Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) (33 page)

‘Lalenda,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Lalenda.’

‘Lalenda?’ echoed Battu quietly.

‘Yes,’ Losara said, and the pixie’s eyes shone brightly. ‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘that has helped me decide our first destination. We will travel to Swampwild.’

She stiffened at the word and half-choked a gasp. Losara turned and found Battu standing very close, definitely looming now.

‘I will take Lalenda,’ he repeated. ‘It is the gods’ will.’

‘Yes,’ hissed Battu. ‘And who else will you take? Not Tyrellan, he is needed.’

He shot a meaningful look at Tyrellan, who returned his flat gaze to the middle distance. Losara frowned – he hadn’t thought this far ahead. Who else indeed?

‘My kind lord,’ came Lalenda’s voice, and he found her risen to her feet.

‘Yes?’

‘Might I suggest . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Grimra, lord.’

Instantly the idea appealed. Grimra had also been trapped here too long.

‘An excellent choice,’ Tyrellan said. ‘The Apprentice will need protection and I can think of none better.’

‘Who’s Grimra?’ muttered Battu.

‘The Golgoleth Ghost,’ said Tyrellan, and Battu went very quiet.

‘I shall be making preparations immediately,’ said Losara. ‘Lalenda, please ready yourself for travel. If she may be excused, my master?’

‘Indeed,’ said Battu, and waved angrily at Lalenda. She shot Losara a thankful look and fled happily from the chamber. They all heard her exclamation of joy as she entered the tunnel, which made Battu flinch.

The dark lord moved towards Refectu, but didn’t seem to want to turn his back on Losara. He stopped just shy of the throne. ‘Is that the extent of your list of companions?’

‘Yes, master.’

‘Then leave me be. I have some matters to consider.’

‘As you wish.’ Slowly and deliberately, Losara turned his own back on Battu without fear and walked towards the tunnel. ‘Oh,’ he said, stopping for a moment. ‘I would see Tyrellan before I leave, if it please you, master.’

‘It pleases me!’ shouted Battu, no longer able to maintain his poise. ‘It pleases me no end!’

‘Thank you,’ said Losara, and continued on, not pausing to see if Tyrellan followed.

•

Together they walked, Tyrellan’s cat-like padding matching Losara’s fluid glide. Losara found himself heading towards his quarters, though he didn’t know exactly why. There was nothing there he needed.

‘You’ll arrange for Grimra’s pendant to be removed from the archway?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Tyrellan.

He seemed withdrawn, and Losara wondered if the exchanges in the throne room had put him in the middle of things.

‘Battu won’t harm you,’ he said.

‘Mind your words,’ growled Tyrellan.

‘He isn’t watching. I’d be able to tell.’

Tyrellan grunted and glanced away. ‘You grow arrogant, lord,’ he said. ‘It is not commendable.’

Losara felt the truth of the words, and nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I am simply heady with my change, Tyrellan.’ He waggled his black fingers and now Tyrellan did stare.

‘You are truly blessed by the shadow.’

‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘And you follow the shadow always, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Battu does not.’

Tyrellan looked hard at Losara, the blue of an ice lantern caught in his black eyes. ‘You’ll be taking action?’

‘Perhaps.’

The butterfly flew from Tyrellan’s shoulder, reminding Losara of the conversation’s purpose.

‘I had a dream on the way to the Isle,’ he said. ‘You tried to sever your connection to the butterfly by death.’ Tyrellan’s gaze remained neutral. ‘Is that something you considered? Or did it actually come to pass?’

‘I considered it.’

‘Do not try it. I would save you from that disappointment.’ He paused. ‘I spoke to the gods on your behalf.’

Tyrellan bowed his head. ‘I am honoured.’

‘The news may not gladden you. The only way to break the legacy spell is to reunite it with the soul of Elessa Lanclara. There are two ways this can be done, and one of them sounds impossible.’

‘Tell me that one.’

‘Enter the Great Well of Arkus and find her.’

