The dark lord moved towards Refectu, but didn’t seem to want to turn his back on Losara. He stopped just shy of the throne. ‘Is that the extent of your list of companions?’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Then leave me be. I have some matters to consider.’
‘As you wish.’ Slowly and deliberately, Losara turned his own back on Battu without fear and walked towards the tunnel. ‘Oh,’ he said, stopping for a moment. ‘I would see Tyrellan before I leave, if it please you, master.’
‘It pleases me!’ shouted Battu, no longer able to maintain his poise. ‘It pleases me no end!’
‘Thank you,’ said Losara, and continued on, not pausing to see if Tyrellan followed.
Together they walked, Tyrellan’s cat-like padding matching Losara’s fluid glide. Losara found himself heading towards his quarters, though he didn’t know exactly why. There was nothing there he needed.
‘You’ll arrange for Grimra’s pendant to be removed from the archway?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Tyrellan.
He seemed withdrawn, and Losara wondered if the exchanges in the throne room had put him in the middle of things.
‘Battu won’t harm you,’ he said.
‘Mind your words,’ growled Tyrellan.
‘He isn’t watching. I’d be able to tell.’
Tyrellan grunted and glanced away. ‘You grow arrogant, lord,’ he said. ‘It is not commendable.’
Losara felt the truth of the words, and nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I am simply heady with my change, Tyrellan.’ He waggled his black fingers and now Tyrellan did stare.
‘You are truly blessed by the shadow.’
‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘And you follow the shadow always, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Battu does not.’
Tyrellan looked hard at Losara, the blue of an ice lantern caught in his black eyes. ‘You’ll be taking action?’
‘Perhaps.’
The butterfly flew from Tyrellan’s shoulder, reminding Losara of the conversation’s purpose.
‘I had a dream on the way to the Isle,’ he said. ‘You tried to sever your connection to the butterfly by death.’ Tyrellan’s gaze remained neutral. ‘Is that something you considered? Or did it actually come to pass?’
‘I considered it.’
‘Do not try it. I would save you from that disappointment.’ He paused. ‘I spoke to the gods on your behalf.’
Tyrellan bowed his head. ‘I am honoured.’
‘The news may not gladden you. The only way to break the legacy spell is to reunite it with the soul of Elessa Lanclara. There are two ways this can be done, and one of them sounds impossible.’
‘Tell me that one.’
‘Enter the Great Well of Arkus and find her.’
Tyrellan bared his fangs. Well might he snarl at such an idea , thought Losara. All that light, coalescing – how to find one’s way in such a terrible place?
‘What is the other way?’ asked the goblin.
‘Bring what is left of her back to the world. Reanimate her corpse and reunite her with that part of her life force trapped in your butterfly.’
‘Not my butterfly,’ muttered Tyrellan, and fell silent.
Losara knew he was thinking hard and deep about how insurmountable such a task would be – to penetrate the Halls, find Elessa’s grave, perform the right rituals, and all based on a chance that some remnant of her floated intact enough in Arkus’s Well to summon back.
‘Maybe,’ offered Losara, ‘it will be a reward. When we stand there at the end, triumphant in the Halls, you will finally be able to rid yourself of the creature.’
It felt a strange thing to say, as he bore no real animosity towards the land of light. Nevertheless, Tyrellan seized on his words.
‘It is gratifying to hear someone speak of progress.’
Losara knew the target of his frustration. ‘Don’t judge Battu too harshly,’ he said. ‘You don’t know that he was ordered by the gods to avoid conflict. The action he took at the Mines may have damned him for all time.’
Tyrellan remembered …
When Battu was young, he was confident. After he had killed Raker, a conspiracy had formed against him. Tyrellan had put a stop to it, winning Battu’s trust by becoming his confidant in that first and formative betrayal. After putting down the dissidents, Battu had immediately felt the need to consolidate his power and so he organised the assault on the Mines to prove himself. Tyrellan had been instrumental in encouraging it. This new understanding of why Battu had been loath to take further action against the light in all his years of ruling did nothing to improve Tyrellan’s view of him. If anything it made him weaker, to have strayed so wildly from an explicitly laid-down path. Tyrellan would never have encouraged the attack on the Mines if Battu had simply told him it was against the Dark Gods’ will.
He realised Losara was no longer beside him, and turned to find the boy staring at himself in a mirror-fountain.
‘Had you not seen, my lord?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Losara.
There was nothing behind his eyes but shadow.
Part Three
Of Purpose
—
I like to believe I’m not one to dwell on past possibilities. I know the roads that brought me here, and I cannot walk them again. And yet sometimes, in my quieter moments, I muse on what might have been. What if Corlas had been left alone to raise me himself, whole, in Whisperwood? Would it have been a peaceful existence, untouched by bloodshed and strife? Perhaps I wouldn’t have escaped my fate at all, merely come to it by a different route.
It isn’t for myself, I suppose, that I wonder these things. It could have gone better for my father, I think. Certainly he deserved better. Ah, well. It seems that compassion is not the currency of power.
But I digress. Let me return to our story, to a time when it did not seem there was any particular road in front of me. Or many, perhaps, crosshatched all the way to the horizon. Was it any wonder that I felt somewhat directionless? Part of me was, after all, on the other side of the world. A monumental task lay ahead and I had little idea of how it might be accomplished.
Stumble on, I supposed. Stumble on until I discovered the way.
Twenty-eight
The Streets of Kadass
Bel dropped to bended knee before the teary little girl who was clutching a raggedy doll tightly to her chest. Around them people bustled onwards, leaving peacekeeper and child an island in the throng.
‘Hello there, princess,’ said Bel. ‘Who’s that you’ve got with you?’
The girl’s lip quivered.
‘She’s very pretty,’ Bel went on. ‘Though I can’t see her face.’
Tentatively the girl raised the doll. Bel smiled a big, stupid smile, took the doll’s limp hand in his own and shook it.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said.
‘Her name’s Shari,’ said the little girl.
‘What a beautiful name,’ said Bel, and the girl looked pleased. ‘I bet Shari’s glad she has you to look after her. It can be pretty scary wandering around all by yourself.’
The girl looked worried again. ‘We lost Mumma.’
‘Well, that won’t do at all. When did you last see her?’
‘Over by the birds,’ said the girl.
Bel looked about and quickly spotted a bench of caged birds amongst the other stalls that lined the Market Road.
Hiza appeared out of the crowd. ‘The procession is moving,’ he said. ‘We should keep up.’
Bel nodded. ‘Tell you what, princess,’ he said to the girl. ‘How about you get up on my shoulders and we go back to the bird stall? That way you and Shari will be up nice and high, and maybe between us all we’ll be able to spot your mumma.’