by Jayne Castel
The ground in the glen was soft, a bed of grass and moss. Yet dampness seeped through the layers of Dain’s clothing, even through his thick cloak. Still, he didn’t mind the discomfort—he was basking in relief at still being alive.
At dusk he’d thought the end had come.
Never had he been so pleased to see strangers. The mood this eve was tense; especially after the discussion earlier.
Saul had learned of Ryana past—and he’d been furious.
He brooded now, sitting by himself as far away from them as possible, his cloaked back turned to them all. He’d been as angry with Dain and Lilia as with Ryana though.
“You knew what she did, and you trusted her?” he’d bit out the words in a rare show of temper, for Saul was usually too cunning and controlled to reveal his true thoughts to his traveling companions. “You’re both fools!”
Dain didn’t entirely disagree with Saul. He’d never been comfortable knowing that Ryana had been responsible for the first half of The King Breaker ending up in the hands of The Shade Brotherhood, yet her candidness with them when she’d told the tale had made her seem trustworthy.
Of late his thoughts had been on other matters. This journey had been so fraught with danger, he’d given little thought to what lay ahead. He’d assumed Ryana had been telling the truth—that it was time to return to the House of Light and Darkness and face her past.
However, watching her hostility as she faced Asher, he felt a tickle of concern.
Perhaps that hadn’t been her plan at all.
Likewise, Lilia had gone quiet next to him. She watched Ryana and Asher, who sat a few feet from each other on the other side of the fire, her gaze flicking from one to the other.
Dain studied Lilia, taking in the delicate lines of her face, her warm-brown eyes, beautifully drawn mouth and the scattering of freckles across her pert nose.
He hadn’t planned on kissing her earlier that day—one moment he’d been helping Lilia to her feet, the next she was in his arms. If Saul hadn’t interrupted them, he would have gone on kissing her indefinitely. She was delicious; the memory of the softness and taste of that rosebud mouth made his blood heat.
Unfortunately, she’d been strange with him afterward, acting as if the kiss had been a mistake. Dain longed to get her alone again, to show her it wasn’t.
The events just before dusk had caused Lilia to forget her discomfort around him, and Dain was relieved that she sat close to him now, her thigh close enough to his that he could feel the warmth of her body.
Across the fire, it was Asher—as it had been earlier—who broke the weighty silence.
“Why did you do it?” he said, his voice cool, almost dismissive. “Just tell me that.”
Ryana’s mouth twisted. “Why do you think?”
“I have no idea, that’s why I’m asking you.”
Ryana stared into the flickering fire. “I did it for Gael,” she murmured after a few moments, “and I’ve regretted it ever since.”
“So that harpist was behind it all?”
Ryana nodded. “I never realized he was one of The Brotherhood. He found out what we’d discovered in Fellmere and he cast a charm over me, forcing me to do his bidding.”
Asher’s face hardened. “So you’re saying he made you do it?”
Ryana swallowed, before nodding. “I’m sorry for it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Not a day has gone past that I haven’t regretted it.”
Silence stretched out after these words. Asher’s handsome face was expressionless, although his grey eyes were hard. Likewise, the faces of many of the enchanters seated around them were unfriendly, their gazes watchful.
“So you’re taking these three to the capital?” Asher asked. “Why?”
Ryana’s expression turned hunted. “On an urgent matter—one we can only share with Thrindul.”
Asher watched her. “We were friends once. Why won’t you tell me?”
Ryana glanced about her, as if expecting to see the servants of the shadows pressed up against the fire sphere, listening to their conversation. Her shoulders trembled slightly, suppressing a shudder.
“It’s not safe out here to speak of such things,” she said. “Take us to Thrindul and you’ll find out soon enough.”
Asher raised an eyebrow. “You’d face him again, after what you did?”
“I would.”
Asher’s look of incredulity increased before he glanced over at Dain and Lilia. “So you two won’t tell me either?”
