by Sam Bowring
The suspended moisture began to clear, revealing Battu with energy gathering at his fingers.
‘And on and on,’ Losara croaked.
‘And on and on,’ agreed Battu.
Yet I cannot harm him while he’s on the throne , thought Losara. Then it occurred to him – not his body, anyway.
He launched a sudden mental assault, forcing his way into the Shadowdreamer’s mind. The stone skin did not stop him – Battu had not thought of that when he’d opened a mental connection to speak to Losara – and Battu’s head snapped back.
A contest of pure will might even things up , Losara sent him. No fancy trimmings, no colour and conjurings. Can you match me here, Battu?
•
Battu strained against Losara, the energy fading from his hands as he redirected his efforts. Locked in a mental struggle, he could spend no power on attacking with spells lest the boy rush in and obliterate his mind. Curse him for finding this chink in his armour, which Battu had been stupid enough to reveal! But he’d been so sure, he’d come so close to winning, if it hadn’t been for Tyrellan …curse Tyrellan, curse everyone …
Curse you , he sent to Losara. I will dig up your mother and rape her corpse. I will make your father watch so it’s the last thing he sees before I gouge out his eyes and crush them under my heel.
My old teacher , replied Losara, should remember that I never did very well in his lessons about intimidation – whether it was giving or receiving.
Battu felt sick – the boy denied him even his hatred.
Everything he had went into pushing back, yet still he could feel the steady, inevitable approach. How deep did the boy’s reserves go? Deeper than those Battu could draw from the castle? Skygrip was a bottomless well of power, but as its conduit, Battu could only channel so much at a time lest it rip him apart …and despite the swathes of power coursing through him, the boy was winning.
He felt shreds of his mind flapping in the storm, old memories …for a moment he saw himself as a boy, in the filthy little village of Laz where he had grown up. There were the older boys, Gynt, Horon and Wattle, coming for him along the muck-streaked road. His bruises from the last encounter had not healed, but he did not run, for there was no point – they would get him in the end. They did not know that in a year or two Battu would discover his aptitude for magic, and would make them beg for their lives …and eventually their deaths.
Why did they hate you so much? Losara’s words blew the memory away, tearing it to pieces. Did you never have a true friend?
Stay out! roared Battu. He channelled more power from the castle than was safe, and felt his sinuses fizzing and his teeth rattling in his skull. Let me introduce you to my true friends.
Sharks spewed forth, memories of sharks rising out of the depths towards Losara, snapping at prey long gone. Battu sensed the boy withdraw slightly in alarm. He pushed forward in that moment, breaching Losara’s mind, delving inside, looking for a way to do damage.
A stray memory flashed past and he snatched it: a bearded man stared down at him, poking his belly and chortling. Battu recognised Corlas, and knew he was seeing some early moment from when Losara was just hours old.
So , he said, you do know what it’s like to be whole, even if you don’t think you do. Deep down, your soul remembers that it’s injured, broken, a fact echoed in everything you do. Even if you go on for a thousand years, you will only ever lead half a life.
He sensed Losara considering the words – and understood with certainty that he could not confuse or terrify his Apprentice. No, the most he could hope to do was make him consider . What was worse, it was not even the words Losara really dwelled on – to him they had been like saying that the sky was grey or the grass blue. The boy already knew that he was lacking, and he wasn’t perturbed by being told something he already knew, whatever the tone in which it was said. What he considered, then, was why Battu felt the need to taunt him, and what it said about Battu .
Stop turning things around , he said. You, boy, are too stupid to even recognise an insult.
Silently, resolutely, Losara forced him back. With dread, Battu knew it was too easily, too swiftly, that he was being pushed away. Losara was channelling too much power to control; it was like trying to grab hold of flowing water. Shadows spilled from Battu, billowing out randomly into the room, like the ink from an octopus. To his dismay, he saw that during his other exertions, he had failed to maintain his armour of viscous stone, which was now trickling back into the throne.
