Noonshade

by James Barclay

  “What word?”

  “Remember,” said Will, massaging his temples with thumb and index finger and looking after the retreating form of the wolf. “It's the word he tells himself before he changes. It's supposed to trigger his memories. It's not working.” Will sounded desperate. Hirad placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “He'll be all right,” he said. “He's probably gone to change now, hasn't he?”

  Will turned his face to Hirad, a rueful half smile on his lips and tears in his eyes. “I don't think so,” he said.

  “So what's different this time?” asked Hirad. “He's never reacted like this before, has he?”

  “No. He hates the wolf's form. His worst nightmare is being stuck inside it forever and losing his ability to change back. But in the years I've known him, he's never tasted the blood of so many victims either. I just wonder whether he's in some kind of frenzy that won't go away and it's blocking his human side from reasserting itself.”

  “What can we do?”

  Will sighed. “I don't know. There's no spell that can bring him back. His condition isn't magical. We'll have to wait and I'll have to keep on trying to get through to him.”

  “A risky path.”

  “The only path.” Will looked at Hirad. “I can't lose him, Hirad. It would be like being dead anyway so I may as well die trying as sit and wait to die alone.”

  Hirad nodded. “I understand.”

  “I know.”

  With Ilkar, Denser, Erienne and The Unknown reaching the flatter land above the cove, The Raven made headway to the Tri River valley, Thraun shadowing their progress. The landscape in front of them was beautiful, even in the half-light of early dawn, with much still wreathed in heavy shadow.

  North and east, the land swept away in gentle rises, its bracken swaying and rustling, isolated groups of trees and low bush surrounding rocky pools, crags mottling the greens and browns with their stark slate grey.

  South and east, in the direction of their immediate travel, the scene was altogether different. At the top of a shallow rise, the land fell away sharply into the valley of the River Tri where it flattened briefly to form great green meadows of thick grass. The river's banks gave root to thick-trunked oaks and willows, and wild hawthorn tangled the river's edge while, here and there, pebbled shallows rising to flat rock, covered in times of flood, gave sight of the quarter-mile width of the gentle flow.

  To the west and south of The Raven, the black enormity of Balaia's dominant mountain range scaled to the heavens, mesa, peak and slide punctuating its descent into rambling foothills and finally the fertile lowlands of the East. Close to, its power was staggering and Hirad wondered whether Baron Blackthorne, whose family took their name from the range, ever felt as he did now. Small in the presence of extraordinary might. While the mountains stood, Balaia lived. But if dragons flew through the rip in numbers large enough to overwhelm the Brood Kaan, the Blackthornes would be laid waste, shattered. He couldn't let that happen.

  Close to, it was clear that the vegetation either side of the Tri, while excellent cover, was poor walking country. With Thraun on not necessarily unwitting point duty, The Raven drove as far inland as they dared, with the light of day flying across the sky to meet them. Eventually, tired and in the open, they worked toward the water's edge, finding enough of a clearing to set up Will's stove, which The Unknown still carried, yet remaining hidden from both the south bank and their immediate north. Thraun had disappeared but none doubted he knew exactly where they were.

  “It's good to be back this side of the Blackthornes,” said Hirad, relaxing against a tree, rubbing his back on it and feeling the bark dig into the stiff muscles of his back through his leather armour. He loosened the jerkin straps and breathed deeply. The Unknown said nothing, merely stared into the woods surrounding them. Denser shook his head and Will said:

  “It isn't worth the price we seem to have paid.”

  It wasn't exactly the reaction Hirad had envisaged. He sniffed and looked across at Ilkar whose glum face carried no surprise at the muted, if not depressed, expressions surrounding the stove.

  “Perhaps we should sleep on it a while,” ventured Hirad.

  “We need Thraun,” said The Unknown. “We need his tracking and his sense. If this area is patrolled, and I expect it us, we could hit big trouble without warning.”

  “Can't you track?” asked Erienne.

  “Not really,” said The Unknown. “And certainly not as unerringly as Thraun.”