Dain shared a look with Lilia and curtly shook his head, hoping she understood to keep silent. Lilia met Asher’s gaze and favored him with an apologetic smile. “Ryana’s right. This isn’t the place for such a discussion.”
Asher glanced over at Saul. “And your man of Anthor here—is he too sworn to secrecy?”
Saul turned, scowling at Asher before casting Ryana a resentful look. “That lying bitch has been a boil on my arse since we set out on this journey, but she speaks true. You won’t get the answers you seek out of me either.”
The air grew tense in the clearing, for some of the enchanters were watching Ryana with open hostility, while others muttered amongst themselves. Dain shifted on his damp, mossy seat and met Asher’s eye.
“What brings a group of enchanters out here in the wild?”
Asher let out a long breath, glancing across at where dark, elongated shapes danced beyond the protective barrier. “The Servants of the Shadows grow bolder with each passing night. Only enchanters of the Light can keep them at bay so we’re patrolling the road to make sure travelers haven’t been stranded.”
“We haven’t passed anyone since Hillbrook,” Dain replied. “The Eastern Road has been forsaken for the time being.”
Asher nodded, his expression bleak. “These attacks have cut off the capital from the rest of the kingdom. No one will be getting in or out soon at all if they don’t stop.”
“And do you know what’s causing them?” Saul asked from a few yards away.
The enchanter’s mouth twisted. “I don’t know why this is happening, but I can guess at what it means.” He paused here, his gaze flicking back to Ryana who was staring down at her clasped hands. “The last time shadow creatures walked abroad so boldly, Valgarth ruled. I don’t know how or why, but somehow The Shadow King’s power is awakening—and his servants are answering his call.”
26
Welcome Home
Two days later they reached the outskirts of the Royal City of Rithmar, leaving isolation behind and rejoining the world once more.
The enchanters and their guests fell in behind a group of men travelling to the capital from outlying villages: men dressed in travel-stained leathers, with hard-faces. Some had swords at their sides, others had axes slung onto their backs, while still others carried ash spears.
Dain, who walked near the front of the group, cast Asher a questioning look.
“The king is rallying fighting men,” the enchanter replied. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Anthor and Thûn are at war.”
Dain nodded. “We heard in Idriss. Have you had any news from the south?”
Asher’s grey eyes clouded. “Aye—none of it good. Anthor gains the advantage. It appears their king has been planning this campaign a long while.”
Dain stiffened at this news and glanced back over his shoulder at where Saul walked next to Lilia. The pair of them were talking, their voices too low for him to make out the conversation. He wondered what Asher’s reaction would be if he knew Reoul of Anthor’s youngest son walked amongst them.
They followed the men bound east. The gravel road curved north for a spell, following the edge of a mountain that rose like the prow of a great ship from a sea of green hills. The Eastern Road skirted the mountain and entered a wooded vale. Spruce and fir carpeted the hillsides, filling the cool air with their sharp scent. The road ran alongside a swiftly flowing river. The sound of running water and birdsong filled the vale.
Soon
they came across tended fields, paddocks where goats and sheep grazed, and clusters of timber cottages. The shadows were lengthening and workers trekked back to their homes after a day in the fields. Scythes, spades and hoes in hand, they paid little attention to the trickle of travelers on the road.
As he walked, Dain noted that many of the cottars’ dwellings were damaged; doors and shutters hung off hinges, and some had their roofs caved in. Those farmers who had finished work for the day, followed the other travelers into the city. Clearly, it was not safe to remain beyond the walls after dark.
Turning his attention east once more, Dain’s gaze followed the river to its source. There, barely a league ahead, lay their destination. He caught his breath at the sight of it.
Ryana appeared at Dain’s left shoulder, taking in the city she had not seen in a decade. She’d said little since meeting up with the enchanters, and kept to herself in the evenings, her mood subdued. Yet he saw emotion flicker in her eyes now.
Looking upon the city before him, Dain shared her awe.
The Royal City of Rithmar was famed throughout Serran for its beauty, but Dain had thought those tales exaggerated. Folk called it ‘the jewel of the four kingdoms’—and he finally understood why.
