In the weeks he’d spent travelling through Kainordas, he’d had similar moments, but never as exact. He had moved mostly at night, when the power he burned speeding his steps was more easily replenished. It had been difficult to avoid settlements entirely, and more than once he’d been detected by mages of light. They had hunted him, as they would hunt any shadow presence in their land, but they’d had no idea of precisely who they faced. Luckily for them, Battu had sought to dodge rather than fight, and none had come close to him.
Occasionally, when he had sensed no mages present, he had hidden under illusions and dared to enter villages, to fill his belly with proper food and sleep in a proper bed once more. The gold with which he paid for such pleasures had not been hard to come by, and there was a farmhouse or two worse off in his wake. Most of the time, however, he had slipped through the night then slept the day away, hidden amongst trees or under rocks, anywhere that protected him from the scorching sun. When he’d had to travel by day, sweat came heavily, moistening his robe and making it chafe, trapping a layer of heat next to his skin. He had tried wearing boots, but the way his feet boiled inside them had proved too much to bear. Thus he went barefoot, with nothing but his robe and a bag of stolen coins.
His intentions galled him, but there seemed to be no other option. He did not want to simply disappear, to find some remote part of the wilderness and hide out for the rest of his days. Untied from Skygrip, he could not even amuse himself by accessing the sight of his bug-eyes any more. Nor could he return to Fenvarrow, where Losara would surely find him. Revenge was all he wanted, revenge against Losara, and the Dark Gods who had tricked him into raising his usurper, despite the years he’d given them serving as Caretaker . He owed them all nothing but hatred. As his sight narrowed to his single aim, the indignities he endured fed his resolve. It had grown less and less important that those with whom he now shared a common goal were the ancient enemies of his land.
My land? he thought. What land? I have no land.
Except perhaps for the piece of land upon which he currently trod. He had been here so many times, in dreams, had seemingly been so damn fated to arrive here that it felt like fitting a key into the door of the universe. Perhaps this was his land, if only for an instant. This was where he belonged; this was where he was meant to be.
Battu walked across fields of grass, the sun shining upon his back, crushing white flowers under his feet.
He was surprised to feel relief. Now that this painfully familiar moment was done with, surely he would not dream it any more. He was free of it, free to make his own fortune again, not just be driven inevitably to this point. He raised his cowl against the rays on his neck.
At the top of the hill ahead, ward stones stood shining in greeting. He had walked all night to get here, and it was quite deliberate that he approached in the day, when he was weakest. He wanted to show them he had nothing to hide.
He crested the hill, barely pausing before crossing the invisible barrier between the wards. There was a resistance to his passage, which would have stopped many lesser shadow creatures, but which he pushed through easily enough. He sensed a pulse of magic from the wards, knew that somewhere alarms were ringing. Not long now.
He approached a gateway in the towering walls surrounding the Open Halls. Guards shouted as they spied him and drew their swords. Battu slowed, in no particular rush. Deeply, very deeply inside him, he actually enjoyed the drama.
It did not take long for lightfists to appear, red robes whipping around their feet as they overtook the soldiers. They spread out before him, defensive light springing up around them, difficult to see in the day with his true eyes, but blazing in his magical perception. He halted, stood waiting with hands by his sides.
‘Bind him!’ shouted one of them, and together the lightfists channelled. A cage of light appeared around him. He prodded at it with his power, testing its strength. Nothing he couldn’t handle, if he wished to.
‘Who are you?’ demanded one of the lightfists. ‘Unveil yourself!’
Battu stepped up close to the bars. ‘I haven’t come to fight,’ he said. ‘I merely wish to speak with Fahren.’
‘The Throne is no doubt on his way,’ said the lightfist. ‘Your passing through the barrier was not exactly subtle.’
So, Fahren was Throne now? That might make things easier.
‘I had no need for subtlety,’ he said, shrugging.
Fahren strode through the gates, a further brace of guards at his back. Battu had never seen the man in the flesh, though often enough in dreams. Fahren no longer wore the blue–gold robes of High Mage, and seemed a little odd in trousers and a white silk shirt. Around his forehead was the Auriel, his long blond hair tied back to reveal it. He came forward, closer than any of his mages had dared, to peer at Battu.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he said, guardedly curious. ‘Who are you, shadow creature, to wander through our wards so bold?’
Battu raised a hand to his cowl, and Fahren’s own sprung up in warning. Battu drew the cloth back, grinning at Fahren as he squinted through the piercing light. Fahren stared incomprehensibly at him for a moment, then his eyes widened in recognition.
‘You?’ he said. ‘No! Must be some trick.’
He waved a hand at Battu, who felt immense power touch him, sweep over him, searching out enchantments or illusions. An uncomfortable sensation it was, but he planted his feet firmly and allowed it to continue. Finally Fahren dropped his hand.
‘By Arkus, it is you.’
Fahren moved even closer, until they were but a hand span apart, separated only by the glowing bars that contained him.
‘Why have you come here?’
‘High Mage,’ said Battu, ‘or Throne, rather …we share a common foe, I think.’
Fahren nodded. ‘I had word that you were cast out of Skygrip.’
‘I was betrayed,’ said Battu, ‘by my own people. By my own gods. Well.’ His grin became a snarl. ‘Eye for an eye, and hopefully several. That is why, my Throne …I offer you allegiance.’
‘Lord Fahren?’
He glanced at the messenger who had appeared by his side. ‘Not now,’ he said, and returned his gaze to the room before him.
They were in the Academy of the Sun, the Open Halls’ school for mages, which Fahren had decided was the best place to keep Battu. Not only was there a holding room built for such a purpose, but here he was also surrounded by mages, hopefully deterring any thoughts of escape. Battu stood on a raised platform, from which bars of light ran from floor to ceiling. Unlike the temporary cage constructed by the lightfists outside, he would be hard pressed to get out of this one.
Varta paced back and forth before the bars. She was the High Mage now, appointed so by Fahren, though he was yet to find anybody to replace her as High Overseer. That was a role she had risen to for her tenacious ability to seek out the truth, and for that reason he had asked her here to question the fallen dark lord.
‘Why,’ Battu was saying, ‘would I risk the journey here, and throw myself on your mercy, were I not telling the truth?’ He sounded measured, as if willing to endure her questions forever. As Fahren sought for the man’s feelings, he sensed something of Battu’s determination to make them trust him.
Could it really be true? He had been agonising over who would help him wield the Stone if Bel actually managed to find it. He knew it could not be Fazel, for as soon as the Shadowdreamer learned of that unfortunate’s enduring presence, he would instantly be turned back to the service of darkness. As soon as Bel had the Stone, Fahren would convince him to order Fazel put to rest.