Erienne laughed at the result and the relief in her body and clapped her hands. She looked down at the beautiful bed of flowers at her feet, soaking up the moisture.
‘See that, Lyanna, see what Mummy can do!’
She knelt as she always did after they had finished a session and spoke words only Lyanna could hear.
‘So much we owe to you, my darling,’ she said, moving specks of wet earth from yellow and blue petals. ‘So much we still have to learn. Remember I always love you and so does your father though I can hear him shouting even now. It’s not at you. It’s at me. Lie and rest.’ She trailed her fingers through the blooms covering the grave. ‘See what your beauty makes grow?’
She stood up. Cleress, bedraggled but smiling, was watching her, leaning heavily on her sticks. Behind her, Erienne could see Denser marching towards them, shaking his head.
‘Here comes the complaint,’ said Erienne, wiping rain and a tear from her face and smoothing down her soaking hair.
Above her, the clouds dispersed as quickly as they had come and the sun got to work drying out the ground.
‘Was that really necessary?’ called Denser. ‘I had been reading. A little warning would have been nice.’
‘The pages will dry out quickly enough,’ said Cleress. ‘And we are done for the day. I need a rest before dinner.’
‘Wait a moment and I’ll help you in,’ said Denser. He walked to Erienne and gave her a kiss. ‘Feel better for doing that?’
‘Actually, yes,’ said Erienne. ‘Today was a breakthrough day.’
‘I can see where that would be useful. Deserts and such.’
‘As ever you miss the point,’ said Cleress, swapping a conspiratorial glance with Erienne. ‘You see, the secret of the One lies not in learning individual castings for individual effect but understanding the nature of the elements and the nature of your problem. Then, all you have to do is bring the two together. Erienne has all but grasped it, but for a few control exercises that need more work.’
‘Then what?’ asked Denser.
‘Then I can at last die and join my sisters,’ said Cleress. Her smile was brief and Erienne didn’t like what was behind it. ‘I worry about them, you know. It is so long since I heard them. All there is now is a wailing. I do worry so.’
‘I’m not with you,’ said Erienne.
‘No, dear, of course not.’ Cleress turned to begin the slow walk to the house. ‘Denser, if you would be so kind.’
Erienne stood and watched them go, frowning. She wondered if Denser had been listening to the Al-Drechar. She knew he didn’t always. He felt her to be edging into senility and it was true she rambled from time to time. What it was she dreamed she heard from her sisters probably fell into that category.
‘But you don’t really believe that, do you Erienne?’ she said to herself.
Shaking her head, she knelt to tidy Lyanna’s gave.
The Unknown pushed Diera’s sodden hair from her face and kissed her lips. Caught in Erienne’s downpour, they could do nothing else but laugh under the warm rain and try to hide the bread and cheese. Unsuccessfully. Some of it washed over the rock on which they were sitting and into the ocean. The Unknown had pushed the rest after it.
‘I hope Jonas wasn’t caught in that,’ said Diera.
‘I doubt it,’ said The Unknown. ‘Anyway, he’ll be as wet as us but by choice. He’s still over at Sand Island swimming with Ark.’
Ever the doubt was in Diera’s eyes when she knew her little boy was with any of the ex-Protectors. Nothing The Unknown could do would completely convince her they were safe. She had seen them under the control of Xetesk and knew what they could do. Even now, two years on and with their masked, thralled lives and painful memories, she was unsure.
‘Will he be safe?’ she said.
‘Ark’s the best swimmer amongst them,’ said The Unknown.
‘You know what I mean, Sol,’ she replied.
‘Yes, which was why I answered a different question. You already know the answer to the other one. You ask it every time.’
‘He’s my son,’ she said.
‘Hey, I’m not criticising,’ said The Unknown.
‘Come on, let’s go down to the landing. Wait for them.’
‘You go.’ The Unknown helped Diera to her feet and crushed her to him. ‘Think I’ll walk the estate. Have a think to myself.’