  “What did you do before we joined you?” asked Will, his eyes never still, scouring the undergrowth for his friend.

  “Nothing quite like this,” said Hirad. “Generally, we rode into castles or on to battlefields in broad daylight, fought all day, collected our money and that was that. Avoiding being seen wasn't an advantage.”

  “Well, we'll just have to be careful, won't we?” said Denser, his voice flat.

  “We don't have time to be careful,” said Ilkar sharply. “If the Library in Julatsa is destroyed before we get there—”

  “I know, I know,” said Denser. “You don't have to keep lecturing about it.”

  “Why not? You don't seem to have any sense of urgency.”

  “I'm just saying there's no point in getting ourselves killed because we're in too much of a hurry. That would be just as bad.”

  “Voices down,” snapped The Unknown, his voice quiet and powerful. Their progress had been slower than he'd hoped, Denser's attitude affecting them all. That had to change before they fought again. Focus was everything and, right now, The Raven lacked it. “If you've all finished stating the bloody obvious, we've got to find the best solution.” He turned his head to Will. “Will, how well does Thraun understand you?”

  The wiry man shrugged. “It's hard to say. He recognises my voice, that's certain, but how much he actually understands is anybody's guess. Words like ‘no’ and ‘stop’ and ‘run,’ I think he does but I couldn't hope to persuade him to track for us, for instance. Particularly now. This is the wildest he's ever been and he's not even been changed that long.”

  “Well, we have to get him to change back,” said Ilkar.

  “You can't. I'm not even sure that I can now. He's not listening.” Will bit his lip.

  “In that case, we have to assume he's gone. Sorry Will, but you know what I mean.” The Unknown unbuckled his chest plate. “Is there going to be a time when he'll attack us?”

  “I don't know,” said Will. “I want to believe that he'll recognise me however long he's changed for. But he said himself that, ultimately, he'll just become a wild animal.”

  “Except much harder to kill,” said Denser.

  “Much,” agreed Will. “But it won't come to that. Wolves aren't killers. They hunt for food and we aren't first choice.”

  As if he'd known they were talking about him, Thraun padded into the camp, his sudden appearance at Will's shoulder causing Erienne to start. Will himself turned and draped an arm across the huge wolf's neck and pulled his head close.

  “Glad you could be here,” he said. Thraun nuzzled his cheek then lay down facing the stove, snout twitching at the smells of wood, coffee and hot metal.

  “Like I say,” said Will. “Ultimately, he'll do what he wants and if any of you think you can stop him, well…” There was a dry chuckle around the stove.

  “All right,” said The Unknown, his face blank. He hadn't joined the brief mirth. “At walking pace, we are six days from Julatsa. We need to liberate horses quickly but we can't risk running into a large Wesmen force. Are there any local farms or villages the Wesmen may not have found?”

  “No,” said Ilkar. “The nearest settlements that might just have escaped are Lord Jaden's to the north but that's two days extra over hostile country in the wrong direction. Our only chance without fighting or stealing is Triverne Lake, as Styliann said.”

  “Surely the Lake will be taken,” said Hirad.

  “I wouldn't be quite so sure,” said Ilkar. “It's
the seat of ancient magic and a place of the most base evil if you're a Wesman. There's a standing guard of two hundred protecting the Shard at all times. They might still be there. And don't forget, Triverne isn't the most direct route to Julatsa from where the Wesmen landed a little north of here.”

  “Communion?” suggested Erienne. Denser shrugged.

  “If I must. I need to rest first, though.”

  “I'll do it,” said Erienne. “I am capable.”

  “Whatever,” said the Xeteskian.

  “Fine.” The Unknown stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to push his own problems from his mind while clutching at the threads that held them all together. “I'm sceptical, I must say, but if we can find out through Communion, that's fine. Otherwise, I'm not sure the detour is worth the risk. We also need to contact the mage outside of Julatsa, assuming she's still there—get ourselves the latest position. But first, Denser's right, we should rest. I'll watch and so, no doubt, will Thraun. We'll push on after midday.”

