The Book of Never: The Complete Series

by Ashley Capes

  It put him in mind of Zianna – weren’t the Lenali neighbours to her tribe? Gods, how much had he forgotten?

  Or forced himself to forget.

  “Never brings news from the mountains,” Bihola explained. “Though I’m sure you can guess it.”

  “There is another sizeable force heading down into Marlosa, eager to add their might to the many other forces. I surprised a messenger, they will probably head north to the capital though scouts are wide ranging.”

  “Still they spread,” one of the men said.

  “If they keep piling in there will be no-where left to hide,” another rasped.

  “Perhaps not,” the woman said. “They spread themselves too thin – otherwise we’d all be dead.”

  Bihola exhaled. “That may be the truth of it but it doesn’t change anything. We do as we have decided.”

  “Where will you go next?” Never asked.

  “Further south – we hunt a scouting party.”

  “Could I ask for you to look out for my friends?” Never asked.

  “Of course. And where will you travel?”

  “I will rejoin the trail heading north and hope that it is the right one. Have you seen other Vadiya forces heading that way?”

  “No, but Chadya reported a strong force last night. Scores of Marlosa soldiers.”

  Captain Sirgeto? Could the man have stumbled across Luis and Tsolde? “Then I will chase them and see what fortune follows.”

  “But not before you eat,” Bihola insisted.

  Never accepted a bowl of stew, biting into rabbit meat and peppers, the garlic strong but welcome. In exchange, he offered some of his precious batena, which drew thanks from those gathered, and then he was offering his goodbyes.

  As he headed for the edge of the camp a voice stopped him within the stalks.

  The Lenali woman stood before him. Her hair had been cut close, as was typical of Quisoa women. A warm blonde, the colour was marred by flakes of dried blood.

  “Take this,” she said, holding out a throwing knife. Its edges were carved with tiny interlocking triangles that represented a union – such a weapon would have once belonged to her husband.

  “I cannot,” he said.

  “You can. Melid needs it no longer,” she said with a trace of bitterness. She paused. “I see something when I look at you, stranger. You are heading into danger, just as we do, but I think perhaps you need the extra knife more than we.”

  Never couldn’t prevent a shiver. “What do you see?”

  “Blood-covered feathers – I see you holding them. It makes no sense, I admit.”

  “Yet I will take it as a warning nonetheless.” He accepted the blade. Balanced beautifully.

  “Stars shine upon you.”

  “And you.”

  He slipped back along the twisting path and headed for the main road, where he broke into a jog. The cold sky shed more than enough light to follow the trail. The hot meal had helped with a burst of strength though he couldn’t shake the image of his hands covered in bloody black feathers.

  Had he been given an image of his own death?

  Or ‘mere’ injury? Never came to a halt and growled at himself. He had to put it aside. Had to keep moving, vision or no.

  Dusk was falling when he once again found himself approaching a camp, this one bolder than Bihola’s. Here, set off the road but close enough for easy access, were scores of men and dozens of fires set between scattered tents. The scent of some manner of roasting meat rose on the evening breeze. Nickering from a not too distant picket line reached him when he paused to catch his breath.

  Voices called to each other in the dark – speaking Marlosi.

  He exhaled. At the worst, another hot meal. At best, a hot meal and welcome news. Never frowned. No. Worst would be once again being responsible for the death of a friend; he could easily be wrong about everything – about the camp before him and about Luis and Tsolde’s fate.

  Never continued along a little further, scrutinising the shadows beside the road as he did, finally coming to a halt. Armour flashed orange and red in the firelight, markings obscured. Any guards posted around the camp would still be some distance away. Even if he was right about who waited before him, he’d still do well to announce himself to them.

  “Ho the camp,” he called.

  Those nearest stopped, looking into the darkness, doubtless unable to see him yet. Nonetheless, footsteps rushed forward and he soon found himself facing a Marlosa man who studied him over a drawn arrow. Another figure stopped behind Never but he didn’t turn.

