Children of Prophecy (28 page)

“When does it stop?” Brea asked,
knowing
she didn’t
have
much more energy than what she’d given up.

A moment later, the sharp edges of the inside of the sword vanished, to be replaced by the glade.

Tal looked across the sword at her, his hands still holding hers. “Now,” he said, his eyes meeting hers across the sword.

Tal picked up the sword-staff, rotating it in his hands as he looked over the blade. It had changed colors from the night-black it had been to a deep blue reminiscent of the ocean at night.

“It’s beautiful,” he said quietly.

“It’s a weapon,” he heard Brea say.

He looked up to meet her eyes. “So am I, Brea,” he told her quietly. “I am nothing more, nor less, than a human weapon.”

She reached out and took his hand again. “You’re no more a weapon than you are a god, Tal,” she told him. “You’re a man; a Battlemage perhaps, but only a man.”

He smiled at her. “I think, milady Brea’ahrn,” he said gently, “that you do not know me as well as you may think.”

Brea took the sword from his hand and laid it down on the plinth, gently. He watched her, unmoving. She stood, and faced him. “I think I know you better than you think,” she told him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?” he asked, his voice quiet.
She can’t understand. No-one can.

“You’re afraid,” she said softly. “You’ve lost the only thing in this world that provided you with a safety net, and been handed more responsibility and power than you ever imagined. And you’re afraid. So you focus on what you can deal with.”

Her eyes met his and she stepped up to him and took his hands. “Tal, you
can’t
sacrifice everything you are to become the Black Lord,” she told him firmly. “The Black Lord
is
you, it cannot replace who you are.”

He said nothing for a moment, then moved towards her. She didn’t move away, and he kissed her. “Brea…”
What can I say? How can I explain what I’ve
seen
?

“Tal, you can’t be alone,” she said again. “Not always. It will destroy you.” He felt her place her hands on his shoulders.

You can’t do this!
Shar’tell shouted in the back of his head.
She will weaken you.

Tal looked into Brea’s eyes, and knew he was wrong.
She is not my weakness. She is my strength. This is no longer your concern, Shar’tell.

Brea looked into Tal’s eyes, seeing the distance there. “What is it?” she asked.

“Shar’tell…” he said quietly, “is wrong.”

“How?” she asked, leaning forward to silently rest her cheek against his shoulder.

“He didn’t understand the visions. He thinks they mean that you will weaken me, destroy me,” he replied. He moved a little, and she found herself looking into his eyes again. “I see the future, sometimes. Visions… of war and death, usually. But they’re false… warnings, not prophecies.”

“What did you see?” she asked, unable to resist, even though she could sense the horror the visions had for him.

He kissed her again. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “I think I understand now.”

She tightened her grip on him. “Tal, I think this is meant to be,” she told him. “Someone once told me we were Mage-bonded. I wasn’t sure what he meant then, but I know now. We’re linked, somehow. I can feel your magic, feel your pain.” She hesitated, not knowing how to say what had to come next. “I love you, Black Lord Tal’raen.”

Brea felt him tense for a second, then it all seemed to flow out of him, and he spoke quietly. “So it is how it is,” he said. “Life and death, an unending circle and we its symbols and its avatars.”

She lifted her head to face him, uncertain of what he meant.

Their eyes met. “I love you, Princess Brea’ahrn, my
shek’sali
,” he said. He kissed her, and for a while, the glade under the stars was all the world they knew.

Once again, the great mass of the Swarm had been gathered. This time, thought, not merely the great Magi and their retinues had come;
every
Chaos Mage had come, unable to resist the call of the true Lord of the Swarm.

Cloaked in shadow, Stret gazed out over the immense horde he now commanded. No-one had ever even
tried
to count the Swarmbeasts, but eleven hundred Swarmmasters and nine hundred Warriors had come. The Warrior Magi had managed to bring a host of sixty thousand Beastmen between them.

Those Stret had bound most closely to his cause – mostly followers of Tel’kit, but many were independent Magi who had chosen to follow him – now moved through that horde. They were but his Servants, but all answered to them. They organized Beastmen, Magi and Swarms into units.

“It is time,” Lo’kae said from where his own shadow cloaked him. “They will obey the Servants for a time, because they serve you, but they
must
see you. They must know who they serve.”

Stret nodded. “I will speak,” he told his servant. “I will be seen. Wait my friend. Soon now, they will know whom they serve.”

Lo’kae bowed, the shift visible even in the shadow. “As you will it, my Lord.”

Stret drifted through the shadow, watching one of his Servants arguing with a Raven Warrior. The Warrior’s warband was reasonably well-organized, for a Beastman warband. The tents were all in one place, there were clear paths through them, the fires weren’t about to set the tents on fire and they’d actually dug latrines. For Beastmen, that was impressive.

Unfortunately, the sort of Warrior who could instill that kind of discipline in the inherently Chaotic Beastmen tended to be proud, arrogant, and quite attached to the ‘men he’d trained so well.

“Look, I came here to follow the Lord of the Swarm,” that Warrior now spat at Stret’s Servant. “You aren’t him, so I don’t see where you get off giving me orders.”

“I speak with the Lord’s voice,” the Servant replied, only a Crow Mage herself, but confident in her authority. “To defy me is to defy him.”

“Well, that’s all fine and dandy,” the Warrior said, “but my ‘men are mine, and I ain’t ordering them to obey
anyone
else without some fairly certain proof of who’s giving the orders.”