  Dawn in Julatsa on the eleventh day of the siege of the College brought the first open conflict within its walls. Two hundred and fifty innocent Julatsans had just perished. Those first to die were rotting in the Shroud. Barras could feel the tension. It had been in the air since the first confrontation but now it had real menace to it as the Council stepped away from the gatehouse, saddened, disgusted and scared. This time there had been no show of strength or solidarity, no songs and no bravado. Just weeping, screaming and angry accusation before the agony.

  The city's people issued from the buildings all around the courtyard as the Council walked slowly to the Tower, heads bowed, each lost in their own thoughts. Kard had been alert, as always, and his shouted commands to his men ensured a significant protective guard for the Council by the time the mob had surrounded them.

  “Oh dear,” muttered Kerela in Barras’ ear. The old elf Negotiator looked quickly about him. The clamour hurt his ears, the fury of the Julatsans edging toward the precipice of violence. Weapons were brandished, fists shaken and everywhere red faces spat anger and belligerence.

  Kard's shout for calm went unheard by all but those immediately around him and ignored by even them. With the mob beginning to press, despite a fragmentation of its edges caused by more soldiers pulling people away, the greying General turned a worried face to Barras.

  “Your turn, I think,” he mouthed.

  Barras nodded and leaned into Kerela. “Time for VoiceHail,” he said.

  “Just a single word,” she advised. “I'll pass on your intention.”

  “Thank you.” Barras drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, bringing the geography of the College to his mind. The mana shape was little more than a line, tracing and connecting every building. The Tower, the Long Rooms, the walls, Mana Bowl, lecture theatres, classrooms and billets. All were linked by the shape, all became receptors, conduits and amplifiers of Barras’ voice. He opened his eyes and nodded.

  Kerela placed a hand on Kard's shoulder and every soldier and Council member immediately placed hands over his or her ears. Before any in the whistling crowd had time to react, Barras, his voice deep on the frequency of the mana stream, spoke.

  “Silence.”

  The word clattered over the open space, crashing into unprotected ears to rattle skulls and stun voices to quiet. It rolled off the College buildings, a word from the Gods, deafening and irresistible. Metal resonated, glass rattled in frames and a sound like thunder, like stone shaking in its foundations, rolled around the square. Silence reigned.

  “We will talk or disperse, we will not shout or fight,” said Kerela. Her voice, like Barras’, was augmented by the mana shape still being held firm by the elf, though much lessened in power. Still, it boomed out over the mob, now motionless but for hands rubbing heads and ears. The anger inside, though, still remained. “Do you not realise that this is precisely what Senedai and his band of murderers beyond our walls want? Gods in the ground, if we kill ourselves or divide ourselves so finely we cannot fight, we will have done his job far more completely than he could do it himself.” Kerela shook her head. “We must remain one or we will be unable to function.”

  “But soon there will be no one left to fight for out there!” shouted one. More joined the chorus and through it Barras plainly heard the word, “murderers.” The crowd closed again.

  “Please,” said Kerela. “I beg your patience and your understanding a little longer.”

  “But how long. How long, eh?” A face at the front of the crowd growled the words. He was a big man, muscles bunched beneath his shirt. He carried a mace. “My mother lies out there, the stench of her rotting body in my nose every time I draw breath. My heart is in tatters and yet I have to stand here and listen to you beg more time to save your own filthy skins.”

  “I understand your pain…” began Kerela.

  “You understand nothing!” spat the man. “How many of your family have died so far to protect mages who have grown fat off Julatsa for far too long?”

  “And who was it that saved you from death at the hands of the Wesmen?” asked Kerela, and Barras could see her trying to keep herself in check. “The same mages who have already perished in the Shroud, waiting outside to give you the time to run in. Please do not judge us uncaring of our people.”

  “We are not your people,” said the man, his voice carrying clear over the crowd that had paused to listen to the exchange. “And we demand you remove the Shroud and let us fight.”

