All around he heard screams. He couldn’t protect the entire group, the young men who had never fought before today. They fought bravely, yet every time Bo turned it seemed another had fallen, and their group became smaller and smaller.

  With a shock he saw Basile’s lifeless face in the mud, then they were past.

  ‘I see the flag of Gaillac!’ Darcel suddenly yelled, ‘over there!’

  Bo glanced over and saw Manunian soldiers fighting. Relief flooded him. He looked back to Darcel and saw only two other soldiers with him. Darriel was gone too. When had he left them?

  ‘Lakashan! You still live!’

  Beside him suddenly was the old warrior. Bo was too tired to speak. What was there to say?

  A glint of light caught his eye and looked up to see a sword swinging down towards him. He lifted his sword, suddenly too heavy, when another sword flashed in front of him.

  ‘Can’t have you dying now, foreigner!’ the old man snarled as he lunged forward and felled Bo’s attacker.

  Bo felt a renewed surge of energy and lifted his sword high again. The battle wasn’t over yet.

  ‘Draw!’

  Julietta leant her strength to the link, as Ariane drew on the connected mages and funnelled magic back through them. She felt magic building from far, and Ariane drawing on it, squashing the enemy spell before it formed. There was a slight tremor through the link, gentler than Julietta expected. The Lakashan mages first attack was drained and diffused.

  ‘Hold!’

  Julietta and the other mages went back to the waiting phase. Linking magic allowed one sorceress to draw and direct more magic than she could alone as the mages worked as one. It was a technique borrowed from the school of wizardry but was still beneficial to sorcerers as one person could only draw so much magic through them at once, even with the aid of magical implements, like the gloves Julietta wore.

  Julietta waited expectantly for Ariane to signal a counterattack. It would be unusual for either side to succeed in an attack, though for forms sake they should at least try. When the Lakashan mages attacked and released their magic, the Manunian mages drew on it, diffusing the attack and preventing it. The Lakashan mages would do the same thing when they tried. The two forces essentially neutralized each other, leaving all the fighting to the soldiers. She was unaccountably disappointed the Lakashan’s hadn’t used any spirits. The magic so far had been unoriginal and unexciting.

  It’s not supposed to be exciting! She reminded herself firmly. We could at least put some effort in though...

  Down below where the soldiers fought she could make out no details. All she could see was waves of movement and hear the distant din of battle. She couldn’t tell if they were winning or losing.

  ‘Draw!’ Ariane called again.

  This time the attack was more powerful, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle. Again, Ariane sent them back into holding phase.

  Something bright caught her eye and she glanced off in the direction of Cadel. Something flickered and then flames engulfed him. Horrified, it took Julietta a second to realise he was using his magic. He hadn’t drawn anything in, but of course he was a wizard, not a sorcerer.

  Fire arced from him out across the field and crashed into the fighting armies. The fires around Cadel grew into a burning pillar that reached into the sky. Fire filled the air, so hot, Julietta could feel it even though Cadel was far from her. A constant barrage pelted the armies below, so constant it seemed like a continuous stream.

  Her attention was distracted by magic gathering on the other side of the battlefield. The Lakashan mages were drawing in magic, trying to diffuse Cadel’s power. Julietta expected Cadel’s fires to go out, but they didn’t even flicker. Amazed and disturbed at the same time, Julietta simply watched the apparently unstoppable attack.

  And then in one moment the flames snuffed out, leaving Cadel standing upon bare and scorched earth. She watched as he slowly began walking over, his jacket over one arm, his boots held in his other hand.

  When he finally reached her she saw he was pale and tired, his face haggard, though he walked straight-backed. She thought he’d been dressed inappropriately before! She hadn’t noticed him get undressed and flushed at the thought.

  ‘Are you alright?’ she asked, though what she really wanted to ask was how did you do that?! The Lakashan mages should have been able to draw on his magic once he released it and prevent his attack. How had he, one man, managed to completely subvert them?

  He glanced up, his gaze dull. ‘Tired. Sleep.’

