“Marik of Gundar’s blood and bone shall rule all four in one alone.” That was the prophecy made more than a hundred years gone by a great seer of the demon-masters, before Marik’s father’s father was even thought of. I have studied long, and I am certain that it means that Marik’s only child, this Lanen, is destined to rule the Four Kingdoms of Kolmar, and so she will. At my side. Or under my foot. Depending on how you look at it. The line before that is “When the lost ones from the past live and more in light of the sun”—I am certain that that line refers to the restoring of those the Demonlord created nearly five thousand years since. That has come to pass, entirely without my assistance, but two days since. The prophecy is taking shape, and I will do all I may to help it come into truth, as long as Marik’s blood and bone is bent to my will.
And with the Kantri gone and the Demonlord bound to her bidding and she to mine—well, it was never said how long she would reign. Accidents do happen.
Maran
I shared a late breakfast with Will of Rowanbeck. Nice lad. He told me what Lanen and her other half had done up in the High Field a few days since. I’d seen part of it in the Farseer, but I’d had no way of knowing what the true effect had been on the little dragons. The Lesser Kindred, he called them. He told me about raising Salera from a kit, and how he had loved her as a child even before she had been transformed. It was all intriguing, to say the least of it. I was looking forward to speaking with this creature.
Will didn’t know when Salera would rejoin him, but said she had told him it would be this day sometime. He headed off to speak with Shikrar and Kédra. Dragon mad, that one. I excused myself and said I would join them later.
Once he was gone I sought out the nearest Servants of the Lady. It wasn’t easy to find them; it seems that all the activity the night before had spooked nearly everyone. This pair, a husband and wife, were only a little better than useless. I was worried that such people could not truly pass on Mother Shia’s forgiveness, but She is merciful and considers the intent rather than the messenger. I felt the usual deep-seated pain and then the release as the Raksha-trace was removed. I had never found anyone who could tell me why it hurt so much, despite making me feel a great deal better at a different level. I had begun to wonder if it were possible to—if perhaps I was losing a bit of my soul whenever I used the Farseer. It wouldn’t surprise me anymore. I left a donation, said a fervent prayer, and went off to look for the others.
They weren’t hard to find. They were in the centre of a circle of folk standing around a bloody great dragon sat in the ruins of what had been the College of Mages.
Well, whatever else happened, this was going to be worth seeing.
Rella
I keep hoping that people are going to surprise me. I don’t know why I bother. Lanen is the only one in years who has managed to do so. Oh, and Jamie once or twice.
I had had a few hours’ sleep, no more, when Hygel chapped at my door. “Mistress Relleda, you need to come. Now,” he said quietly.
I knew that tone of voice, and in any case I’d slept in my clothes. When I opened the door and saw his expression I started moving. “Rouse Jamie if he’s not wakened yet. Where do I need to be?”
“The College,” replied Hygel. “I’ll follow as soon as I may.”
“Bring chélan!” I called as I headed out the door.
I ran down the deserted streets to find a large crowd gathering around Shikrar. Kédra was gone—just as well, really. I wished yet again that the damn great things had facial expressions; those faceplates of theirs looked like concealing masks. On some, like young Salera, they were beautiful. On Shikrar, who was the colour of old bronze, it just looked—impassive. Unconcerned. Otherworldly. Other.
I fought my way through a half circle, several deep, of the curious and the disbelieving, giving way at the front to the angry.
Oh, Hells.
“By my name I give you my oath, I did as little damage as I could, but there was the Lord of the Fifth Hell to fight,” said Shikrar, his voice calm and reasonable. He lay, seemingly at ease, amid the ruin of the courtyard, with no one to stand beside him. Where in all the Hells were Lanen and Varien?
“What was a demon doing here?” shouted an old woman. “This is a blessed place, or it was until you got here!”
“Daughter, I did not summon the creature,” said Shikrar gently. I shivered. His voice at least was much in his favour, so musical, so expressive. “The Rakshasa are our life-enemies, there is a hatred between us that goes deep in the blood. I fought and defeated it. Why do you aim your anger at me?”
