Noonshade

by James Barclay

  “You have got to be bloody joking, Hirad. If you think I'm going to agree to be a ‘consort’”—he ejected the word like a mouthful of rotten fruit—“you can stick it straight up your arse.”

  “Denser, sit down now and lower your voice,” ordered The Unknown, making the ghost of a move when the mage threatened to speak again. “Your noise will bring the entire Wesmen nation down on our necks. All our noise for that matter. We are The Raven. Let's try and remember that once in a while.”

  “You weren't there,” said Hirad.

  “Hirad,” warned The Unknown.

  “No, hear me out.” He lowered his voice. “I could feel the waves of need in Sha-Kaan. He needs me, us, as much as we'll need him. And in case you'd forgotten, Denser, if he and the Kaan die, so do we all. It is our duty to help protect him. And for that, I need your help. There was no time to consult you. I did what I had to do. What was right in here.” He tapped his chest.

  Denser took his place by the fire, exchanging sharp glances with Erienne.

  “Well, you're right about the time thing anyway.”

  The Raven looked at him with virgin interest. His Communion had been forgotten.

  Ilkar cleared his throat. “I ask this with all due dread, but why?”

  “Because we've only got eight days to close the rip.”

  Darrick's heart was soaring. Eight days of exhilarating riding had brought the cavalry to within striking distance of the Bay of Gyernath staging post. His scouts reported a small force of Wesmen warriors and workers, perhaps as few as one hundred and fifty, and an intermittent stream of traffic moving in from the Heartlands trail which ran away to the west and the Southern Force, the river which ran from the Garan Mountains to the sea and guarded the eastern edge of the Wesmen's ancestral home.

  It had been a ride of power and discipline, hard paced by day, resting by night. He knew the horses hadn't much left but journey's end was in sight and the destruction of the staging post would herald a short sea journey and perhaps a day's rest.

  The four-College cavalry, one hundred and ninety swordsmen and archers and eighteen mages, was gathered an hour's ride from the bayside encampment. The plans were laid. The most potent risk was from three watchtowers manned by three warriors each and to these Darrick detailed his full contingent of fourteen archers and enough mage support to provide HardShields. He would have preferred to launch a magical attack but the spells he needed were very hard to prepare and cast at a gallop. The main body of the camp, large store tents surrounded in a loose circle by billet canvas, was ripe for a cavalry charge with mage-fired torches as the first attack volley.

  Darrick, at the head of the cavalry astride his mount, gave his final address as the late afternoon sun began to wane.

  “These people have invaded our lands and killed our people. You all know some of those who have already died. All those lost in the defence of Understone Pass, all those lost so far in the siege of Julatsa. The Gods only can know the state of Blackthorne, Gyernath and Arlen. Erskan, Denebre and Eimot.

  “They have shown us no mercy. You must do the same. Kill them or they will kill you. I want this encampment burned to the ground and the charred earth left as memorial and warning. The East shall not bend the knee to the West. The Colleges shall thrive. The Wesmen shall be driven from our lands, our homes and yes, our beds.

  “Are you with me?”

  The chorus sent birds into the sky. Darrick nodded.

  “Then let's ride.” The cavalry galloped for the Bay.

  The camp had quietened, The Raven sitting around Will's stove, each drawing on their own thoughts, dwelling on Denser's words. Will himself had stretched out next to Thraun, an arm carelessly thrown over the wolf's prone form. Thraun remained alert, head up, ears pricked, tongue licking his lips as he scanned his new territory.

  Erienne watched them both for a moment, seeing in them a closeness she no longer seemed to share with Denser. The Dark Mage was absently flicking at dried leaves on the ground while his pipe sat between his teeth, long since dead and ignored. She frowned and sent out a gentle probing in the mana but, as with so many times before, found only a blanket covering his mind. She wasn't even sure if he was aware of his shield against her but then she wasn't sure he was aware of much but his own memories of Dawnthief and what it had done to him.

  She rose and went to sit by him; he acknowledging her with the slightest of smiles. It set her body tingling.

