Soul's Reckoning (Broken Well Trilogy) Read online

  As he glanced around for Jaya, he saw a scout gallop into camp at full pelt and drop from his horse before Nicha. The man seemed excited and, as he spoke, Nicha glanced over to Bel. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she gestured at him to approach. He did so, arriving as the scout departed.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he said.

  ‘You wished to be informed if there was any change at Holdwith?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘The scouts report no one mans the walls this morning. Not only that, but there’s no sound from within. And the south gate is lying open.’

  Bel experienced a sinking feeling. ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Yes. It seems the shadow has abandoned Holdwith.’

  ‘Any sign of the mander?’

  ‘None.’

  Bel rubbed his eyes. So Losara had snuck away in the night, almost certainly to join his army – the army that was closer to the Shining Mines than Brahl was. Yesterday Nicha had voiced her hope that the soldiers already stationed at the Mines would be able to hold off the enemy until the rest of the Kainordan forces arrived, but if Losara had the mander in tow, Bel feared the worst. He had been hoping that the creature was somehow tied to Holdwith, because it had not been able to cross a kind of invisible line when last he had faced it. Now he knew it must be mobile somehow, and Losara had taken it . . . and there was only one way he could think of to ward it off.

  ‘What do you wish to do?’ said Nicha.

  Bel made a snap decision. ‘The rest of you join Brahl as planned,’ he said. ‘As for me, I will require your fastest horse, and whichever mage is best at increasing its speed.’

  Nicha looked surprised. ‘You will not come with us?’

  ‘No,’ said Bel, and glanced around. Where was Jaya? Then he spotted her, strapping her pack onto a horse. ‘Be quick, Nicha,’ he said. ‘There’s no time to lose.’

  Without waiting for her reply he headed to Jaya, who smiled at him until she saw his expression.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Losara has gone to his army, with his creature.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, seeming confused by the implications.

  ‘I must ride straightaway to the Mines. I’m sorry, Jaya, but you cannot join me on this leg.’

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I must be as swift as I can, and any more horses, and mages . . . well, it’s just more variables, and variables might slow me down. I know you will fight me on this, but Jaya, please, I have no time.’

  She seemed to struggle with something interior, then an odd expression took over her face. ‘Very well,’ she said.

  Bel was surprised by her acceptance, but glad he did not have to argue. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Go with the others to Brahl, and Arkus willing I shall see you soon.’

  ‘Be careful,’ she said softly, and stepped closer to embrace him. For a moment he allowed himself to hold her, savouring the warmth of her body. He felt like a feather in the eye of the storm, still for a moment, yet about to be swept away.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Stand in Losara’s way.’

  ‘This is Querrus,’ came Nicha’s voice. She stood with a young man, dressed in red lightfist robes. He was lean and muscular, with bright blue eyes and a shorn head.

  ‘Greetings Blade Bel,’ he said, and bowed. ‘An honour to do you service.’

  ‘I see you’ve no hair to weigh you down,’ said Bel. ‘Truth be told, I have sometimes considered the same.’

  Querrus grinned. ‘Hair gets caught in the wind. It only impedes.’

  ‘My kind of mage,’ said Bel. ‘And the horse?’

  ‘Right this way,’ replied Querrus, holding out a hand.

  One last time Bel turned to Jaya, clasped her forearms. ‘I will see you soon.’

  She nodded, still seeming unsure about whether to insist on coming or not, but Bel did not intend to give her the chance to reconsider.

  ‘Come!’ he said. ‘We may already be too late.’

  Querrus led the way to a brown plains mare, dappled with white splotches, and as lean as he was. ‘This is Taritha,’ he said. ‘We’ve known each other only a year, but together we’ve travelled great distances.’

  ‘Where is it best for me to sit?’ said Bel.

  ‘Up front. You can steer her, and I can concentrate on lending her speed.’

  Bel swung himself up into the saddle, then reached down a hand to Querrus. Jaya appeared by his leg with his pack.