  “I am seeking Captain Sirgeto,” he announced. “My name is Never, he knows me.”

  “Is that so?” said the guard Never could see, tone not disbelieving exactly, but not friendly either. And his reaction suggested that Never’s guess was correct – it was Sirgeto’s camp.

  “It is indeed so,” Never replied. “I can describe him and his mercenary friend Vantinio if that helps? Or perhaps young Mondesa?”

  The other guard grunted from behind. “Maybe you can, stranger, but we’ll let the captain decide what to do with you.”

  “Do I look that much like a spy?”

  The second man chuckled. “Let’s just say you look a little unsavoury, whatever you are.”

  “Unsavoury?” Never objected.

  “Just throw down your weapons and hold out your hands,” the first snapped.

  Never did as ordered, taking his time. A pile of half a dozen knives rested at his feet when he was done. The blade from the Lenali woman rested atop, triangles catching the light.

  The second man bound Never with rope, moving with efficiency, then collected the knives. The first fellow kept his arrow trained on Never’s chest. A good lad, really – taking his post seriously – but it was still a little disconcerting to be on the other end of the aim. Still, Never couldn’t deny that it would be useful to know whether his body could now recover from a fatal arrow-wound.

  Why not? He’d re-grown a hand.

  Not the best time to find out, however. Instead, Never followed the man who’d bound him. The bowman ghosted Never in turn, as they walked between a palisade which had angled its spikes outward, and through a bustling camp. Evening meals were being prepared, some men ate alone, others at small fires. These were mostly Marlosa folk who had the look of untrained men. Their weapons were mismatched and they often wore little or no armour.

  Yet their faces were determined.

  Never had to admit it was a welcome change – though he knew with certainty that few would survive the coming weeks. Or days, for that matter.

  And the ex-imperial soldiers, those who still bore breastplates and helms, who carried their longswords and spears, would be doomed to the same fate if the fighting went on long enough. And no doubt Snow would ensure it did; if he was to have his new empire. But the Marlosi soldiers did not wear downcast expressions. They were confident; hope seemed to grow in their bearing. The younger boasted of their bandages and the older did not seem inclined to chaste them for it.

  Few paid much attention to Never and his escort, not so near meal time, but as he closed upon a line of tents before a squat, flag-less pavilion, a voice rang out.

  “Never?”

  A young woman pushed her way between soldiers, her curls bouncing as she slid to a halt before his escort. He blinked – Tsolde.

  Pacela’s Luck!

  She had her hands on her hips as she berated the guard, and Never had to laugh –part relief and part amusement. The poor fellow who’d tied the ropes bore a look of shock, yet he untied Never as she demanded, muttering an apology as he dragged his friend back toward the road.

  Never grinned at Tsolde. “So who’s running this camp? You or Sirgeto?”

  Chapter 10.

  Tsolde leapt into his arms and squeezed him around the middle, cutting off his air supply. “Gods, where have you been, Never?”

  “It’s a long story – why don’t you go first?” he said when he could breat
he. He set her down. “Luis?”

  “He’s alive,” she said, but her joyful expression wavered. “I’ll show you. This way.” She led him away, toward one of the scuffed tents, its dome sagging a little – yet one of the flaps had been pulled back, presumably to let cool air within – a guess confirmed when Never saw Luis.

  Luis lay upon twisted blankets, sweating heavily, his dark hair plastered to his head.

  Yet he did appear slightly better. Never frowned as he knelt. Was he only imagining improvement, encouraged by the fact that Luis was still alive? The fact that he hadn’t been responsible for his friend’s death?

  “What do the healers say?” Never asked.

  “That without something stronger he won’t survive the week. They’ve done everything they can with what they have, Never. They saved him at the farmhouse.”

  Had there been a hint of reproach in her voice or was he imagining that too? “I’m sorry, Tsolde. The first village was decimated. But I have this,” he produced the chila powder, “it will save him.”

  “Can you be sure?”

  “It must.”

  She stood. “I’ll bring the healer.”

