Shadowheart lotr-2 Page 2

  'The exception being?' asked Simmac.

  'That Lyanna died and so we will never know if she could have used her power for the good of us all.'

  'Of course,' said Simmac, as if the fact had slipped his mind.

  'Dordover wanted her dead the moment she escaped them,' said Hirad quietly. 'What was your desire, I wonder?'

  Heryst looked at him squarely. 'Hirad, with all due respect, we are not here to debate Lystern's flawed alliance with Dordover. Ry Darrick is on trial here.' He allowed himself a brief smile. 'But since you have been desperate to speak ever since we began, perhaps now is the time, if Darrick is done?'

  'For now,' said Darrick. 'Though I reserve the right to speak again.'

  'Granted,' said Heryst. 'Hirad, the floor is yours.'

  The barbarian stood, feeling the cold stares of the law mages gauging him.

  'It's really simple,' he said. 'The events Darrick set going saved the elves from extinction. He saved so many lives by joining us. Still not quite enough, though.'

  The Unknown squeezed his forearm. The Raven still felt it. They'd been too late to save Ilkar, the elf who had been with The Raven since the start. An elf they all loved and who, ironically, had feared watching them all grow old and die around him.

  'And how exactly do you work that out?' asked Simmac, expression all but a sneer.

  Hirad felt the almost overwhelming urge to cross the table and flatten his long nose. He took a deep breath.

  'Because,' he said carefully, 'had he not organised the defence of the Al-Drechar's house on Herendeneth; and had he not fought with The Raven and alongside Xetesk in that house against the Dordovan and Black Wing invasion, not just Lyanna, but all the Al-Drechar would have been dead. And with them, as it turned out, would have died every elf. Only they had the knowledge to rebind the statue of Yniss and halt the plague.'

  'I fail to see-' began Simmac.

  'And where would your forces be now without the elves, eh?' Hirad raised his voice, hearing it echo into the rafters. 'Without their swords and their magic to back you and Dordover against Xetesk? Answer me that and keep sneering.' Hirad almost sat then but there was one other thing to say.

  'Ry Darrick is one of the bravest men I have ever met. He is also without question the most moral and upright. Everything he does is for the benefit of Balaia, and that is something we should all be striving for, don't you agree? Removing him would remove one of our most potent weapons from the fight that is still to come. And believe me, we are on your side. The side that would see balance restored to our land.

  'Remove him and you make The Raven your enemy. And you don't want that.'

  Hirad sat. He felt his pulse thudding in his neck and was glad of the weathered tan on his face; he was sure he was flushed.

  'Well done, Hirad,' said The Unknown.

  Darrick turned his head and nodded fractionally.

  'Does anyone else wish to speak?' asked Heryst.

  'Hirad speaks for us all,' said The Unknown. 'Darrick is Raven. He was instrumental in saving the elven race and his honour and courage are beyond question. If you find Darrick guilty without redress, you must ask yourselves exactly what it is you are actually finding him guilty of.'

  'Desertion,' said Metsas, the word snapping from his mouth. 'From Lysternan lines.'

  'Or perhaps of doing his duty by his country.'

  'If you believe that,' said Metsas.

  'Oh, I have no doubt,' said The Unknown. 'But it is you who sit in judgement.'

  'For the record,' said Heryst, 'and excuse the slight contradiction but I am both Darrick's judge and commanding officer, I must make mention of Darrick's unblemished record of courage and service to the city and college of Lystern. To list every event would take longer than we have, and that in itself should inform us of his character. They are all well documented but three stand out as shining examples of his loyalty, strength and ability.

  'The sorties into Understone Pass in the years before the pass fell. How much more damaging would the Wesmen invasion have been a decade later had we lost the pass earlier?

  'The battle at Parve six years ago. Darrick led his cavalry into the heart of Wesmen power to break their lines and allow The Raven through. Without him, would Denser have been able to cast Dawn-thief and pierce the hearts of the Wytch Lords?

