Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) (13 page)

‘Glad I caught you,’ said Fahren, landing at his side. ‘I understand why you wish to make a hasty retreat. You’re probably exhausted.’

‘I am tired,’ agreed Corlas.

‘Yes. I just wished to know a bit more of this Sprite woman.’

Corlas wondered how long it would be until his façade was shattered. ‘Of course,’ he said, knowing there would be no escaping this. Better to try to satisfy the mage’s curiosity now and have it done with one way or another.

‘Would you tell me about her?’

If you would listen
, thought Corlas,
I could talk of her for hours.
Instead he shrugged. ‘What would you know?’

‘You said you were enchanted. I’m curious about what form this enchantment took.’

That was easy. ‘I believed I loved her.’

‘I see. And . . .’

‘I thought her the most beautiful creature in the whole world, High Mage. I remembered no time before her and could imagine no time after. One day I woke up and she was not there. So I left. I don’t know what else to tell you.’

‘You were in that wood for years,’ said Fahren, growing more forceful. ‘Surely there is more?’

‘That is the way I remember it.’

‘Where did you live?’

‘In the trees,’ replied Corlas, lying outright for the first time. ‘In a house in the trees.’

It was an image he remembered from stories of Sprites he’d heard as a child. If he told Fahren he’d lived in a little hut in a clearing, Fahren might start to ask difficult questions.

‘There is something else,’ said Fahren carefully. ‘Some months ago, while you may still have been there, there were some very peculiar goings-on in Whisperwood.’ The mage raised a wispy blond eyebrow. ‘Do you know anything of this? Did you see anything strange?’

‘The wood is a strange place,’ rumbled Corlas. ‘Often I believed there was more than trees out there. Is that what you mean?’

Fahren looked searchingly into Corlas’s eyes for a long moment. Finally he frowned. ‘No,’ he said. His expression grew friendlier once more. ‘Well then, Taskmaster Corlas,’ he said, patting Corlas’s shoulder, ‘I should let you go. I’m sure you’ve much settling in to do.’

Corlas bowed his head. ‘Thank you, High Mage.’

Fahren nodded. ‘And, Corlas?’

‘Yes, High Mage?’

‘Welcome home.’

•

For two months Corlas took up the purposeful waiting that he was careful to disguise. It took great willpower to appear to be settling in and glad to be back. His welcoming feast had called for him to be jovial as he drank. In actuality the drink made his mood darker, and he found himself trying to chuckle with people he would have preferred to put an axe through.

One startling moment was when he saw the paintings made in his honour. He was especially interested in one tableau of the battle at the Shining Mines. It depicted him amongst raging forces of light and shadow, aiming a crossbow, his face fiercer than he’d ever imagined it. The target of the bolt was a dark silhouette all wrapped up in a billowing cloak, long cruel hands extended to the sky – the Shadowdreamer. Above was a vortex of dark blue energy, conjured by the Shadowdreamer, set to obliterate the both of them. Corlas had paused for a long moment before the scene and the disturbing memories it returned to him. It had seemed a lifetime ago, until right then.

As he’d requested, the Throne had made him a taskmaster. To his great surprise he discovered that he was good with students. It was only with the children that he forgot his simmering anger and disconnection from any kind of loyalty to the light. His troubles were not the fault of the young. What was more unbelievable was that the children, especially the younger ones, liked their big, gruff hero teacher in return. He felt conflicted about training them to serve those he no longer believed in, but as he kept telling himself, it was necessary if he was to achieve his end. The students would be the only ones he’d miss once he escaped with his son.

He’d seen the boy once. It had been a risk, but he had invented an excuse to visit the High Mage in the Open Tower. Under the guise of asking some questions about the ‘enchantment’ placed on him, he’d been able to sit and talk with Fahren while forcing himself to appear uninterested in the baby in the corner. He’d dared to ask casually about the lad, and Fahren had fed him some story about Bel being the orphan of two of the Throne’s noble friends. Corlas didn’t need any magical senses to know that Fahren lied. In those brief glances he’d recognised his own flesh and blood, even if the blue hair had been hidden somehow. As far as Corlas was concerned, Bel was not the child of power. Some kind of enormous blunder had been made, some superstitious folly. A fairytale from a hundred years ago was no reason to keep his boy cooped up in a tower.

