‘Away with you,’ snapped Tyrellan, and they fled.
As Losara stepped into the low-roofed chamber, the smell grew almost overpowering. In the middle stood two stone vats, from which spilled slimy ropes of bubbled foam. Above the vats was a metal frame from which was hung a pendulous stone carving of an eye. At their feet lay what had caused the squelching – a scattering of bug-eyes, dead, their bodies yellowing and leaking viscous liquid. About the room some of the creatures still lived, whirring about on their insect-like wings.
‘This is where bug-eyes are bred,’ said Tyrellan, kicking carcasses out of the way. One eye hit the wall and burst, sagging as it slid slowly downwards. Losara couldn’t help but feel it looked reproachful.
They moved to the vats and Losara looked in. A mucous-like substance cobwebbed the insides, holding twitching white packages.
‘They are grown in this,’ said Tyrellan. ‘I’m guessing the ones that are alive did not emerge until after the purging. There was a specialised mage who used to work down here …ah, yes.’
Losara followed Tyrellan’s gaze and saw an old Arabodedas slumped against the wall, coated in slime, clearly dead. To Losara’s surprise his eyelids slid open and two white, healthy eyes stared back at him. They startled to jiggle, then stalk legs appeared, and the eyes hoisted themselves out of the sockets to stretch their wings.
‘Attempting to find a host,’ said Tyrellan, and swatted at one that tried to land on his face. ‘Don’t worry – they’re easy enough to avoid while you’re awake.’
‘And what is this?’ asked Losara, gesturing at the hanging stone eye.
‘Battu used it when they were hatching,’ said Tyrellan. ‘It was how he imprinted their sight into his own, so that he could see through them when he wished to. Beyond that I don’t understand how it works.’
Losara thought he’d be able to puzzle it out if he was so inclined – it would be something to do with connecting the eyes to Skygrip, and thus to the Shadowdreamer. If that was the case, Battu would no longer be able to see through any of the eyes that he’d sent out during his rule.
‘What will happen to the bug-eyes Battu already has in place?’ Losara wondered aloud.
‘I have received scattered reports, lord, of eyes dropping from people’s heads.’
‘Dying with Battu’s severance from Skygrip?’ said Losara.
Tyrellan’s butterfly landed on the edge of a vat, and eyes sidled over to inspect it.
‘If my lord wishes,’ said Tyrellan, ‘I can have this place cleaned and made functional again?’
Losara thought about it briefly. The bug-eyes might be useful, but he had always felt a little sickened by them. True, their hosts usually did not realise they had been affected, and could still see perfectly well after the bug replaced their real eye, but still …
‘No,’ he said. ‘I will not be requiring this place. In fact, I would like to you make it …discontinued .’
‘Yes, lord,’ said Tyrellan, and Losara thought him pleased.
‘You do not like these creatures either?’
Tyrellan paused. ‘They have caused me some trouble over the years,’ he said. ‘Battu was overly obsessed with their proliferation, and their dispersal into Kainordas was the cause of an unnecessary mission or two.’
‘I see. Well, feel free to dispose of them all.’
‘My lord is sure? They are magical creatures and do not, as far as I know, occur in nature. With the destruction of these ones, the art of creating them may be lost.’
‘Good,’ said Losara.
Later that day, Losara sat on the throne, for despite his reluctance, it seemed a thing he should sometimes do. Some of the councillors were now even accompanied by hangers-on. His tolerance had made them bold, and they were now comfortable enough to ignore him entirely when he did not require their attention. A Grey Goblin attendant walked amongst the various groups, enquiring after their needs and removing empty plates and goblets. It was a far cry from the desolation of Battu’s rule.
Tyrellan’s butterfly flew past, the bright flash of colour catching Losara’s eye. Tyrellan himself was over by the long window, speaking to a creaky old Graka. Losara watched as the butterfly landed unnoticed on an Arabodedas’s goblet. It uncurled its proboscis into the liquid, some kind of juice, as if to drink.
The legacy spell mimics the behaviour of the creature it looks like , thought Losara. The butterfly isn’t really drinking.
The Arabodedas tried to brush the butterfly away, and instead scratched his hand on its immovable antennae. He turned with a scowl to find Tyrellan’s gaze upon him, then smoothed his features and set the cup down as if it were something dangerous.
‘A word, lord Shadowdreamer?’ came a familiar croak.
Heron, his tutor, shuffled out of the crowd. She had been old when she’d been returned to Skygrip to raise and teach Losara – now, she was ancient. Losara had not thought about her since toppling Battu – there had been much to attend to, after all – but now that she stood in front of him, he felt bad for neglecting her, and fairly certain of what she wanted.
‘Heron,’ he acknowledged. She tried to bow, but her back gave a little pop and she winced. In a smooth movement, Losara fell to shadow and spilled from the throne, re-forming beside her.
‘Here,’ he said, helping her sit on the dais steps, ‘let us rest your weary bones.’
She sighed with relief as her rump flattened on the stone. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you,’ he said, sitting next to her.
‘I understand, dear boy. I’m sure there’s been a lot on your mind.’ A moment of companionable silence passed as she caught her breath. ‘It is good,’ she said eventually, ‘to see this place alive again.’
‘I have my issues with it,’ said Losara with a small chuckle. ‘Earlier today, I was cornered by two councillors wanting me to settle their dispute over whose township gets to host an annual pig race.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Heron, ‘an important decision indeed. Still, I never thought I’d see the throne room like this again, long as I lived.’
Losara nodded. ‘And a long time it has been.’
She shot him a sideways glance. ‘My lord has guessed why I come?’
‘You seek to be released. From service and …from life?’
She hesitated for only a moment, then sighed. ‘We both know I have nothing left to teach you. That was the purpose for which Battu kept me alive, though I think it also amused him to do so. Losara, I have been old as long as you’ve known me.’
Losara placed a hand on her shoulder. Nothing on it but skin. ‘So what do you need? My permission?’
‘More than that. Battu used the power of the castle to tie me to life. I thought perhaps the spell would fade with his departure, but it seems Skygrip has a better memory than that. Now that you’re connected to it, you may be able to see – look upon me with your finer senses.’
Losara did so, searching for what was hidden. There they were, so thin that he almost missed them – from Heron’s arms, head and legs, threads of shadow ran up to the roof, like the strings of a puppet.
‘I see them.’
‘They hoist me up,’ she said. ‘Keep me on my feet, as it were, feeding me just enough energy to continue living, teetering along the edge of a void. Possibly I could escape them if the limbs they adhere to were scattered widely enough, or burned to nothing. But I think I deserve a more peaceful end.’
‘I agree,’ said Losara. ‘So, I must cut them?’
‘Snip, snip,’ she said, ‘and all my years fall down upon me.’
The butterfly landed on Losara’s knee, seeming to look up at him.
Magic without denomination , he thought, not shadow, not light . Impossible to affect.
The butterfly waved its antennae.
The object created by a legacy spell only appears to be imbued with the attributes of its physical appearance. Hence a butterfly tries to drink from a cup of sugary juice, even though it is not really a butterfly, and cannot really drink.
He leaned against Refectu, and something prodded him in the back. Absently he turned, to see whatever it was slowly erupting out of the stone. A lizard, smooth and sleek, with deep-set eyes and a mouth of tiny fangs. He recognised it as a shadowmander – those strange reptiles that lived along the border, where they could dart out and grab things born of light. The last time he had seen one, it had killed a beetle even though it was no longer hungry.
An idea began to form.
‘Heron,’ he said, ‘I will release you, of course …but I wonder if you would attempt to do Tyrellan and me a favour on your way out?’