  ‘Perhaps you should sit down. I can... I can call someone to come help you back to the camp.’

  ‘That’s hardly fitting behaviour for an Imperial Wizard.’

  ‘And walking around in your under clothes is?’

  ‘Anything else would get burnt.’ Cadel patted his shirt pocket and Julietta saw some folded paper sticking out. She glanced down and saw some paper sticking out of his pants too.

  ‘Letters from Emerré. I would never let them burn. Excuse me, I see you’re very busy here.’

  Flushing furiously, Julietta didn’t respond and simply turned and watched him slowly make his way back to the camp. It was a good ten minute walk to where the mages had left their horses, and then perhaps a half-hours ride back to the camp. She wondered if he would be alright on his own.

  Julietta had no time to think any more of it as Ariane called ‘draw!’

  The Lakashan mages attack was stronger than anything before. This time, they did not let up. They kept pounding away, though as expected, they were unsuccessful in breaking through their defence.

  The fight wore on. Bo fought by the side of the old warrior. He lost count of the men he killed. He had never been so tired, yet there was no choice but to fight or die.

  ‘You’re doing well, for an old man!’ Bo shouted.

  ‘I’m not nearly as old as you, Lakashan!’

  ‘Why, I’m not even close to fifty!’

  ‘Not even close? I would have thought you’d left it long behind!’

  Bo stepped forward and knocked the feet from under a man about to attack the warrior.

  ‘How thoughtful of you, Lakashan! And I was just about to get to him too!’

  ‘Consider it my thanks, old man.’

  ‘By my count I’ve saved your life eight times today, I think that hardly counts!’

  ‘Eight? I had thought only four, and this would be the fifth time I’ve rescued you!’

  ‘Rescued?’ the old man laughed.

  The two fought as the day dragged by. They moved forward and back so many times Bo couldn’t tell if the army had advanced or retreated. He’d lost site of Darcel some time ago but he dearly hoped the young boy was still alive.

  Bo let out a low sigh as he spotted a man on horseback approaching through the Lakashan ranks. The enemy soldiers rallied around the man and fought with renewed vigor. Bo and the old man were pushed back.

  Bo kept his eyes on the lord, who from his perch atop his horse was felling men left and right. Suddenly, Bo was faced with the lord’s sword.

  He ducked beneath and rolled under the horse. He had no time to feel sorry for the horse and sliced at its belly. He barely escaped being crushed as the creature screamed in pain and toppled to the ground. There was a horrible crash as the lord was trapped beneath the dying animal. His leg was crushed, he was no longer a threat, so Bo turned away. He found himself trapped by the angry Lakashan soldiers.

  Men fell around him, but more took their place. He felt nicks and cuts on his arms as swords came far too close. He had only to survive for a few moments though as a group of Manunian soldiers smashed into the Lakashans. Bo broke free and spotted the old man fighting with the men who had rescued him, whether that had been their goal or not.

  The old man fought off one man, then another. Every moment Bo was getting closer, planning to fall in with the group. Then the old man stumbled, just for a moment. A Lakashan soldier lunged forward, stabbing him in the belly.

  Bo found himself roaring as he ran forward and downed the old man’s attacker.

  ‘Old man, can you stand?’ he yelled as he turned to defend him from more soldiers. The waves of Lakashan soldiers were endless.

  ‘Old man!’ he glanced over his shoulder and saw him clutching at his belly, struggling to remain free of the trampling feet. Bo leant down and grabbed him under his arm.

  ‘You need two hands for that monstrosity of yours.’ he gasped.

  ‘You might need two hands!’

  ‘Leave me, Lakashan, this wound ain’t going to be pretty.’

  ‘There are sorcerers with the army.’

  ‘Not for the likes of me there aren’t.’ and he shuddered. ‘Besides,’ he gasped, ‘I don’t think I have the time...’

  ‘Give me your sword.’ Bo said, ‘it’s half the size of mine!’

  ‘Men w-with skill don’t need... don’t need....’

