Destiny's Rift bw-2

by Sam Bowring

  ‘Can you reach into my pack?’ Bel shouted above the rushing wind.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Can you get me the sundart?’

  It was tricky to undo the ties as they jolted about, and she was careful not to let anything spill. Reaching in, she found the magical messenger carving, and leaned forward to slip it under his arm.

  ‘Thanks!’ he shouted, then touched the scroll. ‘Fahren! You’re never going to believe where we are!’

  She laughed and looked down upon the world going past, her heart finally thundering with joy.

  •

  Fahren put the sundart down and wandered to the edge of his quarters. It was still difficult thinking of them as his quarters, when so much memory of them was tied up with Naphur. Sometimes he still felt like an imposter and longed for his rooms at the top of the Open Tower. He fumbled with a brittleleaf roll, mind not really on the job.

  So, Bel was riding towards Holdwith, and his counterpart, on the back of a vengeful dragon. Unusual and worrying, but it had the smell of fate about it, of things being delivered when they were needed most.

  Meanwhile there were two enormous armies none too distant from each other. Where and when would they finally clash? Variables everywhere, yet here he remained. There was little more to be done from here, he supposed. Troops were mobilised, and those who had not already joined the army were making their way. Even Thedd had made good on his commitment. The north was emptying, its towns and cities quiet, and those who remained behind waited uneasily for news of an outcome that would signal either celebration or ultimate despair.

  He lit the roll with a spurt of flame from his finger. One last thing, before he went to join the final battle.

  He needed to make a deal with Battu.

  Fire in the Sky

  Tyrellan sat cross-legged and alone on the dusty plains. Some half a league to the north lay the fort, beneath a circle of Cloud fed by a stream high over his head. A gratifying sight indeed.

  Well, not alone, he supposed.

  It was the fourth day of construction, and the shadowmander’s range had grown larger than expected. If Tyrellan moved any closer to the fort, the mander would get inside and tear apart whatever lightfists were left. Instead he waited from afar, chewing on a piece of bread, watching the broken cobblestone tower. Losara was up there, having sleeping mages brought to him, and sending their legacy spells out over the plain. Very soon, they would be finished.

  There were reports in the morning that a contingent of Varenkai troops had arrived about a league to the north. There they had stopped. Tyrellan was certain they did not mean to attack the fort – at least not until the main army caught up. They were here to impede, or keep watch, or something to that effect. Wise, maybe, under other circumstances, though the Throne could not have possibly guessed what it was Losara did here.

  Familiar sparks went along the mander, although the increase in its size was now too slight for Tyrellan to register visually. Losara had become adept at whatever he did in the minds of the sleeping, and the legacies had come thick and fast over the past day. Hundreds of mage’s lives had gone into the making, and he wondered if Losara was going to be able to use every last one of them.

  It wasn’t long before he had his answer.

  Tyrellan , came Losara’s voice in his head.

  Yes, lord?

  We have found the limit. The last two spells have failed to reach you.

  Very well. What would you have me do?

  Stay where you are for now. I shall send word when we have …cleaned up. I do not want the mander destroying the fort in search of the remaining lightfists.

  As you command .

  •

  Losara entered the academy hall, where the last lightfists were being kept asleep. He took form next to Roma, who did not flinch at the sudden arrival.

  ‘Shadowdreamer. I have just sent the next batch up to the tower.’

  ‘Recall them, please,’ said Losara. ‘We are done.’

  Roma nodded and gestured at a mage. Losara sensed a thought travelling between them, and the subordinate headed off.

  ‘The rest,’ said Losara. ‘They are all here?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  There were some two hundred lightfists remaining under the watch of his mages. He was proud of his underlings – they had carried out his wishes exactly, though it had been taxing on them. Everyone had been taking shifts, but between patrolling the walls and keeping so many lightfists slumbering, rest periods had not lasted long.

  The mage whom Roma had sent returned with a couple of others, between them four levitating lightfists.

  ‘Put them back with the rest,’ Losara said.

  He moved into the centre of the hall. He could defer this command to Roma, he supposed, but a part of him felt he must take responsibility for it.

