Noonshade

by James Barclay

  Barras knocked quietly, hoping to find the General asleep but the order to come in was rasped out immediately. The old elf negotiator entered Kard's rooms in the base of the Tower, to find the General sitting by a small fire, his chair pulled over to an open window. A steaming mug rested on the sill and Julatsa's senior soldier was gazing out at the star-lit sky. Night was a release, if only because the Shroud was all but invisible in the dark and somehow less menacing, though its aura sent shudders down the spines of any within its influence. By the master sand-timers, it was about two hours before dawn.

  There was nothing more any of them could do but wait until the first order came through and then the day would bring what it would bring. Throughout the College, an uneasy quiet held sway. There was not a man, woman or child that did not know their role. In dozens of meetings, all of which took place beyond the gaze of the guards in the Wesmen's tower, Kard and his lieutenants had outlined their plans in great detail.

  In addition to the fighting groups and mage defence and offence, Kard had organised every member of the civilian population into a group to tackle a specific task. From provisioning soldiers on the walls with everything from arrows to bread, through carpentry and stonemasonry teams to plug and strengthen defences, to medical, stretcher, and fire teams, everyone was assigned the task most suited to their abilities.

  In separate meetings, Kerela had briefed all her mages to obey Kard until the battle was either won or lost. In that latter event, all knew what would happen and those who could not directly help in burying the Heart were expected to die defending those who could. And finally, with the College sleeping its last before battle was joined, Endorr and Seldane had, at Barras’ behest, moved hundreds of the College's most critical texts into or just outside of the Heart. Now, when the Shroud was dispersed, the Heart would look more akin to a storeroom than the very centre of Julatsan magic.

  Barras glanced around Kard's sparse accommodation. A single bunk lay unused against the right-hand wall. Charts, parchments and quills littered a desk beneath the other, still closed, window and the desk chair was heaped with books and diaries. These, Kard moved when he saw it was his old friend that had entered.

  “Sit down, Barras, you need your rest,” he said, a half smile playing over his cracked lips; his chin, newly shaved, glistening with the sweat of the fire in the warmth of the room. He removed a pot from a hook just inside the grate and filled a mug for Barras, which the elf took in both hands, nodding his thanks.

  “Are you sure this is right?” asked Kard, pointing his chin in the direction of the Shroud. “Going back to battle, I mean.”

  “What other way is there?”

  “Well, we could restrain the people and exist within these walls for…” He paused and dragged a sheet of paper from the desk, shaking off those that sat atop it. A couple fluttered to the floor where he left them. “…one hundred and seventeen days. If we ration hard and deal with our cess sensibly.”

  “And at the end of that time?”

  Kard smiled again and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, the world will have done a lot of turning. Perhaps we could be liberated.”

  “And Senedai will have run out of prisoners to slaughter and the mounds of disease-ridden corpses will be higher than the walls. What's all this about?” Barras frowned and sipped at his drink. It was a herbal leaf tea with a hint of peppermint and was most agreeable.

  Kard's smile faded and he shook his head, a finger on his lips.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just hoping you were coming here with another solution, I suppose, one that wouldn't lead to so many of those people out there getting killed tomorrow and the next day and the next day after that.”

  “I didn't think doubt ever entered your head, Kard.”

  “It doesn't, as you well know, but, well I don't know, I hoped for so much when the Shroud went up.”

  “Do you wish we'd never raised it?” asked Barras.

  “No, no. Actually, last night, or was it the night before?” Kard looked out over the courtyard. “Anyway, the other night, I lay there and wondered about the outcome had you not raised the Shroud.”

  “And?” Barras raised his eyebrows.

  “You know as well as I do. The Wesmen would have been over these walls in no time. We had no mage strength, our army was routed and everyone was terrified. This way, we are rested, our morale is higher but we are still as scared, I think. At least we'll give them a bloody nose.”

