Nightchild

by James Barclay

“But we can stop them,” said Erienne. “And you can help.”

  Lyanna brightened. “Can I?”

  “Yes, it's easy. Your light that helped me find you. You should take it away or the bad people will find you as well.”

  Lyanna thought about it a moment, her bottom teeth chewing at her top lip.

  “And Daddy can find his way, even if you take the light away now,” urged Erienne.

  “When I can see him. Then I'll let them go,” said Lyanna.

  “Who?”

  “The old ladies. They are helping me.”

  And so Erienne understood the Al-Drechar's stillness. She prayed Denser got that boat here quickly. Lyanna understood on so many levels but they were uneven and unconnected. It made talking to her a challenge and understanding what she knew about her own capabilities impossible.

  “Perhaps you should let them rest now. We're all here with you. We won't let you go.”

  She hugged the little girl to her body, opening herself to the joy of the feeling and knowing it couldn't go on for much longer. Lyanna looked away to where Denser's sail grew slowly larger.

  “He'll be here soon,” she said.

  “Yes, he will,” said Erienne.

  She relaxed with her child in her arms and tried to forget how little time they had left together.

  By the time The Raven arrived, Ilkar had seen the Guild elves remove the body of Aviana, wrap her in light cotton and place her in the otherwise empty cold store. There had been no talk of burial. That was a ceremony which would have to wait and Ilkar feared that many more would be joining her below the ground when this was all over.

  His tour around the house had left him depressed at its ruin and at the prospects of defending it. He hoped that The Raven's warriors would have more idea how to plug the gaps than he had.

  He was seated in the kitchen, nursing another mug of tea when the Al-Drechar awoke. A wave of excitement and relief swept over the Guild elves and he was soon ushered into the dining room where the Al-Drechar had been made comfortable.

  Walking in, Ilkar was faced by one of the old elven women sitting propped up in her bed, a long pipe in her mouth. It was an incongruous sight but he recognised the smell of the smoke immediately and understood.

  “Lemiir,” he said as he approached. It was rare that Ilkar felt overawed but, walking toward the Al-Drechar, that was exactly how he did feel. He was in the presence of history, of great power and of living myth. It increased his pulse and made his throat go dry.

  “It is a wonderful infusion but also has great restorative powers when taken in the bowl of a pipe,” said the Al-Drechar, her voice rough and deep.

  Ilkar was ushered into a chair near the bed of the Al-Drechar. He looked into the taut, fleshless face framed by her long white hair and was captivated by her glittering, piercing eyes. In beds flanking her, the other two were watching him, both tended by Guild elves but not sitting up, their faces drained and sallow.

  “I am Ephemere,” she said. “To my left is Cleress and to my right, Myriell. It is a great regret that you did not arrive soon enough to meet our dear sister, Aviana. For her we will grieve but not just now, I fear.”

  “No,” said Ilkar. “I'm sorry for your loss. I am Ilkar, mage of The Raven and Julatsa. I take it since you're awake that Erienne has persuaded Lyanna to disperse her beacon.”

  “Yes. She is a girl of staggering talent. It's a great shame we weren't strong enough to keep her shielded in her Night for longer. I'm afraid she has no idea of the consequences to others around her of what she does.”

  “So I understand,” said Ilkar. “I'm sorry to rush you but I need to apprise you of our current situation and I also have to understand the condition of you and your sisters.”

  Ephemere raised a brittle smile. “I suspect neither of us have much good news.”

  “No,” agreed Ilkar. “I'm afraid there was a great deal of trouble in Arlen when we tried to meet Erienne and now there is a significant force not far behind us. Along with The Raven, we have brought twenty-four Xeteskian Protectors to help us. But the Dordovans outnumber us, we don't know by how much, and they could be attacking us tonight. They'll kill everyone here unless they are stopped.”

  “How interesting where the College alliances fall. I am not surprised that Xetesk seeks to aid us, or that the Dordovans seek to destroy us. Fear and ignorance are powerful forces. But you, Ilkar of Julatsa, where do your loyalties lie?”

