Destiny's Rift (Broken Well Trilogy)

by Sam Bowring

  ‘Birds don’t have teeth,’ Jaya pointed out.

  ‘Same general area,’ said Fahren, waving a hand. ‘Now, I’ve had some interesting news from one of my mages. It seems he recently had reason to investigate the sighting of something undead in Cadmir – a small village quite close to Ismore.’

  ‘Undead?’ said Jaya. ‘I thought we didn’t have any of those in Kainordas.’

  ‘As a general rule we don’t, and certainly necromancy is strictly forbidden. The abomination was most likely “born” in Fenvarrow. My mage, a man called Gellan, writes that a young girl from Cadmir claims to have seen a skeleton in the woods.’ He leaned over the table towards Bel. ‘She described it as having a burnt appearance.’

  Suddenly Bel was sitting up very straight in his seat.

  ‘When I was a girl,’ said Jaya, ‘I imagined seeing all kinds of things. And certainly I told plenty of lies.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Fahren. ‘That was why Gellan investigated further. Following the girl’s directions, he found a place in the woods that matched her description. In a cave set in the mountainside, he sensed residual traces of shadow magic. It seems the girl was telling the truth.’

  Bel felt excitement rise – did he finally have a direction?

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Jaya, glancing between the two men, ‘but I feel as if I’m missing something here.’

  ‘Has Bel told you of Fazel?’ Fahren asked.

  ‘Yes. Quite a tale, that one.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Fahren. ‘It was also the last time the Stone of Evenings Mild was seen. In my dream of that night I saw it flung from the clearing to land amongst trees, yet afterwards it could not be found. The only conclusion I’ve ever been able to draw is that someone must have taken it. Who, then? For a time I feared Battu’s goblins. They probably wouldn’t have realised the Stone’s import, but that wouldn’t stop grabby fingers from opportunistically stealing bits of jewellery. That said, I can’t imagine them stopping to plunder while fleeing for their lives with the babe Losara. So I have always wondered about the only other being present at the time who might have recognised the Stone for what it was.’

  ‘Fazel,’ said Bel. ‘He didn’t die?’

  ‘I’d hoped so,’ replied Fahren with a sigh. ‘But the undead are hard to kill, and a mage of Fazel’s power, brought back to life by the most talented necromancer the world has ever known . . . well, I had my doubts. Although I prayed that he’d finally found peace, I also feared that what was left of him . . . came back together.’

  ‘It has to be him!’ said Bel.

  ‘The thing is,’ continued Fahren, ‘I don’t even know how it can be Fazel. Always since his resurrection, he has been tied to the Shadowdreamer’s will as a slave who must carry out any order he is given. How is it, then, that after all these years he could be spotted still lurking in Kainordas?’

  ‘Maybe he did return to Fenvarrow, but came back on some other errand?’

  ‘I have sources in Fenvarrow,’ said Fahren, shaking his head. ‘There has been no word of Fazel for many years.’

  ‘Maybe he managed to break whatever spell kept him bound?’ suggested Bel.

  ‘I cannot imagine how. Though admittedly he’s had longer to think about it than I have, and more reason to do so.’

  Bel was not really listening – the skeleton had to be Fazel, he knew it, felt it – and Fazel had taken the Stone. Finally he had an inkling of a clue of what he needed to get started on his mission.

  ‘Do not let your need for something to be true cloud your judgement,’ warned Fahren. ‘Just because you wish it does not mean it is.’

  ‘You cannot deny,’ said Bel, ‘that it is the best thing we have to go on.’

  ‘No, that I cannot deny.’

  The sundart took off suddenly into the air and flew away.

  ‘That is why I’ve told Gellan to expect you,’ said Fahren.

  Bel stood. ‘Then we should get going!’

  Fahren chuckled. ‘I know that you’re keen,’ he said, ‘but sit a moment longer, if you would. There are other things to discuss.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘For a start, I have an arm’s-length list of new duties to attend to now that I’m Throne. I cannot come with you.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Bel. ‘I never thought you would. It’s precisely why I did not want to be Throne.’

