Noonshade

by James Barclay

  With the bird nearing, Tessaya tied the green and red marker ribbon to his wrist and waved it slowly above his head, the striped material snapping in the stiff breeze. In a flutter of wings, the grey and white woodruff landed on the rail of the guard tower. Tessaya scooped the bird up and held it gently to his chest with one arm, bending his neck to press his lips to its head and taking the messages from its legs. Then he set it to flight again, to the roost above the inn where it could rest and eat.

  “More reliable than smoke, eh?” he asked of the watchman. He unrolled the coded papers.

  “Yes my Lord,” replied the man, the embryonic smile dying on his lips as Tessaya, having read the import of the first message, caught his eye.

  “My Lord?” ventured the watchman.

  “Curse them,” grated Tessaya. “Curse them.” Ignoring the frightened guard, he strode to the ladder, descending more quickly than was safe. His riders had not found Lord Taomi. But they had found his men and Shamen butchered and left to rot. They had found pyres built in the eastern manner. And they had found evidence of a hasty retreat southward. They would continue but their pace would be slow. To run into the rear of the army pursuing Lord Taomi would be foolhardy.

  Who could it have been? The advance was supposed to be too fast for any pursuit from Gyernath to overhaul them. That left the rich Baron Blackthorne, whose wine tasted sour in Tessaya's memory. But he found it hard to believe that Blackthorne, well-armed though he was, could muster enough of a force to seriously trouble Taomi. Not without help.

  He read the notes one last time before striding away toward the barracks where his prisoners were held. The fat man, Kerus, would have to supply some answers. Either that or lose some of his men to Wesmen executioners. The time for reason was past for now. Tessaya had to have knowledge of the forces he was against and he found himself able to consider almost any method to get it.

  Dawn was threatening to slit the eastern sky. Barras stood on the Tower's highest rampart, looking down into the quiet city, a cool breeze blowing fresh air across his face.

  At a time like this, it was easy to imagine that all was as it had always been. That no army of Wesmen was in occupation beyond the College walls, that first light would not bring the slaughter of fifty innocents. Innocents whose souls would feed the demons’ insatiable appetite and sit heavy in Barras’ heart forever.

  But two things gave the lie to Barras’ fleeting ease of mind. The oppressive DemonShroud that surrounded them, its evil casting a pall of anxiety over him; and the Wesmen's tower, now all but complete, which overlooked them.

  They had been wrong about its purpose. The Wesmen had no intention of attempting to breach the Shroud using the structure, which scaled perhaps eighty feet into the sky. Its wheels were for manoeuvring it around the College walls, its steel cladding protection against fire and spell. They wanted to see inside the College and Barras conceded the common sense in that while cursing its invention.

  The old elven mage, Julatsa's Chief Negotiator, surveyed the perimeter of his city, his eyesight sharp and clear in the dark before dawn, the grey veil of the DemonShroud growing visible as light began to crack the sky, a hideous reminder of the horror that lived with them every day. The Wesmen, or rather their prisoners, had not been idle and the evidence of long-term intention to occupy was everywhere.

  Other fixed watchtowers were already built in half a dozen locations and now the stockade was going up. It would be a slow job. Suitable timber was not in plentiful supply close to hand and Julatsa was a sprawling city. Even so, three weeks and the ranks of pole timber would encircle them and the Wesmen would be that much harder to shift.

  Barras moved his gaze to within the College walls. The Tower and its many service and official buildings dominated the centre of the grounds. In front of him, the trio of Long Rooms, where range spells were tested, stretched away from the opposite side of the stone-flagged courtyard which encircled the Tower. Each Long Room was over two hundred feet in length, low and armoured and had seen some of Julatsa's greatest successes and most awful tragedies over the course of the centuries. Now, though, they were emergency accommodation.

  The same was true of all the lecture rooms, the old Gathering Hall, the principal auditorium, and the Mana Bowl where fledgling mages hoped to discover their acceptance of mana and feared the consequences for their sanity if they did not. Only the Library and the food stores remained off limits.

