Trained to keep it safe from the enemy, should he be caught , thought Fahren. But he was as skilled as any Overseer at discovering things hidden in minds, and so he persevered. There , he saw it, just a glimpse for a moment, a conversation had between Querrus and Bel. It receded into other threads, which tried to hide it again amongst them. Desperately, Fahren grasped at it and held on fast. As he wrenched, there was a snapping, as the threads that entangled it came loose too. He shook the memory free, knowing he was damaging other parts of the mind, but he could not stop now – it was done already, he had come too far. Finally, he held the memory alone, and dissolved it away until it was no longer a part of Querrus. He withdrew to his body once again, fearful of what injury he had done to the mage.
On the ground, Querrus’s eyes were open, yet unseeing.
Oh, Arkus.
‘Can you hear me?’ said Fahren. He snapped his fingers in front of Querrus’s face, but the mage did not blink.
Fahren sat back, horrified by what he had done.
The secret had been buried too deeply.
Clash
As dawn heated the air inside the tent, Losara rubbed his eyes, wishing for the argument to cease. Across the bedding, an incensed pixie was crouched on all fours as if about to pounce. Actually, he did not put it past her.
‘You are, aren’t you?’ she cried. ‘You’re still thinking about it!’
‘Lalenda,’ he said, ‘I have to consider all the options. I do not care for this war, it taxes my heart –’
‘Assedrynn eat your heart! It does not matter how you feel as long as your people are safe! Remember your dream …remember how Fenvarrow will fall if you do not prevail.’
‘I do,’ he sighed. ‘I remember it well. And that is why we both must accept that this may be necessary. I am not talking about giving up.’
Shouts arose in the camp and Losara cocked an ear, wondering what was going on this time. Then the shadow-shape of Roma rose in the corner of the tent.
‘My lord,’ he said excitedly, looming in. ‘Forgive the intrusion but – they are coming!’
‘What?’ said Losara.
‘The Kainordans – they are coming!’
He and Lalenda exchanged wide-eyed looks.
‘Go!’ she said.
‘I love you,’ he told her. Then he turned to shadow and sped after Roma. Around him the army was alive with movement, readily stirring from the stagnation of waiting. A thundering sounded in the distance, and as Losara appeared at the front line between Roma and Tyrellan, he saw that the Kainordan army was indeed charging towards them.
‘Archers make ready!’ shouted Tyrellan. ‘Graka to formations! Catapults set!’ He noticed Losara. ‘Shadowdreamer! They advance despite the mander.’
Out on the field, the creature was running back and forth hectically, desperate to get at the masses who pounded towards it – was Bel amongst them? Did his other call his bluff, and expect him to move the mander out of the way, as he had done outside Fort Tria?
Leading the charge was a figure he recognised – Fahren, his vibrant blond hair streaming behind as he bounced up and down on horseback, his beard over his shoulder, the Auriel a bright spark on his brow as he raised a staff over his head. Four others rode alongside him, and Losara took them in with varying degrees of interest.
A tall man wearing a silver breastplate rode upon a large grey horse, its tack glinting with metal studs. From his hip he pulled an ornate broadsword, which most would need two hands to wield, but which he held aloft with one as he roared. Gerent Brahl.
Next to Brahl was a man in full armour, gold and resplendent in the sun, his head hidden by a heavy helmet – could that be Bel? Why would he hide his face, especially if he wanted Losara to withdraw the mander?
There was also a fair young mage in a white Overseer’s dress who seemed vaguely familiar somehow, and yet Losara could not place her.
Finally, black-robed and pale on a black horse, his meaty hands large on the reins, his lips pulled back with fixed rabidity, was Battu. Losara knew from his travels with Bel that Battu had done the unthinkable and joined the light, but it was still a strange thing to see his old teacher riding with these others. How strong his hate must be.
‘If they keep coming,’ said Tyrellan, ‘the mander is going to tear them to pieces.’
As the group neared the shadowmander, they and the entire army behind them began to slow – all but the female mage, who broke out ahead of the others.
‘Who is that?’ said Roma.
Losara didn’t know what to tell him.
•
Although she could not feel the wind whipping her hair, Elessa Lanclara knew a moment of exhilaration. Beneath her the horse moved powerfully, speeding her on towards the great scarlet monster that chomped and champed in anticipation. The others she rode with drew away, leaving her to spearhead the charge. As she neared the line worn clear in the grass by the mander’s endless pacing, she hauled on the reins and her horse reared, its hooves working the air in front of the mander’s snapping face. Enraged by the proximity of light-born prey, the mander slammed itself soundlessly against its barrier, only making a thud when it bounced back to the ground.
‘Greetings, my pretty,’ said Elessa. ‘I believe you have something that belongs to me.’
Ignoring the frenzy of the creature, she reached out a hand and quested forth. For a moment the mander did not even register as being there – it was legacies upon legacies, tiny bits of lives departed, not hers to touch. Then, in the core of the creature, as if it floated there alone, she sensed something small and precious, like a diamond, that called to her. As she reached for it, her very being began to thrum, her soul aching for togetherness. It came towards her easily, though she had a sense of things breaking, as if she pulled it through cobwebs. The mander opened its mouth, its whole body quaking, and from out of it floated an incandescent wisp. It flitted lazily over the grass towards her, rising on the breeze, and landed on her outstretched hand in the shape of a butterfly. For a moment she stared at it in wonder.
‘There,’ she murmured. ‘Such a little thing …can you really be the cause of so much trouble?’
The butterfly spread its wings as it sank slowly into her skin. Perhaps she had imagined that drawing the last piece of her soul into herself would enliven her somehow, make her more complete …yet she felt no grand changes taking place. Whatever kernel of herself she had left behind when she’d died, it was too small to make any difference upon return.
Meanwhile the mander’s unblinking eyes fixed on her with great malevolence. It wound forward, a little unsteadily, and Elessa’s horse stepped skittishly backwards. As the creature hissed, a hairline crack appeared, running from the tip of its snout, back up between its eyes …then it put its front claw down beyond the line of its old perimeter.
‘What …’ Elessa muttered, and then realised – she had drawn the butterfly back into herself, thus severing the creature’s connection to Tyrellan. He was no longer the anchor for the creature – she was.
‘Stay back!’ she shouted at the others, urging her horse about. The mander leaped, and as its limbs stretched out more cracks appeared along them, crisscrossing its body and letting slivers of daylight shine through. She tried to give her horse a burst of speed, but it was too late. A claw smashed across her side, knocking her from the saddle. To her intensified hearing there came a muffled rip – and, as she tumbled, she realised the old dagger wound in her side had finally torn open. It would still be hidden under her illusion of a mortal woman, but she knew …the blow that had killed her had returned.