by Jayne Castel
A wide trackway ran north, hugging the rugged coastline. It would stop at a number of villages and towns on its way north before eventually arriving at the foothills of the Black Mountains and the Kingdom of Rithmar’s most northern outpost: Errad.
The travelers did not take that route. Instead they took the Eastern Road, a pot-holed, unpaved highway that circled the base of Mount Velar before cutting through farmland. Eventually, the highway would lead them into the Highlands of Rithmar and to the Royal City itself, but the mountains were still some way off.
They rode in silence, eager to make up for lost time. As soon as Idriss lay behind them they urged the horses into a canter, and they began to eat up the furlongs. Patchworks of kale, carrots and onions, and rippling golden lakes of barley spread out either side of the road.
The mist had started to clear, but it was still a grey dawn. Nonetheless, as the day brightened somewhat, Lilia spied men and women scything barley in the fields. The folk here paid travelers no mind. This was a busy road, and they would be used to a steady flow of horses, oxen and wagons.
On the way east across The Western Cradle, this fertile bowl of arable land bounded by the Rithmar Highlands to the east and the sea to the west, they passed a number of travelers: cottars bringing produce to market; merchants with wagons groaning under loads of wool bales from the capital; and wagons where men, women and children perched, having bought passage to Idriss.
Lilia rode alongside Dain, while Saul and Ryana cantered along side-by-side up ahead. It had been a while since Lilia had last ridden a horse. Beasts like these were expensive on Orin, although she had gone for rides on her uncle’s pony as a girl. The pony had been a bad-tempered animal that bucked her off at the slightest provocation. This was a different experience. The cob had a long stride and proved to be a comfortable ride.
As she traveled, Lilia glanced at Dain. He’d wiped the blood from his face but said little since killing the Nightgenga. The brutality of his act had shocked her, although she was relieved he’d done it. Still, it was an irony that it was Saul’s life he’d saved.
They stopped for lunch at the edge of a hazel-wood thicket. It was a humid, grey afternoon, with dark clouds rolling in from the north. Lilia took a bite of bread and cheese, frowning at the darkening sky.
She glanced over at Dain, who sat next to her on a rock, and attempted to catch his eye. When he failed to look in her direction, she cleared her throat.
“Dain, are you well?”
He glanced up, his dark-blue gaze meeting hers. “Aye, why do you ask?”
“This morning … what you did—”
“It had to be done,” he cut her off. “There’s no point dwelling on it.”
“He’s right,” Ryana spoke up. She sat opposite them on a tree stump. She watched Dain steadily. “He may have to use that axe again.”
Dain and Ryana’s gazes held for a moment. “What happened back there?” he asked. “You should have been able to stop the Nightgenga.”
Ryana’s mouth compressed, and she looked away. “I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “That’s never happened to me before.”
He frowned. “And let’s hope it doesn’t happen again, if we should ever need you.”
Ryana’s head snapped up. Lilia could see the censure in her eyes, but this time she said nothing.
“You know how to swing an axe,” Saul rasped from a few feet away, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “It almost had me.”
Lilia noted that livid bruises now marked Saul’s neck. They would need to get some salve for it once they reached their day’s destination: Tallow.
Dain raised an eyebrow. “You’d have done the same for me?”
Saul snorted before wincing as his neck pained him. “Aye … thanks, all the same.”
18
By the Fireside
They reached the market town of Tallow shortly before dusk. Encircled by a high wooden palisade, Tallow sat on the banks of the river by the same name, in the midst of The Western Cradle.
On the way into town, Lilia noted the spreading fields thick with ripening corn and brassicas, the well-tended walled gardens, and the tidy timber thatch-roofed houses. The landscape reminded her of the farmlands around Shingle Ford; this area had the same atmosphere of bucolic prosperity.
The rain was just starting—large wet splashes that speckled the dry road—and thunder rumbled in the distance. Lilia turned her face up to it and winced when a large drop smacked into her eyeball. Blinking, she looked down and scrubbed at her eye, following her companions across the narrow wooden bridge into town.
