Nightchild

by James Barclay

  “Oh Gods,” he said. He got up and ran low at the nearest mage, praying he wouldn't prepare in time.

  Lyanna clung to her mother as she got up and ran back into the ballroom and toward the kitchen. The man with the sword came from nowhere and struck Erienne across the side of the face. She went down hard, Lyanna screaming as she tumbled from her mother's arms and slithered across the ballroom floor. She refused to cry and got up to run back to Erienne but the man stopped her, pushing her away.

  “You're going back home to die, little one, but not before you see me kill your bitch of a mother.”

  His voice wasn't right but she understood him.

  “You don't hurt my Mummy,” she said, then raised her voice and shrieked. “You don't hurt my Mummy!”

  Ilkar staggered under an enormous pressure in the mana as he tried to attune to the spectrum, aiming to prepare as he ran. In front of him, six mages rocked as one, their hands clamping on their ears. Whatever they had been creating was gone. Ilkar would have killed the lot of them but the power assailing the mana pushed him to his knees. He groped around, looking for help. Hirad surged through the door, Protectors at his heels and, in the middle of it all, the mana light was pouring into Lyanna.

  Hirad saw Selik standing over the prone form of Erienne as he burst into the ballroom. Lyanna was standing alone screaming but he couldn't worry about that now.

  “Selik!” he said, advancing. “I said there'd be another time.”

  The Black Wing, sword in hand, swung to face him, his smeared features curling into a travesty of a smile.

  “I knew I'd never get out of here alive but at least I'll have torn the heart from The Raven. First you, and then the bitch.” He kicked out, catching her in the stomach. She groaned where she lay. Lyanna screamed louder.

  “Dream on, Black Wing,” snarled Hirad. He ran forward.

  Every surviving pane of glass in the house exploded into a thousand fragments. Every piece of plaster cracked and fell. Beams ruptured, roof slates showered down and the floor rocked beneath them.

  A great howling wind thrummed through the house. The orchard walls exploded outward, the corridor pitched, its roof buckled and caved in. Hirad, like Selik, was flung from his feet. He rolled over, saw Lyanna stock still in the madness and then Ilkar, screaming in pain, blood running from his nose and ears.

  The noise of the wind snatched the sound but he could see the agony.

  “Ilkar!” The elf couldn't hear him. He had to get him to safety.

  He dragged himself to his feet and fought the blistering gale for the few yards to where his friend lay hunched in foetal position, his face contorted. He tried to shout again but it was no use. He looked around, saw the Dordovan mages suffering the same fate, and fixed his gaze on Lyanna. If she wasn't stopped, every mage in the house would be killed.

  Denser dropped to the ground as the floor heaved and split. The Unknown turned to help him, seeing the roof blast upward above him and collapse all along its length, showering timber and slate everywhere. The Dordovan charge had faltered and broken, men covering their heads and running right and backward, desperate to escape the destruction.

  Wood struck The Unknown on the shoulder as he leant to pick the prone mage from the floor, the pain from his hip sending his head spinning. Wind, the like of which he'd never heard or felt before, pushed him flat, his face close to the Xeteskian's.

  “Denser, what is this!” he shouted.

  “Lyanna,” he managed through gritted teeth, a line of blood oozing from a nostril. “Erienne has got to shield her. She's dragging it all in and she won't be able to…to hold it. Get them to the kitchen. The Al-Drechar.”

  The Unknown thought he understood.

  “Darrick, help me!”

  “No,” said Darrick, yelling into his ear. “I've got to find Ren. I can't leave her out there.” And he ran right toward the doors to the orchard.

  The Unknown picked Denser up and turned to see Aeb fighting his way to the ballroom door. The big man staggered after him, turning his face against the hurricane and raising an arm to knock aside the hunks of plaster that flew at him.

  Inside, the sound was even greater.

  Aeb, if you can hear me. Bring the girl and Erienne. We have to get to the Al-Drechar.