In response, Losara raised a hand, energy collecting at his fingertips. Battu knew he could not fend off destructive spells on top of the mental assault. Hate was all he had left, but he could not win simply by hating. There was something, however, that hate did allow, and that might also give him time to escape.
Fields of grass crossed his eyes, and the shining sun.
What is this? came Losara’s voice. What are you seeing here?
The boy was right on the cusp of Battu’s mind. He would be able to sense Battu’s despair, and also what Battu intended to do as his last punishing and vengeful act. The recoil this caused gave Battu the moment he needed. Slamming his hands down on the throne, he unleashed his final command as Shadowdreamer.
‘I order that Skygrip Castle be purged !’ he said, his voice echoing like an avalanche.
•
Down in Skygrip’s entrance cavern, under the archway that had once encased Grimra’s pendant, two Black Goblin captains spoke to each other while their squads waited uneasily beneath the watchful gaze of towering statues. Rumour had reached them that the Shadowdreamer was fighting his Apprentice, and the response needed was not clear.
‘It isn’t our place to interfere,’ muttered Denrum. ‘Everyone knows a magical fight is for mages. If we trespass upon it, we’ll be cooked in our skins, contributing nothing but a stink in the air.’
Enrig, the older of the captains, glowered at the cowardice he saw on display. ‘Need I remind you,’ he said, ‘that we are sworn to protect the Shadowdreamer? We should utilise a porthole door immediately, get up there and help our master.’
‘Yes,’ hissed Denrum. ‘Sworn to protect the Shadowdreamer – but who that is may change in the next few moments, and our deaths will not alter the outcome. Besides, would it not be sacrilege to attack the blue-haired man?’
‘Perhaps,’ conceded Enrig, but he was still uneasy. He knew with certainty what his duty was, and without duty a soldier was nothing.
Shadow erupted from the floor. A thick curl lashed at Denrum, who cried out in pain. In the main chamber, soldiers screamed as a black tide rose to consume them.
‘Back!’ Enrig shouted, stumbling towards the entrance. He felt something grip him in the enveloping dark, felt the sickening pull of his life draining out of him. He gritted his fangs and tore free, managing to fall just outside the archway and into the dull light of day. Behind him the shadows rose to the roof, blotting all visibility into the chamber.
‘Sir!’ came the voice of a guard outside. ‘Are you all right?’
Enrig lay gasping, and felt bile rising. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, yet in his heart he knew what it was. The screaming in the chamber did not last; it was soon replaced by the sound of bodies hitting the floor. Cries started in the levels above, as the death-bringing shadows continued to rise.
‘What is that ?’ said the guard, staring into the rippling darkness.
‘Skygrip is being purged,’ Enrig managed, then let his head fall back on hard stone. He wasn’t sure that he would live.
•
Losara froze, sensing something was very wrong.
Battu rose from Refectu, the last few hardened patches of stone falling from his skin. ‘If you want to stop this,’ he said, ‘I suggest you take the throne.’
‘What have you done?’
‘Activated a failsafe,’ said Battu, ‘created in case Skygrip is ever breached by attackers. From the top of Skygrip the Shadowdreamer can, as a last de
fence, unleash a wave of power to snuff out all life inside the castle. Supposed to wait, of course, until there’s no other option, and hopefully until a good number of the enemy has entered the castle …but I have not used it the way Skygrip’s designers intended.’ He bared his teeth. ‘You have already sensed that I concede, Shadowdreamer. If you wish to save your precious friends, I suggest you sit down . Or perhaps you’d like to waste more time fighting, as your precious pixie writhes her last moments on the floor?’
Battu edged towards the long window. Losara could see he intended to escape, but there was no time to stop him . He dissolved to shadow and reappeared on the throne. As his flesh became real against the stone, he gasped.
‘May your rule be short and painful,’ said Battu, and leaped through the window.
