around them glowed orange, strong enough to make them all sweat. As the ice particles entered the heat they melted, spattering hot skin with cold water. As the figure turned to flee again, the ice storm did not subside.
‘He’s getting away!’ shouted Bel.
‘No!’ called Gellan, but Bel did not listen. As he lurched into the whizzing mist, scores of tiny shards instantly riddled his flesh. He flung a hand before his eyes, and a dozen gashes opened in his palms.
‘Bel, you idiot,’ shouted Jaya, reaching from within the light to grab him. ‘You’ll be cut to ribbons!’
Bloody and bellowing, he allowed himself to be pulled back in. He noticed that Jaya’s hands were now covered in cuts. As for his own hurts, they mattered little.
‘Put an end to the spell, curse you!’ he shouted at Gellan. ‘He’s getting away!’
Gellan grunted in response and his eyebrows furrowed. A shockwave of heat rippled out from him, which Bel felt sharply in his myriad wounds. Flying ice blasted away, and even the rock itself was suddenly dry for a moment.
‘Now stay together,’ snapped Gellan, and took up the charge.
Around the next bend they came to an open stretch, straight and narrow. Ahead, the figure was moving unnaturally fast, making full use of the time it had gained. Fireballs and energy bolts flew back and forth between them, each impact halting the receiver somewhat, so the already wide distance between them did not grow.
‘Faster!’ shouted Bel. He grabbed Hiza’s sword and hurled it, but this time the distance was too great even for him.
Below the river disappeared into the rocks of its source, and the two sides of the ridge joined into one flat area. About a hundred paces on, the land ended abruptly, dropping away into a great valley ringed on all sides by towering peaks.
The skeletal figure did not halt, but took a great running leap off the edge.
‘He cannot float fast,’ said Gellan. ‘We may still catch him!’
They came to a skidding stop at the edge: a sheer drop yawned sickeningly before them. Gellan continued sending fireballs at the figure as it drifted away like a puff of dark smoke. Each impact smacked it about in the air but did not stop it slipping further away. Abandoning fireballs, Gellan reached out his hands, gritting his teeth as sweat formed on his brow.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Bel in despair.
‘Trying to drag him back,’ replied the mage. ‘It should be easy, as he’s made himself so light …but …his power is so strong!’ With a great sigh, he relaxed his hands.
Bel fell to his knees, unable to believe his failure. He still felt a tenuous thread that reached after the departing figure …How was he meant to follow? Was he supposed to jump from the cliff? Anger came, anger at his stupid ‘gift’, useless and maybe even dangerous, tempting him to his death.
What kind of gift leads to suicide?
Jaya crouched next to him, frowning at his wounds. She licked her sleeve and wiped his brow, stopping droplets of blood from running into his eyes.
‘A shame,’ she said with a half-smile. ‘You’ve mucked up your pretty face.’
He barely heard her. How am I supposed to follow?
‘No!’ He screamed in frustration, rising to his feet, making Jaya start. ‘Stop, curse you! Come back!’
The figure was a tiny blur now, floating high above the immense valley.
Bel moved even closer to the edge, nudging it with his toes, straining his sight after the figure as if force of will alone could bring it back.
‘By Arkus,’ said Hiza.
‘Look!’ said Jaya, pointing.
It was hard to tell from this distance, for the dark figure was so far away – but had it turned around? For a moment it seemed to grow not smaller, but larger.
Suddenly all traces of the pattern’s last threads disappeared.
The figure was coming back.
‘Everybody get behind me,’ said Gellan. ‘And this time, if you leave my protection, you’re on your own.’
As the figure drew near, the wind pulled back its cowl to reveal a mottled skull, grinning and charred. It set down on the ground with a click of bony feet, and Gellan raised a warning hand.
‘Hold!’ he said.
The thing made no move other than to turn its eyeless gaze towards Bel. It was unnerving to stare into the empty sockets.
‘Why have you returned?’ said Bel.
