‘You are intrigued,’ said Sha-Kaan.
‘What is this place?’ asked Septern. ‘The power is almost palpable. ’
‘It is our version of your gateway. You are looking at a melde-corridor. Choose one and enter. I will be behind you.’
‘If it’s all the same, you can go first. Call it a fear of the unknown.’ Septern smiled thinly.
‘Or a mistrust of the Kaan,’ said the dragon. ‘Very well.’ Sha-Kaan strode across the Melde Hall, his wings unfurled to balance him, his feet leaving deep imprints in the soft ground, which vibrated sharply with every fall. Septern followed but the Kaan, who showed a surprising turn of speed despite the clumsy-looking half-waddle of his walk, disappeared into a corridor just left of centre as the Balaian mage looked on, shouting: ‘Hurry, human, the next phase of the Kaan is upon us.’
To the right of the Melde Hall, another dragon appeared, standing tall before relaxing to the ground. Vestare in attendance, the movement of displaced air blowing loose grass on the ground and the hair on Septern’s head. A third dragon shifted into the space directly behind Septern, ruffling his cloak and, with sudden fear of being crushed beneath one of the massive gold creatures, the mage began to run hard.
As he neared the arch Sha-Kaan had chosen, Septern heard more dragons arrive in the Hall, their audible calls combining gently to fill the space with a soft animalian music, at once welcoming and frightening. A last look revealed a Hall that seemed full of raw power, twisting necks and expectancy. Dragon after dragon shifted into the hall, the press of reptilian majesty taking his breath. He chased Sha-Kaan into the rip.
So unlike his own magically-assisted dimensional travel with its attendant pain and uncontrollable forward motion, the short - or so it seemed - journey down the corridor was akin to walking in dense, cloying fog.
Behind him, the Hall and all its sound and light had gone. All around him was the crush of what had to be interdimensional space. He put out his hands but could feel nothing. Below his feet, the outline of a path blew in the surreal light, and enclosing his body, a gentle pressure that sucked in his lungs and constricted his chest. But there was no pain.
And before he had time to truly register his speed, he stepped out into another great domed hall, this time with tall, iron-bound wooden double doors set in the opposite wall. Sha-Kaan faced him, standing in front of one of dozens of landscape tapestries that hung on the walls. Light from torches, lanterns, ornate carved candle pillars and braziers filled the room with stark moving shadows. In a dozen places around one end of the chamber, fires burned high in grates, producing a sweltering heat. And from beyond the doors, he could hear noises of dragging and shuffling and the fall of multiple footsteps.
Feelings of calm and humour filled Septern’s mind. He looked up at Sha-Kaan.
‘You’re going to tell me this is Balaia, right?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘This is a construct in interdimensional space. One day, I’ll explain to you how it is done but suffice to say it is akin to a pier built into the sea, with its roots anchored firmly on land.’
Septern looked behind him. There was no evidence to tell him where he had entered the hall. The wall behind him was blank.
‘You cannot find your way back that way,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘You need the Kaan signature to reach the Melde Hall.’
Septern nodded. ‘I see. And all those arches back there, they all come to places like this?’
‘Yes. Eighteen to serve the Kaan with a melde-dimension. It is the maximum number we can safely shield from our enemies when all are linked to our melde.’
‘All right, I’ll accept that,’ said Septern, clutching at comprehension. ‘How far are we from Balaia? If distance means anything here.’
‘It does not and that statement tells me a great deal about your understanding. As an answer, let me say that there is no need for a corridor such as you have just travelled. To enter your domain in your dimension merely requires you to identify your preferred point of entry. Using your signature, I can ensure that happens and beyond that door, we will nominate an entry point in the construct’s outer chambers.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yes.’
Septern found it all so plausible. But there had to be a catch. Something that Sha-Kaan would keep hidden. As the true cost of making a pact with the demon dimension was hidden from the mages who requested it.
‘And then you have all you need?’
‘By no means,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Protection of your dimension has a price, but it is small.’
