Finally our bargain can be fulfilled.
‘No!’ shouted Corlas.
Oh, yes. Say goodbye to your son, Corlas.
‘Run!’ roared Corlas, grabbing Bel by the shoulders and pushing him violently away. ‘Run, damn you, boy! Trust me now if never again and run!’
This is what you shall do for me.
Something in Corlas’s mind began to unfurclass="underline" the bargain planted years ago, binding him to the bird’s will. He felt the command of Iassia’s words as they began to form, and knew he had no choice but to carry out whatever the bird willed.
Corlas, you will kill …
Unwillingly Corlas’s grip tightened on the axe. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘No!’
…your …
‘Bel!’ came a cry. It was Baygis, riding full pelt towards them. He reached out a hand as he leaped from his horse, and Iassia shrilled as he was pulled to the ground, seized in Baygis’s power. Somehow Corlas felt his terror through the link between them.
Kill the mage! the weaver screamed. Kill him, Corlas! Kill the mage who knows my true name!
A consuming purpose took hold of Corlas and he strode towards Baygis. There came the sound of more horses, and over a hill appeared Naphur and Fahren, riding hard with soldiers at their heels.
‘Corlas,’ said Baygis, breathing hard as Corlas strode towards him. ‘What – ’
His eyes opened wide as the axe head whooshed towards him, and froze in a surprise that remained on his face as his head hit the ground. A river of red flowed from his severed neck as his body collapsed to his knees, then forward.
Naphur roared. Corlas blinked in confusion, staring at the bloody axe in his hands, then at Bel, who watched in disbelief. Finally he saw the approaching horses, and soldiers drawing their swords.
‘By Arkus!’ he cried. ‘It was the weaver, Bel! The weaver! I had no choice!’
He stumbled away, shedding his pack and dropping his axe as he broke into a run towards the trees. ‘Tell Naphur it was the weaver!’ he called.
‘Father!’ Bel shouted, but Corlas disappeared into the trees.
‘Kill him!’ Naphur screamed, and the soldiers rode after Corlas. ‘Kill Corlas! Kill him a thousand times!’
He leaped from his steed to fall by the body of his son, his face unbelieving as he clutched at Baygis’s chest. ‘Not my son!’ he cried. ‘By Arkus, no!’
‘Bel?’
Bel blinked, stunned by what had happened. Fahren stood beside him, speaking softly. ‘What went on here?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Bel, shaking his head.
Nearby on the ground, the weaver lay pinned, watching them balefully. Fahren had managed to trap him anew even as Baygis’s magic had faded.
‘You,’ said Fahren to the little bird. ‘You had a hand in this!’
‘Or a wing, to be more accurate,’ cooed Iassia. He struggled feebly against the glowing net. ‘A shame,’ he continued, ‘that your ruler’s son had to die instead of Bel here, as I had intended.’
Fahren’s gaze was icy cold. ‘I know your name, weaver,’ he said, and instantly the bird fell still. ‘The mage you killed – he told it to me.’
Iassia squawked as he struggled against Fahren’s power, his blood-drop eyes bulging in fear.
Fahren raised his voice skywards and threw out his hands. ‘I call your attention, Arkus! I call on you to reclaim your servant, Iashymaya Siashymor !’
Although the sun had almost set, suddenly a column of light was shining brightly upon them. At their feet, the bird opened and closed his beak in soundless terror as the light shone on him most brilliantly, picking up the colours of his beautiful plumage. It grew stronger until it hurt their eyes and they could no longer see anything of the world outside.
‘What is this?’ whispered Bel.
‘I don’t know,’ said Fahren in wonder. ‘But I don’t think we need be afraid.’
Even the ground beneath seemed to be nothing more than light itself. Ahead of them the light blazed and they covered their eyes. When the flare faded, and they lowered their hands from their faces, a magnificent being was standing before them. A colossal helm on its head was covered in spikes that seemed to change at a point from metal to light, becoming like rays of the sun. In the eye slots, fires blazed and danced, and the armour was made from great plates of gold. Slowly the warrior reached out a shining gauntlet, opening it over the struggling bird.
‘No, my lord!’ squeaked Iassia. ‘I beg forgiveness! I never wanted to leave you; it was the others who made me!’
Iassia fell still, and from his body rose a glowing form, flapping piteously and calling soundlessly. The giant’s fist closed on the spirit, enveloping it utterly.
‘Arkus,’ whispered Fahren. He fell to his knees, while Bel stood and stared.
Arkus’s head turned, creaking, and flames spurted from the eye slots of his helm. When he spoke, his voice crackled, as if the words themselves were on fire. ‘My thanks to you,’ he boomed, ‘for the return of my servant.’
‘Praise be,’ murmured Fahren.
‘It is good,’ said the god, ‘that you have unwittingly opened this pathway. I have words for you both.’
‘For us?’ said Bel dumbly as he gazed up at the breathtaking entity.
‘Yes, Bel Corinas. Even my fate depends on you now. You are the one who will upset the balance.’
‘But, great lord,’ stammered Fahren, ‘what of the other?’
‘It is true the one called Losara grows potent with shadow magic,’ rumbled the god. ‘Soon none will be able to match him.’
‘Are we lost?’ asked Fahren.
‘The solution lies with the Stone of Evenings Mild.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Bel.
The fires flared. ‘Bel Corinas, you were born with the blood of the Sprites, with both light and shadow. That is why the Stone ripped your soul asunder. The mages who warred over you did not know the power of the gateway that splits light and shadow. He who was one now stands divided. Balance will continue until you are combined again.’
‘Combined again?’ echoed Fahren.
‘Yes. If Bel and Losara return through the gateway of the Stone, to emerge as the individual soul they once were, we will have won.’
‘How?’ asked Bel.
‘Because you are stronger than Losara,’ said Arkus. ‘The shadow in the child you once were was never as strong as the light. It came from the Old Magic in your Sprite lineage, and your parents were not even full-blooded. You are born of Kainordas, and Losara is only a small residual part. If he is drawn back into you, he will become that small part once again.’
‘But how can he be small?’ asked Bel. ‘If he’s as powerful as you say?’
‘His power with magic is but a single trait. You are the governing personality, Bel. You are more complete than he.’ The god seemed to shimmer, like a mirage in a heat haze. ‘I cannot remain long. Hear me well. To stop the threat against us, Losara must be merged once more with Bel. You must find the Stone of Evenings Mild.’ Arkus’s voice became more distant. ‘As before, two mages must work the Stone – one of shadow, one of light. Only through such a combination will the Stone function. Only then can you undo what has been done.’
The world began to appear again, the same as before Arkus came to them: Naphur slumped over his dead son, the soldiers calling to each other in the trees, evening falling. No time had passed.
‘Only then,’ came Arkus’s final words, ‘can Bel lead us to victory.’
Then the god was gone and Fahren and Bel were kneeling on grasses that rustled gently in the wind. After the warmth of Arkus, the world seemed very cold.
‘Well, well,’ said Lady Vyasinth. ‘Wherever did weavers inherit their penchant for lying, I wonder?’