Slapping it on the rump, the Graka said, ‘Yep, these old sky carts aren’t as common as they once were.’ Staring at the ungainly, moronic-looking thing, Losara wasn’t surprised. ‘Be patient with this one, lord. He’s getting on, which means he’s even more stubborn. We don’t send him out much these days, but he knows the way to Frake well enough. Does runs to get fresh fish for the Dreamer’s kitchens, so you might have to forgive the smell. I’ve walked him around Skygrip a few times just now to loosen his muscles, so you should be all right.’
Tyrellan stepped forward and smacked the Graka across his ebony skull. ‘ Should be all right?’ he snarled. ‘Is the beast sound or not? This is Battu’s Apprentice, you snivelling streak of shit, not a sack of fish!’
Things did indeed seem a little shaky as they first dropped from the aviary cave high in Skygrip. The beast did not find its balance immediately, and Losara hung grimly to its neck as they plummeted. Then the great wings spread and the whelkling began to flap powerfully, giving its deep-throated call. They climbed southwards, passing over Gravewood. A fell cry went up at their passing, and though Losara searched hard for its source, the tops of the skeletal leafless trees formed a tangled and chaotic canopy. They rose until the Cloud was a few paces above them, and here the whelkling finally levelled out. Losara had never been so close to the Cloud, and could see sunlight shining in the upper reaches. He found himself disquieted that nothing separated Fenvarrow from the sun but this layer of suspended moisture. Far below the land spread out gloriously, blue with grasses, dotted with farms and woods. Snaking roads ran between towns and villages, and streams glistened like silver threads spilled from some celestial sewing box.
Losara had flown in the dream, but always in a sleepy, foggy state. Now the world was crisp and clear and tangible. The icy wind against his skin made him feel alive, and it was magnificent to be free of Skygrip. For the first time he could remember, he was cut off from the walls and floors of the castle, from proximity to the Breath, from the powerful shadows that had saturated him his entire life. Never had he felt more inside his own body, more awake. Surprisingly, he found himself thinking of Lalenda, still trapped in Skygrip without the space to fly freely. He knew she’d like to have been here too, and felt sorry that she wasn’t.
Hours passed and they came within sight of the Black Sea. Where the Cloud met the horizon, it was like looking into the mouth of an immense cave. If the gods chose not to receive him, that was where he’d be left floating, and he knew a moment of doubt.
The Cloud dropped away above them as they began to descend. Closer to the land he spotted a bay that housed a town of rickety buildings. Boats were moored to jetties, and further out to sea were other vessels hauling their nets through dark waters. Blue pinpricks glowed, ice lanterns set against the dusk, and not for the first time Losara wondered about the deeper relationship between shadow and light. Shadow was not total darkness, and even the keenest night vision benefited from some light. Could shadow exist without it?
To the east of the village was a steep hill with a circular temple on top, and this appeared to be the whelkling’s target. It hovered for a moment, then began to drop in jolts and spurts. It sent up a spray of dust as it neared the ground, then finally drew in its wings and simply fell the last pace, landing with a grunt. It draped its wings and hollered, and Losara knew he was being told to get off.
Sliding down onto the path on which they’d landed, he became aware of the stiffness in his muscles. Stretching, he glanced around at the temple grounds. They were earthy and flat, dotted by smooth trees hung with pale pears. In the distance he heard the crash of waves, the cries of sea birds, and activity in the village below. Then came footsteps and priests emerged from the temple. They wore long brown cloaks over bulgy bodies, with hoods hanging over their squashed heads. All had rubbery pebbled skin, though the colour differed from dull pink to brown, grey and green. Some wore ornate rings on their upward-curving tusks.
‘Hail, Apprentice,’ one of them gurgled, stepping forward. ‘I am Head Priest Grepra. Welcome to the Temple of Assedrynn.’
These were the Vorthargs who would put him in a boat and watch him drift away.
The next morning Bel marched towards the stables with a spring in his step. Drel might be no further than two days’ ride away, but it seemed like the other side of the world. The excitement even managed to dull the twanging in his heart, the disappointment that he had not seen Jaya last night as planned.
He arrived to find some of the troop already loading packs onto horses, and Corlas waiting. ‘Where have you been?’ said his father.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bel. ‘I’m right on time.’
Looking at Corlas’s somewhat haggard appearance, he wondered if he’d experienced a restless night. He knew his father was worried – as were Fahren and Naphur – that he might face more than just huggers on this journey. What they didn’t know was that he welcomed the chance to strike back at those who threatened him.
‘Yes,’ said Corlas, glancing at the sky. ‘Munpo says you are getting along with the troop?’
‘Most are friendly enough,’ said Bel. ‘Though I get the impression they’ll reserve judgement until I’ve lived a day on the battlefield.’
Corlas nodded. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘you remember what I told you? Green huggers are camouflaged amongst the trees. When the forest goes quiet you can be sure they are close. Birds and beasts catch their stink first, so they will be your early warning.’
‘Yes, Father,’ Bel said absently as he strapped a leather breastplate over his shirt. He’d been over this with Corlas already, and again with Munpo.
‘Keep your eyes upwards –’
‘Because they drop out of the trees,’ finished Bel, and laughed. ‘Father, I know this.’ He put his hands on Corlas’s shoulders. ‘I’ll be all right, old hero. You’ve taught me well. Of course, it helps that I’m damned good anyway.’
‘Respect the danger,’ said Corlas sternly. ‘Huggers are murderous wretches. Do not be overconfident.’
‘I won’t have time to be overconfident. I’ll be too busy filling the air with blood.’
‘Bel …’
‘All right,’ chuckled Bel. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise. That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?’
Corlas grunted. Then he unbuckled the scabbard from his belt, which housed the shine-streaked sword he’d carried since his return to Kadass. ‘Take this,’ he said. ‘It is a stronger blade than you carry.’
Bel was taken aback. ‘I can’t. It’s yours.’
‘It is a battle blade,’ said Corlas. ‘It lusts after the cut. A taskmaster does it no justice.’ Without waiting for a response, he reached down to unsheathe Bel’s sword and slide the shine blade firmly in its place.
‘There,’ he said. ‘And yes, you be careful, soldier – the whole time.’ He gave Bel’s arm a hard squeeze. ‘Now off you go.’
Losara sat up in bed with a gasp. Blinking, he tried to focus on his surrounds, taking a moment to remember where he was. Normally, when he went to sleep in Skygrip, he would drift slowly away from himself, connecting through the castle walls to the dim awareness of the shadowdream. When he awoke from the dream, it was a slow and self-aware rise to the surface, and even as he opened his eyes he was not yet contained inside his own body. Thinking back on it, he realised how much he had taken to wandering the corridors still half in the dream. Maybe he had never really slept in Skygrip, and maybe he had never really been awake either.