Nightchild

by James Barclay

  Hurrying down the stairs, she came upon a scene of panic in the bar as The Rookery's drinkers tried to escape the roaring tempest scouring the market square. Half of the front of the inn had been torn away, books and papers flashed through the air, tables slid and tipped, the fire blew in all directions showering hot embers and over the ringing sound of the smashing of glass, the cries of terror and pain rose like spectres.

  “The cellar, the cellar!” someone was bawling in her ear while pulling at her arm. She turned. It was Tomas, his face white, forehead cut and blood pouring into one eye. He pointed to one of the doors behind the bar, then pushed past her and out into the wreckage of his inn, kneeling by a man whose legs had been crushed by a falling beam. She watched, mute, as Tomas spoke words to the trapped man, nodded and cut his thigh deeply above the artery, holding him as his life blood flowed on to the floor and he died.

  Screams filtered in from the outside. People ran past, heading west, glancing over their shoulders and running harder. A great roaring filled the air, a deafening painful sound that beat at the ears. Diera pushed Jonas’ head into her chest and covered his exposed ear with her free hand.

  “Tomas!” she screamed. “Tomas!”

  The roaring took on a deeper intensity. A cart flew by the torn front of the inn and smashed into a wall nearby, timbers and springs scattering. The remaining people inside ducked again, clinging on to whatever they could. Tomas was shouting at them but they couldn't hear him.

  He crawled, hand over hand, back to the bar, grabbed her and pushed her to the cellar door. He wrenched it open and she stumbled down the lantern-lit stairs, hearing the door shudder shut behind them.

  In the sudden relative quiet, she could hear her own breathing, her baby's whimpers and Tomas’ cursing. Below them, the space was crammed with people. She saw Maris and Rhob hugging each other, and many others she only dimly recognised, their fear written in their expressions, their limbs quivering with exertion, and those that could still stand tending those that could not.

  Above them, a terrible rending sound was followed by a thunderous impact that shivered beams and shook dust into the air in clouds.

  “It's the inn,” gasped Tomas. “Gone. Gone.”

  Diera saw agony in his slim, blood-smeared face.

  “What can we do?” she asked.

  He turned to her and put a hand on her cheek, stroking gently with his fingers.

  “Pray,” he said. “Pray this cellar roof holds. Pray the floods don't reach here. Pray you see tomorrow's sun and that your husband finds a way to end all of this before we are all killed.”

  Diera looked at him. She understood it was all down to magic. The word had spread through the city days ago. One part of her wanted to demand what one man could possibly do. But another, deeper and more spiritual part knew they all had to believe in something.

  And Tomas chose to believe in Sol.

  Diera rocked her crying child against her chest, finding comfort in sharing the same belief. After all, he'd never let Balaia down yet.

  The Calaian Sun struggled to make real headway. The winds that had taken the Ocean Elm out of sight had backed and now blew straight up the Arl to the lake.

  With the night full and dark and the destroyed town behind them, The Raven, in dry clothes provided by the crew, had time to take stock while Jevin, their reluctant skipper, deployed as much sail as he dared and tried to read the difficult conditions. He had already reported the likelihood of having to short tack the length of the river and warned The Raven that if the Elm had been lucky, they would enter open water as much as half a day behind.

  While Darrick organised food and drink from the galley, Hirad, Ilkar and Denser stood between the narrow twin beds on which lay The Unknown and Thraun. Hirad felt helpless. He replayed over and over what had happened, searching for any ways he could have helped. He found none.

  And so the rock of The Raven lay unconscious under a WarmHeal, alive but badly damaged. Hirad wiped the corners of his eyes with his right thumb and forefinger, and felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

  “It wasn't your fault,” said Ilkar. “I cast the ForceCone.”

  Hirad looked at the elf. “It's not that. There's no blame to anyone. I just thought that there would be more you could do.”

  “If Erienne were here, we could. She's a BodyCast master.”

  “But I thought…” Hirad gestured uselessly.

