Soul's Reckoning (Broken Well Trilogy) (2 page)

Mages began to channel and, shadows in the night, speed west. The soldiers were taken care of by the more powerful, and Roma helped boost Tyrellan along. Losara lifted off the ground with Lalenda and, hand in hand, they flew over the departing mass.

‘Look at that,’ said Lalenda, and he followed her gaze. The shadowmander had no problem keeping up with Tyrellan as he bounded across the plains next to Roma. ‘Such a powerful weapon you have created, my lord.’

‘It has its flaws,’ said Losara.

‘Surely,’ she said, ‘it will be enough. You will not need to try the other way.’

‘I hope not, my love. I really do.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Let us see how we fare at the Shining Mines.’

Bel moved through the camp in the early morning. Fires were being stamped out and horses loaded as the soldiers made ready to ride to Brahl. Of the wounded, most could now ride, or at least suffer being strapped to horses’ backs. Only a few had been beyond saving by Nicha’s mages, and these now rested in the ground.

As he glanced around for Jaya, he saw a scout gallop into camp at full pelt and drop from his horse before Nicha. The man seemed excited and, as he spoke, Nicha glanced over to Bel. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she gestured at him to approach. He did so, arriving as the scout departed.

‘What’s happened?’ he said.

‘You wished to be informed if there was any change at Holdwith?’

‘Indeed.’

‘The scouts report no one mans the walls this morning. Not only that, but there’s no sound from within. And the south gate is lying open.’

Bel experienced a sinking feeling. ‘He’s gone.’

‘Yes. It seems the shadow has abandoned Holdwith.’

‘Any sign of the mander?’

‘None.’

Bel rubbed his eyes. So Losara had snuck away in the night, almost certainly to join his army – the army that was closer to the Shining Mines than Brahl was. Yesterday Nicha had voiced her hope that the soldiers already stationed at the Mines would be able to hold off the enemy until the rest of the Kainordan forces arrived, but if Losara had the mander in tow, Bel feared the worst. He had been hoping that the creature was somehow tied to Holdwith, because it had not been able to cross a kind of invisible line when last he had faced it. Now he knew it must be mobile somehow, and Losara had taken it .
 
.
 
. and there was only one way he could think of to ward it off.

‘What do you wish to do?’ said Nicha.

Bel made a snap decision. ‘The rest of you join Brahl as planned,’ he said. ‘As for me, I will require your fastest horse, and whichever mage is best at increasing its speed.’

Nicha looked surprised. ‘You will not come with us?’

‘No,’ said Bel, and glanced around. Where was Jaya? Then he spotted her, strapping her pack onto a horse. ‘Be quick, Nicha,’ he said. ‘There’s no time to lose.’

Without waiting for her reply he headed to Jaya, who smiled at him until she saw his expression.

‘What is it?’

‘Losara has gone to his army, with his creature.’

‘Oh,’ she said, seeming confused by the implications.

‘I must ride straightaway to the Mines. I’m sorry, Jaya, but you cannot join me on this leg.’

‘What?’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘Because I must be as swift as I can, and any more horses, and mages .
 
.
 
. well, it’s just more variables, and variables might slow me down. I know you will fight me on this, but Jaya, please, I have no time.’

She seemed to struggle with something interior, then an odd expression took over her face. ‘Very well,’ she said.

Bel was surprised by her acceptance, but glad he did not have to argue. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Go with the others to Brahl, and Arkus willing I shall see you soon.’

‘Be careful,’ she said softly, and stepped closer to embrace him. For a moment he allowed himself to hold her, savouring the warmth of her body. He felt like a feather in the eye of the storm, still for a moment, yet about to be swept away.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

‘Stand in Losara’s way.’

‘This is Querrus,’ came Nicha’s voice. She stood with a young man, dressed in red lightfist robes. He was lean and muscular, with bright blue eyes and a shorn head.

‘Greetings Blade Bel,’ he said, and bowed. ‘An honour to do you service.’

