She walked in and pulled the secret door shut. The passage was very narrow and not very high, but they weren’t problems for Lyssa. It was almost completely dark, which she didn’t like so much, but she crawled along on her hands and knees and that helped her to avoid bumping into the walls.
She stopped when she heard voices. This was where Sebastian’s rooms were, and she recognised his voice first. Second, Theron. They were always talking about boring things up here. Nevertheless, she peered into the room.
There were four of them altogether. Tycho was there. He always wanted to arm wrestle with her, even though she always beat him. Remi was there too. He always winked at her when he saw her, but didn’t talk much.
She listened in. They were kind of arguing with each other about what to do with Count Ampelios’s lands. The Knights seemed to think they were on the good side, but they had just killed Ampelios and now they were taking his family’s lands. Theron wanted his friend Tycho to have them, Sebastian said Remi should have them. If they really were good, maybe they should give his lands to people who didn’t have any of their own? Maybe they shouldn’t have killed him in the first place, then there wouldn’t be anything to argue about.
Theron and Tycho left Sebastian’s room.
‘I’m sure we can find a compromise,’ Sebastian said to Remi.
Remi shrugged. ‘I don’t care. I have more important concerns.’
Sebastian frowned at him. ‘Oh? Like what?’
‘This.’
Suddenly, Remi drew a dagger, leaned over to where Sebastian was seated, and plunged it into Sebastian’s chest.
Lyssa had to grab her mouth to stop herself from crying out. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t make herself stop watching.
Sebastian tried to stop Remi, but the other knight pushed him back with one hand, while pushing the dagger deeper in with the other.
‘You thought you could stop us?’ Remi hissed. ‘You thought you could invade our lands with no consequences? You fool!’
Lyssa turned away. She wished she hadn’t opened the secret door now.
Moving slowly to avoid making a sound, she began to crawl back down the passage.
Belwynn half-walked, half-ran through the garden at the Temple of Madria. She had to stop suddenly to avoid crashing into Elana and Prince Dorian, coming the other way.
‘Sorry,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Is something the matter?’ Elana asked.
‘Have you seen Lyssa anywhere?’ Belwynn asked, slightly embarrassed. ‘She seems to have run off without telling anyone.’
Dorian smiled kindly. ‘I’m heading back home,’ he said. ‘If I see her on the way, I’ll be sure to bring her back.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll help you look,’ said Elana.
‘It’s alright, I don’t want to waste your time.’
‘I’ll help,’ Elana insisted.
They said farewell to Dorian and began to search the grounds of the Temple, where an unruly child might have decided to have an adventure.
‘I’m not sure what to do with her anymore,’ Belwynn confessed. ‘I feel like she needs her time structured properly, learning something useful.’
‘Don’t fret,’ said Elana. ‘It’s perfectly normal for children to go off exploring. It’s good for them. I’m sure she’ll turn up.’
‘Yes,’ said Belwynn absently. Lyssa wasn’t in the garden. She had gone into the city, she knew it.
‘Belwynn, I haven’t told anyone this, not even Dirk.’
This sounded serious. Belwynn gave Elana her full attention.
‘Before all this started, back in Magnia, I had a family. A husband and two children. Girls.’
Belwynn’s mouth dropped open.
‘What happened to them?’
Elana smiled. ‘Nothing, I hope. I hope very much that I will be able to go back when this is over.’
‘You mean, they’re back home now? In your village, what was it, Kirtsea?’
Elana nodded.
‘How could you do that?’ Belwynn blurted out. ‘Do they know what you’re doing, that you’re alive?’
Elana pursed her lips and Belwynn could see tears threatening to spill.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘I didn’t choose this, Belwynn, remember. Madria chose me. Sometimes I wonder why. But I have to see it through. And what would I tell them, so that they could understand why I left? How could I explain that I still love them, but can’t be with them?’
‘I’m sorry Elana. Truly. Soren will get the weapons. We’ll win, and you will get to go back home.’
