Noonshade

by James Barclay

  Septern considered Sha-Kaan's words, realising he actually had very little choice, having already given Sha-Kaan not only the signature of the Balaian dimension, but his own personal mark too.

  “Why does being here help you recover? Presumably it's better than resting in your Broodlands.”

  “Yes,” said Sha-Kaan. “I would describe it like this. At either end of the chambers is a dimension of coalesced energy. Within each dimension, the energy is still random in its direction. But the open corridor forces a flow of energy in one direction only. It is this flow in which we bask that so speeds our healing process. We call them Klenes.”

  Septern caught his breath. The dragon was talking about harnessing dimensional flow. It was a technique he had only dreamed about understanding. There was one thing, though.

  “But surely these flows are visible to any dragon blind-flying in interdimensional space? Surely they could follow the flows to your Melde Hall or to Balaia?”

  “The chances are so small, I can't calculate them,” said Sha-Kaan. “Not only do we shield the corridors as we do your dimension, but flying in interdimensional space is like walking in impenetrable fog for you. Sanctuary could be within arms’ reach and you would walk by none the wiser.”

  “Unless you walked right into it.” Septern scratched his head. “See my point?”

  “Yes. But the difference is that an effectively-shielded signature is, to all intents and purposes, not there at all. A dragon without the signature would fly through the same point in interdimensional space without touching what he was seeking.” Sha-Kaan snaked his neck down, giving him eye-to-eye contact with Septern. “Now,” he said. “Will you agree to be my Dragonene?”

  Septern nodded. “It would be an honour. One more question, though. You talked about it being important to protect the fabric of melde-dimensions. What did you mean?”

  Sha-Kaan's exhalation played over Septern's face. Feelings of warmth and joy filled his mind.

  “Mage and Kaan shall grow together,” he said softly. “Now to your question, using your dimension as example. Balaia, of course, is just one continent in your world but the concentration of magic has lent it great structural importance. Our melde, based upon the links with the Dragonene that you will nominate and show to us through me, will rely on many places remaining intact. Your lake, the centre of your magic, is one. The centres of the ancient towers of magic in your Cities are others. The assembly of rock and stone close to your largest city, the range you call Taranspike, is yet another. And so will your house be one. Dragons could destroy it all. We must protect it from them and from powers within yourselves that could cast down mountains.” Sha-Kaan angled his head quizzically, like a dog. Septern almost laughed at the absurdity of the comparison. “You are anxious.”

  It must have been written all over my face, thought Septern. But the solution to his problem was sitting right in front of him. He'd like to see the man that could take the amulet from Sha-Kaan.

  “It's part of the reason I was with the Avians,” he explained. “I've created something I cannot destroy but that I don't wish to see fall into the wrong hands in Balaia. I wanted to hide it through a dimension gate, but I got curious and that's why I met you. The Avians have one part of the secret, maybe you should have the rest.”

  “What is it?” asked Sha-Kaan.

  “It could remove all those fabrics you spoke of. This—” he took an engraved amulet on a chain from around his neck, “—is the first part of the puzzle to unlocking it. It's a spell. It's very powerful indeed. I call it Dawnthief.”

  The next night, the Parve company split three ways. Following an evening meal and the promised Communion, Styliann and Ilkar conducted a brief conversation before the former Lord of the Mount readied his horse and Protectors. The news of his usurpation at Xetesk had struck to the core of his confidence.

  Glancing back at him during the day's ride through unremitting slope and summit, valley and river, Ilkar noticed that the set had gone from his shoulders and the gleam from his eyes. They had been replaced by something altogether more sinister—a hooded, brooding fury that darkened his features, tightened his lips and corded tension through his neck.

  He wouldn't say where he was going, just that he had to reach friendly contact as soon as possible. That his route took him south to the Bay of Gyernath, the same route as Darrick would pursue the following morning, was clearly of no consequence. The Protectors, he said, had little need of rest and Darrick's cavalry would only slow him down.