‘Let’s hear it.’
‘For you and the other mages of the Dragonene calling, all we demand is that you be available and respond whenever we call you. The weak and the damaged will use these chambers to recover their strength but the corridor must be open and that means the Dragonene must be in attendance.’
‘I’ll be a prisoner in my own house,’ said Septern. ‘Waiting on your call. That is unacceptable. No deal.’
Sha-Kaan pulled his head back sharply.
‘You misunderstand,’ he said. ‘Now I have your signature, if you agree to be my Dragonene, I can touch your mind wherever you are and open the portal, if I have to, anywhere in Balaia. It is you who is the key to the link but the most effective corridor will always be at the root of your power, which I take to be your house.’
Septern considered Sha-Kaan’s words, realising he actually had very little choice, having already given Sha-Kaan not only the signature of the Balaian dimension, but his own personal mark too.
‘Why does being here help you recover? Presumably it’s better than resting in your Broodlands.’
‘Yes,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘I would describe it like this. At either end of the chambers is a dimension of coalesced energy. Within each dimension, the energy is still random in its direction. But the open corridor forces a flow of energy in one direction only. It is this flow in which we bask that so speeds our healing process. We call them Klenes.’
Septern caught his breath. The dragon was talking about harnessing dimensional flow. It was a technique he had only dreamed about understanding. There was one thing, though.
‘But surely these flows are visible to any dragon blind-flying in interdimensional space? Surely they could follow the flows to your Melde Hall or to Balaia?’
‘The chances are so small, I can’t calculate them,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Not only do we shield the corridors as we do your dimension, but flying in interdimensional space is like walking in impenetrable fog for you. Sanctuary could be within arms’ reach and you would walk by none the wiser.’
‘Unless you walked right into it.’ Septern scratched his head. ‘See my point?’
‘Yes. But the difference is that an effectively-shielded signature is, to all intents and purposes, not there at all. A dragon without the signature would fly through the same point in interdimensional space without touching what he was seeking.’ Sha-Kaan snaked his neck down, giving him eye-to-eye contact with Septern. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Will you agree to be my Dragonene?’
Septern nodded. ‘It would be an honour. One more question, though. You talked about it being important to protect the fabric of melde-dimensions. What did you mean?’
Sha-Kaan’s exhalation played over Septern’s face. Feelings of warmth and joy filled his mind.
‘Mage and Kaan shall grow together,’ he said softly. ‘Now to your question, using your dimension as example. Balaia, of course, is just one continent in your world but the concentration of magic has lent it great structural importance. Our melde, based upon the links with the Dragonene that you will nominate and show to us through me, will rely on many places remaining intact. Your lake, the centre of your magic, is one. The centres of the ancient towers of magic in your Cities are others. The assembly of rock and stone close to your largest city, the range you call Taranspike, is yet another. And so will your house be one. Dragons could destroy it all. We must protect it from them and from powers within yourse
lves that could cast down mountains.’ Sha-Kaan angled his head quizzically, like a dog. Septern almost laughed at the absurdity of the comparison. ‘You are anxious.’
It must have been written all over my face, thought Septern. But the solution to his problem was sitting right in front of him. He’d like to see the man that could take the amulet from Sha-Kaan.
‘It’s part of the reason I was with the Avians,’ he explained. ‘I’ve created something I cannot destroy but that I don’t wish to see fall into the wrong hands in Balaia. I wanted to hide it through a dimension gate, but I got curious and that’s why I met you. The Avians have one part of the secret, maybe you should have the rest.’
‘What is it?’ asked Sha-Kaan.
‘It could remove all those fabrics you spoke of. This—’ he took an engraved amulet on a chain from around his neck, ‘—is the first part of the puzzle to unlocking it. It’s a spell. It’s very powerful indeed. I call it Dawnthief.’
Chapter 10
The next night, the Parve company split three ways. Following an evening meal and the promised Communion, Styliann and Ilkar conducted a brief conversation before the former Lord of the Mount readied his horse and Protectors. The news of his usurpation at Xetesk had struck to the core of his confidence.
