“I have no idea,” said Kerela. “But that poor man was right. They should have been here by now. If they have turned back or been killed, I don't think anything can save us. We are in the endgame for this College now, my friends. We have made enemies within as well as without and the time to act is soon. When calm is restored, we must meet with Kard and name the day we try to break the siege.”
“But they will kill us and take the College,” protested Seldane. “Nothing has changed but that more of our people are dead and the Wesmen better fortified.”
Kerela said nothing for a moment and Barras followed her gaze to the courtyard where the two fallen men were picked lifeless from the cobbles, blood slicks marking where they had rested.
“We have waited as long as we can,” she said eventually. “I do not believe that Dordover will help us now.” She turned back to them and the tears were beginning to run down her face. “We are going to lose our College.”
Sha-Kaan felt an emotion he'd thought was forever alien to him. Returning from the Keol, his Kaan in victory formation behind him—a single, curving line in the sky forming a quarter circle—he had considered the implications of the apparent union between the Naik and the Veret and didn't like the conclusions he drew. His heart sounded heavily in his great chest. He was anxious.
First and foremost, the union meant that at least two Broods were actively talking to each other. Presumably, their initial goal, the destruction of the Kaan, was the same. Beyond that, though, he could see no future in any allegiance. For the waterborne Veret particularly, the extinguishing of Kaan life from Beshara would have little significant effect.
The Kaan and the Veret had historically tolerated one another's presence simply because their Broodland desires were so different. Why then, should they ally with the Naik to destroy the Kaan? Perhaps they felt able to live in and around the River Tere. Sha-Kaan knew this would never happen. His Broodlands were as coveted by the Naik as they were secret and secure. The Naik would not slipstream aside to let the Veret into occupation.
So, the following conclusion was that the Veret were under threat and had allied to stave off that threat. Why then, had they not come to the Kaan? And who posed a threat of substance to them? No Brood wanted the Veret's vast expanse of Shedara Ocean. They had eliminated all other marine-based Broods many cycles before.
Finally, it dawned. The Naik were capable of destroying the Veret, should they so desire. It would be an act of pure vindictiveness but it could be done. Knowing a little of the psyche of the Naik, Sha-Kaan thought it not beyond them to promise extinction if they weren't aided. And if they could promise it to one Brood, they could promise it to others.
An alliance of fear it might be but an alliance of any sort would quickly prove fatal for the Kaan. Indeed, Sha-Kaan had been relying on inter-Brood hatred and mistrust to gain The Raven as much time as possible—even up to the moment the critical size of the gateway was reached, when he knew they would be overwhelmed. An alliance, though, would bring that day of defeat much closer.
As he approached the entrance to the Broodlands, Sha-Kaan dismissed the thoughts from his mind, revelling in his moment of pleasure as he and the victory curve swept along the mist-filled valley.
Later, in the quiet of Wingspread, he mulled over the growing spectre of Brood alliance, cursed its vengeful nature but understood its necessity if the Kaan were to be defeated quickly. Unlike his forebears, Sha-Kaan would not debate openly, choosing to announce decisions and invite criticism and further options. He found it hastened the process.
There were two actions he felt he had to take. First, talk to the Veret and find out the manner of their alliance. Subsequent to that, he had to break it, forge his own perhaps, or seek out weaker allied Broods and destroy them if he could. The latter was not a palatable prospect given the stretching of the Kaan forces.
The second action was far more personal and one which he should not have neglected so long. He was out of touch with Balaia. He had no inkling of the way its struggles leant and, more crucially, was without the healing stream that inter-dimensional space could provide him. He had to select another Dragonene.
But this was not a simple operation. With the battles raging near and in Balaia's College Cities, the chances for his Brood's existing Dragonene to recruit a mage capable of dealing with the demands of Sha-Kaan had been few. No suitable candidates had been seriously discussed.
