shouted, stumbling towards the entrance. He felt something grip him in the enveloping dark, felt the sickening pull of his life draining out of him. He gritted his fangs and tore free, managing to fall just outside the archway and into the dull light of day. Behind him the shadows rose to the roof, blotting all visibility into the chamber.
‘Sir!’ came the voice of a guard outside. ‘Are you all right?’
Enrig lay gasping, and felt bile rising. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, yet in his heart he knew what it was. The screaming in the chamber did not last; it was soon replaced by the sound of bodies hitting the floor. Cries started in the levels above, as the death-bringing shadows continued to rise.
‘What is that ?’ said the guard, staring into the rippling darkness.
‘Skygrip is being purged,’ Enrig managed, then let his head fall back on hard stone. He wasn’t sure that he would live.
•
Losara froze, sensing something was very wrong.
Battu rose from Refectu, the last few hardened patches of stone falling from his skin. ‘If you want to stop this,’ he said, ‘I suggest you take the throne.’
‘What have you done?’
‘Activated a failsafe,’ said Battu, ‘created in case Skygrip is ever breached by attackers. From the top of Skygrip the Shadowdreamer can, as a last defence, unleash a wave of power to snuff out all life inside the castle. Supposed to wait, of course, until there’s no other option, and hopefully until a good number of the enemy has entered the castle . . . but I have not used it the way Skygrip’s designers intended.’ He bared his teeth. ‘You have already sensed that I concede, Shadowdreamer. If you wish to save your precious friends, I suggest you sit down . Or perhaps you’d like to waste more time fighting, as your precious pixie writhes her last moments on the floor?’
Battu edged towards the long window. Losara could see he intended to escape, but there was no time to stop him . He dissolved to shadow and reappeared on the throne. As his flesh became real against the stone, he gasped.
‘May your rule be short and painful,’ said Battu, and leaped through the window.
Losara did not hear. He had always felt connected to the castle, and in fact blamed its immersive nature for a youth spent half-asleep. Now, as hidden forces aligned themselves with him, he was no longer connected to the castle – the castle was connected to him. Suddenly and at once, he could feel the extent of the shadow’s influence, the vastness of the Cloud above, the sweeping lands upon which it fell. It was not detailed, more an impression, as if he lay at the centre of a colossal heart, listening to it beat. He felt something like ecstasy, diagnosing it too calmly to really experience it. It did not last. Death rose through the levels beneath him, drowning souls in a rising dark. He felt queasy, as if one of his limbs was poisoned and rotting away. Battu was malicious indeed to have engineered this spiteful revenge. The people of Skygrip had done him no wrong, and now they fell in droves.
‘Master,’ cried Tyrellan, sprinting into the throne room. ‘Something is –’
‘Quiet,’ said Losara, his voice resonant. He took firm hold of the throne and closed his eyes. The air around him grew dark as he collected power, then cleared as he released an almighty command silently into the walls. It hurtled downwards, where it clashed with Battu’s order and smashed the purging dark to fading motes.
Losara opened his eyes. ‘I shall return,’ he said, and fell to shadow.
•
Battu plummeted, slowed only by his flapping cloak. He felt disoriented – his connection to the castle, to his lands, the entrenched and deep awareness of all his domain, had been abruptly ripped away. For the first time in a long time, he was contained completely within himself. He felt like a spider that had fallen off its web. But there was no time to wallow, not with the ground getting closer at
‘Sir!’ came the voice of a guard outside. ‘Are you all right?’
Enrig lay gasping, and felt bile rising. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, yet in his heart he knew what it was. The screaming in the chamber did not last; it was soon replaced by the sound of bodies hitting the floor. Cries started in the levels above, as the death-bringing shadows continued to rise.
‘What is that ?’ said the guard, staring into the rippling darkness.
‘Skygrip is being purged,’ Enrig managed, then let his head fall back on hard stone. He wasn’t sure that he would live.
•
Losara froze, sensing something was very wrong.
Battu rose from Refectu, the last few hardened patches of stone falling from his skin. ‘If you want to stop this,’ he said, ‘I suggest you take the throne.’
‘What have you done?’
‘Activated a failsafe,’ said Battu, ‘created in case Skygrip is ever breached by attackers. From the top of Skygrip the Shadowdreamer can, as a last defence, unleash a wave of power to snuff out all life inside the castle. Supposed to wait, of course, until there’s no other option, and hopefully until a good number of the enemy has entered the castle . . . but I have not used it the way Skygrip’s designers intended.’ He bared his teeth. ‘You have already sensed that I concede, Shadowdreamer. If you wish to save your precious friends, I suggest you sit down . Or perhaps you’d like to waste more time fighting, as your precious pixie writhes her last moments on the floor?’
Battu edged towards the long window. Losara could see he intended to escape, but there was no time to stop him . He dissolved to shadow and reappeared on the throne. As his flesh became real against the stone, he gasped.
‘May your rule be short and painful,’ said Battu, and leaped through the window.
Losara did not hear. He had always felt connected to the castle, and in fact blamed its immersive nature for a youth spent half-asleep. Now, as hidden forces aligned themselves with him, he was no longer connected to the castle – the castle was connected to him. Suddenly and at once, he could feel the extent of the shadow’s influence, the vastness of the Cloud above, the sweeping lands upon which it fell. It was not detailed, more an impression, as if he lay at the centre of a colossal heart, listening to it beat. He felt something like ecstasy, diagnosing it too calmly to really experience it. It did not last. Death rose through the levels beneath him, drowning souls in a rising dark. He felt queasy, as if one of his limbs was poisoned and rotting away. Battu was malicious indeed to have engineered this spiteful revenge. The people of Skygrip had done him no wrong, and now they fell in droves.
‘Master,’ cried Tyrellan, sprinting into the throne room. ‘Something is –’
‘Quiet,’ said Losara, his voice resonant. He took firm hold of the throne and closed his eyes. The air around him grew dark as he collected power, then cleared as he released an almighty command silently into the walls. It hurtled downwards, where it clashed with Battu’s order and smashed the purging dark to fading motes.
Losara opened his eyes. ‘I shall return,’ he said, and fell to shadow.
•
Battu plummeted, slowed only by his flapping cloak. He felt disoriented – his connection to the castle, to his lands, the entrenched and deep awareness of all his domain, had been abruptly ripped away. For the first time in a long time, he was contained completely within himself. He felt like a spider that had fallen off its web. But there was no time to wallow, not with the ground getting closer at
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