“Goddess help us, the College is in ruins and all the Mages dead! Do you say that one demon did all that, with no help from you?” cried a large man at the front of the—well, yes, might as well call it a mob.
“They have not all perished,” replied Shikrar. “One of the Magistri lives, and some score of younglings escaped as well.”
“So where are they then? If you saved them, shouldn’t they be here defending you?”
I had opened my mouth to speak when a loud voice behind me called out, “If you will seek them out at The Brewer’s Arms, I expect you’ll find them fast asleep.” Jamie strode through the crowd. “It was near dawn when all was done. If you will only hear truth from one of your own then seek out Magister Rikard. The only innkeeper with the courage not to bolt his doors was Hygel, and he took us all in last night. Or this morning, depending on how you look at it.”
“Who are you, then?” asked a voice from the crowd.
“Nobody,” Jamie replied, grinning like a wolf. It wasn’t a comforting sight. “I just happened to be there when all the fighting was going on last night.” He bared a few more teeth. “Oddly enough, I don’t recall seeing any of you.”
Jamie, you idiot, that’s not going to help, I thought, wincing as a low growl seemed to wander of its own accord among the crowd.
“That damned dragon killed the Magistri and destroyed the College, and there it sits in the midst of its handiwork!” cried one, pointing at Shikrar. At those words, a murmur of assent ran through the mob, and it began to surge forward. What they thought they were going to do to a dragon I can’t imagine, but when you get that many angry people together, good sense is the first thing to leave.
“Foolishness,” said Shikrar, sounding slightly amused and seeming to ignore the movement towards him. He was still lying down. Well done, Shikrar, I thought, realising that he had chosen his position carefully. You’re a touch less intimidating like that, and you look relaxed. Good thinking. “At least allow me to be bright enough to fly away, having caused such destruction, lest the good folk of the town come in the morning to avenge my evil deeds upon my hide.”
“Nonsense!” cried a loud voice from the back, and “Make way for Magister Rikard!” This sparked a swift-rushing murmur of “It’s a Magister, one of them survived, it’s Rikard, he’ll tell us the truth.”
Ah, Hygel, you old fox, I thought. Small wonder you’re one of my best agents. Good man, excellent man, as Shia hears me I’ll see you promoted for this.
The crowd parted and a double column of bleary-eyed student mages marched towards Shikrar, Magister Rikard at the rear. When they reached the open space before the crowd, the little group divided itself, one column to either side, Magister Rikard remaining in the centre.
“It cheers my heart to see so many of you come to offer your thanks to our preserver,” he said as loudly as he could. “Were it not for the dragon Shikrar here, we would be in even worse case this morning than we are.”
“What happened, Magister?” called a voice, and all the others chimed in asking the same.
“It was Archimage Berys,” said Rikard loudly, at which silence fell like a leaden blanket.
“He was killed?” cried the voice, dangerously angry now.
“No, more’s the pity,” said Rikard. “He was the cause of the destruction.”
“You’ve always hated Berys,” accused the same voice as a short p
owerful man with grey-shot brown hair stepped forward. He continued. “We’ve all known it for years. Why should we believe you?”
“Because it’s bloody true!” shouted one of the students. He was tall and gangling in the way of young men, his close-clipped red hair blazing in the morning sun. He strode towards the loud objector, until Rikard motioned him to stop short. “Who are you, then?” asked the lad aggressively. “I didn’t see you here last night, when we were damn nigh killed.”
Oh, lad, don’t take your lessons in tact from Jamie, I thought, cringing. You’ll never make a friend again.
“I’m Tolmas, stonemason and builder,” replied the man hotly, “and I’ve a family, young man. I kept them safe last night. Fighting demons is your work, not mine.”
“Fighting demons is work for all of us, Master Tolmas,” said Shikrar quietly.