Diera looked into his eyes. He held her gaze and tried to smile but it didn’t convince her.
‘You still miss it all, don’t you?’ she said.
‘It’s in my blood,’ he replied. ‘Balaia is my home. I’d so love to take you back one day, you and Jonas. Do what we set out to do.’
He looked past her at the house and the lands surrounding it on the small southern island of Herendeneth. They had worked miracles in their time here the last two years. He and the five remaining ex-Protectors had rebuilt the house, turned some of the land into fertile crop land and brought more animals to farm from Calaius. But it wasn’t his and he wanted that so badly. Something he could build and pass onto his family.
And of course, he wasn’t the only one itching for change. The Protectors needed their own lives. Gods, Hirad and Darrick had only lasted a season here before getting bored to the point of madness. Only Denser and Erienne seemed content. But then, they had everything they wanted.
‘And yes, I miss the loudmouth and I wonder what’s happened to Tomas, Maris and Rhob in Korina. We didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to them. But I know how much you love it here. It is so peaceful. And Jonas . . . he is the most beautiful child and I wouldn’t sully his innocence for anything. But one day he’ll be curious. He’ll know this isn’t it.’
‘So we’ll go back. But only when it’s safe,’ said Diera.
‘And when will we know that, I wonder?’
‘One day, Jevin and the Calaian Sun will sail into the channel and what you hear will tell you all you need to know. Perhaps we’ll all go back then. What do you say?’
‘I say I love the images you paint.’ He planted another kiss on her mouth and shoved her gently towards the path to the landing. ‘So you’ll always know where to find me, won’t you? Right here, looking for sails on the horizon.’
Diera turned. ‘Never leave me again. Promise.’
‘Never. I promise.’
Ry Darrick put his head in his hands and sighed long. ‘Gods, this is like pulling teeth,’ he muttered.
It was another ridiculously humid day though he’d been assured of fresher air on the coast. And last time he looked, Ysundeneth was still on the coast. It had been like this ten days straight now. He couldn’t sleep, he had no appetite and it was grating on his nerves. And in the paddock in front of him, his apprentice was deliberately misunderstanding everything he was saying.
The young elf stood up and brushed himself down, turned to see the stallion standing irritably on the opposite side of the ring, its tail swishing. It snorted.
‘What did I tell you just now?’
‘Don’t approach from the back?’ he ventured.
‘Right. So could you confirm by pointing which end is the front?’
The boy pointed. That was something else. No sense of irony. Clearly Ilkar had learned his over long years of exposure to Hirad.
‘Correct, the end with the teeth and the rolling eyes. Now, I’ll tell you once more, and go carefully this time. Approach steadily and calmly from the front and let him see you all the way. If you surprise him you’ll end up flat on your back again if you try and mount him.
‘Let him get used to you before you get a hold of the bridle and then move down his flank slowly. Make sure you keep in physical contact. Only then put your foot in the stirrup. Do it slowly and calmly and should be skitter, back off and try again. I’ll tell you when to be more forceful, all right?’
‘Yes, General,’ said the boy.
‘Go on then, he won’t bite.’ Actually, he might, thought Darrick.
Dear Gods d
rowning, would he ever be able to let the boy loose on a horse not already broken in? Stupid thing was, when he was up in the saddle, the boy was a natural, which wasn’t something you could say for many elves.
And it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. He had brought half a dozen horses with him from Balaia when The Raven had left the continent, all courtesy of a very generous Baron Blackthorne. His idea had always been to breed them and introduce them to the elves after a short stop on Herendeneth. The elves knew precious little about horses and, if nothing else, learning to ride could be an expensive gift for rich children.
From a business point of view, it worked very well. Blackthorne’s horses were good stock and he was anticipating a third generation. They should be the calmest yet, now he didn’t have to rely on the old stallion. Great horse to ride. A bugger for passing on his bad temper, though.