  “WarmHeal can only do so much. Knitting tissue, promoting muscle growth and sealing fractures. He needs more than that. Much more,” said Ilkar.

  “So what's the situation?” Hirad hadn't even wanted to ask the question, as if not knowing would make things better.

  “The axe has smashed his hip and cracked his pelvis,” said Denser. “And that's apart from the mess it's made of his tendons, muscle, skin…We were able to fuse the pelvis and that will knit. But the hip is crushed and there are shards of bone everywhere. We aren't physicians, Hirad, and we don't have the skill to reforge in the way a BodyCast can.”

  Hirad shook his head, grasping for a conclusion. Both mages were looking studiously away from him.

  “So, will he walk?”

  Ilkar nodded. “After a fashion. The joint will stiffen and he'll be in constant pain. He'll limp heavily but he'll walk.” The elf shrugged.

  “Oh Gods,” said Hirad, the ramifications obvious. “He won't be able to fight.”

  “With a two-handed sword, no,” said Ilkar. “He won't have the balance or the strength in that leg. But he'll get by with a long sword if someone shadows his left side.”

  “He's lucky to be alive at all,” added Denser. “He's lost a massive amount of blood.”

  Hirad looked down at the big man. The mages would keep him asleep on the rolling ship for days, perhaps the whole voyage. And when he awoke, it would be as a cripple, the power and grace that were his trademark gone forever. Except there still had to be something that could be done. Hirad wasn't about to give it up.

  “Could Erienne help him?” he asked.

  “If she got to him before the muscle grew back around the joint and the bones fused completely, yes,” said Denser. “But so what?”

  “How long before it's too late?”

  “Well, we can retard the healing a little, I suppose, but the spells are already doing their work,” said Ilkar. “Three days perhaps?” He glanced at Denser, who shrugged and nodded.

  “Then we'd better get her off that ship, hadn't we?”

  For a while, all Hirad could hear was the sound of the ship ploughing through the rough river waters, the sails snapping on the masts and the timbers creaking and settling. And all he could see were Ilkar's and Denser's stunned expressions.

  “What?” he demanded, his hands spread, palms up.

  “Well I think we're both just waiting to hear how you propose to achieve this miracle,” said Ilkar.

  “It's simple,” said Hirad, the plan crystallising in his head. “Captain Jevin catches up with Elm, we fly across under cover of darkness, rage below the decks, grab Erienne and fly out. We can bring Protectors too. They can hold ShadowWings, can't they?”

  “Yes, but—” began Denser.

  “But what?”

  “When I suggested something similar back in Arlen, I was shouted down.”

  “That was different,” said Hirad.

  “Oh well, that clears it all up, thanks,” said Denser, beginning to turn away. Hirad clamped a hand on his shoulder and hauled him around.

  “I'd do it for you,” he said. “I'd do it for any of us. This time it's The Unknown.” He glared into Denser's face. “Take a good look at him, Denser. He left his wife and child behind to help you find yours. He didn't even question it. And see what it's cost him.

  “Now we will help him. I won't see him a cripple. He's Raven.”

  “So is Erienne,” muttered Denser.

  “And we're getting her too. The time wasn't right then. They were ready for attack back in Arlen. They won't be now.”
r />   Denser regarded him solemnly for a time before his mouth turned up into a wry smile.

  “You're right. We'll probably die, but you're right.”

  “Good!” Hirad clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, you need to commune with Sytkan in Arlen so he knows who of the Protectors we have on board, before punishment is invoked. Then see if you can get to Erienne. Ilkar, with me. We'll speak to Ren'erei, see what we can persuade Jevin to do. Then you can talk to me about Thraun.”

  He turned and opened the door but Denser's voice stopped him.

  “Hirad?”

  “What?”

  “I'm sorry. In the forest, you know…”

  Hirad shrugged, finding in Denser's face a genuine sorrow. He shrugged.

  “Me too. But it worked out didn't it? If we hadn't scrapped, I'd have been captured by Darrick too. So let's forget it, eh? Now let's get your wife, fix The Unknown and save your daughter. Then maybe we can work out how to send the Kaan home and I'll forgive you anything. Get communing.”