‘Because,’ replied Fazel in a dry, cracked voice, ‘you commanded me to.’
•
Fahren waited just beyond the walls, a small complement of blades with him. It was a nice day, he thought, the kind of day that may once have seemed peaceful, had it not arrived polluted by undercurrents of concern.
He reached into his shirt and drew out a small vial, inside which a beetle whirred its wings. Well done , he conveyed to it, more in warmth than words, and it stilled in anticipation. He unstoppered the vial and tipped it gently, allowing the beetle to walk to the edge and flit away. A couple of the blades were watching curiously and he gave them a wink, although he was sure they hadn’t the slightest idea what he was doing.
‘Performed a service for me,’ he told them, gesturing after the beetle. ‘Wouldn’t be fair not to let him go.’
The blades nodded uncertainly and Fahren smiled. When you were a mage you were allowed to be strange.
The beetle reached a copse of trees and disappeared. A good little spy, that one had proved. Riding along in its mind, Fahren had flown unnoticed into Thedd Naphur’s chambers more than once, and never had he liked what he’d heard. Thedd still had sympathisers, and though they did not exactly counsel open treason, they skirted its edges rather closely. Had Thedd seemed that way inclined, possibly Fahren would have had to do something drastic. The man, however, did not dare to speak openly the hate that Fahren sensed so clearly in his heart, was not so brash as to reject Arkus, which was effectively what he’d be doing if he questioned the fitting of the Auriel.
Fahren knew he wasn’t free from backlash, even if Thedd tended towards pettier recriminations. As the Trusted of Tria, the man would be responsible for raising significant numbers for the army – thus his resentment of Fahren could express itself in dangerous ways, such as questioning orders or being slow to react to them, or simply not doing his best to find soldiers. It was not an attitude that Fahren could afford to let go unchecked.
Noise sounded from the gate, as Thedd’s entourage made its way out of the Halls. Horses pulled a carriage built for appearance over haste, flanked by blades on horseback. Fahren moved towards them, holding up his hand, and the carriage driver drew the horses to a stop.
‘What’s the delay?’ came Thedd’s voice immediately from inside, and a curtain whisked back to reveal his scowling face, along with two mage companions. When he saw Fahren, he made a half-hearted attempt to change his expression, but the curl of his lips did not well conceal his displeasure.
‘Fahren,’ he acknowledged, pointedly dropping the title.
‘Would you mind stepping out for a moment, Thedd?’ said Fahren.
There was a click of the door unlatching from inside, and a blad
e slid from his horse to help Thedd alight. Fahren walked off without checking to see if Thedd followed. Thedd did, arriving at Fahren’s side with a deal of colour in his cheeks.
‘I trust you have not come simply to wish me well on my journey home,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Fahren, keeping his tone even. He would have to hide his dislike of the fellow. ‘Though I do wish you well, for although you must consider yourself robbed of your rightful appointment, you still have an important part to play.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Thedd. ‘I am to organise my soldiers to their deaths in this ridiculous campaign.’
Fahren gave his annoyance a moment to subside. ‘This is not just any campaign,’ he said, ‘and I think you know that. Thedd, I do not wish us to be enemies. Your contribution to the war effort will be vital. And don’t you think your desire to become Throne will only be helped if you are seen as a strong leader, a brave commander?’
Thedd went silent at that, perhaps surprised.
‘You have been slighted,’ said Fahren, ‘that is plain enough. But Thedd, I did not manipulate events to make it so. I did not ask to become Throne. In point of fact, I do not even want to be, but who am I to question Arkus’s will?’
Thedd finally looked him in the eye, an expression of keen interest growing on his face. ‘What are you saying?’
