‘Are you all right, my lord?’
‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘It was you I worried for. Battu has done a terrible thing. I cannot stay, but wished to make sure you were both alive. For my peace of mind, you understand.’
Not the right words? he wondered.
‘Is Battu dead?’ she asked eagerly.
‘No,’ said Losara, ‘but he’s defeated. Now I must see what damage has been done, and catch Battu if I can.’
She stumbled as he disappeared from her embrace.
‘I hate it when he does that,’ she muttered, and Grimra chuckled.
Losara continued downwards. The purging had travelled about halfway up the castle, come very close to his quarters, in fact. In a laundry on the level directly below, he found several Greys slumped face down in vats of water, an occasional bubble breaking the surface. In the corridor outside, an entire patrol of Blacks were sprawled in a heap. Further on, two Arabodedas lay crumpled against a wall, one’s neck broken by the fall, probably after he was already dead. How many more? Losara wondered sadly. Hundreds, at least.
Battu , came an insistent thought.
He sped from the castle and circled its base, glad to discover those who’d been outside were unharmed, but sensing no trace of his former master. He widened the circle, spiralling outwards, covering leagues in seconds. He knew that he was travelling too fast to be thorough, that Battu could hide from him far too easily. Several minutes later, he conceded there must be better ways to catch a criminal dark lord than shooting about randomly. Tyrellan would no doubt have a few ideas, and at the very least could send out word to all. If Battu stayed in Fenvarrow, he would be found. And with that thought, Losara remembered what he’d seen in Battu’s mind, moments before the purging – grassy fields, and the shining sun.
Surely Battu did not mean to escape him that way?
He returned to the throne room to find Tyrellan waiting. When he appeared, the goblin’s eyes glinted. ‘Is it done, my lord?’ he asked. ‘Are you Shadowdreamer?’
‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘Assemble the council. Whatever is left of them.’
Funeral
The earliest morning light stole through the faded green curtains of the room, softly finding the edges of objects – a satchel, a water jug, discarded leather armour, and their naked skin as they lay wrapped around each other in the bed. The rest of the inn was quiet, and from outside came only the faintest stirrings of a waking city. As Jaya dozed on his shoulder, Bel stroked her long red hair, lost in thought.
The day ahead seemed more perilous than it should have. Naphur’s funeral was a few hours away, and Bel would be relieved when it was over. Although he was sorry (wasn’t he?) that Naphur was dead, their last days together had not been easy. First had come the Throne’s imprisonment of his father, for an old crime that had not really been Corlas’s fault – he had slain a peacekeeper, true, but Bel believed him when he said it had been self-defence. As a result Corlas had been banished, leading to the terrible circumstance of him killing Naphur’s only son, Baygis. For this the Throne held Corlas responsible, despite the fact that Corlas was acting under magically binding orders from the weaver bird Iassia. If Naphur had never banished Corlas in the first place, and set him outside the protection of the Open Halls, where he was vulnerable to the bird, the tragedy would have never occurred – and although Bel had never said so, he felt Naphur shared plenty of the blame for what had transpired.
Maybe the Throne had realised that, because he’d eventually called off the soldiers sent to hunt Corlas. Bel had only discovered this after Naphur’s murder, and while it had softened his anger towards the man, it did not change the fact that there had been a lot of harm heaped upon harm. Corlas was gone, Arkus knew where, and although word had been sent out that he was pardoned, he had not reappeared. Small wonder, for although officially Corlas was cleared of blame, rumours and half-truths circulated wildly about Kainordas. The people were angry over the death of the widely liked Baygis, and Corlas’s name would forever be tainted. Any hope of convincing the people that the whole tragedy had not been his fault had been blown away by the killing of Naphur shortly thereafter, by Losara.
Bel’s encounter with his other still troubled him. Face to face they had stood in Naphur’s chambers, Losara’s blue hair obvious for all to see. Bel’s blood tingled with the same excitement he had experienced fighting huggers in Drel. He barely noticed or thought about Naphur, or Fahren – all his focus was on his enemy, standing right there. If he made the right moves, perhaps he could finish Losara for good, and then there’d be only one blue-haired man, and no one to stop him winning the war! As had happened in Drel, he began to sense patterns, like overlaid iterations of the steps he could take. With the huggers leaping at him from all sides there had been many potential paths for his sword to travel …but now that he faced a single opponent, the pattern was small and simple. And, as he understood what he was seeing, the fire in his blood turned to ice.
The way to defeat Losara was to stab himself in the heart.
They were connected, it seemed, different parts of the same person, and their souls would live and die as one. It was troubling to realise that a part of himself, over which he had no control, was so exposed. In some ways he was glad that his other was so powerful, for what kept one alive kept both alive. Until we are rejoined , he thought, which strengthened his resolve to follow Arkus’s orders – to find the Stone of Evenings Mild and swallow Losara back into himself. Any thoughts he may have once entertained about finding a way to attack his other more directly had to be cast aside.
But how to find the Stone? He hadn’t the faintest idea where to start.
Blue hair , he thought. Out and flying.
Jaya stirred. ‘You’re awake?’ she murmured sleepily.
‘I am.’
‘Thinking deep thoughts?’
‘Could be.’
‘Feel free to share,’ she said. ‘I might need help getting back to sleep.’
Bel felt a moment of annoyance at her faint teasing. Nothing was trivial about his situation. He did not let it sound in his voice, however.
‘I think it’s time to stop hiding the colour of my hair,’ he said.
She went still against him, and he knew that now she was truly awake.
‘My other does not hide it,’ he went on. ‘His people know that their champion walks amongst them. Yet what hope do Kainordans have? They know a blue-haired man lives in Fenvarrow, unashamedly, not like some cur in hiding …but they do not know they have a hero of their own.’ He wondered if he was vain to call himself that, but discovered he did not care. If he was going to be a hero, there was no place for self-doubt and second-guessing.
‘You should have seen the guards,’ he shook his head, ‘when they burst into the Throne’s chambers, in the seconds before Losara fled. They were awed by him. Terrified, probably, of who he was. They did not know that I, standing right there next to them …’ he trailed off.
‘Well, I think you’re right,’ said Jaya forcefully.
Bel remembered how, when he’d first told her who he really was, once she had overcome her disbelief, she had laughed and been proud. And doesn’t a proud warrior need a proud woman? Certainly he was proud of having her , despite the fact that she had been a thief. Had been, or still was? They hadn’t really spoken about it, but if they ever did, would he want her to change her ways? Maybe not …maybe it was her fierce independence, even from the laws of the land, that made up part of the attraction. Of course the fact that Jaya, like Bel, had a touch of Sprite blood about her left them both without much choice in the matter – their souls had bonded before they’d even known it was happening.