  Aeb looked over to The Unknown and nodded. Instantly, brother Protectors turned and started crawling across the floor. One encircled Lyanna with a huge arm, two others picked up Erienne. Behind The Unknown, the Dordovans were coming on again, leaning into the wind, picking their way across the rubble and their fallen comrades. Lyanna was buying them some time but, from the pain on her face, it was destroying her mind.

  The kitchen was an oasis of calm but keeping it that way was killing the Al-Drechar very quickly. All three sat up in their beds, hands clasped together, their shield pushing outward, barely making it beyond the table in the centre of the room. Outside it, the mana was in havoc. Anything that hadn't been secured had been picked up and flattened against wall or shield. Mugs were shattered, chairs so much match wood and the table itself had been sliding across the floor to crush them when they had stopped it.

  Ephemere fought to reach out with her mind, to bring Lyanna into the boundary, to calm her. But she was too far away and too far gone. For Erienne, the time was now or it would be never.

  The door from the ballroom burst open. The defending Protector made to strike but instead bent to drag in Hirad and Ilkar. He slammed shut the door after them and stood ready again, impassive, unmoving, the gale picking at his clothing as he stood just within the boundaries of the shield.

  “Where is she, Ephy?” moaned Myriell. “We can't hold this.”

  “Outside,” gasped Hirad. “They're still outside.” He looked down on Ilkar who was mercifully still breathing and ran for the door into the dining room.

  “Hurry, Hirad,” said Ephemere. “Hurry.”

  But he had no need to. Falling almost into his arms, a Protector stumbled in with Lyanna. He sprawled into the compass of the shield and the howling, splintering and tearing stopped as if someone had cut a rope and dropped a curtain. The Al-Drechar's shield had stopped the mana pouring into Lyanna, her mind not schooled enough to evade the lattice they had made.

  Footsteps could be heard, gathering in volume and, as the shout to arms rang around the wreckage of the house and the Dordovans gathered themselves for one last surge, The Unknown hobbled in with Denser and supported by Aeb. They were followed closely by a pair of Protectors carrying Erienne.

  On the ground in the kitchen, the tortured Protector was dead, killed by a brother. For him and his soul, it was blessed release.

  “Get these doors blocked,” said The Unknown. “We're out of time.”

  “It has to be now, Erienne,” muttered Denser. “Goodbye my love.”

  The Unknown put him down and started to haul the table to block the ballroom entrance. Denser crawled over to Erienne who pushed herself groggily up on her hands. The pair of them looked at Lyanna, who lay stiff as a board in the arms of the Protector who'd saved her.

  “Leave her, defend us,” said Denser.

  “Yes, my Master,” said the Protector, laying her on the floor.

  “Erienne?” said Ephemere gently. “You know what it is you must do.”

  Erienne nodded, pulled her child into her arms, lay back against Denser and prepared to enter the mind of the One, knowing she would never return.

  Darrick ran right toward the north doors to the orchard, keeping below window level and in the deep shadows cast by the flames that still ripped through the trees. All around him, the quiet after the mana gale heightened every sound and he heard Dordovans shouting from behind but nothing from ahead. He reached the doors, which had splintered from their hinges, and crept into the blazing quadrangle, running to the right-hand wall which had been blown apart by Lyanna's brief but devastating mana gale.

  Darrick's crouching run took him swiftly from shadow to shadow, his eyes fighting to focus in what
was an alien landscape. Most of the trees were down, many turned to ashes by the Flame Orbs, and the fires still ate into the wet bark all over the orchard. The blue-tinged orange and yellow light leapt and danced in the natural wind that blew across the big open space. Already, he had seen the charred and twisted bodies of four mages and a male elf.

  To his right, Dordovans ran up the ruined corridor toward the ballroom. Too many of them. Even given the Protectors in the kitchen and The Raven going to join them, there were too many enemies. It was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.

  Darrick cursed himself for a fool. He had seriously underestimated the weight of mage attack that the Dordovans had thrown into the orchard and now it was up to him to change things. Until the orchard was taken, they'd been holding the first perimeter comfortably, wearing the Dordovans slowly down. He had really felt they could win and leave Erienne clear to do what she had to do. But now, it was desperate. And if the Dordovans broke through into the kitchen, everything would be in vain.