And in itself, this presented a critical problem. The bonds he had enjoyed with Septern so long ago and the subsequent mages that had served him up to the death of Seran were all known quantities, selected with both their blessing and in the knowledge that their minds possessed the necessary strength. To force his mind into that of an untried mage, however highly recommended, risked confusion in his mind and the death of the subject.
That left one possibility. One man who he knew could withstand the power of his mind and whose colleagues could provide the necessary magic. It was a break with over four hundred Balaian years of tradition but the time to be more selective was gone—if he was to fly to speak to the Veret, he had to have the means to heal and, without a Dragonene signature in Balaian space, he had none.
He reached forward with his neck and grabbed a bale of Flamegrass, tossing it around in his great jaws as he chewed and swallowed.
“So be it,” he said. “So be it.” He stretched full length across the warm wet floor of Wingspread and opened his mind to search for his new Dragonene.
It was an hour after noon on a day that had chilled as the sun fled west over the Blackthorne Mountains and cloud bubbled up on the prevailing southeasterly wind. In their sheltered space, The Raven had slept, enjoying the gentle warmth of the stove. The Unknown had watched without break while even Thraun slept, his flank a pillow for the anxious Will's head.
Shortly after midday, Erienne had conducted a Communion, making contact with the refugee mage in the hills to the north of Julatsa. The spell had been relatively short and, as Erienne opened her eyes, Ilkar could see that she didn't know whether to smile or frown. It was a while before she could meet Ilkar's eye.
“Are you stable?” asked Ilkar. Communion, or rather the breaking of it, left channelled mana suddenly without focus but lying still in the mind. Its return to a more normal randomised state sometimes disoriented both caster and contact.
Erienne nodded and gave Denser a little smile. He smoothed some hair that had fallen over her face back behind her ear. Her smile broadened at the small show of affection.
“The College is still standing. The Heart is still intact,” she said and paused. “I'm not sure which order to say this in.”
“Does the mage know how many Wesmen are in and around Julatsa?” asked The Unknown.
“Yes,” said Erienne, glad for direction. “She, that is Pheone, says that somewhere around ten thousand Wesmen are occupying Julatsa and erecting a stockade to defend it. They have reinforced since the initial victory and further tented areas to the west hold about five thousand. They haven't yet moved southeast toward Dordover.”
“And what about those who escaped into the hills?” The Unknown ladled himself a mug of coffee.
“They've been ignored so far, Pheone thinks, because the College is still resisting.”
Ilkar felt at once proud and devastated. His city, occupied by invaders; his people, those who escaped, forced to scavenge in the hills. But his College somehow stood against the tide.
“There's more,” said Erienne. “There are knots of Julatsans all around the city, hiding in the hills and woodlands. She doesn't know how many though a group to the southeast intercepted the Dordovan force that Darrick mentioned, over three thousand foot and cavalry, and stopped their scouts running into the Wesmen lines.”
“So, there is a military leader out there,” said The Unknown. “Did Pheone say anything about an organised attack being planned?”
“I'm surprised there hasn't already been an assault,” said Hirad. “Surely they can talk to
the mages left inside the College and set up something.”
“No, because no one can talk to the College,” replied Erienne. “Besides, it's tough to coordinate disparate groups all around the city. Communion isn't that easy.”
“Well, why can't anyone Commune with Julatsa?” Ilkar's heart raced. “Is she sure the Wesmen haven't taken it.”
“Yes, she's certain, because they have magical protection which blocks Communion.” She drew in breath deeply. “Ilkar, they've erected a DemonShroud.”
“A what?” asked Hirad.
“Gods in the sky, have they really?” said Ilkar, eyes widening in surprise. And now he'd been told, the solution was obvious as the only one that could keep at bay an army of fifteen thousand, no matter how great their fear of magic. But with the knowledge that the Wesmen could not hope to enter the College while the Shroud remained, came the connected problem. Ilkar quickly outlined the workings of the Shroud before giving voice to the issue of which both Erienne and Denser were already aware.