Stret figured it was time to intervene. “And just what sort of proof would you be requiring, Warrior?” he said softly, drifting into the light. He’d found that melodrama actually added to one’s authority – when handled correctly.

He glanced around, to find that the area around him had dropped to silence. “Well?” he demanded. “What proof do you all require that the Servants are mine? And speak with
my
voice?”

“My lord,” the Warrior choked. “I merely thought…”

“You thought that you could not ‘stoop’ to take orders from a mere Crow Mage,” Stret cut him off. “Well, unfortunately for you, Warrior, what you ‘thought’ doesn’t matter. You swore to serve me. Well, the Servants serve me also, but more directly. They have been placed
above
you by their loyalty to me – and their words are as my own.”

He glided towards the Warrior. “You seem prepared to defy my Servant,” he told the Servant, his eyes glowing. “Are you prepared to defy
me
?”

The Warrior practically melted. Every Chaos Mage in the camp knew that they had about as much chance of surviving going up against the Lord of the Swarm as they did of stopping the tide. “No, lord,” he said quietly.

“Good,” Stret said, then turned to the Servant. “What was the problem here, Mar’eya?” he asked her. He’d made certain he knew the name of every single Servant – with the support he was giving them, he wanted to know them all as well as possible.

Mar glanced at the visibly trembling Warrior. “I don’t think there will be a problem anymore, my lord,” she replied respectfully.

Stret nodded carefully. “Very well,” he said firmly. “Make sure of it.”

He turned away from the two, to face the rapidly gathering crowd of Magi. “If any of you doubt that the Servants speak for me, do not doubt anymore,” he told them. “If any of you resent having them placed over you,” he paused for effect, “feel free to take up your complaints with me.” Silence reigned. “I take it there are no issues then?” he asked. “Good.”

They knew whom they served. That had to be so. This army was one of Chaos and destruction. His crusade would
change
the world, and he would not allow the nature of his tools to destroy it along the way. When the time came for him to force the Chaos Magi to follow his will rather than their base nature, there could be no dissent against him.

It took Brea a moment to remember where she was when she awoke. The bed was larger than she was used to, and the canopy was a deep burgundy, not the green of her own rooms.

Then the warmth next to her shifted, and she remembered. She turned, coming up on to one arm to glance down at Tal. She smiled, remembering the night before in the glade.

Her fingers dropped down to drift above his chest, supported by the warmth of his body. Small white lines marked his upper body. Some were scars from sword practice, the rest were from Mage combat. Not much energy could get through a Mage’s shields before they collapsed, and even less of that energy got through enspelled fabrics, but what did tended to sear the body in a way no mere metal or mundane fire could.

Tal shifted again, and her smile faded as she watched him. There was something wrong, she could feel it. She reached out and touched the side of his head.

His eyes suddenly snapped open, glowing black, and he spoke in a voice she didn’t recognize. “
See
!”

Then she found herself falling into his eyes… falling into horror.

A blood-red sun hovered over the battlefield. The Swarm surged across, surged across the fallen bodies of Vishnean Knights.

She stood in front of the ordered lines of the Battlemagi, watching as the last survivors of the Kingsmen and knights passed through the gaps in them. She raised a hand, holding a sword. With a shock, she recognized the sword – and the
hand
– as Tal’s.

“Now!” she commanded, and the voice was Tal’s – heavy with some emotion. A flickering silver line of death flashed into being before the line of Magi.

Then, suddenly, a knot of Kingsmen broke free from the front of the Swarm, the banner of the house of Ahrn flickering above them. Under the banner she saw herself.

“Milady,” she heard Tal whisper.

“Milord, we can’t lower the shield,” the Mage next to him – Shej’mahi – said.

“Then I’ll go for them myself,” she heard him spit at the Battle Lord.

She felt the body she watched from Shift into a Hawk, and fly out over the shield, straining every sinew to reach her before the Swarm did.

Tal – and her – plummeted down to stand beside her. “My lady!”

The other Brea reached out her hand and she felt Tal take it. They turned at bay, before the line of Battlemagi, to face the mass of the Swarm…

Tal waited for Brea to stop shaking before he spoke. “You saw what I saw, didn’t you?” he asked, softly.

She raised her face to him and nodded. “Yes. I saw,” she told him, her voice choked. “I saw.”

“I won’t let it happen, Brea. I can’t,” he said. He knew what he had to do, now. “I was planning on bringing the Kingsmen with me, but it doesn’t seem as if they’ll do any good. I
won’t
risk them. I can’t risk…” he paused as his throat seemed to clog. “I can’t risk you, Brea. I
can’t
.”

She began to open her mouth and he laid his finger against her lips. “It’s decided, Brea,” he told her. “The Battlemagi will stand alone. As they must, for I will not risk that which I must defend.”

Brea bowed her head, and he kissed her forehead. “I will come back to you, Brea’ahrn,” he promised. “How could I not?”

She looked into his eyes. “Tal… I can’t stand the thought of you facing this alone,” she admitted.

“And I can’t stand the thought of you being in danger,” he told her. “This is how it must be.”

Tal stood, reaching for his tunic. He felt Brea’s eyes on his back as he dressed, but when he turned to her she was already dressed. He looked at her for a moment, then bowed his head.

“Tal,” she said softly, “I’ve said it before, and I meant it both then and now: I will not be your symbol.”

“No,” he replied, equally softly. “I know. But I
cannot
risk you.”

Brea sighed and walked out the door, leaving Tal alone.

A few hours later, Tal faced the Councils once more. This meeting was private, however, and he’d just finished explaining that only the Battlemagi would accompany him.