  Bo sheathed his sword in the scabbard on his back. His sword had never felt so heavy. He took the old man’s short sword from his limp hands.

  The sword felt tiny in his hands, it had been a long time since he’d fought with a short sword. He had to fight for each step, supporting the old man with one arm.

  ‘We’re almost there.’ he gasped, not knowing if it was true. Manunian soldiers surged around them. The fighting lessened, but he could move no faster. ‘Almost there.’

  He glanced down and saw the old man’s head lolling. He stopped. ‘Old man?’ he called. He dropped the borrowed sword, ‘old man?’

  His jerkin was stained with blood, his face was grey.

  Bo stood still for a moment, a rock in the sea of men.

  I didn’t even know his name.

  Later that day, as the sun was setting, the Lakashan army called the retreat. Night was falling, so the Manunian army did not pursue them.

  Julietta was heartened at the victory and when they returned to the camp it was to find the soldiers celebrating. Julietta did not pause to listen to their congratulations and talk of firestorms, she headed straight to the mages section of the camp to look for Cadel’s tent. He was not hard to find; she merely had to follow Ariane and most of the other mages.

  Ariane, pale and thin lipped, called loudly at Cadel’s closed tent, apparently too disturbed at his display earlier to care if he was sleeping, ‘Master Vayles, are you in there?’

  A grumpy looking Cadel poked his head out the flap. ‘What do you want?!’ he growled. ‘I’m trying to sleep!’

  ‘How did you do that?!’

  ‘Do what?’ he snapped.

  ‘You successfully attacked the Lakashan army! How?’

  ‘Basic wizardry. Don’t they teach you sorcerers anything? Any wizard worthy of the name knows how to protect his magic from greedy sorcerers. Now, unlike you, I only use my own magic, and I used most of it, so I am tired, and I’m going to sleep. If you disturb me again, I’ll burn your face off. Now go away!’ and he disappeared back inside the tent.

  Ariane stood perfectly still, her face white.

  ‘Those Imperial Wizards are really something,’ someone said quietly.

  ‘...I’m glad we’re not fighting Walmon...’

  ‘...he’s terrifying...’

  ‘...no wonder they sent him all the way out here...’

  Ariane swallowed and slowly turned around. ‘Alright, everyone, back to your tents. We’ve had a long day, and now we should all get some rest.’

  Intrigued more than anything, Julietta slowly returned to her tent, the problem turning over in her mind. It must be because he uses only his own magic, sorcerers use power from outside themselves and so it is equally easy for another mage to take it as it is for the sorcerer to use it in the first place. She entered her tent and pulled out a notebook, eagerly scribbling down theories.

  Later that night when the battle was over and sounds of celebrations filled the night, Bo sat silently by the fire. Darcel Forrest sat across from him, his arm and shoulder bandaged. Earlier Darcel had celebrated with the men and compared war wounds, now marks of honour. Now the young man was silent.

  Bo looked up at him, at his young face. Not even half the warrior of the old man, yet he lives. Bo was glad the boy was alive, yet still it felt like some sort of cruel joke. How capricious war could be, how could this child survive, when a seasoned warrior had been cut down?

  Darcel looked up, and Bo noticed his eyes were wet. Bo thought then of all the young men who were missing from Lord Pruitt’s army. The battle had not been kind to their group. I didn’t know all of their names either...

  He wondered how many men had died today. He decided he didn’t want to know. He’d carried the old man’s body back to the camp. Then he’d returned to the fighting. He could only hope he’d be buried properly, unlike the thousands left on the Plains of Dartham.

  ‘Your people killed my friends.’ Darcel said suddenly, his voice surprising Bo in the quiet of their campfire.

  ‘Killed some of my friends too.’

  ‘What friends did you have here?!’ he demanded.

  ‘An old man.’ he murmured.

  ‘Amaury, Darriel and Basile are all dead because of you!’

  Bo didn’t answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the fire and let Darcel’s grief wash over him. He’d saved Darcel’s life today. He hadn’t been able to save the lives of his friends. Or of the old man. Perhaps when the sharp edge of his grief had faded, Darcel would turn his ire elsewhere. But for now, if he wanted to shout at Bo, so be it.