Glancing back at him during the day’s ride through unremitting slope and summit, valley and river, Ilkar noticed that the set had gone from his shoulders and the gleam from his eyes. They had been replaced by something altogether more sinister - a hooded, brooding fury that darkened his features, tightened his lips and corded tension through his neck.
He wouldn’t say where he was going, just that he had to reach friendly contact as soon as possible. That his route took him south to the Bay of Gyernath, the same route as Darrick would pursue the following morning, was clearly of no consequence. The Protectors, he said, had little need of rest and Darrick’s cavalry would only slow him down.
But as he rode off, the Protectors running in a protective diamond around him, he left unrest behind. The Raven, who were planning to leave during the early hours to put them on the trail north of Terenetsa before sunlight, reducing the chances of being sighted, sat with Darrick. The General was not enamoured at the prospect of following in the tracks of Styliann.
‘If he blunders into any trouble, it’ll be ten times worse for us but we won’t know it until we hit it.’
‘Take a different route.’ Denser shrugged.
‘Yes, because there must be hundreds to choose from.’ Thraun smiled.
Darrick nodded, picking up the line. ‘Well, yes. It was a coincidence we chose the same one out of all those many options.’
A snigger went around the campfire.
‘I was just making the most obvious suggestion of a solution,’ muttered Denser.
‘You should probably just stick to magic, Denser,’ said Thraun, his smile cracking his heavy features.
‘What the hell for? Dawnthief doesn’t seem to have done us any lasting good, does it?’ Denser’s face was angry. Darrick chose to ignore him.
‘Look, it’s possible to reach the Bay of Gyernath by a number of routes but all except one involve risk to horse and rider.’ Darrick rubbed his hands together and warmed them over the fire though it wasn’t particularly cold. ‘And the trouble with the best route is the half dozen villages that need avoiding. If Styliann chooses destruction not detour, I could face real difficulties reaching the Bay in his wake.’
‘So come with us,’ said Hirad.
Darrick shook his head. ‘No, I’ll not risk your mission. Anyway, I’ll make it. I always do.’ He chuckled.
‘Gods, you sound like Hirad,’ said Ilkar. His mood, though still sombre, had been lightened by Styliann’s confirmation that the College of Julatsa had not fallen. Why not was a matter of some conjecture, but the College, temporarily at least, still stood.
‘How long to the Bay from here?’ asked Hirad. Darrick shrugged.
‘Well, the way gets easier south of Terenetsa, for a couple of days anyway. I should think that, barring interruptions, we’ll be causing trouble to the Wesmen in about ten days’ time.’ He smoothed his hair back from where it was blowing into his face.
‘We shall be in or near Julatsa by then,’ said The Unknown.
‘What’s left of it,’ said Ilkar.
‘Can’t you commune with your people there?’ asked Darrick.
‘No, I’m afraid I never studied the spell. It doesn’t have too many uses for a mercenary mage,’ replied Ilkar. ‘And even if I could, Styliann, who is a far better exponent, hasn’t raised a contact inside the College. His information came from a mage hiding outside the city.’
‘So how are we so sure the College is all right?’ asked Will.
‘Because the Tower is still standing and there are no sounds of battle.’
Darrick frowned, his brow knotting under his curly light brown hair.
‘I can’t believe they’d just stop at the College walls,’ he said.
‘They’re scared of magic,’ said Ilkar. ‘And they’ve lost the Wytch Lords’ influence. Arriving at the walls of a magic College is going to be a time of real fear for them because they only have rumours of the power housed inside. Besides which, I suspect the Council has bluffed an impasse. How long it will last is open to question.’
‘This mage Styliann contacted. Do we have his position? He could prove invaluable,’ said The Unknown.
‘She,’ corrected Ilkar. ‘She wouldn’t give an exact geographical position but Denser knows the mana shape to contact her.’
‘Good, we’ll need to meet people like her when we get across the Inlet.’
