Soul's Reckoning (Broken Well Trilogy) (15 page)

She retreated to her room, and stayed there all night while the others supped and drank. The noise was boisterous at times, but she did not hear the voices of her companions. As the night grew old the noise died down, and finally she heard the downstairs door close, and a bolt slide into place.

Goodbye, Kessum
, she thought.

She would see him again, in a way, she supposed – but in the Well love was not the same.

That’s right
, she thought.
Until a week ago I had no concern with earthly love. That will be the case again soon.

In the quiet of early morning, she found a modicum of calm.

Then came a knock at the door, signalling time to move on. One last stretch to the army, then a task to perform, and she would know harmony once more.

I can do it
, she thought, rising from the bed.
I will help my people win.

There they were, hiding in a small wood not far from the river. Raiders who had ransacked his supply carts and left his servants dead, their bodies stiff amongst the woodchips, the sun they’d dared not look upon in life reflecting full in their empty eyes. There were three lightfists with the troop, and although Losara tried to keep himself small, one of them sat bolt upright and turned in his direction. He knew he had been sensed. A moment later all three were on their feet, light suffusing their bodies as the wards came up.

Losara withdrew, perhaps too readily. He was not fleeing, he told himself, merely gathering himself together. He had wanted a moment or two to think .
 
.
 
. but really, what would thinking accomplish, or change? He did not intend to do anything to these Kainordans that they had not already done to his own. Yet he was tired. He had walked through Jeddies after their ‘victory’ there, seen the ruin he had inflicted. Tyrellan had urged him to continue in pursuit of the fleeing Kainordans – what was the purpose of the ruse with the illusionary mander if not to strike a grievous blow? But had they not done that already, Losara had asked, by taking the camp, and the town that had kept the enemy so easily supplied?
More
, Tyrellan had wanted – another charge, another try at unleashing the mander through their lines unhindered – and Losara had said no. He had given his excuses: with the light already at some distance, Tyrellan would have had to ride free of the main army to catch up to them, which would put him at risk even with Losara and mages to protect him. Also, if Bel returned to discover his army being savaged by the mander, he would think nothing of riding straight in amongst it all, as he had proved on their journey that morning.

Tyrellan had seemed unconvinced by these reasons, and Losara tried to tell himself they were the real ones. After all, what would be the point of delaying? There was no avoiding the violence, no miracle on the way to end all of this peacefully. He had come this far, hadn’t he? He had murdered the mages of Holdwith, made a mockery of the defences at the Shining Mines, let loose the mander on a retreating army and toppled Jeddies .
 
.
 
. he even counted that single scout watching the river in his tally. So why stop right when a push could have ended things for good?

You don’t know that
, an interior voice countered.
Maybe you were right. Running headlong after the light could have been a terrible mistake.

Even now something inside him wanted to slip away, to forget he’d ever seen the Kainordan troop hiding in the trees, even as they waited to do more harm to him and his people. But he knew he could not.

They deserve it.

The words felt hollow in his head. There was nothing ‘deserving’ about any of this.

Where is my calm? I want it back. How many times must I make up my mind? Always I arrive back at the same point – that if I do not act, Fenvarrow will fall. The answer is always the same. The answer is always the same!

He flowed back to the trees, and appeared in the midst of the Varenkai. The lightfists, who were still wary, saw him first. Glowing bolts flew towards him, but their small magic was nothing against his, and he barely felt the impact against his ward. He reached out, pushing through the lightfists’ defences, and shadowy snake heads darted in to slam against chests, flinging bodies backwards with trailing limbs. One, two, three, and the lightfists were down.

‘Faster than a sword blow,’ he told the stunned soldiers. ‘For that you can be thankful.’

He waved his hands, and shadows twisted through the soldiers. They barely had time to cry out.

‘And on and on,’ he said sadly, as they fell.

•

That night, Losara dreamed. He drifted above the armies, watching them as they really were. Several days after the attack on Jeddies, the Kainordans had managed to reinstate something of a proper camp, though rations were strict and resources stretched thin. Bel had a new campsite at the front, looking much like the old one – in fact, despite the ground Losara had taken, it was as if nothing had changed. He circled in closer, and set down.

