Soul's Reckoning bw-3

by Sam Bowring

  Eosene

  ‘We have failed, master,’ said Roma.

  Losara turned away from the incandescent moon, hanging in the sky free and clear of cloud. Around him the shadow mages who’d been channelling in groups lowered their hands. Roma had thought they were far enough to the south of their army, and therefore the Kainordans, to avoid detection. Seemingly not.

  Losara was not surprised. This had not been his idea, and he’d been doubtful about it from the start. The sheer volume of magic needed to affect the weather, sent up into the sky like a flare – how could the enemy fail to sense it? Yet he had allowed Roma to try it anyway, for he did not wish to discourage his servants from offering ideas …and besides, there was always the slim chance it would work. Unfortunately, even the idea of sending the clouds rolling in, rather than creating them directly above the army, had proven inadequate.

  ‘The light has scouts watching a wide area,’ said Losara, ‘as our own report. It would be difficult to pull off a feat of this magnitude without them knowing.’

  Roma nodded. ‘May I be excused, master?’

  ‘You may.’

  ‘And also take my leave?’

  Losara considered Roma for a moment, wondering if that had been an attempt at a small joke, yet no humour showed on the Magus Supreme’s face.

  ‘Yes. Take these others with you.’

  As Roma set about organising the group, Losara dissolved and went back over the fields to the quiet camp. It seemed that most of his folk were sleeping, as well they deserved, for it had been a long day. The majority of the tents were set up back from the front line, but one stood alone there. In front of it a solitary figure sat on a simple stool cut from a circle of log.

  ‘You are not asleep, Tyrellan?’ said Losara.

  The goblin raised his head slightly. ‘I was.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Tyrellan smoothed a hand over his scalp, then held out one of his claws before his eyes for examination. The silver sheen of moonlight crept across it.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘Roma’s plan did not work.’

  ‘No. It was too hard to disguise so much magic.’

  ‘As you predicted, master.’

  From over in the enemy camp, Losara could sense magic pouring up into the sky to feed the wind above. Perhaps the lightfists would exhaust themselves maintaining it, not realising that Losara had already given up. But even as he had the thought, the distant flow of magic ceased, and the wind died away.

  Tyrellan cleared his throat and Losara looked at him expectantly. It took him a moment to realise that Tyrellan was actually waiting for him to speak, yet he could not think of anything to say.

  ‘Was there something else, master?’

  Losara thought about it – was there anything else? Or had he simply come to tell Tyrellan what was going on? He felt bad for the First Slave, restricted as he was, all for a weapon that was proving a nuisance …but now Tyrellan was looking at him as if he did not need to be there. The goblin had his own sources, Losara knew. He probably did not need the dreamer to personally deliver him news, nor would he approve of such a thing.

  ‘No,’ said Losara.

  ‘It has been a long day,’ said Tyrellan. ‘The Shadowdreamer does no favours to himself or his people by failing to rest.’

  He held Losara’s gaze until Losara nodded.

  ‘You are right. Good night, Tyrellan.’

  ‘Good night.’

  •

  Lalenda lay awake, staring at the roof of the large black tent, on a plush and comfortable mattress that smelt a bit like horse. It seemed strange that it was someone’s job to be responsible for the dreamer’s comfort, and lug about his bedding. They weren’t all soldiers, she supposed. With an army this size, there were plenty of things to do besides fight.

  She had slept already, and awoken again to wonder where Losara was. Thoughts of her prophecy kept her so anxious that it was a marvel she’d been able to sleep in the first place. She kept seeing the vision of herself and Jaya both holding the hands of a blue-haired man. Foggy it had been, uncertain. Would it come to pass? Finally there came a shifting in the corner, and she sat up to see that he had arrived, and was now undressing.

  ‘Hello flutterbug,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘I was awake already.’