Losara did not hear. He had always felt connected to the castle, and in fact blamed its immersive nature for a youth spent half-asleep. Now, as hidden forces aligned themselves with him, he was no longer connected to the castle – the castle was connected to him. Suddenly and at once, he could feel the extent of the shadow’s influence, the vastness of the Cloud above, the sweeping lands upon which it fell. It was not detailed, more an impression, as if he lay at the centre of a colossal heart, listening to it beat. He felt something like ecstasy, diagnosing it too calmly to really experience it. It did not last. Death rose through the levels beneath him, drowning souls in a rising dark. He felt queasy, as if one of his limbs was poisoned and rotting away. Battu was malicious indeed to have engineered this spiteful revenge. The people of Skygrip had done him no wrong, and now they fell in droves.
‘Master,’ cried Tyrellan, sprinting into the throne room. ‘Something is –’
‘Quiet,’ said Losara, his voice resonant. He took firm hold of the throne and closed his eyes. The air around him grew dark as he collected power, then cleared as he released an almighty command silently into the walls. It hurtled downwards, where it clashed with Battu’s order and smashed the purging dark to fading motes.
Losara opened his eyes. ‘I shall return,’ he said, and fell to shadow.
•
Battu plummeted, slowed only by his flapping cloak. He felt disoriented – his connection to the castle, to his lands, the entrenched and deep awareness of all his domain, had been abruptly ripped away. For the first time in a long time, he was contained completely within himself. He felt like a spider that had fallen off its web. But there was no time to wallow, not with the ground getting closer at speed.
He could float, but that would make progress too slow for escape. Instead he saw what he needed almost immediately and reached out with his power. From the Graka patrol that wheeled below, one member cried out in surprise as it was ripped from formation. Battu crashed onto its back, the Graka dropping sharply under his bulk.
‘Fly,’ shouted Battu, grabbing the hapless creature by the shoulders.
The Graka struggled to find purchase in the air, its wings spreading to do little more than angle the trajectory of their fall. Battu gave them a nudge of power, snapping them out further and making the Graka shriek – but they caught the air and began to glide, though still towards the ground.
‘Please,’ whimpered the Graka. ‘Who is that?’
‘It’s lord Battu, you creaking pile of rubble.’
‘Master, you’re breaking my wings!’
‘Better than my neck.’
Underneath, Mankow flashed by, growing steadily closer, but they cleared it several hundred paces up and then were out over the Ragga Plains. Half a league past the capital, the ground finally came rushing up to meet them, and Battu tensed, waiting for the right moment. Seconds before they hit the ground, he leaped from the Graka, the force of his feet jolting the creature down the last short distance to smash and scatter to stony segments. Battu floated the last few paces and skidded to a halt on the slippery blue grass of the plains.
He dared not tarry. Losara would be coming for him, no doubt about that …and unlike Losara, Battu could not travel wholly in shadowform without leaving his body behind. He had to move quickly, body and all, and if there was one thing all his years of scrying and spying had taught him, it was how best to avoid detection.
On magically aided heels, Battu fled north.
•
Worried , Losara thought as he descended. I am worried. Other folk, if faced with the potential death of their lover, might be panicked, frenetic, unreasonable. Yet all I am is worried.
Well , he supposed, at least that’s something.
He arrived at his quarters and worry disappeared. Lalenda was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to concentrate on a book but clearly failing to do so. She kept twitching and glancing at the door.
‘Grimra be sure Losara all right,’ said the ghost.
‘What if they’re fighting?’ said Lalenda.
‘Then we be of no help to him, flutterbug.’
‘He’d better at least remember the details to tell me,’ she said angrily. ‘You know how vague he can be. I will want to know the exact expression on Battu’s face as he dies!’
As Losara formed into flesh, Lalenda gave an exclamation of joy and ran to him, throwing her arms about his waist and burying her head against his chest. ‘Fierce creature,’ he said, smiling as he stroked her hair.
‘Are you all right, my lord?’
‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘It was you I worried for. Battu has done a terrible thing. I cannot stay, but wished to make sure you were both alive. For my peace of mind, you understand.’
Not the right words? he wondered.
‘Is Battu dead?’ she asked eagerly.
‘No,’ said Losara, ‘but he’s defeated. Now I must see what damage has been done, and catch Battu if I can.’
She stumbled as he disappeared from her embrace.
