Soul's Reckoning (Broken Well Trilogy) (21 page)

Bel and Losara were nowhere to be seen.

It is true that the whole world once had a name, though by my time it had become rare to hear it used. So long had Kainordas and Fenvarrow stood divided, with so little common ground between, that not even a unifying word survived. It was us and them, neighbours living in separate lands, broken so long we had forgotten what it was like to be whole.

Ah, but how things change. How they fade away.

Lalenda’s wings gave out and she fell the last pace to the ground.

They had done it. They had stolen her Losara.

Tears threatened to burst from her scrunched-up eyes. She forced them back, raised her head, hardly saw the shadow mages around her mustering attacks.

‘No!’ she screamed, scrambling to her feet, and raced towards the place Losara had been sucked into the Stone. As she was just about to clear the mages, an iron grip caught her wrist and swung her about.

‘Do not,’ said Tyrellan, ‘get yourself killed for no reason.’

She wrenched her eyes back to the field. On the grass, about halfway across the clear area between the lightfists and the shadow mages, lay the Stone. Fahren was labouring towards it, his body wreathed in protective light, against which shadow spells drummed repeatedly.

‘Where is he?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing has emerged yet from the Stone,’ said Tyrellan, and for a moment she heard in his voice a note of the worry they both felt. As he stared hard into her eyes he seemed to reach some conclusion, and released her.

‘Go and get him, then,’ he said. ‘Assedrynn guide your steps.’ Then he turned and shouted. ‘A shadow ward for the Mire Pixie! As for the rest of you, beat back that
filthy grasping light mage lest he steal our Shadowdreamer
.’

As she moved onto the field, a darkness settled on her. She had never been the subject of a shadow ward before, but it was as if she stood just inside a tunnel mouth looking out. Fahren was closer to the Stone but slow under the rain of blue bolts and shadows. As she came to be about the same distance away as he, light spells began to break across her field of vision. The shadow mages must have actually attached the ward to her somehow, for when it juddered so did she. A blazing hot beam momentarily pierced the darkness, and she rolled as it passed overhead, flattening her wings as she felt the heat of it along her back.

‘That be a close one,’ said Grimra. She had not realised that he’d come with her.

‘Back to the army!’ she told him. A fireball painted the edge of her ward molten red. ‘It’s not safe out here!’

‘Exactly,’ said the ghost.

She began to claw along the ground, pushing against the streams of light. Ahead Fahren also struggled, his hands spread wide as he shuffled on. As the leading edges of his ward and hers met above the Stone, each of them ground to a halt. She reached towards it uselessly, but it was still too far away.

A mistake
, came Fahren’s voice in her head,
to have sent one who is not a mage herself.

His light began to push into her shadow, creeping towards her. Without magic of her own to push back with, she was reliant on the shadow mages channelling to her from a distance.

‘Come on, you fools,’ she muttered, as Fahren’s brightness made her squint.

‘Fly away!’ said Grimra’s voice urgently. ‘They do not be protecting us much longer – we must fly!’

‘Losara .
 
.
 
.’ she whispered. She could not leave. She would die here and never see him again. Despite the warmth touching her face, she continued to strain forward, the Stone gleaming brighter than all around it. If she could but touch it, maybe she would touch him again, somehow, somewhere .
 
.
 
. wherever he had gone. But she could not reach. A single tear broke loose from her eye, the first since the death of her mother, since she’d vowed never to cry again. It lived on her cheek for only a second, evaporating quickly in the heat. Her strength left her, and Lalenda lowered her head to rest on the grass.

The horrible heat disappeared, the blazing light too. There was a thump nearby, and a footfall. Wearily she looked up. Fahren’s ward was gone, as was hers. Fahren himself lay on his back, the air around him fizzing slightly. Over them both loomed a man Lalenda did not recognise.

He was broad and muscular with tree-trunk arms, his fingers aimed at Fahren still crackling with residual violet power. His clothes were strange – a jerkin of incredibly smooth animal hide, and matted trousers that looked like the forest floor beaten into shape. Piercing grey eyes flecked with gold stared out from a stormy face framed by a wild green beard. Around his bare feet, the grass curled anew around his toes.

Pages of books turned in her head, and she was intrigued, despite herself. This man could only be a Sprite, of fuller blood than any seen in recent history. She realised that the zap and crackle of spells had grown dim .
 