‘It’s not
that
far away,’ Jaya was saying, drying her hair with a cloth.

‘All I said was be careful,’ said Bel. ‘Just because you don’t like bathing with soldiers is no reason to take risks.’

‘Risks?’ she laughed. ‘A quick dip in a stream within shout of this many? What do you expect me to do? A lady has some modesty.’

‘And you are this alleged
lady
?
Who is in possession of
modesty
, she claims?’

‘You can’t blame me,’ said Jaya. ‘After all, it was
you
who lost our bathtub!’

‘I’m sorry Brahl did not realise that rescuing it was such a priority. I will tell him next time to abandon the food and instead make sure my
lady
is well watered. She cannot run from shadowmanders if she isn’t feeling fresh, I will say.’

Jaya thumped him on the arm, and he smirked.

So
, thought Losara,
my cunning plan has resulted only in friendly jocularity.

Still, a part of him had to admire Bel’s ability not to think about things too much.
Would that I had it too.

The dream swirled. Losara found himself seated in a stark room without a door, looking across a table at Bel. Bel clasped his hands together, while behind him light streamed in from a window, through which Losara could see rolling fields. He turned to find a window behind himself too, but this one showed dark plains, with a fine rain falling from the great Cloud.

‘You said you wanted to talk of peace?’ said Bel.

Losara frowned. Was that why he was here?

‘I’ve only thought about it a little,’ he said. ‘In truth I did not imagine that you, or the light in general, would be open to such an idea.’

‘While your own people are such martyrs,’ said Bel, raising an eyebrow. ‘Forced against their will to invade our lands, when all they really want is peace.’

Losara nodded. Bel was right – things were too far gone for peace. A shared one, anyway.

‘It would be, as you say, difficult to convince them,’ he said. ‘But I have wondered, once or twice .
 
.
 
. what is to stop each of us simply retiring to our own realms, and leaving the other alone forever? We could build a wall, very high, along the border. We could make a mutual law that no one crosses it.’

‘Bel and Losara, the wall-builders? Not quite what I had in mind for history’s pages.’

‘Just an idea.’ Losara shrugged. ‘Greatness is not always measured by what it replaces. Are you not yet tired of this war, Bel?’

‘Tired?’ said Bel, amused. ‘We’ve only just begun!’

‘I suppose. But would it not also be worthwhile to convince the world
not
to rip itself apart? History’s pages would remember that, if indeed you care about such things.’

Was that what he really believed? Somehow he did not feel in control. He was watching from within himself, unsure of where the words he spoke came from.

‘Have you forgotten?’ said Bel. ‘It is not just the people you must convince, but the very gods they follow.’ He pushed back from the table, rose and went to the window. For a while he looked out upon his sunny lands, then a smile tweaked the edge of his mouth. ‘Just say,’ he began, ‘that I decide your idea has some merit. Say that you and I are able to work out some kind of accord, allowing us to end this conflict. Our armies disperse, returning to their homes as if nothing ever happened. We even manage to convince the gods that their age-old hatred is just a little misunderstanding, and could they please stop our people despising each other for their different looks, their different ways, and all the harm already done.’

‘Say.’

Bel turned. ‘How long do you think it would last?’

Losara stared at him.

‘How long,’ said Bel, ‘until some disagreement, some dispute, some ruler with zeal in his eye and hunger in his belly .
 
.
 
. how long until tolerance gives way, until the old divides again seem insurmountable?’ He came forward, planted his fists on the table. ‘Until the end of time, Losara? Are you so naive?’

Inside Losara a great pressure built. He should be feeling something, and he could guess what it was.

Rage.

It was not caused by Bel, for he was no more sitting at this table than Losara was. They were puppets in a dream, a dream he felt certain he was being shown for a purpose. By whom? Fate, the Dark Gods?