Now, a month after that visit, Corlas made his way back to the Open Tower. He passed two of his students, a boy and girl, who smiled shyly at the fact he’d caught them holding hands. He chuckled to himself and silently bade them goodbye.

Arriving at the base of the Tower, he entered unchallenged and made his way up the spiral stairs. Here and there were doorways into libraries and mages’ quarters and whatever else. It all seemed quite empty at the moment, in keeping with Corlas’s timing. Many were at the Sun Court, where a meeting had stretched into the night.

It was a good distance to the top, but eventually he came to the landing before Fahren’s door. Two guards stood there. They came to attention as they saw his uniform, and straightened even more when they recognised him – since his return, the Great Corlas had become well known around the Halls. It had made it harder that people wanted to befriend him all the time, necessitating more diligence in maintaining his mask.

‘Sir!’ One of the blades saluted. ‘The High Mage is not currently in.’

‘I know that, blade,’ said Corlas. ‘It was Fahren himself who sent me. You are aware of the boy he currently keeps within his chamber?’

‘Sir?’

‘There is some dispute over his lineage. The court wishes to see him, so Fahren sends me to fetch him.’

The guards looked uncertain. ‘We aren’t supposed to let anyone in, sir.’

Corlas tapped the insignia on his shoulder. ‘Well, I’m not just anyone, lads. I’m the fellow who can assign you a hundred crawls through the mud in punishment for disobeying direct orders. And the way Fahren is getting worked up by Assicon Cydus, I wouldn’t want to be in your sandals if he has to storm over here himself to see his will done. He is a man currently in dire need of taking out his anger on someone.’

The guards glanced at each other with obvious worry. Corlas was thankful they were so young, probably fresh out of peacekeeping; older guards might have stood their ground. He didn’t want to use violence, especially since he had no idea what magical security measures Fahren might have activated. He was taking a huge risk as it was, but now it had begun he had to follow through. In this moment he would put to use and simultaneously dispose of his good name as the hero Corlas.

‘It’s true I took on the Shadowdreamer,’ he chuckled, ‘but I would not like Fahren’s gaze focused on me right now.’

The guards parted before him and he went to the door.

It didn’t take long to bundle up Bel and leave, ordering the guards back to their posts as he strode down the stairs. If they were any good at all, they’d already be questioning whether or not they’d made a mistake. He’d blustered his way through with pure intimidation and might not have long. He couldn’t believe he had his child in his arms again; it made him heady . . . then anxious, for he held a gift he hadn’t yet won until he got clear, got away. Got back home to the wood. To Mirrow.

On the way down, Corlas encountered few people. A couple of times upon passing someone he tried to nod cordially, but felt gazes on his back. He held Bel closer, trying to enfold him from sight. Reaching the base of the Tower, he strode away into the gardens. Not far away was a disused shed in which he’d hidden a horse and supplies. As the shed came into view, Corlas sidestepped behind a tree and his heart sank. The horse was outside the shed and soldiers were standing around it. Maybe they’d heard it neighing. Of all the cursed luck.

Doubling back and moving wide of the shed, he headed towards the east gate. The portcullis was open and, as a taskmaster, he had no problem simply walking through, though the baby in his arms drew a few looks. He took the path down the hill, wondering how he would deal with the crippling blow of losing his horse. As soon as he was out of sight of the gate, he moved off the path and started to run. If he could make it to a farm or village, he could steal a horse.

Over grassy foothills he went, until he spotted a wood that might hide his passage. It lay just beyond one of the faintly glowing ward stones that ringed the Halls. As he drew closer, he scanned the tree line, and something made him come up short. He’d learned to trust his instincts and something about the trees seemed not quite right. Branches and leaves rustled in the breeze, moonlight chasing over shapes as the canopy shifted. What had it been? He leaned on the ward stone, catching his breath. Just as he decided it had only been his imagination, errant moonlight stole over a branch that had hitherto been shadowed. For a second he saw red feathers and glinting blood-drop eyes. The bird cocked its head, seeming to realise it was visible, and the moonlight moved on.

Corlas stared hard at the darkness. Had it been Iassia? These lands were full of coloured birds, and why would Iassia sit watching him from the shadows? Why would any bird, for that matter?