  ‘My mages,’ he said, and all fell silent. ‘I commend you on our success.’

  A chorus sounded – not the rabble-like cheer of soldiers, but a softer, more self-assured murmur of satisfaction.

  ‘And now,’ said Losara – so many lives wasted – ‘Now that we no longer need the lightfists, you may snuff them out. Do not visit any unnecessary pain upon them. Proceed.’

  Around the room mages raised their hands, and sent forth shadows into the lightfists. Despite Losara’s words there was plenty of convulsing. He hoped the lightfists did not feel anything in their sleep. It seemed his mages were not as skilled as he at creating a soft, gentle departure. Mercifully, it was quickly done.

  ‘Bury them,’ he said.

  Roma nodded and set about shooting orders around the hall. Soon a macabre procession of dead lightfists was floating out of the academy, through the fort, and out of the gate onto the plains. Here, a large burial pit was already filled with tangled limbs and twisted red robes. Into it, the last were dropped. Roma then gestured at a hillock of dirt that had been excavated to make the pit, and it came cascading back in. With the hole filled, he gave a whisk of his fingers, smoothing over the earth, until no trace of the fort’s original inhabitants remained.

  A more respectful burial than many will be afforded in the coming days , Losara thought, though it was little comfort. The evidence of his colossal crime, hidden beneath the dirt, was like a tumour on the world.

  Out on the plains, the shadowmander stood at the edge of its circle, watching.

  Tyrellan , sent Losara. You may return.

  •

  For a day and a night they rode the dragon, the land below seeming to move slowly at such a distance. Sometimes Bel would spot a landmark – a city, fort or forest remembered from the internal map he carried thanks to Fahren’s lessons – and the dragon would change course to follow his shouted instructions. Apart from those interactions there was little talk with Olakanzar, and Bel and Jaya were left to their own devices, such as they were.

  Being roped into a particular position soon produced all kinds of aches on top of the wounds they already sported. With not much else to do, they had set about extending their web between the dragon’s spines so that they could, to a degree, move around. They could stand, though there was little need to do so beyond the exultation it brought, and they’d even managed to sleep a little. Olakanzar seemed to fly more slowly at night, gliding serenely, and it crossed Bel’s mind that maybe he too could sleep on the wing.

  On the second day they passed over Kahlay, and Bel craned his neck to inspect. Around the city the land seemed trampled, speckled with abandoned campsites. Further south they spied the army on the march, an impressive force even from such a distance, or maybe because of it. Thousands upon thousands flattened the grass, and Saurians could be seen riding on dune claws, while great swarms of Zyvanix buzzed about. Gerent Brahl would be amongst them, but Fahren was not yet there, as Bel had learned from the sundart. Why did the Throne linger in the Halls?

  ‘Let us fly low!’ urged Bel. ‘The assembled people of Kainordas should see the might of Olakanzar!’


  The dragon roared in answer and dived, a stomach-churning plunge. A hundred paces from the ground, his wings snapped wide and they swooped over the army. A tremendous cry went up at their passing, fearful until Bel stood tall on the dragon’s back, raising his sword, his blue hair frenzied about his head. Then the timbre of the cry changed to amazement. Such a sight would do wonders for morale, Bel hoped.

  ‘Having fun?’ said Jaya with a wry smile.

  ‘Got to enjoy the perks,’ said Bel, sitting back down as they continued, rising again. ‘To the south-west!’ he called to the dragon.

  A couple of hours later they could see Holdwith on the horizon, a brown blob amidst grey plains, shadowed by an offshoot of the Cloud. Bel scowled when he saw that. His counterpart had made inroads in his absence, had taken full advantage of knowing Bel was not around to stop him. Impatience to beat Losara back ate at him. He had to show the Kainordans that their champion was not ill-named, had not abandoned them to this travesty. Soon, he swore, he would see the Cloud waft back to where it belonged – nay, not just that: all the way to its damned source.

  They spotted a vanguard of the Kainordan force about a league north of Holdwith.

  ‘Descend!’ cried Bel, and Olakanzar banked heavily. They came down some fifty paces from the soldiers. It was a shaky landing that would have flung them far if not for the ropes.