  Despite the hour, around a hundred people milled about in the courtyard, many, because of Kard, now aware of the fate that was about to befall the unfortunates in Wesmen hands. The General had not slept. Instead, he and a member of the Council in rotation had visited every pocket of the population within the College walls, explaining the situation as completely as he could. So far, his words had caused sadness and anxiety but no anger. Barras was due to attend the last meeting but first, he had to try and buy the College some time.

  He hurried from the Tower, walking quickly across the cobbles to the North Gate where he climbed up to the gate house and came face to face with a surprised guard.

  “My mage?”

  “I have to talk to Senedai. Excuse me.” Barras walked on to the ramparts that ran across the gate. The DemonShroud's evil was all but within reach. Well beyond it, three Wesmen guards sat around a small fire in the centre of the open area sandwiched between the College and first city buildings.

  “I would speak with your Lord!” called Barras. The Wesmen looked up. Barras could see them frowning. One stood up and moved closer, cupping a hand behind his ear.

  “I must speak with your Lord,” said Barras. He was greeted with a stream of tribal Wes and a shrugging of the shoulders.

  “Imbecile,” muttered Barras. He straightened and spoke loudly. “Senedai. Get Senedai. Yes?” There was a pause that seemed to last for eternity before the guard nodded and scurried off, passing an aside to his colleagues who both laughed and looked at Barras.

  “Laugh while you can,” said Barras, smiling back and giving a little wave. He wasn't waiting long before Senedai strode from the shadows into the firelight, augmented now with the first murk of dawn.

  “You cut it very fine, elf,” said Senedai, once he had stopped a safe distance from the Shroud. “I trust there will be an orderly surrender.”

  “Ultimately, Lord Senedai, but not at dawn. We are not ready.”

  Senedai snorted. “Then fifty of your people will soon be dead.” He half turned.

  “No, Senedai, wait.” The Wesman Lord spread his arms wide and swung back.

  “I'm listening but it will make no difference.”

  “You don't fully understand our situation.”

  “Oh but I do. You are desperate. You have no way out and you are trying to buy some time. Am I right?”

  “No,” said Barras, knowing his attempt, a long shot at best, was now almost certainly doomed to failure. “Put yourself in our position. We have much anxiety in here. Our people are scared. We need more time to calm them, to assure them of your honourable intentions. But more than that, we have to put our affairs in order.”

  “Why?” demanded Senedai. “You can bring nothing with you and all that you leave will be ours. Your people are right to be scared of our strength and ferocity, but the only way to prove to them we are not wanton destroyers of those we conquer is to put them in our hands.”

  “I'm appealing to your humanity but I am also appealing to your good sense and your reason,” said Barras. “We can calm our people and that will help both you and us, but we need more time. That's one thing. But far more important to you is that the College is safe when you finally walk through the gates in triumph. Mana is a dangerous force to those who do not understand it. If you come in now, without a mage, I could not vouch for your chances of survival.”

  “Are you threatening me, mage?” Senedai's voice rose in volume and hardened in tone.

  “No. Merely telling you the truth,” replied Barras calmly.

  “And yet you w
ait until the new day to tell me this truth.”

  “I am sorry, Lord Senedai, but we have never been in this position before and had no idea of the length of time it would take to close down the source of our magic. But do it we must or not just you but this whole city could be lost.”

  Senedai shifted his position, made to speak and then stopped, doubt creeping across his face. Barras seized his chance.

  “What I am saying is this. You can start killing innocents if you want but we will not open the gates and remove our protection. This will not be because we don't care for our people. This College must be made safe for existence without mages and in the end, our responsibility is to the whole of Julatsa, not to those of its population you choose to execute. I am imploring you, Lord Senedai, to believe my words.”

  Senedai stared long and hard at Barras, his face betraying his doubt and the fact that he didn't have the knowledge to test Barras’ words.

  “I must think,” he said eventually. “How long will it take you, this closing of your mana source?”

