Lord Palin’s eyes darted to his sister’s, and then he began to speak. “Men, I’m glad you’re all here with me—with us. I know this has been… unusual for you, coming all this way without understanding why.” He took a deep breath. “You’ve only been told that we’re traveling to the ruins of the witch’s fortress, destroyed by Duke Stron and many of your own fathers and grandfathers. What you don’t yet know is why.”
He paused. A wind picked up, causing the nearby tents to flap and blowing the young man’s hair about his face. He pushed the loose strands away. “We have discovered something, something grand.” His smile looked forced, and the young man paused once again. Keep-Captain Awde moved closer and whispered something in his ear, and the young man’s lips tightened.
“On his deathbed…” Palin glanced quickly at the physician before continuing. “On his deathbed, a… a spell that had been placed on my father by the blood fiend and witch Serina Greywynne finally fell away, revealing an important memory, a memory that Father Craftsman wanted my father to reveal to us.
“Sight-Bringer was not destroyed in the battle against Serina Greywynne as we’ve all believed all our lives. It still lies buried—but within our reach—in the catacombs of her fortress, and we’re going to find it and return it to the king.”
A chill gripped Owen. The men muttered, and some swore. Keep-Captain Awde and Sayer glared at them, and the whispers stopped instantly.
Owen found thinking clearly difficult. The news seemed so impossible, like a minstrel’s tale. Sight-Bringer? Every child in the kingdom had grown up on tales of the longsword—a remnant of the long-dead Illthori race—that could slay the undead with a single cut. Duke Stron had used it to kill Serina, ending her unholy life in one blow—before it shattered in her chest, the resulting backlash bringing down the ceiling of the Great Crypt, burying her and its broken shards forever.
Sight-Bringer was one of the greatest legends of the north and one of its deepest shames—because the king had only loaned it to Stron to defeat Serina.
“So,” continued Lord Palin, “tomorrow, we shall do something no man of the north has done in two generations—we shall return to the ruins of the witch’s fortress and reopen the catacombs, and then we will find the Great Crypt and dig out the sword. We will all be heroes.”
Keep-Captain Awde was nodding, his face fierce. The elation seemed to sweep through the men as Owen also felt it keenly.
“When we ride out that gate tomorrow morning,” the young lord said, his voice rising, “we ride to finish what other men began almost fifty years ago. We have a responsibility to complete the pact Duke Stron and your grandfathers made to the king, to the kingdom. We will bring back the sword!”
The men cheered.
Chapter 12
Palin
Hours after his speech to the men, Palin still felt the heady excitement of success coursing through him. He had done it! He had stood before warriors and convinced them they were part of a great adventure, that he was a man worthy of following—and not just a young boy pretending to be a lord. For the first time in his life, he finally felt like a real leader, not just a young boy.
He stood in front of a table with a large map of the island unfurled on it, surrounded by other men—Keep-Captain Awde, Wendel Dert, Father Cotlas, and his young protégé, Father Bowen. They were going over the final preparations for the expedition, which would set out the following morning.
The expedition would be a grand adventure, the chance to change his family’s destiny.
His sister was wrong. The king would pay back their war debts—just as soon as Palin placed Sight-Bringer in his hands again.
As Dert droned on—something to do with the hunters—his attention kept drifting back to the moment when, standing before the men-at-arms, he felt himself becoming the man he had always wanted his father to be. Palin was a man, not just the son of a duke, but a man in his own right.
All his life, he had deferred to his older sister, rarely making a decision without her or—the Craftsman forbid—deciding something against her wishes. That would have to change. Danika was no bully, just an older sibling with a very strong personality, but he needed to be his own man.
When he glanced at Brice Awde, Palin’s good mood vanished. Awde had always been more of a father to Palin than his own had ever been. Awde had been the one to teach him how to use a sword, to ride properly, to stand tall before other men. All his life, Awde had been teaching Palin.
“Duty is a double-edged sword,” Awde had always said.
