by Jayne Castel
Lilia halted and looked back over Port Needle, a cooling breeze fanning her face. The cliffs gave way to rocky headland. Slate and thatched roofs tumbled down the steep hillside, ending at the port. The boats moored there this morning appeared as small as children’s toys from this height. Just beyond them floated the dark bulk of the galleon.
Shouting reached her, drifting up from the terraces below. Peering down, she could see men fighting upon Harbor Way, and the glint of sunlight on steel.
The Shade Brotherhood.
Lilia’s thundering heart faltered when she realized just how exposed it was up here. There was little to protect them from view, save a few stunted trees. This side of the island bore the brunt of the prevailing winds. They would be travelling across a bleak, open landscape that made hiding near to impossible.
“Lilia.” Saul’s voice was sharp behind her. “Come on.”
Turning, she followed the others, sprinting across the pot-holed road and up the windswept hillside above.
When they were a furlong distant from the road, they cut west. Smoothly rounded, green hills rolled away to the north. At the top of some of them, Lilia could see the ruins of the stacked stone huts, shaped like beehives, where hermits of old had once lived. In ancient times, those seeking solitude found refuge upon Serran’s western-most outpost.
Saul led the way at a brisk jog, his leather cloak flapping. Dain, Lilia, and Ryana followed a few steps behind. Lilia hurried to keep up with her companions; only fear of what lay at her back preventing her from insisting they set a slower pace. Her ankle-length heavy skirts hindered her movement. It was not long before her lungs started to feel raw, and she felt sick from exerting herself. The others were all fitter and stronger than her.
Still, she ran on, torn from a morning of quiet routine into chaos.
12
Darkness Draws In
They journeyed west, keeping well back from the High Road. The way ran from the forts of Eastwatch to Westwatch. In single file now, they ran over grassy hills. A gusty wind raced in from the sea, chapping their faces and tugging at their clothing as they travelled.
Lilia had never journeyed this far west before. Port Needle was the farthest she’d ever ventured from her village. The Isle of Orin was small enough that you could cover one end of the High Road from east to west in a day. Yet the distance seemed enormous to her. After a short while, her thigh muscles ached and her lungs were on fire.
By the time they reached the northern turn off that took them inland, Lilia was limping from blisters. She’d slowed to a hobbling walk, forcing the others to slow their pace as well. There was no conversation between them, just an uneasy silence that grew tenser as the day progressed. Lilia noted that Saul constantly glanced over his shoulder, his dark gaze scanning the eastern horizon for signs of pursuit.
The inland route was in poor condition: badly rutted and potholed. Deep green carpeted the hills around them, lush with spring growth. There were few trees, just windswept clumps of heather, brambles or gorse.
Leaving the coast behind, they travelled north through a shallow cleft in the hills. More ruins of the ancient huts carpeted the hillsides here, their remains scattered as if by a giant’s hand. Sheep and goats grazed among the stones. Their shepherds—men wrapped in rabbit-furs—stood watch nearby.
The shadows were lengthening when they reached Woody End. A pretty hamlet of stone cottages with straw thatch, it sat on the edge of a glassy mere, with a wood of yew trees at its back. As they walked in past well-tended fields, Lilia spied bluebells carpeting the ground under the mossy trees.
They stopped briefly in the center of the village to pick up food. Saul and Ryana were the only ones carrying coin so Dain and Lilia refilled water bladders from the well in the market square, while the others bought bread, cheese and boiled eggs.
“We should reach Moss Hollow by dusk,” Saul informed them. “The closer we get to Wellwash the better. The Brotherhood will have widened their search by now.”
They followed the road out of Woody End, alongside the banks of the still, dark mere and climbed the hill. The air grew cool as dusk settled.
Darkness was drawing in by the time they reached their destination; it was time to get inside. Long shadows stretched across the soft hills in elongated, spidery fingers. A bloody sunset stained the sky, and a crimson sun slid behind the sea to the west.
