Prophecy's Ruin bw-1

by Sam Bowring

  ‘My lord, the Arabodedas are not convinced that this boy should inherit the mantle of rule.’

  ‘The mantle of rule?’ said Battu, raising an eyebrow dangerously. ‘It will be a long time before that is passed on, I can assure you. Perhaps not in your lifetime.’

  ‘Of course, my lord,’ amended Tysek hastily. ‘I only meant that it has always been understood by the council that the one named Apprentice is the Shadowdreamer’s heir.’

  ‘It still remains the council’s responsibility to choose a new Shadowdreamer when the time comes,’ said Battu.

  When the time came, in fact, the title went to whomever had the strength to crush all opposition.

  ‘The one chosen by you,’ said Tysek, ‘will be the one to journey across the Black Sea, my lord.’

  Battu frowned vaguely, but nodded. ‘As you say.’

  Tysek continued. ‘We feel, Shadowdreamer, that there is someone more …appropriate …to your tutelage, who would serve Fenvarrow better. And he is a native of our land, lord.’

  ‘And he has courage, which I admire,’ said Battu. ‘It is not a faint-hearted thing to challenge the child of power.’ He let his words sink in, then: ‘He is here, no doubt?’

  The Arabodedas called Roma stepped briskly forward – further forward than Tysek – and sank to his knee before Battu. He was a young man, Losara’s age, wearing a black vest over a green shirt. His black hair was pulled back in a shiny ponytail and streaked with red dye, as was the fashion in the Arabodedas capital of Afei Edres. ‘I am Roma, my lord,’ he said.

  ‘Roma, my lord,’ echoed Tysek quickly, attempting to cover the youth’s spirited forwardness. ‘It is he whom we present to you. His talent for magic and his affinity with the shadow have been clear to all from an early age.’

  ‘Who trained him?’ asked Battu, staring hard at Roma.

  ‘Memtas, my lord. She claims he is the most powerful mage out of Afei Edres in all her years of watching.’

  ‘She has seen many years,’ said Battu. ‘I don’t discount the opinion of Memtas lightly. Rise, Roma, and tell me why you deem yourself worthy to challenge my selected Apprentice.’

  Roma rose, straight and proud, and spoke in clear and pompous tones. ‘My great lord,’ he said, and gestured to the silently watching Losara, ‘forgive me if I doubt this to be the result of prophecy. We have all heard the stories of his miscreated birth. If they are true, then he is only half the man he was supposed to be.’

  He made a show of staring down Losara, who held Roma’s eyes calmly, his face a mask of neutrality.

  ‘I do not doubt him to be a mage of ability,’ Roma continued, ‘otherwise a leader as wise as yourself would not vouch for him. I only ask to prove that I, of whom my lord was not previously aware, be allowed to prove myself better.’

  Battu smiled. ‘My young Roma, never presume to tell me of what I am aware. If I know how many pork pies the soldiers in the Open Halls eat each day, I can certainly find out what’s happening in my own lands.’

  Roma was sensible enough to look abashed.

  ‘Your use of water in magic is particularly artful, I must say,’ continued Battu. ‘Some of your coastal displays have been very impressive. But are you up to the challenge so far from the sea?’

  Roma shot Losara another malignant glare. He’d been taught to intimidate his opponent psychologically; a lesson, it seemed to Kakurd, that Battu had not taught Losara.

  ‘I am more than up to it, lord,’ said Roma.

  ‘Very well,’ said Battu, clapping his hands triumphantly. He stood and, with great drama that he obviously enjoyed, announced: ‘To the duelling cavern!’

  •

  Despite the passage to the duelling cavern being disused and cramped, the air that flowed through it was fresh and clean. This passage didn’t divide into others, but led to only one destination.

  The duelling cavern had once been a large natural cave, but when the sides of Mount Mokan were carved away during the shaping of the castle, the cave had been cut in half. Now it existed in the side of Skygrip like a puncture wound, its mouth facing south across Gravewood. In the centre of the chamber was a lowered square cut into the floor, thirty paces wide. Standing at each corner were columns carved with runes: once activated, they contained any magic cast within the square. Outside observers were protected, and the mages within could battle with all their strength. There was a faint sense of energy in the chamber, perhaps from the powerful wards in the columns, or the blood of many mages soaked into the floor.