Perhaps he could not truly feel the rage, but it was trying to exist nonetheless, an empty shape filling him up. It came because he was doubted, because his hesitance to kill had been noted, and because someone, somewhere, had decided to put him in this place. Mentally he asserted himself, took control of the dream and tore it apart, revealing only void beneath. As he floated free, he thundered.

I AM NOT TRYING TO MAKE PEACE
,
NOR EVER WAS. DO NOT TREAT ME AS A CHILD WITH THESE TRANSPARENT FIGMENTS.

He thought, for a moment, that he heard water lapping, and a splash .
 
.
 
. and then he woke. As his mind left the dream, the feelings it had planted crossed over. A great blankness consumed him. He fought to stay abreast of it, to retain sentience. He was doubted despite all he had done, despite the cost to himself and to others .
 
.
 
. and yet the rage that should have come did not. There was nothing in its place, and that
nothing
threatened to take over.

They seek to strengthen my resolve
, he thought,
yet all they achieve is to distract and disturb.

How well did they know his mind, his actions, to think such a vision necessary? They would not see as clearly here in Arkus’s domain, but maybe some skerrick, some moment of dithering, had reached them without the surrounding context. It was hard to know.

He rose from his bedroll – for some reason just then he did not feel like travelling in shadowform – and left the tent. He walked through the camp without really seeing the curious looks he was inspiring.

I do not desire to fight, yet I do. Surely when someone does something in spite of their personal qualms, that should be
less
reason to question their conviction, not more.

‘No wonder I did not swear to serve you first and only, Assedrynn,’ he muttered. ‘You have shown a lack of judgement with this sending. You should have more faith.’

He found that he had unconsciously wandered to Tyrellan’s camp. There sat the goblin as he usually was, cross-legged on a log watching the enemy. With a sigh, Losara sank down beside him.

‘How goes it, lord?’

‘Uncertain.’

Tyrellan considered him, unblinking.

‘Perhaps,’ said Losara, ‘we should have pushed a little harder, after we took Jeddies.’

‘Perhaps. But my lord had many factors to consider. The enemy retreated faster than expected, and we underestimated their willingness to burn their camp. Perhaps after that it would have been foolhardy to ride within their range, so far ahead of our own troops, even with the shadowmander. My lord would have had to accompany me to withstand their might, and though I would willingly lose my life to such endeavour, yours is not so lightly given.’

‘Sound justifications,’ said Losara, relieved to find that they actually were. He grew a little calmer. ‘Though you should value your life too, First Slave.’

‘I did not say otherwise.’

Losara smiled. ‘Good. May it be a long one, then – though I admit I have no small trouble picturing you after this war, if we should win.’

Tyrellan glanced at him uneasily. ‘Pardon?’

‘What will you do, if there is no light left to fight?’

Tyrellan ran his tongue over a fang. ‘I have not given it much thought, lord. I imagine I’d continue to serve the shadow.’

‘No desire to settle down?’ said Losara. ‘Maybe raise a family?’

Tyrellan shot him a look of undisguised disgust. ‘You speak as if it will be a clean sweep, lord. No doubt there will be pockets of resistance for years to come.’

Losara chuckled. ‘Already talking yourself out of retirement, Tyrellan?’

Tyrellan grunted. ‘Retirement is for those who find no value in their work.’

‘Or those who know when a job is done.’

Presently, Losara returned to his tent. This time he did travel in shadowform, and appeared in bed to find Lalenda missing – strange, for she had been here when he’d left, and it was still an hour or two until dawn.

As his head found the pillow, proper restfulness finally came. Drifting off easily, he did not notice Grimra’s amulet under the sheets on Lalenda’s side of the bedding.

She climbed and climbed, higher than she had ever flown. She sought to avoid patrols of Graka or Zyvanix, and well coloured she was for such clandestine enterprise – brown skin in the dark night, and wearing the blackest dress she had. The moon was low and dim on the horizon, making for less chance of any glimmer showing along her crystalline wings. She was nervous but angry and determined too, all mixing to form a churning cocktail in her stomach. What she attempted seemed unreal, and yet here she was attempting it.