“So how in all the hells do we get in?” demanded Hirad.
“We don't, not until the Shroud is dropped,” replied Ilkar.
“I'd worked that bit out,” said Hirad, tapping his head. “It isn't hot like yours but it does go round. I mean, when and if the Shroud is dropped, how do we beat ten thousand Wesmen into the Library?”
“We don't,” said The Unknown. “We have to get them away from the College before that happens. I know that sounds ridiculous but we've got ourselves, God knows how many Julatsans aching for revenge and three thousand professional soldiers, and the Wesmen don't even seem to realise it. There's time enough because the Shade isn't growing that fast and I think we could make something work for us.”
“Really? What exactly?” Denser wasn't alone in his scepticism. But The Unknown didn't have time to explain. The Dark Mage grunted and shook his head. “Communion,” he said, frowning. “It's Delyr, I think.” He lay down and closed his eyes to accept the contact from Parve.
It was a contact that would change everything.
The Council Chamber was bleak and cold. Outside the College, an eerie silence had fallen. Two men lay dead, dozens would have wounds and Kard had placed instant curfew on the courtyard and grounds. Every nonessential person, was confined inside and the guard on certain doors—two of the Long Rooms in particular—was heavy.
A cordon, eighty strong, secured the base of the Tower and for the first time the remaining guard on the walls looked inward, not out.
Barras, his heart heavy, anticipated, as they all did, the battle that would ensue inside the walls if they kept up the Shroud. He didn't like it and, despite the knowledge of the College's demise, could see the fight couldn't be allowed to happen.
“Why won't they understand?” Endorr was frustrated.
“Where's your family, Endorr?” countered Cordolan, his usual jovial face a distant memory.
“You know I have no family.”
“Then you can never understand why they don't understand.” Cordolan steepled his hands.
“Why?”
“Because your family are not dying while you live unmarked inside these walls. The people you love the best are not in the game of chance for sacrifice. Your greatest terrors for your brothers, sisters and parents are not unfolding before your eyes.”
“The point, Endorr, is this,” said Barras. “We can no longer presume to uphold the College in the face of so much slaughter. I believed, as no doubt did you, that the College and Julatsan magic were more important than life. They are not. I also didn't believe Senedai would carry out his threat or would stop after one show of bravado. I was wrong.
“I saw the faces of those who died today and the anger of those who confronted us. Unless you are blind, you must see we cannot let this slaughter continue.”
“That is a considerable change of opinion,” said Seldane. “Not that long ago, we sat here with General Kard and agreed that nothing, not even life, was as important as maintaining the College.”
“Yes, and pious, grossly insensitive and morally indefensible it was too,” said Barras.
“We cannot suffer the College to fall,” said Torvis. “We cannot see Julatsan magic die. The imbalance in power will destabilise the whole of Balaia.”
“We can bury the Heart,” said Kerela. “Our life will always beat.”
“Why bother? If we lose the Mana Bowl, The Tower and the Library, we are so much lessened. What does the Heart do but give us a spiritual centre for our magic? It is our books, our architecture and our places of deepest solemnity that make us Julatsan mages. Vital though it is, the Heart is just one of them.” Seldane shook her head.
“If we do nothing, there will be battle inside these walls and I will not have Julatsans spill one another's blood in my College.” Kerela's eyes held an uncompromising power, just as her tears had told of the depth of her pain.
“If we step outside these walls, we will be killed and any nonmage enslaved. I fail to see the purpose of walking into their hands and leaving the College to their mercy,” said Vilif.
“One thing we will not be doing is rolling over, let me assure you of that,” said Kerela.
“If we fight them, we will lose,” said Seldane. “We can exist here until help arrives.”
