Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) (27 page)

‘Ah,’ said Grimra, sounding surprisingly as if he understood. ‘Yes. So you
do
be having hope.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Losara say you be in Skygrip for many years. Wish to flutter free, but trapped, like Grimra. Easy to lose hope. But not Lalenda, she still wants to fly. She still has hope. Well, you be letting Grimra show you the way. He knows just the place – wide and safe.’

Lalenda found herself nodding to her strange guide. He floated off ahead, only visible as a single beckoning claw, pale and luminescent. She followed as he led her deeper. More than once the tunnel divided, and always Grimra chose the way, telling her to remember their route.

‘Grimra not always able to come with you, flutterbug,’ said the ghost. ‘You bring an ice lantern next time.’

‘I will,’ promised Lalenda, growing less afraid.

Eventually the walls fell away around them and Lalenda knew they had stepped into a huge cavern.

‘Here we be,’ said Grimra. ‘Here Grimra waits for you.’

‘Thank you, Grimra,’ said Lalenda, spreading her wings. It felt good. ‘You’ve been kind.’

‘Not kind!’ hissed Grimra. ‘Not tear your shoulders off as courtesy to Losara, that all! Don’t you be telling no one Grimra is
kind.
’

Lalenda laughed and took off, flapping her dilapidated wings as hard as she could. They ached, but she didn’t care. If she used them, eventually she would regain her strength.
Hope?
she wondered. Maybe the ghost was right.

She closed her eyes as she rose, reaching out hands to embrace the air. She couldn’t see in the pitch black, but avoided the walls by listening for the echoed reverberations of her wings. In the vast cave it was simple enough. She rolled happily, exhilarated, not having flown in such a long time . . . and, strangely, found herself thinking of Losara. Of his calm face, his soft, dark eyes. He’d told the ghost that they were friends. Were they? Did she find the notion frightening or intriguing? Suddenly she felt sad that he was so far away.

‘Maybe,’ she whispered to herself, and laughed as she dived.

Twenty-four / Mission’s End

Twenty-four

Mission’s End

Mission’s End

As Naphur and Fahren bickered, Corlas stood at the window watching the slow fall of evening. They waited in a hall in the barracks for the return of Bel and M’Meska. Yesterday a sundart had brought news from Drel: the huggers had been exterminated, but the only survivors were his son and the Saurian. Proud as he was, Corlas was anxious to hear the full report.

‘Maybe we should send a welcoming troop to the east gate?’ the Throne was saying.

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate, lord,’ said Fahren, and Corlas silently concurred. ‘These are lucky soldiers returning from a botched mission. There’s no cause for celebration.’

Naphur frowned, scratching a hairy arm. Before he could argue further, a soldier entered and saluted. ‘My Throne, the Drel survivors have arrived.’

‘Not Drel survivors,’ spat Naphur. ‘Drel victors. Now send them in.’

Not long after, Bel and M’Meska entered. Corlas gave his son a smile and a nod, noticing dark circles beneath his eyes. Bel returned them both, looking relieved to see his father.

‘Ah!’ exclaimed Naphur. ‘Well done, lad! And, er . . .’ He peered uncertainly at M’Meska.

‘Lady,’ whispered Fahren.

‘Never can tell,’ whispered back Naphur. ‘All right. Report!’

In the absence of the troop leader, Bel did most of the talking. Corlas noted that when M’Meska did speak, it was to praise Bel. It was obvious that he had impressed her greatly. Saurians weren’t inclined to praise, but what she said of Bel made him sound like a special kind of warrior.

With the official report over, M’Meska was dismissed and Bel sat down. ‘There’s something else I haven’t told you,’ he said reluctantly.

‘What’s that?’ asked Fahren.

‘At Treewith,’ Bel said, ‘at the inn – there was a creature there. For some time I didn’t know what it was, but . . . it was a weaver.’

Of the three older men, Corlas turned the palest.

‘A weaver?’ said Fahren. ‘Did you make a deal with it?’

‘No.’

‘Thank Arkus,’ breathed the mage.

‘It could not be seen, filthsome trickster,’ said Bel. ‘Neither M’Meska nor the others ever knew it was there. It got trapped in my mind somehow. I don’t pretend to understand. It tricked me, saying it was a spirit sent by Arkus.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘High Mage, I did not remember my lessons well enough.’

‘Stupidity is not a prerequisite to getting tricked by a weaver,’ said Fahren. ‘But you must tell us what happened, Bel, and leave
nothing
out.’

Bel nodded and began a new version of his journey, this time including the weaver. Corlas listened intently. He’d wondered for many years if Iassia still watched the wards, and now he had his answer.

