Prophecy's Ruin bw-1

by Sam Bowring

  Lampet gave a great sigh and his eyes turned yellow. His head drifted backwards as his loops in the water began to sink out of view. ‘Blessings upon you, saviour child,’ he said. ‘If not first and only, then serve us as well as yourself and our people.’

  ‘As well as I serve any,’ said Losara, ‘that well I’ll serve them all.’

  As Lampet disappeared into the depths, the last thing visible was the yellow of his eyes.

  Losara Shadowhand leaped off the hill, dissolving into shadow to speed across the sea.

  •

  By the time he’d wondered how fast he could go, Losara found himself at the base of Skygrip Castle. Those parts of him that had physical substance whirled in the shadows, clinging to his core presence like moons circling a star. As he travelled up the outer walls, a patrol of Graka flew past. He leaped at one to land in the shade between its shoulder and wing. Riding with his unknowing host, he stayed for several passes around Skygrip, then sprang back to the tower. He reached the long throne-room window and slipped inside.

  An unwelcome scene met his ethereal gaze. Battu was holding Lalenda aloft by a crystalline wing, his whitening fist threatening to snap it. His face was a twisted storm of anger, the black wells of his eyes expanding. Tyrellan looked as if he was trying to calm him, but the dark lord’s shouting drowned him out.

  ‘Why would I be walking through fields of grass?’ he roared. ‘Under the sun, by the Dark Gods! You must tell me, prophet – is it a dream, or will it transpire?’

  ‘I have no answers for my lord,’ said Lalenda, and Losara was surprised by a note of defiance in her voice. Battu began to shake her, making her wings rustle.

  ‘Master,’ said Losara. All eyes snapped to him. He hadn’t even realised he’d stepped from the shadows, and quickly checked himself to make sure he was all there – and he was. He moved forward from the window, clasping his shadowhands together. ‘I have returned from Assedrynn’s Isle.’

  Battu dropped Lalenda and she fell without a sound. The wells in his eyes did not recede, and for a moment he looked like a cornered beast. ‘Apprentice,’ he said, and glanced at the window, clearly wondering how Losara had come to be standing there so instantaneously. His eyes fastened on Losara’s new hands and he faltered. ‘They have blessed you mightily,’ he said, attempting to force civility into his voice while everything else in his demeanour remained rabid. ‘Well done, my boy.’

  Tyrellan, his orb eyes wider than Losara had ever seen them, fell to one knee and bowed his head. Battu’s anger flickered towards him, but was quickly contained.

  ‘Did they …’ Battu licked his lips. ‘Is there any message they wish passed to me?’

  ‘None,’ said Losara, and Battu scowled. The Shadowdreamer stalked forward, falling just short of looming over his Apprentice. Losara did not think Battu would strike out, not yet, and watched him calmly. ‘They only ask that you release me to a pilgrimage,’ he continued. ‘To travel Fenvarrow and know the land.’

  ‘Of course.’ Battu seemed relieved that Losara would be leaving again. ‘If the gods wish it done, so shall it be.’

  Losara arched an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Oh, really?’

  The expression was not lost on Battu. Not on Tyrellan either, and the Black Goblin’s head turned slowly from Losara to Battu, registering something of the exchange.

  ‘I am also in need of companions,’ said Losara. ‘The gods decree that I not travel alone.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Battu, his stance and face again completely contrary to the reasonable tone of his voice. Losara wondered if he even knew how he appeared. ‘Who would you take?’

  Losara glided around Battu so he could see Lalenda. The pixie had not moved from where she’d fallen, but sat sprawled with her hands on the floor. Though muck and tears stained her, she did not seem as tremulous as he remembered her. She stared at his hands, and then his eyes. Now that he thought about it, they had all looked at his eyes.

  He smiled, finding he was genuinely glad to see her. The next moment he felt overwhelmingly sorry that she’d remained so trapped and abused in this place, while he had managed to soar free. Why compare her feelings to my own? he wondered briefly. If I did that with everyone, I’d surely go insane.

  ‘Lalenda,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Lalenda.’

