Radiant Child

by Duncan Lay

  ‘But what would the Derthals want?’ Merren protested.

  ‘You do not need to bribe them. Use the Dragon Sword to inspire them,’ Nott pointed at Martil.

  ‘But the Dragon Sword only works on men! It was given to us by the dragons to repay the treachery of goblins. As if it would have any effect on them!’ Sendric scoffed.

  ‘You are wrong,’ Martil interrupted. ‘The dragons gave it to Norstalos for another reason.’

  ‘So, would it work on the Derthals?’ Merren asked.

  Martil looked around. Everyone was hanging on his words.

  ‘I think I need to talk to the dragon,’ he said slowly.

  It did not take Barrett long to assemble the wizards together. Most were either reading in his library or eating in his kitchen. But nothing like this had been attempted before. And none of them were really sure how it could work. After a great deal of arguing, Barrett decided to stop asking and begin telling them what would happen.

  ‘We must all work together. No single mage can hope to disperse it. But together we have a chance. The Berellian wizard will try and stop us but he is one and we are many,’ Barrett declared.

  He knew that he was making the impossible sound easy. But he was not about to fail now. He had asked Tiera to help with the preparations, making sure there was plenty of food and water, including skins of honeyed water to keep the mages’ energy up.

  She had fulfilled the task with her customary efficiency but he could sense there was a barrier between them. Although, when she walked over to him, he could not stop his heart beating a little faster.

  ‘I have something important to ask,’ Tiera said nervously.

  ‘What is it?’ Barrett smiled, trying not to let his imagination run ahead of him, and mostly failing.

  ‘I would like to help.’

  Barrett swallowed. ‘I appreciate your bravery in offering that, and why you do so. But every man or woman here has reached at least the fifth circle. And they know the risks. What we are trying to do may cost our lives. I would not want to see you hurt. I confess you would also be a distraction. I would worry about you, rather than concentrating on what I have to do to this storm.’

  Tiera reddened a little but she met his gaze squarely.

  ‘Then I shall help as best I can,’ she stated.

  They stared at each other for a long moment, as Barrett sought for a way to reach her. Then a thump at the door told them the Queen had arrived.

  ‘I’ll show her in,’ Tiera announced hurriedly.

  Barrett sighed, then went back to his preparations. A space had been cleared in the ballroom, and the wizards were arranged in a triangle in order of power, with the weakest at the base and Barrett at the tip, facing the huge ceiling to floor windows, that looked out to the northeast, from where the storm was approaching. This in itself had taken a full turn of the hourglass in discussion to achieve, for wizards did not like to be organised like this. Barrett had had to use every bit of his authority, as well as an appeal to Norstaline honour, to get them to agree. Even then, there was a fair bit of grumbling going on at the back of the room.

  ‘Is everything ready?’ Merren asked as soon as she stepped into the ballroom, Jaret and Wilsen by her side. It had been a nervous ride from the palace. The tip of the storm was already over the capital, the massed dark clouds filling the eastern sky and turning day almost into night. Wind gusts were whipping through the streets, while the skies rumbled with thunder. Not a drop of rain had fallen yet, although the air felt heavy and moist. It was as if the storm, as well as Norstalos, was holding its breath, waiting.

  ‘We are ready, your majesty.’ Barrett bowed his head.

  ‘Then introduce me to these brave Norstalines, who are preparing to save us all and earn a nation’s undying gratitude,’ Merren announced.

  Barrett had to admit she was good at this. Not only did she tell them how important this was, and how the entire country was counting on them, she shook hands with them all, men and women, asked where they were from and about their families. By the time she had finished, not only were all the frowns and grumbles gone, all seemed ready, even eager to begin, though they knew the risks.

  ‘Your majesty, if you will sit over there.’ Barrett gestured to a tangle of seats.

  ‘I don’t see Karia here,’ Merren said mildly, although there was steel beneath the words.