  Once naked, he flowed under the sheets and re-formed next to her, his eyes already closed. She cuddled up to him, and put a hand on his chest. He stirred slightly, whispered something under his breath, and wrapped his arms around her. Then he was asleep, and she lay trapped, wide awake in his embrace. Frustrated, she tried to get comfortable. She had been entertaining the notion that she would jump all over him when he got to bed. She felt a burning need to consolidate their connection in the face of the prophecy, or maybe just simply forget about it all for a few blessed moments …but he slumbered, and although she half-heartedly explored his body, it seemed he was too deeply gone.

  She no longer felt like lying down. Disentangling herself roughly, Lalenda pulled a frayed green dress down over her wings and left the tent. Outside, the tents of Losara’s commanders stood about in a circle, in the centre of the dense camp. Without much purpose she headed into it all.

  Many of the regular soldiers slept in the open, their scant belongings piled around them. She stepped nimbly over a Vortharg who lay slobbering quietly, curled against an ice lantern. There was a kind of order to the camp, she knew, but right now it was hard to see. Off at the edges, patrols moved, and there came the occasional voices of Graka overhead. There were so many here it seemed impossible that all could be defeated …yet across the way lay just as many, if not more, of the cursed enemy.

  She flapped and took off directly upwards. As she did, she felt air rise under her wings that could not have been caused by any wind.

  ‘Grimra feels a tugging at his pendant,’ said the ghost. ‘Wonders why Lalenda is up and about when he think she be sleeping.’

  ‘Sleep finds me not this night,’ she said.

  ‘Ah,’ whispered Grimra. ‘Grimra remembers not much about sleep, but sometimes he makes himself small and still. Then for a time he forgets everything, and hunger does not bother.’

  ‘Something akin to sleep, then?’ she said. They were high enough now that she could see the sweep of the Kainordans, and tried to work out how greatly they outnumbered the shadow. ‘But I cannot escape my hunger that way tonight.’

  ‘What does flutterbug hunger for?’ said Grimra.

  ‘For them,’ said Lalenda, pointing at the distant fires, ‘to be gone from the world.’

  Grimra swirled, steadying her as she hovered. ‘That is not the concern of Lalenda,’ he said. ‘There be great warriors and deadly mages aplenty for such business. Lalenda’s job is to be small and cutesy.’

  Lalenda laughed. ‘Would that it were so.’

  ‘Is it not? What brings flutterbug so high?’

  Her laugh was quickly strangled by worry. She could not tell the ghost about Losara’s uncertain and secret plan, for he had sworn her to silence.

  ‘I had a vision,’ she said.

  ‘Oho yes, some trick or fancy of the sleep-time.’

  ‘No, not a dream. A prophecy.’

  Grimra growled. He did not like her prophecies, for the last one had led them to the undead of Duskwood, an enterprise he had not cared for at all.

  ‘What does Lalenda burn next?’ he said bleakly.

  ‘It showed no burning.’

  ‘What it be showing, then?’

  Well , she thought, telling him what I saw isn’t the same thing as betraying Losara’s trust.

  ‘I saw myself …I am not sure, but I think I was standing with a blue-haired man, holding his hand …and on the other side was another woman.’

  ‘Sharing?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said angrily. ‘Or trying to pull him away.’

  ‘Well, where be this imposter?’ said Grimra. ‘Grimra could chew her face off, not so tempting then she
be!’

  ‘Over there,’ said Lalenda, gesturing at the Kainordans.

  Grimra groaned. ‘So that is why flutterbug wants so much to see them fall.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and the claws flicked from her fingertips. ‘And one in particular. Lalenda does not care to share.’

  •

  Losara did not realise how much he’d been missing Fenvarrow until he drifted there in his dream. How cool it was, how quiet and peaceful under the Cloud, away from battle. He had almost grown used to the sun, from his days with the army and, before that, travelling with Bel. He did not enjoy it, but like a niggling old wound he sometimes forgot its presence. This was what he fought for, he reminded himself – so that this peace would go undisturbed by the encroaching light in the north.

  He found himself on the ashen fields where Duskwood had once stood. New plants were finally beginning to grow, in ground long untouched by life – Lalenda had told him how the Shadowdreamer Assidax had cast an enchantment on this place to keep the wood dry and dusty. It seemed that with the wood’s destruction, the enchantment had gone too. His flutterbug had done well, but it had been a favour to the future, worth nothing if Losara could not save them all.