  The council filed along the passage and then moved towards the square. Some vied for the best positions, while others, less trusting of the protective columns, hung back. All were excited. Shadow magic was not a strong defence against shadow – there was none of the natural oppositional force of light – so fights between shadow mages were famously fast and brutal.

  Battu strode to an elevated stone seat facing south across the square. Losara walked behind him with Tyrellan. On the other side of the square, Roma was leaning nonchalantly against a column, without yet having stepped into the depression.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Tyrellan quietly as he and Losara parted ways.

  I’m going to build you a world of pain, came Roma’s unbidden thought in Losara’s head.

  Losara knew he was expected to reply. Battu had given up trying to teach him posturing, but Losara felt that, in the spirit of any good fight to the death, he should try. I’m … It was no good. Threats were meaningless to him.

  I’m going to build you a grand house, he sent instead.

  Sensing Roma’s confusion, he stepped down into the square, not pausing on the edge as Roma had. On seeing this Roma stepped down quickly too.

  ‘Hold, mages!’ called Turry. ‘Do not start without the order!’

  Battu waggled his fingers and chanted softly and the runes on the columns began to pulse blue. ‘The square is sealed,’ he announced. ‘Neither magic nor mage will leave it until there is a victor. Begin on my mark.’

  He raised his hand. ‘Begin!’ he said, his hand thumping down.

  Roma attacked the moment the command was given. A flick of his fingers and a bolt of blue energy slammed into Losara’s shoulder. Losara’s cloak flapped around him as he sailed off his feet, arms flailing. He hit the ground flat on his back, the air audibly forced from his lungs.

  Cheers went up from some of the council as Roma strode towards Losara’s sprawled body. The mage raised his arms as he went and tendrils of darkness curled out of the ground around Losara, forming snake-like heads and snapping downwards. Losara screamed as one reared back with a hunk of bloody flesh and shredded cloth hanging from its shadowy mouth.

  He struggled to sit, managed to raise a hand at Roma and send an energy bolt back across the square. Roma leaned sideways while pushing at the air and the bolt veered away, smacking into the invisible barrier between the columns and sputtering to nothing. Meanwhile, snake after snake darted in to bite Losara, each one pulling back with a mouthful of flesh. Losara screamed and struggled as snakes wound round his limbs, pinning him down. Roma made a snake shape with his hand, taking direct control of one of the biting heads. As he plunged his hand up and down, the shadow snake echoed his movements, plunging into Losara’s neck, tearing loose trailing windpipe. Losara went still, though the snakes continued, and a giant pool of blood spread across the floor underneath him.

  The council gave a great cheer and Roma turned to face them, smiling fiercely. Battu sat forward in his seat, staring shocked at the pulpy body of his Apprentice. Tyrellan, at his side, was still enough to be frozen in time. Roma forced the smile from his face and bowed low before Battu.

  ‘As I thought, my lord,’ he said. ‘This was not even taxing. He was only half a man.’

  ‘Not even that,’ said Losara.

  There were gasps as Roma spun, eyes wide. Losara stood in the shadow of a column, hands clasped before him. Roma glanced at the body on the floor, which was fading. As Losara stepped from the
shadows, it disappeared completely.

  ‘That was quite ferocious,’ Losara said. ‘I must admit, I was curious to see what you intended for me.’

  ‘An illusion,’ spat Roma. ‘The stuff of street magicians.’

  ‘I’m trying to find a level that befits you,’ said Losara. He was quite proud of his attempt at ridicule.

  Roma bellowed in anger, both hands extending towards Losara, crackling forth twin streams of energy. Losara made a small gesture and the streams slammed into a flat circle of rock hanging in the air. He had cut it from the ground and floated it in front of him like a shield, so quickly that none had actually seen it happen. He moved a hand forward and the circle hurtled towards Roma, who flung his arms over his head. An unseen protective wall went up around him and the rock smashed to pieces against it. Roma lowered his arms as the dust settled, glowering at Losara.