She reached an empty space in the sky with no patrols nearby, and turned east. Zyvanix were her main concern, for if she could fly this high, so could they. They lacked her night vision, however, and she was sure she would see them coming. She felt naked without Grimra, but she could not trust even him to keep quiet about what she intended. While Losara might have tolerated her independent actions in burning down Whisperwood, she doubted very much that he would approve of her current course.

Well
, she thought,
he should not toy with certain dangerous notions so frequently.

It was easier to navigate than she had feared, for the enemy’s army was twinkling with light, giving her a clear indication of its edges. As she moved widely around them, her heart pounded so hard she thought it might knock her off course. Searching, she found the spot she looked for, and positioned herself directly over it – a stream, part of which ran cloistered between trees, some three hundred paces off the eastern side of the army. For days she had watched Bel’s camp, and every morning his Jaya went off to bathe, not to the river, but to this secluded little spot.

‘Precious,’ muttered Lalenda.

Did she really mean to follow through? It was not too late to turn back and pretend this had never happened. Then she pictured the prophecy, saw herself and Jaya each pulling on the hands of a blue-haired man – and she drew in her wings to fall. No one below should see such a dark spot plummeting, and although she noted a Zyvanix patrol, it was only a vague shape far away. She held her wings tightly to her, trying to fall faster. As the ground rushed up towards her, and the enemy grew rapidly larger in her field of vision, her misgivings quadrupled. She had slightly misjudged the stream’s location – understandable given the distance from which she had started this fall – and eased her wings out gradually. To spread full length at this rate would probably rip them from her back, so she found herself necessarily slowing at exactly the point at which she was most likely to be spotted. The trees came at her and she veered between them, thinking for a dreadful moment she was going to crash – but a split-second decision led her to bring herself down in the stream with a great splash.

She coughed as she rose from the water, worried about the noise of her landing, but it was better than breaking her legs. Quickly she waded to the stream’s edge, climbed out on the side furthest from the perilously close army, and dragged up the bank to hide underneath a group of ferns. Mages, she knew, would not become instantly aware of her as they would have with a shadow mage, but that did not mean they couldn’t quest forth with formless sight and find her. Moments went by slowly as she strained her ears, but there came no rushing of feet, no yelling about an enemy being near, and soon the insects she had disturbed were chirping again. She settled down in the mud, part of her enjoying the abeyance of heat. There was nothing to do but wait for the coming of dawn.

•

Grimra wafted through the camp on the lookout for anything tasty. Lalenda usually made sure he had plenty of food, but his hunger was more of a monster than he was. It did not help that he was surrounded by delicious humans and little goblins. Even the tougher Vorthargs sometimes took his fancy, for their bones were hard and did not break easily when he ran his teeth down them to scour every last bit of meat. He did not like stony Graka, so at least obeying Losara was easy on that count.

Behave
, he was constantly being told.

‘Grimra does behave,’ he muttered, as he slipped through someone’s legs and made them jump in alarm. ‘He behaves like Grimra, ho ho!’

He discovered a camp in which two Arabodedas women were watching a man skin a rabbit. Not many of those left with such a crowd camping here, so it was a prize indeed for these three. Grimra knew it wasn’t his to take, but still he watched, fascinated and unseen, as the man started to cut the rabbit and toss the pieces in a bowl. When he was done he produced a small pouch from his pocket, and the women glanced at each other eagerly.

‘You brought herbs?’ said one.

‘Of course!’ said the man, grinning. ‘What is food without a little spice?’

The man shook fine brown dust from the pouch into the bowl, and rubbed it into the rabbit with his fingers. Grimra swallowed a growl – he cared not for the subtler flavours of herbs, with the exception of prayer weed, but there was not much hope the man used that, given that it was toxic to humans.

The man finished and set the bowl down proudly in front of the women. Their eyes glistened as they leaned forward to inspect.

‘We can have the first bite?’

‘You may,’ said the man.

Grimra could not help himself. He lunged and grabbed the bowl, smashing it against his teeth so all the rabbit flew into his mouth.

