‘Performing these tricks is the main source of my income,’ the mage continued, ‘now that my old mistress Memtas has cast me out for my failure. So it is gratifying to learn that my new master approves.’
Lalenda looked from the mage to Losara, confused by the exchange.
Losara smiled. ‘I would not worry overly, Roma,’ he said. ‘I told you I would build you a grand house …and I will. The time to serve me is coming.’
Roma bowed low.
The next day, before they left, they called Grimra back from the sea. He’d been spending all his time there, as he had never seen the ocean before. Enthusiastically he told them that ‘floating meat be everywhere’.
East they flew, past Fort Logale, to the southern edge of the Stone Fields and the ringlet of the five goblin cities. There was Trelter, smoky grey and awash with industry. Smalt was orderly and metallic, and they saw open areas where war engines were being assembled and furnaces glowed red in the night. Barramoor was the city of the Greys, clean and poor, but somewhat colourful. Froxen was the capital, densely populated and teeming with trade, livestock, markets, gambling dens, taverns and at least three of everything else ever seen in a city. Finally came Childris, the city of teachers, with academies and schools and an enormous barracks.
From there they went north, out over the Stone Fields. Although rocky, it was not a barren region. Moss grew, streams ran full of fish, spindly trees pushed their way up from beneath, and insects lived in stone mansions.
At the border they landed to look out over Kainordas. It was daytime and a bright wall of sun fell right at their feet.
‘Can I put my hand out?’ asked Lalenda.
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Losara.
Carefully, curiously, she reached out into the sun and held her hand there for a few moments. Then she withdrew, shivering. ‘Prickles,’ she said.
‘Grimra does not like it here,’ whispered the ghost. He flashed white along the border. ‘Too much warmth …but hello? What is this?’ Fangs flashed over nothing.
It took Losara a moment, but suddenly he was aware of the shadowy souls that floated listlessly all around them. He remembered hearing about the Trapped – undead without bodies, who wanted to return to the light but could not. Undead whose souls were now of shadow, whom the gods wanted sent onwards to the Well. He watched as Grimra shredded one to pieces and it faded away in relief.
‘Bah,’ said Grimra. ‘No good for eating. All show and no taste.’
Losara felt sorry for the poor creatures. They needed to be put out of their misery, and indeed the gods had ordered it so. Why had Battu left them to drift?
‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said.
He dissolved into the shadows and stretched out until he was weblike. Then he rushed along the border, catching the Trapped in a net of himself. At the edge of the Stone Fields they petered out, so he changed direction and rushed the other way. Bundled against him, the souls were barely able to struggle, but he could feel their terror. Best to end it for them quickly. At the western end of the Stone Fields, he came to a stop, a swag of the undead souls wriggling in his grasp. As he gathered his power, finally they seemed to understand what he offered them. They became still, eagerly awaiting, and he let his power ripple through them. There was a collective sigh as they disintegrated.
‘ Safe journey to the Well, ’ Losara whispered, and sped back to join the others. Lalenda gave a little start when he solidified out of the rocks.
They wandered along the border, though there wasn’t much to see – the land was barren on each side. One creature interested Losara – the shadowmanders that darted out over the border to kill anything born on the other side. They seemed to possess such instinctive hatred of the light, and reminded him of Tyrellan. Losara knew he must learn to be like the shadowmanders if he was to succeed, but how? He didn’t want to kill something just because of what it was.
They went east along the border, and eventually the land on both sides became fertile once more. Where the Dragon’s Sorrow River crossed into Fenvarrow, it became the delta that surrounded the Dimglades, and here they stopped.
Losara sat by the stream with his legs tickled by reeds, careless of the moisture that soaked his robe. Frogs croaked, and dragonflies chased each other across the delta. The air was temperate and still, as lazy as he felt.
A fluttering of wings heralded the arrival of Lalenda. She touched down lightly and sank to her knees.
‘Hello there, Miss Pixie,’ he said.
‘This is a strange place,’ she said. She took hold of a reed by the water’s edge, pulling its puffy white end up towards her. ‘Of all that we’ve seen, this one makes me uneasy.’ Her finger curled and a single claw flicked neatly in and out, cutting the head from the reed with a quiet snick.
‘Is that because it reminds you of Swampwild?’ he asked.
‘No, my lord,’ she said, and he believed her.
‘Why then?’
‘Because it is so …between.’
Losara knew what she meant. Here on this fertile borderland were creatures that lived happily in both shadow and light. The frogs did not seem to mind whether they hopped about on the Fenvarrow or Kainordas side. Amphibians were used to living in two worlds, Losara supposed, but four? Water, air, shadow, light? Birds from the Dimglades flew down to catch insects in Kainordas, and fish swam the channels and ponds around the entire circumference of the delta. These were lives on the edge of two places, and they didn’t seem to notice or care.
‘Why cannot light and dark exist like this?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Living side by side without discernment?’
‘I don’t know my lord,’ said Lalenda quietly. ‘I only know that they can’t.’
‘Why?’
Lalenda struggled to find an answer. Perhaps she felt it instinctively, he thought, like those shadowmanders. She was born of shadow, after all. He was not – he had been born in a between place too, he realised, in Whisperwood. Did he therefore not possess the hatred of the light that would carry him to victory? Perhaps there was another way. But how could that be the conclusion of his pilgrimage? Why would the Dark Gods, who wanted only triumph, send him to learn such a lesson?
‘My lord?’ said Lalenda.
He stirred from reverie and turned to look at her. She didn’t seem to realise, but there was a silver-winged fly tangled in her hair. He reached up to offer it his finger and it pulled itself free.
‘Will you punish the creature for sullying my hair, my lord?’ she asked, a playful note in her voice.
‘I think you know me a little better than that by now,’ he said.
‘I do.’
What a beautiful thing she was, he thought. He had seen plenty of beautiful things on their journey, but this …this was different. Why had he brought her with him? It wasn’t just that she’d needed rescuing, it wasn’t just compassion. He knew the answer, dimly, far back in his mind. He knew why most men would ask a woman to accompany them.
‘My lord?’ she said. ‘You’re …well, you’re staring at me. I don’t mind, of course, it’s just …well …are you …that is to say, I’ve been wondering –’
‘Lalenda,’ he interrupted, ‘I wonder if perhaps …the time is long past that I should have attempted …’ He felt the sentence growing long on his tongue, clunky and awkward. These were not the right words, he knew, but could not stop them. ‘…to make known my admiration of you. By way of some …action, perhaps. With your permission, of course.’
She stared at him in a way that made him feel strangely uncomfortable, then shifted towards him a little. ‘You’ve never needed my permission for anything,’ she said. ‘But you gave me back my permission to give …and I do.’
Clumsily he put an arm around her, hesitantly, lightly. ‘Lord,’ she whispered, ‘I will not break like glass.’