  “As a Julatsan I'm worried about the return of the One magic,” said Ilkar. “It is a threat, however small that threat appears as I sit here. But Erienne and Denser are my friends. They are Raven and I will do anything I can to help them.”

  “And you are an elf, Ilkar. Honour and respect are part of your makeup.”

  Ilkar nodded. “But you. How are you now you've awoken?”

  “I take it this house is in something of a state?” asked Ephemere as if she hadn't heard his question.

  “That's a considerable understatement,” said Ilkar. “And that's why I have to know what you're capable of. The Dordovans will attack us with magic and we must have the house shielded. We can't hope to plug all the gaps effectively but at least we can stop the magic hurting us.”

  “It's a question I can't answer now,” said Ephemere. “We've been so drained by Lyanna's demands for so long now. We're old and our powers of recuperation are limited these days. Keeping her in her Night was hard enough but she has used our reserves for her extraordinary light. We will dress, eat, exercise in our orchard if there's anything left of it, and tell you later. But don't expect too much, please.”

  Ilkar rose, feeling the meeting was over. He felt awkward in their presence, like a boy mage before a great master. “I'm sorry to press but The Raven musters just three mages and the Dordovans could have twenty times that. The situation is severe.”

  “Before you go, tell me two things. What of the crew of the Ocean Elm and Ren'erei?”

  “Ren'erei is with us and safe,” said Ilkar. “But the crew were taken by the Black Wing Witch Hunters and I fear for them, I'm sorry.” He shrugged. “And there's something else?”

  “I could be mistaken but while I was asleep I felt the touch of ancient minds seeking us out. Powerful minds. It's been a long time since I sensed Kaan dragons.”

  Ilkar nodded. “You weren't mistaken. Three Kaan helped us during our voyage here. One was killed by Dordovan magic and the other two are badly hurt. Too badly to help us any further. They're resting in the archipelago somewhere.”

  “Hmm, their minds were quiet, almost resigned. You must tell me later how they came to be here. Perhaps we can help them.”

  “With their health, I'm sure you can, but they need more. The path to their dimension is lost and they are marooned on Balaia. That's why they and Hirad Coldheart have come here. Hirad is Sha-Kaan's Dragnonene.”

  “Sha-Kaan is here?” gasped Ephemere. “Such magnificence. I must speak to this Hirad.”

  Ilkar raised his eyebrows and suppressed a smile. That was one conversation he didn't want to miss. He turned to go, the door to the ballroom being opened by Arrin.

  “Ilkar?” It was Ephemere. He turned. “I would so love to see Erienne and Lyanna. Please, could you tell them we are ready for them?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Poor Erienne.”

  Ilkar frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “I think you know. I can see the sadness in your face too. We had hoped that it wouldn't come to this but we are so weary. We don't have the strength and I'm afraid there will be no other way.”

  Ilkar walked away across the wreckage of the ballroom, a hope he didn't know he had harboured, extinguished within him.

  Hirad strode through the partially collapsed entrance of the house, happy to be on dry land again. Behind him, Denser was enjoying his reunion with Lyanna. The Unknown, his hip painful after the uncomfortable journey from the Calaian Sun, was taking his time, limping up the path.

  With glass crunching u
nderfoot, Hirad wandered into a big, damp-smelling entrance hall, saw to his right collapsed beams and doorways and so headed left.

  “Ilkar?” He walked up a long, soaking corridor, counted the doors off on his left and looked right out on to an orchard. Drifts of leaves lay in sheltered areas and away across the ranks of damaged trees he could see hints of the demolition job that had been done on other parts of the house. Above him, water dripped through holes in the ceiling and large splinters of wood were scattered along the length of the corridor.

  A door opened ahead. Ilkar came out and walked down to him.

  “Hirad, we're in trouble.”

  “Glad you noticed.”

