Noonshade

by James Barclay

  “And so will you all,” said Styliann. “So I strongly suggest you agree to my terms. Either that or I walk away.” There was a madness in his darting, wild eyes that Hirad had not seen before. It was like a crazed zeal and Styliann really believed he would get what he wanted; as if the Great Kaan, one hundred and twenty feet of animal power, would crumble to his crude blackmail. The Xeteskian's hands were shaking and his tongue licked incessantly at his lips as he waited for Sha-Kaan to respond.

  Hirad could not put into words what flowed through his body at that moment. The silence of The Raven told him they all felt the same. Disgust did not do it justice. Revulsion merely scratched its surface. Sha-Kaan, however, felt able to do more than glare his utter contempt.

  “You, little human, are willing to sacrifice the lives of everyone in Balaia and my entire Brood if you are not promised help to further your own personal ends?”

  “I prefer to think of it as fair recompense for my personal sacrifice in saving all of Balaia from certain death,” said Styliann. “Though I can see where you might acquire your perception.”

  “But we are asking nothing,” said Hirad, the words dragging themselves from his throat. “We do it simply because it has to be done.”

  Styliann raised his eyebrows. “Then you have clearly not thought it all through quite as deeply as I have.”

  “Styliann, think about what you're saying,” said Denser from behind them. “You can't walk away. You know that.”

  “Can't I, Denser? I've already lost everything.” Styliann didn't turn round. “So just you watch me.”

  “But you'll be killing us all,” said Hirad.

  “So persuade your dragon not to call my bluff.”

  Hirad wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug look from Styliann's face but he knew the mage could kill him before he struck. Sha-Kaan growled far down in his throat, the sound rumbling like a distant avalanche.

  Styliann smiled again. “It seems a fairly open and shut matter. But please do me the courtesy of answering my request in the affirmative. Your word being your honour.”

  “My answer,” said Sha-Kaan, a slight nod of the head accompanying his words, “is exactly as you should expect.”

  Styliann's smile broadened.

  “Oh dear Gods,” breathed Hirad. What possessed him he didn't know but he dived forward, snatching Septern's texts from Styliann's arms, hitting the ground and rolling on to his back.

  Twin gouts of flame blasted from Sha-Kaan's mouth. Hirad's abiding memory was of the smile disappearing from Styliann's face as, in the instant before his destruction, he saw his death coming. His body was blown backward, a mass of fire, his chest a hole where his organs had once been and his head blackened and scoured.

  He landed thirty yards away, his torso separating from his relatively undamaged legs, his chest and face gone, a scattering of ash in the breeze all that remained.

  “Impudent human,” said Sha-Kaan.

  The Unknown helped Hirad to his feet, the barbarian's legs shaking, so close had he come to being caught in the fire. Denser had a hand over his mouth, his face ashen, exuding the nausea they must all feel. His other arm supported Erienne whose breath came in shallow gasps. Hirad turned to Ilkar, the elf regarding him blankly, his head shaking gently from side to side, ears pricked and reddening.

  “I hope you can use these,” said the barbarian, handing him the writings, parchments and books. “You know, to do something.” He shrugged. “Something else.”

  “I will continue my preparation,” said Sha-Kaan, all anger gone from his voice. “I expect your new solution presently.”

  Ilkar opened his mouth to protest but Hirad shushed him with a quick hand gesture. “Not now,” he said. “Come on.” He led The Raven away. The trio of Protectors wandered over to stand above Styliann's destroyed body, exchanging glances and looking over at The Unknown.

  “What about them?” asked Hirad.

  “I really don't know,” said The Unknown. “But we have more pressing matters. Ilkar, Denser, Erienne, what options do we have?”

  The other two turned squarely to Ilkar, who spoke.

  “We have one. We read about the theory in Julatsa's library but dismissed it out of hand, particularly when Styliann arrived with so much more information. And thank the Gods you did what you did, Hirad,” said Ilkar, tapping the texts.

  “So you can still close the rip and the corridor?” asked The Unknown.