Elana smiled wanly. It didn’t seem like she believed that. ‘Where do you think we should look next?’
‘Eh?’
‘For Lyssa?’
‘I think she went into the city. Hopefully just back to the castle. I’ll head there now.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
They made their way out of the Temple grounds and onto the street outside. They hadn’t walked very far when they saw her, walking towards them alongside Dorian. He had one arm around her shoulder protectively, as if shielding her from something.
‘Found her heading this way,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t get out of her where she’s been. She seems a bit shaken up.’
Belwynn looked at Lyssa, who stared ahead listlessly. She seemed withdrawn, removed from their immediate conversation.
‘Are you alright, girl?’ Belwynn asked her.
Lyssa turned to her. There was something in her eyes, something like fear, but she didn’t say anything.
Belwynn and Elana shared a look. What was up with her? Had something happened?
Before she had time to question her further, Dorian had turned to look back up the street.
‘It’s Sebastian!’ he said.
Sebastian was walking towards them. Belwynn watched him approach. He seemed stiff; older somehow. Perhaps recent events were weighing on him more than she had realised.
‘Well met, Grand Master,’ said the prince.
Belwynn wondered at Dorian. Sebastian had defeated his older brother in battle but a week ago. Theron had ensured that Straton was now locked up, unable to leave the capital again. What did the younger brother really think about these developments?
Sebastian nodded at them all. ‘I have come to talk with Elana.’
He sounded grave.
‘We’ll go back to the Temple,’ said Elana, and she and Sebastian left in that direction.
‘Well, I really should be getting home,’ said Dorian.
‘Thank you for finding her,’ said Belwynn, glancing down at Lyssa.
She was startled when she looked at the girl. She looked stricken, staring at the departing Elana and Sebastian in terror.
‘What is it?’ Belwynn asked her.
‘I-I saw Sebastian killed. By Remi.’
Belwynn frowned at her, but getting those words out seemed to open a floodgate in Lyssa. ‘I was hiding in the secret passage behind the library, I know I shouldn’t have been. Theron and Sebastian were arguing about who should get the lands of Count Ampelios. Theron and Tycho left the room. Then Remi killed Sebastian. Just like that. For no reason. Then—’ she stopped, pointing after Sebastian and Elana, who had now gone into the Temple.
‘Then you saw Sebastian alive?’ Belwynn asked.
Lyssa nodded, looking up at her like a little mouse, expecting Belwynn to solve the problem for her. Belwynn looked at Dorian.
‘Maybe you fell asleep, Lyssa?’ he suggested. ‘Had a nightmare?’
Lyssa looked from Dorian to Belwynn. Belwynn could sense her desperate need to be believed. And maybe, most people would have dismissed her wild story as a dream. But Belwynn had grown up with Soren. She had no reason to doubt the existence of the mysterious—of dark powers. And what she had witnessed in the last year had only confirmed that.
‘I think we should check on them, just in case,’ she said.
Dorian nodded.
‘And, there is a secret passage at the back of the library,’ he added.
She looked at him. It was no joke he was making. If Lyssa had witnessed Sebastian’s murder, who or what exactly had walked off with Elana?
‘Come on!’ she said, suddenly feeling the need to act quickly. ‘Stay here!’ she said to Lyssa.
Belwynn and Dorian ran together into the Temple. ‘Elana?’ Belwynn shouted at the startled followers of the priestess.
One of them pointed down a corridor to Elana’s private room, an obvious place to take Sebastian. Private, but dangerous, for there would be no witnesses.
Belwynn ran in that direction, her lungs burning from the effort, Dorian still by her side. He got to the door first, shoving it open.
Despite Lyssa’s warning and her own mounting dread, Belwynn still couldn’t process the scene before her. Elana lay on the floor, a pool of dark blood visibly growing around her. Sebastian, knife in hand, turned to them, a repulsive snarl on his face. Lyssa had to be right. Sebastian wouldn’t have done this.
Dorian charged him, avoided a knife swing, and then tried to wrestle the weapon from Sebastian.