He watched the boy approaching the horse. It eyed him warily but made no move away. Better. The lad held out his hands and the horse obliged, nuzzling them before giving him a playful butt in the chest. The boy hesitated.
‘Keep going, lad,’ said Darrick. ‘You’re doing fine.’
He turned away at the sound of a cart rattling along the street behind him, pulled by mules. He waved at the owner, who nodded back. And that was all it took for it all to go wrong again. When he returned his attention to the paddock, the boy had his foot half in the stirrup and his hand clutched the loose rein tight.
‘No,’ shouted Darrick. ‘You’re dragging his head round. He won’t . . .’
The lad tried to mount. The rest was inevitable. He gave a sharp tug on the rein, forgetting he was holding it, so much was he concentrating on the stirrup, his footing and the pommel where his other hand was planted. The stallion nickered and pulled back sharply. The boy didn’t know which to let go of and in the end released the pommel not the rein and still tried to get up in the saddle.
The horse trotted a pace and unbalanced his would-be rider who fell flat on his back in the dirt with a shout of frustration.
‘Give me strength,’ muttered Darrick.
‘You look like a man who needs a change of career,’ said a voice he recognised very well indeed.
He swung round. Hirad was standing a couple of paces away. Darrick gave a shout of surprise and embraced him hard. ‘Gods, Hirad, it’s good to see you,’ he said.
‘Steady,’ said Hirad, pushing him back. ‘People will talk. All going well is it?’
‘That depends on what you’re really asking. I’m making money. I’m working with horses and other dumb animals.’ He spared the boy a glance. ‘Again! Bruising is good for the character. And don’t think that about me. You’ll thank me later.’
Hirad was laughing. ‘Glad to see you’ve kept your cool.’
‘Hirad, I have to tell you something. I am so bored.’
The barbarian’s smile broadened. ‘So if I was to suggest something with rather more potential for excitement what would you think?’
‘I’d think you were a blessing from the Gods,’ said Darrick. ‘So what is it?’
He’d been ignoring the other figures spread around the paddock fence while he spoke to Hirad but now he looked more closely.
‘Isn’t that—?’
‘Rebraal, yes. And Auum. And Thraun’s around here somewhere too.’
‘What’s going on?’ Darrick chewed his lip. Auum had sworn never to leave the forest again and his presence with his Tai was drawing attention. Hirad’s smile had disappeared.
‘We’ve got a problem. I’ll explain on the way.’
‘The way where?’
‘Herendeneth. Listen, Darrick, do what you need to do here and I’ll see you on the docks at nightfall. There’s a tide and Jevin is going to be on it.’
Darrick stiffened. ‘Tell me what is going on before I get more irritable.’
‘You know how I said The Raven would never ride again? Seems I was lying.’
Chapter 10
Dystran, Lord of the Mount of Xetesk, though the title rang hollow now, stared out at another dawn and shed a tear as he had almost every day for the past two years. It was going to be another beautiful day. That was one of the things the demons had not taken from them though they had done their best. The air was perpetually cold and the quiet made late spring a sham. No birds sang, dogs barked or children played. There was no sound outside at all but the keening of despair on the breeze.
Like every day, he wondered at the conditions on the outside where the demons ruled practically unopposed. How much worse it must be for those kept alive out there; though much of the time he wallowed so far down in his own desperation that the possibility others could be in a deeper plight was inconceivable.
So little news came in from the outside. Less and less as the seasons turned and resistance inexorably weakened. At first it had been relatively straightforward. They had unsealed the catacomb vents and been able to get people into the countryside. In the early days, the demons had only attacked a few population centres. Food and water in the wilds had been plentiful and survivors had been brought into the security of Xetesk’s ColdRoom network. They’d even driven the demons back from the walls of the college at one stage and taken back some of the city.
