Nightchild

by James Barclay

  “Except Lyanna.”

  Denser shrugged. “Yeah, except Lyanna. Possibly. Look, Ilkar, Vuldaroq is not interested in any multidisciplined mage being nurtured by anyone. He told me Balaia didn't want another Septern. That's why, if he can't control her, he'll kill her.”

  “So you want to find them?” said Ilkar.

  “No, I want to offer them up to Dordover, chained to sacrificial altars,” replied Denser.

  “Just checking you hadn't completely lost your sense of humour.”

  “Of course I want to find them.”

  “And do what, exactly?” asked Ilkar. “And that's a serious question.”

  Denser regarded him as if he were an imbecile.

  “Ilkar, they are my family. I have to protect them.”

  “I think we both understand that,” said The Unknown. He put down the sandwich he had made but not eaten while he'd listened, and leant forward. Ilkar had to smile; he'd lost none of his instant authority. “But you have been depicting the might of Dordovan magic lined up against us. What do you hope to achieve?”

  “A warning, if it's needed. Organisation too. Erienne and Lyanna are already well protected, I know it. But we can help. We even the odds.”

  “Who?” asked Ilkar.

  “The Raven.”

  Ilkar took a long draw on his coffee, feeling the strong bitter taste flood down his throat. He'd known his fate the moment he'd seen The Unknown and Denser come through his gate together. Whatever The Raven could do, he had to help. Futile, possibly. Deadly, probably, if Lyanna and Erienne were in the hands of the power Denser thought they were. But whatever, he had to make sure they understood what they were up against.

  “Denser, there's something you need to know.”

  “Go on. I feel sure it won't be to my advantage.”

  “We've been seeing random mana activity in the sky. Lightning, flaring, showers, that sort of thing. Not a lot but definitely odd. We got talking about it a few days ago. Have you heard of the Tinjata Prophecy?”

  Denser shook his head.

  “Didn't think so. Neither had I, though perhaps you should have done. Haven't you researched the Sundering at all?”

  “Not really,” said Denser. “Beyond conditions for producing a child with the correct potential and those are well enough documented in Xetesk, I don't think Erienne even disturbed the dust in the open vaults. Who was this Tinjata, then?”

  “Well Erienne should certainly have heard of him. He was the first High Elder mage of Dordover.”

  “She probably has,” said Denser. “But she hasn't told me about him.”

  “Never mind. We'll ask her when we find her. The point is that Tinjata was instrumental in the Sundering and culpable in a number of horrific actions against mages of the One, the Al-Drechar. He formulated a prophecy based on some kind of extrapolation of mana theory and dimensional connectivity—the roots are long gone—and he posted it as a warning to all who believed in the continuation of the four-College structure.”

  “How do you know all this?” Denser was frowning.

  “I asked around. Do you remember Therus? He helped you in the library during the siege? Well, he survived. He's an ancient writings archivist and the time around the Sundering is an area of particular specialisation for him. And that includes the Tinjata Prophecy.”

  “And?” Denser beckoned Ilkar to speak it.

  “Right. Well, Therus’ knowledge is incomplete because the Dordovans would never let him into their library but the summary is enough. ‘When the Innocent rides the elements, and the land lies flat and riven; the Sundering shall be undone and from the chaos shall rise the One, never again to fall.’ Pretty clear, don't you think?” Ilkar felt his heart beating as he spoke the words, finding it impossible to imagine Lyanna, a child he had never seen, presiding over the destruction of Balaia. The idea was frankly ludicrous.

  Denser and The Unknown were quiet. The big man finished his sandwich while he thought, the Xeteskian's brows arrowed in as he digested Ilkar's words.

  “And that's what Therus thinks your lightning flashes are all about, does he?” asked Denser. “My child being this ‘Innocent’? One flash of lightning and the end of the world is coming?”

  “Denser, you know what you hoped Lyanna would be. And perhaps she will be the first of a new race of mages, but there are wider implications,” said Ilkar.

  “Well, what's certainly clear is that if the Dordovan Quorum believe the prophecy, they'll be desperate to recapture Lyanna,” said The Unknown. “Or do something to stop her.”