  Fahren looked a little abashed. ‘Secondly, if you do catch scent of the Stone, there’s no telling how long you’ll be on its trail, or where it may lead. In the meantime, other preparations must be made. Brahl is right, unfortunately – we must build our army. You heard me tell the nobles to start gathering their resources, and they will be given the full support of the treasury. These things take time, and the more time we spend doing it, the stronger we will be. I just hope that by pre-empting war, we do not cause it to start prematurely – although I have a sense of wheels turning.’

  ‘I suppose having an enormous army can’t hurt,’ said Bel. Imagining it made him feel heady – he remembered the ecstasy of Drel, and knew that soon he would feel like that again. In the heart of battle, he had known what it was like to truly belong.

  ‘I intend to muster our strength at a central point not overly distant from the border. Kahlay, I think.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Bel.

  ‘I will also want to be able to contact you.’

  Fahren produced two intricate golden carvings of birds like the sundart who had just left. He slid one across the table, and Jaya reached for it.

  ‘Always after the gold,’ chuckled Bel.

  Jaya ignored him. ‘What are they?’ she said, testing the weight of the bird in her hand.

  Fahren held out the other, and touched the tiny carved scroll around its leg with his finger.

  ‘Good fortune to you,’ he said, then removed his finger. After a moment, the other bird surprised Jaya by opening its mouth and chirping.

  ‘Touch the scroll,’ Fahren told her, and she did so.

  The bird’s beak dropped open, and there was a slight hiss as steam escaped from its mouth. ‘Good fortune to you,’ came Fahren’s voice from the steam, as clearly as if he’d just said it himself.

  Jaya grinned. ‘Handy.’

  ‘You never told me such a thing existed,’ said Bel.

  ‘They don’t really,’ said Fahren. ‘These are the only two, created by the High Mage Reikel, and no one has ever been able to work out how he did it. They’ve been in safekeeping until a time of extreme need, and I find this to be just such a time. Take great care of them, for there is no replacing them.’

  ‘What if I want to tell you something but you aren’t there to touch the scroll?’ said Bel.

  ‘The message will remain until it’s released,’ said Fahren. ‘The bird will continue to chirp every now and then when it contains a sending – but it can only keep one at a time.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Bel. ‘What else remains?’

  ‘Who you will travel with. I wonder if you’d agree to taking a troop with you?’

  Bel considered this briefly – a troop at his command might be useful, but it would also make for slower progress.

  ‘I think not,’ he said. ‘I will want to move freely and quickly.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fahren, as if he’d known that would be the answer. ‘However, I have to insist that it’s not just the two of you. Gellan will join you at Cadmir, but until then a man of your looks may need a little extra protection. A further trusted companion or two will not go astray.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Bel.

  He could not help but remember Drel Forest, when his dance to victory had failed to save his fellow soldiers.

  He glanced at Jaya, whom Fahren had casually included in his companion list. Could he really risk taking her? Then again, could he stand to be without her? Their conversation on the way here, his assurances that they would stand side by side, could all be undone if he did not choose his words carefully.

  She arched
an eyebrow at him in silent question.

  ‘Are you sure you want to come with me?’ he said. ‘It might be dangerous.’

  ‘What do you think I was doing before I met you?’ she replied. ‘Wearing a skirt and having my nails painted?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Bel, ‘but this may be more dangerous than sneaking into people’s houses after dark.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perhaps there will be danger the likes of which neither of us has faced before. And anyway, what’s your offered alternative? That I wait here for you, dutiful and well behaved, while you head off for Arkus knows how long?’

  Contrary creature, thought Bel. Before she was objecting to the notion of following me around; now she won’t hear of anything else.

  Fahren waved his hand dismissively. ‘I don’t think there’s any arguing with your lady, Bel,’ he said. ‘You two are bound together whether you like it or not. I’m just grateful that fate did not deliver you some shy, retiring flower, but rather a woman with wits, and weapons for that matter, about her.’