  “No, not all this. The Al-Drechar. One of them is dead, the other three not far off. If they can't shield even part of this place…”

  “Right,” said Hirad. “Have you been around the house?”

  “Yes and it's not good. I'll show you when The Unknown and Darrick get here. How far are the Protectors behind?” asked Ilkar.

  “An hour, The Unknown says.”

  “How is he?”

  Hirad scratched his head and looked over his shoulder. “Is there some food anywhere? I'm starving.”

  “Sure.”

  Ilkar took Hirad to the kitchen and sat him down with some soup and a mug of tea. The gorgeous smell of baking bread filled the room.

  “Bread's still in, sorry,” said Ilkar. “Now, The Unknown. And no stalling.”

  “Well, it's not good. He wouldn't sit down the whole journey and now he's walking up the path like an old man. I thought Erienne was supposed to have sorted him out. Doesn't look much like it to me.”

  “Bloody hell, Hirad,” said Ilkar sharply. “Seven days ago he was practically dead. Now he's up and walking about. What more do you want? She's rebuilt his hip, knitted back muscle and tendon but she's not a miracle worker. The job isn't anywhere near finished yet and he'll never be the same as he was. There was too much damage. Right now, he needs gentle exercise and plenty of rest and he's not going to get either. What you've got now is the best you're going to get for the fight to come, so deal with it. The question is, can he? That's what I'm asking.”

  “Hmm.” Hirad ate his soup. It was a tasty thick vegetable broth, filling enough that he hardly missed the bread. “I know what you're saying. I just want him to be the warrior we all know and he's not. Not at the moment.”

  “And up here?” Ilkar tapped his head.

  Hirad shrugged. “He wants to believe that he can fight like before but it's pretty obvious he won't be able to. I think it'll affect his confidence and that's why he's asked for Aeb to be on his left. I mean, Darrick's a more than capable fighter but he's no Protector, is he?”

  “Yes,” said Ilkar. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

  “Not let on that we're worried about him, for a start.”

  A door to the kitchen from the ballroom swung open and The Unknown limped in.

  “Then you'd better keep your voices down or he'll hear you,” he said. Ilkar closed his eyes.

  Darrick stood looking at the collapsed west wing from outside in the orchard. The Al-Drechar were tottering about behind him in the company of Erienne, Lyanna, Ren'erei and the Guild elves. There were no grounds for confidence there and precious little more in front of him.

  With the light fading fast and prospects for an attack growing as night took over, he'd come straight from his long boat to survey the house. To his surprise The Raven had put the defensive decisions in his hands while they discussed what to do about the Dordovan mages. He knew it was a mark of their respect for his ability but even so, they were The Raven. He couldn't deny the pride he felt.

  Having established that there was nowhere else to hide or protect anyone on the island, he'd turned his attention to defending the house. Already, Protectors were blocking rear entrances to the main building and the three standing wings; and more were assessing the main entrance.

  Signalling Aeb to come with him, he walked down the orchard toward the front of the house, taking in the tumbled brick, slate and wood and the teetering roof where it sat on unsound foundations. Much of the huge wing had slipped into a crack in the ground but beyond the immediate devastation, there were walls still standing. The two men walked through the warped wooden doors into the main entrance hall, took in the work on the entrance and stopped by a series of doors into the west wing.

  “Here,” said Darrick. “All this needs to come down. I don't want there to be any way they can come in this side. Send some to the far end and do the same there as necessary. Our main problem will then be entry through the orchard, through the three eastern wings and through the ballroom roof, if they find the hole. And there, of course,” said Darrick, pointing at the main entrance. “Gods but this place isn't going to be easy.”

  “It will be done,” said Aeb.

  They walked across the hall and up the corridor with the orchard on their right. There were three pairs of double doors, one leading into each of the wings which Erienne had described as insect legs from above. The first housed what were now little-used rooms, the middle, the Al-Drechar, and the last one the Guild quarters. That latter had passages into the ballroom, kitchens and store rooms. There were also return ways to the other wings. It was a warren of passages that troubled Darrick.