True to its name, Moss Hollow sat in a shallow valley between two mossy hillsides. A brook trickled through the center of it—a cluster of no more than twenty shabby-looking stone cottages.
They found lodging in the village’s only tavern—a low-slung building of stacked stone with a sod roof. There were few folk staying here, and the elderly man who ran the tavern welcomed them with enthusiasm.
“A chamber each?”
“We’ll share one room,” Saul replied, digging into the purse at his waist for coins. “How much?”
The man’s face fell. “A bronze talent each.”
They ate a simple supper of mutton stew in the tavern’s common room—a smoky space lined with wooden booths and with a large hearth up one end. For a while none of them spoke, the sound of their wooden spoons scraping against clay bowls the only noise at the table. Apart from two men playing at dice on the other side of the room, they were the only patrons that evening.
Ryana was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. She stared at Saul as he mopped up the last of his stew with a hunk of coarse bread, her gaze boring into him until he eventually looked up and met her eye.
“Who are you really?” she asked.
Saul smiled. “Didn’t Lilia tell you?”
“She said you follow the King of Anthor—but I get the feeling there’s more to you than that.”
Saul leaned back, regarding her, his smirk still lingering. “And I have the feeling you’re not just a scop. How about you tell me who you are first?”
Ryana’s gaze narrowed, her mouth thinning. Wordlessly, she put down her spoon and stripped the fingerless glove off her right hand, turning it over so he could see the palm. The ink-black star leaped out at them.
Saul stiffened, his amusement fading. Watching him, Lilia sensed his alarm, although he struggled to hide it.
“That explains a lot,” he said finally, his expression wary. “So, what’s an Enchanter of the Dark doing here?”
Ryana gave him a hard stare. “It’s your turn now,” she replied, ignoring his question. “Who are you?”
Saul regarded her a moment, weighing his options. “My father is Reoul of Anthor.”
A stunned silence settled upon the table before Dain snorted. “So you’re a prince?”
Saul frowned. “Aye—and you’re the son of an inn-keeper, what of it?”
Dain’s gaze narrowed, however Ryana forestalled whatever response he was about to make. “How did you find The King Breaker?”
“My father sent me to fetch it,” Saul replied. He lifted his tankard of ale to his lips and took a long draft. “From the Gordi Isles.” When no one at the table commented on this, Saul continued. “A few months ago, a traveler came to our city. The man was a mercenary who had tired of killing and had lived among the monks of the Gordi Isles for a while. He discovered they kept a powerful secret. He then sold the information to my father.”
Saul dug into a deep pocket inside his cloak and withdrew a flat rectangular case made of iron, which he then placed on the table. Lilia stared at the casing, taking in its pitted, mildewed surface. Her last mouthful of stew rose in her throat.
“Does your father want to release The Shadow King?” she asked quietly, horrified at the thought anyone would do such a thing.
Saul shook his head. “He has his own plans for it.”
“Reoul of Anthor is playing with things he knows nothing about,” Ryana growled from across the table. Lilia noticed that the woman’s face had drained of color and a muscle ticked in her jaw.
Saul watched her, frowning. “And you do?”
&
nbsp; “Enough to know that The King Breaker was forged for one purpose only—your father is a fool if he thinks that he can use it for his own political gain.”
Saul laughed, although there was little humor in it. “The King of Anthor is no fool, enchanter. As others have discovered to their cost.”
Lilia’s gaze flicked from Saul to Ryana. Unlike Saul, she knew some of Ryana’s background—of how she was responsible for the other half ending up in the hands of The Shade Brotherhood. It was best Saul didn’t learn that secret.
“And The Brotherhood?” Dain spoke up. He was toying with the remains of his stew, his face more serious than Lilia had seen it. “How did they know you have it?”
Saul’s mouth compressed. “The mercenary probably got greedy. I’d say he didn’t just sell his secret to my father. I arrived at the monastery just before The Brotherhood did, and barely escaped with the prize.”
Ryana leaned across the table then, her attention upon Lilia. “We can’t let them have it. We need to take the stone to the Royal City of Rithmar, to my Order.”