  ‘Snakes, was it?’ said Losara, and clicked a finger. A black tendril whipped out of the floor, knocking Roma from his feet. The next instant he was pinned to the ground by the same writhing shadow snakes he’d previously conjured. His hands moved in a flurry, disintegrating the snake heads one by one. More grew in their place, hovering over him, poised to strike, but waiting.

  ‘I could have killed you by now,’ said Losara.

  Roma furiously channelled power. There was a blue flash around him and the snakes dispersed like smoke. He leaped to his feet again, summoning an attack.

  ‘Looks like I’ll need a bigger snake,’ said Losara.

  He raised both hands and a huge mouth erupted from the ground beneath Roma, seizing him by the waist as it powered upwards. Murmurs of amazement arose from the council. The huge shadow snake climbed twenty paces into the air, then looped back around itself to send its head slamming into one of the columns. The head broke to smoke against the stone, but Roma did not. He crashed against the column and fell, landing heavily on the hard ground, where he lay groaning on his side.

  ‘Admit defeat,’ said Losara.

  A look of grim determination came over Roma’s face and he uncurled a shaking finger. A blast of freezing wind hit Losara, instantly forming ice crystals on his white skin. His hair blew back and strands froze crazily in place. As he began to chant, crystals forming on his lips broke into dusty fragments. Frost covered his outstretched hands, hardening his flesh. With a wince, he clenched his fingers, cracking the ice from his skin and snapping the veins of frozen blood inside. He made a small batting motion and Roma went rolling violently across the ground. The freezing blast ceased and Roma lay on his back, blood oozing from his mouth.

  ‘Admit defeat,’ said Losara, almost sadly.

  Roma tried to hoist himself up on unsteady limbs, defiance blazing in his eyes. ‘To the death,’ he spat, and began another spell.

  Something grabbed him like an invisible hand, lifting him from the ground. The air began to move, and there was a rasping as dust took off from the ground. Pieces of the smashed stone shield began to bounce and roll, and soon they too were airborne, hurtling around a funnel that stretched to the roof. The wind howled, and the awe-struck crowd knew they were witnessing nothing less than a contained hurricane.

  Trapped in the grip of Losara’s power, Roma hung in the eye of the storm, struggling and cursing. Then Losara let him go and he was sucked into the wind like a rag doll. Up and down the funnel he went, round and round, twisting and turning, spinning and shrieking. Vomit joined the flying debris.

  Losara’s eyes went blank as he left his body, travelling into the shadow of the tornado itself. Inside the funnel his shadowform grew, billowing upwards to the tops of the columns. The giant shadow Losara reached out a black hand and snatched hold of Roma’s limp body. Roma opened his eyes weakly, hiccupping another dollop of sick. Shadow Losara continued to grow, fifty paces up to the roof itself where storm clouds churned about his head. Rain began to fall and thunder boomed. Blue lightning forked downwards, striking the ground in many places, and the wind wailed high.

  Shadow Losara spoke calmly in a voice that was somehow louder than the storm.

  ‘KNOW MY POWER.’

  Losara enveloped Roma’s mind, letting the Arabodedas see him truly. Roma fell still with terror as he sensed the magnitude of Losara’s power. It surrounded him like a great ocean, and he was but a speck floating on crushing waves. He knew in that moment that Losara could have destroyed him whenever he’d chosen. He knew that he’d never had a chance.

  A world of pain, you said? came Losara’s thought in his mind. Suddenly pain was everywhere, as though each tiny component of Roma’s body was charged with it, as though there was nothing else in the world. His mouth opened in a wide O, but no scream could force its way out. The agony went on and on, into forever and back again, his tears beaten away by the rain. Then, just as suddenly, the pain was gone.

  ‘Do you admit defeat?’ echoed Losara.

  ‘Yes,’ croaked Roma.

  Do you want to live, Roma?

  Roma struggled to open his eyes to the monstrously looming silhouette. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  You would serve me?

  ‘Yes.’

  Then, when the time comes, I will build you a grand house in Afei Edres and you shall rule the city as my loyal servant.

  The rain stopped and the wind died. As Losara flowed back into his body, he set Roma gently on his feet. The mage immediately collapsed to his knees. Losara blinked, and turned to the council, who were watching with fear and amazement. Battu was unreadable, but there was something very intense about him as he sat tightly gripping the sides of his seat.

