Nightchild

by James Barclay

  Hirad readied himself. Just before it levelled out, the path became a steep ramp for perhaps twenty yards. It would be slippery after the day's showers. As the hunters approached it, they slowed, the mage out in front, hands on both sets of reins, urging the horses up.

  “Keep it moving,” came a hiss from below, loud in the still night air.

  “Gently does it,” said another.

  The mage appeared over the lip. Hirad surged on to the plateau and dived for his legs, whipping them away. The mage crashed to the ground. Hirad was on him before he could shout and hammered a fist into his temple. The mage's head cracked against stone and he lay still.

  Racing low around the front of the suddenly skittish horses, he pulled his sword from his scabbard. The warrior on their other side had only half turned at the commotion and was in no state to defend himself. Hirad whipped his blade into the man's side and as he went down screaming, the barbarian leant in close.

  “Believe me, you are the lucky one,” he rasped. Quieting the horses who had started to back up, he ran back to the ballista and slashed one of the harness ropes. The ballista shifted its weight and the horses moved reflexively to balance it, one whinnying nervously. Below him, four faces looked up in mute shock. Blades were drawn.

  “I warned the last who came to tell the next that all they would find here is death. You chose not to listen.” He lashed at the other harness rope, splitting it at the second strike. The ballista rolled quickly down the ramp, scattering the hunters and gathering pace as it bounced over rock and tuft. A wheel sprang away and the main body ploughed left to plunge over the edge of the path, tumbling to its noisy destruction in a stand of trees some two hundred feet below.

  Below the ramp, the hunters picked themselves to their feet, the engineers looking to the warriors for guidance.

  “There's nothing they can do for you now,” said Hirad. It is safe, Great Kaan.

  A shadow rose from the hills behind Hirad and swept down the path. It was enormous and the great beat of its wings fired the wind and from its mouth came a roar of fury. The hunters turned and ran but another shape took to the air over the path below them and a third joined it, herding them back toward Hirad.

  The trio of dragons blotted out the stars, great bodies hanging in the sky, their united roars bouncing from the mountains around them, the echoes drawing cries of terror from the hunters now turned hunted. They huddled together, the dragons circling them, lazy beats of their wings flattening bush and grass and blowing dust into the air. Each one was over a hundred feet long, its size and power making a mockery of the pitiful band who had come to kill one. They were helpless and they knew it, staring into mouths that could swallow them whole, and imagining flame so hot it would reduce them to ashes.

  “Please, Hirad,” mumbled one of the engineers, recognising him and fixing him with wide desperate eyes. “We hear you now.”

  “Too late,” said Hirad. “Too late.”

  Sha-Kaan powered in, his wings beating down and blowing the hunters from their feet to sprawl beneath the gale. His long neck twisted and arrowed down, striking with the speed of a snake and snatching up a warrior in his mouth. And then he was gone into the sky, his speed incredible, his agility in the air breathtaking. He was impossibly quick for an animal his size and the hunters left on the ground gaped where they lay, too traumatised now even to think about getting back to their feet.

  The man in Sha-Kaan's mouth didn't even cry out before his body was torn in two and spat from the huge maw, scattering blood and flesh. The Great Kaan barked his fury into the night, the sound rumbling away like distant thunder. Nos-Kaan soared high, then dived groundward, the men below his gaping mouth screaming as he fell toward them. With a single beat of his wings, he stalled his speed, the down-draught sending the hunters rolling in the dust, their cries lost in the wind. He looked and struck as Sha had done, his victim crushed in an instant and dropped in front of his comrades.

  And finally Hyn-Kaan. The Great Kaan's bark brought him low across the ground, a great dark shape in the starlight, his body scant feet from the rock, his head moving down very slightly to scoop his target into his mouth. He flicked his wings and speared into the heavens, a human wail filtering down, cut off, and followed by the sound of a body hitting rock.

