‘What other direction is there?’ he snarled aloud, and began to stride north.
Hot particles of dust collected between his toes, and the dry wind blew between his legs, rustling his robes. Get used to this? he wondered. How can I?
Only one thing kept him going. Cast out from his homeland, unloved by his servants, forsaken by his gods, he had nothing left to lose. There was only one thing he wanted now, one thing that kept him moving onward, and he found he cared not how he got it. The word began to echo in his head, a mantra that accompanied every footfall.
Revenge.
Part Two
Divided We Stand
—
I have sometimes heard it said that a good way of finding oneself is to travel.
Apparently for one such as I, that could be taken quite literally.
Fangs and Feathers
It was not that Losara regretted reinstituting the Shadow Council. He felt it important that his people had a voice, one which Battu had long stifled by keeping the throne room bare and empty. One of the first things Losara had done as Shadowdreamer was invite the councillors to return to court. Strangely enough, Tyrellan had not been opposed to returning the throne room to the old ways; he had in fact encouraged it. He had also suggested that Losara show the court some great display of power, traditional for a new Shadowdreamer, but Losara had not considered it necessary. The purpose of displaying power was to dissuade anybody from challenging it, and toppling Battu should have been display enough. If it was not, and someone did indeed wish to move against him, well, that would be an easy way of weeding out the disloyal.
Now that the court had returned, however, Losara rather oddly found himself sympathising with Battu. It was difficult to concentrate in the midst of the constant chatter and bickering, and he found himself avoiding the throne room most of the time, effectively giving it over to the councillors as a place to settle their smaller scores and oversee the general running of the land. While perhaps he would have enjoyed involving himself in such concerns, he simply did not have the luxury. There was a bigger picture he needed to focus on, one that remained blurry. Thus he found himself wandering about Skygrip as he always had, thinking about what needed to be done.
Tyrellan walked with him now as he inspected the lower parts of the castle. Here, things were still quiet, for the purging had claimed hundreds of lives. Tyrellan and Turry, the gold-spectacled Black Goblin who was the castle administrator, had begun to see to repopulating Skygrip, but it would not happen overnight. Losara had been tempted to let it happen naturally – it seemed silly to fill up the castle again just for the sake of it. Then again, if they did not, the whole bottom section might fall into disrepair, becoming an enclosed wasteland of dusty rooms and empty corridors. That would hardly be fitting for the great Skygrip Castle.
‘…the front door?’
Losara realised they had arrived at the entrance chamber. The scent of death still hung faintly in the air, for many soldiers had lost their lives here. If only they’d remained outside until the battle with Battu was over, but how could they have known what Battu intended as his last petty and violent act?
‘What was that, Tyrellan?’ he said.
‘I was wondering, my lord, if you intend that Grimra go back to guarding the front door?’
‘I don’t think he’d like that,’ Losara said.
‘His feelings aside,’ said Tyrellan, and Losara knew it cost him to even acknowledge them as a factor, ‘the castle workers are skittish enough without knowing there might be an undead invisible floating down any corridor.’
‘Ah, so you take their feelings into account?’ asked Losara, raising an eyebrow.
Tyrellan scowled. ‘I mention it only as a practical matter. Grimra interferes with productivity when he is allowed to move freely throughout the castle.’
‘Of course,’ said Losara. ‘But it would be cruel to chain him again, now that he remembers what it is like to be free.’
‘My lord, he will always be chained to his amulet, from which he can only travel a certain distance. Does it therefore matter if the area he affects is centred around the front door?’
Losara thought of where the amulet currently lay.
‘I do not mind Lalenda having a friend when I am not with her,’ he concluded. ‘Or a guard.’
Tyrellan gave only the briefest of pauses. ‘As you wish.’
‘But I will speak with him about scaring the workers.’
Tyrellan nodded. ‘Now, we will also need to replace the archers.’
‘Archers?’ queried Losara.
Tyrellan pointed to the ceiling where, above the heads of towering statues, thin openings were cut in the wall. ‘Up there,’ he said. ‘Passages and quarters for archers, to pelt down arrows from their protected vantage should Skygrip’s entrance ever be breached.’
Perhaps he did not really want to be involved in the smaller details, Losara decided. ‘Don’t you think,’ he said, ‘that if the enemy ever made it this far, it would mean we had lost already?’
Tyrellan stared flatly at Losara. ‘No, my lord. Who knows what effort it may have cost them to penetrate this far? And even if they were strong, I for one would fight on.’
Losara heard admonition in the goblin’s tone, and wondered if he had disappointed the First Slave. He is passionate for the cause , he thought. Am not I? Certainly, the dream he’d had about his other destroying Fenvarrow, had given him a greater sense of purpose, but was that the same as Tyrellan’s deep, instinctual conviction?
In that dream he had actually become Bel, and experienced an attack on Skygrip through his eyes. Bel had torn through the corridors of Skygrip, easily dispatching all who stood against him, and yet here Losara was trying to convince Tyrellan not to increase castle security! Stop drifting , he told himself. Be present!
He knew the power of the castle around him was intoxicatingly distracting. It had always been that way, for the shadow that ran up through the walls put him at the edge of dreaming, and now that he was Shadowdreamer it was stronger than ever. Constantly, he was aware of the castle, and of Fenvarrow itself, of its shape and texture and depth, making him even vaguer than usual. He made an effort to centre himself, to rein in those errant parts that eddied invisibly away.
‘Tyrellan, my friend,’ he said, ‘you are right, of course. I leave all security arrangements in your capable hands. Do what you think is best.’
He caught a waft of something under the sickly odour of death, something even more sour and rotten. It seemed to be emanating from one of the tunnels that led down from the entrance chamber into the caves beneath Skygrip.
‘Can you smell that?’ he asked, and the First Slave’s broad nostrils widened. ‘Perhaps a body yet undiscovered?’
The goblin grimaced. ‘No,’ he said, and turned to a group of Greys who were cleaning the chamber. ‘You lot, attend!’ Then, ‘Come with me, my lord. I know exactly what that is.’
He led them down a short passage where they found a circular oak door that fitted into the tunnel like a cork in a bottle. The Greys hauled it open, and a stink issued forth like rags mouldering in bad milk. Tyrellan directed the Greys to enter and set ice lanterns in place. They disappeared inside, and Losara heard stifled murmurs of disgust, accompanied by squelching and a faint whirring noise. A few minutes later the Greys hurried out.
‘All lit up now, masters,’ one said. ‘Though you may wish it wasn’t.’