Sha-Kaan rolled slightly right and unleashed the power of his fire, ripping into the Veret’s fully deployed wing as he braked to bank away from his dive. The young dragon’s head jerked around in shock to snap a glance at Sha-Kaan before the fires destroyed his wing membrane and he barrel-rolled into the blackened forest, dying body bouncing from the ground before driving uncontrolled into a stand of shattered trunks to lie still, a cloud of earth and dead leaves erupting into the air.
Sha-Kaan pulled up sharply, searching the ground for Jatha whose presence he could still feel, and the sky for a view on the battle. Kaan chased down three Veret, the agile blue-green animals spinning and turning as they sought to flee their larger, more powerful assailants. Below and to his left, a Veret was locked in the air with a Kaan. Spikes had punctured the softer underscales of the Kaan’s neck but she held on, jaws clamped behind the Veret’s head. Blood was pouring from the wound and Sha-Kaan pulsed the order to release. The returning pulse saddened him. The poison was overwhelming the dragon’s system. She would die but she wouldn’t release the Veret to live. He watched as the two spiralled to their deaths before homing in on Jatha.
The frightened Vestare was still running but Sha-Kaan brought him to a grateful halt and landed just in front of him. Jatha and his remaining party were still a full day’s journey from Septern’s gateway. They should already have arrived and be safe, awaiting their Balaian visitors.
‘Thank the Skies you have come, Great Kaan,’ gasped Jatha. ‘We—’
‘Calm yourself,’ pulsed Sha-Kaan, allowing his mind to cool the heat in the Vestare mind. ‘Sit down and slow your heart; its beating is hurting my ears.’ Jatha slumped to the ground, heaving great lungfuls of air, the beginnings of a smile playing over his lips. In the sky above, the remaining Kaan chased the Veret away and patrolled in a holding pattern that gave Sha complete confidence.
‘Now,’ said the Great Kaan. ‘Tell me why you are so far from the gateway.’
Jatha nodded, Sha-Kaan feeling his pulse cease its dangerous racing.
‘There is great activity in Keol,’ said Jatha. ‘My party have been slowed by the need to conceal ourselves from bands of Naik and Veret warriors. They seem to be linked in some way; it is the only reason I can think of for the appearance of Veret in the sky.
‘We first saw them yesterday, flying to the south, and we thought we could evade them. But we were ambushed by Veret warriors. They are dead but our position was opened. Thus, we could be attacked as you saw.’
Sha-Kaan let his head drop. Naik and Veret in alliance. The Kaan could be in more trouble than he thought. A concerted attack by three or more Broods might prove too much for them.
‘How sure are you that there is an alliance?’ he asked.
‘They were not fighting when they met,’ said Jatha. ‘We watched them for a full day. Great Kaan, these are our lands, though we do not defend them. We cannot allow enemy occupation. It would bring them too close to Teras.’
‘There are greater threats than that posed by other Broods taking dead lands like Keol from us. It is critical that the humans from Balaia reach the Broodlands when they arrive here. I cannot release dragons to shadow you. If what you say proves true, I cannot afford to draw attention to you by flying in your defence, do you understand? ’
Jatha inclined his head. ‘There is one other way.’ Sha-Kaan retracted his head sharply, his neck describing an ‘s’. He hissed.
‘No human shall ever ride the Kaan. We are the masters here.’ Sha-Kaan breathed out long. ‘It is your task to see them safe to Teras. Have you thought of the battle there would be if we were seen with humans on our necks? No carrying Kaan would stand a chance of survival; our place would be gone.’ He moved his head groundwards once more. ‘Banish that thought, Jatha. Though I understand the desperation in which it was formed, it must never be uttered again. The Kaan shall never bow their necks to humans. We would die first.’
‘I am sorry, Great Kaan. And I thank you for your understanding.’
‘Consider that were you not so important to me, my reaction might have been different.’ Sha-Kaan’s admonishment was tinted with humour. ‘You are a faithful attendant and companion, Jatha. Now, we will sweep the way ahead of you and seek out your enemies on the ground and in the sky. Do not move until night falls and we have gone. I expect your signal when you reach the gateway.’