  “So what you're saying is that Lyanna is some form of destructive power, according to Tinjata,” said Denser.

  “Or maybe the catalyst for something. We've seen lightning in a cloudless sky already and that is a clear elemental anomaly. And you know as well as I do the stories that have been going round. Tidal waves, hurricanes, thunderstorms lasting for days…hardly one bolt of lightning, Denser. Therus says they're all mentioned in the prophecy.

  “And who are these people you think Erienne has gone to? What if they don't want to train Lyanna but to use her as a focus? We have to consider the possibility.”

  “But don't forget on the other hand that, whatever the evidence, Tinjata would have had a vested interest in painting his findings as black as he could,” said Denser.

  Ilkar nodded. “Also true. Look, I'm not for one moment saying that we should leave Lyanna to the Dordovans, or anyone for that matter, besides you and Erienne.”

  “What are you saying then?” asked Denser.

  “That we should be aware of the wider picture while we search. Putting aside whether the prophecy is true or not, or even relevant to this debate, Dordover will act on the premise that it might be; and their actions, if not stemmed, will divide the Colleges, and none of us want that. It doesn't take a genius to see Dordover and Lystern seeing a threat to their independence and identity, and Xetesk looking to broker power and ultimately force a reunion as the dominant party. It all hinges on who controls Lyanna. As for Julatsa, well—” he gave Denser a rueful smile “—we're nowhere, but no less determined to see our magic and beliefs survive.”

  Denser rested his head in his hands, pulling them down his face and talking through his fingers. “Ilkar, you're taking this too far,” he said. “She's one child. She can't do anything alone.”

  “From what you've told me yourself, the Dordovans clearly don't share that view,” returned Ilkar.

  “And we are fairly sure she isn't alone,” added The Unknown.

  Ilkar sighed and drained his coffee. “Look, Denser, you have to make a full report to Xetesk on this. You know you do. Gods, I don't suppose they even know Erienne is gone yet. The point is that they can apply significant pressure on the Dordovans to curb any designs they may have on Lyanna's life. That leaves us to search for your family unmolested, so to speak.”

  “Officially, anyway,” said The Unknown. He stretched his arms above his head, his shoulder muscles bunching, shirt stitching pulling.

  “One more thing,” said Ilkar. “This is going to spread. The rumours about Lyanna have been around even here, though as no more than a point of interest. But soon there'll be a lot of questions, particularly if Colleges start throwing their weight around. Tinjata's prophecy intimates a return to the One Way and that bothers most mages, me included.

  “We can't afford a conflict so let's tread a little carefully, eh?”

  Denser shrugged and his mouth twitched up at the corners. “You're right. I know you're right. That's probably why I came here first. I needed a level-headed view. Thanks, Ilkar.”

  “A pleasure. Right, I suggest a day's rest for you while I sort out my affairs here and make my excuses, then a ride to Dordover and then to Xetesk.”

  “Why Dordover?” asked Denser.

  “Because Therus is away from Julatsa and you really need to read the prophecy, and that's where the original lore script and translation are held. Assuming they'll let you in.”

/>   “And someone must have seen something of Erienne at the time she was escaping,” said The Unknown. “You just have to ask the right questions. Hmm. We could do with Will or Thraun. They knew Dordover's underbelly well. Still, perhaps their names will open a few doors.”

  “There's something missing here,” said Ilkar.

  “Hirad,” said The Unknown, nodding.

  “We'll collect him after we've been to Xetesk,” said Denser.

  “It won't be that simple,” warned The Unknown. “After all, his dragons are still here.”

  Hirad kicked sand over the fire outside his single-roomed stone-and-thatch hut and walked into the Choul. It was not ideal, not for a Kaan dragon. The wind echoed down the gaping maw of a cave forty feet wide, spreading a chill in the winter months for which even three dragons nested together could not fully compensate.

  What they really needed was the heat and mud of a Kaan dwelling, but for that Hirad had to have builders, ironsmiths and labourers. And as with so much that concerned the saviours of Balaia, people simply turned their backs and chose to forget.