  “Do you want to walk a little way?” she asked. “Down to the water's edge? It's dark.”

  He looked her full in the face, forehead wrinkling, pupils dilated in the dim light. How she wished they were wide in longing for her.

  “What for?” he asked.

  “I would have thought that was obvious,” muttered Ilkar from nearby.

  “Keep out of this, Ilkar,” said Erienne shortly. “Denser, please?” Denser shrugged and dragged himself to his feet, a sigh escaping his lips.

  “Lead on,” he said, his half gesture mirroring the lack of enthusiasm so plainly displayed on his face. She narrowed her eyes but said nothing, choosing instead to do as he asked.

  “Don't stray too far,” warned Hirad. “This area isn't safe.”

  Erienne handed aside a low branch, ducked right and moved off toward the River Tri. Despite the night, the moon gave enough light to see by and she walked briskly between tree and bush down a shallow slope that led to the water's edge.

  At the shore, a mixture of fine shingle, mud and overhanging plants, she turned left and, stepping over puddles and marshy ground, found her way to a flat patch of grass a couple of paces back from the river and covered by trees. She sat down on the slightly damp ground, looking out at the wide, sluggish course of the Tri as it drove inexorably to Triverne Inlet and then out to sea. In the dimness, it looked dark grey, like a slow-moving sludge, and did nothing to lighten her mood.

  After a few moments, Denser appeared, striking light to his pipe. He seemed unsure what to do.

  “Sit down,” she said, patting the grass next to him. Another shrug and he complied, leaving a small distance between them and only half looking at her.

  “Why won't you talk to me?” she asked, not sure how to begin the conversation but knowing she had to get through to him for the sake not just of herself, but of The Raven too.

  “I do,” he responded.

  “Oh yes, and I really enjoy our ‘how are you, fine’ conversations. Very meaningful. Very fulfilling.” A light breeze rustled the leaves at her back and blew hair across her face.

  “So, what do you want me to talk about?”

  “You! God's sake, Denser, haven't you seen what's happened to you since you cast Dawnthief?” She felt anger welling up at his surly, deliberate obstruction.

  “Nothing's happened,” he said defensively. “I've just gained a clear knowledge of the true working of magic.”

  “Yes, and look what it's done to you. Taken you away from us, from me, and given you this damned superior air. Like we are beneath your level all of a sudden.”

  “That's not what I think.”

  “Well, that's how it appears. You snap at Ilkar, you wind up Hirad and you just ignore me most of the time.” Her eyes were filling with tears. Only a few short days ago, she'd sat with him lying in her lap, so proud of him, so happy he was alive and simply staggered by his achievement. But her surge of feelings had struck a hard wall of hidden emotion and now she felt helpless. “What is going on in that head of yours?”

  “Nothing,” he said quietly.

  “Exactly,” she snapped. “Ever since you regained your mana stamina it's like you don't care. Not for me, not for The Raven and not for our child.”

  “That's not true.” Denser still wouldn't look at her. She wanted to reach out to touch him but her heart lurched as, in her mind's eye, she saw him pulling away.

  “So talk to me,” she urged. “Please.”

  He sighed and she almost slapped him. But then their eyes met and she saw him fi
ghting for the words.

  “It's difficult,” he said, a slight shrug following.

  “We have all night.”

  “Hardly,” he said, a smile touching his lips for the briefest of moments. “You understand magic. You understand the energy it takes to control mana and the depletion of your stamina whenever you cast. And you know that every mage searches for new ways to minimise that depletion. But I've just been given most of it on a plate. And that's just the half of it.”

  Erienne was desperate to interrupt but even more so not to disrupt his train of thought, such as it was. She wasn't sure anything he was saying was relevant; she was just glad to hear him talk.

  “The thing is, we all have our life's work and our life's dream. I've discovered that the trick is never to achieve that dream.” He looked away over the water.

  “You have lost me there,” said Erienne. “Why would you chase after things you didn't actually want to achieve?”

  “What do you do when you've achieved your life's ultimate challenge?” countered Denser.

  For a moment, Erienne had no response. “There must always be something,” she said.