On that day, that sword was going to cut Palin.
At that moment, Palin noticed Dert was watching him, a look of puzzlement in his eyes.
“My lord,” the reeve said, “is everything…”
Awde was also watching him with a tight look. The keep-captain had been jotting down notes, calculating the number of firepots to bring, no doubt concerned they didn’t have enough to drive off the marsh ticks—although in truth, they were likely bringing thrice what would be necessary. Awde was always troubled, always worrying, and always insisting Palin worry, too. A man couldn’t worry enough, Awde insisted. “Be prepared or be dead,” he said. “Battlefields are littered with the corpses of those who thought good enough was a plan.”
“I’m fine, Master Dert,” Palin said. “You are quite right. We will watch Master Idwal and his brothers, but these men are my subjects now. We must treat them like men, not dogs—else they will act like dogs.”
One corner of Awde’s mouth turned up in a smile. Approval was rare from the keep-captain. Once again, Palin felt guilt weigh heavily upon him.
“Yes, my lord,” said Dert, wiping his sweaty face, “but you must understand. These… these men aren’t like us in the kingdom, good pious men. They still worship evil—”
“These are my subjects, Master Dert. We shall treat them with respect.”
“But we will still watch them carefully,” Keep-Captain Awde said, still bent over the table.
Palin nodded. “Yes… well, someone once told me: ‘Be prepared or be dead.’”
“Indeed,” said Keep-Captain Awde. “Clearly, a very wise man.”
Palin was still smiling when the chamber door opened and Danika slipped in. When she saw the small group of advisers around Palin, she frowned. Just for a moment, a spike of uncertainty rushed up Palin’s back, but he fought his fear down. If you’re truly a man now, start acting like one—get out from beneath your sister’s dress.
“Did you gentlemen forget to invite me to your council?” Danika asked, her eyes flashing from one to the other and pausing as she glanced at Awde, who grimaced.
“My good lady,” said Dert. “I’m afraid this is a matter for—”
“Gentlemen,” said Palin. “Please give us the chamber… if you don’t mind.”
Dert muttered beneath his breath as he joined the others in leaving the room. Father Bowen held Father Cotlas’s arm as they left. The elderly priest was going to remain in Stron’s Watch. The sea voyage had been worse than he had expected, and he still hadn’t fully recovered. Palin noted the look that passed between his sister and the keep-captain as he bade her farewell and followed the others out.
Palin sighed. Father had been so weak, so blind. He must have known about their secret affair but for some reason had let it go on. Palin knew if he didn’t put a stop to it immediately, the relationship would end badly for both of them. A man like Brice Awde deserved better than that. A hero he might have been, but he wasn’t noble. He could never be a husband for Danika.
Duty is a sword.
Danika stood before him, waiting.
He inhaled deeply and met her eyes. “You’re not going. You’ll stay here with Father Cotlas and Dert.”
She frowned, looking at him as if he were a particularly stubborn child. “We’ve already had this discussion. You’ll need me.”
“Why is that, sister? Will you swing a pick and carry rocks for us? What exactly is it you will do, other than d
istract me… distract him?”
Her eyes tightened, and she looked as if he had just slapped her. “What are you—”
He shook his head, forcing himself to go on. Hurt her a bit now or a lot later. He stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders. He was taller than her and could look down into her eyes. When did I grow taller than her? “Danika, I know. We all know. This ends today.”
Her face drained of color, and he saw fear in her eyes—something he had never seen before on her face. “I don’t—”
“You’re not going. I love you. I need you, but you have a duty as much as I do. We are going to restore our family’s name. All of us have a role to play. I won’t have you out there in the wilderness, risking your life, getting in the way, and bringing him down as well. This ends now!”
“You don’t—”
“I won’t talk of it, won’t make it real through words! You will stay here. When we return—and I have given Sight-Bringer to the king—you will take a husband, one befitting our family’s name.”
Her eyes welled with tears, something else he had never seen before, and he realized just how badly he had hurt her, but he couldn’t stop, not then. “This thing between the two of you ends today.”