  To a point, Hirad understood. Half a day's ride away in Blackthorne, the Baron still struggled to rebuild his dismembered town. And he alone had sent people to help make the mountain as comfortable as it could be. At least Hirad had a roof separate to that of the Kaan, and a lean-to stable for his nervous horse.

  Lighting a lantern, Hirad turned the wick low, aware that his dwindling oil supply would force a trip to Blackthorne before long. Increasingly, he was anxious at leaving the dragons, even for a day and a night. One day, hunters would attack while he was gone.

  Walking into the Choul, Hirad pulled his furs tight about him. It was a cold night, unseasonably so, and rain had fallen for much of the day. He yearned for a warm inn with roaring fire, ale in one hand, woman in the other. But he couldn't forget what he owed Sha-Kaan. It seemed, though, that he was the only one.

  The stench of dragon filled his nostrils. Undeniably reptilian, it was layered with wood and oil and a sour taint that he knew was exhaled from huge lungs. It wasn't a smell you could ignore but it could be endured. Around a sweeping shallow bend, widened by Blackthorne's men, was a low, domed cavern, big enough for ten dragons. In its centre lay three, and their enormity staggered Hirad no less than it had the first time.

  An initial glance revealed a mass of golden scales, moving with indrawn breaths and glittering faintly in the lantern light. A second glance, along with a boosting of the lantern wick, revealed three Kaan dragons. Nos-and Hyn-Kaan lay to either flank, tails coiled, necks laid inward, bodies dwarfing Hirad as he watched, wings furled tight, claws skittering against the rough floor, tiny movements giving great comfort.

  And in their midst, fully a quarter and more their size again, lay Sha-Kaan, Great Kaan of his Brood, exiled by choice to save two dimensions. His head lifted as Hirad entered the Choul and his one-hundred-and-twenty-foot body rippled along its ageing, dulling golden length. Hirad walked to the Great Kaan, standing before the mouth that could swallow him whole.

  “I trust you enjoyed your meal, Hirad Coldheart,” rumbled Sha-Kaan, voice sounding only in Hirad's head.

  “Yes, thank you, it was an unexpected feast,” replied the barbarian, recalling the sheep Sha-Kaan had deposited outside his hut, undamaged but for a neatly broken neck.

  “When we can, we provide,” said Sha-Kaan.

  “Though the farmer might right rue the fact you chose his flock.” Hirad smiled.

  “Surely a small price for our continuing sacrifice.” Sha-Kaan did not share Hirad's humour.

  The barbarian's smile faded and his heart beat a flurry as unsettling thoughts crowded his head for an instant. He stared deep into Sha-Kaan's eyes and saw in them an intense sadness, like grief at a loss; the kind of enduring emptiness The Unknown spoke of when his link with the Protectors was severed.

  “What's wrong, Great Kaan?”

  Sha-Kaan blinked slowly and breathed in, Hirad feeling the air flow past him.

  “This place ages us,” he said. “It dampens our fire, dries our wings and starves our minds. The Brood psyche cannot sustain what it cannot touch. You have done everything you can, Hirad, and our gratitude will not fade. But our eyes dim, our scales dull and our muscles protest our every movement. Your dimension drains us.”

  A chill stole down Hirad's neck and spread through his body.

  “You're dying?” he ventured.

  Sha-Kaan's startling blue eyes reflected the lantern light as he stared.

  “We need to go home, Hirad Coldheart. Soon.”

  Hirad bit his lip and strode from the Choul, his anger brimming, his frustration complete. There would have to be action.

  In the warming early morning, following a breakfast of fruits, milk and rye bread, Lyanna played in the orchard, skipping around trees and singing to herself, engrossed in a game the rules of which Erienne couldn't fathom as she watched from a bench.

  The night had been quiet and peaceful. Lyanna hadn't woken and as a result, had risen refreshed and full of energy. Erienne was glad, knowing she'd need it all and more. This was the calm soon to be shattered and Erienne felt a dreadful anxiety grip her as she watched her little girl play. Her innocence, her essential childishness, her carefree spirit, all were about to be deluged by an overwhelming need to unlock and then control the power within her.