  “That's what I thought. But what when there isn't anything as big as what you've just done?”

  “I—” she began, thinking she understood. For a heartbeat, the pieces began to fall into place. But she found they didn't fit. “How can you have nothing?” she asked. “We're here because we have to close that rip, because no one else can. How can that not be important enough to you?”

  “I don't know.”

  “If we fail, you'll die. We all will.”

  “But death no longer holds any fear for me. I have cast Dawnthief, I have achieved something I thought unattainable. The one thing I could go on dreaming about because I knew I would never succeed. But I have succeeded and now I am empty. If I died now, I would die complete.”

  Now she slapped him. Hard across the cheek, the sound ringing out on the still night air. The Raven would be on them shortly but she didn't care. Every frustration, every cold look he'd given her and every little slight in his manner boiled out of her. It made her feel no better.

  “Then do it for someone else. What about me? What about your child?” Her tears began to flow. “Selfish bastard.”

  He caught her arm. “I cast Dawnthief to save everyone.”

  “You did it for yourself,” she snarled, sudden contempt flowing through her veins. “You have just made that very clear.” She jerked her arm free. “I'm just surprised you didn't go full force. I mean, why not perform the ultimate act of selfishness and take us all with you? At least that way you wouldn't have to be so damned self-pitying now.” She made to go but his words stopped her dead.

  “I nearly did. But I couldn't because I love you.”

  She turned, knowing she should slap him again for daring to toy with her emotions that way. But something in his tone stayed her hand.

  “That is an extraordinary statement,” she said coldly.

  “But true.”

  “Well, you've had a strange way of showing it since.”

  Denser looked up at her, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “I can't be all that you need right now. If I'm honest, I do feel that I've made a huge sacrifice. Not just for you but for The Raven. But when it came to it, I couldn't betray the faith you had shown in me. All of you. And much as Dawnthief tried to beguile me into taking the world with me, I couldn't do it.” He let his gaze drop back to the grass. “It's funny. I never thought I'd live to see the spell cast but, when casting, my desperation that you should live overcame the terrible desire to see my life's work completed.”

  Erienne sat next to him and placed an arm around his neck, stroking his face where she had slapped it.

  “And now you have the chance to carry on a new life's work, my love,” she whispered. “You've spent all your life learning to destroy but, you and me, we've created something. You can make sure it isn't allowed to die.” She realised he was shaking. Whether it was chill or emotion she didn't know for a while but when he turned to her he took her hands in his, and his face was wet with tears.

  “It's what I want more than anything but inside I feel cheated. Don't you see? Everything in my life has been peripheral to that damned spell ever since I can remember. It was drummed into me so hard there was no room for anything else. But now it's gone and I have no centre, no core to keep me wanting to live through trouble and come out the other side.” He brushed a hand across her cheek. “I know how hard that must sound for you and I know it's wrong to feel that way but I do. What if I can never feel the way I did before? What if I can't want something else as much as I wanted Dawnthief?”

  “You will, love. Trust me. All you have to do is try.” She kissed his mouth gently, letting her tongue caress his lips. He forced her mouth open, his kiss becoming urgent, his hands suddenly at her back, pressing her to him. She warmed to his touch, wanting him but instead she pushed him away.

  “It's not quite that easy,” she said, feeling the heat in her face and the flutter of her heart. Their faces were close and he was smiling that genuine smile she had loved the first time she saw it but feared she'd seen for the last time.

  “But all this was put here for us. A soft patch of grass, the sound of the river and a hint of moonlight. It would be rude to pass it by.”

  “You ignore me for days and now this?”

  “Got to start somewhere.” He moved a hand to caress her breast. She wanted to pull away but couldn't find the will. And as she let herself be lain on her back, his kisses smothering her in repeated sensual blooms, she thought she heard footsteps creeping back toward the camp.

  Sha-Kaan rested a while. Tiring of Flamegrass, he devoured the carcass of a freshly slaughtered goat. It took the edge off his hunger.