  ‘Do you want to take this?’ she said.

  ‘Strap it quickly,’ said Bel, more brusquely than he intended, and she set about strapping it to the horse.

  ‘Ready?’ said Querrus.

  In answer Bel slapped down the reins, and Taritha obediently broke into a canter. They moved out of the camp, attracting curious glances, and as soon as they were clear of the trees Bel urged the mare into a gallop.

  ‘All right,’ came Querrus’s voice in his ear, ‘be prepared for a jolt.’

  Bel jerked in his seat as suddenly Taritha was moving unnaturally fast. The plains opened up before them, wide and dusty, and soon the wind was whistling in his ears, every step the horse took seeming to cover greater distance. Bel felt a surge of hope – he had been delivered excellent allies.

  ‘How long to the Mines?’ he called out.

  ‘Maybe a day, if we can sustain our current pace!’

  ‘And can we?’

  ‘It will be a sizeable drain on my power – I just might not be much good to you at the other end.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Bel. ‘Just get us there.’

  •

  As the wind swept back his golden hair, Fahren kept power streaming into his steed, spurring her to chew up the leagues more swiftly. He could sense her joy, helped by his mental reassurances that all was well, that she should enjoy the ground flashing past at a greater pace than she had ever experienced before. He steered her wide to avoid Drel Forest on the right, seeking to keep to open plains, while lamenting that he could not share her happiness – for both the aim of his journey and his companion kept him from that. Battu rode by his side, more careless of his horse’s feelings, less comforting. Fahren had, more than once, stolen over to the beast’s mind to whisper that there was no need to be afraid. If Battu sensed him doing it, he made no mention. The once-dark lord of Fenvarrow was surely distracted, for the place they headed towards must be the birthplace of his nightmares . . . and yet it was testimony to Battu’s newfound loyalty that he did not complain, instead facing the journey with steely determination. Fahren took Battu’s presence as a sign that fate was on their side, despite the fact that he did not entirely trust the man, and doubted that he ever would. It had been with some trepidation that he’d ordered his guards to remain behind in the Open Halls, but more horses would only slow them. The need for haste was extreme enough to warrant the risk, for in his mind’s eye Fahren could already see a huge shadowmander climbing the walls of the Open Halls. The light and fire that converged upon it were no more a hindrance than a barrage of promises, and too easily the creature penetrated their stronghold, destroying that which had stood untarnished by the shadow for a thousand years.

  Still, he wondered if he had made a mistake. Could he really sleep soundly at night, with only Battu for company? Surely the man would not come this far, through so much, only to turn against him now? But that, he thought, is bestowing upon Battu a level of reasonability that he does not possess.

  He found himself subtly letting his senses travel, to see if he could catch a glimmer of Battu’s thoughts. Like the mental equivalent of a breeze, he stole lightly over Battu’s mind. As he did a dark shape emerged, huge and hulking, turning to display the full length of its body, watching Fahren with pit-black eyes. He withdrew immediately
, concerned that Battu would know his defences had been tested . . . and sure enough his companion’s face revealed a sort of harsh amusement.

  ‘My Throne,’ he said, ‘you know I do not mind allowing you into my head. In fact, if you recall, it was the very offer I gave to convince you of my sincere submission to your cause. However, it might be prudent to warn me next time before you attempt it. That way I can drop my more dangerous defences.’

  Fahren, inexplicably, felt embarrassed. Was it the willingness with which Battu offered up his most vulnerable place, or simply that he had been caught when he’d sought to go undiscovered?

  ‘My apologies, Battu,’ he said. ‘It was not necessary, nor well done.’

  Battu nodded, and returned his gaze to the fields ahead.

  Sharks, through and through him, thought Fahren. As one who often spoke to animals, or rode along in their minds, he recognised the perils of getting too caught up, too entwined. Battu had, at some stage in his life, been touched by sharks, and had carried away something of them with him. Did he even know it? Fahren could, he supposed, offer to journey into Battu’s mind and pull loose some of the foreign threads, to rid him of the influences on his thoughts . . . but quickly he decided against it. Who knew what effect such healing might have? Maybe it would remove Battu’s hunting instinct, that propensity to put his own hungers before everything else. Maybe, once cured, Battu would no longer burn for revenge . . . and what good would he be to Fahren then?