Belwynn barely cared. Her eyes fixed on Elana. The priestess’s eyes were open and she was looking back. She mouthed ‘Belwynn’. In a daze, as if she was in her own nightmare now, Belwynn walked to her, kneeling in the blood. She located the wound in Elana’s side, putting her hand to it to try to stop any more from leaking out.
‘Can’t you heal yourself?’ she asked desperately.
There was a crash behind her. Dorian had been thrown to one side, the knife clattering across the floor, and Sebastian, with a final look at Belwynn and Elana, ran from the room. Dorian got to his feet. ‘I’ll get him,’ he said and gave chase.
It was deathly quiet in the room.
‘Belwynn,’ came Elana’s voice, weak and breathy. ‘There isn’t much time. I need you to hold my hands.’
Belwynn grabbed one of Elana’s hands and put it to the injured side of the priestess. ‘Here. You are on the wound. Heal yourself.’
Elana smiled. It was gentle and full of sadness. ‘I can’t, Belwynn. Hold my hands. Please.’
Belwynn shook her head. No. This wasn’t happening. Elana wasn’t going to die.
She took Elana’s hand back, sticky with blood. She held Elana’s other hand. Elana closed her eyes. A shudder ran through her and she winced in pain.
Belwynn felt something, it felt like a tiny spark in her mind. Some sensation, not quite an itch, or a pain, in the back of her head. A presence.
Then the sensation started to grow and swell, filling her mind, her head, her heart, her body, then her soul. It blazed throughout her like a fire, and it burned like one, blinding her. She cried out in pain, overcome by the force that had entered her. She thought she could hear Soren’s voice calling to her, but she couldn’t focus on anything, her senses overwhelmed. She knew she was going to lose consciousness. She tried to pull her hands free of Elana, but it was too late.
Straton slumped on his bed, a snot-filled handkerchief by his side, a half-finished meal on the floor. His cold had stolen his appetite and he had no energy for anything, so he sat on his bed, staring about his room, brooding.
Since the defeat he had lurched from impotent rage to a lethargic despair and back again, and this torment, coupled with his confinement, had made him ill. It was a gilded cage he had been given, under guard in his own rooms, treated with the utmost respect, nothing but the very best from the kitchens delivered every day. He would rather have been given a prison cell in the dungeons for everyone to see the truth. But Theron was too clever for that. He had imprisoned the royal family here in their own castle, and yet no doubt the citizens were falling over themselves to praise him for his magnanimity.
The door opened and a knight stepped into the room.
‘Excuse me, Your Highness. You have a visitor.’
Straton looked up in a disinterested way.
Dorian. The one member of the family not kept under lock and key, strolling around Heractus without a care in the world.
He looked full of purpose, staring at the knight until the door was shut and they were left alone.
‘What do you want?’ Straton demanded.
Dorian looked about the room, his eyes coming to rest on the plate of food, the handkerchief, and finally on Straton.
‘I’ve come to get you out of here.’
Straton laughed. There was something absurdly funny about that.
‘You’ve come to rescue me? Where were you when I was fighting for our family against the Knights? When your help might have actually made a difference?’
Dorian showed no remorse. Instead, he walked over to the bed. He grabbed Straton by the front of his shirt.
‘Quit whining,’ he said, a look of utter contempt on his face.
Straton didn’t know how to react.
‘You’ve allowed the Knights to walk all over you, and ruined every opportunity you had to regain control.’
This was so unlike Dorian, so unexpected, that all Straton could do was stare into the seething anger of his brother’s twisted features.
‘I’m going to make you king, so get out of your pit and do what I tell you.’
Betrayal
XV
IT WAS A SOMBRE GATHERING in Maragin’s hall, in the high lands of the Grendal clan. Rabigar could take no pleasure from his return to the place where he was raised, despite the flood of memories that assailed him as he once more entered rooms, strode past buildings, looked out on the stark mountain views, that had then been the daily sights of his youth. For, despite their victory in Haskany some eight months ago, the Krykkers had effectively been defeated in a matter of days. The dead littered the mountain slopes of his homeland: butchered by Drobax, burned by dragon fire.