‘I hate it when he does that,’ she muttered, and Grimra chuckled.
Losara continued downwards. The purging had travelled about halfway up the castle, come very close to his quarters, in fact. In a laundry on the level directly below, he found several Greys slumped face down in vats of water, an occasional bubble breaking the surface. In the corridor outside, an entire patrol of Blacks were sprawled in a heap. Further on, two Arabodedas lay crumpled against a wall, one’s neck broken by the fall, probably after he was already dead. How many more? Losara wondered sadly. Hundreds, at least.
Battu , came an insistent thought.
He sped from the castle and circled its base, glad to discover those who’d been outside were unharmed, but sensing no trace of his former master. He widened the circle, spiralling outwards, covering leagues in seconds. He knew that he was travelling too fast to be thorough, that Battu could hide from him far too easily. Several minutes later, he conceded there must be better ways to catch a criminal dark lord than shooting about randomly. Tyrellan would no doubt have a few ideas, and at the very least could send out word to all. If Battu stayed in Fenvarrow, he would be found. And with that thought, Losara remembered what he’d seen in Battu’s mind, moments before the purging – grassy fields, and the shining sun.
Surely Battu did not mean to escape him that way?
He returned to the throne room to find Tyrellan waiting. When he appeared, the goblin’s eyes glinted. ‘Is it done, my lord?’ he asked. ‘Are you Shadowdreamer?’
‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘Assemble the council. Whatever is left of them.’
Funeral
The earliest morning light stole through the faded green curtains of the room, softly finding the edges of objects – a satchel, a water jug, discarded leather armour, and their naked skin as they lay wrapped around each other in the bed. The rest of the inn was quiet, and from outside came only the faintest stirrings of a waking city. As Jaya dozed on his shoulder, Bel stroked her long red hair, lost in thought.
The day ahead seemed more perilous than it should have. Naphur’s funeral was a few hours away, and Bel would be relieved when it was over. Although he was sorry (wasn’t he?) that Naphur w
as dead, their last days together had not been easy. First had come the Throne’s imprisonment of his father, for an old crime that had not really been Corlas’s fault – he had slain a peacekeeper, true, but Bel believed him when he said it had been self-defence. As a result Corlas had been banished, leading to the terrible circumstance of him killing Naphur’s only son, Baygis. For this the Throne held Corlas responsible, despite the fact that Corlas was acting under magically binding orders from the weaver bird Iassia. If Naphur had never banished Corlas in the first place, and set him outside the protection of the Open Halls, where he was vulnerable to the bird, the tragedy would have never occurred – and although Bel had never said so, he felt Naphur shared plenty of the blame for what had transpired.
Maybe the Throne had realised that, because he’d eventually called off the soldiers sent to hunt Corlas. Bel had only discovered this after Naphur’s murder, and while it had softened his anger towards the man, it did not change the fact that there had been a lot of harm heaped upon harm. Corlas was gone, Arkus knew where, and although word had been sent out that he was pardoned, he had not reappeared. Small wonder, for although officially Corlas was cleared of blame, rumours and half-truths circulated wildly about Kainordas. The people were angry over the death of the widely liked Baygis, and Corlas’s name would forever be tainted. Any hope of convincing the people that the whole tragedy had not been his fault had been blown away by the killing of Naphur shortly thereafter, by Losara.
Bel’s encounter with his other still troubled him. Face to face they had stood in Naphur’s chambers, Losara’s blue hair obvious for all to see. Bel’s blood tingled with the same excitement he had experienced fighting huggers in Drel. He barely noticed or thought about Naphur, or Fahren – all his focus was on his enemy, standing right there. If he made the right moves, perhaps he could finish Losara for good, and then there’d be only one blue-haired man, and no one to stop him winning the war! As had happened in Drel, he began to sense patterns, like overlaid iterations of the steps he could take. With the huggers leaping at him from all sides there had been many potential paths for his sword to travel …but now that he faced a single opponent, the pattern was small and simple. And, as he understood what he was seeing, the fire in his blood turned to ice.