‘I can see it all now,’ said Ilkar. ‘The Raven leading a band of rebel Julatsans in an audacious attack on the Wesmen, The Unknown Warrior at their head.’ He reached across the patted the big warrior’s arm. ‘I think that may be beyond even us, but thanks for the thought.’
The Unknown Warrior stretched and yawned. ‘Don’t dismiss it. If a good number have escaped and the word of Dordovan relief forces arriving turns out to be true, we could liberate your College ourselves.’
‘I still think you’re in dreamland, Unknown.’
‘Well, you certainly should be,’ said Darrick. ‘Get your heads down, I’ll wake you in four hours.’
The rout of the Wesmen back to his town gave Baron Blackthorne and his guerrillas one major advantage. The trails to Gyernath were empty and safe. He had despatched a dozen fast riders to the southern port to alert the Council of their arrival; the Communion mages, he kept refreshed against the possibility of Wesmen attack. His sealed note also set out basic needs and requirements of men, horses and supplies. It did not say why.
Baron Blackthorne sat with the slowly recovering Gresse in a camp six days from Gyernath. The morale of his people was rising, their action was specific and no longer mere damage limitation. Now they had a goal and it was one all could believe in. They were going to reclaim their homes.
‘When we’ve retaken Blackthorne, Taranspike is next,’ said Blackthorne. Gresse smiled and looked across the fire at him.
‘I think our priorities may keep us near the Bay of Gyernath,’ he said. ‘Taranspike will wait. Pontois won’t destroy it, after all. Just a shame he didn’t place his considerable weight behind the fight for his own country.’
‘Damn him,’ muttered Blackthorne. Baron Pontois had always been smug and arrogant. Blackthorne could just imagine him laughing with his cronies as he sat at Gresse’s table, having swept into the undefended Taranspike Castle to claim it as his right.
It wouldn’t last. Whether it was because of the Wesmen or a force led by Blackthorne, the Baron could at least look forward to the day when Pontois grovelled in terror. Blackthorne didn’t consider himself a gratuitously violent man but, as he looked over at Gresse and saw the pain and bitterness behind the bravado, he knew he could cheerfully cut out Pontois’ heart and serve it to him on a bed of his own entrails.
‘We
need to send messengers to all the Barons and Lords, not just those within the Korina Trade Alliance,’ said Gresse.
‘All but Pontois,’ said Blackthorne. ‘I’d rather die than have him fight beside me.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘I’ll attend to it when we reach Gyernath. We’ll have a better idea of the numbers we need then.’ Blackthorne stared away into the dark, tasting the air, his lower teeth irritating at his top lip.
‘What is it?’ asked Gresse.
‘It’ll be ten to twelve days before we reach Blackthorne,’ said the Baron. ‘In that time, they can choose to reinforce or raze my town. One thing is certain, they won’t wait around doing nothing. We need to cut two days off our travel or we could be too late. I don’t want to crest the Balan Mountains only to see my world burning.’
The candles burned late into the night in the Tower of Julatsa. The College’s Council had sat in unbroken session for three hours, debating their diminishing options in the face of Senedai’s threat and the spectre of disaffection among those within the sanctuary of the DemonShroud. In a break from Council tradition, General Kard had joined the meeting, his knowledge making his exclusion unthinkable.
‘It comes to a mere handful of questions,’ Kerela summed up after hearing much pious debate concerning the vital necessity of preserving Julatsan magic and the balance it gave Balaia; the debt of gratitude the people of Julatsa owed its mages; and the long term good of the masses - Balaians in general - coming ahead of the immediate needs of those soon to be sacrificed in the DemonShroud.
‘Will the Wesmen carry out their threat? Can we stop those inside witnessing what goes on outside? If we can’t, how do we justify our refusal to surrender the College to save loss of life? Should we, in fact, surrender the College to save loss of life? And would surrendering the College actually cost more lives than it saved?’
‘Good summation,’ said Barras. ‘I think Kard can answer the first two. General?’
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