‘I see you’ve no hair to weigh you down,’ said Bel. ‘Truth be told, I have sometimes considered the same.’

Querrus grinned. ‘Hair gets caught in the wind. It only impedes.’

‘My kind of mage,’ said Bel. ‘And the horse?’

‘Right this way,’ replied Querrus, holding out a hand.

One last time Bel turned to Jaya, clasped her forearms. ‘I will see you soon.’

She nodded, still seeming unsure about whether to insist on coming or not, but Bel did not intend to give her the chance to reconsider.

‘Come!’ he said. ‘We may already be too late.’

Querrus led the way to a brown plains mare, dappled with white splotches, and as lean as he was. ‘This is Taritha,’ he said. ‘We’ve known each other only a year, but together we’ve travelled great distances.’

‘Where is it best for me to sit?’ said Bel.

‘Up front. You can steer her, and I can concentrate on lending her speed.’

Bel swung himself up into the saddle, then reached down a hand to Querrus. Jaya appeared by his leg with his pack.

‘Do you want to take this?’ she said.

‘Strap it quickly,’ said Bel, more brusquely than he intended, and she set about strapping it to the horse.

‘Ready?’ said Querrus.

In answer Bel slapped down the reins, and Taritha obediently broke into a canter. They moved out of the camp, attracting curious glances, and as soon as they were clear of the trees Bel urged the mare into a gallop.

‘All right,’ came Querrus’s voice in his ear, ‘be prepared for a jolt.’

Bel jerked in his seat as suddenly Taritha was moving unnaturally fast. The plains opened up before them, wide and dusty, and soon the wind was whistling in his ears, every step the horse took seeming to cover greater distance. Bel felt a surge of hope – he had been delivered excellent allies.

‘How long to the Mines?’ he called out.

‘Maybe a day, if we can sustain our current pace!’

‘And can we?’

‘It will be a sizeable drain on my power – I just might not be much good to you at the other end.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Bel. ‘Just get us there.’

•

As the wind swept back his golden hair, Fahren kept power streaming into his steed, spurring her to chew up the leagues more swiftly. He could sense her joy, helped by his mental reassurances that all was well, that she should enjoy the ground flashing past at a greater pace than she had ever experienced before. He steered her wide to avoid Drel Forest on the right, seeking to keep to open plains, while lamenting that he could not share her happiness – for both the aim of his journey and his companion kept him from that. Battu rode by his side, more careless of his horse’s feelings, less comforting. Fahren had, more than once, stolen over to the beast’s mind to whisper that there was no need to be afraid. If Battu sensed him doing it, he made no mention. The once-dark lord of Fenvarrow was surely distracted, for the place they headed towards must be the birthplace of his nightmares .
 
.
 
. and yet it was testimony to Battu’s newfound loyalty that he did not complain, instead facing the journey with steely determination. Fahren took Battu’s presence as a sign that fate was on their side, despite the fact that he did not entirely trust the man, and doubted that he ever would. It had been with some trepidation that he’d ordered his guards to remain behind in the Open Halls, but more horses would only slow them. The need for haste was extreme enough to warrant the risk, for in his mind’s eye Fahren could already see a huge shadowmander climbing the walls of the Open Halls. The light and fire that converged upon it were no more a hindrance than a barrage of promises, and too easily the creature penetrated their stronghold, destroying that which had stood untarnished by the shadow for a thousand years.

Still, he wondered if he had made a mistake. Could he really sleep soundly at night, with only Battu for company? Surely the man would not come this far, through so much, only to turn against him now?
But that
, he thought,
is bestowing upon Battu a level of reasonability that he does not possess.

He found himself subtly letting his senses travel, to see if he could catch a glimmer of Battu’s thoughts. Like the mental equivalent of a breeze, he stole lightly over Battu’s mind. As he did a dark shape emerged, huge and hulking, turning to display the full length of its body, watching Fahren with pit-black eyes. He withdrew immediately, concerned that Battu would know his defences had been tested .
 
.
 
. and sure enough his companion’s face revealed a sort of harsh amusement.

