Dawnthief

by James Barclay

  So, as the trees rotted and fell, the crops shrivelled and died and the scrubland roots delved deep to lie dormant, the Torn Wastes were born as eternal testimony to the awful power of offensive magic.

  As Selyn approached the periphery of the Wastes, she all but ignored the emptiness, registering only that it would take a superhuman CloakedWalk to reach Parve across so large an open space. Because, with the afternoon fading toward a gloomy dusk, hundreds of lights and fires were burning in the City of the Wytch Lords. And surrounding the city were tented encampments bristling with life. The Torn Wastes were awash with Wesmen.

  Her vantage point was the tree line which stretched across the eastern border of the Wastes. To her right, not two hundred yards away, a Wesmen guardpost stood at the head of the main east-west path through the scattered woodland. About fifteen men stood or sat around a fire, watching a stream of Wesmen marching from the Wastes, moving in the direction of Understone Pass.

  Her decision was a simple one. Either take communion right where she was and be forced to spend the night recovering outside the City, or move on as darkness fell, making her successful passage to Parve more likely.

  She knew she should report in, she was overdue, but her chances of capture were greater in the open than ensconced on the roof of an outhouse in the west of Parve. But should she be caught before she had a chance to communicate the incredible sight before her, Xetesk would be denied critical information.

  She wasn't long in making up her mind. With a smile, and her eyes on the main prize of her journey, she waited until full nightfall before checking her camouflage and slipping out of the relative safety of the trees and into the evil of the Torn Wastes.

  “How disappointing,” said Nyer after Denser had outlined the discovery of Sol's former identity. “It is clear that the suppression of memory is not perfected.”

  “Why did you send him, Master?”

  “There was a need to know the answer to the question of latent knowledge affecting performance.”

  Denser paused, mind racing, feeling Nyer's presence in his mind. He wanted to remain calm but found he could not.

  “You used us for an experiment?” He fired the thought, knowing it would cause discomfort. “Do you know what you have done?”

  “Calm yourself, Denser,” warned Nyer. “There has been no damage. We will merely recall the Protector.”

  “It is too late for that. The Raven are demanding you release Sol from thrall.”

  “Really?” Nyer's tone suggested amusement. “They are an interesting group. And what is the penalty for failing to accede to their request?”

  “They have threatened to walk away from the search.”

  “And will they carry out this threat?”

  “I have no doubt that they will,” said Denser. “I could only be sure of retaining the Dordovan mage, Erienne.’

  “You do know that the release of a Protector is still only a theoretical possibility?”

  “Yes.” Denser sent a feeling of irritation at the question. “But the attempt needs to be made if we are to remain on target for the recovery of Dawnthief.”

  “Bring your Protector and bring your friends. But be careful. There is treachery in the College from those who would have Dawnthief for themselves. I will do what I can to release Sol. Trust no one.”

  Ilkar looked at Denser, lying still on the grass as dawn broke across the sky behind him. He'd seen the occasional movement of his face as his communion progressed, but it gave no indication of the probable outcome.

  Hirad came to his shoulder. “Ready?” he said. Ilkar nodded. The Unknown stood near by, arms folded, impassive behind his mask. “Will they see sense?”

  Ilkar snorted. “Sense is not a word often employed when talking about the Xetesk Masters. We just have to hope.”

  Denser's eyes snapped open. He took a shuddering breath, dragged himself to his feet and faced Ilkar and Hirad.

  “Well?” demanded Hirad.

  Denser closed his eyes and sighed, a half smile touching his lips. He spread his arms wide.

  “We'd better get saddled up,” he said, swaying.

  “Where are we going?” asked Ilkar.

  “Xetesk.”

  It was, Ilkar reflected as The Raven rode toward the City of the Dark College, the only viable route to a solution. Yet somehow he'd convinced himself that the Masters would be able to issue instructions to Denser remotely.

  Understandably, Denser looked calm and happy. There was something undeniably comforting about returning to your College. It was like going back to the welcoming arms of your family. But watching the Dark Mage chatting easily to Erienne as they rode ahead of him, he couldn't help but feel there was more to his high spirits than his imminent return home.