‘Rar, ha ha!’ he laughed, guzzling it up. So surprised were the Arabodedas that they fell backwards off their stones.

‘What was that?’ cried one of the women, clambering to her feet.

‘I’d say it was the Golgoleth we’ve been warned of,’ said the man, stepping in front of her warily. ‘Stay back – they say we need not fear him, but .
 
.
 
.’

The other woman still lay on the ground, looking mournfully at the smashed and empty bowl. Grimra felt a moment of pity – he knew this was not exactly
behaving
. Maybe he could make it up to them?

‘Grimra bring you a replacement,’ he informed them, startling them again.

He whirled away to the river to prowl the banks, where a few rabbit holes had escaped being covered by tents or mounds of supplies. Soon he found one, and squeezed into it and along.

‘Little rabbits?’ he said. ‘Where be thou?’

He entered a larger part of the burrow, where three rabbits clustered in the dark. A fine gift they would make for the Arabodedas he had stolen from.

‘Rar, ha ha!’ he cackled gleefully as he rushed in and tore them to pieces, his promise instantly forgotten. Tasty, tasty indeed!

Dawn was breaking, and Grimra decided he would check to see if Lalenda had woken yet. As he breezed into her and Losara’s tent, he was surprised to find she wasn’t there. He knew his amulet was close, however, for he could feel it always, his link to this plane. He drifted up beside the deeply sleeping Losara and tried to pull back a corner of the sheet on Lalenda’s side with his claw. As usual he was lousy at any action more delicate than rending things asunder, and tears appeared in the sheet. Growing impatient, he began to shred it to pieces.

‘Grimra,’ said Losara. He was sitting up, looking perplexed at waking to find the ghost attacking the bed. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Lalenda?’

‘Gone,’ wailed Grimra, having finally revealed the amulet. Slowly Losara’s eyes fell on it. ‘Flutterbug has gone!’

‘Gone?’ Now Losara was truly awake. He fell to shadow and re-formed on his feet. ‘Where has she gone?’

‘Grimra not be knowing. Grimra see her last night sleeping, but now, now, gone!’

He whirled around the tent, knocking things over.

‘All right, Grimra, settle down,’ said Losara. ‘I’m sure she hasn’t gone far.’

‘Why does she take off Grimra’s amulet then?’ keened Grimra. ‘
So Grimra cannot follow
.’

Concern showed on Losara’s face.

‘Loves him too much,’ moaned Grimra.

‘What do you mean?’

‘So angry she be! She is watching the other lady every morning, watches her get up from blue-hair’s camp and off through his army, watches her pop out and go to swimming hole, every morning for days and days – such good eyes flutterbug has! Grimra says what be you thinking, and flutterbug says nothing, but Grimra knows, Grimra can tell from the hate in her eyes. She starts trying to go without him, to go and sit and watch the lady, tells Grimra to go find rabbits – but Grimra is watching her anyways, and she doesn’t be knowing.’

‘Grimra,’ said Losara, his voice resonant with power. It caught the ghost’s attention, made him slow.

‘Yes?’

‘Tell me,’ said Losara, ‘where she has gone.’

•

Jaya wandered through the army in no particular rush. No need, for the days had begun to blend, and there was little for her to do save keep Bel company as he sat around on display. It was not exactly boring, but it was sometimes .
 
.
 
. limited. So she enjoyed these little excursions away, a quiet time to herself, without thousands of eyes upon her. Some of the other folk here knew about the stream, of course, but she found if she visited at dawn when it wasn’t yet hot, between patrol changes, she usually had the place to herself. As she came to the edge of the army, there it was – a small copse of trees hiding a nice secluded spot.

Over the grass she trotted, passing a troop of soldiers on foot heading in the opposite direction. A young man who looked very new to armour glanced at the cloth she’d brought to dry herself, and shot her a quirked eyebrow – no doubt imagining her naked, silly boy – but she found herself grinning and sending him a wink in return. At least he hadn’t been openly lewd, like some of the soldiers around here.