  'Finally, the Wesmen invasion. Darrick's command of the four-college force was critical in delaying the Wesmen long enough for help, in the form of the Kaan dragons, to arrive on the closing of the Noonshade rip.

  'Within those commands, acts of personal heroism and sacrifice were played out. In his time as Lystern's general, Darrick has, without question, been central to saving Balaia.'

  Hirad could see the law mages' expressions. Their disdain for what they had heard was plain. These were mages of the old school, which taught that allegiance to Lystern and a love of Balaia were not necessarily linked. And Darrick had chosen Balaia.

  'Are we done?' asked Simmac. Darrick and Heryst both nodded. 'Good.' The elderly mage snapped his fingers and a young woman detached herself from the clerks. 'The SoundShield, please.'

  She nodded and began to cast. Her hands described a dome above the heads of the five who sat in judgement. She mouthed silently, cupped her hands and spoke a single command word, completing the simple spell.

  'How long will it take?' asked Hirad, watching Metsas begin to speak and seeing him flick his hand at The Raven. Heryst frowned and shook his head as he replied.

  'Not long, I fear,' said Darrick. 'I've only the one ally inside that bubble of silence.'

  'But at least he's head mage,' said Hirad.

  ‘Isuspect that means little in the middle of a war that half of Heryst's council thinks Lystern should not be fighting,' said Denser.

  'True,' said Darrick.

  'You think Heryst may sacrifice you as a sop to the opposition faction?' asked The Unknown.

  'It's possible,' said Darrick. 'He's not as confident as I remember him.'

  'I don't see it,' said Erienne. 'Surely the salvation of the elves is enough.'

  'To save my life, possibly. To free me, I don't know.'

  To his left, Hirad heard a growl. He glanced across to where Thraun sat, eyes fixed on the law mages and Heryst. Thraun's face was pinched and angry, lips drawn back over his teeth.

  'Blind men,' said Thraun.

  'I know what you mean,' said Hirad.

  They fell silent, watching the law council argue Darrick's fate while the tension soared in the great hall. Hirad felt sweat on his palms and, next to him, Darrick at last showed some emotion. His face was lined with anxiety beneath his tight brown curly hair and his fists clenched and unclenched by his sides. He swallowed hard and glanced round at Hirad, his smile terribly weak, his eyes small and scared.

  Time stretched. The Raven couldn't look at each other, their gazes instead locked on the scene being played out in silence across the table. Metsas and Simmac had already revealed their hands and Heryst's allegiance was clear. It rested on the two who had not spoken a word during the hearing. Where would their heads and hearts fall?

  The quiet dragged at Hirad's ears while he watched Heryst reply in obvious anger. His hand slapped the table, vibrations carrying around its circumference. The Lord Elder Mage jabbed a finger at Metsas and gestured at the two undecided mages. The law mage winced and shrank back in his chair but his expression hardly changed. Heryst asked a simple question. Metsas shook his head, Simmac made no move and the other two nodded.

  'The decision is made on majority.' Heryst's voice was unnaturally loud, puncturing the silence once the SoundShield had dispersed.

  If it was possible, Darrick stood a little straighter, his hands still once again.

  'The findings of the law council hearing in the matter of Lystern's charges of desertion and cowardice against former general Darrick are as follows.'

  Heryst's face was carefully neutral but his eyes couldn't disguise his discomfort. Hirad clutched the arms of his
chair. He felt suddenly very hot and wished for just a morsel of Darrick's bearing.

  'The charge of cowardice is dismissed. The charge of desertion, of leaving the men in your command to face a foe of unknown strength and of subsequently leaving the scene of battle to take up arms against an ally is upheld.

  'The usual penalty for desertion is death without appeal. But these are not usual times. And there is no doubting your abilities as swordsman, horseman and leader of men.'

  Lord Metsas cleared his throat but a sharp glance from Heryst stilled any further interruption.

