The realness of her penetrated his calm exterior, awakening something inside him, bringing him out of his head. He kissed her, and felt her lips soft, and her cheek too. As he ran his shadowy hands over her skin, she gasped and he pulled back in concern.
‘Your touch,’ she said. ‘It’s truly like no other.’
She pulled him back to her, and he let the shadow spread out from himself over her, caressing her, exploring and, as they grew more entwined and her cries of pleasure became more insistent, seeking out the shadows within her.
Losara had never had fewer thoughts in his head.
When he became aware of himself once again, he was lying on his back with her small form slumped across him, her lashes tickling his chest as she dozed. He didn’t feel like moving, so he closed his shadowed eyes and joined her in sleep.
The dream he dreamt gave him the reason for his pilgrimage.
Thirty-five
A Few Drops
Losara floated, disoriented for a moment, uncertain of where he was. He steadied and turned to see the Throne standing silhouetted by the open end of his quarters, a glass of bloodfire in his hand. The sun was low in the sky to the south, and the liquid caught its rays brightly, casting a red wash over the rest of the room. The Throne did not turn as Bel and Fahren entered, and waited in silence. Losara drifted backwards to take it all in, losing himself in the flow of the dream.
‘Are you not to blame?’ muttered Naphur eventually. ‘If you had not pursued Corlas, Baygis would still be alive. It was you who placed my son in harm’s way.’
He raised the cup and drank deeply. Bel opened his mouth, but Fahren caught his eye and shook his head.
‘Fahren has told me of the bird Iassia,’ said the Throne. ‘Of the part he played.’ His tone grew resentful. ‘You should know, then, that I have called off the hunt for your father.’
A moment of relief passed over Bel’s face, but he quickly returned to his stony demeanour.
‘As long as he flees far,’ added Naphur, ‘and stays a horizon’s length from my sight.’ He turned, but the glaring sun behind him still hid his face. ‘But that does not mean I am not angry.’
‘Naphur,’ began Fahren.
‘Enough, High Mage!’ said the Throne. ‘I’ve heard you speak, and granted the mercy you begged me for. But now I will have my revenge.’ He stalked forward, revealing the dark belts under his eyes. ‘We attack Fenvarrow with all possible haste!’ he said. ‘And you, Bel, will lead. The child of power will fulfil his obligations.’
‘My Throne,’ Fahren tried, ‘I have told you that Arkus charged us to find –’
‘Curse Arkus!’ shouted Naphur. ‘I am old, heirless, and done with waiting.’ His look to Bel became almost imploring. ‘If I must not blame you, Bel, nor your father, then help me attack those I can blame. We must let Kainordas see you, rally to you, as we march to crush the dark. I have already sent out word, on wing and hoof in every direction. I promise that war is coming, with or without you, and on this I will not be dissuaded. But will you help me, Bel? Will you help me cut down those who have brought such ruin upon us?’
Fahren cast Bel an alarmed look – it was obvious he didn’t agree with such action – but Bel didn’t care. Ever since Arkus had spoken to him, his destiny had felt like a crushing weight across his shoulders. It wasn’t a burden he’d chosen to bear, and Naphur was offering a chance to be rid of it. Why did he need to join with Losara if he could just kill him? Without its champion, the shadow would fall.
‘I will,’ said Bel. ‘The sooner I have something to kill, the better.’
The Throne’s eyes gleamed. ‘We’re of like mind,’ he said, and gave a twisted smile.
The dream swirled.
Losara found himself floating high in the sky. Though the bright sun shone upon him, he felt no heat from it.
Beneath, from the Halls, a great force set forth, the morning light streaming at their backs. Bel sat astride a white war horse, his blue hair gleaming for all to see. On one side rode Naphur in ornate golden armour, and on the other rode Fahren, with expression dark and brooding. Behind followed the soldiers of the Halls, tromping the grass flat. Jaya broke from the mob to speed forward on a sleek stallion, laughing as she reached out to grip Bel’s hand and hold it high.
Word had spread throughout Kainordas that the blue-haired child had announced himself and was leading the charge of charges to defeat the shadow once and for all. To rally to him was to secure one’s place in history. Every day the army grew as troops arrived from all directions. Folk who had never touched a sword before fell into step, from nobles and their entourages to farmers and beggars. In jails across the land, prisoners were offered the chance to fight in exchange for pardon of all but the most heinous crimes.
Of the non-human races, the Saurians were the first to arrive. They made a fearsome sight to behold, approaching quickly over the Grass Ocean. The lizard-like Ryoshi Saurians, like monstrous pale scorpions, rode hulking dune claws. Their cousins, the Syanti Saurians, were more snake than lizard, with legless serpentine bodies and yellow slit eyes, and carried cruel-ended whips and impossibly thin swords. As the army reached the Great Rass River, a swarm of Zyvanix descended, their collective buzzing loud enough to vibrate teeth. They were a welcome addition indeed, and there was much celebration that night in the camps.
The army slowed as it grew, and at Kahlay Bel ordered them to stop, to allow others following to catch up. Naphur, unable to rest, it seemed, took to riding around the sprawl of camps. He preached like a prophet about the blue-haired boy, about victory and revenge on Fenvarrow. Those priests amongst the ranks took up the Throne’s words, speaking of the champion Arkus had delivered. Losara watched Bel listening in on the words with gleaming eyes. Do they give him strength? he wondered.
When the army left Kahlay a week later, it was greater than any Kainordas had ever seen.
One night, as they camped, Bel found Fahren smoking a brittleleaf roll and gazing with concern over the red glow of many fires.
‘Old teacher,’ he said, ‘I know you disagree with this action.’
‘I’m trying to accept it,’ said Fahren. ‘I’ve seen there’s no talking you out of it.’
‘What do you think about so deeply then?’
‘If this is indeed the war to end all wars,’ said Fahren, ‘as our poor lost Throne calls it, then I think about the only thing that bears thinking about. How to win.’
‘Ah,’ said Bel. ‘I’ve been giving that some thought myself. I don’t think we can simply march into Fenvarrow and expect to sweep through.’
Fahren cast a glance at him. ‘I’m glad to hear you say that, for it’s precisely what Naphur intends. We are in need of a better plan.’
‘Have you thought of anything?’
‘Nothing to speak of.’
‘We’ll make final camp at Holdwith,’ said Bel. ‘I understand there are many mages there.’
‘Yes,’ said Fahren. ‘Lightfists are trained there. It’s a good place, so close to the border, to sharpen their skills.’
‘Perhaps they’ll know some spell to help us.’
Fahren shook his head sadly.
‘Come now,’ chuckled Bel. ‘Don’t be so defeatist. Surely you don’t think you’ve seen everything under the sun?’
After many weeks of marching, they arrived at Holdwith. Built on the edge of fertile lands, the farms on the north side were well tended, yet seemed somehow makeshift and temporary. To the south, battlements overlooked dusty plains that ran all the way to the border. Here the Cloud was so close that after midday the sun moved behind it and the light grew dim.
As the army set up camp around the fort, Bel, Naphur and Fahren rode to the gates and entered. The walls of Holdwith fort encircled a large town that seemed to contain more buildings than people. From the town centre rose a cobblestoned tower, higher than the surrounding walls. The Throne immediately headed towards it, saying he would speak to the local gerent, not pausing to see if the others followed.