  Barras said nothing, drinking his tea and watching the thoughts play over Kard's face, seeing the ghosts of smiles, frowns and tears. He was sorry to have interrupted the General's reverie. The old soldier was replaying his life, knowing he had little of it left. The doubts he expressed were just those of any hard-thinking man who had the sense to search for a better way out until time was up and he had to concede there wasn't one. He decided to take his leave quickly but he had come here for a reason.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” said Kard realising the same thing.

  “We've been talking in the Council Room. We're going to start the Summoning now. It could be sometime before Heila reveals himself and then we have to negotiate the removal of the Shroud. It'll be difficult to guarantee it will be gone exactly an hour before dawn but it shouldn't be any later. You need to have at least the tower attack mages ready fairly soon.”

  “And I'll wake my soldiers too. Couldn't you have mentioned this earlier?”

  “We needed to study some texts to be sure. We'll be starting presently.” Barras got up to leave, placing his empty mug on the desk where it left a ring on an organisation chart. “Sorry.”

  Kard shrugged very slightly. “No matter. I think they've outlived their usefulness now.” He shook hands with Barras, his grip strong and confident. “Good luck.”

  Barras nodded. “I'll see you upstairs later this morning. May the Gods be with you.”

  “If they aren't, we'll be with them soon enough.”

  “That's a grim thought.” Barras smiled.

  “But a realistic one.”

  Barras walked away to the Heart of the Tower of Julatsa.

  The Raven had stopped to rest in the lee of a small incline, sheltered from the prevailing wind. Above them, bracken and bush rustled further up the slope while, to either side, the land stretched away, full of stream, bog, marsh and scrub.

  They had walked well into the evening, stopping only when Denser indicated that Erienne needed the rest. The Dordovan mage herself had said nothing but the lines on her face had deepened with the late afternoon gloom and, though outwardly irritated by the attention, was soon asleep, a reassured smile on her face.

  Will and Thraun had left the camp once the stove was lit and returned a long while later, Will tight-lipped, Thraun padding to a quiet spot away from his companions before lying down, a brooding look across his lupine features.

  First Denser and then The Unknown had taken watches and now, with the stars straining to touch the land with their radiance, Hirad sat awake, his back against the rise, gazing across his sleeping friends and back along their path of the previous day.

  While the pace had been quick, it was still just a walk and Hirad fretted on the lack of any chance to secure even a pair of horses to carry baggage and give them a break in turn from the long foot slog. But far more pressing on Hirad, despite the time constraints he knew they faced, was how they might penetrate first the Wesmen army, whose number was not known but certainly high, and following that, the DemonShroud.

  He had little understanding of what Ilkar talked about but it seemed to him that they could not break the thing, whatever it was. He found himself looking forward to Sha-Kaan's next contact, hoping the mighty dragon had found a way for them to get through.

  Hirad yawned, letting his jaws stretch. He shook his head and glanced around the sky. It was a couple of hours until dawn, maybe a little more. The night was mild without the breeze to chill the skin and the gentle warmth of the stove blanketed the camp.

  H
e levered himself to his feet and refilled his mug from the pot on the stove, adding more water and grounds from the skin and sack nearby. The supply of coffee was dwindling quickly and Hirad wrinkled his nose in distaste as he imagined a return to the leaf teas he knew Ilkar would make when the coffee sack was empty.

  He made to sit back down but a growl had him spin on his heel. Coffee splashed over his gloved hand. Thraun was crouched, staring at him, his yellow eyes cold and malign. Hirad met the stare, forcing a smile on to his face.

  “Hey, Thraun, it's me, remember?”

  Thraun growled on, hackles rising. He shifted back, resting on the raw power of his hind quarters. Nearest to him, Will stirred and woke.

  “What's up?” he asked blearily.

  “I don't know,” said Hirad. “He—”

  With a half bark, the wolf sprang away into the darkness. And then the pain gripped Hirad. Brief and intense, it swamped his senses and brought him to his knees, contents of his mug draining into the dirt in front of him.

  “Hirad Coldheart, hear me.” Hirad didn't know why but the voice of Sha-Kaan was close this time. And it had a different quality. Not as strong and commanding. Pained.

  “I hear you, Sha-Kaan.”

