‘They may have taken away the sharks,’ he snarled, ‘but I was an angry man long before any boat ride across the Black Sea!’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Fahren, wondering what it was Battu tried to hang onto. As he put his front foot on solid ground, the bridge underneath vanished for good. His rear foot plunged suddenly into empty air, and Battu shot out a hand to grab his arm. For a moment the two of them stared at each other, Fahren half suspended over the drop, Battu’s expression somewhat surprised …and then he hauled Fahren up over the edge, safely onto the mountain.
‘Thank you,’ Fahren breathed.
‘It isn’t I you need to thank,’ said Battu.
Eyes of the Wood
Corlas trod carefully across moss-covered rocks towards the scrying pool. Vyasinth crouched by its edge, her twig-like fingers splayed over the still water. She raised her earthen face as he approached, dark and smooth save for the dead leaves of her eyelids, the green pinpricks of her eyes suspended deep in shadowy sockets.
‘My Lady,’ he said. She did not respond, merely turned her gaze down once more, the mane of sticks about her head rustling. He fell silent as he saw for himself what was reflected on the pool’s surface.
A crow circled downwards, following others of its kind. He tried to work out what it descended upon, being unfamiliar with the land from such a perspective. Then the grey square beneath him resolved, and he realised what he was looking at.
‘Harvest time for the skies,’ muttered Vyasinth.
There was damage along the walls, which were covered by a great many conspicuous stains. As the crow dropped further, he saw there were also multiple breaches at ground level, and abundant footsteps in the coagulating dust. No one moved in the fort’s interior. The once-bustling town was quiet and still, with roofs caved in and rubble everywhere, the dead bountiful. The crow landed, others nearby squawking and hopping aside, and yet there was plenty for all.
‘The shadow has been here?’ Corlas knew the answer even as he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Vyasinth.
It was strange and unsettling for him to see this, for years ago he had saved the Mines from ruin …yet it seemed that ruin had found them anyway. He could not help but feel a tinge of loss at the grisly sight, despite the fact that he was no longer allied to the light.
‘It is natural, what you feel,’ said Vyasinth. ‘Do not worry. It does not diminish your commitment to our people.’
‘I know that,’ said Corlas. ‘I will never enjoy seeing soldiers dead. You imply I consider this a weakness in myself? I do not.’
Vyasinth’s sparks flickered gently. A small brown beetle wandered out of her hair, waggled its antennae and whirred away into the wood.
‘My boy did this,’ said Corlas, gesturing at the pool.
‘Last night,’ said the Lady. ‘Losara commands great magic, and the Kainordans did not stand against him long. I fear what will happen if they cannot subdue him, as they will have to if they’re to merge him with Bel.’
Corlas frowned. ‘It is strange,’ he said.
‘What is?’
‘Shadowdreamers have always wanted the Mines for the precious ore they produce, and the strategic value of the fort. Yet Losara has left no troops behind.’
‘He intends to sweep on, perhaps,’ said Vyasinth. ‘Keep his forces together, maintain his strength.’
She rose from her crouch and the water rippled, fragmenting the image.
‘I suppose,’ said Corlas, also rising, ‘we shall just have to pray that Bel finds a way to match him.’
Vyasinth laughed. ‘You pray then, Corlas, if it enlivens your spirit, and I shall hear,’ she said. ‘But who, I ask, can I pray to?’
•
As he made his way back to his clearing, Corlas began to pass the dwellings of his people – some opted to build their huts at ground level, and others preferred to be up in the trees. He came upon an enclave of makers going about their work – Sprites who were skilled at using the resources of the wood. One was pounding an animal hide with a rock, while behind him along branches hung the beginnings of tough leather jerkins that would soon go to outfit Corlas’s warriors. It was likely that the material all came from the same animal, for a maker could stretch a single skin over four or five garments, making the best use of the life that had been given. Two others, young women, chatted as they laid out leaves and bracken, which they would use to craft an odd and slightly lumpy brown–green cloth, the same kind that Corlas’s trousers were made from. When they saw him they ducked their heads shyly, and he nodded and smiled. It was a wonder that their old ways had been so easily recovered, he thought. When Vyasinth had awakened the Sprite blood in his veins, he’d remembered much of his people’s ancient past, and the scene before him was remarkably unchanged from how it might have appeared a thousand years ago.
He stilled as a familiar feeling stole over him, as if he had breathed a sweet scent that made him heady. A moment later her hand slipped around his waist.
‘There you are,’ she said. She held onto his belt and swung herself around in front of him, while he stood planted as firm as a tree trunk. He marvelled at the sight of her, as he so often did …her blond hair shining in a shaft of sunlight, her orange-flecked blue eyes as bright as jewels. They were the same eyes as those of his first wife, Mirrow, mother of his child – for Charla had been grown from a part of Mirrow’s soul reborn, though she did not remember her previous life.
‘Have you forgotten, my Lord of the Wood,’ she said, ‘that you requested your warriors assemble in the clearing at midday?’
‘Nay,’ said Corlas, and glanced at the sky. ‘Ah. Vyasinth summoned me. Evidently I have lost track of time.’
‘They are waiting.’ She leaned back further, increasing the pressure on his belt, and he chortled.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You may let go – I am no stubborn steer to be hauled about. I will come of my own accord.’
She released him with a grin, and together they went through the trees. Charla was energetic as usual, light on her feet, and hurled her spear ahead of them, into an approaching knothole. She was a warrior, that was for sure – something she did not have in common with Mirrow. Or maybe it was just that Mirrow had never needed to pick up arms.
‘Did the Lady have any important news?’ she asked.
‘It seems our …’ He bit his tongue, and cast her a sidelong glance. She plucked her spear from where it wavered, and inspected the tip. Our sons , he had been going to say. It was curious to think that, although his boys were actually older than her, in a way she was their mother. He knew they were not in agreement on that point, however, and had no wish to visit the argument again.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Naught to worry about,’ he said quickly.
Charla hefted the spear and flung it again. It missed the next knothole she’d been aiming at, sinking instead into the bark of the tree. She gave a small grimace.
‘They are not my sons,’ she said. ‘I never grew them in my belly, or suckled them at my breast, or even met them.’ She looked up at him with a hard expression.
‘No,’ he said.
‘I’m my own person,’ she told him sternly, just as Mirrow would have done, and he smiled.
‘What is that look for?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing.’
‘Likely,’ she said in a tone implying it was anything but.
‘At any rate,’ said Corlas, ‘from what the Lady has shown me, it seems Losara is on the march.’
The look in her eyes turned to interest. ‘Yes?’
‘Aye. And now he travels north …towards us.’
•
In the clearing outside his hut, Corlas walked along rows of Sprite warriors. They did not exactly stand to attention, like the more regimented soldiers of Kainordas, but that kind of conformity was not really the Sprite way. Perhaps he should have worried about it – without discipline, how could any commander hope to succeed? But he had learned that just because a warrior conversed with his neighbour, it did not mean he would not leap to obey orders once they were given.