  “I'll be in here,” said Denser.

  Hirad nodded and led Ilkar out of the cabin.

  The small Protector force was quartered in the forward hold where the Dordovans had been due to billet themselves for the uncomfortable crossing of the Southern Ocean. Twenty-four had survived more or less unscathed. None that were too injured to fight after the journey had come aboard.

  They stood in a circle, hands clasped in front of them, masked heads bowed, swaying with the motion of the ship. The silence of their contemplation was matched far away in Xetesk, where the Soul Tank, deep in the catacombs, was dormant. Every surviving Protector grieved for the souls that had departed but celebrated their freedom from thrall.

  Every death lessened the whole but every released soul gave hope. For Aeb, it was a confusion of emotion, suppressed for the most part but finding voice in the silence. He knew it was the same for them all. They craved the companionship of the tank while hating the forces that had put them there, ripping their living souls from their bodies and inserting the linkage that kept them alive. The DemonChain.

  Every Protector wanted freedom from the DemonChain. None wanted to lose his brothers in so doing. Sol was the only living example and in him were all the dangers of freedom. The brotherhood could feel him and he, them. But they could not connect. He was, and would always be, one of them but outside of the net of support they shared. Yet he stood as an icon of hope, and they revered him.

  “We are one,” said Aeb, his voice filling the hold, speaking rather than pulsing as was their right when not in battle psyche.

  “We are one,” the Protectors intoned.

  “Sol lies grievously injured, his condition closed to us as is his soul. We move away from our Given. I have requested that we be assigned to Denser, the Dawnthief Master. It will be an honour we will celebrate in the Soul Tank with our brothers.

  “Prepare yourselves, near ones. Hone your blades, bathe your wounds, harden your minds. Our enemies would destroy that which would make Xetesk dominant. We will protect.

  “We are one.”

  “We are one.”

  “By the lore of the Chain, and to the mercy of the Life beyond Brotherhood, I call upon He who guides us to watch us wherever we may be. We are one,” said Aeb.

  “We are one,” they responded.

  Another short contemplation followed. Aeb returned to pulsing now action was demanded.

  Xye, we must have hot water. The elves may have cloth and balm. Ren ‘erei has the ear of the Captain.

  It will be done.

  Aeb looked around the circle. He could feel the tiredness there. They had been running for days and now, after the fight, they had no Given to channel recuperative energies along the DemonChain.

  Sit, brothers and let the air play on your faces. Fin, the door. Brothers, let the dark hide us.

  Fin moved to the hatch and slid it shut. It would open only for Xye. One by one, the lanterns were hooded, and as the blackness became complete, Aeb heard the unbuckling of straps as he pulled at his own.

  His mask came away and the blessed air played across his raw face. Smooth though the ebony was, sweating skin broke beneath it. He lowered his head, not daring even to catch the glint of a brother's eye. To do so when unmasked brought bad luck and death in the next conflict.

  It was the way things were.

  “So what have we got?” asked Hirad.

  The Raven plus Ren'erei and Darrick were sat around the Captain's table while topside Jevin was talking to his first mate and navigator.

  “Good news and bad news,” said Denser, first to respond. “Sytkan has passed the Right of Giving for the twenty-four Protectors on board to me. I'll talk to them later but suffice to say that you'll be able to use them as you need to on Herendeneth. They'll be speaking freely and will be as untethered as Protectors can be.”

  “Meaning?” asked Ilkar.

  “They won't wait to engage in preemptive offence if the opportunity arises, they will inform you if they believe you are not making best use of them and they will be in automatic charge of their own formations unless otherwise directed.”

  “So the bad?” Hirad drank a mouthful of tea. On plates across the table were hard cheese, bread and dried meat. The galley hadn't been forthcoming with vegetables.