Tyrellan bared his fangs.
Well might he snarl at such an idea
, thought Losara.
All that light, coalescing – how to find one’s way in such a terrible place?

‘What is the other way?’ asked the goblin.

‘Bring what is left of her back to the world. Reanimate her corpse and reunite her with that part of her life force trapped in your butterfly.’

‘Not my butterfly,’ muttered Tyrellan, and fell silent.

Losara knew he was thinking hard and deep about how insurmountable such a task would be – to penetrate the Halls, find Elessa’s grave, perform the right rituals, and all based on a chance that some remnant of her floated intact enough in Arkus’s Well to summon back.

‘Maybe,’ offered Losara, ‘it will be a reward. When we stand there at the end, triumphant in the Halls, you will finally be able to rid yourself of the creature.’

It felt a strange thing to say, as he bore no real animosity towards the land of light. Nevertheless, Tyrellan seized on his words.

‘It is gratifying to hear someone speak of progress.’

Losara knew the target of his frustration. ‘Don’t judge Battu too harshly,’ he said. ‘You don’t know that he was ordered by the gods to avoid conflict. The action he took at the Mines may have damned him for all time.’

Tyrellan remembered . . .

When Battu was young, he was confident. After he had killed Raker, a conspiracy had formed against him. Tyrellan had put a stop to it, winning Battu’s trust by becoming his confidant in that first and formative betrayal. After putting down the dissidents, Battu had immediately felt the need to consolidate his power and so he organised the assault on the Mines to prove himself. Tyrellan had been instrumental in encouraging it. This new understanding of why Battu had been loath to take further action against the light in all his years of ruling did nothing to improve Tyrellan’s view of him. If anything it made him weaker, to have strayed so wildly from an explicitly laid-down path. Tyrellan would never have encouraged the attack on the Mines if Battu had simply told him it was against the Dark Gods’ will.

He realised Losara was no longer beside him, and turned to find the boy staring at himself in a mirror-fountain.

‘Had you not seen, my lord?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Losara.

There was nothing behind his eyes but shadow.

Part Three / Of Purpose

Part Three

Of Purpose

—

I like to believe I’m not one to dwell on past possibilities. I know the roads that brought me here, and I cannot walk them again. And yet sometimes, in my quieter moments, I muse on what might have been. What if Corlas had been left alone to raise me himself, whole, in Whisperwood? Would it have been a peaceful existence, untouched by bloodshed and strife? Perhaps I wouldn’t have escaped my fate at all, merely come to it by a different route.

It isn’t for myself, I suppose, that I wonder these things. It could have gone better for my father, I think. Certainly he deserved better. Ah, well. It seems that compassion is not the currency of power.

But I digress. Let me return to our story, to a time when it did not seem there was any particular road in front of me. Or many, perhaps, crosshatched all the way to the horizon. Was it any wonder that I felt somewhat directionless? Part of me was, after all, on the other side of the world. A monumental task lay ahead and I had little idea of how it might be accomplished.

Stumble on, I supposed. Stumble on until I discovered the way.

Twenty-eight / The Streets of Kadass

Twenty-eight

The Streets of Kadass

The Streets of Kadass

Bel dropped to bended knee before the teary little girl who was clutching a raggedy doll tightly to her chest. Around them people bustled onwards, leaving peacekeeper and child an island in the throng.

‘Hello there, princess,’ said Bel. ‘Who’s that you’ve got with you?’

The girl’s lip quivered.

‘She’s very pretty,’ Bel went on. ‘Though I can’t see her face.’

Tentatively the girl raised the doll. Bel smiled a big, stupid smile, took the doll’s limp hand in his own and shook it.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said.

‘Her name’s Shari,’ said the little girl.

‘What a beautiful name,’ said Bel, and the girl looked pleased. ‘I bet Shari’s glad she has you to look after her. It can be pretty scary wandering around all by yourself.’

The girl looked worried again. ‘We lost Mumma.’

‘Well, that won’t do at all. When did you last see her?’

