Ashes and Dust
Vyasinth paused just above the canopy, looking out over fields at the great battle in the distance. Dots floated above a swelling horde as Graka whirled and Zyvanix swarmed.
May your people destroy each other , she sent her adversaries, while your attention remains here.
Then she let the protective barriers drop. The narrowing streams feeding them fell apart, spilling their contents back into the wood. Her people needed their magic again, and defence of the wood itself no longer mattered. Those who had sought entry had already gained it.
Quickly she headed back to the clearing, where she was stilled by what she saw. The Stone lay in the open air, and two mages staggered around it – a burnt skeleton too thin for the robe that whipped around him, and a Varenkai with chunks torn from her. The skeleton conjured, and shadows of shadowmanders raced across the ground towards the woman. She gestured at the air, and translucent eagles dived down and carried the shadowmanders away.
Where was Corlas?
She flowed into the hut and there he lay, slumped against one wall, beginning to groan.
Corlas!
He grunted, pushed himself back from the wall, and cast his eyes around blearily. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘at least there’s no tree through the hut this time.’
The fight is not over! Get to your feet!
He glanced to where she swirled above him, and blinked slowly. When his eyes opened fully, they were hard. ‘Of course, my Lady. Where is my boy?’
Outside.
Corlas went to the window to stare out at the carnage.
‘How can I intervene? My power has left me.’
Our strength is greatly sapped by Arkus and Assedrynn, but there is still some remaining.
His finger twitched, and she saw him draw on the power she had returned.
‘There is some,’ he said.
He went to the door.
•
Tyrellan crammed further into the shade between the branch he crouched on and the tree’s trunk. As Elessa and Fazel fought each other in the clearing, he had to admit there was something odd about being here again. Was it a good sign that things had come full circle like this? And if so, a good sign for whom? His practical mind clashed with his faith. There was some kind of unseen force at play, of that he was sure – but was it beyond his control to influence the outcome?
Above the crackle of magic, he heard sounds approaching below, and tensed.
‘There!’ said Fahren.
‘Looks like fun,’ came Battu’s voice.
•
Corlas stepped out of his hut as a cloud moved above, for a moment casting him half in shadow and half in light. He leaned on the doorframe, head still spinning. Some of his power went to the bruise on his brow, tightening it up and ebbing away the pain. More trickled into him from his surrounds: no longer the dry stream bed he had lapped at before, yet not the torrent needed to quench his thirst either.
He did not know what to do about Fazel and the increasingly bloody Elessa. They seemed certain, however, about what to do with each other, and Corlas saw no reason to intervene until one of them was destroyed.
We do not need the Stone in our very hands , sent Vyasinth. As long as it stays within the wood, there’s no place they can hide it where I cannot touch him, once he emerges.
You are certain he will emerge? said Corlas.
Nothing is certain.
Comforting. He grunted. He damn well better emerge , he thought, or I will destroy Fahren and Battu, and all who helped them.
Surprisingly, at that point both targets of his enmity stepped into the clearing. The Throne held up a hand for caution, while beside him Battu wore an expression somewhere between grimace and grin. And then, further up near the coiled root, Charla appeared with two others – he recognised Jaya, and there was a Mire Pixie too. His brain fuzzed as he tried to comprehend these two strange groups, old alliances seemingly fallen away. Fahren and Charla saw each other at the same time, and instantly their wards sprang up. Battu backed away, unable to erect his own ward while he stood so close to Fahren.
Battu. Oh, how this man had dogged him through life. Images cascaded through Corlas’s mind: the Shining Mines shaking around him as blue whirlpools boiled in the sky …cold steel sliding into his side as beyond, on a hill, the Shadowdreamer rained down destruction …the night Battu had sent his minions to capture his child …Losara being taken, far away where Corlas could never go, never find him …the weaver bird, Iassia, spinning his lies and chirping merrily at his own treachery …Battu, Battu, Battu.
Everywhere things were happening, yet his sight narrowed to this man, this twisted, baleful man. Blood rushed in his ears, and the core of his being howled for Battu’s head. He took a step forward, shooting out his hands, and Battu’s eyes flickered to see the vortex coming. A shadow ward showed the slightest sign of coming to be …then the vortex lifted Battu from his feet, sent him soaring out of the clearing with limbs trailing.
Not enough! Corlas cursed. His reserves were still low, and it had consumed most of his power to fire off that one spell. It would be dangerous to try another, yet he felt sure that Battu still lived.
•
Tyrellan saw Battu go flying and, quick as a cat, was on his feet. He ran along the branch and leaped for the next tree, sinking his claws into the trunk. Hand over hand he worked his way around, until his feet found another branch. There, below, Battu had landed upon a soft cushioning of undergrowth. At the least he would be winded, but hopefully he was also stunned from the foreign magic that had hit him. Tyrellan knew he might have only moments.
He drew his sword, clutched the hilt with both hands, and dropped head-first from the branch. As he fell he held the blade before him, leading him towards the ground. Battu opened unfocused eyes, which rolled to see Tyrellan plummeting. He frowned uncomprehendingly, tried to raise a hand, but was slow to do so as his coordination momentarily failed him. The sword, with all of Tyrellan’s weight behind it, drove through his chest with a crunch and into the earth beneath. Battu’s back tried to arch but he was pinned fast, his legs kicking out straight.
Tyrellan balanced for a moment on the end of the sword, his lean muscles bulging, his agile body still horizontal.
‘Greetings, my lord.’
Battu wheezed through ruined lungs. Tyrellan let his legs curl in, flipping down gently by Battu’s side. Battu’s mouth opened and closed as if trying to capture escaping words, the fingers of his prostrate arms dancing across the ground as though he might find something there to save him.
‘Seems all your betrayal,’ said Tyrellan, ‘has amounted to nothing.’
With jerky little movements Battu turned his head, to stare in horror at Tyrellan.
Tyrellan raised a rock, and brought it down on Battu’s face.
•
Like a sudden awakening, Battu came back to himself. He floated as if in sluggish water, turned over to see his body beneath. Beside it, Tyrellan looked up as if he could see him, while the world around faded to grey. Realisation dawned.
The First Slave had killed him.
Anger came, but sparked only briefly as he felt an unmistakable pull, and knew the Great Well of Assedrynn awaited. Then it was only fear he felt, fear of the fate he’d tried so hard to avoid.
No , he tried to shout, clawing at the air as if he could swim back to his body. But this was no journey in the Shadowdream, and there was nowhere to travel save the ultimate destination. The great risk he’d taken had been stymied by bad luck and an opportunistic goblin, and the Dark Gods would be waiting for him to account for his sins. The most he could hope for now was that the light would win, and the Great Well of Assedrynn would soon be broken, releasing him from whatever torment they saw fit to visit on him.