James Barclay - Rise of the TaiGethen

It was dusk and the march had ceased for the day. They were only four days from the city. Mages, high above the canopy, had seen it in the distance, and the news that their goal was in sight had completely changed the army’s mood.

Most of the humans were already feeling a little more relaxed, now it was evident that the TaiGethen had been driven away and had too little strength to attempt another ambush. Knowing the end of their march was in sight and there were a load of Sharps to take their frustrations out on had led to something akin to a party atmosphere.

Laughter and songs ran up and down the long line of the camp. Swords were cleaned and sharpened with renewed vigour and sparring had been reintroduced to sharpen reactions and remind them all of their drills, defence and attack. Bets were being laid about the length of the battle, the number of Sharps that would feel the edge of any given blade and the number of females the more repulsive soldiers could take on their first night of conquest.

The news had also been the signal for the generals to move back up to the head of the line, puffed up by the glory of their imminent victory and striding about with their heads high, safe beneath multiple shields.

It was exactly what Lockesh had predicted would happen. The moment the generals returned, Jeral and the rest of Dead Company had become the sacrificial lambs again and, time after time, were sent out to scout the paths ahead and any potential ambush points. Happily, Jeral’s stock was high enough for mages from other companies to accompany them, providing the cover Dead Company so sorely lacked.

Most assumed that Loreb, in particular, wanted Jeral dead. Bets had been taken on that outcome too. The cheers that greeted Jeral’s safe return were getting louder and Loreb’s frown progressively deeper. Lockesh had warned him that there would be more direct action, and Jeral was getting very jumpy over the unfairness of it all. Hynd’s news was about to put all of it in perspective.

‘You will attend immediately,’ snapped Ishtak.

‘Or what? You’ll have to fondle his balls for him?’ Jeral was on his feet. ‘Ystormun chose Hynd to receive the Communion. Hynd. That makes him more important than you. So you will wait.’

Hynd waved vaguely in Ishtak’s direction and dragged himself to his feet.

‘I’m ready as I’ll ever be.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Jeral.

‘Your presence is-’

‘Required.’ said Jeral. ‘This is my lead mage. Lead on, Ishy.’

‘Stop calling me that, Captain, or I’ll have you up on a charge.’

‘The moment you stop being an utter wanker, I’ll be happy to oblige.’

‘Childish,’ Hynd muttered as they began to weave the short distance through the line to the command post.

‘One thing always bothered me,’ said Jeral. ‘Why did Ystormun pick you? No offence, but you’re just a military mage.’

‘Actually, Ystormun didn’t pick me; Lockesh did.’

‘Why?’

‘Can you see Lockesh puking his guts up after every Communion? Bloody hell, Jeral, he’s practically part of the cadre himself. If there’s anything unpleasant like that he chooses a lackey for it. This time I got the poison dart in my arse.’

Jeral laughed, and even Ishtak had something approximating a smile on his face. All traces of it had gone by the time they reached the command post though. Ishtak waved Hynd on and stood in front of Jeral.

‘Better let him have this one,’ said Hynd. ‘Tell you later.’

Hynd wandered over to Lockesh with a few choice words from Jeral speeding him on his way. Ordinarily Hynd would have been smiling, but the message he carried occasioned no humour. Seeing him, Lockesh snapped his fingers and beckoned him to hurry.

‘You were summoned on the instant, not at your leisure,’ said Lockesh.

‘Forgive me my lord, Generals, but Communion over this distance leaves me temporarily incapacitated.’

Pindock waved a hand impatiently. ‘Just give us your report.’

Hynd took a deep breath.

‘Ystormun is under increasing pressure. He wants you to know that the cadre continue to demand this battle to be won quickly and with minimal casualties. Indeed their demands grow more urgent by the hour. The battle for Triverne is near. The cadre cannot hold back its enemies with diplomacy for much longer.

‘The Sundering is almost upon us.’

Loreb took a long swallow from the bottle of wine in his hand. Pindock went even paler and sat heavily on a log, wiping at his face. Killith grumbled in his throat and pushed a hand through his greasy grey hair. Lockesh merely glared at Hynd.

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes, my Lord Lockesh. It was a short but pointed conversation.’

‘What did you say to him?’

‘Nothing but to assure him I would pass on his words exactly as I had received them, which I have done. I have left nothing out.’

Lockesh inclined his head a fraction.

‘Your sacrifice is noted,’ he said. ‘You are certain he gave you no specific orders and mentioned no one by name?’

‘Absolutely certain,’ said Hynd, comfortable to pass on the whole truth.

‘Remind us,’ said Killith. ‘What’s the worst-case scenario for you mages if and when the Sundering occurs?’

Lockesh cast his gaze heavenwards.

‘The Sundering is the once-theoretical-now-disastrously-probable shattering of the Triverne stone, the heart of magic on Balaia. You know that each mage uses mana which is channelled and focused through that stone. That’s true wherever we are in the world, whenever we create a casting. So what do you think might happen if the stone shatters?’

Pindock spoke through trembling lips.

‘It would be considerably harder to cast spells, I should imagine,’ he said, plainly hoping that it would be a great deal less serious than that.

‘No,’ said Lockesh, stalking towards the career politician in soldier’s clothing. ‘Until another stone — another heart, if you like — was fashioned, it would prevent us from casting spells altogether. It would render us powerless.’

‘We are inside a sound bubble right now, aren’t we?’ said Loreb. Lockesh simply sighed in his direction. ‘Good. Because this news mustn’t reach the army. That means you, Hynd, can’t tell your pet a word of it. I will kill you, personally, should this news leak out. With your permission of course, Lord Lockesh.’

‘Granted,’ said Lockesh. ‘Hynd, wait for me. Say nothing to anyone. Particularly, as the general says, to Captain Jeral. I will speak to you when we are done here.’

Hynd bowed and left the command post. He was shaking. During and after the Communion, the words had sounded like a death knell in his head but hadn’t truly sunk in. Now they had, they terrified him. He kept sampling the mana flow to convince himself it was still there.

He couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to be denied it, to reach for it only to find it absent. Like death, perhaps. It would be an unbearable loss, anyway. He hugged himself, head down, hands rubbing at his upper arms. A vague sense of nausea was building inside him. He sampled the mana flow again. Was it as strong and certain as before?

Hynd stopped abruptly, just a few paces from where Jeral waited impatiently, clearing his throat noisily. To build the shape for a spell and to cast it only for the mana flow to disperse without warning… Gods on a pyre, the effects would be disastrous, catastrophic even, and certainly explosive. Hynd shuddered and shook his head, trying to believe it wouldn’t actually happen.

‘Lost your way? I’m over here.’

Hynd looked up. Jeral was waving at him and had spoken as if he’d been hollering at him from a long distance.

‘Something on my mind,’ said Hynd, trying to relax.