‘The Sun God may have chosen me for this duty,’ said Fahren, ‘but that is all he has chosen me for. I am old, and if I live to see the end of this war, I fancy I may be rather tired. If I feel I have fulfilled the function demanded of me, then I would gladly give up the Auriel. When that time comes, who will be the obvious choice, the right choice, to replace me? Not the blue-haired man, for he has already made it plain that he does not wish the Throneship.’ He injected some enthusiasm into his next words. ‘Think, Thedd, of what you could achieve as Throne in the new world that will need creating! It will be you presiding over a glorious new era – an era in which there is no shadow, in which excellent works can be done, in which there will be peace and prosperity. The conquered south will be yours to do with as you see fit, and with more resources at your disposal than any who have come before, you could usher in a time of unprecedented wealth. History would remember such a Throne as one who led our people into the greatest age they have ever known.’
Thedd bit his lip, a hungry spark in his eyes. ‘You are saying that, should we win the war, you will step aside?’
‘Yes,’ said Fahren. ‘I have no wish to spend my last years bickering with nobles and presiding over every last thing. But you, Thedd – you will still be young, and there is no doubting your passion to rule.’
Passion is a good word to replace greed , he commended himself.
‘Perhaps,’ said Thedd slowly, ‘I have misjudged you, Throne.’
‘But the day is not yet won,’ said Fahren. ‘We shall require everyone’s best effort to secure this future for Kainordas.’
Thedd drew himself up. ‘You will not lack for contributions from Tria. I will make sure of it.’
‘You can set yourself up well,’ said Fahren, ‘as a deciding factor in this war. Leave no one in any doubt of your worthiness to rule.’
‘Yes,’ said Thedd. ‘Yes, wise words.’
Fahren held out his hand. ‘Then let us make this pact, to achieve the end we both want. Let us proceed in friendship and be stronger for it.’
Thedd took the offered hand and put some strength into his shake. ‘I thank you for sharing your plans,’ he said. ‘You will not find your faith in me misplaced.’
‘And now, I beg, make haste, for there is much to be done. Perhaps your mages can add some swiftness to your journey?’
‘I imagine they are up to the challenge.’ Thedd glanced behind him. ‘And perhaps I will replace my carriage with something swifter at the next town.’
Fahren nodded. ‘An excellent idea.’
‘Very well,’ said Thedd. ‘Then I will away …unless there is anything more?’
‘That is enough for now,’ said Fahren. ‘You have plenty of your own plans to make, I’m sure.’
‘Yes,’ said Thedd, and bowed. ‘Thank you, Throne. I will send word when I have arrived home.’ He turned and strode back to his entourage a happier man. ‘Come on, everyone! We have some leagues to chew!’
He swung up into his carriage without any help, and Fahren nodded and smiled to him as they drove away.
Silly man , he thought sadly. Does he not realise how crucial such a time of rebuilding would be, what responsibility it would demand? The world is not a playground, and a selfish Throne will ill serve it. To have laboured so long to achieve such an end only to give it over to the likes of Thedd would be like leaving well-earned valuables in the protection of a thief.
Still, angering Thedd in such a future, when Fahren’s promises turned out to be lies, was a small price to pay if it helped them get there.
Glumly, Fahren made his way back to his guards. One way or another, he feared the glint of gold on his forehead would be with him forever.
Sideways Thinking
Even though Gellan kept his ward shining brightly, Fazel raised no defence in return.
‘Explain yourself, abomination,’ said Gellan.
Somehow Fazel made his look to Gellan withering. ‘No need for name-calling,’ he said. Then he gestured at Bel.
‘Keep your hands down,’ said Gellan, ‘if you know what’s good for you.’ A spurt of flame appeared at his fingers.
Fazel lowered his hand. ‘As you wish. But I’ve no immediate intention of attacking you further.’
‘Why?’ said Bel.
Fazel’s empty eyes moved to Bel. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Just look at you, all grown up strong. How time flies.’ He gave a humourless gibber, then cocked his head slightly. ‘It seems you share something of the connection.’
‘What do you mean ?’ said Bel impatiently. ‘Be clear!’
Fazel stiffened. ‘As you command. You may know that I am a slave to whomever’s soul is bound to Skygrip Castle. I’ve had no tidings for a while, but could it be that Battu is toppled from power?’