  ‘Erk,’ complained Jaya as Olakanzar tottered to a standstill. ‘That was rough.’

  Bel wasted no time slicing himself free of the ropes, and she went to work as well. Together they tossed the mutilated web off the dragon, then made their way carefully to his lowered tail. Olakanzar’s head came snaking around as they stepped down onto the ground.

  ‘Many things I see not in the crowd,’ he said, ‘and goblins and burned men and Shadowdreamers are amongst those I do not see.’

  ‘They are in the fort ahead,’ said Bel. ‘But hold a moment, noble dragon. I must speak with my people, and then we will come to watch you take your revenge.’

  A group of soldiers was heading towards them, understandably tentative, led by a lightfist.

  ‘Blade Bel?’ she called.

  ‘Indeed!’ replied Bel, spinning about jovially. Behind him Olakanzar craned his head towards the fort, all but ignoring everyone else, and sniffed.

  The lightfist was around thirty, with brown hair and a diamond stud in her slightly upturned nose. There was a hard look in her dark eyes that contrasted with the red of her robe. Around her waist was a cinched belt from which ornate hammers hung on either side, swinging as she moved.

  ‘You know her?’ said Jaya guardedly.

  ‘No,’ said Bel. ‘I assume she recognises me from …well, you know.’

  The lightfist raised her hand to draw her soldiers to a halt some paces away.

  ‘We had no word of your coming,’ she said warily, and glanced beyond them at the dragon. ‘Nor of your mode of transportation. You are lucky we saw you on its back, for I was on the verge of ordering an attack.’

  ‘And you are lucky that you hesitated,’ said Bel. ‘I did not plan to arrive this way, but fortune or fate favoured us in a time of need. You are in charge of this group?’

  ‘Yes. My name is Nicha.’

  ‘How many do you have with you?’

  ‘Some two hundred riders, and a hundred lightfists.’

  ‘Excellent. We shall make for the fort together, with Olakanzar. The dragon,’ he answered her unspoken question.

  ‘What’s wrong with its eye?’ she asked.

  ‘I would not stare too hard, my friend,’ said Bel.

  She broke her gaze. ‘With all due respect, our orders are quite plain. The Throne does not wish us to attack the fort, but simply to observe.’

  ‘That was before he knew that I’d be here,’ said Bel. ‘With a revenge-hungry dragon.’

  ‘He poses no threat to us?’ said Nicha.

  ‘No,’ said Bel, hoping it was true. ‘He is not concerned with us.’

  Nicha raised fingers to rub her temples, as if to dispel a headache. ‘I still do not think it wise to march on Holdwith,’ she said. ‘We are not a sizeable force.’

  ‘There will be no talking the dragon out of it,’ said Bel. ‘At the very least we should go to observe , and be ready. If Olakanzar kills enough of the enemy, we may be in a position to press the advantage.’

  ‘Besides,’ added Jaya, ‘who are you to defy the orders of the blue-haired man?’

  Nicha glanced at her irritably, but whatever anger rose within her was expressed not from her mouth but in her eyes.

  ‘Very well,’ she said crisply. ‘I will have the soldiers make ready.’

  •

  Horses were brought for Bel and Jaya. Once all were assembled Bel rode out in front of them, feeling it would be right to say something.

  ‘My friends!’ he called. ‘We may be few, but we have a mighty ally on our side! Once the flames of Olakanzar cleanse Holdwith of the scum collected there, we shall reclaim that which is rightfully ours. Are you with me?’

  The response was not as whole-hearted as he would have liked. The soldiers were skittish, he told himself, because of the presence of the dragon. For his part, Olakanzar remained strangely quiet, still craning his neck towards the fort like a dog straining against an invisible leash, muttering inaudibly. Bel did not think he would wait much longer.

  ‘Let us ride!’ he called, and wheeled his horse to lead them off. He broke into a gallop and was gratified to hear the sounds of others following. Had he doubted that they would? Of course not.

  ‘Fly, Olakanzar!’ he bellowed. ‘Fly and take your vengeance!’

  The dragon roared, and they felt his might as he took off into the afternoon sky. The sunlight darkened for a moment as he passed overhead.

