Destiny's Rift (Broken Well Trilogy) (14 page)

‘Yes,’ said Fazel begrudgingly. ‘But I would hope that a dragon’s fire, which has no equal in the world, would be enough to burn the
unlife
from me.

‘As it turns out, the dragon who found me was not Shebazaruka, but her son. I wasn’t expecting to see him, for dragons are solitary creatures and he should have been long gone from the place where he was reared. As he landed before me he almost fell, and it was with great regret that I saw what had befallen him. The bug-eye was still in his head, though now I understood why Battu could no longer see through it. The parasite was malformed, grown enormous, disproportionate to the size of its host.

‘The dragon spoke to me strangely, demanding to know what I was doing there, then asked me a string of other questions which made little sense. I came to understand that he was mad – most likely the eye was to blame. If it existed inside his skull as largely as it bulged from his eye socket, then surely it was pressing against his brain. Perhaps that was why he’d never left the lair.’

Fazel fell silent as he remembered how he had empathised with the dragon’s plight. Long had he carried a bug-eye for Battu, before it had been sizzled away in Whisperwood, and well did he know what it was like to have one’s existence inexorably altered by a Shadowdreamer. Perhaps, he hoped, the eye in the dragon’s head would be dead now that Battu had been toppled – but given its initial failure, there was probably no connection between it and Battu any more in any case.

‘Seeing little choice,’ he continued, ‘I offered him the Stone. At first he hardly glanced at it, although with his eyes rolling around independent of each other, I suppose it was hard to know where he glanced. He thought I insulted him by offering him a dull rock, but I held it up so that he could see the way shadows and light move across its surface, see the dark shine of the black gold. I told him the fate of the world may rest upon this very object – for a dragon, the fact that others covet something is reason enough to desire it for themselves. As soon as I told him the Stone was wanted by both Throne and Shadowdreamer, he was eager to take it into his possession. He asked me to tell him stories about it so that he could pass them on to his mother, impress her with the enormity of the gift. That was the last time I saw it, held in his claws as he took off into the sky.’

The undead mage sighed – a habit he had never managed to shake, despite the lack of breath inside him. ‘I had managed, it seemed, to place myself in an even greater state of limbo. I still could not go to Fenvarrow or the Halls, although the Stone was now secure in case there ever was a way for me to complete my task. In the meantime I took up waiting, hiding in the woods and foothills. Without a way to accomplish my orders, I was freer than I had been in a long time. But now . . . you have found me.’ He could not keep the resentment from his voice. ‘And though it is within your power to free me, I suspect I must journey to the lair once again.’

With his tale ended, he watched them pondering his words. Perhaps, he dared to hope, his deliverance did lie with these folk. At least he could now follow the orders of one on the side of right; at least he would no longer be made to commit travesties in the name of Fenvarrow. And maybe one day, if the light prevailed, he would be free to die.

‘It seems we must seek dragons,’ said Bel. Glancing about the faces in the firelight, Fazel did not think their looks of trepidation misplaced.

The Speed of Shadow

The Speed of Shadow

The Speed of Shadow

Losara lay in bed with Lalenda snuggled against him,
snoozing softly. He let his consciousness dissolve into the shadows that ran through the castle walls, and soon enough he was drifting through the Shadowdream. In previous nights it had been Fenvarrow he had dreamed of, little scenes of daily life – Grey Goblins working in fields, a boat of Arabodedas fishermen working rough seas as they trawled their nets, Graka children chasing one another around snowy peaks. These visions had made for relaxing nights, and he was grateful to have had no long important nightmares like the one in which Bel had caused the Cloud to rain away.

Tonight, however, he was not so fortunate.

He floated high above orange peaks towering out of woods far below. Beneath him was an immense valley through which a river ran, twinkling in the sun. Someone was floating beside him, and with surprise he took in the flapping collection of bones and rags. Together they moved towards the edge of a plateau where his
other
stood waiting. With Bel were his lover, his friend Hiza, and a mage Losara did not recognise.