  ‘Well, she is a bit young, your majesty.’ Barrett smiled nervously. The truth was, half of these wizards would have walked out in anger had Karia been here, for Barrett would have been forced to put her in the middle of the formation, although all were old enough to be her father or mother and many old enough to be her grandparent. Besides, he would have had to ask Martil for permission—and he had no intention of speaking to the man again, if he could help it.

  ‘And Tiera is helping you?’

  ‘Indeed, your majesty.’ Barrett bowed. ‘She has been an enormous help to us all.’

  Merren regarded them both carefully.

  ‘I hope she continues to be. But let us begin. That storm grows ever closer.’ Merren sat down pointedly, looking out at the ominous sky.

  Barrett nodded, then signalled to Tiera, who ran from window to window, latching them open, letting the wind blow inside, setting the wizards’ robes fluttering about them.

  Barrett, meanwhile, took his place at the head of the triangle of wizards.

  ‘Now!’ he called.

  He was vaguely aware that many of them were now chanting and waving staffs and hands around but he let them get away with this showmanship. After all, they were performing in front of the Queen.

  Merren watched them begin with ill-disguised impatience. She did not know whether to be frustrated with Barrett or angry with herself. This should never have happened. Barrett should have been able to ensure the weather stayed dry, at least until the people were safe. Then he could bring in the storms to slow their enemies. It had been an integral part of the plan: use the weather against Gello and his backers. Only the Berellians had turned the tables and they stood at the brink of disaster. She had left Barrett alone, thinking he deserved a little room. She should have dragged Barrett away from this girl, as well as this guild foolishness, no matter his feelings—and demanded he fulfil his duty as Queen’s Magician. The country had to come first; personal feelings were irrelevant. Well, she had learned her lesson. She would not make that mistake again.

  Yes, Archbishop Nott had suggested an alternative if this failed but, after living through Pilleth, she dreaded to think what such a battle would be like. Already hundreds of civilians and soldiers, from the farming families she had seen down south to Cropper and Rocus, had been either killed or crippled.

  Part of her wanted to shut the door, lie down and not think about columns of refugees, Fearpriests and invading armies, take a break from the pressure that never seemed to let up. Every day brought more challenges, more decisions that had to be made, more lives that had to be weighed in the balance, more fear that the people blamed her for everything. Sometimes she found herself staring at an hourglass. They were all over the palace, scores of them. There were servants whose only duty was to turn the hourglasses. At these times she would watch the way the sands drained through the glass. Being Queen was like trying to stop that sand. Each grain was a life that was slipping away from her because of the decisions she did or did not make. Sometimes she felt she could get lost in the movement of the sands through the hourglass. Sometimes she felt like picking up the glass and shattering it, breaking the spell that was over her. For her life was like the hourglass. No sooner had she seemingly completed her task than everything was tipped over and she had to begin again. The demands never ended.

  But she always stopped herself from going down that path. This was what she had been trained to do. And she knew there was no-one else who could do it. Either she guided her people to safety or they would die. There was no other option. So the part of her that wanted to think about Karia, about Martil, about their
child—she shut that away. She had to.

  Now, if Barrett would just protect them from this storm, she could go back to worrying about everything else. She looked at him, willing him to succeed.

  Barrett could feel the massive storm now, could see it, hear it and smell it. It was almost ready to open its clouds and soak Norstalos in a wall of water. There was no need for words, they all knew what they had to do, so he signalled to the others then launched himself at the storm, seeking to wreck its dark menace.

  For a long time, it seemed as if nothing was happening.

  Merren watched the group of mages but, apart from increased breathing, and sweating, there was no clue they were doing anything. A glance out the window told her the storm was still approaching. She looked over to where Tiera watched, biting her lip worriedly.

  ‘Can you see what is happening?’ she asked sharply.

  Tiera nodded. ‘Yes, your majesty. The storm is resisting them.’

  Merren stared at the assembly but could tell nothing.

