Tol took a step forwards, and the swordpoint jerked upwards, tip a few feet from his nose. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Morafin said. ‘You’ll not live to find out. Here, Kraven, is where you will die.’
She took a step towards him, and Tol moved backwards to his right, forcing the nun to turn towards him.
‘This time your luck won’t save you,’ Morafin hissed. She sprang forward, blade scything down at Tol’s neck.
He dived to his right, felt the breeze as the sword missed. Then he was rolling, coming up to his feet and pivoting towards her. He was between her and the house now, the heat of it slapping his back. Tol jumped back as Morafin slashed again, the sword missing him by a hair’s breadth.
Damn, she’s fast.
He had a dagger, six inches of steel, and it was already in his hand. Not, though, a good weapon for a sword fight. The abbot had spoken of such things often and in great deal: take a knife to a sword fight and you might as well cut your own throat. Tol tried to scour his brain for some nugget of wisdom from the old man, but nothing he could recall was of help. Most of Father Michael’s advice had consisted of don’t get into that situation, which wasn’t particularly helpful at this moment.
She struck again, and this time Tol felt the sword graze his chest as he stumbled back, cursing his inattention.
The determined set to Morafin’s jaw had faded, and she jabbed lazily again, a demonic grin rising.
‘I’m faster now,’ she crowed. ‘Stronger, too.’
Her sword lashed out, two quick strikes as a demonstration, and Tol stumbled back again. He could sense the heat now, and smoke was drifting through the doorway, dark tendrils dancing round them as he was forced back, closer to the blaze.
‘It healed me,’ Morafin said, ‘gave me a chance for justice. You can’t defeat me, Kraven.’ She thrust at Tol again, sauntering forward as he fell back, dark smoke wrapping itself around him like a blanket.
Another lunge, and Tol jumped away, stopping as his back slammed into the blistering heat of the outer wall. There’s nowhere else to go.
Finally, Morafin allowed herself a smile. The sword carved wandering circles in the air around him, taunting him.
‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ Morafin said.
Tol saw her muscles tense, the prequel to a lunge. Time slowed in his last precious heartbeats. Morafin stood frozen, smoke billowing around her.
The sword tip dropped as something bright cut through the smoke. Morafin’s head toppled from her shoulders. Her body hung in the smoke for a moment, then dropped like a stone.
Behind the corpse Tol saw a small, angry figure. She was staring at the steel in her hands with a slightly perplexed look on her face.
‘Stetch was right,’ Katarina said. ‘Cutting their head off seems to work for people as well as demons.’
Tol stepped round the corpse and hugged her fiercely. ‘I love you,’ he said. He turned and looked into the doorway of his childhood home. ‘Mother’s inside.’ Tol dived into the billowing smoke.
*
The fireside was the only part of the cottage that seemed to be untouched by the blaze. Fallen thatch had spread ashes across the floor of every room, leaving a dark layer of charred flakes like a carpet. The chimney, old, weathered stone, still stood, and a small square of unburnt thatch was clumped around its apex, a couple of feet of roof still stubbornly attached to the wooden frame surrounding the chimney.
A few flakes of soot speckled the hearth, ringed by a border of square stones set into the floor.
‘Steven?’
Katarina was coughing, the fire’s embers still pumping out thick smoke.
‘We have to go,’ she said.
She looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping. Her body lay across the hearth, legs and feet stretching beyond the hearth’s border and dusted with a fine layer of soot and ash. Only the small circle of blood on her dress dared to break the illusion of restful slumber.
Tol felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘Steven.’
His mother’s right arm was stretched out, like she was reaching for something.
Tol traced the line of her arm. Her fingertips brushed the one stone in the hearth’s border that didn’t quite sit flush with the floor.
‘Look to the hearth,’ he muttered.
Katarina coughed. ‘Steven, we have to leave before the rest of the building falls down.’
He found himself humming the song, the same one she used to sing at night. ‘Look to the hearth,’ he sang quietly. ‘When all is lost, and you can’t find your way, look to the hearth.’