‘My Throne,’ he said, ‘you know I do not mind allowing you into my head. In fact, if you recall, it was the very offer I gave to convince you of my sincere submission to your cause. However, it might be prudent to warn me next time before you attempt it. That way I can drop my more dangerous defences.’

Fahren, inexplicably, felt embarrassed. Was it the willingness with which Battu offered up his most vulnerable place, or simply that he had been caught when he’d sought to go undiscovered?

‘My apologies, Battu,’ he said. ‘It was not necessary, nor well done.’

Battu nodded, and returned his gaze to the fields ahead.

Sharks, through and through him
, thought Fahren. As one who often spoke to animals, or rode along in their minds, he recognised the perils of getting too caught up, too entwined. Battu had, at some stage in his life, been touched by sharks, and had carried away something of them with him. Did he even know it? Fahren could, he supposed, offer to journey into Battu’s mind and pull loose some of the foreign threads, to rid him of the influences on his thoughts .
 
.
 
. but quickly he decided against it. Who knew what effect such healing might have? Maybe it would remove Battu’s hunting instinct, that propensity to put his own hungers before everything else. Maybe, once cured, Battu would no longer burn for revenge .
 
.
 
. and what good would he be to Fahren then?

•

On the horizon Losara saw his army, and knew a moment of awe at its greatness. Multitudes marched over the border into the sunlight, which glinted off armour and thousands of swords. Battalions of Arabodedas, Vorthargs and goblins tramped up clouds of dust, while Graka and Mire Pixies whirled in the sky. He caught sight of Mireforms, a small group of ten or so bobbing along on their bandy legs, given a wide berth by others – it seemed that his chastisement of Eldew had not stopped them from coming.

Strangely, the sight of such a force made him feel vulnerable – Fenvarrow had been emptied to create it, the strength of his people wholly concentrated in one place. If they were defeated, Fenvarrow would be severely and irretrievably crippled.

Well
, he thought,
best make sure we’re not defeated. Tyrellan
, he sent to the First Slave, who was still running along somewhere below.

Yes, lord?

How long will it take for our army to reach the Mines?

Maybe a day and a half from here.

It was enough to get there before the Kainordans, even though not by much.

I aim to speed up the process
, he sent.
I would like to get there by dusk.

Today, my lord?

Today.

Very good.

It was humbling that the First Slave received his ambitious and perhaps unachievable plan with such calm and faithful acceptance.

Roma
, he sent.

At your command.

Do you think you could lift a catapult or two?

There was a slight pause.
Maybe one, my lord, if it is to travel some distance.

I imagine they are what slows us the most. If we are to reach the Mines before dusk, they will have to be levitated.

As you wish. I will think on how best to achieve it. Perhaps some groups working together .
 
.
 
.

I leave it to you. And I will want all other mages concentrating on speeding up the army.

Another slight pause.
That might deplete them by the time we reach the Mines.

Do not exhaust them, just have them do what they can. If we can gain even a few leagues, it may be enough.

But why, my lord? The Kainordan force will not beat us to the Mines even at a normal pace.

It is not them I fear
.

As Losara reached the edge of the army, his group began to peel off into the masses. He landed with Lalenda next to a catapult with huge wheels slowly turning, hauled by muscle-bound Arabodedas straining on ropes. They glanced at him in surprise, and bowed their heads.

‘You on the catapult,’ said Losara, ‘stand back.’

He reached out towards the machine, wrapping it in his power and, with a mental flex, hoisted it into the air. Soldiers ducked their heads as it floated over them.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘not too heavy.’

‘My lord,’ observed Lalenda, grinning proudly, ‘is sometimes a show-off.’

Losara turned his eyes to the north where, away across flat plains, on top of a hill, a grey blob stood on the horizon. The great fort around the Shining Mines, long coveted by Shadowdreamers before him, against which most had failed.

‘Time to change tradition,’ he said, and reached for another catapult.

