Sam Bowring - Soul's Reckoning

Still, he wondered if he had made a mistake. Could he really sleep soundly at night, with only Battu for company? Surely the man would not come this far, through so much, only to turn against him now? But that , he thought, is bestowing upon Battu a level of reasonability that he does not possess.

He found himself subtly letting his senses travel, to see if he could catch a glimmer of Battu’s thoughts. Like the mental equivalent of a breeze, he stole lightly over Battu’s mind. As he did a dark shape emerged, huge and hulking, turning to display the full length of its body, watching Fahren with pit-black eyes. He withdrew immediately, concerned that Battu would know his defences had been tested …and sure enough his companion’s face revealed a sort of harsh amusement.

‘My Throne,’ he said, ‘you know I do not mind allowing you into my head. In fact, if you recall, it was the very offer I gave to convince you of my sincere submission to your cause. However, it might be prudent to warn me next time before you attempt it. That way I can drop my more dangerous defences.’

Fahren, inexplicably, felt embarrassed. Was it the willingness with which Battu offered up his most vulnerable place, or simply that he had been caught when he’d sought to go undiscovered?

‘My apologies, Battu,’ he said. ‘It was not necessary, nor well done.’

Battu nodded, and returned his gaze to the fields ahead.

Sharks, through and through him , thought Fahren. As one who often spoke to animals, or rode along in their minds, he recognised the perils of getting too caught up, too entwined. Battu had, at some stage in his life, been touched by sharks, and had carried away something of them with him. Did he even know it? Fahren could, he supposed, offer to journey into Battu’s mind and pull loose some of the foreign threads, to rid him of the influences on his thoughts …but quickly he decided against it. Who knew what effect such healing might have? Maybe it would remove Battu’s hunting instinct, that propensity to put his own hungers before everything else. Maybe, once cured, Battu would no longer burn for revenge …and what good would he be to Fahren then?

•

On the horizon Losara saw his army, and knew a moment of awe at its greatness. Multitudes marched over the border into the sunlight, which glinted off armour and thousands of swords. Battalions of Arabodedas, Vorthargs and goblins tramped up clouds of dust, while Graka and Mire Pixies whirled in the sky. He caught sight of Mireforms, a small group of ten or so bobbing along on their bandy legs, given a wide berth by others – it seemed that his chastisement of Eldew had not stopped them from coming.

Strangely, the sight of such a force made him feel vulnerable – Fenvarrow had been emptied to create it, the strength of his people wholly concentrated in one place. If they were defeated, Fenvarrow would be severely and irretrievably crippled.

Well , he thought, best make sure we’re not defeated. Tyrellan , he sent to the First Slave, who was still running along somewhere below.

Yes, lord?

How long will it take for our army to reach the Mines?

Maybe a day and a half from here.

It was enough to get there before the Kainordans, even though not by much.

I aim to speed up the process , he sent. I would like to get there by dusk.

Today, my lord?

Today.

Very good.

It was humbling that the First Slave received his ambitious and perhaps unachievable plan with such calm and faithful acceptance.

Roma , he sent.

At your command.

Do you think you could lift a catapult or two?

There was a slight pause. Maybe one, my lord, if it is to travel some distance.

I imagine they are what slows us the most. If we are to reach the Mines before dusk, they will have to be levitated.

As you wish. I will think on how best to achieve it. Perhaps some groups working together …

I leave it to you. And I will want all other mages concentrating on speeding up the army.

Another slight pause. That might deplete them by the time we reach the Mines.

Do not exhaust them, just have them do what they can. If we can gain even a few leagues, it may be enough.

But why, my lord? The Kainordan force will not beat us to the Mines even at a normal pace.

It is not them I fear .

As Losara reached the edge of the army, his group began to peel off into the masses. He landed with Lalenda next to a catapult with huge wheels slowly turning, hauled by muscle-bound Arabodedas straining on ropes. They glanced at him in surprise, and bowed their heads.

‘You on the catapult,’ said Losara, ‘stand back.’

He reached out towards the machine, wrapping it in his power and, with a mental flex, hoisted it into the air. Soldiers ducked their heads as it floated over them.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘not too heavy.’

‘My lord,’ observed Lalenda, grinning proudly, ‘is sometimes a show-off.’

Losara turned his eyes to the north where, away across flat plains, on top of a hill, a grey blob stood on the horizon. The great fort around the Shining Mines, long coveted by Shadowdreamers before him, against which most had failed.

‘Time to change tradition,’ he said, and reached for another catapult.

From the walls of the great fort, Gerent Galfin watched the sun setting behind the Cloudy blight in the sky to the south. Dusk was upon them, and with resigned certainty he knew that the Shadowdreamer meant to keep coming, and attack them in the dark.

Less than a league from the base of the hill, the horde crawled onwards, an army larger than he had ever seen. Despite the solidness of his walls, and the ten thousand or so soldiers he had with him, he could not help but hope that Brahl was closer than reports indicated. Solid or not, he wondered how long the walls would last against the might of all Fenvarrow.

Exorcise such doubt , he told himself. It would not serve him, or those who followed him. When I look these bastards in the eye and tell them they’re not welcome, I mean to do it without a quaver in my voice.

He glanced to his side, at the hundreds of bows and lightfists standing ready. How young so many of them were, how untried, for there had not been a real battle with Fenvarrow in years. As for Galfin, he could recall all too vividly the last time a Shadowdreamer had marched on the Mines, when he had been a young soldier himself, and a man named Corlas Corinas had led them out to face the wrath of Battu. The unexpected abandonment of the fort had won them the day, and cemented Corlas’s name into legend. Although Galfin would have liked to believe he could triumph here as well, somehow it did not seem his place. The blue-haired men were the ones destined to finish this fight, and maybe the best he could hope for was holding back the shadow an extra moment or two – and making its forces pay dearly in the meantime. If there was a lesson to be taken from Corlas, it was the man’s fearlessness, and the way he had inspired those around him to fight with all their hearts.

‘They are coming within range, sir.’ His second, Commander Kalda, a woman of the same middle years as he, had been here the last time too – he was glad he wasn’t the only one who remembered.

‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘They are impatient, it seems.’ He could see the enemy’s catapults suspended in the air just above the ground, a surreal sight indeed. ‘The Shadowdreamer must have been eager to arrive with the coming of night.’