  Barrett felt as though he was trying to lift an impossible weight. No matter what he tried, it was too much for his strength. But he kept trying, kept battering the clouds, trying to break them apart. He could feel the sweat dripping off his face, while the breath sawed harshly in his throat. Then it seemed to shift.

  ‘Keep going! It’s working!’ he tried to croak.

  Merren sat up a little, peering out the windows. The dark mass on the horizon still loomed but the advance of the clouds across the sky seemed to have stopped.

  Tiera waved at the Queen’s guards.

  ‘Help me! Bring them honeyed water!’ she urged, pointing towards where a score of waterskins had been placed.

  Jaret and Wilsen glanced over towards Merren, who nodded.

  The pair of them joined Tiera in rushing around from mage to mage, offering them a few mouthfuls of the honeyed water, to help keep their strength up.

  Barrett felt the excitement course through his veins as the closest clouds began to split apart, the massive thunderheads breaking up as they came over the capital.

  ‘Keep going!’ he gasped.

  He could feel another presence there as well, the one who had created the storm. It was fighting back, trying to keep the storm together—but he could sense its panic.

  He gathered himself for one final, massive effort. It would not fail. He would push on until the storm was no more and the magic calm again. Then he felt the support of the others begin to waver.

  Merren could not see what was going on but she could tell, from the smile on Barrett’s face, as well as the excitement of Tiera, that something was happening.

  Then the wizards at the back of the triangle began to topple over.

  Most fell flat upon their faces, a few just dropped to their knees, panting and gasping for breath—a chain reaction that rippled through until Barrett was the only one left standing—and one of only a handful still conscious.

  ‘I—will—not—give—up—’ he gasped, his eyes still tightly shut.

  Above him, blue sky seemed to fight against the clouds—and the blue sky was winning, pushing the black mass backwards.

  But Barrett was panting for breath now and dripping with sweat, swaying slightly on his feet. Merren was reminded of the time back at the ranger barracks, when she had driven him beyond his limits in order to escape. She could not use that trick again but perhaps Tiera might…

  ‘Go! Help him! Support him!’ Merren grabbed Tiera’s arm and pushed her towards the reeling wizard. ‘Keep him going. Do whatever you have to.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tiera cried.

  Merren rolled her eyes. ‘Do I have to spell it out? Tell him you love him, that he’s the greatest man in the world—anything to get him to stop that storm!’

  ‘But…I can’t say those things!’

  ‘Thousands of lives depend on it! Do it!’ Merren ordered, and such was her strength that the servant in Tiera took over and she obeyed.

  She stumbled towards Barrett, who was holding himself upright thanks to his staff. The agony he was going through was only too clear on his face. Her mind was awhirl. She had never planned to get involved with another man again, let alone the Queen’s Magician. But she had found herself falling for Barrett. His kindness, his gentle nature and his obvious attraction to her was slowly wiping out the hideous memories she had of Prent. She could see a future with him, a future so dazzling with possibilities it seemed almost unreal. She was not ready for it yet. It was as frightening as it was exciting. But one thing was certain. That future was dying with Barrett. She could see what it was costing him—and that, alone, there was no way he could break that storm. Any other mage would have given up long before. Only Barrett’s determination was keeping him on his feet. If he did not stop soon, the magic would consume him.

  The Queen had told her to persuade Barrett to keep going, to not give up. The Tiera that had been raised as a serving girl wanted to do the Queen’s bidding. She was the country’s ruler and Tiera was gutter scum. Everything Tiera had been taught screamed she should do what the Queen asked. After what Barrett had declared to her, her head knew a few words would see him drive himself past his limits. That was the kind of man he was. He would win, or he would die.

  But her heart stopped her. How could she have a new life when it came at the expense of a man who she had betrayed to death?

  In an instant she had made her decision. She wanted Barrett alive. Anything else would mean Prent had won. And she could not have that.

  ‘Don’t kill yourself. You can’t do it alone. Come back to me,’ she whispered into Barrett’s ear.