A high wooden fence circuited Tallow. The four travelers clattered over the bridge and rode through wide gates into a large market square. At one end of the square, Tallow’s Altar of Umbra cast a long shadow, thrusting skyward like a great tar-dipped finger. The sight of the altar made Lilia suppress a shiver—a reminder of last night’s song—yet the inhabitants of the town walked by without even casting a glance up at the towering obelisk.
Lilia tore her gaze from the monument to The Shadow King and followed her companions across the square, before clip-clopping up a neatly paved thoroughfare. Sturdy dwellings of wood and grey stone overshadowed the street. They rode past colorful window boxes and freshly scrubbed steps; Tallow was a town proud of itself.
They chose a busy inn named The Wheatsheaf, not far from Tallow’s eastern gates—just in case they had to make an escape from the town at short notice. The rain was starting in earnest as they led their horses into the stables out the back of the inn; hammering on the thatched roof above their heads.
Lilia swung down from her horse, hissing between clenched teeth as her thigh muscles protested.
Dain, who had already dismounted, saw her expression and grinned. “It’ll be worse tomorrow.”
Lilia gave him a baleful look. “Come dawn, I doubt you’ll feel any better than me.”
“None of us will,” Ryana commented from behind them. “It’s years since I’ve been on the back of a horse—I’ll be shuffling like a crone tomorrow.”
“The three of you had better toughen up.” Saul rasped from where he was unsaddling his gelding in a stall behind Dain. “We’ve got days of hard travel ahead of us.”
Ryana gave him a dismissive look. “Have you ever travelled to the Royal City of Rithmar?”
He shook his head.
Ryana turned her back on him. “Well I have—the road isn’t so bad.”
“I wasn’t talking about the road or the terrain,” Saul countered. “Soon, if not already, The Brotherhood will find out where we stayed in Idriss—and they’ll pick up our trail on the Eastern Road. We’ll need to ride like the wind to stay ahead of them.”
None of them—Ryana included—had any answer for that.
Inside The Wheatsheaf Inn, the innkeeper’s wife started fussing over Saul the moment he set foot through the entrance. A slender woman with a work-worn face and soft blue eyes, she looked to have been a beauty in her youth, but years of hard work had ground her down. Her gaze alighted upon Saul’s ravaged neck. “Shadows, you’ve been in the wars.”
“Set upon by thieves in Idriss,” Saul croaked.
The innkeeper’s wife looked horrified at this news. She placed a sympathetic hand on Saul’s arm. “Poor thing. I shall bring you up some Weltwort for that bruising.”
Ryana cast Saul an amused look as they followed the woman upstairs to their room. “Seems I’m the only female for leagues immune to your charms,” she murmured.
Saul smirked in response, before favoring her with a look of supreme male confidence, which promised he’d soon fix that.
Climbing up the stairs, a few feet behind, Lilia swallowed a surge of irritation. Had she too fallen over herself in front of Saul when they’d first met? Had she too been blinded by his suave good looks?
Rain lashed against the shutters and thunder clapped overhead, causing Lilia to start. Heart pounding, she inhaled deeply and tried to soothe her jangling ne
rves.
Breathe—it’s just a storm.
She stood inside a bathing chamber at the end of the hallway from their room. It was a rare moment of solitude and although the storm frightened her, Lilia savored the privacy.
Standing naked—save for the stone she wore about her neck—in front of an iron pot of steaming hot water, she had just finished soaping and washing herself down and was now drying off with a scratchy piece of linen. The bath had cost her a bronze talent, but it was worth it to feel clean again.
Boom.
A second thunder clap directly overhead made her swallow a scream.
“Jumpy?”
The voice—one she had not heard in a few days—made Lilia freeze. Clutching the scrap of linen against her breast, she turned to see her shadow, twice the size it should have been, leaning indolently up against the whitewashed wall of the bathing chamber.
