Tim Lebbon - Dawn

And yet…the Mages had gone. That troubled her, even though they had left her as mistress of their entire army. She was humbled by their trust. The responsibility was immense, and if she conducted herself well and succeeded in her charge-taking Noreela, and destroying any resistance without mercy-then she would quite possibly be as powerful as the Mages themselves. If she was lax in her duties and the rout became bogged down in a costly war, then the sole responsibility would lie with her. There would be no pleading, no begging for mercy, no appealing to the Mages’ more understanding side. They would kill her, and over three centuries of exile they’d had plenty of time to invent some terrible ways to kill. Lenora knew that her survival was in the balance for the foreseeable future. She had nothing to fear from Noreela, but the Mages terrified her.

They had left her without a hint of magic. Instead they had left an aborted shade, imbued with a touch of their magic, and it was down there now at the harbor, sitting between the fire and flesh pits and waiting for the first of the Krote ships to arrive.

Lenora had never seen a shade, and she found this one terrifying. Not only because of what it was but what it had. The Mages trusted it more than her.

She was not jealous; she was too loyal to the Mages for that. But she was unsettled.

She sighed and looked north. The twilight gave the sea a whole new texture, skimming the heads of waves with reflected light from the moons and hiding the troughs in shadows deeper than ever before. She had sent Krotes north on hawks to keep watch for the first of the ships, telling them to instruct the captains to light lanterns so that Conbarma would see them coming in. She had sent hawks instead of a flying machine because she did not wish to startle the incoming Krotes. Best that they catch their first glimpse of magic on land.

The sea was a soporific whisper against the foot of the cliffs, and Lenora had caught herself nodding off several times. Each time her eyes closed she saw daylight, and when she opened them she heard the echo of a dream voice.

When she saw the first hint of light on the horizon her old heart skipped a beat. So soon! she thought. She stood, climbed aboard her machine and ordered it to stand. The added height gave her a better viewpoint, and she could definitely make out a splash of light far out on the ocean, blinking on and off as the sea swelled and dipped.

“Back to Conbarma,” she said, and the machine began the journey down. Already it felt natural beneath her, though its speed unsettled her so close to the cliff. The ride back to Conbarma was fast, and she passed the perimeter guards with a nod.

“First ship’s coming in,” she said. The guards sat up, and their machines twitched beneath them. “I’ll send relief after it arrives. There’ll be plenty for you to see.”

“Yes, Mistress.”Mistress. It would take her a while to get used to that.

At the harbor the shade was still sitting between the two pits, but the flesh pit seemed to be glowing.

“There’s a ship coming in,” she told one of her captains. “What’s been happening down here?”

The captain rode his machine-a tall, spidery construct-to her side. He sat higher than her, and he seemed almost embarrassed looking down. “That…thing plucked some animals from the sea,” he said. “They came up like a living wave, splashed across the harbor, and it gathered them into the flesh pit.”

“Gathered them how?”

“It pushed with its shadows.”

Lenora nodded. “Good. It knows the ship’s coming and it’s preparing.”

The captain stared out to sea, obviously pleased to have something else to draw his attention.

THE SHIP SLOWED as it approached the harbor, the great paddle wheels on either side almost still, turned by the vessel’s momentum rather than the efforts of the Krotes belowdecks. Sails were dropped and tied. Lanterns hung from masts, forming flaming eyes on the carved figurehead: the snarling likeness of a snow demon. I’ll never see one of those things again, Lenora thought.

The ship bumped against the harbor. Lines were thrown and secured, and the gangway was eased across the gap and fixed into place. The Krotes on the ship crowded along the gunwale, their faces a uniform yellow in the reflected light from so many lanterns. Some of them cheered, but most merely stood there, staring at the warriors on the harbor then looking around the town itself.

A few saw the pits and thing that stood between them, and Lenora saw their eyes widen.

“Welcome to Noreela!” she shouted. “Where’s your captain?”

“Here.” A shape hobbled from the shadows beneath the forecastle and stood at the head of the boarding ramp. Short and thin, her pure white hair was bound in two plaits that hung to her thighs. The end of each plait shone with a sliver of sharpened metal.

“Ducianne!” Lenora said. “If I’d known you were to captain the first ship I’d have had a barrel of rotwine waiting for you!”

“I haven’t had a drink in days, Lenora,” Ducianne said. “Fuck with me and you lose an eye.”

“You and whose army?” Lenora said. She smiled and made her way up the ramp. Ducianne hobbled down to meet her-she’d lost half her foot to a foxlion ten years before-and they embraced. Lenora felt her old friend’s scars, hard knots of flesh against her own. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Lenora. Where are the Mages? Has there been any fighting yet?”

“The Mages have gone and left me in charge.”

“Gone where?”

“You think I’d question their intentions?”

Ducianne grinned. “I suppose not. So you’re the mistress now, eh?” Her eyes shifted briefly, but it could have been a lamp swaying on the ship.

“There’s more,” Lenora said. “Lots more. But let’s get your Krotes off the ship first. And tell me, this darkness: Does it extend far out to sea?”

“It was day, then night, then day again…and at midday, as we passed Land’s End on The Spine, darkness fell quickly. No clouds, no setting sun, just a fading of the light. It spooked us all. Half of our sheebok jumped into the sea.”

“You look hungry,” Lenora said.

Ducianne nodded. “My warriors need food and drink, Lenora. It’s been a hard journey. Storms. Cold. And an attack by sea taints rotted our food and soured the water. But there was always the fight at journey’s end to keep us going.” She flipped her head, sending the barbed hair plaits toward Lenora’s face.

Lenora caught them in both hands and tugged. “You’re a mean one, Ducianne.”

“Why else would I be a captain?”

They walked up onto deck. The Krotes were eager to leave the stinking ship, but they bowed to Lenora.

“Don’t bow to me,” she said. “Soon, others will bow to you.” The warriors rose, and this close Lenora was shocked at their condition. They looked gaunt, their eyes too large for their heads, and old wounds of war glowed pink in the subdued light. “The journey was never that long!”

A big Krote spoke to her, his manner deferential but defensive. “We’ve never undertaken a sea journey like this,” he said. “And there was a bad storm. We’ve all been sick for days.”

“Then you need fattening up,” she said. “Off the ship, now. You first. Go into the town and my captains will take care of you.” She turned to Ducianne. “There are machines,” she said, “and there’ll be one made for every Krote aboard.”

“Machines!” Ducianne said. “How?”

“The Mages left a shade.”

Ducianne’s eyes widened, but she did not deign comment or ask more.

The Krotes left the ship in a long, slow line. Each of them looked at the shade, and skirted as far around it and its factory pits as they could.