  ‘I—can’t—give—up,’ Barrett panted.

  ‘You’ve done all you can. Any more and you’ll kill yourself!’ she pleaded.

  ‘Have—to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s—who—I—am—’

  She glanced back at the Queen, who urged her on to greater effort. If only she knew what I am going to do, Tiera thought, then leaned back towards Barrett.

  ‘You have to stop. For me. For I love you and don’t want to be without you,’ she told him, kissing him gently on the cheek.

  Barrett’s eyes snapped open and he stared at her.

  ‘I mean it,’ she told him. ‘I love you and want to be with you.’

  For a moment more he considered fighting on, using up his life—then the impact of her words took effect. He fell into her arms and, staggering, she eased him to the floor. He was gasping for air and she cradled his head, trickling a little honeyed water from the waterskin she had slung over her shoulder into his mouth.

  ‘I—failed—’ He swallowed heavily and stared up at her, his eyes haunted and his cheeks hollowed.

  ‘Not to me, you didn’t,’ she told him and was rewarded with the ghost of a smile.

  ‘Well? What happened? Were you successful?’ Merren demanded. The closest clouds had been pushed back but the horizon was still as dark as night.

  Barrett fought for breath, as well as for the words to tell his Queen he had failed her—but Tiera answered for him.

  ‘The rain is delayed but not stopped. It could not be done, your majesty.’

  ‘What?’ Merren stormed across and stared down at Barrett. ‘Why did you stop?’

  ‘I am sorry…’ Barrett began, but Tiera hushed him.

  ‘Because the storm was too powerful. And because I told him to. Because he’s better alive than dead.’ She stared up at Merren defiantly, Barrett’s head pillowed on her lap.

  Merren was almost speechless. Did she not understand what this meant? The storm would strike home, the roads would be turned to mud and the Berellians and Tenochs would catch up with the refugees. They would be forced to fight a desperate battle, which they were likely to lose and, if they did, the Fearpriests would plunge the country, the continent, into blood and fear and sacrifice!

  ‘Do you realise you may have doomed us all to death, and the world to an eternity of darkness under th
e rule of the Fearpriests?’ she snarled.

  ‘No. I just know that I saved a good man’s life and I do not regret it,’ Tiera told her, chin held high.

  Merren was about to demand that Barrett and the wizards try again, immediately, but the sight of so many unconscious wizards lying on the floor told her that was not going to work.

  She turned back to Tiera. She knew the girl probably thought her some monster, prepared to sacrifice anything for victory and she was torn between the desire to explain to her how hard it was to bear the responsibility of a country on your shoulders and the desire to call for Wilsen and Jaret, to drag the girl away so she could face the penalty for disobeying her Queen.

  Then she saw the way Tiera was brushing the sweat-matted hair away from Barrett’s face, and how he was gazing up at her—and she sighed. Barrett had driven himself to the edge, the other wizards had given everything they had. The limp bodies sprawled across the floor told that tale.

  There was nothing more she could do here. Signalling to Jaret and Wilsen, she strode out of the ballroom.

  She needed to speak to Nott—and Martil.

  Karia absolutely loved Argurium. At first she had thought the dragon was like some sort of giant, magical pet, similar to the animals she used to befriend on the farm and those she summoned through the magic to help her.

  But Argurium was more than that. She would enfold the girl in her wing, let Karia lie upon her broad back and answer endless questions. In some ways, it was almost like having a mother figure, albeit one with a set of wings, fangs and a body the size of three houses.

  The dragon seemed happy to talk to her, which was also fine with Martil, as it gave him at least some sort of break from her questions—although Karia liked to tell him all about the conversations she had had with a dragon, even if he’d overheard them earlier that day.

  This time, he wanted to speak to Argurium, so managed to persuade Havell to read Karia a saga. With a sense of malicious satisfaction, he had chosen one about dancing trees and singing bunny rabbits having adventures on Dragonara Isle. It was one of her favourites, although it set his teeth on edge.