‘There is only one location open to us,’ Maragin argued. ‘The Isharites may fall on Kalinth at any time. The Empire and Guivergne will also fall to a sustained attack, and we cannot be sure that our people will be welcome there for a long spell. We must evacuate to our cousins in Halvia.’
Most reluctantly agreed, having come to the same conclusion. If that decision was easy enough, the logistics of it certainly weren’t. It would involve the Krykker people travelling across the Lantinen Sea, with the risk of being targeted by the Kharovian fleet. If it went wrong, it could be catastrophic.
‘What of my people?’ asked Kelemen.
Rabigar studied him. He had that fierce look that comes when you have gone past exhaustion and you are living off your last reserves. His people had already come close to being wiped out by the Isharites. There were even less of them left now.
‘Would they give us sanctuary?’ he asked.
‘I would say so,’ said Rabigar. ‘They have given such sanctuary to the Vismarians, and that people could hold the key for us. When we visited, they told us they still had ships. If the warships of the Sea Caladri can keep the Kharovians away, the Vismarians could help to transport our people across the Lantinen.’
‘What say you, Captain Sebo?’ Kelemen asked the Sea Caladri captain.
‘We were given orders to only engage the Kharovians if necessary,’ Sebo said. ‘But at that time, our Council had no way of knowing that the fate of our cousins, not to mention the Krykker people, would be at stake in such a way. We are ready to do whatever it takes. I suggest a crossing of the Lantinen now. I will need to speak with the Vismarian captains and agree a strategy. What we are suggesting is a very complicated manoeuvre.’
‘Are you suggesting your whole fleet sails again?’ asked Maragin.
‘No. That would be too risky, and may alert the Kharovians to our plans. I will take Red Serpent across on a night-time voyage, to avoid being seen.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Rabigar. ‘The people there know me now. I’ll persuade the Vismarians to help us.’
‘So be it,’ said Maragin. ‘Meanwhile, we continue the evacuation. The Grendals will hold the mountain pas
ses for as long as possible. Our people are to be gathered in the lands of clan Swarten, ready for the crossing. We need those ships, Rabigar, or it will be a massacre.’
Moneva stood next to Gyrmund, looking on as the fighters entered the roped area for the Contest.
Gansukh’s fourth day, and the opponents were starting to appear thick and fast now, the best of the best arguing over who should be the one to kill him. Bolormaa had warned them of this. If Gansukh lasted seven days, he was khan. Those who did not wish to bend the knee to a superior would risk their lives between the ropes, to end the threat to their independence.
Qadan was the man who had won the right to defeat Gansukh today. He was huge, towering at least six inches taller than his opponent, with broad shoulders and huge limbs. His mount was the largest Jalakh horse Moneva had seen—it had to be to carry that weight and still be able to move fast enough to compete in the Contest.
A roar erupted as he was introduced, and not just from his own tribe. The area was heaving with Jalakhs from all tribes, many keen to see Gansukh defeated, others wondering whether they were witnessing history being made, with the making of a new khan.
Bolormaa and Soren sat next to each other, ready to use their powers to help Gansukh to another victory. They would be opposed by any sorcerers from Qadan’s tribe, and, Bolormaa had warned, others who wanted Gansukh to lose.
The shout went out and the two combatants charged forwards to meet in the centre, horses circling, curved swords swirling. Qadan was faster than Moneva thought possible for his size, his blade sizzling forwards to attack and moving across to parry with what looked like relaxed ease. He was not, perhaps, quite as agile as Gansukh. But his blows were stronger, forcing Gansukh to move back or to the side. They allowed Qadan to go on the offensive more often than not, dictating the pattern of the fight.
She looked across to Soren, recognising the signs of strain that showed he was using his powers in an effort to blunt Qadan’s attacking prowess. Then, a new expression appeared on his face, one of surprise, or shock.
The Jalakh Bow Page 18