  But as he rode off, the Protectors running in a protective diamond around him, he left unrest behind. The Raven, who were planning to leave during the early hours to put them on the trail north of Terenetsa before sunlight, reducing the chances of being sighted, sat with Darrick. The General was not enamoured at the prospect of following in the tracks of Styliann.

  “If he blunders into any trouble, it'll be ten times worse for us but we won't know it until we hit it.”

  “Take a different route.” Denser shrugged.

  “Yes, because there must be hundreds to choose from.” Thraun smiled.

  Darrick nodded, picking up the line. “Well, yes. It was a coincidence we chose the same one out of all those many options.”

  A snigger went around the campfire.

  “I was just making the most obvious suggestion of a solution,” muttered Denser.

  “You should probably just stick to magic, Denser,” said Thraun, his smile cracking his heavy features.

  “What the hell for? Dawnthief doesn't seem to have done us any lasting good, does it?” Denser's face was angry. Darrick chose to ignore him.

  “Look, it's possible to reach the Bay of Gyernath by a number of routes but all except one involve risk to horse and rider.” Darrick rubbed his hands together and warmed them over the fire though it wasn't particularly cold. “And the trouble with the best route is the half dozen villages that need avoiding. If Styliann chooses destruction not detour, I could face real difficulties reaching the Bay in his wake.”

  “So come with us,” said Hirad.

  Darrick shook his head. “No, I'll not risk your mission. Anyway, I'll make it. I always do.” He chuckled.

  “Gods, you sound like Hirad,” said Ilkar. His mood, though still sombre, had been lightened by Styliann's confirmation that the College of Julatsa had not fallen. Why not was a matter of some conjecture, but the College, temporarily at least, still stood.

  “How long to the Bay from here?” asked Hirad. Darrick shrugged.

  “Well, the way gets easier south of Terenetsa, for a couple of days anyway. I should think that, barring interruptions, we'll be causing trouble to the Wesmen in about ten days’ time.” He smoothed his hair back from where it was blowing into his face.

  “We shall be in or near Julatsa by then,” said The Unknown.

  “What's left of it,” said Ilkar.

  “Can't you commune with your people there?” asked Darrick.

  “No, I'm afraid I never studied the spell. It doesn't have too many uses for a mercenary mage,” replied Ilkar. “And even if I could, Styliann, who is a far better exponent, hasn't raised a contact inside the College. His information came from a mage hiding outside the city.”

  “So how are we so sure the College is all right?” asked Will.

  “Because the Tower is still standing and there are no sounds of battle.”

  Darrick frowned, his brow knotting under his curly light brown hair.

  “I can't believe they'd just stop at the College walls,” he said.

  “They're scared of magic,” said Ilkar. “And they've lost the Wytch Lords’ influence. Arriving at the walls of a magic College is going to be a time of real fear for them because they only have rumours of the power housed inside. Besides which, I suspect the Council has bluffed an impasse. How long it will last is open to question.”

  “This mage Styliann contacted. Do we have his position? He could prove invaluable,” said The Unknown.

 
; “She,” corrected Ilkar. “She wouldn't give an exact geographical position but Denser knows the mana shape to contact her.”

  “Good, we'll need to meet people like her when we get across the Inlet.”

  “I can see it all now,” said Ilkar. “The Raven leading a band of rebel Julatsans in an audacious attack on the Wesmen, The Unknown Warrior at their head.” He reached across the patted the big warrior's arm. “I think that may be beyond even us, but thanks for the thought.”

  The Unknown Warrior stretched and yawned. “Don't dismiss it. If a good number have escaped and the word of Dordovan relief forces arriving turns out to be true, we could liberate your College ourselves.”

  “I still think you're in dreamland, Unknown.”

  “Well, you certainly should be,” said Darrick. “Get your heads down, I'll wake you in four hours.”

