Destiny's Rift (Broken Well Trilogy)

by Sam Bowring

  Perhaps Losara could face them himself? Then he could remove the risk to his other, and also secure the Stone.

  North he sped, streaking so fast that the world blurred around him. In moments he was across the border, into the moonlit night of Kainordas. He travelled up the Dragon’s Sorrow river, then across Dennali, until he joined the Arkus Heights well east of where his other would be. Along foothills he raced, spreading wide so as not to miss his target. He quickly discovered the entry to a cave that matched Fazel’s description. Stopping only briefly to gather himself together, he streamed inside.

  The cave sloped downwards, widening to a huge cavern about a hundred paces in. Around the walls were pits of glowing coals, rippling with bands of light that seemed almost alive. Heated by dragon flame, no doubt, which was slow to dwindle. Scattered about the earthen floor were coins and precious objects, many half-buried – not quite the glimmering, well-maintained hoard that Losara had expected. As for the dragon herself, she was far more impressive.

  Shebazaruka lay in the middle of the cavern, on top of a mound of earth, asleep. Some fifty paces from snout to tail, she was a green as deep as forest night-time. Spikes ran along her limbs, down her back and out along the ridge of her folded bat-like wings. Her neck was long and muscular, ending in a heavy head like a cross between horse and lizard.

  Losara knew a moment of awe. Did he really intend to kill such an ancient and impressive creature?

  He had to try.

  Stepping quietly from the shadows into realness, he held out his hands, collecting power at his fingertips, intending to create the most potent energy bolt of his life. The dragon’s eyes flicked open, glowing green, and her head swung off the ground.

  ‘Magic?’ she hissed.

  Blazing fire burst from her throat, lighting up the cavern and making her treasure gleam and flash. Losara, who hadn’t even expected to be detected, released the energy bolt and disintegrated into shadow. The bolt hit the dragon’s neck, knocking her aim off centre for a moment, but leaving her otherwise unharmed. Losara circled the cavern, hoping that in shadowform she would not sense him . . . but the almighty roar of flames came after him. He felt the heat brush his being, felt part of himself instantly melt away, and remembered with a kind of dull horror what he’d read about the magic of dragon’s fire. It seemed he was not immune to it even in non-corporeal form.

  From somewhere further off in the tunnels came a second roar, reverberating off walls and making dust fall – the son was here too, and coming! Between the two of them, they could corner him with fire and end him there and then.

  In a flash he fled the cave, another and he was home. Materialising back into his room, and surprised to find himself shaking, Losara chastised himself for his rash moves. To read that a creature was difficult to kill, resistant to magic and with magical fire – and then to speed off and try to confront it anyway, almost casually, without proper planning or strategy? Had I been foggy, so fresh out of the dream, he wondered . . . like a form of sleep-walking?

  He forced himself to inspect his body, wondering if he would find something gone, like the finger he had lost to Battu. He could not discover anything obvious, but his back felt tender and sore – perhaps skin was missing? It was difficult to tell just by looking in the mirror, for the damage was not like that done to a mortal body, with no marks of trauma around it – but yes, the top layer of skin from his back had gone. It seemed that injuries sustained in shadowform were somehow attributed to parts of his real body, though exactly how he wasn’t sure. What if, one day, he lost something of his heart or mind?

  You must remember, he reproached himself, that powerful as you may be, invincible you are not!

  ‘What’s wrong?’ came Lalenda’s sleepy voice. She was sitting up in bed, her bedraggled hair falling over her face. The sight of her calmed him somewhat.

  ‘Nothing, my pixie. I’ll come back to bed soon.’

  ‘Fading away in the night . . .’ she grumbled, finishing face down in the pillow.

  ‘I have something to do.’

  He did indeed . . . but what? He could not allow Bel to run off and get singed to a crisp by dragons, yet he could not fight them himself either. Then an idea came – who better to withstand the dragon’s magical fire than another magic-resistant creature?

  Time to fight fire with . . . mud.

  Again Losara dissolved, but this time he went in search of Tyrellan. He found the Black Goblin sitting in his quarters, sharpening a dagger and staring at the shadowmander.