From the walls of the great fort, Gerent Galfin watched the sun setting behind the Cloudy blight in the sky to the south. Dusk was upon them, and with resigned certainty he knew that the Shadowdreamer meant to keep coming, and attack them in the dark.

Less than a league from the base of the hill, the horde crawled onwards, an army larger than he had ever seen. Despite the solidness of his walls, and the ten thousand or so soldiers he had with him, he could not help but hope that Brahl was closer than reports indicated. Solid or not, he wondered how long the walls would last against the might of all Fenvarrow.

Exorcise such doubt
, he told himself. It would not serve him, or those who followed him.
When I look these bastards in the eye and tell them they’re not welcome, I mean to do it without a quaver in my voice.

He glanced to his side, at the hundreds of bows and lightfists standing ready. How young so many of them were, how untried, for there had not been a real battle with Fenvarrow in years. As for Galfin, he could recall all too vividly the last time a Shadowdreamer had marched on the Mines, when he had been a young soldier himself, and a man named Corlas Corinas had led them out to face the wrath of Battu. The unexpected abandonment of the fort had won them the day, and cemented Corlas’s name into legend. Although Galfin would have liked to believe he could triumph here as well, somehow it did not seem his place. The blue-haired men were the ones destined to finish this fight, and maybe the best he could hope for was holding back the shadow an extra moment or two – and making its forces pay dearly in the meantime. If there was a lesson to be taken from Corlas, it was the man’s fearlessness, and the way he had inspired those around him to fight with all their hearts.

‘They are coming within range, sir.’ His second, Commander Kalda, a woman of the same middle years as he, had been here the last time too – he was glad he wasn’t the only one who remembered.

‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘They are impatient, it seems.’ He could see the enemy’s catapults suspended in the air just above the ground, a surreal sight indeed. ‘The Shadowdreamer must have been eager to arrive with the coming of night.’

‘The move will have cost his mages energy,’ she said.

‘We can certainly hope so. Are our own catapults ready?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He looked down into the fort. The majority of his soldiers waited in rows, along which rode cerepans, taskmasters and phalanx commanders. All were ready for what approached, and there was a rare quiet, the air alive with tension. In the midst of the soldiers was a flat area, where the ropes of their own catapults strained taut, ready to unleash large chunks of stone. Some of them had originally been Battu’s, left behind when he’d retreated all those years ago, and it seemed fitting that they would now be used against Fenvarrow. Galfin had assigned lightfists to each – the mages would be able to levitate rocks onto the catapults from their stockpile more quickly than soldiers could carry them. He meant to fill the sky with stone.

The forefront of the shadow army ground to a stop just out of arrow range. As the rest caught up, they began to spread out in a long line, encircling the entire southward side of the fort. Galfin felt as if he was staring into a great abyss that threatened to crash in and swallow him.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘this should be interesting.’

Kalda stared at her hand and clicked her fingers.

Galfin frowned. ‘Some kind of good luck thing?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I do it when there’s something coming that .
 
.
 
. well .
 
.
 
.’

‘You wish there wasn’t?’

‘Aye. After whatever it is has been dealt with, I look at my hand and click my fingers again.’

‘Why?

‘Because then it’s like no time has passed at all.’

Galfin gave a grim smile.

The sun was almost gone, and runners moved around the fort lighting torches. Mages on the walls began to conjure glowing beacons, which floated off like clouds, illuminating the ground below. The moon seemed to shine more brightly than usual, and Galfin wondered if Arkus was watching over them. The combined light sources were no substitute for daytime, but at least he could see that the enemy’s catapults were finally setting down.

‘I look forward to that second click,’ he said. Then he nodded out towards the enemy. ‘I’d say that’s close enough.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Galfin took a deep breath, feeling the many sets of eyes that were focused upon him .
 
.
 
. and bellowed into the fort. ‘Catapults ready?’

Cries in the affirmative answered.

‘Begin the barrage!’

There was a series of swishing noises as ropes were released and the first wave of stones sailed into the air. They cleared the walls and, as the stones reached their apex, for a moment seemed to hang lazily, catching the moonlight as they turned .
 