  “Technically,” said Erienne.

  “It's like this,” said Ilkar. “We no longer have enough strength to cast as we intended. And we can no longer sustain the spell long enough to knit interdimensional space correctly.”

  “So what can you do?” asked Hirad.

  “We can trigger a collapse,” said Ilkar.

  “Excellent, so no problem!” Hirad clapped his hands together but his confidence drained when he saw Erienne shake her head. “What?”

  “We can't know what a collapse will do either here, in Balaia, or anywhere in between. It'll cause ripples in interdimensional space and Septern is very clear on the potential risks of causing them. We could force dimensional realignment, we could tear the fabric of any or all dimensions, we just don't know.” Erienne pushed a hand through her hair.

  “But we don't have a choice, do we? Sha-Kaan has seen to that,” said Hirad.

  “No we don't,” agreed Denser. “But there's one more thing. We have to be inside the rip to collapse it.”

  The shock swept through them though they were far removed from him. For those on watch, it was like a tornado in the mind, reaving the promise from the subconscious and threading turmoil through the conscious.

  For those at rest, it was a nightmare come to haunt. The removal of security in sleep and the awakening of anxiety. Moans escaped from two hundred pairs of lips.

  Any Wesmen watching would have seen the physical symptoms but would never have guessed the cause. The watch-line swayed, free hands clutched heads, legs quivered and feet sought new purchase. And behind them, the rest stood, staring in every direction, not believing the reality so rudely thrust upon them.

  The shock had passed in a few moments but the aftereffects would rumble on.

  Aeb rocked his head, trying to clear the muddle encasing his mind. He could feel his brothers, he would always feel them, but he could not feel their Given.

  He is gone. We have failed. The thought chased itself across the Protectors’ minds, accompanied by an acute feeling of loss and a dissolution of purpose.

  It is not our failure. Aeb urged his response into the cacophony of sending. We are resolute in our mission. We have not surrendered the Manse.

  But as he said it, he realised the futility of their position. They were guarding the Manse for the return of their Given. He was now dead. Their response now was surely to return immediately to Xetesk. The Wesmen no longer needed to be fought or kept at bay but they were still there and would surely prevent any Protector move to leave.

  Aeb felt the confusion flood the Soul Tank. They were trapped but with no reason or drive to fight. Yet fight they would have to, hoping for salvation from other quarters than their Given.

  Sol. We can fight for Sol, came a random thought.

  Aeb flared. Our goal is to survive until such times as we can return to Xetesk to await further Givings. He paused, aware that the flow of other thought had ceased. He was the only one communicating. He felt them all. We all respect and revere Sol. He was a brother Protector. He alone among men understands our Calling. But without our Given, we can only fight for ourselves. Each of you fight for his brothers. Hold that ideal in your soul and we will still triumph. Return to your positions. The night is not over.

  But he wondered. He wondered at the break in the linkage the Given had provided them. Had they enough belief in their own right to survive alone to win? Dawn would give him his answer.

  Darrick could see the glow of the fires of the Wesmen camp around Septern Manse an hour before they were within strik
ing distance. Forward mage scouts were dispatched to assess the strength of Senedai's outer defence, only to return to say there was none beyond the camp perimeter, which completely encircled the Manse and its few fierce defenders.

  A brief Communion with Izack's forces set the attack time. They would both move in, half an hour after the Wesmen had resumed their fight with the Protectors, Darrick deciding that the noise of battle was the best cover for any surprise strike. He and Izack between them commanded a little in excess of six thousand men and mages. It still left them severely outnumbered, given Tessaya's tribes in the vicinity, but it was not a straight stand-up fight; and Darrick, master of spoiling tactics against the Wesmen, felt it gave him the edge.

  Darrick could still hardly believe his plan had worked thus far. Under a strict silence order, with weapons and armour tied down, the fittest elements of the remaining regiments had run out of the back of their encampment, traversed north three miles and turned east, heading over rough ground toward the Manse.