Saul’s face turned hard. “The stone’s mine—and I’m taking it back to Mirrar Rock.”
“The stone belongs with those who’ll protect it,” she shot back.
His lip curled. “Bring it to the people who lost the first half? That’s clever.”
“One of their own betrayed them,” Ryana replied, her face stony. “They won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“The stone doesn’t belong to you,” Saul replied, his gaze shifting to Lilia. He now focused entirely upon her. “You’re now its bearer. You should decide what happens next.”
Three sets of eyes rested on Lilia. She sat in the corner beside Ryana and felt hemmed in, trapped. The way she saw it, she had three choices. The first was to remain on Orin and try to evade capture, nearly impossible on an island this size. The second was to do as Ryana suggested, and take the stone somewhere safe. And the third was to let Saul take her with him back to Anthor.
None of the three remotely appealed. She was terrified of being caught by The Brotherhood and she didn’t trust Saul. Nor, if she was honest, did she trust Ryana. She knew the woman’s history; she had betrayed her Order once, perhaps she could do so again. Yet Lilia’s desire to protect the stone made her weigh up her choices. She could not let any harm come to it. After a lengthy silence, her gaze swiveled to Ryana. “We take it to Rithmar.”
Ryana nodded, her shoulders visibly sagging in relief, while Saul leaned forward, meeting Lilia’s eye. For the first time since meeting again, she felt a pull of attraction toward him. “Are you sure about this, Lilia?” he asked, his voice low and intimate. “How well do you know this woman?”
“How well does she know you?” Dain pointed out.
Saul ignored him as he continued to watch Lilia.
Lilia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Dain’s right,” she murmured. “You’ve given me no reason to trust you.”
Saul held her gaze for a few moments longer. Across the room, one of the dice-players muttered an oath as he pushed a pile of bronze talents across the table to his friend, and the fire popped and sizzled in the hearth.
“Maybe not yet,” Saul replied with a melting smile, “but that can change.”
His comment brought another snort from Dain. Saul drew back from Lilia and inclined his head toward the man seated next to him. “Your part is done,” he said, his tone dismissive. “You should go home tomorrow.”
Dain met Saul’s eye. His expression was neutral although Lilia saw his blue eyes harden. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Dain …” Lilia leaned forward. “Your parents, they’ll be worrying about you. We left without even saying goodbye.”
Dain shifted his attention to her. The intensity of his gaze made her catch her breath; gone was the teasing, flirtatious young man she’d spent the last few months with at The Grey Anchor. For the first time she saw the other side to him; the side he’d struggled with as an inn-keeper’s son. In that gaze she caught a glimpse of his strength, and a streak of ruthlessness.
Suddenly she realized how patronizing her words must have sounded. He wasn’t an untried lad, tied to his mother’s apron springs. He was a man, who’d long been living a life too small for him.
“My parents will have to cope on their own,” he said, his voice low and firm. “My path leads me elsewhere now. At dawn, I’m going with you.”
13
Running with the Dawn
They left the tavern with the first blush of dawn. Lilia followed the others outdoors. A crisp breeze feathered her face, a brisk northerly. The sky was indigo, that unique shade between night and daybreak, before the sun lightened the sky. Night had barely slipped away.
Lilia, Dain and Ryana followed Saul through the slumbering village and up a steep, rock-studded hill. Reaching the top, Lilia stopped and looked back. To the east, the sky was starting to turn gold. She looked down at the shadowed, slumbering valley of Moss Hollow below. The houses, still cloaked in darkness, appeared huddled together, as if for protection. There was no sign of life, no lights in their windows, or smoke drifting skyward from their roofs. Lilia’s gaze travelled south.
It was then that she noticed a faint glow coming from the direction of Woody End. She stared at it, not sure what she was looking at before she realized the light was coming from the flickering flames of many torches held aloft.
“Wait,” she called out to the others, her voice travelling farther than she had anticipated in the quiet of the early dawn. “To the south—look.”