  Xetesk wasn't far. None of the Colleges was far from each other. When they had set off, they had a little over two days’ ride ahead of them. Now they were no more than half a day from the closed City, and so much was still to be straightened out.

  At least the Dordovan chase had been called off. Denser, following another communion, had confirmed that a four-College meeting had been called at Triverne Lake. The secret of Dawnthief would soon be out.

  But there was going to be trouble at the gates of Xetesk. Plenty of it.

  Will had refused point-blank to enter the City and wouldn't even ride near Denser and the Familiar. He was still shaking slightly; his nerves—his lifeline—had not recovered and yet the nightmares with which he was plagued worried him less than the grey which flecked his hair.

  And Hirad. Hirad didn't want the two catalysts entering the City but he hadn't informed Denser of this. His view was that they might need some bargaining power, and Ilkar was inclined to agree. As for Denser himself, he was curiously tight-lipped. Brooding on something he'd heard in communion.

  Ilkar, for his part, was just plain scared. He'd never visited Xetesk—few Julatsans had—but he knew he'd have to go in. And so would Erienne. What Jandyr and Thraun—now back in human form but still tired—thought, he couldn't guess. Confusion, probably. And wishing they hadn't bumped into The Raven, certainly. Only Erienne had a smile on her face, and for some reason he couldn't fathom, that worried him. Much of the time they rode in silence, keeping to the main trails now they were free of pursuit, but still wary.

  Ahead of Ilkar, Hirad, who had done little but stare at The Unknown and glare at Denser, was finally talking to the latter. Ilkar urged his horse forward, anxious to hear what was being said.

  “…I haven't given up on you, Denser. I just want to know where you stand.”

  “I'm not sure I follow.”

  “I mean do you align with The Raven or with your masters?”

  Denser thought for a moment. “If you'd asked me that a week ago I'd have been firmly with Xetesk, the way I was when I met you. But now there's no definite answer—wait, before you say anything, let me explain.

  “What I believe is that Balaia faces disaster if we don't recover Dawnthief and use it to destroy the Wytch Lords. In this, I agree with my master that The Raven was, and still is, the most likely route to success.

  “But as regards Sol, they have misled me, betrayed your trust and beliefs and so damaged our chances severely. I cannot forget that, because it was a conscious decision to send him and I'm not sure I buy the story that we were the subject of an experiment.”

  “Meaning?” Hirad frowned.

  “Meaning someone there has a vested interest in my—our—failure.”

  “But—” Hirad was at a loss. “But if we fail—”

  “Not everyone in Xetesk accepts the threat from the Wytch Lords needs to be met with the casting of the spell, but everyone wants Dawnthief to be found. There is a power struggle going on in the Mount, and ownership of Dawnthief will end it. I'm sure Ilkar would be happy to tell you that in Xetesk, Mount politics cloud every decision.”

  “All right.” Hirad tried to sort things out in his mind. He rubbed his nose with thumb and forefinger. “So
who sent you out in the first place?”

  “My master, Nyer.”

  “Well, that's something I suppose, isn't it?”

  “Yes,” agreed Denser. “And it is he I talk to in communion and who has warned me of potential danger inside the City.”

  “So what's the problem? Won't he protect you?”

  “Possibly. But it was he who sent Sol to us. Look, I think we'd better all stop and talk before we go any further.”

  Hirad nodded. They rode off the trail a short distance and Will set up the stove.

  “Xetesk is a very different City to Dordover,” said Denser, once a cup of coffee was in his hands.

  “I bloody hope so,” muttered Thraun.

  Denser ignored him. “Not only does my presence not guarantee our safety, in certain circles it will invite trouble. Dawnthief and the Wytch Lords have caused a split of opinion as wide as Understone Pass. We must have a strong bargaining position and this is what I suggest.

  “I have to go to the Mount with Sol, and to give us the best chance of fair treatment, Ilkar and Erienne should be with me. As a three-College party and with representatives already in Xetesk, we should be all right. You two?”