  Jaya seemed surprised by Fahren’s words. ‘You know what,’ she said, ‘I think I just grew to like you a little bit more, old mage. And because of that . . .’ She produced a tiny jade carving of a dragon from her sleeve that Bel recognised as belonging to Fahren, and placed it on the table.

  ‘Most kind, I’m sure,’ said Fahren, though his eyes twinkled. ‘And now we must decide – who else will you take?’

  •

  Battu stood at the edge of the border, trying to summon the will to cross. Behind him all of Fenvarrow seemed threatening. Any shadow could hold Losara, shadows that should have been his to traverse. There was no one he could turn to, no safe places, and servants – who yesterday would have grovelled at his feet – were now standing ready to stab him in the back. He still could not truly believe that he’d lost his throne.

  His stomach rumbled, distracting him for a moment. He hadn’t dared to stop and eat, or to stop at all in fact, and thus had no possessions with him save the robe on his back. From the ruler of Fenvarrow to the owner of a piece of cloth, he thought bitterly. No amount of gorging would fill the emptiness created when his connection to Skygrip had been torn away. An almost unconscious moan escaped his lips. He felt as if someone had pulled the rug from under him, and it had ripped off both his legs.

  The brightness on the other side of the border hurt his eyes, but he forced himself to stare out into it. Suddenly sick of delay, he leaped across as a dark tangle of swirling cloak and pale flesh, his bare feet landing in dust on the other side with a squeak that made his guts quiver. Then came the touch of light on his skin, hot and harsh. It was not the first time he had felt it, but the fact that he could not turn back, could never retreat, filled him with dread. He was going to have to get used to it.

  He pulled his sleeves down over his hands, then lowered his hood over his face. This robe was going to become his home for a while, and already it was warm under the folds of black cloth. Vaguely he wondered if he might dry up like a snail in its shell.

  Standing apart from the shadows made it harder to replenish his power, and he knew that during daylight he was going to have to rely on his stores. It was dangerous here – not only was he still just paces from Fenvarrow, but on this side of the border Kainordans patrolled heavily. Any mage who came close enough would know he was a creature of shadow, and any magic he used would make him even easier to sense. He had ways of keeping his magic contained, but out here in the open, arid plains, he dared not take the risk. For a time at least, he would travel on foot, unaided, saving his power to flee if necessary.

  He tried to remember maps, and his travels in shadowform, to decide on a direction. He’d fled so fast through Fenvarrow that he wasn’t quite sure where he’d reached the border – somewhere south-east of Holdwith, perhaps? He spat on the ground and immediately regretted the waste of precious moisture.

  ‘What other direction is there?’ he snarled aloud, and began to stride north.

  Hot particles of dust collected between his toes, and the dry wind blew between his legs, rustling his robes. Get used to this? he wondered. How can I?

  Only one thing kept him going. Cast out from his homeland, unloved by his servants, forsaken by his gods, he had nothing left to lose. There was only one thing he wanted now, one thing that kept him moving onward, and he found he cared not how he got it. The word began to echo in his head, a mantra that accompanied every footfall.

  Revenge.

  Part Two Divided We Stand

  Part Two

  Divided We Stand

  —

  I have sometimes heard it said that a good way of finding oneself is to travel.

  Apparently for one such as I, that could be taken quite literally.

  Fangs and Feathers

  Fangs and Feathers

  Fangs and Feathers

  It was not that Losara regretted reinstituting the Shadow Council. He felt it important that his people had a voice, one which Battu had long stifled by keeping the throne room bare and empty. One of the first things Losara had done as Shadowdreamer was invite the councillors to return to court. Strangely enough, Tyrellan had not been opposed to returning the throne room to the old ways; he had in fact encouraged it. He had also suggested that Losara show the court some great display of power, traditional for a new Shadowdreamer, but Losara had not considered it necessary. The purpose of displaying power was to dissuade anybody from challenging it, and toppling Battu should have been display enough. If it was not, and someone did indeed wish to move against him, well, that would be an easy way of weeding out the disloyal.