Jatha stood and spread his arms wide in deference, dropping back to one knee before he spoke again.
‘It shall be done, Great Kaan.’
‘Skies keep you.’ Sha-Kaan extended his wings and rose lazily into the sky, calling to his Brood to do his bidding.
Senedai’s patience broke on the fourth day. There was no warning, no new ultimatum. With the coming of a blustery dawn, heavy with cloud and the cloying damp that signalled the approach of rain, Barras was awakened by a general alarm that ran through the Council Rooms.
Instantly alert, he belted on his yellow robe of the day before, slid on boots without socks and rushed to the courtyard, dimly aware that his grey hair was wild in the wind, blowing into his eyes. He smoothed it back as Kard joined him.
‘Senedai?’ asked Barras. The old General nodded.
‘And he’s brought prisoners.’
‘Damn it.’ Barras increased his pace. ‘I thought we could bluff him longer.’
‘You’ve already saved fifteen hundred innocent lives. He was bound to lose patience eventually.’
Behind them, the sound of running feet grew in volume. Soldiers clattered by, heading for their guard posts on the North Gate and walls. Kerela and Seldane joined Barras.
‘So now it starts.’ Kerela was grim. Barras nodded.
‘If only I could have bought more time.’
Kerela squeezed Barras’ shoulder.
‘You bought us more time than we could possibly have dreamed of. Senedai’s fear of magic is more deeply ingrained than all but you imagined. You saw that and you made it pay. Be satisfied.’
‘More likely he was just in no hurry then, but now he is. It worries me that something has happened elsewhere that demands his taking of the College urgently. Perhaps one of the others has already fallen.’ They began ascending the stairs to the gate-house and ramparts.
‘He is under pressure, certainly,’ said Kard. ‘But don’t assume it’s because of further victory. Lack of success by other armies has probably forced him to act.’
The desire for conversation and the search for reason ceased as they looked down on the cobbled square before the gates. There stood Senedai, arms crossed over his chest, feet placed deliberately apart, dark cloak billowing in the breeze that accompanied the early morning chill. His hair, heavy with braids, barely stirred.
Behind him, better than one hundred Wesmen circled a group of fifty Julatsan children and older folk. All looked confused, all fearful, knowing only that they were a bargaining counter of some sort. None could know the fate that awaited them, their faces holding no panic or terror.
‘I said it would take six days,’ said Barras. Senedai shrugged.
‘And in four, you have done nothing but drilled your soldiers in full view of my observers. I will not debate this further.’ He raised an arm.
‘Wait!’ said Barras. ‘You can’t expect to see the results of our efforts. There is no physical dismantling of magic. We will be ready soon.’
‘You have lied to me, mage,’ said Senedai. ‘Such is the thinking among my captains. And for that, I will have your head as our bargain allows.’
‘It took him long enough to work it out,’ muttered Kard.
‘Now, how long you stay is up to you. But as the mound of corpses rises and its stench drifts across your faces, so will the hatred among those of your people left alive rise against you.’
A murmur and movement stirred among the prisoners and Barras could all but feel their hearts beginning to race as the awful realisation of possible death brought sweat to bead on the back of necks, cold as the grip of night.
Barked shouts from the Wesmen guards restored order, but the fear etched deeper into faces and the blank incomprehension of children tore at Barras.
‘I had thought you to be a man of honour,’ said the elder elven mage. ‘Not a murderer of the weak and helpless. You are a soldier, by the Gods. Act like one.’
Senedai wiped a hand across his mouth, apparently attempting to conceal a smile.
‘You are a skilled speaker, mage, but your words no longer move me. It is not I who shall murder them. None of my prisoners will die under a Wesman hand or blade. I am merely releasing them into your hands. If you drop your devil’s curtain, they will live.’ He pointed at the group on the ramparts. ‘You are the murderers. Watch fifty lives be lost, their deaths on your conscience.’ He raised his hand again, this time sweeping it down before Barras opened his mouth to speak. The guards pushed through the crowd, one pair to each prisoner. They were marched struggling in a four-deep line towards the DemonShroud directly under the North Gate, stopping less than three feet from the modulating grey spell. That close, its aura must have been terrible.