A glittering citadel sat at the end of the vale, nestled between two canine-shaped peaks. Surrounded by dark forest and rushing waterfalls, the city climbed the mountainside in many levels. Walls of gleaming white stone encircled each tier. Although dusk was still some way off, fires burned atop the walls and from watchtowers. At its crown rose a great tower, with a gilded turret.
The Tower of the North was an impressive sight. Dain had heard that the Kingdom of Farras housed this tower’s twin far to the south. He suddenly felt very far from his parents’ inn in Port Needle, and the sleepy Isle of Orin.
He glanced back at Ryana. Tearing her gaze from the citadel, she smiled, although the expression was brittle.
“I never thought to set eyes on this city again.”
To Dain’s right, Asher huffed a bitter laugh. “Welcome home.”
Lilia walked alongside Saul and entered the gates of the capital.
A great wall of iron and wood—at least twenty feet high—formed a stark barrier before the lower town. Beyond, a tightly-packed township of stone houses stretched out alongside the banks of the River Rith, greeting the travelers as they drew closer. Most of the buildings facing the road were workshops. Jewelers, weapon smiths, iron-mongers, carpenters and tailors all squeezed in—hoping to gain trade from one of the many folk who journeyed in and out of the capital every day.
One glance at her surroundings and Lilia knew this city was far richer than Idriss. The port city was big and rough, but the Royal City of Rithmar was on another scale entirely. It both intimidated and amazed her. She craned her neck up at the white city above and felt her skin prickle.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
She glanced across at Saul and found him watching her.
“More beautiful even than Mirrar Rock?” she asked.
“Anthor’s capital is impressive,” Saul admitted, “but this city outshines her. Mirrar Rock is built on a base of obsidian and surrounded by extinct volcanoes. It’s austere, all gleaming edges and sharp angles. Not like this citadel—its walls glow as if lit from some light within.”
Despite herself, Lilia felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. She hadn’t realized Saul was a poet. Yet he was right, the Royal City had an ethereal quality.
They followed the enchanters to the gates of the citadel, and waited to be let inside. There was a long queue and it moved slowly. Lilia grew impatient, glancing a few yards ahead where Dain waited with Asher and Ryana.
Dain looked tired, his clothes travel-stained, his shaggy hair mussed and dirty. It had been days since any of them had been able to bathe properly, and Lilia knew she didn’t look, or smell, any cleaner than her companions.
Beside Dain, Ryana looked bone-weary, yet her stance was tense, her gaze watchful.
The sun was setting across the vale when they entered the citadel at last. The guards at the gate didn’t question them as they went through with the group of enchanters. However, they had barely gone a few yards across the wide cobbled square beyond when a young woman approached them. She ran across the square, her pale, floss-like hair flying like a flag behind her.
The girl was dressed in a smoke-grey robe, marking her as an Enchanter of the Light; although her clothing was not travel-stained like the robes of those who had just entered the city.
“Asher!’ She rushed up to the enchanter, her eyes huge on her thin face. “You were due back days ago—we thought something had happened to you all.”
The blond man cast her a weary smile. “Greetings, Rina. We travelled farther west than planned, and just as well we did.” He gestured to the group standing behind him. “These four needed saving.”
Rina’s gaze swept over the faces of the newcomers before it shifted back to Asher. Lilia noted the way she stared at him, the thinly veiled adoration in her eyes. It appeared Asher had an admirer.
“It’s just as well you’re back,” she breathed. “We have barely enough enchanters to cover the walls tonight. More people have been maimed by shadow creatures. The Hall of Healing is filled with injured, but there are none of the Light to tend them. Some are in a bad state—they need your help.”
Asher heaved a sigh, irritation flashing across his features. “I’ve been walking since daybreak, Rina—isn’t there anyone else?
She shook her head. “Most of the enchanters are at the wall.”
Asher turned to the group following him. “Come, we’ll make a stop at the Hall before you meet the High Enchanter.”