  The rout of the Wesmen back to his town gave Baron Blackthorne and his guerrillas one major advantage. The trails to Gyernath were empty and safe. He had dispatched a dozen fast riders to the southern port to alert the Council of their arrival; the Communion mages, he kept refreshed against the possibility of Wesmen attack. His sealed note also set out basic needs and requirements of men, horses and supplies. It did not say why.

  Baron Blackthorne sat with the slowly recovering Gresse in a camp six days from Gyernath. The morale of his people was rising, their action was specific and no longer mere damage limitation. Now they had a goal and it was one all could believe in. They were going to reclaim their homes.

  “When we've retaken Blackthorne, Taranspike is next,” said Blackthorne. Gresse smiled and looked across the fire at him.

  “I think our priorities may keep us near the Bay of Gyernath,” he said. “Taranspike will wait. Pontois won't destroy it, after all. Just a shame he didn't place his considerable weight behind the fight for his own country.”

  “Damn him,” muttered Blackthorne. Baron Pontois had always been smug and arrogant. Blackthorne could just imagine him laughing with his cronies as he sat at Gresse's table, having swept into the undefended Taranspike Castle to claim it as his right.

  It wouldn't last. Whether it was because of the Wesmen or a force led by Blackthorne, the Baron could at least look forward to the day when Pontois grovelled in terror. Blackthorne didn't consider himself a gratuitously violent man but, as he looked over at Gresse and saw the pain and bitterness behind the bravado, he knew he could cheerfully cut out Pontois’ heart and serve it to him on a bed of his own entrails.

  “We need to send messengers to all the Barons and Lords, not just those within the Korina Trade Alliance,” said Gresse.

  “All but Pontois,” said Blackthorne. “I'd rather die than have him fight beside me.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “I'll attend to it when we reach Gyernath. We'll have a better idea of the numbers we need then.” Blackthorne stared away into the dark, tasting the air, his lower teeth irritating at his top lip.

  “What is it?” asked Gresse.

  “It'll be ten to twelve days before we reach Blackthorne,” said the Baron. “In that time, they can choose to reinforce or raze my town. One thing is certain, they won't wait around doing nothing. We need to cut two days off our travel or we could be too late. I don't want to crest the Balan Mountains only to see my world burning.”

  The candles burned late into the night in the Tower of Julatsa. The College's Council had sat in unbroken session for three hours, debating their diminishing options in the face of Senedai's threat and the spectre of disaffection among those within the sanctuary of the DemonShroud. In a break from Council tradition, General Kard had joined the meeting, his knowledge making his exclusion unthinkable.

  “It comes to a mere handful of questions,” Kerela summed up after hearing much pious debate concerning the vital necessity of preserving Julatsan magic and the balance it gave Balaia; the debt of gratitude the people of Julatsa owed its mages; and the long term good of the masses—Balaians in general—coming ahead of the immediate needs of those soon to be sacrificed in the DemonShroud.

  “Will the Wesmen carry out their threat? Can we stop those inside witnessing what goes on outside? If we can't, how do we justify our refusal to surrender the College to save loss of life? Should we, in fact, surrender the College to save loss of life? And would surrendering the College actually cost more lives than it saved?”

  “Good summation,” said Barras. “I think Kard can answer the first two. General?”

  Kard nodded. “First, I'll repeat for all ears what I told you as we walked from the gates earlier. Senedai will be true to his word. I think it's a moot point, though, because, unless I'm badly mistaken, all around this table are prepared to find out the hard way, in any event. I would expect nothing less. To surrender immediately to such a threat would be a poor capitulation.”

  Barras, who with Kerela flanked Kard at the head of the table, tried to gauge the reaction of the Council. What he saw was a hardening of focus, a resolution of minds and a determination to proceed. He was a little surprised. Compassion was a trait in plentiful supply among the Council during normal times. But then, he reflected, these times were a very long way from being normal.

  “Secondly,” continued Kard. “We can stop anyone seeing the murders. We already limit access to the walls for safety reasons and there are no buildings positioned to see the base of the Shroud, not even the Tower. If we ban all access to the walls, we can practically deny anything is happening.”