When Bel finished, Fahren turned to Naphur. ‘This should be taken care of as soon as possible.’

Naphur nodded, grim-faced. ‘This creature will be destroyed, Bel,’ he said. ‘Have no fear of that. A job for Baygis, maybe.’

Hoped flared in Corlas. If Iassia were killed, he would be free! He could leave the Halls and . . . and what? Bel was no longer a tiny baby to be whisked away in the dead of night.

‘In the meantime,’ Fahren was saying, ‘you must try to understand that the bird is a deceiver and you’ve no cause to feel guilt for its actions.’

Bel nodded blankly. ‘I know.’ Then: ‘My Throne, I have a request.’

‘Yes?’

‘Restore me to the peacekeepers.’

Naphur looked genuinely confused. ‘What?’ he said. ‘But you’ve already proved yourself. There’s no need to tread backwards!’

‘I don’t really see it as backwards, my Throne,’ said Bel. ‘I did well as a keeper. I would like to finish my term.’

Naphur was stunned, and Fahren was quick to intercede.

‘It is time you rested, lad,’ he said, standing and placing a hand under Bel’s arm to bring him to his feet. Naphur was clearly annoyed by the intervention, but Fahren held his gaze until he silently acceded.

Bel glanced from one to the other. ‘I’m sorry, my Throne,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise my request would irk you.’

‘You’re tired,’ snapped Naphur, ‘and aren’t thinking clearly. Go to bed. We’ll talk more of this tomorrow.’

Corlas caught Bel’s eye, wanting to convey that he, at least, was not angry. Soon the two of them would discuss this again in private.

‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ Bel said, producing the envelope from his trouser pocket. ‘Someone left this for Taskmaster Corlas at the Treewith Inn.’

Corlas frowned as he took the letter.

‘Good night then,’ said Bel, bowing and leaving as Corlas thumbed open the letter.

‘Well!’ exclaimed Naphur. ‘What was that foolishness?’

‘It is as Corlas has said before, my lord,’ answered Fahren. ‘Bel’s path may not be straight and narrow.’ He glanced at Corlas, who didn’t look up from the letter.

‘Anything of interest, Taskmaster?’

‘Just . . . tidings from an old acquaintance,’ said Corlas.

His return to the Halls had forced him to become adept at hiding his emotions. Still, on seeing who had written the letter, it was a struggle to keep his features relaxed, to stop his hands from shaking. He couldn’t afford the Throne and Fahren becoming curious about this missive. The sins of his past could yet do him harm, and silently he prayed that Iassia would be found and killed. In the meantime, he read on. The writing was messy, but the words were definitely the bird’s.

Taskmaster Corlas,

Greetings, old companion. How goes it with you? I’d ask you in person, but you seem to enjoy the Halls so much as to never leave, even to visit a helpful old friend. This is deeply hurtful, but I console myself by imagining how happy you must be, reunited with your boy. He’s a smart little soldier, just like his father. He’s yet to murder the innocent, but there’s hope he’ll follow in your footsteps. Got a good head for bloodlust on him, believe me. I’ve seen it close up.

I write to deliver a warning. You may consider yourself safe, tucked up snug behind the wards, but I am not without my options. I remember who you killed, Corlas. I can shame you and worse. What will your son think of that, and your enemy friends?

By the way, I hear Losara is doing very well – that’s what we called your other half-son. Battu has named him Apprentice, so you may yet meet him again one day, perhaps when he leads the charge against the light?

Good luck, dear Corlas. See you again soon.

Your friend,

Iassia

Stiffly Corlas folded the letter. What did Iassia hope to achieve? To scare Corlas from the Halls with threats? Or coax him out in an attempt to find his other son? Certainly it had been shocking to receive his first ever news of Losara.

‘Well,’ he said, as if to himself, ‘isn’t that something. I never would have imagined old Velmy as one to get married.’

He needn’t have bothered with casual lies, for he wasn’t being paid any attention.

‘He can’t accept responsibility for the entire troop!’ Naphur was saying. ‘He’s only one blade, not the troop leader or even penulm! Corlas, surely you agree?’

‘There’s more to it than that,’ said Corlas, thankful for the steadiness in his voice.

‘What then?’

‘It is his first taste of blood,’ Corlas said. ‘The first time he has seen comrades die. That is a change for any new soldier. Also he will be worried because . . . he fears to lose control.’

Corlas found resonance in his own words.

‘But he didn’t lose control,’ insisted Naphur. ‘You heard the Saurian. It sounds as if Bel was perfectly in tune with his sword.’

‘It sounds,’ said Corlas, ‘as if he went berserk. That can be a frightening feeling. To know that a battle can take you over, can drug you with screams, can make you forget your own senses . . . It is ecstasy to be in that moment, and only afterwards that you feel the peril.’

