Iassia cocked his head. ‘I have a plan,’ he said. ‘But I must have the truth from you if it’s to work. I’ve gathered, from things you’ve said, that your career in the military was quite successful before you left it?’
Corlas went silent. Had he spoken to the bird about that? He couldn’t remember. He’d been such a mess, and had ranted and raved in the bird’s presence often. Probably something of his past had come out sometime.
‘I was an officer in the army,’ he said eventually.
‘Of any note?’
‘My full name is Corlas Corinas.’
The bird seemed surprised. ‘Corlas Corinas? The great commander of the Shining Mines?’
‘I was not the commander,’ said Corlas with a scowl.
‘But you are well known for your actions there,’ said the bird. ‘This is good – it fits well with my plan. You must assume this identity again.’
‘If it will get me back my son,’ said Corlas, and shrugged. Then he half-smiled. ‘But what is your plan, oh little wise bird?’
‘One step at a time,’ said Iassia. ‘First, we must strike a bargain, which is the way of my kind. If I am to help you, you must promise me something.’
‘What?’
‘Sometime, in the future, I may call on you to return the favour. You must then do something I ask of you. I may never ask anything,’ he added in a casual tone, ‘but if you agree, I have the power to bind you to your promise. It is a trick granted to my race by Arkus in his benevolence.’
Corlas frowned, mulling over his choices. If the bird could help him, what was the harm in having to collect a few worms for it sometime in the future?
‘Seems like a fair trade,’ he said. ‘I will strike you your bargain. Perform your trick.’
‘One more thing. The bargain is between us alone. You may not speak of our association to others. The “trick”, as you call it, binds you to that as well. My kind must remain secret so we can continue our good work.’
Corlas grunted, but nodded. Iassia flew onto his head and he felt an odd sensation, almost like a knot being tied in his mind. Iassia gave his skull a sharp tap and hopped back to the ground.
‘Did you feel that?’ he asked.
‘I felt …something. It went away quickly.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Iassia happily. ‘Then we are bound as allies. Now, let’s work out how to get back your son.’
In the weeks that followed, Corlas and Iassia continued towards the Open Halls. With the bird’s help Corlas was able to avoid pursuers, and after a time it became clear they’d escaped altogether. Thoughts of Frera and Essie troubled him, but Chavus should have remembered his family before setting himself against Corlas’s axe.
He no longer took such long, undeviating strides, and his eyes went in other directions than north. The anger that had driven him relentlessly was no longer a shield from his grief and he began to feel a purer, more profound sadness. Iassia proved a comfort, and the two talked long as they walked, or camped at night. Eventually they came to the Great Rass, a white, swirling river on the border of Centrus, and crossed into the hilly grasslands of Borgordus. They came to a town with a quarry, where even someone as raggedy as Corlas was able to make coin splitting rocks. He bought new clothes to replace his rags, and a razor and comb. When they moved on, he felt more human than he had in a long while. There was food in his belly and clean cloth on his back, and he’d worked honestly for both.
They travelled on until, one day, Corlas found himself only a league from the capital.
Iassia considered the distant ward stone standing at the top of a steep rise. It stuck out of the grass like a limestone monolith, giving off an almost imperceptible light. Part of a larger circle, it was a marker in an otherwise invisible border all around Kadass and the Halls. If any creatures of the shadow tried to pass the stones’ perimeter, they would meet with resistance and a silent alarm would be sent to nearby military mages. Lightfists, Iassia recalled they were named, his feathers fluffing in distaste. He couldn’t risk going any further.
‘My friend,’ he chirped in Corlas’s ear, ‘I fear our time together is at an end.’
Corlas transferred the colourful bird from his shoulder to his hand, holding him before him. The clumsy movement irked Iassia, but he did not let it show.
‘I thought that may be so,’ Corlas said, for Iassia had never accompanied him into civilisation before. The man’s brow furrowed and Iassia sensed his thoughts. He was anxious about re-entering Kadass and the Open Halls. These were places of his youth, where many would remember him. Also, he was trying to figure out how to thank Iassia. Internally, Iassia was amused. The man would not thank him if he knew Iassia’s true purpose, or that the bird was bored to blazes with having to sympathise with his plight.
‘No need for thanks, Corlas,’ Iassia said. ‘Helping is its own reward.’
‘I would thank you anyway,’ said Corlas. ‘I would be lost but for you. If not in body then in heart. So thank you, little wise Iassia.’
‘Well, this is not a final goodbye,’ said Iassia brightly. ‘I may find you again, when you are free with your boy – why, I’d like to meet the lad who caused all this fuss! And perhaps one day I will call on you to repay the favour you still owe me. Who knows?’ The bird was silent a moment and then, very seriously, he said, ‘Corlas, do not rush towards your goal. Remember your boy will be closely watched, perhaps disguised, and it may take time for the right opportunity to present itself. Gain the trust of those in the castle. Be patient. In time, your son will know his father.’
‘For his sake I will be patient,’ replied Corlas.
Iassia sensed the man making a sincere effort to commit to his words. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Then take my blessings with you. I’ll pray for your success. Goodbye, Corlas Corinas.’
With that Iassia launched into the air, rising quickly on the warm breeze.
‘Goodbye, little bird,’ said Corlas.
Ten
Tyrellan Paints the Town Red
Tyrellan went to his cupboard, which was taller than he had use for. His quarters were large and he didn’t like them, but they went with the title of First Slave. He’d preferred his smaller rooms further down the hierarchy. These larger ones simply meant more space for the same few things, more places to have to hide weapons, and more air for the ice to cool. They weren’t efficient.
He took a goblet and bottle of wine from the cupboard, then sat in a wooden chair before the iceplace. He rarely bothered with the luxury of dark ice, although he was more than entitled. Tonight, however, he was dimly aware that he should do something special for himself and so a luminescent blue cube stood in the iceplace. Its light illuminated the edges of objects, and it sent out cold wafts like ghosting fingers across his skin. Scowling, he gave up trying to find enjoyment in the sensation. Instead he unstopped the bottle and filled the goblet. Sipping, he felt the wine trickle down his throat, felt the toxins worming their way through the tiny tracks of his body, into his blood where they danced and destroyed. It dulled his senses after only a sip and he didn’t care for that at all. ‘Filth,’ he said, putting the goblet down. Let the idiot masses have their common joys. They weren’t for him.
He placed a claw on his stomach. The strange sensation left there by the accursed light mage had become more noticeable by the day. Now it almost felt like something was wriggling in his belly. Also the mage had mentioned his birthday and …
Today was his birthday.
Probably no one alive knew it, but Tyrellan didn’t think that would matter to whatever foul magic had been planted inside him. He’d asked Battu about it, but Battu hadn’t sensed anything out of the ordinary and had dismissed him. The thought of the Shadowdreamer letting potentially dangerous enemy magic go unchecked behind his lines angered Tyrellan.