“It's not going to!” snapped Kerela, thumping her hand on the table. “Do you still not see what should have been obvious right from the start? While the Shroud remains, no one will come to our aid. We have erected an impenetrable barrier. We are safe. No one knows what is happening in here and I tell you something, if I was a Dordovan, I wouldn't be rushing on to Wesmen swords with no guarantee of help from those I was supposed to be rescuing. Would you?”
There was a knock on the door and Kard entered. He looked harassed, sweat beading his face which was red and vein-shot.
“Your arrival is most opportune,” said Kerela. “Please, take a drink, sit yourself down and tell us what is happening out there.”
Kard nodded, grateful for a moment's respite. He unhooked his cloak and draped it over the back of his chair, filled a crystal glass with water and sat down, exhaling loudly. He drained his glass and set it down gently, a more natural colour already returning to his face.
“I'm too old for this,” he said. An embryonic chuckle ran around the table.
“That applies to most of us here,” said Vilif. The General smiled briefly.
“All right, we've put back the cork for now but I can't keep it there indefinitely. These people are not our prisoners, they are not disarmed and they outnumber my soldiers two to one, though that is small concern because we will not fight them hand to hand. Not if a decision, the right decision, comes from this room before noon. We have to stop Senedai's killing.”
“What would you have us do, General?” asked Seldane, her tone terse.
“Remove the Shroud—”
“And leave us open for slaughter just like that?” Endorr was incensed.
“No, young idiot,” snarled Kard, his demeanour changed suddenly, his voice hard, military. “The College Guard of Julatsa will never leave us open for slaughter or these buildings at their mercy. Save your sharp tongue for your spells.”
“Kard, be calm,” said Barras, reaching out a hand toward the General. “We are all under great pressure.”
Kard nodded and straightened his uniform tunic.
“A number of events must happen in quick succession if we are to buy the time we need. And much of it falls on the mages in the first instance. If I might make my recommendations without interruption?”
Kerela smiled. “I think we can agree to that.”
“Good, good.” Kard shot a sharp glance in the direction of Endorr. “It is my belief that the Dordovans are hidden, probably half a day's ride or more from the city, and also probably in contact with escaped Julatsans. If they aren't, we'll fail.
“After the Shroud is dropped, mages need to complete two tasks the moment the Wesmen raise the alarm as they undo
ubtedly will. First, Communion to establish contact with anyone who will hear but particularly the Dordovans. We will need them and anyone else who is out there and armed to hit the rear of the Wesmen lines. We may be able to hold them alone for a couple of days, but we may not.
“Second, I need that bastard moving tower destroyed. I don't care how it's done but it'll provide access as well as vision once the Shroud goes.” He paused, refilled his glass and drank.
“My soldiers are ready drilled for their positions and I need your permission to set mage defence around the walls. Lastly, Barras, I need you to speak to Senedai. Tell him we're going to come out in three days. See if you can delay any more of this senseless death. That's all.”
“You want to break out in three days?” asked Torvis.
“No, two. But I don't want the Wesmen ready to receive us. Every moment we buy is precious.”
“We should drop the Shroud at night, then, when there are fewer of them to see it go,” said Endorr.
“Absolutely,” agreed Kard. “I was thinking of the dark before the dawn. Remember, we don't want to spark trouble in the middle of the night because the Dordovans will be sleeping too. We shouldn't bring down the tower until the Wesmen realise the Shroud is gone. Again, should that buy us an hour in which to mobilise the Dordovans, it could be critical.”
“But this doesn't change the fact that we are surrendering the College,” said Seldane. Kard turned his head and looked long at her.
“My Lady, I have no intention of surrendering this College.”
“So why are we dropping the Shroud for which, I remind you, Deale gave his life?” demanded Endorr.
“Because the time has come again to fight for our freedom. And to gamble that help will arrive. And if the times become desperate again, we can bury the Heart. Julatsa will beat life until we can reclaim it,” said Kard.
“But surely you don't believe we can win?” Endorr's scepticism was written in a sneer all over his face.
Noonshade Page 24