  “When the Dordovans arrive, then we will fight. And where Kard's soldiers lead, you may follow,” said Kerela, heedless of the message that might be heard beyond the walls.

  “They should have been here days ago,” said the man, his face reddening. “How long did you think we would swallow this lie? Drop the Shroud now.”

  “And if I refuse?” asked Kerela.

  “We may be forced to make sacrifices of our own.”

  Barras’ heart missed a beat and the sickness already in his stomach at the hideous sight beyond the North Gate intensified. Kerela, he could see, was unprepared for the response. He decided to talk himself, turning up the VoiceHail.

  “You would kill Julatsans to force us to action? Murder more innocents?” he demanded.

  “Not innocents. Mages.” A ripple ran around the crowd. Clearly, not all were privy to the plan being hatched before them. “Not all mages enjoy your security.”

  “And what difference do you think you can make outside if we do drop the Shroud? We are already too few. Fragmenting us more would harm us still further.”

  “You don't care about Julatsa,” said the man, and his voice rose in volume. “All you care about is the preservation of that!” He pointed his mace at the Tower and the clamour grew again. “How many more must die in the thing you created before even your stuffed heads realise what is going on. We have to stop the killing.” He took a pace forward and was pushed back by a soldier. Hate in his eyes, he brandished his mace and brought it crashing down on the guard's helmeted head, the man collapsing, blood running from the helm line.

  Immediately, another soldier lashed out with a sword, taking the man in the midriff. He screamed and fell and the crowd erupted in fury. They surged forward against the desperate defence of Kard's well-marshalled troops. Barras yelled for calm but even his augmented voice had no effect. Around the edges of the mob, he could see scuffles breaking out among city folk and College guard and part of the crowd broke away to run toward the Mana Bowl where many mages were billeted.

  A more pressing problem, quite literally, was the surrounding throng that moved in from all sides. Temporarily, there was a yard space between them and Kard's men, whose swords glinted in the dawn light, keeping back the front rank who had no desire to die. Behind them, though, there was no such risk.

  “Quick,” ordered Kerela. “All of you. SunBurst. Cover the compass then be ready to run for the Tower. Kard, on the command word, shield your eyes. Pass word around the ring.”

&nb
sp; “Aye, my Lady.” Kard circled quickly behind his men and the message was passed.

  Dropping the VoiceHail, Barras concentrated on the new spell. Its shape was flat and, as he dropped his vision into the mana spectrum, he could see the yellow disc growing in intensity as more and more of the Council lent it their strength of mind and channelled ever-increasing mana into its expanding diameter. In a matter of moments, it covered the College and beyond, a slowly revolving disc of mana, swirling with many hues of yellow and shot through with black. One by one, the Council announced their readiness to each other by flagging the disc with their signature in its centre. When all were done, Kerela spoke.

  “Now Kard. Right now. Vilif, the command is yours.”

  “SunBurst,” intoned the ageing mage. “Flash deployment.” In an instant, the mana shape was gone. Barras closed his eyes and covered them with his hands. White light deluged the courtyard, bringing a temporary blindness to everyone not shielded. Even Barras could feel its force, knowing that, though temporary, the effect was both painful and frightening. They had taken a big chance.

  Screams of shock and sudden pain echoed about the courtyard and a hundred weapons clattered to the stone. Barras opened his eyes to see people collapsed on the ground or running away to nowhere, sight gone for a few moments, anger supplanted by the urge to escape.

  “Let's go,” ordered Kard, and he led the Council across the short distance to the Tower, seeing them safely inside before turning to bark more orders that saw his men disperse in disciplined teams to defend the College's crucial buildings. Barras closed the Tower doors and followed the Council up the long outside stair to the first rampart. There they gathered to witness the effects of their action.

  Instantly, it had proved a success. The crowd's collective spirit had broken for now and, as sight came back to them, people fled the courtyard. But some remained, and anger filled the air.

  “Just where are the Dordovans?” asked Endorr, his face pale. He was gazing north from where the Dordovans would most likely approach, the swirling grey of the DemonShroud filling the air beyond the College walls.