  ‘Lalenda?’ echoed Battu quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ Losara said, and the pixie’s eyes shone brightly. ‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘that has helped me decide our first destination. We will travel to Swampwild.’

  She stiffened at the word and half-choked a gasp. Losara turned and found Battu standing very close, definitely looming now.

  ‘I will take Lalenda,’ he repeated. ‘It is the gods’ will.’

  ‘Yes,’ hissed Battu. ‘And who else will you take? Not Tyrellan, he is needed.’

  He shot a meaningful look at Tyrellan, who returned his flat gaze to the middle distance. Losara frowned – he hadn’t thought this far ahead. Who else indeed?

  ‘My kind lord,’ came Lalenda’s voice, and he found her risen to her feet.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Might I suggest …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Grimra, lord.’

  Instantly the idea appealed. Grimra had also been trapped here too long.

  ‘An excellent choice,’ Tyrellan said. ‘The Apprentice will need protection and I can think of none better.’

  ‘Who’s Grimra?’ muttered Battu.

  ‘The Golgoleth Ghost,’ said Tyrellan, and Battu went very quiet.

  ‘I shall be making preparations immediately,’ said Losara. ‘Lalenda, please ready yourself for travel. If she may be excused, my master?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Battu, and waved angrily at Lalenda. She shot Losara a thankful look and fled happily from the chamber. They all heard her exclamation of joy as she entered the tunnel, which made Battu flinch.

  The dark lord moved towards Refectu, but didn’t seem to want to turn his back on Losara. He stopped just shy of the throne. ‘Is that the extent of your list of companions?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Then leave me be. I have some matters to consider.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Slowly and deliberately, Losara turned his own back on Battu without fear and walked towards the tunnel. ‘Oh,’ he said, stopping for a moment. ‘I would see Tyrellan before I leave, if it please you, master.’

  ‘It pleases me!’ shouted Battu, no longer able to maintain his poise. ‘It pleases me no end!’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Losara, and continued on, not pausing to see if Tyrellan followed.

  •

  Together they walked, Tyrellan’s cat-like padding matching Losara’s fluid glide. Losara found himself heading towards his quarters, though he didn’t know exactly why. There was nothing there he needed.

  ‘You’ll arrange for Grimra’s pendant to be removed from the archway?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tyrellan.

  He seemed withdrawn, and Losara wondered if the exchanges in the throne room had put him in the middle of things.

  ‘Battu won’t harm you,’ he said.

  ‘Mind your words,’ growled Tyrellan.

  ‘He isn’t watching. I’d be able to tell.’

  Tyrellan grunted and glanced away. ‘You grow arrogant, lord,’ he said. ‘It is not commendable.’

  Losara felt the truth of the words, and nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I am simply heady with my change, Tyrellan.’ He waggled his black fingers and now Tyrellan did stare.

  ‘You are truly blessed by the shadow.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘And you follow the shadow always, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Battu does not.’

  Tyrellan looked hard at Losara, the blue of an ice lantern caught in his black eyes. ‘You’ll be taking action?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  The butterfly flew from Tyrellan’s shoulder, reminding Losara of the conversation’s purpose.

  ‘I
had a dream on the way to the Isle,’ he said. ‘You tried to sever your connection to the butterfly by death.’ Tyrellan’s gaze remained neutral. ‘Is that something you considered? Or did it actually come to pass?’

  ‘I considered it.’

  ‘Do not try it. I would save you from that disappointment.’ He paused. ‘I spoke to the gods on your behalf.’

  Tyrellan bowed his head. ‘I am honoured.’

  ‘The news may not gladden you. The only way to break the legacy spell is to reunite it with the soul of Elessa Lanclara. There are two ways this can be done, and one of them sounds impossible.’

  ‘Tell me that one.’

  ‘Enter the Great Well of Arkus and find her.’

  Tyrellan bared his fangs. Well might he snarl at such an idea , thought Losara. All that light, coalescing – how to find one’s way in such a terrible place?

  ‘What is the other way?’ asked the goblin.

  ‘Bring what is left of her back to the world. Reanimate her corpse and reunite her with that part of her life force trapped in your butterfly.’