  'It is the decision of this court, therefore, that you, Ry Darrick, be redrafted into the Lysternan cavalry, there to serve under Commander Izack in the war against Xetesk. Your rank will be reduced to cavalryman second class but, as you are aware, the Lysternan armed forces have always rewarded clear ability with swift promotion, often in the field.

  'You will leave for the east gates front at dawn tomorrow. Do you have anything to say now sentence is passed?'

  Hirad didn't know what to think. Relief that Darrick wasn't to be executed was diluted with the knowledge he was to be taken from The Raven. And on the back of so much recent loss, Hirad couldn't shift the notion that somehow The Raven were being forced to share his punishment.

  For a few moments, Darrick was still while the chamber awaited his reaction. It was not one that any of them expected.

  'I accept the decision but not the punishment,' he said.

  Lord Metsas snorted. 'You speak as if you have a choice.'

  'I do,' said Darrick. 'I can choose to agree to your punishment or remain true to what I believe.'

  Hirad was sure everyone could hear his heart beating in his chest, the silence was that pronounced. Heryst was completely confused; his face had fallen and he looked as if he was about to burst into tears. Erienne was shaking her head but The Unknown and Thraun were nodding. Hirad was with them.

  'And what exactly is it that you believe?' Lord Metsas asked.

  'That Balaia needs me with The Raven far more than it does at Xetesk's east gates. That we can right the balance if we're left to act and the allies hold Xetesk at her walls. That my return to the Lysternan cavalry is a sham.

  'Gentlemen, you have to understand me. I am Raven. And that is all I will ever be now until the day I die.'

  Across the table, Metsas and Simmac relaxed into their chairs. Heryst closed his eyes briefly and leant forwards, fingers kneading his forehead.

  'Then I have no option,' he said. 'I've done everything I can for you. Ry Darrick, if you refuse to join the cavalry, the sentence of this court can only be one thing. Death.'

  Chapter 2

  The silence that had fallen over the largely rebuilt College of Julatsa had lasted for so long that now no one dared speak lest he or she voiced the fears they all harboured. None of them had suffered, for which the Gods had to be thanked, because none of them had been casting at the time.

  But they had all been touched so deeply it had taken their breath and their strength, and had drawn them all to the gaping hole in the middle of the college. It was the one thing they couldn't put right because there just weren't enough of them, but it was the one thing they needed because without it the college would not function as a fully formed magical entity.

  The Heart.

  Buried to prevent its destruction by Wesmen and now lost until enough Julatsans could be gathered to raise it and allow its pulse to beat through the college once again.

  They had thought the Heart's burial would merely cause it to lie dormant but that was not the case. And it was this dread realisation that had drawn them all, few that they were, to the jagged crater. Three hundred feet below and covered in impenetrable black, lay the Heart.

  Burying it had toppled the Tower which had been built above it, entombing those few brave souls who had sacrificed themselves to save the college from ultimate destruction. Reversing the burial was far more difficult and the forty mages standing around the crater simply weren't enough.

  Pheone stood chewing her lip, trying desperately to frame words of hope for them all, but her heart was as heavy as the pit in front of her was deep. They'd clung to the belief that though it was dormant, the Heart still kept their magic alive. This had given them the faith that one day, however long it took, they would be able to return their college to its former glory. Not now.

  'It's dying, isn't it?' Pheone said, her voice carrying across the courtyard. No one answered her though the shifting of feet told her they'd all heard her.

  What in all the hells was she supposed to do? They'd all turned to her when Ilkar had left to do The Raven's work three seasons ago. Expected her to take up where he had left off. Like it was that easy.

  Gods, how she missed him. His strength, his touch, his kiss. Not a day went by that she didn't look to the gates, wishing for him to ride through them. He'd know what to do, where to find the mages they needed to raise the Heart before it was too late. Perhaps he would still come. But news was so hard to come by with so few Julatsans in contact with the college and she'd heard nothing of his whereabouts for over a season. And every day without word chipped at her belief a little more.

  'That's not possible,' said Lempaar at last. The oldest mage amongst them, he was an elf who had stayed clear of a disease that had claimed ten of his race and a fifth of the already small mage population. Only now was news filtering through that the disease had afflicted tens of thousands of elves on both continents before apparently running its course.