.
 
. then plummeted towards the ground.

Glimmers of blue energy showed in the front lines of the shadow army. Large blue bolts, conjured by more than one shadow mage, went hurtling up to meet the rocks. There were explosions in the sky as they were blasted to pieces, but not to dust. Shards of rock still fell, not as catastrophically perhaps, but enough to result in cries of pain and skulls smashed inside helmets. A couple of the boulders were missed entirely and fell unhindered upon lines of enemies. Meanwhile lightfists were working fast, levitating rocks off a great pile. As soon as they were set down in position, a soldier would release the rope and off the boulder would soar. They were not all firing at the same time, as the various teams fell quickly out of sync, but that was what Galfin wanted – a pelting that was constant, yet unpredictable.

‘That’s the thing about living in a mine!’ he shouted at the shadow army. ‘Always got a lot of rocks!’

Laughter came from his soldiers, a sound that gave him strength.

‘Lightfists!’ he called. ‘Make ready – they seek to hurl some of their own!’

Taskmasters repeated his orders along the lines. As the Fenvarrow catapults unleashed a wave, lightfists were already channelling bolts, which shot out to meet the oncoming rocks with a series of
whump
noises, making them shudder in the air and sending them falling back to earth, to land short of the fort. There they hit the hill and rolled back down with gathering speed. The shadow front lines scattered to avoid them, exposing those behind to be crushed.

‘Did you think it would be easy?’ Galfin yelled, and cheers of defiance rose from his soldiers. More boulders flew over his head, one of them even smashing into another that was only just rising from an enemy catapult, showering fragments on those who had unleashed it.

Then, out of the front lines, something moved that caught his attention. Long and sleek, hard to make out in the dark, it wound its way like some kind of enormous lizard. Behind it followed a group, led by .
 
.
 
. yes, a man with blue hair. He was accompanied by a goblin, and a group of mages conjuring a mighty shadow ward to protect them. The creature took off suddenly, up the slope towards the fort. It stopped about halfway up, then ran along a line parallel to the walls, as if it dared not come any closer.

‘Lightfists!’ shouted Galfin. ‘Let’s have some spells on that monster!’

In answer more bolts went forth, and fireballs, and streams of lava, and glowing orbs. The creature froze to cock its head curiously at the approaching storm of light and fire. The first lava stream hit its back and sizzled over it, and the creature gave its tail a flick. Light bolts smacked into it, not even rocking it on its feet. A fireball burst across its hindquarters, leaving a streak that quickly faded.

‘What is that thing?’ muttered Galfin.

Behind the creature, the Shadowdreamer and his entourage were making their way up the hill. As they did the creature came further forward, maintaining its distance from them and matching their speed.

‘As if it’s tethered to them,’ observed Kalda, and Galfin realised she might be right.

‘Then that’s who we need to stop,’ he said. ‘Lightfists! Attack the dreamer!’

As the order travelled down the line, the barrage of spells realigned from the creature to the blue-haired man. In response the dark lord’s mages expanded their ward, which wobbled as light spells began to slam against it. A rock fell from the sky towards the group, and Galfin saw the Shadowdreamer raise a hand. The rock stopped suddenly in the air as if caught, and Galfin felt awed by the power on display. Then the dreamer brought his hand forward, and the rock came rushing towards Galfin with a speed not born of any catapult.

‘Down!’ he shouted and dived, dragging Kalda with him. The wall where he’d been watching exploded, spraying him with chips.

‘Graka!’ he heard someone shout, and pulled himself to his feet. Sure enough, a great flock of the stony creatures was climbing into the sky.

‘Time to put our special recruits to work,’ he said. ‘Send forth the Zyvanix!’

He hoped the dreamer had not expected they’d have a swarm of the wasps on hand here. Indeed, Galfin had been grateful when they’d arrived, sent ahead from the main army by Brahl several days ago – not exactly a secret weapon, but one which the enemy may not have thought of. A great buzzing sounded as Zyvanix rose inside the fort, wielding their distinctive stinger-like spears and barbed arrows. They were faster than the Graka, and would meet them somewhere high above before they ever managed to get over the fort.