  •

  On the horizon Losara saw his army, and knew a moment of awe at its greatness. Multitudes marched over the border into the sunlight, which glinted off armour and thousands of swords. Battalions of Arabodedas, Vorthargs and goblins tramped up clouds of dust, while Graka and Mire Pixies whirled in the sky. He caught sight of Mireforms, a small group of ten or so bobbing along on their bandy legs, given a wide berth by others – it seemed that his chastisement of Eldew had not stopped them from coming.

  Strangely, the sight of such a force made him feel vulnerable – Fenvarrow had been emptied to create it, the strength of his people wholly concentrated in one place. If they were defeated, Fenvarrow would be severely and irretrievably crippled.

  Well, he thought, best make sure we’re not defeated. Tyrellan, he sent to the First Slave, who was still running along somewhere below.

  Yes, lord?

  How long will it take for our army to reach the Mines?

  Maybe a day and a half from here.

  It was enough to get there before the Kainordans, even though not by much.

  I aim to speed up the process, he sent. I would like to get there by dusk.

  Today, my lord?

  Today.

  Very good.

  It was humbling that the First Slave received his ambitious and perhaps unachievable plan with such calm and faithful acceptance.

  Roma, he sent.

  At your command.

  Do you think you could lift a catapult or two?

  There was a slight pause. Maybe one, my lord, if it is to travel some distance.

  I imagine they are what slows us the most. If we are to reach the Mines before dusk, they will have to be levitated.

  As you wish. I will think on how best to achieve it. Perhaps some groups working together . . .

  I leave it to you. And I will want all other mages concentrating on speeding up the army.

  Another slight pause. That might deplete them by the time we reach the Mines.

  Do not exhaust them, just have them do what they can. If we can gain even a few leagues, it may be enough.

  But why, my lord? The Kainordan force will not beat us to the Mines even at a normal pace.

  It is not them I fear.

  As Losara reached the edge of the army, his group began to peel off into the masses. He landed with Lalenda next to a catapult with huge wheels slowly turning, hauled by muscle-bound Arabodedas straining on ropes. They glanced at him in surprise, and bowed their heads.

  ‘You on the catapult,’ said Losara, ‘stand back.’

  He reached out towards the machine, wrapping it in his power and, with a mental flex, hoisted it into the air. Soldiers ducked their heads as it floated over them.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘not too heavy.’

  ‘My lord,’ observed Lalenda, grinning proudly, ‘is sometimes a show-off.’

  Losara turned his eyes to the north where, away across flat plains, on top of a hill, a grey blob stood on the horizon. The great fort around the Shining Mines, long coveted by Shadowdreamers before him, against which most had failed.

  ‘Time to change tradition,’ he said, and reached for another catapult.

  Shadows on the Shining Mines

  From the walls of the great fort, Gerent Galfin watched the sun setting behind the Cloudy blight in the sky to the south. Dusk was upon them, and with resigned certainty he knew that the Shadowdreamer meant to keep coming, and attack them in the dark.

  Less than a league from the base of the hill, the horde crawled onwards, an army larger than he had ever seen. Despite the solidness of his walls, and the ten thousand or so soldiers he had with him, he could not help but hope that Brahl was closer than reports indicated. Solid or not, he wondered how long the walls would last against the might of all Fenvarrow.

  Exorcise such doubt, he told himself. It would not serve him, or those who followed him. When I look these bastards in the eye and tell them they’re not welcome, I mean to do it without a quaver in my voice.