  ‘I am victor,’ Losara said. ‘And though Roma’s life is forfeit, I waive my right to it. He fought with passion and commitment, and I wouldn’t rob our land of his skills. We will need mages of his quality once there is war.’

  Roma raised puffy eyes to Losara and knew his lord. He would never fight Losara again.

  Uneasy muttering broke out amongst the council. It was an unusual outcome, and the demonstration of Losara’s power had shaken them. One day they would be ruled by this mage of whom they knew so little. Except that he was merciful. That was not a trait expected from a student of Battu.

  Battu stood. ‘The challenge is met, then,’ he announced. He gestured at the columns and the glow faded from their runes. ‘Losara is named Apprentice. It will be he who makes the journey across the Black Sea to Assedrynn’s Isle. He will depart in three days.’

  Losara was surprised at that. He hadn’t expected to be leaving so soon.

  It would be his first time out of Skygrip.

  Seventeen

  Visitations

  The bolt flew true into the red centre of the target. In the dream, Losara watched his counterpart, that which he had been separated from …or was it the other way around? Losara didn’t know how to think of Bel. He certainly wasn’t a brother. He was an other. Another side of himself that Losara had never known. Bel seemed so different, but perhaps that was to be expected. Two sides to the coin? A coin cut in half, right down the middle. No wonder Losara sometimes felt so thin.

  He tried to picture himself as he would have been whole, warrior and mage meshed together, and found it difficult. Instead, he decided to learn about what was real, and drifted closer. Bel was excited and impatient about the adventure ahead. Losara himself was to sail away across the Black Sea, to see if he could find Assedrynn’s Isle. That would be an adventure too, he knew, but he couldn’t help thinking his excitement was different. He felt the beckoning of the unknown, of the testing he’d experience, of the expansion of his knowledge. Bel had a louder, thrill-seeking reaction. It was purer, more extroverted, more consuming. It existed for its own sake, for the joy of it.

  Another bolt flew, but before it hit the target the dream swirled. Losara found himself drifting through the throne room. Battu paced before the long window, frustrated, ranting to Tyrellan. ‘When?’ he demanded, spinning around. ‘When will he emerge?’

  ‘Your spies are no help?’ asked Tyrella
n.

  ‘NO!’ shouted Battu. ‘It’s impossible to get a bug-eye across the ward stones, and almost as difficult for the others. The High Mage maintains an admirable defence.’ He turned to the window, glowering across Fenvarrow as though he could see the distant Halls. ‘As for my operatives born of light, well …let me just say I hope you’re keeping traitors out of Skygrip as effectively as they do it in the Halls. I have to rely on the shadowdream alone, and it shows me little of what I need to see!’ This last he spat south, as if he were blaming the Dark Gods themselves. ‘I have no idea how many pork pies the soldiers of the Halls eat each day. No idea! The average rate of pie consumption is highly guarded information!’

  ‘Perhaps Corinas has told his superiors about Iassia?’ said Tyrellan.

  ‘No,’ said Battu. ‘The bird has bound him to silence. And if that bind was somehow undone, Iassia would know. No, Corlas is hiding. Coward! Does he plan to wait forever?’

  The dream swirled again, and now he was in a tavern in Kainordas. The door opened and Bel approached the bar. ‘I’m looking for a young lady,’ he told the barman. ‘Jaya, she was drinking here the other day.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name,’ the barman said, too quickly. Bel stared hard at him, making him falter. His hand went to his side and the barman quivered, but Bel was only reaching for a letter.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m not supposed to meet her here tonight, so when you don’t see her arrive, I’m sure it won’t be difficult not to give her this letter. Okay?’

  Swirl.

  A beautiful girl with blazing red hair stood in a room with the letter in her hands. On the bed sat an older woman with black hair and dark eyes. ‘So what does it say?’ she asked.

  ‘It says he’s being sent to fight huggers in Drel Forest, but he shouldn’t be away long. I guess he wanted to tell me he’s not disappearing.’

  ‘You’re a fool, Jaya. The man is a peacekeeper.’

  Jaya remained silent.

  ‘Not exactly our kind of person.’