  “I must open the portal. The Raven must hear me. Are you in a place of safety? Your rhythms and signature tell me you are at rest.”

  “Yes, Great Kaan.”

  “Excellent. It will be done.” And the pain was gone.

  A few paces directly in front of Hirad as he remained on his knees, and a short way down the shallow incline, a line of flickering light traced a rectangle from the ground up to a height of ten feet, across seven and back down. Inside the rectangle, all was black but to either side and above, the landscape stayed in view.

  Hirad climbed to his feet, glancing around. Will was staring wide-eyed at the light, with the remainder of The Raven all stirring, sleep interrupted by an unknown quantity that bled unease over their resting minds.

  “Don't be scared, Will, it's Sha-Kaan.”

  “It's all right. I'm all right.” Will's voice had a quaver. “How is it Sha-Kaan?”

  “Hard to explain right now but he's travelled from his dimension to ours to talk. Wake the others.” Hirad's eyes returned to the light. Inside its frame, the dark sparkled gold like a sudden snowstorm, and then slid left, revealing a brazier-lit passageway that led to a small bare chamber Hirad had seen before.

  “What is that?” asked Will. Hirad turned to him, smiling.

  “The path to the Great Kaan,” he said.

  Sha-Kaan's voice whispered across his mind.

  “Well done, Hirad Coldheart, your signature is strong. Come, bring your companions.”

  Hirad wasn't quite sure what he was experiencing but it was something akin to euphoria. His head felt light, his limbs empowered, his heart thumping its joy. He quashed the worry that immediately surfaced. Sha-Kaan was here.

  “Here again, are we?” said Ilkar's voice at his shoulder. It held no surprise but more than a little weariness.

  “But this time the meeting will be easier and happier,” said Hirad.

  “Well, nothing will be stolen, I'm sure,” said Ilkar. The Raven were not long in waking. The Unknown came to Hirad's other shoulder, silent, face drawn, eyes flat.

  “Just like old times, eh Unknown?” Hirad smiled.

  “No, Hirad, not really.” He led the way inside. Hirad paused, watching Denser and Erienne walk around the back of the portal.

  “Fascinating,” said the Dark Mage. “I can see you from the other side but I can't put my hand through to wave at you. It's as if it only really exists as you see it.” He rejoined Hirad. “Will you try something?”

  Hirad shrugged and nodded. “If I must.”

  “Walk around like I've just done. I'll stand here.”

  Hirad raised his eyebrows and began walking, stopping after only a couple of paces.

  “Hold on,” he said. “That's not right.” The opening had followed him, he was still in front of it.

  “Yes it is,” said Ilkar. “We're behind it again, if behind is the right word.”

  “You're Dragonene now,” said Erienne. “That portal only exists because of you and your link to Sha-Kaan.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Hirad. He hadn't a clue what Erienne was talking about.

  “Any chance of the rest of you coming in?” The Unknown's face appeared at the portal. “Come on.” He turned back inside.

  “Will, what about Thraun. Will he come?” asked Hirad.

  “I'm only just convinced of going in myself,” said the wiry little man, black hair shot through with grey, the legacy of a terror that still plagued his nightmares. “But I guess he'll follow if he's still keen to protect me. I think your dragon's presence scares him.”

  “He's not alone,” said Erienne.

  “Come on, Raven, let's meet the Great Kaan,” said Hirad, adding, “Swords sheathed.”

  It was like walking back inside a memory. Hirad could recall with complete clarity his blind pursuit of Denser the first time they had been inside Sha-Kaan's melde-corridor. That time, he hadn't stopped to look around him. Now he did, albeit briefly.

  The passageway was short and The Unknown waited at its far end, inside the small bare chamber. He hadn't opened the door. The Chamber itself had benches down either wall, a stone-flagged floor and dark green painted murals depicting fire and jungle.

  Through the door was the first hall, the only part of which Hirad remembered was the fire that Sha-Kaan had blasted through the twin doors to the right. These had been replaced, any scorch marks removed and a log fire burned beneath the Dragonene crest that hung on the wall above the grate opposite him.