  “We could bring the ceilings down,” said Aeb.

  “But it doesn't necessarily stop access. These structures are sound enough, unlike the opposite side. They can come in through any window, any hole. And we have to assume we will win. We can't demolish the place unless we have to.” He looked into the impassive mask of Aeb. The Protector's eyes gave not a flicker, his shoulders not a shrug.

  “Victory first, living later,” he said.

  They were walking along the central corridor of the first wing. Doors led left and right to suites of rooms, dining areas, bathing facilities, indoor fountains, and roofed rock pools. Though the area had been soaked by flood water and rain that washed in through broken roof tiles and shattered windows, the structure didn't appear to be weakened.

  “I understand your thoughts but we have a responsibility to those we eventually leave behind,” replied Darrick. That said, every turn they took increased his sense of desperation. Less than thirty warriors to defend a house that could have housed hundreds.

  They walked through a service passage that linked the ends of all three wings, finishing in the Guild wing. They took a quick look at the passages to the kitchens and beyond, assessed the entrances into the wing from outside and returned to the service passage.

  “This,” said Darrick. “This has to be blocked in two places. We can't afford free movement through here.”

  “Even our best efforts will not stop them forever.”

  “I know,” said Darrick. “It's a question of driving them to where we want them to come, then withdrawing to the next dead point if we have to. It could be a very long day.”

  Aeb nodded. “They will all have to die.”

  Spread among the masted skiffs and overcrowded long boats, the Dordovans made slow but steady going toward the island. The sun had gone down but a pale light still filtered across the sky from the moon, reflecting off the sea. The weather had calmed and, with cloud cover light and broken, Vuldaroq felt that at last things were beginning to go the right way.

  But looking back over his shoulder, his eyes enhanced to banish the encroaching gloom, he'd have had to take his courage in both hands to say so. Etched on the dimming horizon was the outline of the lead ship, its masts canted at a crazy angle, spars dipping in the water. He could still recall the awful sound of grinding wood on stone, the tearing out of the hull and the rush of water as it washed through the crippled vessel.

  The remaining two ships had come about in a hurry, their captains roaring orders across the sudden panic of their decks, their wheels dragged round to force tight turns to starboard, the gusting wind driving them on, the fear of what lay beneath the water sa
wing at nerves. The dread vibration underfoot that would become a shuddering stop and a pitching of the deck that would signify disaster.

  Casualties had been light but the entire force of soldiers and mages had been forced into the flotilla of skiffs and long boats. They had carried all the surviving small craft from the original fleet of seven, leaving space for something just short of one hundred and fifty bodies. It was enough, but Vuldaroq could already see the tiredness in the warriors who would be forced to row much of the night to make the island, and his mages were taking turns to fly alongside the overloaded boats, draining them of vital stamina.

  Even so, he was confident now. They would make the island well before dawn and set up a camp to give them some rest at least before first light saw them destroy the pitiful resistance that The Raven and their handful of Protectors would offer. The dragons were gone and he hoped they presented no real threat anyway. They were damaged and susceptible to focused mass casting and, without their fire, had to come close to inflict losses.

  He turned his gaze forward again and could just make out the island in the distance. The extraordinary mana light column had gone but it had served its purpose for them all and with elves on the tillers of every boat, he had no fear of them driving too close to the shore or of making a wrong turn.

  Still, there were preparations to be made. He signalled one of the mages who flew alongside his boat.

  “It's time for our esteemed assassins to do a little work,” he said. “I need to know the layout of any landing points, positioning of guards, buildings and any entry points. I want to know the type of terrain, the potential direction for our attacks and I want to know whether there are any other forces there bar the ones we already know about.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” said the mage, a young man with scared eyes. “How many do you want to despatch?”

  “All of them,” said Vuldaroq. “And tell them not to engage unless their lives are directly threatened. Tell them to fly in below the level of the headland and to Cloak the moment they hit dry land. I don't want The Raven even knowing they've been there.”