  ‘Tyrellan,’ he said, stepping from the shadows.

  Tyrellan rose smoothly, slipping the blade into his belt.

  ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘Years ago you went to find a dragon in Dennali, called Shebazaruka.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Can you mark it on a map?’

  ‘I already have,’ said Tyrellan. He went to his cupboards and revealed a shelf of neatly stacked scrolls. ‘Here,’ he said, pulling out a map of Dennali. ‘It’s the very one we took on that ill-fated mission.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Losara.

  ‘Anything I should know?’

  ‘Not sure yet,’ said Losara. He went to the window and left the room, taking the map with him. He could not turn it to shadow – in fact the only things he ever took with him in shadowform were his clothes. Why he was able to bring those he wasn’t quite sure, except that maybe they were, more or less, a part of him. At any rate, he did not travel as quickly as usual, for fear the paper would rip from his ethereal grip or shred to pieces in the wind. Going so slowly, it took nearly an hour to reach Swampwild.

  There he found the funeral mire where Lalenda’s mother was buried. He stepped out onto a hillock surrounded by willow and gravebloom. Going down to the deep mud that encircled it, he called out, ‘Eldew! It is I, Losara, here to invoke your promise to serve!’

  Nothing happened. Losara tried a few more times, then wondered if he was simply shouting at nothing. He sat down on the hillock to wait. Around him the bog was quiet, save for frogs and the occasional bubble breaking. Perhaps the Mireform had forsaken him?

  Bubbles soon burst in quick succession and Eldew rose glistening from the mud. He was even larger than most Mireforms, his abdomen and head like one boulder upon another, his wide mouth rich with rows of glinting silver fangs. The lumpy growths of moss protruding from his skin were a healthy green, and his knife-like claws so long they looked almost cumbersome. He flowed to the bog’s edge and pulled his bandy legs free with a slurp. Losara rose, and despite the fact he was higher on the slope, they met eye to beady white eye. In the bog, other shapes moved beneath the surface – it seemed Eldew had not come alone.

  ‘I answer your call, Losara Shadowhand,’ said Eldew, his voice deep and resonant, like bubbles breaking underwater.

  ‘I have a task for you,’ said Losara. ‘One of great importance.’

  ‘The Mireform shall serve.’

  ‘It requires journeying into Kainordas.’

  Eldew’s tendrils whipped about. ‘Hmmm, hum,’ he said. ‘That can be a difficult place for us. So dry.’

  ‘It would be Dennali,’ said Losara. ‘A wet land, full of swamp and wood and water.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eldew. ‘The east is not so restrictive. What would you have done?’

  ‘How fast can you travel?’

  ‘Not so fast as the Shadowhand . . . but fast nonetheless.’

  ‘Then I need you to get, as fast as you can, to here,’ said Losara, holding out the map. Eldew took it delicately in his long claws and held it up for inspection.

  ‘Quite a ways,’ he said. ‘What do we find there?’

  ‘Dragons,’ said Losara, ‘that I want you to kill.’

  Eldew’s tongue slopped out and made a little unconscious jabbing motion with the spiked end. He slurped it back in.

  ‘Dragons,’ he repeated.

  ‘Does that trouble you?’

  ‘No,’ said Eldew. ‘How many?’
r />   ‘Two.’

  ‘Then we shall be six,’ said Eldew and raised his voice. ‘Tarka, Eddow, Gremin, Thrasker, Ectid, attend!’

  From the mud rose five more shapes, turning themselves into Mireforms. As Eldew rolled the map up carefully, a small recess opened in his side. He slid the map into it and it slopped closed.

  ‘Two more things,’ said Losara. ‘First, if you come across my counterpart, another man with blue hair, he must not be harmed.’

  Eldew gurgled.

  ‘Secondly, in the dragon’s hoard you will find a special stone, which flashes with light and creeps with shadow. This you must retrieve.’

  ‘We understand,’ said Eldew. ‘Is there anything else you bid? You will not easily find us once we move, for magic rolls right off our backs.’