  ‘Itchy!’ he howled. ‘Itchy, itchy, itchy no more!’

  What would the troops make of that? Bel wondered.

  Holdwith was not far across the flats, and the small patch of Cloud above it did little to stop the light flooding in from all sides. Olakanzar circled the fort once, twice …and as they drew to a stop out of spell range, he dived.

  Like a great green eagle he dropped from the sky, jaws snapping wide to spew forth a tremendous stream of fire across the walls. Cries went up and blue bolts crackled after him, sizzling harmlessly on his thick hide. He turned in a wide arc and strafed the walls once more, his liquid flame slow to die. Flailing bodies fell alight, ash before they hit the ground. Larger bolts began to fly as shadow mages channelled in groups. One smacked into Olakanzar’s side and he curled in the air, dropping some distance before spreading his wings wide to soar shakily onwards. As he flew past the cobblestone tower he gave it an almost idle whack with his tail. The tower, already in a state of disrepair, toppled and crashed inside the fort. It must have hit the inside wall, for towards ground level, brickwork exploded outwards, creating a hole in the side of the fort.

  ‘A way in!’ said Bel.

  Nicha regarded him doubtfully.

  ‘Everyone inside will be distracted,’ said Bel. ‘It’s the perfect opportunity.’ He turned to the troops. ‘Lads, ladies – follow me!’

  Without waiting for a reply he led the charge, flanked by hundreds. No bolts came towards them from the blazing walls, and no cries warned of their approach – though there were cries enough within. Bel felt his bloodlust rising but had no sense of any paths . To blazes with it , he thought. I am my own man, not some mindless cart moving along a preordained route. I can make decisions for myself.

  ‘Look!’ Nicha called. Bel followed her gaze, and started in surprise.

  ‘Hold!’ he bellowed, drawing up his horse, and three hundred pairs of hooves came to a stop around him.

  From around the side of the fort something large came into view. Some fifteen paces long, it looked like a wingless dragon but smoother, blood-scarlet and with black, slit eyes. The creature moved swiftly, climbing the fort walls with a rippling, dextrous ease, its body making S-shape
s like a lizard. Once atop the walls it froze, tense, ready to pounce. As Olakanzar came diving down, preceded by fire, the thing leaped straight through the flames. Olakanzar’s jaws snapped shut, cutting off his fire as he was slammed backwards in the air. The creature barrelled into him, slashing at his belly with cruel claws. Together they spiralled down, Olakanzar’s wings flapping uselessly. Just before they hit the ground the creature twisted free and jumped away to land on its feet. Olakanzar crashed on his side with an almighty thud, one wing crushed beneath his bulk. Slowly he pulled himself onto his feet, trailing a broken and battered wing, bellowing defiance as the creature circled him.

  The creature seemed somehow familiar, and Bel sent his mind trawling back through Fahren’s endless fauna lessons. He knew there was nothing natural like this living in Fenvarrow, but …and he had it. It looked like a giant shadowmander.

  ‘How in Arkus’s name did he create that ?’ he muttered to himself.

  Olakanzar breathed fire once again, hitting the mander full in the face. It did not budge, instead lifting its neck to let the flames wash along it, almost mockingly. Then it hissed loudly, its dark eyes visible through the flames, and slithered forward. Olakanzar tried to shuffle backwards, fearful now of this apparently invulnerable foe. He could not do so quickly enough, though, for his legs were hurt and his wing destroyed. His head swung to find Bel, whose gaze locked with the bulging eye that suddenly seemed so pitiful. Bel lifted the reins of his horse, ready to go to his aid, but felt Jaya’s gentle grasp on his arm.

  ‘We cannot help him,’ she said.

  The shadowmander pounced, its claws hooking into the dragon’s side. It hauled itself into place to seize Olakanzar’s neck in its mouth, and bit down hard. The dragon gave a strangled gasp that turned almost to a hiccup, followed by a last spurt of flame. The shadowmander pulled a claw free to slash at his face, raking the bulbous eye, bursting it to a dripping mess of white and bloody cords that swung from the socket.

  ‘Itchy!’ gurgled Olakanzar. ‘Itchy no more …’