‘I never took you for an aesthete,’ said Battu.
He scratched his chin, wondering what to do. He couldn’t disenchant something he couldn’t sense, so he opted for brute force instead. Extending a finger towards the butterfly, he raked it with blue lightning. The butterfly stayed right where it was, wings opening and closing slowly, ignoring the magic that passed over it. Battu made a fist and compressed the air about the insect with enough force to crush a skull to dust. The butterfly was not bothered. Suddenly Battu understood.
‘Ah, Tyrellan,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’ Muscles twitched in the goblin’s face. ‘You say the light mage cast this spell on you while she was dying?’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘It’s a legacy spell.’ Battu chuckled. ‘The whore cast her legacy spell on you.’
‘I am pleased my lord is amused,’ said Tyrellan flatly, ‘but I do not understand.’
Battu raised a hand towards the archway entrance. ‘Let us walk,’ he said.
As he led Tyrellan from the throne room, the butterfly flew to join them. They passed the recess where the Castle administrator, Turry, sat with scrolls and ledgers piled about him, and came to the alcoves containing busts of past Shadowdreamers. Battu halted before one that wore a twisted half-smile partially displaying her sharpened teeth, with stone dreadlocks framing her narrow, snake-like eyes. It, like the other busts, was incredibly lifelike.
‘Assidax in her youth,’ Battu muttered. ‘I’d have liked to meet her. She gave Kainordas such a great deal of trouble …and was, apparently, a vigorous lover, if you could match her.’ He broke from his reverie and turned to Tyrellan. ‘This bust is the result of Assidax’s legacy spell. In fact, every bust here is the legacy of the Shadowdreamer it depicts.’ He pointed to an empty alcove. ‘That’s the place I have picked out for my own.’
Battu opened his palms to Assidax’s bust, discharging such a massive burst of energy that it blew chips out of the wall …but left Assidax undamaged.
‘You see?’ he said. ‘To leave one’s image behind like this is traditional for Shadowdreamers. Even Raker,’ he nodded to where the scar-ridden Raker stared out from his alcove, ‘managed to leave one, despite the fact that I obliterated his body completely. The legacy spell is one that can be cast even from death, as the spirit is departing.’ Battu sneered at his former master. ‘Not that I begrudge him his memory as I did his life, but I couldn’t remove this statue of him even if I wanted to. A legacy spell cannot be destroyed. You could take a hammer to this bust for days and the only thing you’d break would be your wrists. Even if Skygrip itself were somehow reduced to rubble and these floors collapsed beneath us, I have a feeling these statues would remain where they are.
‘Unfortunately, Tyrellan, this light mage cast her legacy spell on you . I’ve never heard of it done this way before, and whether she attached her legacy to your body or your spirit I cannot say. Perhaps this butterfly will perch forever above the grave you sleep in. Perhaps it will follow you even into Assedrynn’s Well. Whatever the case, you two are going to be close companions.’
Tyrellan stared out the corner of his eye at the butterfly on his shoulder. ‘Surely there must be a way. You cannot accept this travesty within your own walls.’
‘Ah, First Slave, is that a hint of desperation in your voice? I never thought I’d see the day. Who knows – perhaps the shadowdream will reveal something to me. Now come. I have a task for you and your new-found friend.’
Usually Tyrellan left Skygrip by a lesser door, but today he went to the main entrance cavern. The cavern was immense and circular, ringed by towering statues of Fenvarrow heroes and mythical creatures, some of which almost reached the roof, some fifty paces up. Between the statues were tunnels, above which hung cruelly spiked grates. If ever the enemy breached Skygrip, the grates could be lowered, creating further barricades against invaders. Other safeguards were the slots cut into the walls higher up, behind which were hidden passages from which archers could pelt arrows. At the north end of the cavern were huge hardwood double doors, thirty paces tall and wide, to the side of which stood a massive iron cogwheel. Turning it to close the doors took twenty guards, so the doors stood open most of the time, as they did now, letting in the grey light of day. There was little danger in leaving them so, since Skygrip was surrounded by a fort wall, on which guards kept constant vigil. Not to mention the powerful Golgoleth Ghost that manned the entrance itself, always ready to make a quick meal of the unwelcome – or anyone else it could get away with. Tyrellan thought he heard the ghost hiss at him as he passed, and he snarled in return. As he walked out, he ignored the guards staring at his new insect companion.
He made his way to the fort armoury, a long flat building. The stop wasn’t part of his task, but fortunately he could combine Battu’s orders with his own purposes. Inside the armoury was a storeroom where Jacix, the head armourer, kept all the choicest weapons. Tyrellan surveyed the racks of deadly tools, tapping his belt buckle thoughtfully with a claw.
‘Er …’ said a voice beside him. Jacix had sidled in nervously and was now staring at the butterfly. ‘Can I assist you, sir?’
Tyrellan glanced at him. It was not yet time to make his example. Instead he smiled, such a rare and unnerving sight that Jacix took a full step backwards. ‘I’m going into Mankow,’ Tyrellan said. ‘I need weapons.’
‘Of course, First Slave. Do you require aid in your selection, or shall I leave you?’ It was obvious from Jacix’s tone which option he preferred, but Tyrellan didn’t answer. Jacix quickly followed his gaze. ‘Ah,’ he said, moving to the sword Tyrellan was eyeing. ‘This would be a good choice. Fresh from the forge.’
Jacix took the sword off the rack, turning it in his hands for Tyrellan’s benefit. It was longer than the one Tyrellan carried, with razor-sharp teeth on one side of the blade. Tyrellan thought it a cumbersome, stupid weapon, but it would appear fearsome to others and that was what he needed. He nodded, and Jacix busied himself finding the sword’s scabbard. In the meantime, Tyrellan picked up a small triple crossbow.
‘Ah,’ said Jacix proudly, noting Tyrellan’s selection. ‘May I invite the First Slave to test that out?’ He gestured to the other side of the room where three dummy soldiers stood lined against the wall, straw poking out of their stuffed heads.
Tyrellan tested the weight of the bow, then aimed it at the dummies. On pressing the trigger three steel bolts sprang out of their grooves, one flying straight and two whistling off at diagonals. The bolt that flew straight lodged in the middle dummy’s head, while the others clattered against the stone wall.
Jacix cleared his throat. ‘Not the most accurate weapon, of course,’ he said. ‘One would have to be standing the right distance from one’s marks in order to hit them all. But in close quarters, with enemies standing in proximity, this weapon could easily bring down more than one.’
Tyrellan nodded, and Jacix quickly replaced the steel bolts. Tyrellan hooked the crossbow onto his belt and, satisfied, left the armoury and the cringing Jacix to make his way to Skygrip stables. Today he wished to be as visible as possible and a long-legged horse would serve that purpose.
Soon he was riding through the outer gate of the castle walls, the guards having raised the portcullis quickly upon seeing him. They stared as he rode silently past, whispering to each other about their superior’s new adornment. Tyrellan bared his fangs, but remained facing forward. Soon , he promised himself. Soon they would cease to stare.
Pebbles rolled away from the horse’s hooves on the loosely paved road running down the foothills of the mountain that Skygrip had once been. Tyrellan noted the conditions – he would have to assign some workers for repairs. It did not reflect well on the Shadowdreamer if the main road to his castle was unsound.