  Barras shrugged. “Six days, maybe more.”

  “You must think me stupid,” snapped Senedai. “Six days. And I have no proof of the truth of what you say. What can you give me?”

  “Nothing,” said Barras evenly. “Save to say that we have nothing to gain by lying to you. There is no help coming and we have no means to arrange any. I am aware of your impatience to be on your way but surely you need to be secure here first. Until we are ready, you will not be so. What we are doing will help us all.”

  “If you are lying, I will have your head myself.”

  “I accept the bargain.”

  “Six days,” muttered Senedai. “I might grant you two or three. I might grant you none. The screams of the dying will tell you when my patience is exhausted.” He began to walk away but turned again. “You play on my ignorance of magic. Perhaps I'll question one of my captive mages. Gain myself some knowledge.”

  “I understood them all to be dead.”

  “Like me, you should not believe everything you are told.” He summoned a guard to him and walked from the square.

  “Now that,” said Kerela, “is the negotiator's touch.” She and Kard stood with Barras in the southernmost Long Room while the subdued crowd gathered to hear the General speak.

  “What exactly do you have to do to dismantle Julatsan magic, then?” asked Kard, a wry smile on his lips.

  “I've absolutely no idea. Nothing, so far as I am aware,” replied Barras. “Though I must say I was surprised he knew so little about the random nature of mana and the harmlessness of its natural state.”

  “Good on you.” Kard clapped Barras on the back. His expression sobered. “He won't give us six days, you know. He's not that stupid.”

  “Even one day saves us one hundred and fifty lives,” said Kerela.

  “Don't dismiss the mindset of the Wesmen. Magic terrifies them at a very fundamental level. Senedai knows he's won, or thinks he does. A few more days will make little difference,” said Barras.

  “Terrified he may be, but that didn't stop him sacking the city.” Kard adjusted his uniform, tugging down his jacket. The crowd began to quieten. “I hear what you are saying but his impatience will soon get the better of him. His prisoners mean nothing to him, particularly those who can't perform heavy labour. Expect young girls and the old to be the first into the Shroud in no more than three days.”

  “I tend to agree,” said Kerela. “He can't verify anything you've said, he'll assume you're lying and he'll sacrifice in the Shroud even if it's only to hurry us along.”

  Barras nodded. He could see he would have to talk to Senedai again. The flush of his minor victory faded. Kard began to speak to the group of about three hundred in the Long Room.

  “Thank you for your attendance and your patience. By now, some of you will have heard what is happening outside the walls. But for those that haven't, here is the situation and I would ask you to keep your questions for later…”

  Barras let his mind drift. Three days. They were outnumbered probably eight to one in absolute numbers, more than that comparing fighting strengths, but at least the mages were rested. Help was coming from Dordover but the Shroud prevented Communion as it did every spell from penetrating its borders. Meanwhile, they had to make their own plans. He wasn't going to surrender the College meekly.

  Now the population within the walls was aware, the real talking could begin. If Julatsa was going to fall, it would be in a battle that would live in legend forever.

  The Raven, or at least Ilkar and Thraun, heard a faint sound from the Wesmen encampment long before they could hear water lapping on the western shore of Triverne Inlet.

  It was night, six days after their parting from Darrick and Styliann. The Raven, under Thraun's guidance and drawing on The Unknown's experience, had travelled quickly over increasingly hostile terrain in the foothills of Sunara's Teeth, the dominant northern range. Forced to take little-used trails away from villages and Wesmen staging posts, they had picked their way over sheer cliffs, through dense forest valleys, across great shale slopes, collapsed rock formations and cold hard plateaus.

  There had been six days of growing worry in Hirad as he watched Denser withdraw further and further inside himself. The initial euphoria of his success and subsequent recovery had given way quickly to a sullen self-contemplation and finally a surly unwillingness to interact. Even Erienne had suffered from his moods and her gentle touch led all too often to harsh words and an angry brush-off.