  The land began to flash by, and he wondered if this dream had a purpose, for it seemed to be taking him somewhere. When he slowed he was at the base of the Bentemoth Mountains, ancestral home of the Graka. In the lee of the peaks lay an area of coarse swampland called the Thin Soup, where spindly trees grew out of soft mud, crisscrossed by streams no bigger than trickling tears. It seemed a desolate place, lacking the vibrant growth of other mires he had seen. A movement in the trees caught his eye – a bird, its colourful plumage dull in the grey light. He watched as it flitted from branch to branch, eventually coming to a stop and staring at him with blood-drop eyes.

  He awoke. Under the black tent roof the air was growing muggy as the canvas absorbed the rays of the rising sun. By his side Lalenda snoozed, her sheets unconsciously flung aside. Let her sleep , he thought. The heat of the coming day would wake her soon enough.

  A weaver . That’s what he had seen. He hadn’t given much thought to the creatures since the end of Iassia. They were difficult to find, and unlikely to serve anyone but themselves, so there had seemed no reason to seek one out. But now the Shadowdream had shown him where he could find one.

  Why?

  Maybe there was no purpose. There often wasn’t.

  More immediate problems came to the forefront of his mind. It had only been a day since the armies began their stand-off, yet it felt longer, and Bel seemed ready to remain where he was indeterminately. Why not? It cost the light little to defend – this was their land, where they were well supplied. Losara, on the other hand, was the invader. He needed to keep the momentum going, or supplies would dwindle and morale would suffer. The first step towards countering that, he felt to the bottom of his bones, was that his underlings understood why they did not simply stampede with the shadowmander and wipe out the Kainordans, just as they had done at the Shining Mines. Tyrellan counselled that he need not tell them anything, insisting that no commander in history had ever given his soldiers the full story …but Losara felt that sitting here in the baking sun while the enemy flaunted itself just there made the situation a little different. Yet how could he possibly trust all his folk with his secret?

  He fell to shadow and went creeping out into the camp. Many were waking, and some, who had been watching during the night, were retiring. He found one such, a Vortharg, lying in the shade of a tree down by the river, and crept up to the doorstep of his slumbering mind.

  Tentoy, the Vortharg’s name, was the first thing he learned. Losara hovered on the threshold, not seeking to enter Tentoy completely, merely to ask him questions that he would not later remember answering. A sample, he supposed, taken at random.

  Tentoy , he said, how do you feel?

  Hot. Tired.

  How do you feel about the war?

  It is good, if it brings peace. I wish the light would just leave us alone, but I know they won’t. I want it all dealt with, so I can go back to my caves, safe in the knowledge that no Kainordan wishes me harm.

  Losara was surprised by the resigned determination in the Vortharg’s words.

  How do you feel about the current situation?

  Hot. Tired.

  No , said Losara, I mean what do you think about the Shadowdreamer’s lack of action, when the Kainordans are right in front of him?

  Mages always behave strangely. There’s no point trying to understand them.

  And what would you do if you knew a secret that could potentially harm the dreamer?

  Keep it , said Tentoy. I want him to win. I want to go back to my caves.

  Losara was gladdened, and yet not wholly.

  What if this happened? he asked.

  He seeped Tentoy into a dream, in which the Vortharg was tied, stretched out on the ground, with ants crawling over him. Around him stood Kainordans, and one pricked Tentoy with his sword, a shallow but painful cut. Tentoy cried out, and Losara knew a moment of shame for testing his loyal subject so harshly.

  ‘What do you know?’ said the man.

  ‘Nothing!’ burbled Tentoy.

  The man cut him again.

  ‘What do you know?’

  The Vortharg gibbered, then gnashed his tusks defiantly.

  ‘Will you tell us the Shadowdreamer’s secret?’ the Varenkai said.

  Would you, Tentoy? Losara pushed himself to keep the nightmare going, reminding himself that the pain he inflicted was not real.

  There was hesitation in the Vortharg’s mind, distress and bewilderment.