Senedai walked behind the first row of prisoners almost as if he was inspecting soldiers under his command. He stopped at the mid-point.
‘Senedai, no,’ urged Barras.
‘Take down your defence.’ He paused, looked up into Barras’ eyes. ‘Take down your defence.’ Barras said nothing.
‘Don’t give in.’ The voice came from Barras’ left. There stood an old mage in the front row, tall and proud, a balding pate atop fierce eyes and a sharp nose. Senedai walked quickly behind him, grabbing his neck in one gloved hand.
‘You see anxious to die, old man,’ he rasped. ‘Perhaps you would like to be the first.’
‘I am proud to die protecting the integrity of my College,’ spat the mage, meeting Senedai eyeball to eyeball. ‘And most of those here will follow me gladly.’ He shook his arms. ‘Let go of me, dammit. I can stand unaided.’ At a signal from Senedai, the guards released him.
‘I’m waiting,’ said the Wesman Lord. The old mage turned and addressed the Julatsans.
‘This day, I ask you to join me in giving your lives to save the College of Julatsa and all who stand safe behind her walls. Many of you, I know, have no affinity with magic but, as native Julatsans, you are blessed by it and its force for good every day. We cannot let that force die. For hundreds of years, Julatsan mages have given of themselves for their people. Witness how many were killed trying to defend the city. Now, in our time of direst need, it is time to give something back. All that would walk willingly with me into the Shroud, say aye.’
A ragged response gained in volume, ending with the shrill ‘Aye’ of a child. The mage looked again at Senedai.
‘Your words writhe like maggots in a rotting corpse. You have ordered our deaths, you are killing prisoners. Julatsa has the right to protect herself and your blackmail will return to visit death upon you and your kinsmen. But we will not give you the satisfaction of seeing us beg for your mercy.’
‘It will not always be so.’ Barras could see the hatred in Senedai’s face and knew that the old mage, whose name he could not recall, had scored a victory, however small.
‘Release my people,’ said the mage. Senedai had no choice. He shook his head, waved his arm wearily and the guards released the arms of the prisoners they held. None moved to run and the perplexed expressions on the faces of the guards told everything. Precious few had understood Senedai’s exchange with the old mage and even fewer could see why their prisoners made no attempt to save themselves.
‘We will line up, each person holding the hand of those either side.’ The prisoners moved silently forward, the men and women upright and proud through their fear, the children uncomprehending, their voices stilled in the enormity of the atmosphere.
Barras could hardly bear to watch but knew that to flinch was to betray the act of extraordinary courage being played out in front of him. He wanted to shout for them to run, to fight, to struggle against their deaths. A part of him, though, saw that this solidarity would unsettle Senedai more than any futile fight. Now, at least, he knew the strength of will of the Julatsan people. Or thought he did.
The movement below Barras ceased. Fifty Julatsans stood a single pace from the DemonShroud, faces alive with terror at their imminent deaths and the evil pulsing from the Shroud’s borders. The wind whistled around the walls of the College. Behind the line, Senedai and his guards stood uncertain, their objective about to be fulfilled but the initiative gone.
The old mage stood in the centre of the line, hands clasped with a child on his right and an elderly man to his left. He stared up at the ramparts.
‘My mages Kerela and Barras, General Kard, it is with honour that we make this sacrifice. Do not let it be in vain.’
‘It will not be,’ said Barras, his voice shaking.
‘What is your name?’ asked Kerela from beside the stunned negotiator.
‘Theopa, my Lord.’
‘Theopa, your name will live forever in the minds of generations of Julatsan mages that follow you,’ said Kerela. ‘I am shamed and lessened not to have known you better.’
‘It is enough that you know me now. And know all of us now.’ He raised his voice. ‘Come, let us walk to glory. The Gods will smile upon us, and the demons below will have mercy on our souls.’ Theopa’s expression betrayed the lie.