  Under the sure eyes of elf scouts and mages, they had covered their advance from any watching eyes, their intimate knowledge of the terrain allowing them to keep a high pace throughout the night, stopping for just five minutes in each hour.

  Finally, they halted, an hour's march from the Wesmen, in a shallow valley part sheltered from the wind but not from the intermittent showers that still fell from a lowering sky. Darrick had personally toured every centile, thanking them all for their incredible effort and exhorting them for one more when dawn broke.

  And now he sat alone with his thoughts, stretching the muscles of his legs. To sleep was fruitless with dawn so close but rest was vital for what could be a long day.

  It was only now that Darrick felt the enormity of his gamble. He knew the day was dawning with the noon shade over Parve completely covering the city, if the calculations had been correct. It was the beginning of the time when the Kaan would be too few to protect it effectively and when enemy dragons could potentially fly through to attack Balaia. But when or if The Raven would appear, he had no idea. If they didn't, he supposed it didn't matter, because it would mean the rip over Parve couldn't be closed and, sooner or later, they would all die in flames anyway.

  And if they did appear, what difference did it make if Septern's rip was still in Eastern hands? The Raven were just a few when the opposing sides were drawn up and, good as they were, if the battle wasn't going the way of the East by the time they returned, they would merely have saved Balaia for the Wesmen to rule.

  He had always known it, he supposed. This wasn't merely an exercise in stopping Wesmen from gaining the rip and the opportunity to defeat The Raven. It was a fight for Balaia. He knew exactly why he hadn't communicated it. Something inside him had prevented him from believing it himself until now. While they had been trapped by Tessaya, he hadn't wanted to let any desperation creep into his men. The desire to break through might have deflected them from the task of seeing at least some of the army through to the Manse.

  But now they were largely all here, they should know the whole truth. Indeed they had to. If they were to fight and win against the odds they faced, they had to know what exactly was at stake. And Izack had to deliver the same message.

  He got to his feet and went in search of a mage.

  Sha-Kaan's eyes blazed and he turned his head from Hirad who looked anxiously at The Raven gathered behind him.

  “Find another solution,” said the dragon flatly. “This that you suggest will not happen.”

  “Great Kaan, there is no other solution. We are out of time. There is no room for more research. The rip has to be closed now or by your own admission it will be too large for your numbers to defend.”

  Dawn had broken, though the fires still cast their mist-reflected light, and the day was beginning to warm.

  “No human will ever ride a Kaan dragon. It is submission. It is forbidden.”

  “It isn't submission, it's necessity,” implored Ilkar.

  Sha-Kaan's head snapped back around, enormous fangs dripping fuel. “I do not recall inviting you to speak, elf.”

  Hirad took a deep breath. “Sha-Kaan, I am your Dragonene. May I speak freely?”

  “It is your right,” said Sha-Kaan.

  “Right.” Hirad strode around to face the Great Kaan square on. “I understand your feelings about the situation but it is our only chance. I know it wasn't your desire but, in killing Styliann, you removed a great part of our casting strength. Let's face it, you created this mess.

  “But never mind that. Do you really think that we want to sit on dragons and fly into the middle of a battle to cast a spell? Do you think this is what we planned to happen? The furthest I have ever been in the air is as high as I can jump. Gods falling, Sha-Kaan, I can think of nothing worse than flying. Mages do it under their own power, warriors do not. And none of us, believe me, want to experience flight this way.”

  Sha-Kaan regarded him solemnly. “And that is to convince me to accede to your request.”

  “Well, yes, but more than that, it's to tell you that we none of us want this. Not you and certainly not The Raven. But it's the only choice for your Brood and for Balaia. We're prepared to try it. Are you?”

  “But the shame of the submission.” His head dropped.

  “Damn the bloody shame!” Hirad raised his voice. “If this doesn't work, there'll be none of you alive to feel the shame. And if it does, you'll be strong enough to shove shame down the long neck of any Brood that taunts you. What in all the hells are you worrying about?”

  “I think there's history here,” said Denser, attempting to placate both parties.