  “Balaia is a mess. Politically, it's degenerated into something approaching inter-College warfare. There are skirmishes across the mage lands though so far Arlen's the only nonmage place hit.” Denser paused for breath. “But that's nothing to the elements. Sytkan's talk with Xetesk revealed reports of tornados in Korina, volcanic activity in the Blackthorne and Balan mountains, more hurricanes to the north and flooding all the way along the Southern Force.

  “Balaia's all but run out of time.”

  “And Erienne?” prompted Hirad.

  “Hold on,” said Denser. “I haven't finished the other bad news yet. Sytkan also reported that a Dordovan fleet has sailed from Gyernath in the last couple of days.”

  “How big and when?” asked Darrick.

  Denser shrugged and poured a fresh mug of tea. The ship rolled slightly, the mug sliding against the raised lip of the table but not spilling.

  “Details are sketchy. Gyernath itself has seen flooding,” he said. “Sytkan will try to contact me in the next two or three days if he finds more information.”

  “Can we call on more reserve?” asked Hirad.

  “That's something else Sytkan is trying to find out,” said Denser.

  “It'll make no difference,” said Darrick. “Unless my intelligence is badly astray, there are no significant Xeteskian forces within ten days of any southern port and Korina is out of action completely. That's excepting the Protector army, of course, and even if they ran back to Arlen and took ship there, they wouldn't be able to leave for a day or they'd starve at sea.”

  “And who do you think it is in charge of the Dordovans?” asked Denser.

  “Vuldaroq,” said Darrick immediately. “That fat idiot was due in Arlen days ago but never arrived. I have a feeling he might have run into trouble in the mage lands.”

  “So it's us against however many,” said Hirad. “I just hope this island is defensible.”

  “There is only one landing point on Herendeneth. The island was chosen with great care,” said Ren'erei.

  “It's not something we can worry about now,” said Ilkar. “What about Erienne?”

  “She's being shielded,” said Denser. “I suppose we should have expected that. I can't get through—not without alerting the shielding mages.” He looked down into his mug.

  “You all right, Xetesk man?” asked Hirad, still reeling from the news he'd been given of Denser's fate.

  It was only now, sitting in the relative calm of the Calaian Sun's Captain's room that the reality was sinking in. Ilkar had told Hirad almost casually that saving Lyanna would cost Denser his life but he could see now that the Julatsan was already grieving. And now he could contemplate it, the fact
sat as an ache in Hirad's stomach and wreathed his heart.

  He felt a great guilt for how he'd treated Denser in the forest outside Greythorne. All the time, he knew he was going to die and had said nothing. He wasn't sure whether that was bravery or stupidity. The Raven would support him now they knew but he could have enjoyed that support for longer.

  For all Denser was a difficult man at times, Hirad didn't want to be without him in the world. It made their arguments and silences over the last few years seem so stupid. But at the time, he'd always thought Denser would be there. Now he knew different and the thought broke him in two.

  Denser looked up, smiling sadly. “I need her near me, Hirad. We haven't got much time left together.”

  “I know, Denser, and I'm sorry,” said Hirad. “We'll get her back for you.”

  “If anyone can, The Raven can,” said Darrick.

  “I haven't quite forgotten it's because of you we're in this particular mess,” said Denser, though there was no anger in his voice.

  Darrick said nothing, merely nodded and dropped his gaze.

  “Moving swiftly on,” said Ilkar. “What did the captain say, Ren?”

  “He said he'd talk to his crew. He said he'd look at the conditions. He didn't promise anything.”

  “Well he's going to have to,” said Hirad. “I'm not interested in excuses.”

  “Can I say something?” asked Ren'erei.

  “Of course,” said Ilkar.

  “I know the captain of the Ocean Elm very well. I know he'll do everything he can to delay progress without it seeming obvious. There are a lot of tricks he can employ. You must trust Jevin, please. He's an experienced captain and he'll go as fast as he can. But you can't expect him to sacrifice his ship and crew for the sake of speed.”

  “But he must take some risks,” said Hirad. “We've only got three days.”

  “He's aware of all this,” said Ren.

  “He can always be made more aware,” returned Hirad.

  “Don't threaten him,” said Ren. “That's not the way.”