  Never nodded and sat back against a half-empty pack, closing his eyes a moment. How long had he been chasing them now? Days but it seemed much longer – from his shoulders to the soles of his feet he ached. All he really needed was a warm fire to take the edge off the night air...

  “Never, wake up.”

  Never blinked. Light had bloomed in the tent and Tsolde rested a hand on his shoulder. “Sirgeto wants to see you,” she said. Behind her, a small man muttered away to himself as he worked with steaming cups.

  “Luis?”

  The healer glanced over his shoulder, revealing a cheery face. “He’ll be fine now, thanks to you. Where did you find the chila?”

  Never stood. “In –”

  “No matter, really, you’ve saved your friend but only if I stop blathering on. Off you go, he’s in good hands,” the healer said, pushing Never outside.

  “Thank you,” Never said. He rubbed his eyes, shivering in the cold. How long had he slept? And how deeply? His limbs moved slowly – as if someone else owned them. “It seems Sirgeto is rallying the people,” he said as Tsolde led him between the lines of tents or, sometimes, men rolled in blankets.

  “He is,” Tsolde said, a note of worry in her words as they approached the men guarding Sirgeto’s pavilion.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “You remember those swords we found in the mountain?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, they can cut through anything and so as long as Sirgeto and Mondesa are leading, it seems victory follows. It’s like the swords are even improving their skills, I don’t know how to explain it. And they treat me differently, because... I don’t know, maybe because I helped find the swords? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Perhaps not surprising the swords were so powerful. “But that’s not what worries you?”

  “No. I think the swords are... infecting them. They’re changing, Never. You can see it – but no-one talks about it because we’re winning. No-one wants to admit it.”

  Now a chill settled over him. “Changing how?”

  “You’ll see when you speak to Sirgeto.”

  He stopped. “Are we in danger here?”

  She hesitated, glancing around. “I don’t know.”

  “All right.”

  They came to a halt before the pavilion, where one of the guards raised a hand. “Just a moment.” He ducked inside. A short, muffled conversation followed. When he returned, he held the tent flap open.

  Never stepped into a war room.

  The walls were lined with maps pinned to the canvas, many criss-crossed with lines. Water barrels stood beside bundles of crossbow bolts and heavy fur-lined coats in various stages of repair. Men were crowded around a wide table but one looked up when they entered.

  Captain Sirgeto.

  His eyes flashed blue – the barest glimmer, as if it had not occurred. Yet it had; there was something happening to him, it seemed. “Continue,” he told those gathered and moved around the group to greet Never.

  Up close, Sirgeto’s cheeks had taken on a gaunt look, the grey streak in his hacked-off hair widened. The Amouni sword swung at his side, the barest hint of blue escaping from the scabbard. “Welcome back, Never.” The man’s grin was triumphant. “You appear a little startled.”

  “You have achieved much since we last spoke,” Never said.

  “And more to follow,” he replied. “I admit I was surprised to find Tsolde and Luis in that farm. They have told me what little they know about Lady Isajan’s forces but could not explain the swords you found. I want to know if you can.”

  “Sadly, no,” Never said. “They are a mystery to me.”

  Sirgeto narrowed his eyes a moment before smiling again. “A shame. Well, stay as you wish or not, Never, but know that I expect you to fight if you do.” He looked to Tsolde. “And you, young lady – they are your enemy too.”

  “Yes,” Tsolde replied.

  “Do you have a target, Captain?” Never asked.

  He nodded. “North. Others will rally to Empress Crisina and I intend to bring her a force worthy of striking back at the Vadiya scum.”

  “Weeks to the Monasema Mountains, will you reach them?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s a lot of ground to cover and a lot of Vadiya between, you’ll be drawing them as word spreads.”

  Sirgeto grinned again, his lips straining, and the blue flashed in his eyes once more. “True. It saves me chasing them down.”

  Never frowned. Just as Tsolde said; there was something disconcerting about Sirgeto beyond the blue glow. Did he relish the chance of revenge too much? “Prince Tendov will not stop.”