  ‘Nothing but that you must be swift. You must try to beat my counterpart to the dragon’s lair, and he is closer to it now than we are here.’

  ‘Then we shall not tarry. The fastest way through the bog is underneath it. We will take our leave, saviour child.’

  ‘Take it,’ said Losara.

  Together the Mireforms lost their shapes, melting back into the mud. Losara wondered in what form they’d emerge on the other side.

  With a shrug that ended in him collapsing to shadow, he sped back to Skygrip and, in the dim light of morning, found his Lalenda sleeping once more. Re-forming slowly between her arm and the pillows, he slipped into her embrace without waking her.

  •

  Sitting on Refectu, Losara was thankful for the silence. As he had discovered, not only could he fill the throne room on a whim, he could also have it emptied. Only Tyrellan waited with him now, silently watching his new companion, thinking his own unknown thoughts.

  Despite the orders he was about to give, Losara’s mind was elsewhere – back with his other, and the Stone. The morning had brought him doubts that snatching it away was the best course of action. He needed time to think – no, more than that: he needed more information to think about. An idea began to form in his mind, one he hoped was not too reckless.

  ‘Roma has arrived, my lord,’ came Turry’s announcement from the opposite end of the throne room.

  Losara nodded and a moment later Roma strode through the archway. He was as impressive a figure as Losara remembered from that day they had fought each other in the duelling chamber – stony-faced and sleek, his black hair pulled tight into a ponytail streaked with red dye, an open-chested robe swishing around his feet. As he arrived at the throne, the shadowmander ran up Tyrellan’s leg to perch on his shoulder for a better view of the mage. Roma was clearly astonished by the creature.

  ‘An improvement on your last familiar, First Slave,’ he said.

  Tyrellan pulled back his top lip to reveal a gleaming fang. ‘Thank you.’

  Roma turned to Losara and bowed low. ‘I am sent for, lord. I come.’

  For some reason Losara felt sure he could trust this man. Although Roma had once coveted the seat in which Losara now reclined, that singular feud had been ended decisively. There was no way Roma would risk returning to the pain Losara had engulfed him in, pain through which Losara had forged himself a loyal servant before plunging him into the cold water of mercy. Thus tempered, Roma was now unwavering in his support.

  ‘It is good to see you,’ said Losara. ‘I thank you for your patience in waiting to serve me. I promise that you will never again have to earn your coin performing idle tricks for passers-by.’

  ‘It was not the most . . . illustrious profession for a mage such as I,’ acknowledged Roma.

  ‘I agree,’ said Losara. ‘That is why I’ve called you here. I want you to help Tyrellan oversee the gathering of our army. Our target will be Holdwith, where many Kainordan mages train. Tyrellan will explain to you why we have need of them alive . . . at least for a while.’

  Internally he was troubled by what he intended. He had only killed a person once before, and the Throne’s look of disbelief still came back sometimes to haunt him. Yet he had also seen much killing . . . seen how Bel would lay waste to all Fenvarrow if he could, leaving the parts he could not stick with his sword dry and dying beneath a sweltering sun. Did the fact that Losara only sought to defend his land against such devastation excuse his actions?

  What choice do I have? he thought.

  ‘For that reason,’ he went on, ‘we shall need the numbers for a decisive victory. Roma, I am making you Magus Supreme.’

  It was a position that Battu had, if not done away with, at least never filled – the head of all magic in Fenvarrow, bar the Shadowdreamer himself.

  Roma bowed again, even lower than the first time. ‘You honour me, master. I will not disappoint you.’

  ‘It will be your task to ready our mages,’ said Losara. ‘The Kainordans have many, and we must seek to match their numbers. For our student mages, whether in schools or with single tutors, their learning must be accelerated, and concentrated in the arts of war.’

  ‘It will be done.’

  ‘Tyrellan will see to the regular army. Marshall all at Fort Logale, and perhaps the enemy will think we intend to attack the more obvious target of the Shining Mines. And now . . .’