She reached up and gripped his hands, pulling them from his shoulders and squeezing them. “Palin, please. You don’t understand. I love him.”
“You can’t love him, Danika. You know that. You never could.”
She rushed forward, hugging him. “Please, Palin, don’t do this. Just let it go.” Her voice cracked with emotion.
Just for a moment, he felt his resolve waver, but he tamped his weakness down, forcing himself to go on. “Danika, you are a Dain, the only daughter of the Duke of Wolfrey, the sister of the man who will be the new duke. There have been kings in our family’s past, and there may yet be again—but not if you chase after a man beneath your station.”
Her shoulders shuddered, and he heard agony in her voice. “Palin, please… If you love me—”
“It’s because I love you.” He turned away, stalked to the window, and gazed out at Port Eaton. The sun had already dropped below the horizon, covering the town in a dark, lightless blanket. Simple folk couldn’t afford the candles or lamp oil. When the sun went down, they went to bed. The only lights he saw were coming from the town’s alehouse, sitting prominently in the village green. The alehouse was the largest building in Port Eaton, with two levels of closely fit stone walls.
“Palin…?”
“You will stay here. When we return, I do not want—do not ever want—to speak of… of my keep-captain and you. You shame our family.” He turned and faced her. She was looking down, staring at her hands, tears running down her cheeks. She trembled before him, not his sister anymore, but a new person—a timid, broken person.
Is this what I wanted?
“We must all do our duty, Danika. I will be duke. You will marry well, have children.”
“Duty,” she repeated softly.
He sighed. “Duty is a sword, Danika.”
Chapter 13
Idwal
Idwal stood in the shadows next to the alehouse, hidden behind a short wall where he could watch the entrance. He had been in there earlier that night, but his deal with the northerners had angered the others so badly they had nearly come to blows. They weren’t happy Idwal and his brothers had agreed to lead the northerners inland. Several of the more vocal men—men whom Idwal had hunted and fished and drank with all his life—promised him that he would regret taking their silver. One of them, the barrel maker Galvin—a man who was as close a friend as any to Idwal—none too subtly promised a reckoning. Idwal had left the alehouse before he did something he couldn’t walk away from. He knew he might have to kill Galvin someday—although he would regret doing so—but if he did, it wouldn’t be in front of witnesses.
Idwal pulled his hunting knife from its sheath and picked at his fingernails. How much longer should I wait? What if the northern doctor doesn’t come at all? What if this is all a trick of some kind? They know we hate them, would kill every stinking one of them if we could. Then, he heard a horse’s hooves clumping on the dirt road through town. A figure appeared out of the night, highlighted against the night sky, riding a small horse. So… he kept his word.
The rider approached the alehouse and dismounted. As he secured his horse to a hitching post, Idwal stepped out of the shadows. “Hsst. Doctor, is that you?”
Modwyn Du’Aig spun about. “Master Hunter, why are you out here? I thought we said inside.”
“Whatever business you want with me, Doctor, it’s of no matter to others. Besides, you wouldn’t be welcomed in there. Now, what is it you want? I’ve already agreed to take your lord’s silver. Trust me, that has caused me difficulty enough already.”
Modwyn stared at him for several moments, as if unsure how to begin. Finally, he did. “What do you know of the queen,” he asked, “of the legends of Serina Greywynne?”
Idwal grabbed him by the collar and threw him back against the wall, slamming the air from his lungs. Surprise and fear flashed through Modwyn’s eyes, and Idwal held him against the wall by one hand, using the other to hold his hunting knife against the man’s throat. He leaned in close, putting his lips near the doctor’s ear. “Know this, Northerner, her name is not to be spoken—especially by one such as you.”
“I’m no northerner,” Modwyn squeaked, “but I have much to tell you.” The man’s eyes betrayed his terror but also a sense of fervor, of righteous indignation.
He’s insulted. Why? Idwal removed his knife from the man’s throat. “What are you playing at?” Modwyn asked him.