From the trees came a fluttering and the bird broke free. ‘Corlas!’ he called. It
was
Iassia. ‘I’ve been waiting, to help you escape!’ The bird landed on the ground before him, just beyond the invisible threshold of the ward stone. ‘Come!’ he urged anxiously. ‘We must be swift if we’re to evade your pursuers!’

‘Why were you watching us from the trees?’ said Corlas. ‘It seemed you didn’t wish to be seen.’

‘What?’ exclaimed the bird in surprise. ‘No! I was waiting for you.’

Still Corlas could not help but feel that Iassia had only flown out of the trees because he’d been seen. Why did he feel that? The bird’s behaviour was suspicious, but this was his friend, wasn’t it?

‘I didn’t think you were going to meet me,’ Corlas said. ‘It has been months since we parted ways.’

Iassia hopped about impatiently. ‘We must hurry, Corlas!’ he twittered. ‘There are pursuers not far behind. All can be explained, but let us be away from here first.’

As Corlas watched the bird hop and twitter, he noticed something peculiar. It moved about frantically, yet it did not approach him. His eyes flicked to the ward stone between them – one link in an invisible chain keeping out the shadow. As his gaze moved from the stone back to Iassia, he found that the bird was staring at him silently.

‘Why don’t you fly up onto my shoulder here,’ Corlas said, ‘and say hello to my son?’

Iassia did not move.

‘Shadow,’ breathed Corlas.

Iassia chirped softly in amusement.

‘But you . . . you helped me.’

‘My enemy’s enemy,’ said the bird, ‘is my friend.’ He cocked his head. ‘You haven’t any allies in the Halls, Corlas. Come with me and we’ll escape together. The Shadowdreamer doesn’t care what happens to the boy, as long as Kainordas cannot set him against us. You can return to Whisperwood and hide, away from the light’s clutches. Come, let us away!’

Corlas’s brow darkened. ‘Do you suppose that I still trust your words, little bird?’

Iassia fluffed his feathers in anger. Moments passed with neither moving. Then Iassia spoke with a menace in his voice that Corlas had not heard before. ‘So be it then. You think you are no longer of the light, but it is they whom you choose. And you can thank your Arkus that I cannot invoke my bargain through this barrier . . . but if you stray, Corlas. If you stray . . .’

The bird took off, a silent dart back to the trees. Corlas gazed after it, a lump of ice in his stomach. It seemed the shadow still hunted his boy, and he’d almost delivered Bel into their hands. What ‘favour’ would the bird have invoked from him? Deliver his son to Battu? Kill him right here? It could have been anything. And now he was trapped in the Open Halls.

He looked at the boy and the boy looked back, smiling and aware. He did not seem like a normal baby, that was true. Could he really be the child of power? Everyone seemed so bent on possessing him. If it hadn’t been for the intervention of the Halls, perhaps Bel would indeed have been taken to Fenvarrow. Confused as his allegiances were, Corlas wouldn’t have wished that. Perhaps he did still prefer his homeland, despite everything. The lesser evil.

He lost track of time standing there on the cusp of the wards, wondering what to do. His boy chuckled cheerfully as Corlas stroked his head. Everything else seemed to fade away, and tears pricked the back of his eyes. They were together, that was the most important thing.

‘Taskmaster Corlas.’

The voice made him start. Fahren had come, though no others were with him. They were alone in the moonlit countryside, facing each other.

‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ Fahren said angrily. ‘Why have you stolen this boy from my chamber?’

‘Stolen?’ Corlas laughed bitterly. ‘That is a very bold word for the likes of you, child-taker.’

Fahren’s anger flickered, to be replaced by confusion . . . and, finally, realisation. ‘By Arkus!’ he murmured. ‘You’re Bel’s father.’

‘I have not decided,’ said Corlas darkly, ‘if that is to be his name.’

Fahren looked out into the night. ‘Where were you taking him?’

‘Home.’

‘Yet I’ve observed you standing here for some time, Taskmaster. What has delayed you?’

Corlas tried to speak about the bird, but the words would not form in his mouth. That part of the contract held fast, it seemed. Instead he said, ‘I grew worried for his safety beyond the wards. I did not believe until tonight that he might really be the child of the prophecy. But now . . .’

His heart sank as he realised he truly did believe it. What kind of life would that make for his son?

‘Corlas,’ said Fahren softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘I think you and I should go back into the Halls and have a long talk.’