  He contemplated his conversation with Hirad Coldheart, impressed at the human's strength but unsure of the wisdom of his decision nonetheless. If it didn't work, he knew he could move on but the thought of Hirad Coldheart's inevitable death in that circumstance gave him no comfort. He had gambled and that was not something he did lightly.

  And now he had to act. He crushed and swallowed the last of the bones, followed them with a bale of Flamegrass and shifted out of Wingspread, a command to attend flashing from his mind to a Kaan of whom he had need.

  Sha-Kaan materialised in the river and drank long from its cool flow. Above him, the mist parted and a large young Kaan dropped into the Broodland, wings braking his descent, feet seeking purchase a little clumsily on an area of flat, pitted rock, his talons goring it deeply.

  The Great Kaan picked his head from the river and rose up, his neck forming the formal “s,” his torso upright, the duller yellow scales of his belly exposed, front legs flat, his wings twitching for balance. He gazed at the young Kaan who mirrored his bearing but whose head was bowed in respect.

  Elu-Kaan reminded him of himself at the same age—strong, large, confident in his abilities, yet nervous in the presence of his elders.

  “Skies greet you, Elu-Kaan,” he said.

  “I am honoured by your call, Great Kaan,” Elu responded.

  “I have work for you. Your Dragonene is, I understand, a mage residing in the Balaian city of Julatsa?”

  “Yes, Great Kaan, though I have not taken contact for several cycles. I have been fortunate in battle.” His head bowed further, though his mind was as proud as it should be.

  “Fortune, it was not. Skill is your saviour.” Sha felt a surge of pride from the youngster at his compliment. “But now I need you to travel interdimensional space to speak with your Dragonene, if you are able. The mages have protected their College with an energy derived from the dimension of the Arakhe. I fear that the gateway will be feeding power to the Arakhe and I cannot allow them ungoverned access to Balaia. Find out whether your portal can penetrate it but do not risk your life. There is risk in what I ask. Withdraw the moment you feel them press; they are a difficult enemy.”

  “I will be
gin at once.” The young Kaan raised his head to assure Sha-Kaan of his intent.

  “Elu,” said Sha-Kaan. “I must have an answer when the orb darkens the Skies.”

  “Yes, Great Kaan.”

  “I will be gone from the Broodlands for a short time. I must speak with the Veret. If I do not return, you must pick up the signature of Hirad Coldheart of The Raven. It will reside in the Mind of Wingspread and you alone have my permission to enter if I should die.”

  “I am honoured, Great Kaan.”

  “You are still young, Elu, but the greatness is in your heart, mind and wings. Learn from me and become Great Kaan yourself in time.” Sha-Kaan stretched his wings. “May the Skies be clear for you.”

  “And you, Great Kaan. Be careful. The Brood needs you.”

  Sha made no response. Calling his farewells to the Brood, he flew from the valley, heading north for the Shedara Ocean.

  The skies were calm, the cloud high and the winds in the upper strata aided his flight. After exchanging greetings and instructions with the gateway defence, he climbed high above the cloud layer and drank in the radiance of the orb and the beauty of his world.

  From the heights, the tranquillity lifted his heart and, for a beat, he could believe the world was at peace. Warm yellow-orange light flooded the sky, reflecting from the clouds and sparkling in his vision. He closed his inner lids and focused his mind below.

  Nothing impinged on his consciousness. No flights of dragons moved the air contours, no clash of minds filled the void with noise, no barks told of battles to come, no cries of pain told of battles lost. Satisfied, he increased his wing beats and tore across the sky.

  The Shedara Ocean filled the northern hemisphere. Where the vast lands of Dormar and Keol ended, so it began, its vastness punctuated only by islands, reefs and drifts of sand, immense on the tide, nothing in the flood. But it was a short-sighted dragon that ignored the land masses, however temporary their hold on dry air. The Veret, though marine in all their biology, chose to nest and breed in caves and hides where the sea was not forever above their heads.

  Sha-Kaan knew where the Veret chose to Brood and he flew deliberately through the centre of their mind net before banking steeply up to await the inevitable response. It was not long in coming.