He had grown up hearing the lullaby, not realising for years that it wasn’t one sung to all children, but something peculiar to his family.
‘Steven?’ Katarina was tugging his shoulder, trying to rouse him.
He leaned over his mother’s body, and pried loose the frustrating stone that never quite sat right, that had caught his toe and sent him sprawling across the floor many times.
It came away easily, revealing a small recess below. Tol reached in, his fingers gently lifting a cloth-wrapped package. He unfolded the cloth, revealing a small, leather-bound book. ‘Kur Kraven’s journal,’ he coughed, handing the package over to Katarina. ‘The original one.’
‘We have to go,’ Katarina coughed, her voice hoarse.
Tol nodded, and gently slipped his hands under his mother’s body, rising to his feet with her lifeless body in his arms.
‘Go,’ he croaked.
*
The sky was red as the sun dipped down below the horizon, casting a faint glow in the western sky that seemed to brush the treetops surrounding the glade and its lone grave.
Katarina clung tightly to Tol’s hand, the pair of them standing over his mother’s burial place. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. A small gesture, but it was enough to remind Tol that this wasn’t just an ending, but the beginning of a new, different adventure.
‘I wish I’d never found that book,’ Tol said, his voice carrying on the salty breeze. ‘The truth hasn’t done me any good. It’s brought nothing but death; my entire family’s gone.’ He stared at the mound. ‘Gone.’
Katarina wrenched the hand she held, spinning him round to face her. His face spun straight into the path of her open hand. Tol grunted in surprise, blinking away spots from the force behind the blow.
‘Never say that!’ The same hand that she had slapped him with returned to his cheek slowly, this time resting against it. ‘If not for that silly book,’ Katarina said, ‘we would never have met. The truth brought us together, my love. Never regret that.’
Tol rubbed his cheek with his free hand. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’
Her face softened, a playful smile on her lips. ‘I know.’
‘There’s nothing here for me now,’ Tol said. ‘We can live in Jhanhar, if that’s what you want.’
‘No.’ Katarina caressed his cheek with her thumb. ‘You were right to want to move away from Sudalra. If we lived close to Father, he would find some way to draw you into the Sworn’s business.’ She let her hand fall to her side. ‘Taking up your father’s role and serving the Duke of Havak is a good choice.’ She glanced around the small clearing. ‘And I suppose this island is rather nice, if less temperate than I might have wished.’
Tol smiled, and squeezed her hand. ‘Your father will be wondering what’s happened to us.’
Katarina smiled. ‘Perhaps I should muss up my hair and we can give him something to think about?’
Tol groaned. ‘Please, no. He’s not my biggest admirer as it is.’
‘I told you,’ she said, ‘he’s a—’
‘Teddy bear,’ Tol finished. ‘Yes, you mentioned it once or twice.’ He kissed her on the cheek and picked up his sword, carefully re-wrapping it in cloth. ‘Let’s go. We have a wedding to get to.’
They turned away from the grave and began the slow walk back to the docks, hand in hand.
‘That sword,’ Katarina said after a moment. ‘It looks a lot like the one you used to fight the demons. In fact, it looks exactly like it.’
Tol winced. ‘I was going to tell you about that.’
‘Yes?’
He caught the warning note in her voice. ‘It was Kalashadria’s gift,’ he said. ‘If the demons ever come after us we’ll have a chance.’
She sighed. ‘More secrets.’
Tol wrapped an arm around her. ‘I know.’
‘Promise me,’ Katarina said, ‘there will be no more secrets between us.’ She disentangled herself and positioned herself in front of him, brown eyes fixed unerringly on Tol. ‘No matter how unpleasant the truth is.’ She gripped him tightly. ‘Promise me, Steven.’
Tol nodded and saw the relief in her eyes. ‘The truth,’ he confirmed. ‘Always, my love.’
Epilogue
They sat at the high table and watched the party gain momentum. More than three-quarters of the guests were Katarina’s family and assorted dignitaries invited by the Black Duke. Over fifty of the Sworn had been there for the ceremony, and Tol had seen the way they looked at him: every glance warned him that if he ever made Katarina unhappy he could expect a painful, bloody reckoning.