  Hirad licked suddenly dry lips. They had said they wanted revenge. And they had said they wanted men to know their power. Yet the elf at his feet was still unconscious and had seen nothing. Lucky for him. Hirad loved the Kaan and theirs was a bond that would not be broken by such violent death. Yet once again, he was reminded of the unbridgeable gulf between man and dragon. They were majesty, men their slaves if they so chose.

  Hirad brought his attention back to the lone engineer, alive still and surrounded by the torn carcasses of his friends. He had soiled his breeches, liquid puddling around his boots where he crouched in abject terror of the three dragons circling above him. Sha-Kaan landed and grabbed him in one foreclaw, bringing him close to his jaws. The man wailed and gibbered.

  Hirad turned to the mage, uncorked his waterskin and dumped its contents over the elven head. He gasped and choked, groaning his pain. Hirad grabbed his collar and hauled him upright, a dagger at his throat.

  “Even think of casting and you'll die. You aren't quick enough to beat me, understand?” The mage nodded. “Good. Now watch and learn.”

  Sha-Kaan drew the hapless engineer even closer. “Why do you hunt us?” he asked, his breath billowing the man's hair. He tried to reply but no words came, only a choked moan. “Answer me, human.” The engineer paddled his legs helplessly in the air, his hands pressing reflexively against the claws he could never hope to shift.

  “The chance to live comfortably forever,” he managed. “I didn't realise. I meant you no harm. I thought…”

  Sha-Kaan snorted. “No harm. You thought us mindless reptiles. And to kill me or one of my Brood was, what does Hirad call it? Yes, ‘sport.’ Different now, is it? Now you know us able to think?”

  The engineer nodded before stammering. “I'll n-never d-do it again. I swear.”

  “No indeed you will not,” said Sha-Kaan. “And I do hope your fortunate companion pays careful attention.”

  “My fortun—?” The engineer never got to finish his question. Sha-Kaan gripped the top of his skull with a broad foreclaw and crushed it like ripe fruit, the wet crack echoing from the rock surrounding them.

  Hirad felt the mage judder and heard him gasp. His legs weakened but the barbarian kept him upright. Sha-Kaan dropped the twitching corpse and turned his eyes their way, the piercing blue shining cold in the darkness.

  “Hirad Coldheart, I leave you to complete the message.” The Great Kaan took flight and led his Brood out to the hunt.

  Hirad stood holding the mage, letting the terrified elf take in the slaughter around him. He could feel the man quivering. The smell of urine entered his nostrils and Hirad pushed him away.

  “You're living because I chose you to live,” he said, staring into the elf's sheet-white face. “And you know the word you are to put around. No one who comes here after the Kaan will succeed in anything but their own quick death. Dragons are not sport and they are more powerful than you can possibly imagine. You understand that, don't you?”

  The mage nodded. “Why me?”

  “What's your name?” demanded Hirad.

  “Y-Yeren,” he stammered.

  “Julatsan aren't you?”

  Another nod.

  “That's why you. Ilkar is short of mages. You're going to the College and you'll put out the word from there. Then you'll stay there and help him in any way he sees fit. If I hear that you have not, nowhere will be safe for you. Not the pits of hell, not the void. Nowhere. I will find you and I'll be bringing friends.” Hirad jerked a thumb up into the mountains.

  “Now get out of my sight. And don't stop running until Ilkar says you can. Got it?”

  A third nod. Hirad turned and strode away, the sound of running feet bring
ing a grim smile to his lips.

  The last few days had been the most tranquil and relaxing period of Erienne's remarkable life. They had been the days aboard ship when she knew that she had escaped the fetters of the Colleges at long last. Not just Dordover, all of them. And in the calm, late summer waters of the Southern Ocean, with the temperature rising to a beautiful dry warmth, she and Lyanna had finally been able to rest and let go the cares of what had gone by and think on what was to come.

  Looking back, the voices in her head had become so regular they had seemed a part of her. Urging her to leave and be with them. She recalled the night her decision had been made. Another night in Dordover, another nightmare for Lyanna. One too many as it turned out.

