As he walked the passage to the throne room, Battu passed the busts of previous Shadowdreamers.
‘Won’t be joining you today,’ he muttered, forcing his gaze past the empty alcove that he had picked out for his own legacy spell.
The Purging of Skygrip
The throne room guards lay slumped in their alcoves, sleeping deeply. Losara knew it would have been prudent to kill them, but they were unsuspecting servants of the shadow, and he had not been able to bring himself to. If he’d had the authority he would have sent them away, but they would never have obeyed, for they were sworn to protect the Dreamer.
Battu will just wake them up when he arrives , he thought. Order them against me, I’ll have to kill them anyway. But not a choice of my making . Forcing himself to concentrate on the matter at hand, he stood before the throne Refectu, feeling it out with his mind. There were many fine, shadowy strands connected to it, one for each of the carved creatures that moved slowly about its surface, echoing a life lived somewhere out under the Cloud. These strands ran into a larger flow behind the throne, while another channel coursed along the floor between his legs. This one led to Battu, whom he could sense entering the room behind him. As much as he probed and sent blanketing wraps of his own power over this connective flow, he could do nothing to disrupt it. He tensed, waiting for Battu’s attack.
‘You don’t know how to sever the connection,’ the dark lord said, ‘do you?’
Losara turned. Battu stood waiting, fully healed, but still with those tired circles under his eyes. They slid to the sleeping guards.
‘No,’ said Losara. ‘I can’t seem to affect it at all.’
‘Look at the paltry job you’ve done on the guards,’ said Battu. ‘Do you not expect me to rouse them?’
‘I had hoped to leave them out of it, they cannot sway things either way.’
‘Maybe,’ said Battu, rubbing his arm. ‘Things were just swayed by another subject whom I long considered loyal. And if I cannot trust him …’ He gestured at the guards, and they convulsed in their sleep as internal organs burst.
How pointlessly destructive , thought Losara.
‘Tyrellan did not know enough when he sent you on this fool’s errand,’ said Battu. ‘He understood the throne is the source of my connection to the castle, but beyond that, he’s as ignorant as you are. Again, your arrogance works against you. You think this should be easy.’
‘No,’ said Losara. ‘I simply seek to discover a way of doing what must be done.’
He could see his choice of words irked Battu. Why did the man hold onto his power so selfishly? It wasn’t as if ruling Fenvarrow came without enormous responsibility. If Losara had any choice in the matter, he would not have sought the role. Yet Battu wanted it – and for reasons with which Losara could not empathise.
‘It is simple enough,’ said Battu. ‘You have the same task here as you did below. Proximity to the throne means nothing. It is me you must defeat.’
Battu beckoned at the long window, and a great wind surged through. Losara was blasted from his feet and flung towards a wall, though he fell to shadow before impact, like a dandelion torn apart by the breeze. Battu stalked past him up to the dais, where he rammed himself down on the throne.
Losara re-formed, finally annoyed. Is that the best you can muster? he chastised himself. Annoyance? He had only been half-committed to fighting Battu, he realised, for a part of him clung to the hope that he might be able to make his old master see reason. Bel would never suffer such ambivalence in a fight , he thought. He would commit, and with commitment comes focus and purpose. The time for mildness, Losara decided, had been over for some while.
Tapping deeply into the reserves of his power, he sent forth an intensely crackling stream, strong enough to turn flesh to mulch in seconds. Battu slammed his hands down on the throne, and from it a coating of black stone flowed up his arms, covering his body like a second skin. The energy slammed against him and Battu laughed like a living obsidian statue. Losara added a second stream around the first with his other hand, a pulsing double helix that concentrated into a blue vortex over the dark lord’s heart.
‘Burn away all the power you like,’ said Battu. He removed a hand from Refectu’s armrest, revealing the carved face of a Graka. Mist swirled out of it to take on the form of the creature, which howled soundlessly and swooped towards Losara. Losara sent his own blast of wind, catching the creature’s wings, too late to stop it slashing a rent in his arm. The shadow in his veins did not fall as blood would, but retreated into his arm, leaving the sliced flesh pale and exposed, quivering. It still hurt, and Losara gritted his teeth as he increased the strength of his wind. He waved his wounded arm into shadow and back again, re-forming it without sign of injury, though it ached within. The Graka whirled away, through the long window, out over Fenvarrow.
‘Next!’ said Battu, and his stony finger tapped on a twisted little tendril. Mud poured from it onto the floor, where it bubbled and spread.
‘Remember your lessons, boy,’ he said. ‘A conjured creature will take on the attributes and behaviour of the thing on which it is based. Hence a Graka will be vulnerable to wind. As for a Mireform …’ The puddle rose. ‘It will be resistant to magical attack.’
The Mireform gurgled, and a tendril-tongue sloughed out of its mouth.
‘That may be true,’ said Losara, ‘but from what I understand, swords still work.’ He waved his fingers, and from the throne guards six swords sprang up and flew across the room. The Mireform swung at them with bandy limbs and seeking tendrils, but for each it batted away, the rest flew back in. The blades whirred to a flurry and the creature collapsed beneath them, spattering Battu with chunks of mud.
‘What else?’ asked Losara. He had the distinct impression Battu was toying with him. Maybe it would buy him enough time to find a way to defeat the dark lord.
‘Look down,’ said Battu.
Water rose out of the floor. It frothed like the sea, creeping quickly up Losara’s legs. For a moment he enjoyed the pleasantly chill sensation, forgetful of his circumstances …but then he snapped back to where he was, angry with himself.
Battu touched a beady eye staring out of Refectu. Losara wasn’t certain what creature it belonged to, but thought he could guess. The water rose past his chest, past his face, filling the room. He could just make out Battu sitting on the throne, blurry through the dark water. A sleek shape appeared over Battu’s shoulder – the silhouette of a shark. It cruised towards him with a gaping maw. He fell to shadow and caught the swirling current, which carried him off around the room.
I saw you conjure a tornado once , came Battu’s voice in his head. Let’s see how you fare with a whirlpool.
Several more shark-shapes stole into the room, one snapping right out of the wall as Losara passed. It caught something of him, and he felt a wrenching as part of him was torn away, lost, like the corner of a piece of parchment.
Sharks are at home in the shadows , said Battu. You can’t hide by making yourself one. They can smell you, boy.
Two long bodies charged at him from either side and he fled upwards, ducking and weaving from place to place, making himself as small and fast as he could. More shark-shapes filled the room, until they would have been jostling for space had they not been shadows able to move through one another. Losara felt like a fly buzzing in a stew of gnashing teeth. He needed something to break Battu’s advantage.