His own guests had come from far and wide, some sailing with Tol and Katarina from the Spur and others making their own way to the duke’s castle in Jhanhar. Isallien, Catardor, and Patrick had all made the journey. Rachel and Suranna were there, too. Kartane – conspicuously absent after the battle – had turned up, a woman draped on one arm who looked like a taller, older version of Katarina and was, according to Tol’s wife, her aunt Selene. Valeron was already safely ensconced in a gaggle of young Sudalrese ladies, but there were others missing, others who should have been there. Tol’s mother, his father, cousin Kal; all were dead. Bruna, too, the nun who had stood against a demon and paid the price, and Vixen, his old friend who had died in his arms. So many missing, he thought. I wish they could have been here.
‘Husband?’
Tol pulled himself from his reverie and smiled. ‘That’s going to take some getting used to.’
‘We should say our goodbyes,’ Katarina said. She smiled coyly. ‘Before we continue the celebrations in private.’
Hand in hand, they made their way around the guests as the soft light of dusk began to fade. Finally, his voice hoarse, they came to Stetch, the Sworn warrior watching the dancing circle with a predatory eye, as if it might, quite possibly, pose a dire threat to the security of Sudalra.
‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ Tol said as Katarina’s sister joined them.
‘I knew Father would come round,’ Victoria said, slipping her arm through Stetch’s. She laughed. ‘All it took was a war.’
‘So what will you do?’ Katarina asked. ‘You won’t stay here?’
‘No,’ Victoria said with a vigorous shake of her head, ‘definitely not. Fortunately,’ she said, ‘Stetch saved Prince Rolfen in the battle on the Spur, and the prince seems to feel a measure of debt. Enough,’ she smiled, ‘to provide us with a small holding and a title for Stetch.’
Tol sputtered, and looked at his friend. ‘You’re going to be a lord?’
Stetch pulled a face. ‘Should have let the prince die.’ He grunted as Victoria elbowed him.
The sisters stepped away to talk, and Tol realised how much he had depended on Stetch during his time with Katarina. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for everything you did.’
Stetch shrugged. ‘Fun.’ His eyes flicked to the sky. ‘Mostly,’ he amended.
‘That’s one way to describe it.’ Tol glanced over to where Victoria and Katarina were talking, their heads bowed together like children sharing a secret. ‘I’m glad that you and Victoria are getting together. I’m surprised the duke allowed you to leave the Sworn though.’
Stetch stared at him a moment, and Tol thought he might stay silent, or that even after all their time together Tol’s interest would, somehow, be taken as an invitation to conflict.
A second passed.
Stetch shrugged. ‘Ever tried arguing with those sisters?’ He smiled. ‘Duke didn’t stand a chance.’
Tol glanced over at Katarina and saw her conversation coming to an end with a hug.
‘Besides,’ Stetch added, ‘you never really leave the Sworn.’ He clapped Tol on the shoulder as the sisters came back. ‘You’ll see.’
Stetch thrust out his hand, and Tol was mildly surprised – and strongly relieved – to find it had stopped before reaching his body, open palm held out in friendship.
They clasped hands, and Stetch dragged him forwards so Tol’s eyes were inches from Stetch’s intense glare.
‘Look after her,’ Stetch told him.
Tol nodded. ‘I will.’
Katarina’s hand wrapped itself around his own, and the two of them left the guests behind, strolling in silence towards Castle Black for their first night together.
Tol turned and looked back at the guests. Some would be gone in the morning, while others would stay longer. Many, he knew, he might never see again. Only one expected face was missing, and as he turned his back on the party he came face to face with Kartane, the old knight’s hand draped around Katarina’s aunt.
‘Leaving without saying goodbye?’
‘Kartane!’ He let go of Katarina and threw his arms around Kartane. ‘I’ve been wondering where you were.’
Kartane stepped away. ‘Busy,’ he replied with a sideways glance at Selene. He winked, and suffered an elbow to his ribs from Katarina’s aunt.