The dream blurred and now he was amongst them, listening as the undead thing spoke. It was Fazel, Losara realised, to whom no one had given a thought in years . . . How could it be that he was here, still alive – and speaking to his
other
? It felt odd to learn that Bel somehow commanded Fazel through Losara’s own connection to Skygrip . . . in fact it was strangely comforting to know they shared this
something
, when they seemed to share so little.

Then it was night, and Fazel was telling a story. As Losara listened, it sent a spate of mixed reactions through him. Although he had once or twice wondered about the Stone of Evenings Mild, there hadn’t seemed much point looking for it; the thing had already done its damage. The fact that his
other
now searched for it – and wanted to use it to
put them back together –
was astounding. He knew that Bel did not think much of him, had been taught to believe that Losara was nothing . . . and he wasn’t sure himself whether that was untrue. So often he felt unnervingly detached from all around him, so often he thought about what he lacked. Bel loved to fight, to kill, whereas Losara did not. Bel was directed in his focus, while Losara meandered thoughtfully, considering many options. Bel was openly passionate about his woman, which Losara measured against his own quiet fondness for Lalenda. If they were put back together, would Losara fade into Bel as Bel seemed to think he would, his subtler attributes overpowered, filling in gaps but not
becoming
? And yet perhaps subtlety was not the same thing as weakness . . .

The talk turned to dragons, and it seemed that Bel was going to journey to find the one who now possessed the Stone. Losara took in this news with concern. Dragons had a fearsome reputation, and even his mighty
other
might fail against one. If Bel died, so would Losara – so effectively Bel’s plan risked them both. What would happen then: a return to the old balance, the old stalemate? The people of Fenvarrow deserved better.

He pulled back from the dream into consciousness. Lalenda still slumbered on his chest, so he dissolved into shadow gradually, letting her slip down gently into the pillows. Then he sped through the corridors of Skygrip to the library where he spread wide, moving through books until he found the word he was looking for.

Dragon.

He condensed wholly into the book, becoming a fine film that bled across the pages, absorbing the words. The descriptions he found did nothing to quell his worries. Unyielding before both weapons and magic, with scales as hard as iron. Fiery breath, unlike any normal flame, which could melt metal to liquid. Added to which they were neither friendly nor reasonable, and they
never
willingly parted with treasure.

Could Bel defeat such a creature?
he wondered. Twice, in dreams, he had experienced what Bel felt during a fight, and knew something odd happened to his counterpart in such circumstances. Bel would lose himself in the heat of battle, and see patterns to be negotiated through his opponents.
But is this ability, if it can be called that, reliable? Does it create victory, or simply point the way? What if there are circumstances in which it is simply impossible to succeed? How can a mortal man hope to bring down such a creature as a dragon? Two even, if mother and son still share the same lair.

Perhaps Losara could face them himself? Then he could remove the risk to his
other
, and also secure the Stone.

North he sped, streaking so fast that the world blurred around him. In moments he was across the border, into the moonlit night of Kainordas. He travelled up the Dragon’s Sorrow river, then across Dennali, until he joined the Arkus Heights well east of where his
other
would be. Along foothills he raced, spreading wide so as not to miss his target. He quickly discovered the entry to a cave that matched Fazel’s description. Stopping only briefly to gather himself together, he streamed inside.

The cave sloped downwards, widening to a huge cavern about a hundred paces in. Around the walls were pits of glowing coals, rippling with bands of light that seemed almost alive. Heated by dragon flame, no doubt, which was slow to dwindle. Scattered about the earthen floor were coins and precious objects, many half-buried – not quite the glimmering, well-maintained hoard that Losara had expected. As for the dragon herself, she was far more impressive.