  “I wouldn't want to be anywhere else,” said Erienne, smiling at him. He smiled back.

  “Agreed.” Ilkar was less than enamoured to hear the confirmation of his fear.

  “And as for the rest of you, the good news is that I think you should stay well away from Xetesk,” said Denser.

  “But the bad news is you want us to guard the catalysts while we're at it,” said Hirad. Denser nodded. “Good. I wondered whether you'd see sense.”

  “So did I,” muttered Ilkar.

  “Well, we all harbour misconceptions, don't we, Ilkar?” said Denser shortly.

  “If that's what you want to call them,” replied Ilkar with equal cool.

  “You know, I thought we were really coming to a meaningful understanding.” Denser sighed.

  “On the occasions we have had to work together, the situation has been successfully resolved.” Ilkar chose his words with care.

  Denser shook his head and pursed his lips. “What hurts me is that we have really suffered together. Do all those hours with the Black Wings mean nothing? Or our fight to keep Hirad alive? What else do I have to do to prove that I am different from your image of me?”

  “Bring The Unknown out alive. Really alive. Then I'll believe. Until then, I can't forget where you were schooled and what that has meant for countless hundreds of years.”

  “Julatsa!” Denser threw up his arms, got up and moved away, spilling what was left of his coffee. “You look forward with both feet planted firmly in the past. You know something? Around this stove it's you who everyone sees has the closed mind and the chilled heart. I make no secret, Ilkar, that I respect and like you despite your College ancestry. I think I deserve the same treatment from you. Shall we ask what the others think? Shall we?”

  Ilkar said nothing, just stared back, impassive.

  “This is a fascinating debate I'm sure,” said Thraun. “But tell me, is it how the Triverne Lake meeting will proceed? If it is, we might as well all fall on our swords now, because you'll still be bickering when the Wytch Lords stroll in and take your precious Cities.”

  Denser and Ilkar looked at him as if he'd spat in their dinners.

  “It won't be far off the level of debate, I can assure you,” said Erienne before either could reply. “It's getting us nowhere, and there's something else I think we'd all like to know: what exactly will this meeting achieve?”

  “Well, isn't it obvious?” Denser frowned.

  “No, it is not,” said Erienne. “If Xetesk is as split as you suggest, then the message you bring to the table will be confused and likely to cause further division.”

  “No.” Denser shook his head. “It won't be confused. The Lord of the Mount is delivering our message personally. The College delegates already accept the threat, and Dawnthief is the only solution.”

  “I hope you're right,” she said.

  “So do I. We mustn't lose the four-College cooperation or any force will be too weak and the Wesmen will sweep us into the eastern seas.”

  “Cheerful, isn't he?” said Hirad.

  “Getting back to the reason we all stopped,” said Jandyr. “What is the risk to us outside Xetesk?”

  “To be honest, I'm not sure,” said Denser. “I've been away a while and I don't know the strength of those who want Dawnthief for themselves. However many, they'll be dangerous if they discover your location.”

  “And you're leaving us without any magical protection,” said Hirad.

  “But not out of contact,” replied Denser. “The Familiar will stay with you much of the time.”

  “You are joking,” said Jandyr. He was sitting next to Will, who stared at Denser in mute disbelief.

  “I—” began Denser, then saw Will. He sighed. “It's the only way to cover all the angles.”

  “After what he did to me, you can even suggest this?” It was the first time Will had spoken all day.

  “I'm sorry for what happened, Will,” said Denser. “But he didn't actually do anything to you.”

  “You call this nothing?” Will's voice rose to a shout. He pointed at his greying hair. “And this?” He lifted a spread hand, palm downward. It trembled. “This is your nothing, Denser. Without my nerves, I am nothing. Your bastard creation has ruined me.”

  Denser regarded Will for some moments.

  “I understand your fear, but it will pass. Talk to Erienne, understand its nature. It will not harm you.”