‘Over by the birds,’ said the girl.

Bel looked about and quickly spotted a bench of caged birds amongst the other stalls that lined the Market Road.

Hiza appeared out of the crowd. ‘The procession is moving,’ he said. ‘We should keep up.’

Bel nodded. ‘Tell you what, princess,’ he said to the girl. ‘How about you get up on my shoulders and we go back to the bird stall? That way you and Shari will be up nice and high, and maybe between us all we’ll be able to spot your mumma.’

Relief flooded the little girl’s face. She took Bel’s hand and he hoisted her up onto his broad shoulders.

Hiza shook his head and smiled. ‘Always there for a damsel in distress, eh?’

‘I think it was Shari who was really frightened,’ said Bel. ‘Lucky she had a brave friend to protect her.’ He was rewarded with a happy giggle from on high.

They weren’t long at the bird stall before the girl’s frantic mother burst from the crowd. She thanked Bel profusely for finding her child, hugging her as tightly as the girl had hugged Shari. As they disappeared into the bustle, the girl raised a hand to wave happily at the blades.

‘Come on,’ said Hiza. ‘The wasps are making good time.’

The two keepers began weaving through the crowd. People were milling around the market stalls, or gathering to stare down side streets at the colourful caravan that was passing along Kadass Road, a couple of streets over and parallel to Market Road. The caravan carried the Trusted of Cindeka and her entourage, who had arrived that morning at Kadass’s western gate. They were going to the Halls to discuss a trade dispute with their neighbour state of Tria, but the curiosity of the general populace was in no way due to that. The people were out to see the only Trusted in Kainordas who wasn’t a Varenkai.

The Zyvanix wasps were huge versions of their distant insect cousins, and not often seen in Kadass. Most of them lived in Cindeka, in towering hive cities constructed of earth. They had a reputation for arrogance, believing themselves to be the closest to Arkus of all Kainordas’s races since they were blessed with the power of flight. It was only with a certain belligerence that they even recognised the Throne as their ruler.

Bel and Hiza caught glimpses of wasp warriors flitting about a lumbering caravan, their spindly arms clutching bows and barbed spears as they hovered in the air. The caravan itself was a sight to behold: huge and draped in the bright colours that the wasps favoured, pulled by the enormous draught horses of the western plains. The keepers were part of an unofficial guard for the arrival, dispersed amongst the watching crowds. It was a good thing they were there, Bel thought, for the Zyvanix warriors seemed to be enjoying the attention more than their duties. Still, it was unlikely there would be any trouble.

‘You know she needs two translators?’ said Hiza.

‘Hmm?’ said Bel.

‘The wasp Trusted. She needs two translators.’

‘Is that so?’ Bel exaggerated his interest.

Hiza grinned at him. ‘Yes. Zyvanix can’t make human sounds with those weird mouths of theirs, and we can’t make their sounds either. The translators can never talk in the languages they are trained to understand, so they need one wasp who can understand human speech to tell the Trusted what
we’re
saying, and one Varenkai who can understand wasp talk to tell us what
they’re
saying.’

‘How interesting.’

‘It
is
,’ insisted Hiza. ‘Imagine being the human translator! Stuck in Athika, surrounded by wasps, without even being able to talk to them! And a city built of mud beneath you – wouldn’t you be afraid of the floors collapsing?’

‘Not my choice of career,’ said Bel. ‘Excuse me,’ and he stepped aside for a young woman carrying a basket of fruit. She blushed at his smile.

They approached another pair of keepers, one of whom was their captain, Hosarus. He was a man who had chosen to stay with the keepers instead of moving on to a career in the military. Was that a path for Bel to consider? Somehow he doubted it.

‘Lads,’ said Hosarus.

‘Captain,’ they chorused.

‘I want you on Kadass Road.’ Hosarus glanced around, chewing absently on a straw. ‘Lovely day. Shouldn’t be any hassle. Keep a lookout though. It’s a big crowd, ain’t it?’

