More immediate problems came to the forefront of his mind. It had only been a day since the armies began their stand-off, yet it felt longer, and Bel seemed ready to remain where he was indeterminately. Why not? It cost the light little to defend – this was their land, where they were well supplied. Losara, on the other hand, was the invader. He needed to keep the momentum going, or supplies would dwindle and morale would suffer. The first step towards countering that, he felt to the bottom of his bones, was that his underlings understood why they did not simply stampede with the shadowmander and wipe out the Kainordans, just as they had done at the Shining Mines. Tyrellan counselled that he need not tell them anything, insisting that no commander in history had ever given his soldiers the full story …but Losara felt that sitting here in the baking sun while the enemy flaunted itself just there made the situation a little different. Yet how could he possibly trust all his folk with his secret?
He fell to shadow and went creeping out into the camp. Many were waking, and some, who had been watching during the night, were retiring. He found one such, a Vortharg, lying in the shade of a tree down by the river, and crept up to the doorstep of his slumbering mind.
Tentoy, the Vortharg’s name, was the first thing he learned. Losara hovered on the threshold, not seeking to enter Tentoy completely, merely to ask him questions that he would not later remember answering. A sample, he supposed, taken at random.
Tentoy , he said, how do you feel?
Hot. Tired.
How do you feel about the war?
It is good, if it brings peace. I wish the light would just leave us alone, but I know they won’t. I want it all dealt with, so I can go back to my caves, safe in the knowledge that no Kainordan wishes me harm.
Losara was surprised by the resigned determination in the Vortharg’s words.
How do you feel about the current situation?
Hot. Tired.
No , said Losara, I mean what do you think about the Shadowdreamer’s lack of action, when the Kainordans are right in front of him?
Mages always behave strangely. There’s no point trying to understand them.
And what would you do if you knew a secret that could potentially harm the dreamer?
Keep it , said Tentoy. I want him to win. I want to go back to my caves.
Losara was gladdened, and yet not wholly.
What if this happened? he asked.
He seeped Tentoy into a dream, in which the Vortharg was tied, stretched out on the ground, with ants crawling over him. Around him stood Kainordans, and one pricked Tentoy with his sword, a shallow but painful cut. Tentoy cried out, and Losara knew a moment of shame for testing his loyal subject so harshly.
‘What do you know?’ said the man.
‘Nothing!’ burbled Tentoy.
The man cut him again.
‘What do you know?’
The Vortharg gibbered, then gnashed his tusks defiantly.
‘Will you tell us the Shadowdreamer’s secret?’ the Varenkai said.
Would you, Tentoy? Losara pushed himself to keep the nightmare going, reminding himself that the pain he inflicted was not real.
There was hesitation in the Vortharg’s mind, distress and bewilderment.
You don’t know? said Losara.
I would try, for my family, to be strong, but …
There came an incoherent commotion, as Tentoy tried to know for himself what he would do in such a circumstance. For Losara his uncertainty was enough of an answer in itself, and he decided to let the soldier have his rest.
What to do.
Tentoy was just one of many. Losara spread out, not as shadow but mentally. Here on the plane of thought, he could sense thousands of minds around him like a great, low chattering. He could speak to them all at once, if he wished, and for a moment he was tempted to do so …but he still had no way to bind his secret to them.
Bind my secret to them , he thought.
Weavers knew how to do such a thing.
Perhaps the dream had come for a reason.
He sought Roma, found him just stepping out of his own black tent next to Losara’s, and materialised.
Roma bowed his head. ‘Lord Shadowdreamer.’
‘Magus Supreme,’ acknowledged Losara. ‘I will be away this morning for a time. I leave you in charge.’
‘As you command.’
As Losara sped away towards Fenvarrow, he thought about how Roma had not asked him where he was going, or for how long, or why. Perhaps Losara should have more faith in his people’s loyalty, and their ability to take orders without reasons. But then again Roma was special, and not all were as strong, or as moulded, as he.
One day, Roma , he thought, I will build you that grand house in Afei Edres. Hopefully one day soon.
Then he was across the border, heading towards the Bentemoth Mountains. He did not tarry, and a blink later the ice-topped peaks in the distance were towering above him. He slipped around them, pooling to a stop at the edge of the Thin Soup.
Weaver , he sent out, loud and clear in the psychic landscape. I ask that you visit me.
If the creature was close enough to have heard him, it did not appear. He moved on, trying to discover the place he had seen in the dream. The flat mud and trees were blandly uniform, and it began to seem something of a hopeless exercise.
Weaver , he tried from a new place. The Shadowdreamer seeks your counsel. Please attend.
Losara sat down to watch the mire. It was a bleak place, and he wondered why any creature with choice would make its home here.
‘The bugs,’ tweeted a voice.
There was a fluttering of wings, and a small bird flew out of the trees to land on the ground before him. Its feathers were blue and purple, with a breast of silver. Like all weavers, it was a colourful and striking creature indeed.
‘Sorry?’ said Losara.
‘The bugs are good,’ remarked the bird. ‘Plenty of fat ones in the mud, and plenty in the trees. Dragonflies too, though you can’t eat them all the time. Too bitter.’ She gave a chirp of amusement. ‘Well, you asked.’
‘I suppose I did.’
‘There’s a couple of us here, actually,’ said the bird. ‘Though the other doesn’t want to talk to you. Grouchy fellow, right from the start. So you’re the Shadowdreamer at the moment, are you?’
‘Yes. I’m called Losara.’
‘Eosene,’ said the weaver.
Losara stared at her in surprise. Eosene had been one of the three weavers who had sworn to serve Kryzante, the first Shadowdreamer. They had done so in exchange for the souls of all their kind being converted to shadow, thus hiding them from their maker, Arkus – but that bargain had ended with Kryzante’s death.
‘Nice head of hair you have there,’ observed Eosene, cocking her head at him.
‘I thank you for heeding my call,’ said Losara. ‘I realise you did not have to.’
‘Well,’ said Eosene, ‘you fight Arkus, do you not? I have a vested interest in him suffering a tragic defeat.’
‘You are aware of the battle in the north?’
‘Certainly,’ said Eosene. ‘A little bird told me all about it.’
Losara gave a smile. ‘Perhaps you are not aware of the latest moments, however?’
‘True enough.’
Losara nodded. ‘I have a need,’ he said. ‘I wish to bind my soldiers to the keeping of a secret.’
Eosene gave a soft twitter. ‘I do like secrets.’
‘I wonder if you and I can strike a bargain, then,’ said Losara. ‘I will tell you my secret and, in exchange, you will never tell anyone else.’