  “Unacceptable,” said Vilif shortly.

  “I didn't say it was acceptable,” said Kard. “I said it was possible.”

  “You can cut out the sight but never the sound,” said Stefane. “By the time Senedai is slaughtering one hundred and fifty each third of the day, the cries will be heard throughout the College. Think of the backlash when they find out the truth.”

  “And there will be rumours from tomorrow morning,” added Cordolan. “In fact, I'd be surprised if there weren't already. No disrespect to the professionalism of your soldiers, General, but at least a dozen of them heard Senedai's first threat. People talk.”

  “I assure you I have no illusions,” said Kard.

  “Very well,” said Kerela. “I think the point is, we couldn't keep this quiet, even if we wanted to, and to try would serve only to alienate our people. So, we are left with this. How do we justify our refusal to surrender?”

  There was a shifting of bodies in chairs and concerted glances at anything but another Council member. Kard spoke into the awkward silence.

  “A refusal to surrender sends out a very clear signal that we believe that, ultimately, magic is more important than life. And that is hard to justify. Gods, I'm not a mage so you can imagine how I struggle with this.

  “But we have not yet discussed the consequences of the alternatives on a personal basis. Surrendering the College is not only wrong on a magic-balance front but on a human and elven level too. Walking into Senedai's hands means two things. The slaughter of every Julatsan mage inside these walls and the enslavement of all surviving Julatsan people. Personally, I'd rather be dead.”

  It was, Barras reflected, a common sentiment but for differing reasons. Kard wanted the life he knew, the Council desired the continuation of Julatsan magic and were prepared to stake almost anything to get it.

  “There is something else,” said Torvis, his old face carrying none of its usual humour. “Our guests, as Kerela so appositely describes them, cannot force us to remove the Shroud. Even killing us will not alter that. Unless we agree to dismantle it, the Shroud remains active for fifty days when Heila will no doubt come to call.”

  Kard shook his head.

  “You have something to say?” Torvis scowled. “I am just laying out the facts.”

  “Yes I do.” Kard pushed back his chair and began to circle the table slowly, all eyes following him. “That kind of sentiment leads to conflict. Saying ‘we're not changing and you can't make us even by killing us’ woul
d lead me to do just that if I was hearing my friends and family dying beyond the walls. I'd kill you just to ensure you died with those pushed into the Shroud.

  “If you want these people behind you for the maximum time, you have to make them believe that, no matter the suffering outside, the consequences of surrender are worse. You have to link their minds to the lives they will live enslaved to Senedai and the Wesmen. You have to remind them the Dordovans are coming, and you have to never mention the survival of Julatsan magic as an issue. Appeal to them, don't dictate to them.”

  “Why don't you do it, if you know them so well?” challenged Vilif. Kard stopped his movement, finishing at the end of the table facing Barras. He nodded.

  “All right. I will.”

  While the new stockade rose around Understone and the stone fortifications of the pass were put in place by his prisoners, Tessaya waited.

  Time was precious. Darrick and The Raven were on their way and the dread force would be running again. All of them heading east, all heading for battle. He had to try to stop them linking with the remaining armies in the south, with the Colleges and, most particularly, with Korina.

  He knew four days wasn't much but he had expected Taomi to be close to Understone, having encountered little resistance crossing the Bay of Gyernath and on the sparsely populated route north. Senedai, at the Colleges, would have come across considerably more trouble.

  Tessaya spent hours scouring the cloudy skies from the third morning onward. He looked south, waiting for the telltale dark dots in the sky that would signify his approaching birds. And on that afternoon he was rewarded. A single bird, high in the southern sky. Tessaya tied the hair back from his face and watched its approach, his keen eyes following its course as he stood in the newly completed southern watch tower.

  It was definitely one of his birds. He could tell by its flight pattern, alternating gliding rests on the wing with sharp beats, fixing its position by subtle nuances in the currents of the air and in the roll of the land.