  You don’t know? said Losara.

  I would try, for my family, to be strong, but …

  There came an incoherent commotion, as Tentoy tried to know for himself what he would do in such a circumstance. For Losara his uncertainty was enough of an answer in itself, and he decided to let the soldier have his rest.

  What to do.

  Tentoy was just one of many. Losara spread out, not as shadow but mentally. Here on the plane of thought, he could sense thousands of minds around him like a great, low chattering. He could speak to them all at once, if he wished, and for a moment he was tempted to do so …but he still had no way to bind his secret to them.

  Bind my secret to them , he thought.

  Weavers knew how to do such a thing.

  Perhaps the dream had come for a reason.

  He sought Roma, found him just stepping out of his own black tent next to Losara’s, and materialised.

  Roma bowed his head. ‘Lord Shadowdreamer.’

  ‘Magus Supreme,’ acknowledged Losara. ‘I will be away this morning for a time. I leave you in charge.’

  ‘As you command.’

  As Losara sped away towards Fenvarrow, he thought about how Roma had not asked him where he was going, or for how long, or why. Perhaps Losara should have more faith in his people’s loyalty, and their ability to take orders without reasons. But then again Roma was special, and not all were as strong, or as moulded, as he.

  One day, Roma , he thought, I will build you that grand house in Afei Edres. Hopefully one day soon.

  Then he was across the border, heading towards the Bentemoth Mountains. He did not tarry, and a blink later the ice-topped peaks in the distance were towering above him. He slipped around them, pooling to a stop at the edge of the Thin Soup.

  Weaver , he sent out, loud and clear in the psychic landscape. I ask that you visit me.

  If the creature was close enough to have heard him, it did not appear. He moved on, trying to discover the place he had seen in the dream. The flat mud and trees were blandly uniform, and it began to seem something of a hopeless exercise.

  Weaver , he tried from a new place. The Shadowdreamer seeks your counsel. Please attend.

  Losara sat down to watch the mire. It was a bleak place, and he wondered why any creature with choice would make its home here.


  ‘The bugs,’ tweeted a voice.

  There was a fluttering of wings, and a small bird flew out of the trees to land on the ground before him. Its feathers were blue and purple, with a breast of silver. Like all weavers, it was a colourful and striking creature indeed.

  ‘Sorry?’ said Losara.

  ‘The bugs are good,’ remarked the bird. ‘Plenty of fat ones in the mud, and plenty in the trees. Dragonflies too, though you can’t eat them all the time. Too bitter.’ She gave a chirp of amusement. ‘Well, you asked.’

  ‘I suppose I did.’

  ‘There’s a couple of us here, actually,’ said the bird. ‘Though the other doesn’t want to talk to you. Grouchy fellow, right from the start. So you’re the Shadowdreamer at the moment, are you?’

  ‘Yes. I’m called Losara.’

  ‘Eosene,’ said the weaver.

  Losara stared at her in surprise. Eosene had been one of the three weavers who had sworn to serve Kryzante, the first Shadowdreamer. They had done so in exchange for the souls of all their kind being converted to shadow, thus hiding them from their maker, Arkus – but that bargain had ended with Kryzante’s death.

  ‘Nice head of hair you have there,’ observed Eosene, cocking her head at him.

  ‘I thank you for heeding my call,’ said Losara. ‘I realise you did not have to.’

  ‘Well,’ said Eosene, ‘you fight Arkus, do you not? I have a vested interest in him suffering a tragic defeat.’

  ‘You are aware of the battle in the north?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Eosene. ‘A little bird told me all about it.’

  Losara gave a smile. ‘Perhaps you are not aware of the latest moments, however?’

  ‘True enough.’

  Losara nodded. ‘I have a need,’ he said. ‘I wish to bind my soldiers to the keeping of a secret.’

  Eosene gave a soft twitter. ‘I do like secrets.’

  ‘I wonder if you and I can strike a bargain, then,’ said Losara. ‘I will tell you my secret and, in exchange, you will never tell anyone else.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the bird. ‘A similar bargain to the one you would strike with your soldiers?’