‘Indeed,’ said Bel. ‘My counterpart now rules Fenvarrow.’
‘That would explain it. Tell me, if you crack your sword in half, do you have two swords, or the broken pieces of one?’
‘A broken sword,’ said Bel slowly.
‘You and Losara, broken as you may be, are pieces of the same soul. A soul that is now bound to Skygrip Castle. Thus when you shouted at me to stop, I was compelled to obey.’
Bel shifted his feet uneasily. A part of him was connected to Skygrip through his other ?
‘Well,’ said Gellan, suddenly jolly, ‘this is a stroke of luck! Or fate, perhaps.’
‘I’m going to check on M’Meska,’ announced Hiza, in a tone that seemed to chide everyone else for failing to think of it.
‘Yes!’ said Gellan. ‘She may need healing. Come, all, let us head back. Bel, if you wouldn’t mind asking Fazel to join us?’
‘What?’ said Bel. ‘Oh.’ He wiped blood from his eyes. ‘Yes.’
Bel was about to command Fazel to heel like a dog, when he remembered that the undead mage had once been a great man of the light, and had not chosen willingly to serve Fenvarrow.
‘Fazel,’ he said, ‘would you please accompany us?’
Fazel nodded.
•
M’Meska sat on a rock, scowling as only a lizard could, as Gellan wafted his hands over various bumps and bruises. Bel suspected her grouchiness was more about missing the fight than actual pain. Nevertheless, Gellan did not want her moving again that day.
While Hiza busied himself setting up camp, Bel and Jaya waited for Gellan to look at their wounds. Bel found it hard to take his eyes off Fazel, who had been standing motionless in the same place since they’d arrived. While Bel hadn’t exactly expected him to kick up his heels, the effect was somewhat eerie.
‘Is that bothering you?’ he murmured to Jaya.
‘What?’
‘Fazel standing there, just …staring at us.’
‘Oh,’ said Jaya, and considered the undead mage. ‘No, not really.’
‘Maybe he’s waiting for an order,’ wondered Bel and raised his voice. ‘Fazel – can you help Hiza gather firewood?’
Fazel nodded. The mage seemed, strangely, almost pleased with the task, although it was hard to tell for sure. He stalked over to Hiza, who was collecting branches beneath trees. He looked perturbed to be joined by such a companion in his menial endeavours.
‘Does he disturb you ?’ Jaya said quietly. ‘I know a worried warrior when I see one.’
Bel shook his head. ‘What disturbs me is this …connection …I apparently share with Losara. I keep imagining a thin strand of myself running away over a great distance, all the way to Skygrip.’ He frowned. ‘A shadowy strand it is too. As if the worm left a trail when it crawled away.’
‘Well,’ said Jaya, ‘whatever it is, it’s fortunate for us, else we wouldn’t have Fazel. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but …it was enough when I realised that Losara’s life is tied to my own. And now this.’ He turned to her. ‘Not seeing some slick of shadows under my skin, I hope?’
‘Would it matter?’ she said, sounding more contemplative than reassuring.
‘All right,’ called Gellan, waving them over, ‘let’s smooth out that riddled skin of yours.’
As evening set in, they gathered around the fire. Fazel sat at the edge against the darkness, his black skull gleaming in the flickering light.
‘I take it you don’t eat?’ said Hiza, tearing a leg of rabbit from the spit.
‘No.’
‘Now,’ said Bel, ‘you must tell us – how is it that you come to be here? Do you know where the Stone of Evenings Mild is?’
‘I do,’ said Fazel.
‘Do you have it with you?’
‘No.’
‘Where is it, then?’
‘In a dragon’s lair.’
Bel almost choked on his food. ‘What?’
‘Perhaps we’re getting ahead of ourselves,’ said Gellan. ‘Should we not simply ask Fazel what happened to him after the fight in Whisperwood?’