‘Sure is, captain,’ said Bel.

Hosarus nodded. ‘Off you go then.’

They obeyed, moving to the street of the procession. People were waving at the wasps, who stared back with multifaceted eyes, or waggled their antennae. For a notoriously bad-tempered race, it looked as if they were enjoying the fuss, Bel thought. He admired the dexterity with which they handled their weapons as they flew, using all six legs to manoeuvre them about. It would be impressive to see their archers in action, firing arrows from the quivers strapped to their stripy stomachs. No wonder his father had wished for a troop of them at the Shining Mines.

Something stirred in his blood and it took him a moment to recognise it. He spun around, searching the crowd, shoving through without regard for who he pushed. The feeling faded and still he searched, straining his neck for any glimpse of red hair. Eventually he gave up, with a dark glower and a heavy heart. He had been
sure
he had sensed her, if only for a moment. Had she really been passing nearby?

•

Bel sat in a corner of The Wayward Dog with Hiza as the afternoon light retreated over table tops like sunset. They’d been on their feet all day and the opportunity to sit peacefully was welcome.

‘Looked like your mugs were close to empty,’ said Corlas as he joined them, plunking three fresh ales on the table. Hiza and Bel tipped back their dregs in answer.

Bel raised his fresh mug in a mock toast. ‘To the visiting Trusted,’ he said. ‘May she continue to sip on sugar water and never realise the joy of ale.’

‘And to the shining sun,’ said Hiza, ‘for granting us a thirst worthy of such ale.’ He grinned.

‘And to your superiors,’ added Corlas, ‘for putting clowns like you in charge of our streets.’

They laughed and clinked their mugs together.

‘Were you there to see the Trusted enter the Halls?’ asked Bel.

‘Aye,’ said Corlas. ‘I organised the ceremonious bowing of soldiers as she came through the gates. Your friend M’Meska was there, along with her standing order that you return to the military immediately.’

‘Mmm,’ said Bel, staring into his ale.

‘She said that when she makes troop leader, she’ll be hunting you down for her penulm,’ said Corlas. ‘I think she was serious.’

Bel forced a smile. The Saurian simply refused to understand his decision to return to the keepers. Not that he really understood it himself.

‘At any rate,’ Corlas continued, ‘this is one engagement Naphur can’t palm off to Baygis. Word is that the wasp Trusted refused to negotiate with anyone but the Throne himself. Personally I think Baygis would have done better. Relations with the wasps have always been difficult, but Baygis is as smooth as a river stone.’

‘Did you get to see the Trusted herself?’ Hiza asked.

‘I thought I caught her peeking out of that ridiculous caravan,’ replied Corlas. ‘Who knows? They all look like bugs to me.’ He took a swig. ‘A couple of them put on an archery display for us.’

‘Really?’ said Bel. ‘I’d have liked to see that. How was it?’

‘Impressive. Very impressive. They shoot while airborne. With all those legs working, they can have another arrow ready as soon as the first leaves the bow. And their arrows look like wood replicas of their stings. I wouldn’t want a swarm of Zyvanix on my tail, by Arkus.’

‘Maybe we should see if we can “appropriate” some of their bows for the barracks,’ said Bel. ‘Another addition for weapons practice?’

‘I’m sure it can be arranged,’ said Corlas, returning Bel’s smile. ‘They
are
here on a matter of trade, after all. Perhaps if the barracks chef were to mix up some extra sweet sugar water?’

‘Ah yes,’ said Bel. ‘That’s good stuff, that sugar water.’

He screwed up his face in distaste and they all laughed again.

•

Night had grown old by the time Bel made his way home. Back in the tavern, a game of darts with some other keepers had blown out of all proportion, resulting in many rematches. Now he was glad to be free of the smoke, and savoured an unusually good mood that had come out of nowhere. He was awake, not drunk, and in no rush to be home. Instead he meandered, pausing on street corners occasionally to look up at the stars. He smiled as he recalled the little girl and her doll Shari. He realised he’d learned the doll’s name but not hers.