Beside him, the child started to weep. Theopa bent and whispered words that would remain between them. The child nodded, her face cracking into a smile.
‘Close your eyes and walk with me,’ said the mage, his voice loud and strong. He paced forward, the line with him. The fifty Julatsans dropped, their mouths open, screams of agony cut short as their souls were torn from their bodies.
Barras could feel the tears on his cheeks. A soldier walked by him, muttered something under his breath. Kard heard him.
‘Consider yourself confined to your quarters,’ he grated. ‘Speak to no one on your way. I will deal with you myself.’ The soldier paled and moved on.
‘Don’t be harsh on him,’ said Barras.
‘He accused you of murder.’
‘He was right.’
Kard stepped in front of Barras, shielding him from the Wesmen below. ‘Never, ever believe that. The murderer stands outside these walls. And he will be brought to justice.’ Barras gestured Kard aside.
‘Lord Senedai,’ he called. The Wesman turned and looked up. ‘May your dreams be plagued by the shades of hell every day of your short life.’
Senedai bowed. ‘I will return at midday. More will die.’
Barras began preparing. From here, he could take Senedai, burn the flesh from his bones. Kerela stopped him, breaking his concentration.
‘I understand your hate,’ she said. ‘But you’ll be wasting your mana on the inside of the Shroud. Better we channel our energies to finding a way to free ourselves and our prisoners. Come, Barras. Rest and think.’
The High Mage led the weeping Barras from the ramparts.
Chapter 14
Tessaya had to know he was coming but it was both the price he was willing to pay and the risk he had to take. In truth, Styliann hadn’t expected to talk his way past Riasu but the nervous tribal Lord had been so taken aback by the display of Protector power that he had sent horsemen through the pass to seek Tessaya’s approval before the blood of his warriors had run cold.
To Styliann it had all served as a fascinating demonstration of the fear in which all things magical were held. Individually, Wesmen, even their Lords, were weak. Most of them. But, he considered, there were notable exceptions. For one, the man commanding the tribes laying siege to Julatsa. Undoubtedly a strong man but even he was apparently unwilling to press on into the heart of their magic, stayed by a trepidation of the unknown that no proof of might could shift. Generations of conditioning stood between the man and his conquest of a College city. Something that had never been achieved before.
And then, Tessaya,
an altogether different animal. His reputation went before him and Styliann was certain that he would not so much as entertain the thought of talking to the Lord of the Mount. Death or hostage. Styliann favoured the latter.
There lay the gamble. He had his route across the mountains. He had avoided further travel with both The Raven, whom he distrusted and admired in equal measure, and with the bright General, Darrick - a man in the hero mould if ever there was one; the former because he had no wish to join the attempted liberation of Julatsa and the latter because Gyernath was simply too far. To lose the stewardship of the Mount even temporarily, was a humiliation that took precedence over every consideration.
For a while, in the aftermath of the Dawnthief casting and the realisation of his usurpation, he had suffered a crisis of confidence as his influence over Balaian affairs waned. But it had all become clear to him soon enough. Much of the modern expertise in dimensional magics lay within the walls of Xetesk, and there was a text recently released from the locked vaults beneath his Tower which he was certain had direct bearing on the problem facing The Raven. His influence over Balaia would remain crucial but only if he could regain the Mount quickly.
Thus, his chosen route. It was the most direct to Xetesk by several days but contained the largest obstacle. Tessaya. But even the fact that Tessaya expected him was not necessarily a fatal disadvantage. After all, Styliann was under guard and coming to talk. The Wesmen would hardly be massing their armies. Indeed, quite the reverse if he knew anything about Tessaya’s mind. And Styliann had the advantage of knowing precisely when he would arrive, a luxury not afforded the Lord of the Wesmen.
As the sun reached the heights of the midday sky, Styliann, his Protectors and a guard of forty Wesmen moved into Understone Pass, the former Lord of the Mount the only one on horseback. The Wesmen were guides, monitors and a guard of honour, Riasu had said and at the time Styliann had found it hard not to laugh.
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