.
 
. and fell breathless when she saw the reason why. All around them stood a ring of Sprites, each one conjuring an Old Magic ward, and the spells of the forces beyond could be seen breaking on the other sides.

The man bent to pluck the Stone from the grass. Fahren managed to rise on his elbows, his brow furrowing.

‘Corlas?’ he asked disbelievingly.

‘Aye,’ said the man.

Befuddled, Lalenda still registered the name. ‘Losara’s father,’ she breathed.

Grimra swirled small near her ear. ‘Looks nothing like him,’ he said.

‘But .
 
.
 
. but .
 
.
 
.’ Sitting up now, Fahren was taking in the Sprites nearby, and the wards they’d erected. ‘You wield Old Magic now?’

‘Aye,’ said Corlas.

‘But how can this be? What has happened to you?’

‘Remembered who I am,’ said Corlas. He held the Stone out in his palm. ‘What have you done to my boy? Is he dead? Or is he in this?’

‘He cannot be dead,’ murmured Fahren.

Lalenda stared desperately as Corlas closed his fist around the Stone.

‘Stay low, flutterbug,’ whispered Grimra. ‘We cannot be fighting these.’

She did not know if she was terrified of Corlas holding Losara or not. Surely his father did not wish him any harm?

A blond Sprite woman arrived at Corlas’s side, took his arm, and they turned away.

‘Corlas!’ cried Fahren, scrabbling to his knees. ‘What are you doing?’

Corlas paused. ‘Reclaiming my son from you,’ he said. ‘For the last time.’

Suddenly he and all his folk blurred, their wards streaming towards the river, flinging aside the forces in their way. Once they had headed out onto the water, they shimmered and disappeared.

‘Corlas!’ shouted Fahren, to no avail.

The opposing groups of mages found themselves staring dumbly at each other over the clear space, while elsewhere the battle continued to rage.

•

Far too many questions at once vied for attention in Fahren’s head. Of all the eventualities he had considered in terms of what might happen this day, Corlas turning up transformed into a Sprite, with warriors wielding Old Magic at his back, had not been one of them.

You may want to think about moving
, came Battu’s voice.

Immediately, Fahren saw what he meant. The Mire Pixie was backing off towards the shadow mages, who had once again erected a ward around her. Others were readying to attack, and Fahren lay in the open.

Or maybe you’re too much the worn-out old dog, his fleas starved for the thinness of his blood.

I thought you were sworn to aid me
, said Fahren angrily, getting to his feet.

Precisely what I’m doing.

As Fahren rejoined the ranks, Brahl could be heard approaching, loudly ordering lightfists aside. He rode into view, his armour badly dented at the shoulder, blood oozing from between a join.

‘Take that pauldron off,’ said Fahren. ‘I’ll heal you.’

‘What’s this,’ snapped Brahl, ignoring his offer, ‘about the blue-haired man being kidnapped?’

Fahren paused uncertainly, but Battu stepped forward. ‘His soul has gone into the Stone and hasn’t come out again – quite the surprise, actually. The Stone itself has been captured by Corlas, the boy’s father, you remember, who has most probably taken it to Whisperwood.’

Battu was right of course, though his inexplicable enjoyment of the chaos around them was beginning to grate on Fahren. Still, there was no doubting where Bel and Losara had been taken.

‘Whisperwood?’ said Brahl.

‘The only place Old Magic remains,’ explained Fahren. ‘The last sanctuary of the Sprites.’

‘But why?’

Battu shrugged. ‘Can’t imagine.’

‘We must go and find out,’ said Fahren, giving Battu a glower.

‘But Throne,’ said Brahl, steadying his restless horse, ‘a battle still goes on, if you’ve forgotten. We need mages out there with our troops – there have been too many tied up here for too long.’

Fahren knew he spoke the truth. Every last able pair of hands would be needed here. Quickly he reached a decision. ‘You take command,’ he told Brahl. ‘I shall go. Battu with me, and maybe one other.’ He cast his mind about.

Elessa.

Yes?

You are needed.

You are supposed to release me.

You are needed!
he said forcefully, vexed that she would not, could not seem to remember that all the releasing in the world would do her no good if she had no Well to return to .
 