Lilia inhaled. “Ever so slightly.”
“Miss me?”
Lilia swallowed and forced herself to remain calm, not to panic. She shook her head.
“Lucky for me, your friends can’t be with you every moment of the day,” the shadow drawled.
“What do you want?” Lilia tore her gaze away from her shadow and resumed toweling herself off. She was shivering now, as much from fear as from the unseasonably cold air that forced itself in through the gaps in the shutters.
“Just to chat.”
Lilia clamped her jaw shut to stop her teeth from chattering and reached for her leggings. “I’m listening,” she muttered.
Silence stretched between them for a few moments before her shadow spoke. “I’m learning a lot from you.”
Lilia glanced over at the silhouette stretched out behind her and saw that it had gone still. Although her shadow had no eyes, she was aware of it studying her. Lilia pulled on her leggings and reached for her shirt. Haste, fear and cold had rendered her movements clumsy and slow.
“And what have you learned so far?”
“That some people wouldn’t survive a day out in the world on their own.”
Lilia paused amidst lacing up her shirt. “Are you referring to me?”
“None other.”
Lilia resumed getting dressed, reaching for the knife that Dain had bought her and buckling it around her waist. “You don’t want to chat—you want to insult me.”
Her shadow chuckled, a dry, whispery sound that stretched Lilia’s taut nerves further still. “I didn’t mean to cause offense. I’m just making observations. If you want to make it to the capital alive, your companions are your only hope. You have no idea how to fend for yourself.”
“I’m aware of that.” Lilia picked up her boots and pushed wet hair out of her eyes. She would finish dressing back in her room, where she wouldn’t have to listen to this slithering, hateful voice. “Thanks for reminding me how useless I am.”
“That wasn’t my intention. I was merely making an observation.”
Lilia stopped, anger surfacing. For a blessed moment, it obliterated her jangling nerves and pounding heart. For a moment she felt fearless. “Leave me alone,” she said coldly. “I have no wish to listen to your poison.”
She watched her shadow cock its head. She stood close to it now, for it had followed her as she made for the door. Lilia turned away and reached for the iron handle.
“Wait.”
The urgency, the lack of mockery, in the voice made her pause. “Just one thing before you run off.”
“What?”
“The weather.”
Lilia angled her head toward her shadow, her gaze narrowing. “What of it?”
“You seem to be the only one of your companions to have noticed that summer has ended months early this year.”
It was true—whenever Lilia commented on the chill or the lack of sun, her companions, even Dain, had ignored her.
“They’re not interested,” she replied coolly. “In case you haven’t noticed we’ve had more pressing matters to deal with.”
“Make them pay attention—it’s important.”
“Why?”
“I dwell closer to the elements then any of you. The earth, the sky, and the air—they whisper their worries to me. Something is wrong; something that has nothing to do with the men chasing you.”
Lilia swallowed, her heart suddenly pounding as if she had just finished a sprint. “What is it?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you.” The sneer in the silhouette’s voice warned Lilia that whatever it was, her shadow was not her friend or her ally. It was a reminder that this thing, created by The King Breaker, could well be a malevolent force out to trick her or do her harm.
Without another word, Lilia opened the door to the bathing chamber and stumbled out into the drafty hallway.
A fire roared in the hearth. The sound was comforting, contrasting with that of the howling wind and the rattling of the shutters as squalls hit the side of the building. Unlike outdoors, it was warm and dry inside the room they had taken for the night.
Lilia picked up the pot of Weltwort, her gaze settling upon Saul. “Do you want me to apply the salve?”
A few feet away, perched upon a stool, Saul nodded. “Thanks, I can barely swallow.”
“It hasn’t stopped you talking,” Dain commented from where he sat at a table, cup of ale in hand. Ryana sat next to him, toying with the remains of her rabbit stew.