Something seemed to be leading his feet and he allowed his course to come to him naturally. He entered a wealthy neighbourhood, with high walls enclosing houses and private gardens. The trees planted along the footpath were well tended, and flower gardens grew at their bases. As he walked, he thought of Jaya – where had she gone? Would she come back? Had he really sensed her today? He’d thought about her often after his return, and part of him wondered if he’d insisted on returning to the keepers just to maximise his chances of bumping into her again.

Suddenly, what he saw ahead made him slide into the shadows. By one of the high walls, a figure was swiftly climbing a tree. It swung nimbly off a branch and disappeared over the wall. Bel moved carefully down the street towards the spot and stopped where the figure had gone over. He thought he heard the slight creak of a door closing. He went to the tree and hoisted himself up, wincing as he made the branches rustle, but no audible response came from over the wall. Climbing a good three paces up, he grabbed the same branch he’d seen the trespasser use and swung out over the wall. He landed on soft grass and jumped behind a nearby bush, waiting to see if he’d given himself away. He was in an enclosed garden, about twenty paces square. Ferns and small trees clustered about, and the outside wall of the house ran with chains of ivy. Bel saw that the back door was slightly ajar, and noticed scratch marks on the lock. The intruder had picked it.

Bel went inside silently. He stood in a kitchen of pale tiles, with a hardwood table in the middle and elaborate lantern-holders in the walls. As he made his way into the next room he was met by tapestries, paintings and a polished dining table with an interconnected row of candelabra running down its centre. With such wealth on display, Bel guessed there would be privately employed guards somewhere in the house. If he called out for them, however, the thief would also become aware of his presence. Instead he went from room to room, skirting the walls and pausing at doors to peek into the next before entering.

He came to a study with neat shelves of thick books that looked clean and unread, and stole up to the open door at the other end. Through it was a living room – plush red carpet, deep armchairs and a huge metal fireplace carved with flames. Around the walls were marble pedestals on which rested various display pieces: statuettes, carvings, a bust, and, on the one the thief stood by, a vase.

Moonlight crept through a window and Bel saw that the figure was hooded in a light green cloak and wearing black leather boots. She turned, revealing herself to be a woman as the moon chased the contours of her body. Of her face he could see nothing, for it was wrapped in strips of cloth, and the hood covered her eyes. As she lowered her head to the satchel, a lock of her hair came loose from under the hood and unravelled to full length, a dark red waterfall. She raised a hand to push it back into place with fingers long and clever. Bel froze, dumbfounded. It was Jaya
.

She pulled something from the satchel and dimly Bel remembered that he was a keeper stalking a thief – a thief who was now behaving very strangely indeed. She held what looked like a water bladder, and unwound the cord that bound it closed. She upended the bladder and a black liquid poured out, filling the vase and spilling down its sides, staining it with dark streams. She slung the satchel over her shoulder and began to tread soundlessly back towards the door where Bel stood hiding.

Bel flattened himself against the wall, his mind whirring. What was the purpose of her odd intrusion?

Instinct took over as her shadow passed through the door frame and his hands shot out. She gave a low cry of surprise, twisting immediately and with surprising strength. Bel came away with nothing but her cloak, ripped from her back. She turned into a fleeting shadow, darting away through the dark house. Stealth was forgotten as Bel chased after, desperate not to let her escape, and not because she had broken the law.

He entered the kitchen just in time to see her push open the back door. Into the garden they ran, her red hair streaming now that her hood was gone. He caught up to her as she started up a tree, catching her arm and pulling her to the ground. She rolled to her feet and Bel heard a rasping of metal as she produced a sword.

‘Wait!’ he said, but was forced to draw his own. From the house came voices, and lanterns were being lit. Bel deflected her sword, their blades flashing silver in the moonlight. ‘Jaya, it’s me!’ he said.

‘Bel?’ she exclaimed in surprise. ‘What are you –’