.
 
. and yet instantly he regretted the harshness of his tone.
Please
, he added, knowing it was an empty word, and that he was giving her no choice.

Sighing, he turned to Battu. ‘Fetch our horses,’ he said.

•

Tyrellan did not know what to do. A rare feeling, and one he cared for about as much as the sunlight piercing his eyes. He sent his gaze skywards – why didn’t the Dark Gods see fit to interfere, as he had seen them do before in this lifetime? Where were the dark storm clouds rolling in – did they not realise how critical these moments were? Then, as his sight adjusted to the glare, he noticed wispy clouds far above, though they were small and moving quickly. Perhaps the gods
were
trying, but Arkus was too strong here, and blew their clouds away like wishes.

Whisperwood. That was where he had seen the gods war with weather, on the night he had gone to capture the blue-haired baby. Whisperwood, where Losara’s father had been living, the man Tyrellan had recognised under his Sprite vestiges, who had taken the Stone and therefore Losara .
 
.
 
.

What to do?

No doubt the light would be sending someone, and Losara would be caught between two enemies .
 
.
 
. although would he see his father as an enemy?
What were Corlas’s intentions?

With the dreamer gone and Roma dead, Tyrellan was left solely in charge. If he could smash the light’s forces here and now, would it matter what shape Losara emerged in from the Stone, if he even did?

‘Their mages are finally spreading out,’ came Turen’s voice beside him. ‘What are your orders, sir?’

He could not abandon the blue-haired man! The prophecy might still hold, and there were other reasons besides. For a moment he saw the little boy, reaching up to tweak him on the claw, so unthinkingly bold when others cowered in terror and wanted nothing to do with any claw of Tyrellan’s.

‘Take charge,’ he said. ‘You’re up to it.’ He turned to Turen. ‘Aren’t you?’

Turen did not blink. ‘Of course, sir.’

Tyrellan nodded. ‘I’m going after the Shadowdreamer.’ He cast his gaze about the shadow mages, and found whom he searched for.

‘Fazel!’ he barked.

Yes?

Attend me. You are going to speed us to the river.

•

As Lalenda made it back to the mages, they dropped the ward upon her. She spotted Tyrellan and Fazel on horses galloping off towards the river, while Commander Turen was striding about shouting orders. Stepping in his way, she interrupted him mid-sentence.

‘Where has Tyrellan gone?’ she demanded.

‘To Whisperwood, mistress,’ he said, and strode on.

‘Whisperwood,’ she muttered. Was that where they had taken Losara?

‘What we be doing, flutterbug?’ said Grimra.

She considered the way north. Travelling to Whisperwood would mean flying over enemy troops, but maybe if she climbed high enough .
 
.
 
. most of the Zyvanix seemed to be fighting the Graka anyway, so she should be able to steer clear of them.

‘Going to get Losara,’ she said, spreading her wings.

•

‘Would you mind doing that elsewhere?’ came a voice, and Jaya turned in irritation to discover a healer frowning at her.

‘What?’ she said. She had not been doing
anything
.
 
.
 
. and that was the problem.

‘The pacing,’ said the woman, gesturing at the grass, and the furrows Jaya had evidently tramped there. ‘It’s unsettling the wounded.’

‘Fine,’ said Jaya, and turned back towards the battle. ‘You’d think,’ she said to herself, ‘that with all that’s going on, a bit of Arkus-damned pacing wouldn’t matter to anyone.’

Three riders broke from the fray heading towards her. They were moving unnaturally quickly, and moments later she could make out Fahren’s blond hair, and Elessa’s, and the dark tangle of cloak and scowl that was Battu. What had happened to make them return? Yet as they approached the camp, they didn’t look like slowing down. Without thinking, she dashed to stand in their way, holding up her hands, but they broke around her.

There’s no time
, came Fahren’s voice in her head.

What goes on
? she said.

Bel and Losara are in the Stone
, said Fahren.
Corlas has taken it to Whisperwood. We shall do our best, I promise you, to get him back.

Wait!
she yelled in her mind, but there was no more.

They blurred through the camp, on towards the distant wood. Incomprehension swamped her – Bel and Losara were
in
the Stone? What had happened? Didn’t Bel merging with Losara mean victory? And Corlas, Fahren had said – Corlas was back?