  Now that the court had returned, however, Losara rather oddly found himself sympathising with Battu. It was difficult to concentrate in the midst of the constant chatter and bickering, and he found himself avoiding the throne room most of the time, effectively giving it over to the councillors as a place to settle their smaller scores and oversee the general running of the land. While perhaps he would have enjoyed involving himself in such concerns, he simply did not have the luxury. There was a bigger picture he needed to focus on, one that remained blurry. Thus he found himself wandering about Skygrip as he always had, thinking about what needed to be done.

  Tyrellan walked with him now as he inspected the lower parts of the castle. Here, things were still quiet, for the purging had claimed hundreds of lives. Tyrellan and Turry, the gold-spectacled Black Goblin who was the castle administrator, had begun to see to repopulating Skygrip, but it would not happen overnight. Losara had been tempted to let it happen naturally – it seemed silly to fill up the castle again just for the sake of it. Then again, if they did not, the whole bottom section might fall into disrepair, becoming an enclosed wasteland of dusty rooms and empty corridors. That would hardly be fitting for the great Skygrip Castle.

  ‘. . . the front door?’

  Losara realised they had arrived at the entrance chamber. The scent of death still hung faintly in the air, for many soldiers had lost their lives here. If only they’d remained outside until the battle with Battu was over, but how could they have known what Battu intended as his last petty and violent act?

  ‘What was that, Tyrellan?’ he said.

  ‘I was wondering, my lord, if you intend that Grimra go back to guarding the front door?’

  ‘I don’t think he’d like that,’ Losara said.

  ‘His feelings aside,’ said Tyrellan, and Losara knew it cost him to even acknowledge them as a factor, ‘the castle workers are skittish enough without knowing there might be an undead invisible floating down any corridor.’

  ‘Ah, so you take their feelings into account?’ asked Losara, raising an eyebrow.

  Tyrellan scowled. ‘I mention it only as a practical matter. Grimra interferes with productivity when he is allowed to move freely throughout the castle.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Losara. ‘But it would be cruel to chain him again, now that he remembers what it is like to be free.’

>   ‘My lord, he will always be chained to his amulet, from which he can only travel a certain distance. Does it therefore matter if the area he affects is centred around the front door?’

  Losara thought of where the amulet currently lay.

  ‘I do not mind Lalenda having a friend when I am not with her,’ he concluded. ‘Or a guard.’

  Tyrellan gave only the briefest of pauses. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘But I will speak with him about scaring the workers.’

  Tyrellan nodded. ‘Now, we will also need to replace the archers.’

  ‘Archers?’ queried Losara.

  Tyrellan pointed to the ceiling where, above the heads of towering statues, thin openings were cut in the wall. ‘Up there,’ he said. ‘Passages and quarters for archers, to pelt down arrows from their protected vantage should Skygrip’s entrance ever be breached.’

  Perhaps he did not really want to be involved in the smaller details, Losara decided. ‘Don’t you think,’ he said, ‘that if the enemy ever made it this far, it would mean we had lost already?’

  Tyrellan stared flatly at Losara. ‘No, my lord. Who knows what effort it may have cost them to penetrate this far? And even if they were strong, I for one would fight on.’

  Losara heard admonition in the goblin’s tone, and wondered if he had disappointed the First Slave. He is passionate for the cause, he thought. Am not I? Certainly, the dream he’d had about his other destroying Fenvarrow, had given him a greater sense of purpose, but was that the same as Tyrellan’s deep, instinctual conviction?

  In that dream he had actually become Bel, and experienced an attack on Skygrip through his eyes. Bel had torn through the corridors of Skygrip, easily dispatching all who stood against him, and yet here Losara was trying to convince Tyrellan not to increase castle security! Stop drifting, he told himself. Be present!

  He knew the power of the castle around him was intoxicatingly distracting. It had always been that way, for the shadow that ran up through the walls put him at the edge of dreaming, and now that he was Shadowdreamer it was stronger than ever. Constantly, he was aware of the castle, and of Fenvarrow itself, of its shape and texture and depth, making him even vaguer than usual. He made an effort to centre himself, to rein in those errant parts that eddied invisibly away.