  “At last, wise words from the thief,” responded Sha-Kaan. Denser smiled thinly.

  “Yeah, and it'll be us that's history if we can't get up to the rip,” said Hirad. “Sha-Kaan?”

  The Great Dragon closed his eyes and drew his head back, his neck making the formal “s.” For a time, he was silent, then he opened his eyes to speak.

  “No dragon will submit to being ridden by a human. It is the ultimate sign of defeat for it signals that the dragon has become subservient to the human. But the Kaan understand that it is not to rule us that you wish carriage by us. It is to save both our races. For this reason alone, we agree to this partnership. Three dragons will each carry one mage. Those dragons shall be Nos-Kaan, Hyn-Kaan and Sha-Kaan. Elu-Kaan shall remain in his Choul, to rule the Brood should I fail to return.” It was a speech made in the language of Balaia but Hirad knew that his mind had pulsed the same message to every Vestare and Kaan dragon in the Broodlands. The total silence was testament to the enormity of what had been decided.

  “Great Kaan, your faith will be repaid by The Raven saving your Brood from destruction,” said Hirad, bowing his head.

  Behind him, he heard The Unknown relax and he turned, a smile on his face.

  “Calmer now, Unknown?”

  “Naturally.” He frowned. “Missed something, have I?”

  Hirad nodded. “Just a bit. I mean, we all know the mages have to go up there but who do you think's going to hold them on while they're casting?”

  The colour drained from The Unknown's face and beside him Thraun's jaw dropped.

  “Oh dear Gods in the sky,” muttered The Unknown. “I wondered why you kept talking about yourself and flying in the same breath. Is there no other way?”

  Hirad shook his head. “Unknown, I am surprised at you.” He winked at Ilkar. “And anyway, The Raven never fight apart, remember?”

  The Unknown cleared his throat. “I think I'd better go and find some rope.”

  Darrick's men moved closer and his scouts reported via Communion that Senedai was again taking the fight to the Protectors. Dawn had cast its gloomy light across Balaia, illuminating a tableau of rock, brush and scrubland soaked by steady rain.

  Darrick brought his men to a halt near the head of a gentle rise. And, with the sounds of many thousand Wesmen voices raised in chant just carrying on the wind, he j
umped up on a rock and begged for attention.

  “You all know why we're here, and I must first thank you all for the determination, faith and courage you have displayed ever since we came together on the shores of the Bay of Gyernath.

  “Our march has changed from one of liberation to one of revenge. It is now one of defence. But not merely defence of Septern Manse to thwart the Wesmen and give The Raven and Styliann the time they need. There is far, far more at stake and I need you all to understand this before we march to battle.”

  Darrick saw a ripple pass through the small army, a murmur like wind across calm ocean. He had them. Now he had to inspire them into fighting for the lives of every man, woman and child east of the College Cities.

  “Consider our situation. Gyernath stands but it has no reserves. Blackthorne is gone. So too is Julatsa. The remaining Colleges face enormous threat from west of the Blackthorne Mountains and a Wesmen army stands ready to strike Korina. Unless we stop it.

  “Korina has a pitiful regular guard. It has no walls. Baron Gresse might have mounted resistance but he is here with us. The other Barons hide in their castles, defending what is theirs and fragmenting our defence by so doing.

  “Who is left? You. You are Balaia's final hope of victory and salvation. Nothing else stands in the way of the Wesmen. And if you believe in your land and your people—your family and those who you will never meet—we will be victorious.

  “The Wesmen may have the greater numbers but we have the greater heart. We have the fire inside of us, we have the belief. We are fighting for our land and the people we love.

  “The future of Balaia will not be decided at the gates of Korina, nor at the walls of Xetesk. It will be decided here at Septern Manse today.

  “And I know that every one of you will play his part. I believe in you.

  Do you?”

  The roar that greeted his question lifted Darrick's heart and made him very happy that the Wesmen had already begun their attack.

  Great words, he thought, but the truth would be told by the stroke of the sword and the play of the mana.