  Hirad walked toward the crest, drawn by its symbolism, two claws beneath the open maw of a dragon breathing flame. A ghosting within the crest toyed with his eyes. He moved closer and what he saw swelled his heart. It was the crest of The Raven, blood-red background behind a silhouette of a raven's head and wing. It sat within the Dragonene symbol, proud yet subordinate. Hirad had no quarrel with the chain of command it implied.

  “Well, well, well,” said Ilkar, whose eyes had picked out the credit to The Raven very early. Hirad smiled.

  “One in, all in,” he said.

  “Which way to Sha-Kaan?” asked Erienne. Hirad pointed right and led The Raven onward.

  Through one of the twin doors which flanked a second fireplace they faced the crest-emblazoned, rune-carved doors that Hirad had seen destroyed what felt like a lifetime ago. But they were whole, the gold of the crest glinting in the light of the hall fire and the braziers hung around the small antechamber.

  “Push it open,” said Hirad and The Unknown did so, revealing the Dragon Hall, its tapestries, fires, heat and Sha-Kaan, lying flat at rest, neck stretched out toward them, tail coiled behind the vast bulk of his body. He spoke for them all to hear.

  “Welcome, Hirad Coldheart, Dragonene. Welcome The Raven.”

  Sha-Kaan was immense. It was a fact Hirad had never truly allowed his conscious mind to accept, not since their first meeting, and it was clear to him why. His size alone was terrifying but to accept that something getting on for one hundred and twenty feet long also had mental powers and knowledge far ahead of his own was a step closer to madness. And that in addition to the physical power and strength that oozed from every pore.

  But looking at Sha-Kaan for the first time as a Dragonene, the mists were parted for him. Now he could see past the bulk into the mind within. He could feel the thoughts and fears. And he knew the Great Kaan was hurt.

  Hirad led The Raven forward across the tiled floor toward the damp mud and earth on which Sha-Kaan rested. Ten fires burned in grates on three sides of the dragon and the hall was full of heat and condensation. They fanned out in a natural defensive formation, The Unknown at Hirad's right shoulder, Will at his left, the mages in a line behind, Denser, Ilkar and Erienne left to right. Of Thraun, there was no sign. As they closed, Hirad could see
the fire damage marks on the dragon's neck.

  “Tell me what to do, Sha-Kaan,” he said.

  “There will be time for that later, or no time for any of us at all,” said the dragon. “There is great trouble in Julatsa. Your mages there have unleashed a power they are unable to contain, though I fear they do not know it.”

  “May I speak?” asked Ilkar. Sha-Kaan raised his head a few feet from the ground. His old eyes blinked slowly.

  “An elf of Julatsa,” he said. “I would be most interested in what you have to say but be brief. Time is short.”

  “Thank you,” said Ilkar. He stepped forward to stand by Hirad, Will giving way with some relief.

  “The powers you are talking about relate to an old and established spell called the DemonShroud. The Council of Julatsa are all expert in its casting and in its dispersal. I can assure you that they have the wit to shackle the powers of the demons. The Shroud by its very nature is a closed conjuration. The demons cannot step outside its bounds. It is impossible.”

  Sha-Kaan was silent for a moment, his heavy bone brows arrowing between his eyes. He breathed out, a hot, sour exhalation that caught in the throat and stung the eyes.

  “And is this what your Council believe?”

  “It is written in our Lore and the mana structure is sound, tested and completely reliable,” replied Ilkar.

  “But,” said Sha-Kaan, and his voice tolled like a knell of death, “the fabric of your dimension is not sound. The forces of interdimensional space are at work in your skies and the Arakhe, demons, are a dimensional power. They have a hold, currently contained, which the Shroud gives them. And in the moment of dispersal, as you call it, there is the potential to make that hold permanent. If that should happen, the demons could threaten your survival and our melde.”

  “No,” said Ilkar, frowning and shaking his head. “The mana construct is wholly controlled by Julatsa. The demons name the catalyst but beyond that are forced to operate the Shroud as an extension of their dimension within Balaia constrained by our magic.”