  Then Bo thought of Jacques Dulère and the dungeons under Manus. Suddenly he could sit here no longer, and he couldn’t bear the brunt of the boy’s grief. He stood and left for his bedroll.

  He didn’t sleep that night.

  CHAPTER 42

  15 Mai, 1353

  Idris listened with only half an ear as the young men and women residing in the Imperial Palace of Iskerashdo chatted over lunch. The sons and daughters of the nobility of Lakasha dined out in the Eagle Courtyard, situated atop a tower and with a magnificent view of the city of Iskerashdo and the land surrounding Ashdo mountain. It was chilly, this high up, outside and in late autumn, and servants tended braziers set up at key points around the courtyard. Vine covered balustrades girded the courtyard, and at this time of year the delicate pink flowers blazed against the dark green leaves.

  The Imperial Palace below was displayed in all its symmetrical glory. A red dome, surmounted by a golden phoenix, marked the highest point of the central section. The palace fell away in four layers of gold and red rooftops. The central section was surrounded by an east and west wing, and six towers. The towers rose nearly double the height of the central red dome, delicate spires of pale stone, marble and gold. Four of the towers were surmounted by pointed rooves that pierced the sky. The other two, opposite each other, were open at the top. The Eagle Courtyard was atop one of these open towers, the Tower of the North Wind.

  Idris liked the palace. Before gaining his current position, he’d visited many palaces, as well as plenty of less august places. The Imperial Palace of Iskerashdo was his favourite. It had a symmetry of form that was pleasing to the eye. The red and gold of Lakasha stood out vividly against the pale stone. It was a beautiful palace, untarnished by unplanned, ungainly additions like so many other ancient strongholds. That was not to say the palace had never changed. It had been planned centuries ago, to emerge like a beautiful flower. Each addition had been part of the original plan, and had encroached on the vast imperial gardens, which had been set aside for that final purpose. At each stage of its construction it had been a thing of careful symmetry. It was not yet finished, though it was so big it was hard to imagine anyone ever needing more space. If it was needed though, the plans were there. Idris was sorry he would never see it finished. Within the Hall of Works were several paintings of how it had looked over the years, and how it might someday look, centuries from now. He’d spent a lot of time there over the years.

  The young men and women currently enjoying the Eagle Courtyard did not appreciate, Idris was sure, how difficult it was to create a palace like the one they now enjoyed.

  Idris laughed when he had to, and threw in a witty response here and there, but he paid little attention to his dining companions. None of these young people knew anything of note. Even if they had an interest in the affairs of their parents, the nature of the war meant that their parents were more careful than usual in revealing any information. Sarkis, who had not left his room in the palace in over a month, had taught most of them. The others... some rough handling, a few threats, and then having the Emperor himself announce his displeasure with the entire family, followed by confinement to the palace... even if the lords did not fully appreciate the nature of shadow magic, they were acutely aware of what falling into disfavour with the Emperor would mean for their family.

  Idris’ eye lingered on a young woman sitting at the other end of the table. The poor girl was the daughter of Kaysar mer Sarmad, Western Commander, a commoner who caught the eye of the High Commander, Kateb Mer Tufayl and rose through the ranks due to his blessing. Sarmad was a skilled swordsman and gifted strategist, and deserving of his position, but that didn’t stop the young lords and ladies from teasing his daughter mercilessly.

  Idris returned his thoughts to the problem at hand; Yaquba Citadel. The fortress had been thoroughly examined by his agents and Tahmore Mer Yaquba had insisted nothing was missing. Clearly though, a shadow mage had been there. So for what purpose? The Yaqubas were not a particularly important family, and certainly not vital to the war effort, though Salamah was fond of their hunting grounds. Why would Mance-Jolune send a shadow mage there? His only thought was perhaps it was in preparation for the hunting season, when the Emperor would visit, though he didn’t always visit and it seemed a tenuous occurrence for a shadow mage to bother with.