Shebazaruka lay in the middle of the cavern, on top of a mound of earth, asleep. Some fifty paces from snout to tail, she was a green as deep as forest night-time. Spikes ran along her limbs, down her back and out along the ridge of her folded bat-like wings. Her neck was long and muscular, ending in a heavy head like a cross between horse and lizard.

Losara knew a moment of awe. Did he really intend to kill such an ancient and impressive creature?

He had to try.

Stepping quietly from the shadows into realness, he held out his hands, collecting power at his fingertips, intending to create the most potent energy bolt of his life. The dragon’s eyes flicked open, glowing green, and her head swung off the ground.

‘Magic?’ she hissed.

Blazing fire burst from her throat, lighting up the cavern and making her treasure gleam and flash. Losara, who hadn’t even expected to be detected, released the energy bolt and disintegrated into shadow. The bolt hit the dragon’s neck, knocking her aim off centre for a moment, but leaving her otherwise unharmed. Losara circled the cavern, hoping that in shadowform she would not sense him . . . but the almighty roar of flames came after him. He felt the heat brush his being, felt part of himself instantly melt away, and remembered with a kind of dull horror what he’d read about the magic of dragon’s fire. It seemed he was not immune to it even in non-corporeal form.

From somewhere further off in the tunnels came a second roar, reverberating off walls and making dust fall – the son was here too, and coming! Between the two of them, they could corner him with fire and end him there and then.

In a flash he fled the cave, another and he was home. Materialising back into his room, and surprised to find himself shaking, Losara chastised himself for his rash moves.
To read that a creature was difficult to kill, resistant to magic and with magical fire – and then to speed off and try to confront it anyway, almost casually, without proper planning or strategy? Had I been foggy, so fresh out of the dream
, he wondered . . .
like a form of sleep-walking?

He forced himself to inspect his body, wondering if he would find something gone, like the finger he had lost to Battu. He could not discover anything obvious, but his back felt tender and sore – perhaps skin was missing? It was difficult to tell just by looking in the mirror, for the damage was not like that done to a mortal body, with no marks of trauma around it – but yes, the top layer of skin from his back had gone. It seemed that injuries sustained in shadowform were somehow attributed to parts of his real body, though exactly how he wasn’t sure. What if, one day, he lost something of his heart or mind?

You must remember
, he reproached himself,
that powerful as you may be, invincible you are not!

‘What’s wrong?’ came Lalenda’s sleepy voice. She was sitting up in bed, her bedraggled hair falling over her face. The sight of her calmed him somewhat.

‘Nothing, my pixie. I’ll come back to bed soon.’

‘Fading away in the night . . .’ she grumbled, finishing face down in the pillow.

‘I have something to do.’

He did indeed . . . but what? He could not allow Bel to run off and get singed to a crisp by dragons, yet he could not fight them himself either. Then an idea came – who better to withstand the dragon’s magical fire than another magic-resistant creature?

Time to fight fire with . . . mud.

Again Losara dissolved, but this time he went in search of Tyrellan. He found the Black Goblin sitting in his quarters, sharpening a dagger and staring at the shadowmander.

‘Tyrellan,’ he said, stepping from the shadows.

Tyrellan rose smoothly, slipping the blade into his belt.

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘Years ago you went to find a dragon in Dennali, called Shebazaruka.’

‘I did.’

‘Can you mark it on a map?’

‘I already have,’ said Tyrellan. He went to his cupboards and revealed a shelf of neatly stacked scrolls. ‘Here,’ he said, pulling out a map of Dennali. ‘It’s the very one we took on that ill-fated mission.’

‘Thank you,’ said Losara.

‘Anything I should know?’

‘Not sure yet,’ said Losara. He went to the window and left the room, taking the map with him. He could not turn it to shadow – in fact the only things he ever took with him in shadowform were his clothes. Why he was able to bring those he wasn’t quite sure, except that maybe they were, more or less, a part of him. At any rate, he did not travel as quickly as usual, for fear the paper would rip from his ethereal grip or shred to pieces in the wind. Going so slowly, it took nearly an hour to reach Swampwild.