  The Lysternan General carried on to the south doors. Five more Dordovan mages lay dead. Arrows had brought them down and their throats had been cut before the fires took their bodies. Darrick knelt by the last one, looking around. At least one elf had survived to wield the knife.

  He waited, watching for movement, and felt the edge of an arrow against his neck.

  “I should teach you some tracking skills,” said Ren, removing the arrow. “What are you doing here?”

  Darrick looked round. Ren was right behind him with another elf just behind her. She had an ugly burn across her right cheek and blood ran from a deep cut by her left ear. She was shivering.

  “Looking for you,” said Darrick. “The Dordovans are at the third perimeter. The Raven can't keep them away for long. We have to do something. Any ideas?”

  Ren nodded. “Just one.”

  The surviving six Protectors went three to a door. The Unknown had dragged the table over to block one, its broad top covering it completely. Two of them leant against it, leaving the entrance from the dining room the only option for attack. The Dordovans took it.

  Blow after blow splintered the timbers and the Protectors stood waiting, Hirad behind them. His lungs felt fit to explode, a piece of plaster had smashed over his head and his skull ached. But behind him, Erienne was sacrificing her life for her child and he was prepared to do the same to allow her to complete the job. Next to him, he heard the tap of a blade on the cracked stone flags. He looked across and met The Unknown's determined gaze.

  “Ready for this?” asked Hirad.

  “What do you think?” said The Unknown.

  “What happened to Darrick?”

  “He shouted something about going to find Ren. So he should. He put her out there, after all.”

  “Oh,” said Hirad. “He'll make a fine member of The Raven.”

  “If he lives,” said The Unknown. “Which I doubt.”

  The Unknown's blade ceased tapping. Aeb was at his left, Hirad his right and Protectors made up the rest of death's welcome. The kitchen door splintered and in they came.

  Darrick, Ren, and the other surviving Guild elf, Aronaar, ran across the eerily empty hallway and up to the main entrance. Bodies lay where they had fallen, puddles of blood left the way underfoot treacherous and the sounds of fighting echoed from the direction of the kitchen.

  Ren put a hand out and stopped them just inside.

  “There, under the trees opposite, like the coward I thought he was.”

  Darrick strained his eyes and could see Vuldaroq, flanked by three mages and two soldiers. He was seated, apparently unconcerned by the death he had set in motion, just waiting for the outcome.

  “You need to take the mages,” said Darrick. “Make sure Vuldaroq is incapacitated as far as casting is concerned. They look like they escaped the gale out here. I'll take the swordsmen.”

  “Both of them?” asked Ren.

  “No problem,” said Darrick.

  “Be ready,” said Ren.

  She signalled Aronaar and the two elves slipped soundlessly out of the entrance, disappearing immediately into the shrubs to either side of the door. Darrick scoured the area for more Dordovans. He couldn't see any but the cover behind Vuldaroq about thirty yards away was deep. He'd have to trust the elven eyes.

  He drew his blade, checked its edge and watched. Vuldaroq was talking to one of his mages, who turned and pointed down toward the beach. A birdcall sounded from the left, bow strings thrummed and two of the mages fell, arrows taking both in the eye.

  Darrick ran out.

  “Vuldaroq!” he shouted, deflecting attention for a vital moment.

  He closed the gap quickly, watching the two soldiers move forward to block him while Vuldaroq and his surviving mage began casting. The bow strings sounded again. The fat Dordovan Tower Lord shouted in pain as an arrow burrowed into his right arm at the shoulder. His mage was not so fortunate.

  Darrick ran on, aiming a blow at the first enemy who blocked clumsily and fell back a pace under the weight of the strike, sword jarring from his hand. A pace further on, the General clashed blades with the second soldier, a scared young man not ready for the fight. Darrick had no compassion. Able to keep an eye on the other soldier as he stooped to grab his blade, Darrick swung left to right, his opponent leaping back, hanging his sword out in a pathetic attempt at a block.