‘Don’t forget that I was a soldier too, Taskmaster,’ Naphur said. ‘Hence I know the experience is different for all of us. I don’t think you can assume to know what Bel is feeling.’

‘With all due respect, my lord,’ Corlas said levelly, ‘I do not feel that my authority over Bel, or my understanding of his feelings, can be dismissed by any man.’

‘Naphur,’ said Fahren, ‘we’d simply be giving Bel time to think things through.’

‘Mollycoddle him, you mean,’ said Naphur. ‘Swords are forged in the fire, and he needs to harden up. No other soldier in the army gets to dictate his own placement.’ He glared at them both, defying retort, but Corlas and Fahren remained silent. Finally, the heat went out of him.

‘Oh,’ he muttered, ‘very well. I know that Bel is no coward. And it was not dictating, it was a request.’ He scowled. ‘He may have his way.’

Fahren leaned back in his chair and smiled at Corlas. ‘It is amazing how wisdom will eventually show through,’ he said.

•

With the distractions of the past few days dealt with, Bel found himself suddenly desiring Jaya sharply. It was as if he had put most thought of her aside, in order to concentrate on what had needed to be done – but now that he was back, and standing in The Wayward Dog,
with no huggers to kill nor birds in his head, he remembered the smell of her, the sight of her moving above him, the way it had felt to lie together . . . There was nothing he wanted more in this moment than to be with her, yet she wasn’t here, and he didn’t know where she was, and he thought he might scream. He
deserved
to see her. What was the point of going off to be a hero if there was no girl to come back to? No wonder soldiers drank so much.

‘Jaya,’ he said, putting his ale down heavily on the bar and spilling froth. ‘I left a letter for her a week ago. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, lest you want to make life difficult for yourself.’

‘I got it to her,’ said the bartender quickly.

‘And?’

‘And . . . she took it. I’ve not seen her since. Said she was going away for a while.’

‘Going away for a while?’ repeated Bel blearily. He took a big swig, then wiped away froth with the back of his hand. ‘Going away for a while, she said?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did she leave anything for me?’

‘No, sir.’

‘No, sir?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Right,’ said Bel. ‘Well, get us another ale then.’

‘Excuse me for saying,’ said the barman carefully, ‘but sir seems very tired.’

Bel squeezed the mug and shattered it to pieces.

As the bartender stared at him like a cornered animal considering its next move, Corlas appeared by his side.

‘Don’t worry about my son, barkeep,’ he said, making Bel start. ‘He’s had a dark day is all. We’ll get a table out of the way.’ He laid some coins on the counter, then put a firm hand on Bel’s arm. ‘Send over a jug, and the rest for your busted crockery.’

The bartender nodded in relief, and Corlas led a reluctant Bel to a table in a darker corner of the bar. Curious drinkers who had turned at the sound of trouble turned away again.

‘Sorry,’ said Bel distantly, not sounding as if he meant it.

‘The Throne is not in his best mood tonight,’ said Corlas. ‘But he is going to allow your return to the keepers.’

‘Ah,’ said Bel. ‘Well. Good.’

‘He was right about some things though,’ continued Corlas. ‘You cannot take responsibility for what happened.’

‘If I hadn’t entered that . . . that
state
. . .’

‘You probably would have died too.’ Corlas shrugged. ‘And then where would we be?’

Ale arrived, and Corlas poured it out. ‘It is the nature of battle, Bel. People die. Others survive. There is no good reason for it.’

‘I’m not pure,’ muttered Bel.

‘What?’

Bel met his father’s eyes. ‘All my life I believed what Fahren told me. About the dark thing which left me at birth. That I was better than normal people because I’d been
cleansed
.’ He spat the word. ‘That was why I was destined to lead the light to victory, I thought. But I am not pure, Father.’

‘No,’ agreed Corlas sombrely. ‘None of us is that. The truth, son, is that I don’t think anyone really knows what happened to you. But I do know this: I know you
now.
And I know something about what you’re going through.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I think perhaps I should tell you about my time at the Shining Mines.’

Bel frowned, letting an unspoken question hang in the air.

‘Not the fanciful way I told it to you many times when you were a child, overexciting you before your bedtime,’ answered Corlas. ‘Skimming the surface and sticking to the parts that make the eyes of young boys glow. I speak now of the full account – a man’s account.’

Finally Bel seemed to leave his own thoughts and take an interest. Corlas noted with amusement that the glow he had spoken of was back just as he remembered it. He laid his hands palms flat on the table.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘This is what happened when the shadow grew long at the Shining Mines.’