But the situation hadn’t been sustainable. The use of magic was like a beacon to any demon and he had lost mages in sudden overwhelming attacks across the mage lands. Mages he could ill afford to lose.
Slowly, they had retreated as numbers dwindled as a result of demon attack and, ever increasingly, illness and a breaking of the spirit that left no room for life. There was only so much a healing spell could do and regaining mana stamina was fraught with danger. Xetesk had had just three small areas of the catacombs the demons had still not found where a mage could sleep outside a ColdRoom, replenish and cast. And always under the eyes of guards ready to pull them the few inches back to relative sanctuary should they be discovered.
Now, the Xeteskian sphere of influence covered just the tower complex and the catacombs north. Everything else belonged to the demons. Scouting parties still searched for food and fuel but their sorties were the stuff of nightmare. Only the knowledge of starvation kept men venturing out under the rolling ColdRooms they had perfected when all they had in plentiful supply was time. But nothing could guarantee their safety. It was genuinely incredible what men and women could achieve when there really was no other option.
At least they had water. Wells had been dug in the catacombs. And that meant they could eke out what little food they had into thin stews as well as drink their fill. They could heat their food too. Stones fired with focused Orbs or FlamePalm were more than adequate but another drain on stretched mana reserves.
Dystran looked out for as long as he could at the flitting shapes of the demons about their business in Xetesk and beyond; and at the slash in the sky that was the most hated symbol of Balaia’s almost total subjugation. From irritants the size of kittens to the tentacled monstrosities they had dubbed ‘enforcers’, all had their purpose, all had their place. That fact of their organisation maddened him because it had become so clear that in their thousand-year association with demons, they had learned nothing about them. If only the reverse had also been true. If only.
But it was the people that he saw that depressed him. And it dragged at his soul when he caught one of them gazing up at the tower. Without spirit, without hope. Abandoned but still walking. And still building, growing, eating and sleeping. Still, he was convinced, breeding. They had to of course. There was that part of the human that denied even the most cataclysmic situation. And above that, there were the demons, seeing to it that all was done to their design.
It was the reason he came up here and shed tears every day and why all who survived looked out every day too. He had to remind himself why he still fought because in the base of the complex hope fled so easily. He knew what he was looking at down there. It was a farm.
Dystran turned from the window, weary despite the early
hour. He caught sight of himself in a mirror and shuddered. Gaunt. Sunken eyes and cheeks. Skin flaking and blotched. Patchy beard and hair hacked short as pitiful defence against the lice. A quivering line for a mouth, lips pale and split. And he was one of the fitter ones. He had no choice. Soldiers and mages got the greater shares of food.
He signalled to the two soldiers who went everywhere with him.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. He spared a glance across at Ranyl’s tower, shuttered and abandoned. ‘Gods be thanked that you didn’t live to see this, old dog.’
‘My Lord?’
‘Nothing.’
They began the descent to the dome. Below them, teams of mages kept ColdRooms linked to provide best coverage of as wide an area as they could. He had seventy-eight mages, a hundred-plus soldiers and another two hundred-odd souls to protect. Pitiful.
Not far down, the sour smells of the last resistance of Xetesk hit him. Ventilation was not enough alone. They could not clean or scrub adequately, they had to bury their waste in catacomb tunnels but they could not lime it. Around four hundred people living and breathing for the most part in tight conditions because they felt there was safety in numbers. Gods burning, it was one of the few things they could cling on to.
There had to be something they’d all overlooked. Something that would give them the spark they needed to strike with purpose, not merely seek to exist another day. After two years it seemed faint hope.
A thought struck Dystran then. There had to be a reason why the demons seemed content to let them live like this. How long had it been since a concerted attack, a season or more, surely? It didn’t make sense and it irked Dystran that it had never occurred to him to wonder why before now. The life force of a mage was so prized by demons. Their connection with mana made them burn bright. For a demon, comparing a mage to a non-mage was a fine Blackthorne red wine as compared with vinegar.
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