They descended towards the castle entrance. Goblin guards watched them approach, showing slight hints of unease. Losara noted one disappearing inside, to bring news of their arrival, no doubt – one of Tyrellan’s comprehensive network of eyes. They landed, and Losara nodded as the guards stood to attention. Then, still holding Lalenda’s hand, he led her into the dark entrance chamber of Skygrip while Grimra wafted after. They moved towards a portal door, a veil of shadow that would instantly transport them further up into the castle. Lalenda hesitated.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Should I …’ her eyes turned down, ‘return to my quarters, my lord?’
In truth he had not thought about that side of things, but now that he did, the answer came easily. ‘No. Unless you wish to, of course. But otherwise …would you like to stay with me?’
Her grip upon his hand tightened, though her claw tips retracted. She was pleased with his offer, and that pleased him in turn. What a strange thing, that his own happiness could be so closely linked with another’s.
‘And me?’ said Grimra. ‘What be Losara wanting of Grimra?’
Losara reached into his pocket and produced the ghost’s amulet, at which Grimra hissed softly. He held the amulet above Lalenda’s head and let it fall, down around her neck to nestle in her bosom. Instantly the hissing ceased.
‘Keep her safe for me,’ said Losara, ‘when I am not there to do so.’
Perhaps he had managed to ease both their apprehensions, for Grimra gave a chortle, and Lalenda squeezed his hand all the tighter.
He realised he had not asked Battu’s permission about any of it.
Standing at the window, Battu did not turn when he heard Tyrellan enter the throne room, for he already knew what information the First Slave brought. While his connectedness to the castle did not make him aware of every last little thing, a mage of Losara’s power walking through the front door was hard to mistake. So, his Apprentice had returned from his pilgrimage.
An old question, pondered too long, arose once more. Was Losara more powerful than he? Maybe he was when he was outside Skygrip, but what about inside, where Battu could draw on the immense power of the castle?
‘My lord,’ began Tyrellan.
‘Save your breath,’ said Battu. ‘I will see him immediately.’
Did his voice betray him, he wondered? Did it crack with weakness, born of restless nights spent in the thrall of the only dream he ever had any more? He slipped out of his body to look upon himself and was appalled. It wasn’t the weight he’d lost, or the thinness of his silken hair, weeded from his scalp in sleep. It was his eyes, once black wells with pupils impossible to see – now, for the first time in years, the whites were visible. If he’d been in possession of his lips, he might have gibbered.
Tyrellan, who was unaware that Battu had left his body, bowed to it and departed. That was something, at least, and he seized upon it. Surely a servant who bowed even when his master’s back was turned was loyal. And why not, why not? He’d treated Tyrellan well, given him rank when he had been nothing, even granted his personal wishes on occasion. The First Slave was the only one he’d ever trusted, so why doubt him now? There was doubt enough elsewhere, doubt enough to go around. As if in answer to this thought, the vision of the dream flashed before him once more, and he fled into his body as if under attack.
‘What does it mean?’ he bellowed from the long window, raking worn, bony fingers down his face. Why would he be walking across fields of grass in the shining sun?
If the dream was a sending from the gods, then they tormented him deliberately – did that mean he was a damned man who had earned their rancour for his disobedience? Perhaps the gods had nothing to do with it; perhaps it was a warning? If he allowed Losara to supplant him as Shadowdreamer, as he was sure the boy desired, was this to be his punishment? Banishment to enemy lands? Either way, one thing was certain: to avoid such a fate he must maintain his power. And the only way to do that was to destroy Losara.
‘Ungrateful cur,’ he muttered. ‘Parasite. All the gifts I have bestowed on him, the knowledge I’ve imparted, my steady hand moulding him to greatness …this is how he would repay me?’
The idea of fighting Losara made him afraid, and being afraid made him hateful – of himself, of Losara, of the fear itself. What cause should he, supreme ruler of Fenvarrow, have to fear? It wasn’t fear, he told himself, but righteous anger. Yes, and he would show them all – no god or fate or blue-haired man would steal his hard-won throne.
If I am damned already , he thought, then damn you all. A laugh welled up in him, but it broke across his tongue too soon, and he choked.
With both his companions safely ensconced in his quarters, Losara turned to shadow and travelled swiftly up towards the throne room. As he slipped through the maze of winding corridors, he came across Tyrellan making his way downwards. Behind trailed the First Slave’s eternal butterfly companion, flitting merrily through the dark passages. Losara stepped out of the shadows and rippled into being.
‘Hello, Tyrellan.’
The goblin halted abruptly. ‘My lord Losara,’ he said. ‘It is good to see you safely returned.’ As he bowed, the butterfly settled on his shoulder.
‘I’m on my way to Battu.’
‘And I’m on my way to fetch you to him.’
‘Then let us walk together.’
Losara considered asking Tyrellan about Battu’s disposition, but decided it was unnecessary. He would find out soon enough.
Tyrellan cleared his throat. ‘Did you have a …pleasant trip …my lord?’
Losara smiled faintly. The goblin used the word ‘pleasant’ the way others used the word ‘scurvy’. He wondered if Tyrellan even understood what it meant.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We travelled far and saw many wondrous things. I also averted a possible future in which we all perish.’
Tyrellan shot him a rare look of uncertainty.
They entered the throne room. Battu stood where Losara had so often seen him, a dark hulk staring from his window across the land. Did he love the land, Losara wondered, to watch over it so closely? Or did he watch as a wealthy man watches his purse?
As they approached, Battu turned. He looked drawn, paler than Losara remembered, and had large circles under his eyes. His appearance made his smile seem even more rabid than usual.
‘Ah, my boy,’ he said. Not for the first time, Losara was struck by how his smooth tone and twisted features seemed at odds. ‘I am glad to see you.’
Losara inclined his head, a loose approximation of a bow. ‘Good day to you, lord Shadowdreamer.’
Battu came forward, seeming to force his footsteps, and set a hand on Losara’s shoulder. Losara tensed, ready for an attack, but the false gesture of affection was quickly and awkwardly withdrawn.
‘And has the Dark Gods’ purpose in sending you on your pilgrimage been revealed?’ said Battu.
‘Yes,’ said Losara, ‘and the journey yielded unexpected results. I wonder if you’ve had any fresh news about goings-on in Kainordas?’
‘Nothing to speak of,’ Battu almost snarled, then smoothed his expression.
‘It was necessary to kill their leader, I’m afraid,’ said Losara. Battu stiffened, and beside him Tyrellan’s eyes glinted. ‘The Throne was going to set my other down a path I could not abide.’
Battu’s lip twitched uneasily. ‘Well …that is …most welcome news.’ He seemed to consider his next words carefully. ‘Any land would be weakened by the loss of its leader.’
Is he trying to tell me something? wondered Losara. Does he still put his own selfish grasp of power ahead of the wellbeing of Fenvarrow?
‘And your companions,’ continued Battu. ‘Are they well?’