“Except for Berys,” snapped Rickard. “He’s the one that called that abomination down on us.”
“How do you know?” replied Tolmas, undeterred. “And how did you escape and all? We thought all the Magistri were killed.”
“I am the last,” said Rickard, his face stony. “To answer your question, Tolmas, I escaped because I was suspicious, and when I saw the armed guards at the doors, ere ever the Archimage arrived, I ran. I am a rank coward but I live. Are you answered?”
I winced for him. He was a straight arrow, sure enough, but I didn’t see the need for truth that stark. Maybe I could give him lying lessons.
“Then how do you know this was all Berys’s doing?” snarled Tolmas, speaking still for the crowd.
“He doesn’t. I do,” said the tall lad.
“Aye, and who in all the Hells are you anyroad?” demanded Tolmas.
I heard rather than saw a slight movement at the back of the crowd. Will, Vilkas, and Aral had arrived, and behind them Varien and Lanen were moving swiftly towards us.
“M’name’s Chalmik,” said the lad sullenly. I couldn’t blame him. Never mind sullen, I’d have been furious if some loudmouth had been annoying me after I’d fought for my life, but I think he was too weary for it. “I’ve been at the College for four years. I was to take my warrant exams next month. Wasn’t doing too badly either.” He glanced behind him and said laconically, “Not too many warrants going to come out of there, now, are there?”
“Was it really Berys?” asked a new voice. “Did you see him?” This was an older woman. Her voice trembled, poor soul. They had all trusted him.
“Yes, it was really Berys, him that was the Archimage.” Chalmik’s voice rose and he pitched it to carry to the back of the crowd. I was impressed. “He showed up wearing robes with demon symbols on ’em, asked us students if we wanted to side with him and the demons, and when we refused he called up his little pets and threw them at us while he laughed,” said Chalmik. “I’ve never seen such coldhearted evil in my life. Oh, it was Berys alright, in the flesh and twice as ugly. And if I ever see him again, by the Lady’s hand I swear I’ll kill him.”
Jamie murmured, “Get in line, lad,” but very, very quietly.
“What did the dragon have to do with it?” someone cried. Oh, well, yes, it might have been me. Caught up in the moment. As it were.
The corner of Chalmik’s eye shivered, but he never did so crass a thing as wink. “We were all gathered in the main hall, trying to get through doors that had been locked with sorcery. We were about to choose whether we’d rather be cooked in the fire or eaten raw by the demon when some voice the size of a mountain calls out to stand away and we saw this huge claw come through the wood like it was so much paper.” He grinned back at Shikrar. “We thought it was another demon at first, but it pulled the doors off and let us out. If we’d been in there another minute, we’d all have died. My word to the Lady on it. He saved us.”
A middle-aged woman moved out of the main crowd then. She was short and stout, but with a bright eye and a kind, worried, very pale face. It didn’t take a Healer to realise that she was in shock. Ignoring Magister Rikard, she walked straight up to Chalmik and laid her hand on his arm. “My daughter is a student. She’s done really well in her Healer’s work. Magistra Erthik said she’d be a fine worker with women and babes.” The woman glanced along the scant faces of the score of students, her eyes seeking desperately what her heart knew was not there. “I don’t see her. Her name’s Elishbet. Please—please—where are the others? Where is my daughter?”
Chalmik, that great gawk of an awkward young man, leaned down and took the woman’s hands in his, calmly. “She’s gone to the Goddess, Mother,” he said, gazing straight into her desolate eyes. “I’m so terribly sorry.” His voice shook then, but only for an instant. “Elishbet was a friend of mine. You should be proud of her. She was a damn fine Healer.”
The woman nodded once to him, stood motionless for a moment, then went over to Shikrar. Chalmik followed, at a discreet distance. So did we all.
Shikrar regarded her gravely. She stared at him. “You killed the demon, did you?”
“I did, Lady,” he said simply.
“You’re not even scratched.”