  'We all felt it, Lempaar,' said Pheone. 'We all know what it means.'

  It had been relatively short-lived. An abyss had opened up in each one of them, giving them a glimpse of an existence without the touch of mana. It had been terrifying. A void of unfathomable depth, of unbridgeable loss.

  Pheone let her gaze travel slowly across the assembly. They all, like her, were trying desperately to argue themselves out of the obvious. Every teaching any of them had received on the subject had been clear. The Heart, they said, was the centre of Julatsan power but was not the portal between them and mana in itself. Losing it would be a terribly weakening blow but it would not end Julatsan magic, just make it more difficult.

  So said the teachings.

  'But they're wrong,' whispered Pheone.

  'Who?' asked Lempaar.

  'Everyone who ever taught us anything about the nature of Julatsan magic'

  They were all looking at her. Waiting for her to tell them what to do next. It would have been funny had they not been facing catastrophe. She was unelected, leader only because she, like Ilkar, had a flair for organisation. It had been easy when there was so much work to do. But now the building and repair was done, bar the Tower, and they were facing a future that made weak roofs and dangerous structures insignificant issues. Now they faced losing the ability to interact with the mana spectrum. Julatsa was dying.

  'We have to think straight,' Pheone said, trying to force her own thoughts into some semblance of order. 'There are steps we can take and we can't afford to give up. Not after all we've achieved.

  'Lempaar, could you take as many people as you need and scour what texts we have for any hint of what is going on in the Heart? Maybe we can, I don't know, feed it or revive it in some way. Any-thing to prolong its life, if indeed it is the Heart that is the problem.

  'Buraad, Massentii, Tegereen, we need a clear plan to get out our plea for help. Every Julatsan mage must have felt this. Every one of them must come here to help us raise the Heart.'

  'We need so many,' said a voice from across the crater.

  'Then we'd better start getting them here now,' replied Pheone.

  'Why do you think we'll be more successful this time than before? We've asked, you know we have. So few answered. And now there's a war going on out there.' It was the same voice, from a mage who looked like they all must feel. Washed out. Lost.

  ‘Iknow. But we have to succeed. And at least the war has brought elves here from Calaius, though
the Gods only know why. They are all Julatsan-trained and we have to make them understand what is at stake. What other choice do we have than to try? The alternative is unthinkable.

  'Listen, we have to stand strong, support each other. Anyone not included in the library detail, probe the mana. Let's find out exactly how it feels to construct spells now. Can you shape as easily? That sort of thing. But be careful. We can't afford to lose anyone to a backfire.

  'Is everyone clear?' Silence. 'Good, then let's get cracking. We'll talk again at dusk.'

  *

  Tessaya, Lord of the Paleon tribes of the Wesmen, looked down at the flowerbuds bursting through the earth at his feet, a smile unbidden on his lips. All around him, his village buzzed with activity. Water was being drawn from the wells, farmers were sharpening tools ready for the planting, dwellings were being re-thatched and strengthened. He could smell a freshness in the air. It was the smell of new life. It was the smell of hope, and hope was something his people craved.

  Six years after the wars that had seen so many of the menfolk die fighting in the east, the mortal enemies of the Wesmen had sent more misery to haunt them, fractured as they were. To Tessaya it had appeared to be weather the like of which none had experienced in living memory. But his Shamen had smelled magic in the gales, the rain storms, the lightning that burned and in the earth that heaved and sucked the living down to hell.

  Day after day they had been struck, and when the storms eased, they were roasted in hot suns. The crops had drowned or withered, the livestock had not bred and when winter had come, though the elements had ceased their battering, it was clear many would die.

  Deep in the Heartlands, Tessaya had entrenched himself, calling surviving lords to him and pleading for a pooling of all they had. If, indeed, this was the work of the eastern mages, then their aim was to wipe out the Wesmen forever. Only by working together could they survive and come back stronger.