She arrived at the trees and slipped inside, padding lightly through the undergrowth and coming out into a clearing through which the stream burbled. Blessedly there was no one here, and she wasted no time removing her belt and stripping down to her undergarments. She eased into the water and made for a deep spot towards the middle, diving as she reached it and enjoying the rush of cool water through her hair. She surfaced, her feet planting on smooth stones beneath her, and blinked. An odd beating sound reached her, and she shook her ear with a finger to unplug it. As the audibility of the world grew crisp once again, the beating sound descended upon her rapidly. She spun and flung up her hands.

Claws like needles slashed her arm but her cry was stifled as she fell under the weight of her assailant. Her feet kicked for the bottom but she was already off balance, and succeeded only in bouncing along backwards. Clawed hands came at her face, and her own hands shot out to seize them at the wrist. Wings beat at her, and a muddy brown face came close to hers just before she was pushed underwater.

The creature .
 
.
 
. a Mire Pixie .
 
.
 
. was pulling in her grip now, trying to get free, but she dragged it down with her. As its wing tips broke the water’s surface, it collapsed from the air to sink after. She twisted away, pushed it from her, kicked free, and came up gasping. About a pace away the pixie rose, breathing hard and watching her with hooded eyes from under a tangle of sodden black hair. Jaya glanced to the shore – her pile of things, including her sword, was downstream.

‘You will not steal him from me,’ the pixie said, wading into the shallows between Jaya and her gear. Jaya had a moment to really see her – a little over a pace tall, her eyes were a piercing blue that shone with fervour from the darkness of her face. She gave her wings a flick, sending a spray of water in either direction.

‘What,’ spluttered Jaya, ‘in Arkus’s name are you talking about?’

‘Arkus?’ said the pixie, cocking her head. ‘A strange name to invoke to me.’

She launched at Jaya with a whir. Jaya dropped down and her hand closed around a submerged stone, which she wrenched from the water and sent hurtling at the pixie. It glanced off her arm and she gave a little yelp, knocked off course. Jaya dashed from the shallows and along the bank to her things. She fell to the ground to scrabble with her belt, the sword end caught under her clothes, even as she heard wing beats coming closer. Flinging clothes away desperately, she yanked the sword free, and spun just in time to smash away the pixie’s outstretched hand with the hilt, deflecting her claws. The pixie spun in the air and half glided, half fell to the ground. Jaya strode to her even as she tried to rise, and put a boot in her side that set her on her back. The pixie opened her eyes to find Jaya’s sword point glinting over her throat.

‘Caught me by surprise, shadow,’ said Jaya, breathing hard.

The pixie hissed, but Jaya let the blade touch her flesh, and she quieted instantly – though her eyes were still brimming with accusation.

‘Why have you come here?’ demanded Jaya. ‘Do you realise I won’t feel safe in this nook again? You have
ruined
my bathing time. Who are you?’

The pixie slumped a little, her body finally seeming to realise the fight had halted. ‘Lalenda,’ she said.

Jaya frowned – she had heard the name before, but where? Then she remembered.

‘You’re Losara’s lover,’ she said, surprised. Her eyes travelled down Lalenda’s small form. ‘What peculiar taste he’s got.’

Lalenda scowled. ‘You can talk, Sprite.’

‘My love is also part Sprite,’ countered Jaya, then wondered why she was defending herself. ‘Why have you come here? You tried to kill me – why shouldn’t I run you through right now?’

‘Why do you always ask more than one question at once?’ spat Lalenda. ‘Decide what answers you really want before wasting my time.’

‘What did you mean by saying you would not share him?’

Lalenda stared up with pure malice. ‘What do you suppose will happen,’ she said, ‘if the men we love are made into one? What do you think will happen to their love
for us
?’

Jaya frowned, unsure what to make of that – in truth, she tried not to think too deeply about Bel’s plan to absorb his
other
into himself. Always her concerns, when she dared to have them, were dismissed with talk of how Losara was the lesser part, and Arkus had told Bel that he would remain dominant, and she should not worry.