  “With you here, I believe it is under control. In your absence—well, I have seen the results.” Will drew up his legs and hugged them to his chest.

  “It will not harm you,” repeated Denser.

  “Accepting that,” said Jandyr into the silence that followed, “I understand that it can communicate with you, but how does it do so with us?”

  “Someone will have to agree to see him,” said Denser. “For whatever reason, he seems to regard Hirad as acceptable company.”

  Ilkar sniggered.

  “The feeling is barely mutual,” growled Hirad.

  “Do you consent?” asked Denser.

  Hirad shrugged.

  “Don't,” said Will.

  “I really don't have too much choice, do I?”

  “Good,” said Denser. “Come with me. Introductions have to be made.”

  “One more thing.” Thraun stopped them. “Where will we hide?”

  “I know a place,” said Denser.

  The darkness suited her, and with her keen sight picking out pitfalls in front of her feet, Selyn began making her way toward the once dead and now apparently resurgent city of the Wytch Lords.

  With night falling on the Torn Wastes, the scale of the Wesmen encampments was hidden, but the firelight and noise of laughter, talking, shouting and fighting; of dogs barking and wind flapping canvas, all served as reminders of her precarious position.

  But they were clearly preparing to leave. Before the light had failed completely, she'd made a rough count of the tents she could see, surmised a total to encircle Parve, added the number of Wesmen she'd seen marching away from the Torn Wastes two days before and multiplied it by a likely number of occupants per tent that still remained. Twenty thousand. And that was probably conservative. Call it twenty-five thousand. She'd shivered. That took the total number of Wesmen way past eighty thousand. And they were clearly once again servile to the Wytch Lords.

  It was now merely a question of when the Wytch Lords could take significant part in the impending invasion. Too soon, and the Colleges would merely become the wavefront for the tide that would wash eastern Balaia into the Korina estuary. It was a question to which she had to find the answer, quickly.

  Selyn dropped to her haunches behind a large lichen-covered boulder. She was a little over halfway to the first buildings of Parve, and already the smell of fear was invading her
nostrils.

  Low, dark cloud moved slowly overhead, lit by myriad fires, but none burned more brightly than the six beacons that ringed the top of the pyramid housing the shattered remains of the Wytch Lords’ bodies.

  Now, the folly of her Xeteskian predecessors could be seen for what it had become. Built by Xetesk and sealed by its magic, the pyramid had represented a warning to any who challenged the might of the Dark College. But now, with their mana cage empty, it merely served as a focus for the growing power of the Wytch Lords, and the massing of their acolytes and soldiers. She shook her head. Overconfidence and ultimate arrogance. Not traits shared to such a degree by the current Lord of the Mount, but he would surely suffer for their presence in those who had gone before him.

  She looked over and to either side of the boulder. A stand of seven tents, lit inside and out, was directly in front of her, no further than three hundred yards away and ringing a large fire. Wesmen stood, sat, crouched or lay in the light of the flames, making silhouettes of bulking shoulders, powerful frames and bull heads that filled her vision.

  To her left, a similar encampment, this one hosted by a Shaman. She could not risk running into the mind sight of one of them. Right, the tents stretched into the dark, the noise of thousands filling the air with a restless energy.

  Looking away toward Parve, she assessed her options and found she had none. Her principal problem was that the mana drain for a CloakedWalk of such distance might not leave enough for communion. But considering the sprawl of enemies in her path, she knew it was a chance she simply had to take.

  She gathered herself, formed the simple mana shape, spoke the single command word and started running.

  Hirad studied the cat lying curled asleep in his lap, breathing fast and shallow. With eyes and mouth closed, the black was so complete you could lose yourself in its depths. Hirad shuddered. How different to the beast Denser had shown him. Even prepared, he had found it hard to keep looking as the demon's eyes bored into his face from inside its pulsating skull. And, try as he might, he had flinched when it had placed a clawed hand on his arm and spoken his name.

  Will's terror had been so easy to understand, then. Already scared half witless by his journey through the Dordovan crypt, to see this thing in all its hideous glory would have been too much for most men.