“Have you ever asked yourself why your people consider the Haunted Vale and the ruins of her fortress taboo?” Modwyn asked as he rubbed his throat. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“They’ve been forbidden all my life,” Idwal said. “The land is… cursed.”
“Cursed how?” asked Modwyn. “Think, man. What evidence do your people have for believing the lands surrounding her fortress to be cursed?”
“The dreams,” said Idwal as Modwyn bobbed his head in agreement. “The nightmares?”
“Yes, exactly,” said Modwyn. “But what is the source of the nightmares?”
“The gods,” answered Idwal. “It’s their curse for failing her.”
Modwyn shook his head. “No, the nightmares have nothing to do with the gods, nothing at all.”
“But… that’s what the priests say—”
“Your priests are wrong.”
“I… I don’t…”
Modwyn stepped closer to Idwal, his eyes shining in the moonlight. “She isn’t dead. She dreams, Master Idwal, and her dreams bleed into the world of men. That’s what causes the nightmares. You haven’t failed her. She’s calling for help.”
Chapter 14
Owen
As promised, early the next morning, Idwal and his five brothers returned, riding small, wiry palfreys. Each hunter was clearly kin to Idwal, with the same dour expression, thinning red hair, and weathered skin. Owen stood beside Gale, adjusting his saddle as the hunters rode through the fort’s gatehouse. The hunters, in well-worn leather armor, were armed with axes and short hunting bows. Longbows, such as each of the Wolfrey men-at-arms carried, were much more powerful, but Owen had no doubt that any man who hunted marsh ticks for a living would be a deadly shot.
Owen and all the others had been up since before the dawn, eating and preparing. Most of the men would be on foot, with some riding in the wagons, but once again, Owen, Fin, and Dilan had been chosen to ride as scouts. The six wagons, carefully restocked, carried food and water for the men and grain for the horses. They also carried excavation tools and weapons, including bundles of arrows and spears. One of the wagons, carefully kept away from the others, carried clay jars filled with cooking oil—firepots—as well as bundles of pitch and cloth-wrapped torches and hundreds of arrows with a piece of pitch-soaked moss wrapped around ea
ch. While the added weight would throw off the aim, a good archer would be able to compensate, especially at short range.
The sergeants—older, more experienced men—began moving down the line, getting everyone ready. Gale snorted, stamping a hoof. Owen checked his saddle straps one last time and mounted the animal. Dilan and Fin rode just ahead of him, sitting atop their own mounts.
Owen edged Gale between them. “Are you both ready for this?”
Dilan nodded without comment, his expression somber. Fin grunted and adjusted his helmet. Keep-Captain Awde rode to the front of the line, where the young Lord Palin sat on his own mount. Father Cotlas stood, leaning on his staff, near the ramparts of the gatehouse, talking with Father Bowen, no doubt some final instructions.
Lady Danika, her face pale, stood near the two priests. She wore a green dress with a dangling satin belt. Her long brunette hair partially obscured her face as she flicked the strands out of the way before saying farewell to her brother.
That day was going to be long—and the night even longer—before the expedition rode free of the Feldwyn Swamp. Sayer and one of the sergeants rode down the line together one last time. Then, Lord Palin, riding next to Keep-Captain Awde, led the way out of the fort and down toward Port Eaton. For the first time in generations, northern warriors were returning to the ruins of Serina’s fortress.
Owen kicked Gale’s flanks, and the big black colt trotted forward. As they marched, the soldiers chatted and told jokes. Throaty laughter swept through the men, but it felt strained.
They rode down the winding fort trail, past the glittering harbor filled with fishing boats, and into the town. Small rock walls lined the side of the road, rising as high as a man’s knees. As they rode through Port Eaton, its residents, surly and angry looking, stopped to watch them. The children ran along, pacing them and making faces. One of the little rats even threw a stone before darting away. Roosters and chickens ran loose, dogs barked, and farmers glared from their fields.
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