“I was badly wounded,” he answered, hearing the accusation under the statement. “Two of the students honoured me and healed me last night. If you care to look, you will find the new scale on my back and my right flank. It is lighter in colour than the rest.”
He shifted himself so that she could see. She went right up to him and touched the new scale, noting the extent of it. It covered half his back, but at that moment it was her bravery that wrung my heart. “That’s a right bad wound, sure enough. But perhaps you don’t feel pain like we do.”
“Despite the healing I feel it even now, Lady, I assure you,” he said, keeping his voice level. “If the students had not been so kind to me I would be in agony for many moons to come, at the very best.”
She stared up at him. “They had to heal you so you could kill the thing?”
“No. I killed it first.”
“But you didn’t kill it before it killed all the other Mages,” she said, anger rising with every word. “You didn’t kill it before it murdered my daughter, damn you!” She balled up her fists and struck out at him as hard as she could, again and again, putting her back into it, beating out her pain on that dark bronze hide. You could see that he barely felt it.
The crowd shivered but Shikrar ignored them. He lowered his great head to the level of her eyes, slowly, so as not to frighten her, and he spoke as gently as he might and still be heard.
“Lady, my only child still lives, so I cannot know your pain: but I swear on my soul that I destroyed the Raksha the instant I could. I am not a god.” At that she stopped striking him and looked up, into those huge eyes so near her own. Shikrar’s red soulgem blazed in the morning light. “I am not some beast out of legend, with magical powers to change the way things are. I am a creature of this world, like you, flesh and blood. I can fail, like you. I did what I could. If I could turn back time and save every single soul who died last night, I would do it, were it to cost my own life—but I cannot, and such words are empty. I grieve for your loss, Lady, as I do for all those whose loved ones are gone to the Winds, but I am not responsible for it. You must look to Berys for that.”
She stared at him still, not even seeming to notice that she was starting to shake. Chalmik moved up to stand beside her. “Mother, come, let me help you, you’re in shock—”
“I’m not your mother,” she snapped. “My child is dead.” Her anger gave her just enough strength to turn away from Shikrar, but at her first step her knees gave way. Chalmik caught her as if he had been expecting it and half led, half carried her gently away.
That was the turning point. It was as if a string had been cut, or a spell released. The crowd let out its collective breath. Those who had no one to look for drifted away. Of the rest, some few went to speak with Magister Rikard, but most moved forlornly towards the ruins of the College and started to shift the rubble.
It is such a human
thing. Even when we think all hope is gone we still look, not able to understand such devastation and death, not willing to let such a terrible disaster be real all at once. We look, just in case there might be someone trapped, someone escaped by some miracle, who still needs our help, every slightest noise shattering through us as hope tries to return in the face of terrible tragedy, as we listen for what we know will not come—but we cannot help it. It is in our bones. Move stone. Shift rubble. Dig down to ground level. Look for survivors.
Look for bodies.
Shikrar, watching three men trying to shift a large lump of wall, rose with a sigh and went to help.
We had all been willing to do our part, but Shikrar did most of the work. Vil and Aral were gone, with Will as witness, to make their peace with their former comrades and Magister Rikard. The rest of us took a little time to rest and speak together. Jamie came over to join Varien, Lanen, and me, and Lanen stepped forward into Jamie’s waiting arms.
Lanen
“Jamie,” I whispered in his ear as we held each other tight.
“Lanen, my girl,” rasped Jamie, stretching up to kiss my cheek. “Don’t you ever do that again!”
I laughed, as he knew I would, my arms about him. “I swear, I’ll avoid demon-masters in future!”
“Just you do that, fool child,” he said, moving back a little and feigning a cuff at my head. He kept hold of one of my hands, though. “I thought I’d taught you better than that.”
“I was fighting magic, after all,” I said in mock self-defence. “But it’s true. I owe you my life again.” My hand gripped his and found an answering pressure the equal of mine. “Goddess, Jamie,” I said, shivering, “I was sure we were dead—”