‘I’m sorry about your brother,’ Tol said, remembering he hadn’t seen Kartane since the battle.
Kartane shrugged, though it seemed forced. ‘Truth breaks some people,’ he said.
Tol heard the discomfort in his friend’s voice. ‘I wanted to thank you for everything,’ he said. ‘You’ve saved my life dozens of times—’
‘Most of those were his fault,’ Katarina interrupted.
‘Kartane has a knack for finding trouble,’ Selene agreed.
Tol smiled. ‘I’m going to miss our adventures,’ he said.
‘Aye, we had a lot of fun these past weeks,’ Kartane agreed. ‘But you ain’t getting away that easy, lad.’ He grinned broadly. ‘Seems Selene’s got a holding in Karalvia and no man as head of the household.’
Selene elbowed him hard. ‘What he means,’ she said, ‘is that our romance has been rekindled after all these years.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I said. Anyway,’ Kartane continued, ‘we’re off to tell Valtas the good news: he’s about to get a brother.’ He flicked out his arm with a flourish. ‘Say hello to your new uncle, lad.’
Tol laughed as Katarina hugged her aunt. ‘There isn’t anyone else I’d rather have,’ he said. He shook Kartane’s hand. ‘Good luck telling the duke.’
Kartane grinned. ‘That’s why I waited till he’d started on the brandy.’ He leaned forward as Katarina broke away from her aunt. ‘You made the right choice,’ Kartane said quietly, his eyes darting to Katarina. ‘Make the most it.’
Tol and Katarina said goodbye to the pair, the sounds of revelry fading as they reached the front doors of Castle Black. Tol glanced up at the darkening sky. He knew he wouldn’t see her, but he had sensed Kalashadria throughout the ceremony and the party that followed; a subtle, distant touch on his mind. He could sense her now, their connection fading as she flew higher and higher, leaving the world behind.
‘Steven?’
He looked down. ‘Yes, my love?’
‘Is she here? Was she watching?’
‘No,’ he said after a moment. ‘It’s just us.’
Katarina nodded. ‘As it should be.’ She smiled and opened the door to her father’s home. ‘Now, why don’t we go and see if we can keep the guests awake all night?’
Tol smiled. ‘You want to know what I really, truly think about that?’
‘Always the truth,’ she whispered.
He brushed a strand of hair awa
y from her face. ‘I think that’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.’
Tol took Katarina’s hand and stepped over the threshold. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘if our wedding night doesn’t go well, I’ll have to tell you so. You know, with us being honest with each other and all.’
Katarina laughed. Then she punched him. ‘You won’t be disappointed,’ she said in a sultry whisper.
Acknowledgements
While writing is typically a solitary pursuit, bringing a book to publication is a team effort, and there are a number of people I would like to thank, and without whose help, support, and patience this book would not exist.
Firstly, thank you to my friends and family, without whom I would most likely never had made it this far. Your friendship and support has helped me to realise a dream and stay (relatively) sane during the process. Thank you!
My beta readers have suffered through early versions of the words you’ve read, and all of them have had a hand in improving the finished product, whether it’s correcting mistakes, spotting plot holes and inconsistencies, or offering suggestions for improving the manuscript further. Any mistakes that remain after their eagle-eyed readings are entirely my own. Thank you to John the Revelator, Danny the Champion of the Word, Luke, and Andy Chamberlain.
Coming October 2017
Creative Writing from the ground up. Insight from 100 episodes of the Creative Writer's Toolbelt podcast, featuring tips and advice from professional authors, editors, and artists.
Everything you need to be a better writer, in one volume. Available in e-book and print version from www.andrewjchamberlain.com or from Amazon
Kingdom Asunder
Thaddeus White
What crime is more unforgivable than treason?
Princess Karena is all that stands between the House of Penmere and ruin. The King, her brother, was gravely wounded in a failed assassination attempt, and once-loyal followers are flocking to the treacherous Usurper's golden embrace.
Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3) Page 37