  Dordover. Where the Elder Council of the College of Magic had taken her in after she had left Xetesk. Where they had treated her with a mixture of awe and disdain over her chequered recent past. And where her daughter's extraordinary gifts had been nurtured and researched by mages whose nervousness outweighed their excitement.

  In the year the Dordovans had tried to help, they had produced nothing Erienne had not already known or that she and Denser hadn't guessed. The fact was that Lyanna was beyond their introverted comprehension. They could no more develop her talents safely than they could teach a rat to fly.

  One magic, one mage.

  The Dordovan elders hated that mantra and hated the fact that Erienne believed in it so fervently. It went against the core beliefs that drove Dordovan independence. And yet, at first, they had taken on Lyanna's training with great dedication. Maybe now they were aware of the scope of her abilities, it was affecting their desire or, more likely, they felt threatened by it.

  But the whole time someone had understood. Someone powerful. And their voices had spoken in her head and, she knew it, in Lyanna's. Supporting her, feeding her belief, keeping her sane and calming her temper. Urging her to accept what they offered—the knowledge and power to help.

  And then had come that particular night. She had realised then that, not only could the Dordovans no longer help Lyanna, their fumbling attempts were putting her at risk. They couldn't free her from the nightmares and she was no longer being allowed the space to develop; her frustration at being kept back would inevitably lead to disaster. She was so young, she wouldn't understand what she was unleashing. Even now her temper wasn't long in the fraying; and in that she was very much her mother's daughter. So far, she hadn't channelled her anger into magic but that time would come unless she learned the boundaries of what she possessed.

  The nightmare had set Lyanna screaming, her shrill cries scaring Erienne more than ever before. She had cradled the trembling, sweat-soaked child while she calmed, and knew things had to change. She remembered their conversation as if it had just occurred.

  “It's all right. Mummy's here. Nothing can harm you.” Erienne had wiped Lyanna's face with the kerchief from her sleeve, fighting to calm her thrashing heart.

  “I know, Mummy.” The little girl had clung to her. “The darkness monsters came but the old women chased them away.”

  Erienne had ceased her rocking.

  “The who, Lyanna?”

  “The old women. They will always save me.” She had snuggled closer. “If I'm near them.”

  Erienne smiled, her mind made up for her.

  “Go back to sleep, sweet,” she had said, resting her back on her pillow and smoothing her hair down. “Mummy has some things to do in the study. Then perhaps we can go on a little trip away.”

  “Night, Mummy.”

  “Good night, darling.” Erienne had turned to go and had heard Lyanna whisper something as she reached the door. She'd turned back but Lyanna wasn't speaking to her. Eyes closed, her daughter was drifting back toward what, Gods willing, would be a calmer sleep, free of nightmares. She had whispered again and, that time, Erienne caught the half-sung words and heard the little giggle as if she were being tickled.

  “We're co-ming. We're co-ming.”

  Their nighttime flight from Dordover soon after still made Erienne shudder, and her memories were of anxiety, fear and the perpetual proximity to failure; though it was now clear that they had never really been in great danger of capture. Eight days in a carriage driven by a silent elven driver preceded their uncomfortable three days in Thornewood. At the time she'd thought that ill-conceived but it had become obvious since that the Guild elves had left very little to chance. There followed a final urgent carriage ride south and east toward Arlen before they had taken ship and her cares had eased effortlessly away.

  The ship, Ocean Elm, was a tri-masted cutter, just short of one hundred feet from bowsprit to rudder. Sleek and narrow, she was built for speed, her cabin space below decks cramped but comfortable enough. Kept spotlessly clean by a crew of thirty elves, Ocean Elm was an attractive ship and felt sturdy underfoot, her dark brown stained timbers preserved against the salt water and her masts strong but supple.

  Erienne, whose experience of ocean sailing was very limited, felt immediately comfortable, and their firm but kind treatment by the busy crew helped the air of security. In their off duty moments, they delighted in Lyanna's company, the little girl wide-eyed in wonder at their antics on deck, juggling oranges, tumbling, singing and dancing. For her part, Erienne was glad for a while to be somewhere other than the centre of attention.