  ‘Not my butterfly,’ muttered Tyrellan, and fell silent.

  Losara knew he was thinking hard and deep about how insurmountable such a task would be – to penetrate the Halls, find Elessa’s grave, perform the right rituals, and all based on a chance that some remnant of her floated intact enough in Arkus’s Well to summon back.

  ‘Maybe,’ offered Losara, ‘it will be a reward. When we stand there at the end, triumphant in the Halls, you will finally be able to rid yourself of the creature.’

  It felt a strange thing to say, as he bore no real animosity towards the land of light. Nevertheless, Tyrellan seized on his words.

  ‘It is gratifying to hear someone speak of progress.’

  Losara knew the target of his frustration. ‘Don’t judge Battu too harshly,’ he said. ‘You don’t know that he was ordered by the gods to avoid conflict. The action he took at the Mines may have damned him for all time.’

  Tyrellan remembered …

  When Battu was young, he was confident. After he had killed Raker, a conspiracy had formed against him. Tyrellan had put a stop to it, winning Battu’s trust by becoming his confidant in that first and formative betrayal. After putting down the dissidents, Battu had immediately felt the need to consolidate his power and so he organised the assault on the Mines to prove himself. Tyrellan had been instrumental in encouraging it. This new understanding of why Battu had been loath to take further action against the light in all his years of ruling did nothing to improve Tyrellan’s view of him. If anything it made him weaker, to have strayed so wildly from an explicitly laid-down path. Tyrellan would never have encouraged the attack on the Mines if Battu had simply told him it was against the Dark Gods’ will.

  He realised Losara was no longer beside him, and turned to find the boy staring at himself in a mirror-fountain.

  ‘Had you not seen, my lord?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Losara.

  There was nothing behind his eyes but shadow.

  Part Three

  Of Purpose

  —

  I like to believe I’m not one to dwell on past possibilities. I know the roads that brought me here, and I cannot walk them again. And yet sometimes, in my quieter moments, I muse on what might have been. What if Corlas had been left alone to raise me himself, whole, in Whisperwood? Would it have been a peaceful existence, untouched by bloodshed and strife? Perhaps I wouldn’t have escaped my fate at all, merely come to it by a different route.

  It isn’t for myself, I suppose, that I wonder these things. It could have gone better for my father, I think. Certainly he deserved better. Ah, well. It seems that compassion is not the currency of power.

  But I digress. Let me return to our story, to a time when it did not seem there was any particular road in front of me. Or many, perhaps, crosshatched all the way to the horizon. Was it any wonder that I felt somewhat directionless? Part of me was, after all, on the other side of the world. A monumental task lay ahead and I had little idea of how it might be accomplished.

  Stumble on, I supposed. Stumble on until I discovered the way.

  Twenty-eight

  The Streets of Kadass

  Bel dropped to bended knee before the teary little girl who was clutching a raggedy doll tightly to her chest. Around them people bustled onwards, leaving peacekeeper and child an island in the throng.

  ‘Hello there, princess,’ said Bel. ‘Who’s that you’ve got with you?’

  The girl’s lip quivered.

  ‘She’s very pretty,’ Bel went on. ‘Though I can’t see her face.’

  Tentatively the girl raised the doll. Bel smiled a big, stupid smile, took the doll’s limp hand in his own and shook it.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said.

  ‘Her name’s Shari,’ said the little girl.

  ‘What a beautiful name,’ said Bel, and the girl looked pleased. ‘I bet Shari’s glad she has you to look after her. It can be pretty scary wandering around all by yourself.’

  The girl looked worried again. ‘We lost Mumma.’

  ‘Well, that won’t do at all. When did you last see her?’

  ‘Over by the birds,’ said the girl.

  Bel looked about and quickly spotted a bench of caged birds amongst the other stalls that lined the Market Road.

  Hiza appeared out of the crowd. ‘The procession is moving,’ he said. ‘We should keep up.’

  Bel nodded. ‘Tell you what, princess,’ he said to the girl. ‘How about you get up on my shoulders and we go back to the bird stall? That way you and Shari will be up nice and high, and maybe between us all we’ll be able to spot your mumma.’