There he found the funeral mire where Lalenda’s mother was buried. He stepped out onto a hillock surrounded by willow and gravebloom. Going down to the deep mud that encircled it, he called out, ‘Eldew! It is I, Losara, here to invoke your promise to serve!’

Nothing happened. Losara tried a few more times, then wondered if he was simply shouting at nothing. He sat down on the hillock to wait. Around him the bog was quiet, save for frogs and the occasional bubble breaking. Perhaps the Mireform had forsaken him?

Bubbles soon burst in quick succession and Eldew rose glistening from the mud. He was even larger than most Mireforms, his abdomen and head like one boulder upon another, his wide mouth rich with rows of glinting silver fangs. The lumpy growths of moss protruding from his skin were a healthy green, and his knife-like claws so long they looked almost cumbersome. He flowed to the bog’s edge and pulled his bandy legs free with a slurp. Losara rose, and despite the fact he was higher on the slope, they met eye to beady white eye. In the bog, other shapes moved beneath the surface – it seemed Eldew had not come alone.

‘I answer your call, Losara Shadowhand,’ said Eldew, his voice deep and resonant, like bubbles breaking underwater.

‘I have a task for you,’ said Losara. ‘One of great importance.’

‘The Mireform shall serve.’

‘It requires journeying into Kainordas.’

Eldew’s tendrils whipped about. ‘Hmmm, hum,’ he said. ‘That can be a difficult place for us. So dry.’

‘It would be Dennali,’ said Losara. ‘A wet land, full of swamp and wood and water.’

‘Yes,’ said Eldew. ‘The east is not so restrictive. What would you have done?’

‘How fast can you travel?’

‘Not so fast as the Shadowhand . . . but fast nonetheless.’

‘Then I need you to get, as fast as you can, to here,’ said Losara, holding out the map. Eldew took it delicately in his long claws and held it up for inspection.

‘Quite a ways,’ he said. ‘What do we find there?’

‘Dragons,’ said Losara, ‘that I want you to kill.’

Eldew’s tongue slopped out and made a little unconscious jabbing motion with the spiked end. He slurped it back in.

‘Dragons,’ he repeated.

‘Does that trouble you?’

‘No,’ said Eldew. ‘How many?’

‘Two.’

‘Then we shall be six,’ said Eldew and raised his voice. ‘Tarka, Eddow, Gremin, Thrasker, Ectid, attend!’

From the mud rose five more shapes, turning themselves into Mireforms. As Eldew rolled the map up carefully, a small recess opened in his side. He slid the map into it and it slopped closed.

‘Two more things,’ said Losara. ‘First, if you come across my counterpart, another man with blue hair, he must not be harmed.’

Eldew gurgled.

‘Secondly, in the dragon’s hoard you will find a special stone, which flashes with light and creeps with shadow. This you must retrieve.’

‘We understand,’ said Eldew. ‘Is there anything else you bid? You will not easily find us once we move, for magic rolls right off our backs.’

‘Nothing but that you must be swift. You must try to beat my counterpart to the dragon’s lair, and he is closer to it now than we are here.’

‘Then we shall not tarry. The fastest way through the bog is underneath it. We will take our leave, saviour child.’

‘Take it,’ said Losara.

Together the Mireforms lost their shapes, melting back into the mud. Losara wondered in what form they’d emerge on the other side.

With a shrug that ended in him collapsing to shadow, he sped back to Skygrip and, in the dim light of morning, found his Lalenda sleeping once more. Re-forming slowly between her arm and the pillows, he slipped into her embrace without waking her.

•

Sitting on Refectu, Losara was thankful for the silence. As he had discovered, not only could he fill the throne room on a whim, he could also have it emptied. Only Tyrellan waited with him now, silently watching his new companion, thinking his own unknown thoughts.