  And so they had rested, drinking in the fresh air, the complex smells of ship and sea, and seeing their guides at last smile as Balaia was left behind them. Ren'erei, their erstwhile driver, had found her voice and introduced her brother, Tryuun. Tryuun had done little more than bow his similarly cropped black hair and flash his deep brown eyes, the left of which, Erienne noted, had a fixed pupil and was heavily bloodshot. The socket around it too, was scarred and she was determined to ask Ren'erei about it before they reached their destination.

  Her opportunity came late one night, four days into the voyage. Supper was over and the cook pots had been stowed, though the ship's carefully netted fires still glimmered. Above them, the sails were full, the wind chasing up cloud to cover the stars. Lyanna was asleep in her bunk and Erienne was leaning on a railing, watching the water speed by beneath them, imagining what might be swimming just below its surface. She heard someone walk to stand near her and looked along to see Ren'erei mimicking her stance.

  “Mesmeric, isn't it?” she said.

  “Beautiful,” agreed the young elf. She was tanned deeply from a life around the Southern Continent, Calaius, her jet black hair cropped close to her head and into the nape of her neck. She was young, with angled green eyes, leaf-shaped ears sweeping up the sides of her head, and proud, high-boned cheeks. She was standing a few feet away and in the dark her eyes sparkled as they caught the stars’ reflection off the water.

  “How long until we get there?” asked Erienne.

  She shrugged. “If the winds stay fair, we should see the Ornouth Archipelago before sundown. Then it's a couple of days to shore, no more.”

  “And where is ‘there’? Assuming you can tell me now, that is.” Erienne had been persistent in her questioning during their carriage ride but had learned nothing of any consequence whatever.

  Ren'erei smiled. “Yes, I can tell you now,” she said. “It is an island deep inside the archipelago, which we call Herendeneth, which means ‘endless home’ in your language. I don't know if it has a common name. There are over two thousand islands in the Ornouth, many not even on a map. To chart the whole area would be the job of more than one lifetime, which is to our benefit. Herendeneth isn't much to look at from the sea, I'm afraid, all cliff and black rock where so many are all sand, lagoons and trees; but it serves our purpose.”

  “Sounds lovely,” said Erienne drily.

  “Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful inland. But if you want to get there you have to know the way. The reefs show no mercy.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “You don't, but you will.” Ren'erei chuckled. “None can reach us that don't know the channel
.”

  “They can fly.”

  “It is just barren from the sky, though appearances are deceptive.”

  “Got it all sewn up, I see,” said Erienne, her natural scepticism surfacing.

  “For three hundred years and more now, yes,” returned Ren'erei. She paused and Erienne could feel the elf studying her face. “You miss him, don't you?”

  Ren'erei’s words startled her but there it was. However subconsciously, she'd held out the hope that Denser would be able to follow them eventually but now…Gods falling, he wasn't a sailor and with the island's identity apparently disguised from the air as well…she supposed she shouldn't be surprised.

  But the truth was, she felt isolated, away from everything she knew and she missed him despite the delight that was Lyanna. She missed his touch, the sound of his voice, the feel of his breath on her neck, the strength he brought to everything he did and the support he showed her so unflinchingly, despite their long separations. And though she knew her decision had been right, the unknowables gnawed at her confidence and spoke of unseen dangers for her daughter. Denser would shore her up. They would shore each other up, only he wasn't here and she had to dig deep into her considerable reserves of strength to keep believing.

  Ren'erei helped. She was a friendly face. Respectful and understanding. Erienne made a note to keep her as close as she could for as long as she could. The Gods only knew what she would face on Herendeneth.

  “You know we would welcome him but there are others who have less sound motives for wanting to find us besides those who have already tried,” she continued, sparing her the need to answer. “They hunt us day and night and have done so for more than ten years. They and their enemies would all see us fall.”

  Erienne frowned. It didn't make sense. Surely the Dordovans were the only ones who pursued them still.