  One last time he turned the idea over in his head. Was he sure? No, but how could one be sure of anything? And, with army-building delegated and set in motion, there was nothing further he could do to expedite proceedings. It would take weeks to accomplish the assignments he had given these two, if not more, during which he would essentially be at a loose end. Making up his mind once and for all, he spoke.

  ‘I will be gone for a time, on my own task. Perhaps a couple of weeks, perhaps longer. I may be able to return at times, but I cannot be sure of that. I am putting a good deal of trust in you both to carry out my orders while I’m away.’

  Unspoken questions appeared on their faces, but neither asked where he was going. That was well with him, for he wasn’t quite sure if his idea even made sense.

  ‘What of general governance?’ said Tyrellan.

  ‘You would be my first choice, Tyrellan, if your priorities did not lie elsewhere. Let the Shadow Council oversee the day-to-day for a time . . . you can always overrule them if you deem it necessary.’

  ‘Very well. What of protection? You should not go alone on this mysterious excursion.’

  ‘Ah Tyrellan,’ said Losara, ‘do not fear. I will not strictly be alone. For a start, I’ll have your old friend Fazel to keep me company.’ He rose, ignoring Tyrellan’s surprise. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, there is someone else I must inform of my decision.’

  •

  He tried to gather her into his arms but she backed away, staring into his void-like eyes. ‘Why must you do this?’ she asked again.

  He sighed. ‘I have told you why.’

  ‘But why can’t you come back? You can whisk back and forth in an instant.’

  ‘Once I am there, I must remain for a time. Travelling back and forth would be too risky. Lalenda, be not afraid – no harm will befall me.’

  ‘It is not the external threats that scare me so much,’ she said. ‘It is the end you seek.’

  ‘I am yet to decide what end I seek.’

  ‘Even the possibility, the fact that you consider it, is enough to frighten.’

  He now regretted saying too much. He could have left it at telling her he wanted to discover more about Bel, his so-called enemy, and that he was also worried Bel might get himself killed. She’d understood that, for he had told her about his dream, so she knew that if Bel perished, so did he. He’d then told her he had initiated a plan to create a weapon for Fenvarrow, to assure her that he was focused on victory. All of that would have been enough, but instead he had gone on to tell her the whole truth, for wasn’t that what lovers did? But now, he realised, he could have easily achieved what he wanted without upsetting her in the process. She now knew of his uncertainty over whether or not he should prevent Bel from getting the Stone, and the reason why.

&n
bsp; ‘And what about me?’ she said. ‘Have you considered what might happen to me if you pursue such a course? Bel has a lover too, you say.’

  The question caught him by surprise, for in truth he had not thought about it. Unwillingly he remembered Jaya, of the slightly odd pull he had felt when he’d seen her in the dream. Still, it was not enough to negate his affection for the trembling little bundle in front of him.

  ‘You are mine,’ he said. Was there something to add to that? He couldn’t find the words. He could not say that he was hers, for he had a responsibility that came before all else. ‘I promise,’ he added, somewhat lamely.

  He shouldn’t have shared his plan. It wasn’t even a plan yet, more an idea to be considered, a distant potential only. Again he tried to hold her, and though she did not move away this time, she remained stiff in his embrace.

  ‘Lalenda,’ he said, ‘I fight for us.’

  She looked up into his eyes then, her expression softening. ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course. I fight for everyone in Fenvarrow.’

  Her look told him that had been the wrong thing to say, though he was not sure why.

  ‘Then,’ she said, ‘I cannot believe you would wager the fate of all Fenvarrow on such a precarious notion.’

  ‘I do not yet know if I will,’ he said. ‘That is precisely why I must . . .’

  But she strained against him, and he released her with a sigh.

  A Change of Face

  A Change of Face

  A Change of Face

  Gellan sat watch as the others slumbered. It wasn’t strictly necessary, he supposed, when they had an undead mage with them who did not require sleep . . . but in truth, no one exactly trusted Fazel yet. Gellan, for his part, did not doubt that Fazel’s intentions were good, but the intentions of a slave created by the enemy were a moot point. He wondered what would happen if Fazel received new instructions from the Shadowdreamer – would they override the control Bel was able to exert? Or would there be some kind of stand-off?