  “Yes, we’ve heard of him. That one, I’ll chase home. Sack his whole damn city.”

  “Ambitious.”

  Sirgeto laughed, a rasping laugh. “You will see. Now, why don’t you get some rest. Tomorrow, we’re planning on liberating Ficcepa. It’ll be a long march.”

  Never let Tsolde pull him from the tent, then back to Luis. The healer was gone and Luis slept easy now – no longer sweating at least – though it was a deep slumber. And while Never couldn’t deny a stirring of relief; it was marred by concern. Everywhere he turned, he was surrounded by obstacles.

  In a way it was nothing new... but with Luis and Tsolde to consider everything was different. The fear was sharper. Gods, had he made a mistake? It was one thing to risk his own life... Was it time to find a safe place for Tsolde and Luis? Did such a thing even exist? Or was Snow taking that away from the world?

  “We are in danger,” Never said once they’d finished checking on Luis, keeping his voice low. “As soon as Luis is able, we leave.”

  Tsolde nodded. “And in the meantime?”

  “We keep quiet, do as we’re told.”

  “Never, why is the sword twisting them?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. Such things were not meant for human hands, it seems. I would take them away, if I could.”

  “Shouldn’t we try?”

  He shook his head. “Snow must remain my first concern – and not before dawn in any event. Let’s get some rest.”

  “Good idea,” she said. “I’ll take the other tent.”

  Never lay back with a soft groan, stretching his limbs. How quickly the weariness returned now that he’d mentioned sleep aloud. If only he could rest with one eye open...

  *

  Cold.

  Never jerked upright. Darkness surrounded him, but his face was wet. Why?

  Light bloomed, revealing a young man with an intense gaze. “Join us outside, Never.”

  “Mondesa?” Never wiped water from his face and beard.

  The man set a pale aside. “Quietly.”

  Never glanced at Luis. His friend still slept soundly. The tent flap was already closed; Never pushed it open and found Mondes
a standing outside, his face calm beneath the moonlight. Trouble? It didn’t seem so. The younger man gestured for Never to follow, picking his way through the camp to a position beyond the sentries.

  “What’s wrong?” Never asked.

  “We need to speak to you, Never,” he said. “Out of the hearing of the camp.”

  Wheat rustled. Never spun, a hand on a knife but only Sirgeto appeared. No-one else. He too, wore his Amouni sword and oddly enough, each man kept some distance from the other. Wary?

  Never tensed. Tread carefully.

  Sirgeto pointed at Never. “The Ladies have told us you know something.”

  Never blinked. Ladies? Did Sirgeto mean the swords? “I have to admit, Captain. That’s not what I expected you to say.”

  Mondesa shook his head. “She isn’t so sure.”

  The Captain frowned. “He knows something. I can feel her responding to him – like a faint humming, surely you feel it too?”

  “I do, but that doesn’t mean anything. She hums often. Like yesterday, near that stream – does that mean the stream knows something it did not tell us?”

  “Bah.” Sirgeto drew his blade and raised it to his face, closing his eyes. The glow lit the tiny clearing and cast his cheekbones into sharp relief. Mondesa stood with his arms folded, watching Sirgeto, tension lingering in the clearing.

  Never shifted his feet as the quiet dragged on.

  Finally Sirgeto lowered the Amouni blade and his eyes became dark shadows, looking to his subordinate. “She does not know. I only get a sense of curiosity.”

  “Curiosity?” Never asked. “The sword is curious about me?”

  “Yes.” Sirgeto sheathed his blade. “What do you know of them?”

  “Only what I told you before, we found them beneath the mountains. That is all. They are a mystery to me.”

  “Yet it seems not you to they.”

  Never shrugged.

  “You must stay with us, Never, until we can discover why.”

  “And if circumstances arose that required me to be elsewhere, what would you say then?” Never kept his voice neutral.

  “We would not care for that,” Mondesa said.

  “How very disappointing,” Never replied.