Without another word, Asher set off up the hill. Lilia fell in with the group following, her own legs protesting at the steep climb.
The main road, The King’s Way, corkscrewed up the glittering cone of the citadel, but by the time they reached the top of the first level, Lilia was struggling to keep up with the others.
Around her, firelight glowed from behind shuttered windows and the voices of men, women and children echoed out into the empty street as folk prepared their suppers. It was almost dark now; most folk were safely indoors. Lamps filled with tallow lit the cobbled expanse before them.
It took them a while to climb half-way up the citadel, but eventually they arrived at a great stone fortress. Solid, flat roofed and lined with battlements, the House of Light and Darkness was not what Lilia had expected. It was the ugliest building she had seen so far inside the city. It looked like military barracks.
Three oaken doors greeted them. The central door was the largest, leading into the fortress itself. A door knocker hung in its center—the face of a great horned stag holding a heavy iron ring in its mouth.
The two doors flanking it led into wings that sloped down from the main structure. They had markings inscribed into the grey stone above them: a dark eight-pointed star on the left and the outline of a star to the right.
Asher led them to the door marked by the outlined star, threw it open and marched inside.
Lilia hung back, letting the Enchanters of the Light follow him indoors. Then she exchanged a look with Ryana who had also hesitated at the entrance. “What should we do?”
Ryana sighed, her gaze flicking to where Saul and Dain stood behind Lilia, awaiting her answer. “Asher will take us to the High Enchanter soon enough,” she replied. “Come, we might as well see if we can make ourselves useful here first.”
The Hall of Healing was a long, narrow structure lined with straw-filled pallets on both sides with an aisle through the center. Oil filled cressets burned along the pitted-stone walls, casting a golden hue over the gaunt, ashen faces of the folk laid-up here.
The hall was full. The injured filled the pallets, some sitting up with arms or legs bandaged, while others lay worryingly still, covered by blankets. One or two of the pallets had been curtained off, as if the injuries that lay within
were too grave for the others to see.
Lilia breathed in the metallic odor of blood, laced with something else—something resinous and pungent, like pine sap but much stronger.
She screwed up her nose, glancing at Ryana. “What’s that smell?”
“Eld Oil,” Ryana replied. “It comes from the sap of a tree that only grows in the Rithmar Highlands.”
“We use it in Anthor as well,” Saul added from behind the women, “although it’s costly. This smell reminds me of the back-alleys of Mirrar Rock.”
Lilia glanced back at him, frowning. “Why?”
“The oil dulls pain,” he replied, “but take it for more than a day or two and you become a slave to it. Eld is the vice of the wealthy—at least in Anthor—I’ve seen many a nobleman’s son brought low by it.”
Ryana nodded. “It’s no different here—but used properly it takes away suffering and speeds healing.”
Lilia watched the Enchanters of the Light who had entered just before them, get to work. They washed their hands in basins near the door, before picking up baskets overflowing with bandages, vials and clay bottles, and hurrying to attend the injured.
Asher led them. Lilia observed him, fascinated by the man’s cool confidence, the way he knew exactly what needed to be done, and by whom.
Ryana stepped forward. “Can I help?”
Asher, who had stopped by the pallet of a man with a grievous slash-wound to his left thigh, glanced up. “Get me some boiling water and fresh linen.”
Ryana did as bid, while Asher inspected the wound, his gaze dispassionate. “It’s started to fester,” he announced.
The man, a burly fellow who looked like a cottar, groaned. “They broke into our cottage,” he moaned. “Slew my wife and carried my daughter off.”
Lilia stifled a gasp, understanding now the look of desolation on the man’s face. He did not appear to care if he lived or died. Asher didn’t answer the man; his attention wholly focused on the task at hand.
Ryana brought the hot water and cloths as asked. She then sat down next to the man, as Asher started to clean his wounds. The farmer’s yell of agony echoed down the hall, and he began to thrash. Ryana tried to hold him still but he flung up a meaty arm, and knocked her off her low stool. Picking herself up, she beckoned to Saul and Dain. “I need your help.”