The dreamer was now halfway up the hill, his creature almost touching the fort’s base. As the light spells continued to pour down, one of the dreamer’s mages cried out and fell thrashing, on fire. The others ignored him, labouring on slowly under the bombardment. Meanwhile the creature reached the wall, and began to climb.

‘Bows,’ Galfin shouted, ‘kill that thing!’

Arrows pelted down, bouncing off the creature as it clawed its way upward.
What manner of beast is it
, he thought,
that cannot be harmed by magic or steel?

Looking at the distance between the creature and the dreamer, he guessed that once the dreamer made it to the base of the fort, the creature would reach the top of the walls. They
needed
to halt the dreamer.

‘All bows on the dreamer!’ he shouted, frustrated with himself that he kept changing targets. ‘All lightfists!’

The air grew thick with projectiles, fireballs setting arrows aflame, light orbs bouncing off each other. The ground around the dreamer’s ward was instantly peppered with smoking shafts, and tracks in the dust left by streams of lava turned aside. Another shadow mage fell, and Galfin saw the dreamer himself raise his hands to strengthen the ward, turning back the tide of flashing metal and light. Silently the creature crawled higher up the wall, and Galfin felt his stomach sink. It had started so promisingly, but what could he do against such fell magic?

With his lightfists distracted, enemy stones were beginning to make the fort quake. Some hit the walls while others made it over, and he heard soldiers shouting and things smashing. All at once, the rest of the shadow army began to charge. Galfin felt overwhelmed – had they ever really had a chance? All he’d needed to do was hold back the shadow for a day, maybe two .
 
.
 
. and they weren’t even going to last the night.

Get yourself together, man. At the very least we can make them pay for what they take.

‘Bows!’ he shouted. ‘Ignore the damn dreamer! Take aim at their front lines!’

The cascade of arrows turned outwards in all directions. As the shadow swarmed up the hill, their soldiers began to fall. However, with the bows’ attentions elsewhere, the dreamer made better progress, arriving quickly at the base of the fort. As he did, the creature clambered up the last stretch of wall, over the side .
 
.
 
. and was amongst them.

‘Fall back!’ screamed Galfin, but it was too late.

The creature seized a man in its jaws and shook him violently. Others around it drew their swords, and one gallant bow screamed furiously as she swung with all her might at the creature’s hind leg. Her blade ricocheted as if meeting the hardest iron, with enough force that it almost flew from her hands. The creature dropped the limp body, and turned its empty eyes almost casually over its shoulder to look at her. Then it raised the leg she had tried to sever, and kicked her away, over the side.

Other bows backed away, frantically notching arrows and sending them whistling uselessly at the creature. Lightfists also shot forth spells, though each crackled just as impotently against the creature as the last. Its head turned this way and that, as if deciding what to attack next.
Spoilt for choice
, Galfin thought grimly.

Suddenly it surged away from him, moving in the opposite direction along the wall, its tail swinging wildly behind it. The narrow width of the space meant it hardly even needed to bite or claw – rushing along was enough to send soldiers flying over the edge, or squash them against stone or grind them underfoot. Cries of pain and terror filled the night as bodies tumbled over the walls, and the flood of arrows fired at the approaching horde quickly dried up.

‘Into the fort!’ yelled Galfin, but he heard no taskmasters take up the call. He spun to the soldiers immediately around him, who were staring at him wide-eyed. ‘You heard me! In!’

He pushed a young bow towards the stairs and the man stumbled, then fled. Others followed.

‘Sir,’ said Kalda, a tremor in her voice. Galfin followed her eyes.

The creature had reached the far end of the wall, and was now turning around. Between them, where moments ago hundreds of soldiers had stood, the stone was slick with blood and pulp. Galfin could barely comprehend that so many had been lost in such a short time. It was appalling, and it made his heart hot in his chest. Snarling, he reached for his sword, but felt Kalda’s hand on his own.