Sam Bowring - Prophecy's Ruin

‘Bel, no!’ said Fahren.

Bel tightened his grip. ‘Where is he?’

‘Lower that sword!’ commanded Naphur.

‘Don’t move,’ said Bel, ‘unless you want me to skewer my half a heart.’

‘You’re bluffing,’ said Baygis.

‘Am I? How can you be sure what I’m capable of? You know that I’m unbalanced, you know that part of my very soul is missing. Oh, I know I’ve been told that all I lack is some dark thing that crawled away – that I am the good it left behind. Nice to believe in such convenience, isn’t it!’ He screamed the last, and tensed his hand.

‘Steady,’ said Fahren. ‘Don’t do anything rash …’

‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ said Bel, backing further away. ‘I’m the one you need. I am your saviour. But I can’t be a saviour if I’m dead, can I?’

The three men looked at each other, knowing they had no choice.

‘The east gate,’ said Naphur quietly, and sighed. ‘That was where he was taken out. The soldiers he was with have not yet returned. Hurry and you will catch him.’

Bel rushed from the hall.

‘This doesn’t bode well,’ said Fahren.

‘I’d better go after him,’ said Baygis, ‘and make sure that he comes back.’

He glanced at his father, who nodded.

‘Be careful.’

‘I will.’

Baygis left swiftly. It was but a few moments later that Naphur and Fahren realised there was nothing else for them to do but follow.

Bel rode hard through the east gate, his sweaty palms slick on the reins. Outside, he cast feverish eyes about the hilly grasslands. White ward stones shone softly in the distance, and he spotted soldiers coming towards him, a group of four on horseback.

‘Have you been with Taskmaster Corlas?’ he called.

The blades looked uncertain about how to reply, which was all the answer Bel needed. He kicked his steed sharply and away he went, riding in the direction the soldiers had come from, following a trail of trampled grass. He passed the wards at speed. The sun was close to setting and orange light coated the hills. Cresting a hill, he spotted movement against a line of trees. Hope flared and, as he drew closer, he saw it was a man on a horse with a pack on his back and an axe at his side. Corlas.

‘Father!’ Bel shouted. Corlas turned in dismay at the sound of his son’s voice. Bel almost fell from the saddle and rushed towards him.

Corlas jumped from his own steed. ‘Go back!’ he shouted.

Bel hardly heard him, and a moment later the two smashed into each other in a brief embrace.

‘Do not leave,’ said Bel. ‘Return with me, and together we will change the Throne’s ruling.’

‘I think not,’ said Corlas, his face stormy. He glanced around uneasily. ‘You must not stay here, Bel. It is not safe.’

‘I’ll ride with you then.’

‘No,’ said Corlas. ‘It’s too dangerous. The Shadowdreamer hunts you still, that you must believe. You must return to the Halls at once.’

‘I do not quail before the Shadowdreamer,’ said Bel. ‘Let him come and face me, and I shall cut off his lips and feed them to him.’

Corlas felt tears filling his eyes. Despite all his anger, he knew that Bel still needed the protection of Naphur and Fahren. ‘Your woman is there,’ he tried. ‘And you will love her in a way you won’t believe possible.’

There was a soft chirping from the tree line. Corlas spun, drawing his axe. ‘You must away from here!’ he shouted to Bel. ‘Now!’

Out of the trees flew a little bird, flashing prettily in the dying light. Corlas bellowed in alarm, raising his axe.

Your weapon is no protection against me, Varenkai, came Iassia’s voice in his head.

Corlas swung as the bird flew over, twittering with laughter as the axe swished uselessly through the air.

I’m so glad to finally see you past the wards, said Iassia. And with your son as well. Too perfect.

The weaver circled them as Corlas stood frozen, all the blood draining from his face. Bel looked on in confusion. ‘What is going on, Father?’

Finally our bargain can be fulfilled.

‘No!’ shouted Corlas.

Oh, yes. Say goodbye to your son, Corlas.

‘Run!’ roared Corlas, grabbing Bel by the shoulders and pushing him violently away. ‘Run, damn you, boy! Trust me now if never again and run!’

This is what you shall do for me.

Something in Corlas’s mind began to unfurl: the bargain planted years ago, binding him to the bird’s will. He felt the command of Iassia’s words as they began to form, and knew he had no choice but to carry out whatever the bird willed.

Corlas, you will kill …

Unwillingly Corlas’s grip tightened on the axe. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘No!’

… your …

‘Bel!’ came a cry. It was Baygis, riding full pelt towards them. He reached out a hand as he leaped from his horse, and Iassia shrilled as he was pulled to the ground, seized in Baygis’s power. Somehow Corlas felt his terror through the link between them.

Kill the mage! the weaver screamed. Kill him, Corlas! Kill the mage who knows my true name!

A consuming purpose took hold of Corlas and he strode towards Baygis. There came the sound of more horses, and over a hill appeared Naphur and Fahren, riding hard with soldiers at their heels.

‘Corlas,’ said Baygis, breathing hard as Corlas strode towards him. ‘What – ’

His eyes opened wide as the axe head whooshed towards him, and froze in a surprise that remained on his face as his head hit the ground. A river of red flowed from his severed neck as his body collapsed to his knees, then forward.

Naphur roared. Corlas blinked in confusion, staring at the bloody axe in his hands, then at Bel, who watched in disbelief. Finally he saw the approaching horses, and soldiers drawing their swords.

‘By Arkus!’ he cried. ‘It was the weaver, Bel! The weaver! I had no choice!’

He stumbled away, shedding his pack and dropping his axe as he broke into a run towards the trees. ‘Tell Naphur it was the weaver!’ he called.

‘Father!’ Bel shouted, but Corlas disappeared into the trees.

‘Kill him!’ Naphur screamed, and the soldiers rode after Corlas. ‘Kill Corlas! Kill him a thousand times!’

He leaped from his steed to fall by the body of his son, his face unbelieving as he clutched at Baygis’s chest. ‘Not my son!’ he cried. ‘By Arkus, no!’

‘Bel?’

Bel blinked, stunned by what had happened. Fahren stood beside him, speaking softly. ‘What went on here?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Bel, shaking his head.

Nearby on the ground, the weaver lay pinned, watching them balefully. Fahren had managed to trap him anew even as Baygis’s magic had faded.

‘You,’ said Fahren to the little bird. ‘You had a hand in this!’

‘Or a wing, to be more accurate,’ cooed Iassia. He struggled feebly against the glowing net. ‘A shame,’ he continued, ‘that your ruler’s son had to die instead of Bel here, as I had intended.’

Fahren’s gaze was icy cold. ‘I know your name, weaver,’ he said, and instantly the bird fell still. ‘The mage you killed – he told it to me.’

Iassia squawked as he struggled against Fahren’s power, his blood-drop eyes bulging in fear.

Fahren raised his voice skywards and threw out his hands. ‘I call your attention, Arkus! I call on you to reclaim your servant, Iashymaya Siashymor !’

Although the sun had almost set, suddenly a column of light was shining brightly upon them. At their feet, the bird opened and closed his beak in soundless terror as the light shone on him most brilliantly, picking up the colours of his beautiful plumage. It grew stronger until it hurt their eyes and they could no longer see anything of the world outside.