Saul whipped round, scowling, and came striding back toward her. He looked annoyed but when he saw the light in the distance, his expression changed. Saul swore and glanced over to where Dain and Ryana stood, their faces wary.
“They’ve found us sooner than I thought,” Saul growled. With that, he whirled, his leather cloak billowing out behind him. “Run!”
Lilia fled along the ridge next to Dain. Saul led the way with Ryana bringing up the rear. Lilia’s heart had lodged in her throat, her bladder tight with fear. Saul took them down the other side toward a wide valley still partly clad in darkness. Lilia stumbled and slid her way down the hill, slipping on the grass, which was wet with dew.
Ahead of them, Saul ran fast, his long legs eating up the ground. It was a struggle not to be left behind. They climbed one more hill before dipping down into another valley, this one rock-studded with a brook trickling through its center. The next hill was higher than those they had already climbed and at the top, Saul paused a moment. Breathing hard, he turned and cast his gaze back the way they’d come.
“They run like wolves.” His voice was grim. “At this rate we won’t reach the boat.”
“Then we need to move faster,” Ryana panted. She was red in the face. “They mustn’t catch us.”
Lilia chanced a look back and instantly regretted it. A dark cluster of figures, their outlines illuminated by pitch torches, spilled over the edge of a hill. There were more of them than she had realized, and although they were still three valleys back, they were gaining fast.
The four of them resumed their flight, fear giving their feet wings. Sweat coursed down Lilia’s face, neck and back. Yet she did not look over her shoulder again.
They crested another hill and Lilia almost sobbed in relief when she saw the rooftops of a village up ahead and the rippling waters of the sea. Although she had never visited it, Lilia knew this must be Wellwash, the fishing settlement where Saul’s boat awaited.
They flew down the hillside, picking up speed as they descended. Behind her, Lilia heard a faint rumble like the thunder of an approaching storm. Her blood chilled when the baying of hounds cut through the dawn.
Terror gripped her by the throat. They’ll catch us.
A patchwork of fields growing kale and turnips covered the lower slopes. They ran down the narrow track between the vegetable patches, their feet beating out a tattoo on the hard-packed earth, their breathing now comin
g in ragged gasps.
They fled through the village. The cobbled streets were still deserted at this hour; even the fishermen had not yet ventured from their homes to begin their day’s work. On the other side of the village, a rickety wood pier stretched out a thin finger into the glittering sea.
A battered assortment of fishing vessels bobbed against the quay, the stiff breeze causing them to nudge the wooden dock. Saul flew along the wharf, leaping over coils of oiled rope and wooden crayfish crates. Peering ahead, Lilia saw he was making for a small sloop tied up at the far end. Sleek with its single mast piercing the lightening sky, the craft appeared out of place amongst the peeling, salt-scrubbed fishing boats.
A sob of relief rose in Lilia’s throat—never had a sight been so welcome.
Saul leaped onboard and started untying the rope that kept the sloop moored to the pier.
Ryana halted and turned to look back the way they had come. “Get onboard,” she ordered Dain and Lilia.
Not needing further encouragement, they leaped over the edge of the sloop and scrambled out of Saul’s way.
Lilia looked at where Ryana stood, her posture proud, her face fierce. She was staring back at where the thundering of booted feet, the caterwauling of hunting dogs, approached.
“Do something!” Saul shouted at her.
Ryana tore off her gloves and tucked them away. Then she ducked her head, and shifted her staff to her left hand. Lilia watched as she swept her right hand before her, summoning her power.
East, toward the mainland, Lilia could see the sun slipping over the edge of the horizon. Its light slid like molten honey across the sea. However, Wellwash still lay in shadow, a headland to the east preventing the sunlight from reaching it for a few moments more.
Lilia watched the dark patches around the enchanter, the shadows that surrounded her, dance to life. The sight caused Lilia’s breathing to stop for a moment—apart from her own shadow, she’d never seen the darkness dance.