  “It's like he feels he's done what he was born to do,” she had said on the fourth evening after he had, as usual, taken to his bedroll early. “I'm sure, deep down, he cares for me and our child but it doesn't seem enough and he's certainly hiding it. He was chasing after Dawnthief and the perfection it represented for so long I think he's lost now it's gone.”

  “And imminent invasion by dragons doesn't fire him at all,” Ilkar had said. “Excuse the pun.”

  “No,” she had replied. “The urgency and energy have gone from him these last few days and that's more than a little strange, given what we learned last night.” Erienne had been referring to her Communion which had revealed the first meaningful results of measurements on the noon shade. Parve would be completely covered in a little over thirty days unless The Raven could find a way to close the rip. Thirty days until dragons ruled Balaia.

  But that was still in the distant future for Hirad. Right now, they had to get past the Wesmen and into Julatsa. The Raven had stopped in a hollow, sheltered from the sharp wind that blew off the Inlet. Above them, trees swayed and rustled, grass blew flat against the earth and tough shrubs grappled with neighbouring bracken. They had scrambled down a long muddy slope between sheer crags, the product of a past landslide, and the hollow was filled with lichen-covered tumbledown rock.

  The opposite slope was blanketed in purple-flowered heather and strewn with loose stone, only held in place by the grasp of thin earth. Here and there, stunted trees grew in the lee of the prevailing wind. Thraun and Ilkar had scaled the bank to report on the scene at the Inlet.

  Hirad rubbed his gloved hands together and accepted the warm mug of coffee, happy at the decision to keep hold of Will's stove. Earlier that day, with the horses more of a hindrance than a help, they had set them free in a wooded valley, destroying saddle, bit and stirrup and anything they couldn't easily carry. After a short debate, Thraun had shouldered Will's flat-packed stove, the weight not even hastening his breath. They were all happy for its lightless warmth now.

  The little wood burner sat on a flat rock, its thin column of smoke invisible against the overcast sky, the light it cast not enough to illuminate their faces, let alone betray their position. It was five hours before dawn.

  “How far away are we?” asked Hirad.

  “Perhaps half an hour at a brisk trot but to enter from a sensible angle will take double that. We'll have to head a little further north or we'll be seen,” said Thraun.


  “What have we got?” asked The Unknown.

  “You'll be able to see for yourself, the light off the water isn't too bad,” said Ilkar. “But basically, we estimate an encampment of around three hundred, all billeted in tents set in classic tribal semicircles around standards and fires.

  “There are three watchtowers looking landward and a group of marquees in the centre of the camp that no doubt contain stores for onward transport across the Inlet. The main route is from the south. We need to take northern entry beyond the furthest watchtower but even then, it's a little tricky.”

  Hirad nodded. “Boats?”

  “Plenty. From small sails to midsized oceanworthy galleons, although the Gods know where they got them from. We should be able to find something we can take very easily.”

  “What's on the opposite bank?” asked Will.

  “Something more heavily fortified, I expect,” said Thraun. “But we couldn't see that far. We'll be sailing right into the mouth of the Goran Falls to avoid whatever it is, anyway.”

  “It'll marginally shorten our journey time, too,” added The Unknown.

  “What about horses, the other side?” asked Will.

  “We've two options,” said Ilkar. “Either steal some from the Wesmen or hope that the Triverne Lake Guard are still alive. And that's not too unlikely given that the Wesmen effort seems to have reached only Julatsa so far.”

  Hirad rubbed a hand over his mouth. “All right, the theory's fine. Now to the practice. How do we get a boat without waking the camp?”

  “Finish your coffee and come and look,” said Ilkar. “Thraun and I have got an idea.”

  Shortly afterward, The Raven lay in a line, looking down a long bracken-covered slope that ended in the meadows and beach at the edge of Triverne Inlet. To the south, the slope trailed away to a steep escarpment and thence to the Blackthorne Mountains themselves, while to the north, the mountains and hills flattened as they approached the northern coastline a further day's ride away.