‘Thought you never would,’ he said. ‘And now …as is only fair.’
Battu stepped down from the platform to kneel before Fahren.
‘My Throne,’ he said expansively, bowing his head, ‘I am yours to command.’
Fahren felt a shiver go down his spine. ‘Then come with me,’ he said, ‘for a walk. It is stuffy in here.’
Together they went through the Open Halls, causing heads to turns and exclamations to be uttered.
‘Do you think this wise?’ Battu said from under his hood, already uncomfortable in the sunlight.
‘If you are to serve with us, the people must grow accustomed to the sight of you,’ replied Fahren smoothly.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Nowhere in particular. I find that walking helps me think.’
‘As you wish,’ muttered Battu. His determination to engender trust was agreeable, but Fahren did not let it go to his head.
‘There is news,’ said Fahren, ‘of which you are not aware. Losara has taken Holdwith.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Battu. Fahren sensed a stray twine of hate curling from Battu’s head, resentment that Losara was free to do the things Battu had never been allowed to achieve. Good. ‘And have you sought reprisal?’
‘I did not,’ said Fahren. ‘And yet there has been one. Bel took matters into his own hands and attacked the fort. He had aid, but not aid enough. It seems Losara has created something formidable – more formidable than I could have foreseen.’
‘What?’
‘An enormous shadowmander, seemingly impervious to both magical and physical force.’
Battu shot him a look of surprise.
‘Do you know of any magic that could create such a creature?’ said Fahren.
‘No.’
‘There were no …projects …in place when you took your leave of Fenvarrow?’
‘No. Although Losara had just returned from visiting the gods, so who knows what secrets they revealed to him? They also sent him on a pilgrimage around Fenvarrow, though to what purpose, I was not privy.’ Bitterness again.
‘I see.’
Fahren fell silent. He had been hoping, more fervently than he’d let on, that Battu would have some knowledge or clue as to what the creature was, or how it could be defeated. Truth be told, he was at a loss as to what to make of the reports he’d received.
‘I did have a thought, years ago,’ said Battu. ‘The shadowmanders, as you no doubt know, live along the border and instinctively attack anything born of light. I once thought to myself: what a shame it is they do not grow larger.’
‘It seems they do.’
‘It sounds akin to legacy magic,’ said Battu, ‘on some enormous scale.’
‘On an impossible scale,’ agreed Fahren. He had already run through that possibility in his head a dozen times, but it seemed inconceivable.
‘I fear I must journey to the Morningbridge Peaks,’ he went on. ‘If Losara has learned something from his gods, maybe I can learn something from mine.’
‘The Morningbridge Peaks?’ echoed Battu dully.
‘Yes. The last place in the world you would wish to go. And so, to prove your loyalty, you will come with me.’
Battu stopped short, staring in horror from underneath his hood.
‘Now,’ said Fahren, ‘I want to introduce you to your honour guard of lightfists, who will accompany you at all times during your stay here at the Open Halls.’
Bel watched Nicha reorganising the surviving troops. She seemed cross with him for placing them in danger, against her advice. They had lost a fair few, but that was the way of battle, wasn’t it? He could not take on the burden of each individual death, or else he’d never be able to move a pace.
He well remembered the aftermath of his first mission, to Drel Forest, when he had fallen into a black mood over failing to save his comrades. What was different? Those soldiers had been his friends, or maybe it had been the influence of that damn weaver …or the understanding that while his destiny might protect him, it did not necessarily protect those around him. It had also been the first time he had enjoyed killing, and perhaps he had mistaken the emptiness he felt after rising from that fug as guilt.
He could not afford guilt.
His hand closed around the Stone. It felt right there, hanging around his neck. While it had stopped the magic of the lightfists helping him, that seemed an acceptable trade-off for being immune to all magic. It seemed, in fact, fair. If his counterpart was going to have all this magical power, how could Bel hope to defy him without balancing the odds somehow? Even if the Stone was never used to fulfil the purpose they had retrieved it for, it seemed a most worthwhile thing to possess. He could cut a swathe through the heart of any shadow army, untouched by spells. They would only be able to send swords against him – and swords did not worry him.
Only the shadowmander concerned him. Whether it was magical or not, it did not seem to care for the rules. But then again, he also knew, Losara could not set it upon him.
Immune from your magic , he thought. Immune from your creature. And I have the object that can end your trespassing in the world, take you in where you belong and bury you where your screams can’t be heard. Truly, Losara, you have much to fear in the coming days.
Fahren sighed as he lay down to sleep. There was at least one good thing about being the Throne, he supposed – the bed was bigger than any one man had a right to.
The latest development at Holdwith was truly worrying. No army could stand against a creature as impervious as the one Bel’s report described. Perhaps Bel was simply mistaken – after all, his troops had been caught unawares, and there could hardly have been time for the lightfists with him to mount a properly concentrated attack. Besides, as with all magically resistant monsters, there were always other ways to attack …and yet Bel had said the mander did not react to physical force either. The creature was something new, something unknown, and they faced enough unknowns already.
To Morningbridge, then , he thought. Tomorrow. And pray that Arkus will speak to me.
Another thought tickled the edge of his mind, treacherously, unwelcome. It had been there ever since that terrible day he’d entered these very quarters to find Losara standing over Naphur’s dead body. When Bel had come to confront his other , Losara had said, ‘The way to defeat me – it would not be to strike yourself down, would it?’
He had never asked Bel about it but could guess what Losara meant. The two blue-haired men shared a soul, so if one fell, it made sense that so would the other. Thus, if it really came down to the bones, if everything went bad, if it turned out there was no other way to stop Losara …there would still be that way.
He screwed up his eyes, unwilling to face his own dark thoughts, unable to get comfortable in his huge, plush bed.
Epilogue
In the clearing before the hut, Corlas worked on training his warriors. The youngest were the most fluid, the most graceful, having been brought up in Whisperwood and never knowing much of their Varenkai roots. They were Sprites now, almost full-blooded, and they wielded Old Magic with ease and abandon. In the older ones, who had lived other lives before coming here, the magic was not as strong. A lifetime of habits were hard to shrug off …yet each of them was making progress. As for himself, he was empowered, chosen by Vyasinth to lead her people, and lent something by her – of that he was certain. Despite this, as he strode about barking orders, Corlas felt a glimmer of his former life tugging at him – for he had been a taskmaster once before, charged with teaching young people to fight, not least his boy. But not like this.