  He glanced to his side, at the hundreds of bows and lightfists standing ready. How young so many of them were, how untried, for there had not been a real battle with Fenvarrow in years. As for Galfin, he could recall all too vividly the last time a Shadowdreamer had marched on the Mines, when he had been a young soldier himself, and a man named Corlas Corinas had led them out to face the wrath of Battu. The unexpected abandonment of the fort had won them the day, and cemented Corlas’s name into legend. Although Galfin would have liked to believe he could triumph here as well, somehow it did not seem his place. The blue-haired men were the ones destined to finish this fight, and maybe the best he could hope for was holding back the shadow an extra moment or two – and making its forces pay dearly in the meantime. If there was a lesson to be taken from Corlas, it was the man’s fearlessness, and the way he had inspired those around him to fight with all their hearts.

  ‘They are coming within range, sir.’ His second, Commander Kalda, a woman of the same middle years as he, had been here the last time too – he was glad he wasn’t the only one who remembered.

  ‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘They are impatient, it seems.’ He could see the enemy’s catapults suspended in the air just above the ground, a surreal sight indeed. ‘The Shadowdreamer must have been eager to arrive with the coming of night.’

  ‘The move will have cost his mages energy,’ she said.

  ‘We can certainly hope so. Are our own catapults ready?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He looked down into the fort. The majority of his soldiers waited in rows, along which rode cerepans, taskmasters and phalanx commanders. All were ready for what approached, and there was a rare quiet, the air alive with tension. In the midst of the soldiers was a flat area, where the ropes of their own catapults strained taut, ready to unleash large chunks of stone. Some of them had originally been Battu’s, left behind when he’d retreated all those years ago, and it seemed fitting that they would now be used against Fenvarrow. Galfin had assigned lightfists to each – the mages would be able to levitate rocks onto the catapults from their stockpile more quickly than soldiers could carry them. He meant to fill the sky with stone.

  The forefront of the shadow army ground to a stop just out of arrow range. As the rest caught up, they began to spread out in a long line, encircling the entire southward side of the fort. G
alfin felt as if he was staring into a great abyss that threatened to crash in and swallow him.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘this should be interesting.’

  Kalda stared at her hand and clicked her fingers.

  Galfin frowned. ‘Some kind of good luck thing?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I do it when there’s something coming that . . . well . . .’

  ‘You wish there wasn’t?’

  ‘Aye. After whatever it is has been dealt with, I look at my hand and click my fingers again.’

  ‘Why?

  ‘Because then it’s like no time has passed at all.’

  Galfin gave a grim smile.

  The sun was almost gone, and runners moved around the fort lighting torches. Mages on the walls began to conjure glowing beacons, which floated off like clouds, illuminating the ground below. The moon seemed to shine more brightly than usual, and Galfin wondered if Arkus was watching over them. The combined light sources were no substitute for daytime, but at least he could see that the enemy’s catapults were finally setting down.

  ‘I look forward to that second click,’ he said. Then he nodded out towards the enemy. ‘I’d say that’s close enough.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Galfin took a deep breath, feeling the many sets of eyes that were focused upon him . . . and bellowed into the fort. ‘Catapults ready?’

  Cries in the affirmative answered.

  ‘Begin the barrage!’

  There was a series of swishing noises as ropes were released and the first wave of stones sailed into the air. They cleared the walls and, as the stones reached their apex, for a moment seemed to hang lazily, catching the moonlight as they turned . . . then plummeted towards the ground.

  Glimmers of blue energy showed in the front lines of the shadow army. Large blue bolts, conjured by more than one shadow mage, went hurtling up to meet the rocks. There were explosions in the sky as they were blasted to pieces, but not to dust. Shards of rock still fell, not as catastrophically perhaps, but enough to result in cries of pain and skulls smashed inside helmets. A couple of the boulders were missed entirely and fell unhindered upon lines of enemies. Meanwhile lightfists were working fast, levitating rocks off a great pile. As soon as they were set down in position, a soldier would release the rope and off the boulder would soar. They were not all firing at the same time, as the various teams fell quickly out of sync, but that was what Galfin wanted – a pelting that was constant, yet unpredictable.