As the Kainordas army came onwards, Battu screamed for aerial attacks to begin. Graka rose from the ground carrying cauldrons of acid, and war engines hurled rocks and flaming balls. Archers rained arrows as the enemy got closer, and then the armies broke against each other. Losara knew a moment of pride as brave Fenvarrow folk threw themselves screaming into the fray.
He led his mages in a charge. He tried, time and again, to summon the great power he’d once possessed, but he couldn’t seem to find it anywhere. It felt as if he was missing a limb. Around him his mages fell screaming to yellow bolts or fireballs.
Scores of Fenvarrow soldiers were breaking ranks, fleeing back across the Stone Fields. Swarms of Zyvanix buzzed overhead, culling the skies of Graka and peppering the ground with needle-like arrows. Just ahead of him a great scorpion burst through a line of Black Goblins, its huge stinger juddering back and forth to spear them through, while the Saurian riding it loosed off arrows. Mireforms raged with flying tendrils and stabbing claws, and he knew that they, at least, would fight to the end. He chanced a sight of his other – the muscular man moving with amazing agility, ducking and weaving and hacking and slashing, forever untouched by blows aimed at him.
Nearby, the Shadowdreamer sent out blue lightning, frying whole troops of Varenkai, sizzling the wings from Zyvanix, melting scorpions inside their exoskeletons. The light mages turned their focus upon him, advancing and beating back rippling waves of his power, suffusing him with light. He screamed as it came from all sides, and caught fire. Losara shuddered.
Lalenda , came a thought, and he collapsed forwards to spill into shadowform. He moved through cracks in the ground while soldiers fought above him, winding around bodies and pools of blood. He forgot about the raging battle – all that mattered was finding her. He searched and searched, until he found her shape in a corpse on the ground, and trickled around her, unable to believe. A mighty sadness welled up inside him and he pooled beneath her. He lost track of time.
He came back to himself suddenly when he realised there was silence. The slaughter had subsided and there was no doubt within him who had won the battle. Nearby came a crunching of feet and he turned his shadowy gaze to peer up from Lalenda. A short distance away stood a man in gold armour and his other. The man took off his helm and Losara recognised the Throne.
‘Cowards,’ spat Naphur. ‘To flee in such numbers.’
‘Let them flee,’ said Bel. ‘Soon there will be no corner left in this land to hide in.’
The Throne grunted in satisfaction. ‘So, we continue?’
‘Yes,’ said Bel. ‘We continue.’
In the following weeks, the sun wrought many changes on Fenvarrow. In Swampwild, humptoads died in dry stream beds. The blue grasses that had grown so widely lightened as they withered, and green invaders took over. The Vorthargs retreated deep into their underground lakes, where one day they would be found and cornered. Shadowmanders along the border grew disoriented, wandering from their homes until they were too weak to go on. Even on the Isle of Assedrynn, light found the tiny blue flowers that grew out of the rocks. Their petals began to curl.
Losara never returned to his physical form, for he feared the tears that would fall. As a shadow thing he wandered, slipping quietly from place to place, watching his people suffer as their homeland faded away. The slaughter wherever the light’s forces found them was complete, regardless of sex or age. After a time he could stand it no more and he dwindled away to the delta at the Dimglades, where he recalled that things lived in harmony. There he waited, until the war was truly over and the Dark Gods were no more. He felt the moment when their Great Well broke – the end of shadow magic, and the end of him. On that day, in the comfortable shade of a willow tree, he too faded away.
Off in the east, Bel stood over a fallen Arabodedas with his sword raised to kill, while behind him Afei Edres burned. It was one of the last cities to stand against him, and had fallen too easily to truly excite him.
As Losara died, the sword fell from Bel’s hand and he dropped to his knees with empty eyes. Their soul, divided in life, was united in death.
It didn’t matter. He had served his purpose.
The light had won.
Losara awoke with a start. Snuggled at his side, Lalenda stirred but stayed asleep. Carefully he disentangled himself from her. Around them the delta was loud as the sun set, full of frogs and insects chirping. He looked up to the Cloud and there it was, high in the sky. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.
‘What is it, my lord?’ came Lalenda’s sleepy voice.
‘I know the reason for my pilgrimage,’ said Losara. ‘I know why I needed to see the land, the beauty that will be destroyed if they triumph. I appreciate now the price of failure. I understand that there can be no peace. I must fight my other and I must win.’
She was sitting up now, her eyes glistening in the dark. He bent down and cupped her cheeks in his hands. She smiled.
‘I have something to do,’ he said, ‘but I’ll be back before you know it. Sleep, my flutterbug.’
She closed her eyes and his touch evaporated. In shadowform he sped towards Holdwith. There, in the cobblestoned tower, he found a whelkling chained to the wall.
‘Fly home with a lighter load,’ he told it, and disintegrated the chain.
From there he went north, through Kainordas and all the way to the Open Halls. He circled around the wards to find the point closest to the Open Castle, then broke through the resistance. He knew somewhere alarms were sounding and mages and soldiers would be rushing to find him, but they would never be fast enough. He sped to the Open Tower and up to the Throne’s chambers.
It was a familiar scene. The Throne stood silhouetted by the open end of his quarters, a large 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 back over the rest of the room. Losara knew Naphur waited for his other, was going to give him the order to charge, to put him on the path.
Gathering himself into physical form, Losara stepped from the darkness and placed a shadowy hand on Naphur’s chest. Naphur gasped as Losara froze his heart.
The door to the room opened and Losara turned to see Bel and Fahren enter. At the sight of him, Fahren’s hands shot up, suffusing himself and Bel in a defensive light.
‘You!’ said Bel, his jaw dropping open.
For a moment the two of them stared at each other. There came the sounds of other feet and Losara knew he had best not tarry – he was not at the height of his powers here. He pulled his hand back from the Throne, who slid lifelessly down the wall. Bel’s cheeks heated and he drew his sword.
Losara smiled thinly. ‘I think perhaps you’d best check the path before you strike me,’ he said.
He watched as Bel’s expression grew confused, then horrified with realisation.
Losara chuckled. ‘The way to defeat me – it would not be to strike yourself down, would it?’
With that, he dissolved and fled.
Epilogue
Epilogue
Little Kaja peeked around the rock again, but there was still no sign of the other children. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, hiding or hunting through the wood. Her older brother, Duri, was excellent at playing the hunter, and Kaja knew he could be sneaking up on her at this very moment. The thought of it made her blood tingle, and with an excited giggle she jumped to her feet and ran further into the wood.