  Darrick smashed it aside, stepped up and rammed his blade through the soldier's stomach, pushing the body away with his foot, freeing his sword and reversing it across the chest of the second man whose guard wasn't ready. He fell on to his back, clutching at his ribs, gasping. Darrick stood over him and rammed his blade through the man's heart.

  Looking up, he saw Vuldaroq already under the guard of Ren and Aronaar, Ren's dagger to his neck and Aronaar's bow sweeping the area, looking for threat.

  “Bring him,” said Darrick.

  The trio hurried Vuldaroq back to the house and into relative safety.

  “You'll pay for this, Darrick. Desertion and now treachery against Lystern. You'll hang. I'll see to it personally.”

  Darrick turned and grabbed Vuldaroq's injured arm, bringing a whimper from the mage.

  “One more word and I'll bleed you right here, fat man,” he grated. “Your unholy alliance with the Black Wings has brought us to this and now you are going to do my bidding. Understand?”

  Vuldaroq was scared, Darrick could see it. His face was white with the pain of his injury and the sweat was dripping from his brow. To exemplify his point, Darrick twisted the arrow. Vuldaroq squealed.

  “Understand?”

  Vuldaroq nodded. They moved swiftly up the corridor, picking their way over bodies and rubble, the fighting getting nearer and louder with every pace. Darrick had his blade at Vuldaroq's back now, Ren and Aronaar just ahead as they approached the ballroom.

  Inside, Protector bodies lay still and Dordovan mages moaned.

  “Cover them, Aronaar,” said Darrick. “Right, Ren, let's stop this thing.”

  Erienne flowed gently over Lyanna's consciousness, feeling her tension and pain, and soothed them away. She burrowed deeper, finding the core of her magic, where the mana writhed and pulsated. She followed its tendrils to where they ate at her body, leaching her strength and destroying her. She reached out to ease the first ones from their hold but they lashed out and she felt a blow as if slapped that sent her mind reeling.

  She gathered herself and came in again. Remembering the words of the prophecy. The mother shall stifle the destruction within, laying her mind bare to its power and accepting the death herself that was promised to the Innocent. For the Innocent to fail, surely so must the mother.

  She moved in closer. At the centre of her child's mind, a monster was suffocating her. It sucked on the mana and gorged on her life energy, drawing both to it to make itself stronger, a living force with one aim, the death of its host. Dordover had triggered it and Lyanna had fed it unwittingly, the Al-Drechar too frail at
the last to protect her from herself. And Lyanna was fading fast. Her last burst had fed it such power and it pulled the spirit from the tiny girl.

  Focusing her mind and her mana energy, she surged in, the monster opening its claws to greet her.

  No, Mummy.

  Lyanna?

  You mustn't go there. That's a bad thing.

  But it's within you, my sweet, and it must be taken away or you will die.

  But if you go there, it will kill you, too.

  I know, darling. But I'll always be here, inside you to help you as you grow.

  You won’t. Erienne sensed crying. She crept further down. You'll be dead. You can't die.

  There is another way.

  Erienne halted. That had been another voice. Recognisable in an instant.

  Ephemere, get out of my child's mind.

  Erienne, Erienne, haven't you ever understood? This is not your child's mind. It is the mind of the One. The mana construct of us all.

  What do you mean? Erienne's heart raced.

  The One isn't like a College magic. It has form. It is an entity that, once awakened, joins with a mage mind to bring a single harmony. And now it is awake but it can't stay here.

  Why not? Erienne felt a brief confusion before the import of Ephemere's words sank in and she felt herself go cold. Don't you dare hurt her, you old witch, or by the gods I'll kill you myself.

  Lyanna can't feel pain any more. But her body is too young to contain what was awakened within her. We tried to teach her, to make her stronger. But she doesn't have the physical maturity to contain the One mind.

  I can save her, Ephemere. Tinjata was very specific. Get away and let me do it.

  He was wrong. He didn't read all the signs correctly. You are here because you are the mother of the child. Because you alone have the empathy the One mind requires to survive now the Innocent cannot. That is what you are laying open to the One. I thought you understood, Erienne.