‘It isn’t our place to interfere,’ muttered Denrum. ‘Everyone knows a magical fight is for mages. If we trespass upon it, we’ll be cooked in our skins, contributing nothing but a stink in the air.’
Enrig, the older of the captains, glowered at the cowardice he saw on display. ‘Need I remind you,’ he said, ‘that we are sworn to protect the Shadowdreamer? We should utilise a porthole door immediately, get up there and help our master.’
‘Yes,’ hissed Denrum. ‘Sworn to protect the Shadowdreamer – but who that is may change in the next few moments, and our deaths will not alter the outcome. Besides, would it not be sacrilege to attack the blue-haired man?’
‘Perhaps,’ conceded Enrig, but he was still uneasy. He knew with certainty what his duty was, and without duty a soldier was nothing.
Shadow erupted from the floor. A thick curl lashed at Denrum, who cried out in pain. In the main chamber, soldiers screamed as a black tide rose to consume them.
‘Back!’ Enrig shouted, stumbling towards the entrance. He felt something grip him in the enveloping dark, felt the sickening pull of his life draining out of him. He gritted his fangs and tore free, managing to fall just outside the archway and into the dull light of day. Behind him the shadows rose to the roof, blotting all visibility into the chamber.
‘Sir!’ came the voice of a guard outside. ‘Are you all right?’
Enrig lay gasping, and felt bile rising. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, yet in his heart he knew what it was. The screaming in the chamber did not last; it was soon replaced by the sound of bodies hitting the floor. Cries started in the levels above, as the death-bringing shadows continued to rise.
‘What is that ?’ said the guard, staring into the rippling darkness.
‘Skygrip is being purged,’ Enrig managed, then let his head fall back on hard stone. He wasn’t sure that he would live.
Losara froze, sensing something was very wrong.
Battu rose from Refectu, the last few hardened patches of stone falling from his skin. ‘If you want to stop this,’ he said, ‘I suggest you take the throne.’
‘What have you done?’
‘Activated a failsafe,’ said Battu, ‘created in case Skygrip is ever breached by attackers. From the top of Skygrip the Shadowdreamer can, as a last defence, unleash a wave of power to snuff out all life inside the castle. Supposed to wait, of course, until there’s no other option, and hopefully until a good number of the enemy has entered the castle …but I have not used it the way Skygrip’s designers intended.’ He bared his teeth. ‘You have already sensed that I concede, Shadowdreamer. If you wish to save your precious friends, I suggest you sit down . Or perhaps you’d like to waste more time fighting, as your precious pixie writhes her last moments on the floor?’
Battu edged towards the long window. Losara could see he intended to escape, but there was no time to stop him . He dissolved to shadow and reappeared on the throne. As his flesh became real against the stone, he gasped.
‘May your rule be short and painful,’ said Battu, and leaped through the window.
Losara did not hear. He had always felt connected to the castle, and in fact blamed its immersive nature for a youth spent half-asleep. Now, as hidden forces aligned themselves with him, he was no longer connected to the castle – the castle was connected to him. Suddenly and at once, he could feel the extent of the shadow’s influence, the vastness of the Cloud above, the sweeping lands upon which it fell. It was not detailed, more an impression, as if he lay at the centre of a colossal heart, listening to it beat. He felt something like ecstasy, diagnosing it too calmly to really experience it. It did not last. Death rose through the levels beneath him, drowning souls in a rising dark. He felt queasy, as if one of his limbs was poisoned and rotting away. Battu was malicious indeed to have engineered this spiteful revenge. The people of Skygrip had done him no wrong, and now they fell in droves.
‘Master,’ cried Tyrellan, sprinting into the throne room. ‘Something is –’
‘Quiet,’ said Losara, his voice resonant. He took firm hold of the throne and closed his eyes. The air around him grew dark as he collected power, then cleared as he released an almighty command silently into the walls. It hurtled downwards, where it clashed with Battu’s order and smashed the purging dark to fading motes.
Losara opened his eyes. ‘I shall return,’ he said, and fell to shadow.
Battu plummeted, slowed only by his flapping cloak. He felt disoriented – his connection to the castle, to his lands, the entrenched and deep awareness of all his domain, had been abruptly ripped away. For the first time in a long time, he was contained completely within himself. He felt like a spider that had fallen off its web. But there was no time to wallow, not with the ground getting closer at speed.
He could float, but that would make progress too slow for escape. Instead he saw what he needed almost immediately and reached out with his power. From the Graka patrol that wheeled below, one member cried out in surprise as it was ripped from formation. Battu crashed onto its back, the Graka dropping sharply under his bulk.
‘Fly,’ shouted Battu, grabbing the hapless creature by the shoulders.
The Graka struggled to find purchase in the air, its wings spreading to do little more than angle the trajectory of their fall. Battu gave them a nudge of power, snapping them out further and making the Graka shriek – but they caught the air and began to glide, though still towards the ground.
‘Please,’ whimpered the Graka. ‘Who is that?’
‘It’s lord Battu, you creaking pile of rubble.’
‘Master, you’re breaking my wings!’
‘Better than my neck.’
Underneath, Mankow flashed by, growing steadily closer, but they cleared it several hundred paces up and then were out over the Ragga Plains. Half a league past the capital, the ground finally came rushing up to meet them, and Battu tensed, waiting for the right moment. Seconds before they hit the ground, he leaped from the Graka, the force of his feet jolting the creature down the last short distance to smash and scatter to stony segments. Battu floated the last few paces and skidded to a halt on the slippery blue grass of the plains.
He dared not tarry. Losara would be coming for him, no doubt about that …and unlike Losara, Battu could not travel wholly in shadowform without leaving his body behind. He had to move quickly, body and all, and if there was one thing all his years of scrying and spying had taught him, it was how best to avoid detection.
On magically aided heels, Battu fled north.
Worried , Losara thought as he descended. I am worried. Other folk, if faced with the potential death of their lover, might be panicked, frenetic, unreasonable. Yet all I am is worried.
Well , he supposed, at least that’s something.
He arrived at his quarters and worry disappeared. Lalenda was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to concentrate on a book but clearly failing to do so. She kept twitching and glancing at the door.
‘Grimra be sure Losara all right,’ said the ghost.
‘What if they’re fighting?’ said Lalenda.
‘Then we be of no help to him, flutterbug.’
‘He’d better at least remember the details to tell me,’ she said angrily. ‘You know how vague he can be. I will want to know the exact expression on Battu’s face as he dies!’
As Losara formed into flesh, Lalenda gave an exclamation of joy and ran to him, throwing her arms about his waist and burying her head against his chest. ‘Fierce creature,’ he said, smiling as he stroked her hair.