  And last night, as she had sat alone in the dining room, sipping at her wine and thinking, she had reached an inescapable truth. Lyanna was to be changed forever and it didn't take a great leap of understanding to realise that the risk of this change was mortal. If for any reason her teaching went astray, Lyanna would die.

  “Come here, my sweet.” Erienne held out her arms, the desire to hug her child so strong it hurt. Lyanna trotted over and Erienne crushed her in an embrace she never wanted to release. But all too soon, Lyanna struggled and Erienne allowed her to pull away.

  “You promise me you'll be good and listen to your teachers?” she asked, stroking Lyanna's hair.

  Lyanna nodded. “Yes, Mummy.”

  “And you'll try to do everything they ask?”

  Another nod.

  “It's important, you know. And I'll be here if you need me.” She looked into Lyanna's eyes. All the Dordovan training had been taken in her stride, accepted like learning to use knife, fork and spoon. This could be the same but somehow Erienne didn't think so. “Gods, I wonder if you have any real idea what's happening?” she breathed.

  “Of course I do, Mummy,” said Lyanna. Erienne laughed.

  “Oh, darling, I'm sorry. Of course you do. Tell me, then.”

  “The teachers will help me chase away the bad things. And then they will open the other magic doors and then show me how to hold the wind in my head.”

  Erienne gasped. Her heart lurched. She was too young, surely, to have any concept. Erienne had anticipated rote learning. It seemed she was wrong.

  “How do you know all that?”

  “They told me,” said Lyanna. “They told me last night.”

  “When?”

  “While I was sleeping.”

  “Oh, did they?” Erienne felt a sour taste in her mouth and a quickening of her pulse.

  The door to the orchard opened and Cleress stepped outside, a broad smile on her face. Gone was the tottering of the night before, replaced by an almost youthful stride.

  “Is she ready?” she asked brightly.

  “Well, apparently you know more about that than I do,” said Erienne sharply.

  “What's wrong?”

  “Next time you wish to invade my child's mind while she sleeps, you will have the decency to ask me first, is that clear?”

  Cleress’ smile was brittle. “We must prepare her, and there are many things she will not accept awake that her subconscious mind will.”

  “Cleress, you aren't listening.” Erienne stood up, putting Lyanna down and holding her close. “I didn't say, don't do it. Gods, I brought her here because I believe
you know exactly what you are doing. I merely want you to check with me first. No one understands Lyanna like I do. Sometimes she needs her solitude.”

  “Very well.” Cleress scowled.

  “She's my daughter, Cleress. Don't any of you forget that.”

  “I understand.” She nodded at last. “We've been alone a long time.”

  “Let's just get started, shall we?”

  Denser had no trouble gaining access to the Dordovan College library despite it being after dark, when the grounds were closed to all but College mages and staff. Indeed, on The Raven's arrival in the city the previous day, Vuldaroq had been anxious to help them in their investigations and offer any information available. He had even welcomed Denser and Ilkar's suggestion that they read the Tinjata Prophecy but had extended his official invitation to Denser alone.

  Denser was, of course, extremely suspicious. But, with The Unknown and Ilkar out combing the streets for contacts and anything the Dordovans had missed, there was nothing for him to do but read and hope it became apparent why Vuldaroq had been so accommodating.

  The original Tinjata Prophecy was kept under airtight glass in another part of the College. What Denser's assigned archivist produced for him was a large leather-bound volume, light brown and titled in embossed gold leaf. It contained upward of sixty thick parchment pages, the left-hand pages being a transcript of the original lore, the right, a translation, which was incomplete.

  Denser had asked why there were blanks in apparently random places, to be told that those parts of the lore were for the eyes of lore scribes only. He had frowned, curiosity aroused, and read what he could.

  The early pages turned out to be a rambling account of the dangers of inter-College sexual union, the threat to Balaia of a return of the One Way of magic, and the importance of identifying and retarding the development of any such mage identified.