Saul ignored Dain, his dark gaze riveted upon Lilia as she approached him and pulled up a stool. Avoiding his stare she removed the wooden stopper from the small clay pot the innkeeper’s wife had brought up. The pale yellow ointment had a sharp odor that made her eyes water. Still, she knew Weltwort worked; it was a remedy her mother had always sworn by for bruising and swellings. Scooping out some salve with her forefinger, she leaned forward and applied it to Saul’s neck.
Sitting this close to him made her uneasy. It reminded her of the kisses they’d shared, of how he’d taken her in. Fortunately, as soon as she started to apply the salve, Saul ceased his melting gaze.
He gave a moan of pain, his body stiffening. She could see the outlines of the Nightgenga’s fingers: long spidery blue, purple and yellow bruises. “It’ll hurt now,” she told him, “but you’ll feel better once the salve starts to work.”
Saul nodded, although his face had blanched. “It was so strong,” he grunted. “Its hands were claws of iron.”
“Had you ever seen one before?” she asked.
“From a distance, years ago, when I was out hunting with my brother,” Saul replied. “We saw one emerge from a thicket near dusk. There was a group of us, all on horseback, so it didn’t cause us any trouble—just loped off into the trees.”
“I’ve seen one before,” Lilia admitted quietly, not looking up from her task of applying salve. “When I was ten winters old, I saw a Nightgenga in the woods near my village, not long after sunset.”
She was aware that all three of them were watching her, although she didn’t look up. She didn’t know what had made her tell them—it was a memory that still frightened her.
“What were you doing in the woods after dark?” Ryana asked finally.
Lilia swallowed, wishing she had kept silent. She finished smearing on the ointment and sat back, reaching for a cloth to wipe her hands. She glanced up to see Saul watching her.
“I didn’t plan to stay out late that day,” she said trying to keep her tone light but failing. “I grew up with a group of rough boys. One of them, Ronan, knew I was frightened of the dark. He and his friends went looking for me that afternoon, while I was out collecting mushrooms in the woods. They tied me to a tree and left me there. I shouted for help but no one came—and then once darkness fell I heard something sniffing, prowling in the undergrowth. That smell—I’ll never forget it.”
“Pungent, like rotting meat and skunk musk?” Saul asked.
Lilia nodded, her gorge rising at the memory. She glanced over at Dain and Ryana to find them both watching her, gazes narrowed. “My father and u
ncle came looking for me,” she said after a few moments. “They carried flaming torches and scythes, and in the glow of their torchlight I saw it.” Lilia shifted her attention back to Saul. “The same creature that attacked you this morning. It was creeping through the undergrowth toward me.”
Saul quirked an eyebrow. “What happened?”
“The torchlight startled it, and it ran off.”
Saul gave a low whistle. “You were lucky.”
Lilia nodded. “I never went into the woods alone after that, not even in the mornings.”
“What happened to this Ronan and his pals?” Dain asked.
“They all got a beating from their fathers, and they never came near me again.”
Rising to her feet, Lilia crossed to the table, where she poured herself a cup of ale. She took a sip and met Dain’s eye over the rim of her cup. The sympathy she saw there just made her feel embarrassed. This was why she’d spoken of this incident to so few people. It made her look like a helpless, spineless girl who was easy to bully. For some reason, just like her shadow’s taunts, she hated to be seen that way.
Especially by Dain.
19
Sacrifice to the Shadows
Shortly after dawn, the four of them left their room and made their way down to the first floor of The Wheat Sheaf Inn, wooden steps creaking underfoot. To their surprise, they found the common room below filled with stern-faced men in damp oilskins.
Lilia tensed at the sight of them. Like her companions, she had expected to see the common room empty at this hour; instead she immediately picked up on the odor of nervous sweat, the knife edge of tension in the room.
She halted at the foot of the stairs, her gaze shifting to Dain.
“Something’s wrong,” he muttered.
Next to them, Ryana frowned, while Saul took a long assessing look at the gathered men. “I agree,” he murmured. “But let’s not hang around to find out what.”