  Relief flooded the little girl’s face. She took Bel’s hand and he hoisted her up onto his broad shoulders.

  Hiza shook his head and smiled. ‘Always there for a damsel in distress, eh?’

  ‘I think it was Shari who was really frightened,’ said Bel. ‘Lucky she had a brave friend to protect her.’ He was rewarded with a happy giggle from on high.

  They weren’t long at the bird stall before the girl’s frantic mother burst from the crowd. She thanked Bel profusely for finding her child, hugging her as tightly as the girl had hugged Shari. As they disappeared into the bustle, the girl raised a hand to wave happily at the blades.

  ‘Come on,’ said Hiza. ‘The wasps are making good time.’

  The two keepers began weaving through the crowd. People were milling around the market stalls, or gathering to stare down side streets at the colourful caravan that was passing along Kadass Road, a couple of streets over and parallel to Market Road. The caravan carried the Trusted of Cindeka and her entourage, who had arrived that morning at Kadass’s western gate. They were going to the Halls to discuss a trade dispute with their neighbour state of Tria, but the curiosity of the general populace was in no way due to that. The people were out to see the only Trusted in Kainordas who wasn’t a Varenkai.

  The Zyvanix wasps were huge versions of their distant insect cousins, and not often seen in Kadass. Most of them lived in Cindeka, in towering hive cities constructed of earth. They had a reputation for arrogance, believing themselves to be the closest to Arkus of all Kainordas’s races since they were blessed with the power of flight. It was only with a certain belligerence that they even recognised the Throne as their ruler.

  Bel and Hiza caught glimpses of wasp warriors flitting about a lumbering caravan, their spindly arms clutching bows and barbed spears as they hovered in the air. The caravan itself was a sight to behold: huge and draped in the bright colours that the wasps favoured, pulled by the enormous draught horses of the western plains. The keepers were part of an unofficial guard for the arrival, dispersed amongst the watching crowds. It was a good thing they were there, Bel thought, for the Zyvanix warriors seemed to be enjoying the attention more than their duties. Still, it was unlikely there would be any trouble.

  ‘You know she needs two translators?�
�� said Hiza.

  ‘Hmm?’ said Bel.

  ‘The wasp Trusted. She needs two translators.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Bel exaggerated his interest.

  Hiza grinned at him. ‘Yes. Zyvanix can’t make human sounds with those weird mouths of theirs, and we can’t make their sounds either. The translators can never talk in the languages they are trained to understand, so they need one wasp who can understand human speech to tell the Trusted what we’re saying, and one Varenkai who can understand wasp talk to tell us what they’re saying.’

  ‘How interesting.’

  ‘It is ,’ insisted Hiza. ‘Imagine being the human translator! Stuck in Athika, surrounded by wasps, without even being able to talk to them! And a city built of mud beneath you – wouldn’t you be afraid of the floors collapsing?’

  ‘Not my choice of career,’ said Bel. ‘Excuse me,’ and he stepped aside for a young woman carrying a basket of fruit. She blushed at his smile.

  They approached another pair of keepers, one of whom was their captain, Hosarus. He was a man who had chosen to stay with the keepers instead of moving on to a career in the military. Was that a path for Bel to consider? Somehow he doubted it.

  ‘Lads,’ said Hosarus.

  ‘Captain,’ they chorused.

  ‘I want you on Kadass Road.’ Hosarus glanced around, chewing absently on a straw. ‘Lovely day. Shouldn’t be any hassle. Keep a lookout though. It’s a big crowd, ain’t it?’

  ‘Sure is, captain,’ said Bel.

  Hosarus nodded. ‘Off you go then.’

  They obeyed, moving to the street of the procession. People were waving at the wasps, who stared back with multifaceted eyes, or waggled their antennae. For a notoriously bad-tempered race, it looked as if they were enjoying the fuss, Bel thought. He admired the dexterity with which they handled their weapons as they flew, using all six legs to manoeuvre them about. It would be impressive to see their archers in action, firing arrows from the quivers strapped to their stripy stomachs. No wonder his father had wished for a troop of them at the Shining Mines.