by Jayne Castel
Neither of them replied. Ryana’s tone made it clear she wouldn’t be changing her mind.
If I don’t come back.
Lilia’s chest constricted. Ryana seemed so sure of herself; she hoped she knew what she was doing.
Lilia shifted back onto her belly, her gaze returning to the carpet of bobbing heads and writhing forms which covered the wide valley below. Her breathing quickened at the sight of the host; she could feel her pulse in her belly pressed up against the cold, hard ground.
Ryana had been gone a few moments when Dain spoke. “Will you do as she says?”
Lilia inclined her head. “What?”
“Are you going to return to the camp, if Ryana doesn’t come back?”
She heard the challenge in his voice, but was ready for it. “There’s no going back,” she whispered. “Are you with me?”
There was a smile in his voice as he answered. “Always.”
Ryana moved off down the hillside, her boots slipping on the loose shale and pebbles that scattered its surface. She moved with exaggerated care, aware that each step brought her closer to danger.
Idiot, she cursed herself as she walked. You’re throwing your life away.
Despite the brave face she’d presented to the others; she was terrified. Her pulse raced, her stomach was in knots and her legs felt like they might give way at any moment—yet she pressed on.
It’s the only way.
She passed her first scout halfway down the slope. A man, clad in boiled leather, a heavy cloak hanging from his shoulders stood with his back to her. He was scanning the hillside below, and Ryana circled wide around him. However, a few yards further down, she encountered a hunched, lanky form: a Nightgenga.
Feral eyes, glowing in the darkness, flicked from side to side as it surveyed its surroundings. It was sniffing, trying to catch the scent of intruders on the wind. Ryana slowed her pace. The night breeze blew in from the north, so luckily she was downwind. Even so, she was wary.
Sweat slid down her back and between her breasts. She forced herself to take slow, measured breaths. One misstep, the scuff of a boot against stone, and the Nightgenga would know it was not alone. Luckily it did not mark her passing, and Ryana reached the bottom of the hill unseen.
Mounds of stone stretched before her, like the homes of some giant insect. Yet Ryana knew what these really were: barrows.
So many.
Like most folk growing up in the Kingdom of Rithmar, she knew of this land’s violent past, of the thousands of men and women Valgarth had enslaved. However, it was only now, as she looked out upon a sea of cairns that the sheer scale of it hit her.
Ryana clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders, forcing down horror.
He can’t be allowed to walk free again.
Heart pounding, she walked through the cairns toward the edge of the Shadow Army, slipping into their midst through a ring of prowling Hiriel.
Ryana’s shadows enfolded her in a cool cloak; their nearness giving her comfort and strength. They were her allies, and they made her feel a little less alone—which was just as well for the moment she stepped beyond the Hiriel, her courage deserted her. Ryana stopped, her heart racing, her vision blurring with terror.
A wave of stench—hot iron mixed with the rank odor of the slaughter house—hit her.
Shadow creatures pressed in at her from all sides. Leering distorted faces and beastlike eyes; she could sense their impatience.
To Ryana’s right, screeching and hissing rent the air as two creatures fought over a hare’s carcass. A small, dark-skinned imp with a whip tail, hissed—baring needle teeth as a wolf-like beast with raised hackles growled back. The wolfbeast placed a heavy paw on the carcass between them.
Ryana inhaled deeply and whispered a few words to her shadows, feeling them expand and shift around her, clearing a way forward through the throng. Behind her she heard snarling, before a high-pitched wail split the night.
She did not look back, instead keeping her gaze fixed ahead, at the tops of the tents that were still some way off. She walked with long, deliberate strides, navigating her way through the shadow horde as if she were crossing a swamp filled with poisonous eels.
The shadows were her savior. Not only did they cloak her from view, but they created an invisible shield at least two feet around Ryana. Without it, one of the prowling shadow creatures would have collided with her.
Eventually, she reached the center of the encampment, and slipped through the ring of hide tents to the clearing beyond. At its heart, a crackling fire threw out a wall of heat.
A cluster of cloaked figures stood warming their hands. Ryana had been so intent on making it safely through the ranks of shadow creatures that she had barely realized the temperature had fallen dramatically with the setting of the sun.
However, she didn’t dwell on the chill for long. Her gaze swept the group—looking for The Shadow King. She had no idea what Valgarth might look like—for no paintings or etchings of him had survived after his fall. Such a man would be difficult to miss though; she would recognize him on sight.
Yet she couldn’t see him.
Instead, a man standing directly opposite drew her attention. Tall and lean, with long, dark hair tied back at his nape, he was as attractive as she remembered. Perhaps more so, for age had broadened his shoulders, and given character to a fine-boned, handsome face.
Gael.
Ryana’s belly twisted. She’d suspected Gael would be here, yet it was a shock to actually see him. The last time she’d set eyes on him, Ryana had been tied up in his room above the tavern where he worked as a musician. She remembered lying on her side, gazing up at him blearily as the charm he’d used upon her began to wear off.
“Take me with you,” she’d rasped. Even now, Ryana cringed at how pathetic she’d been, how she’d worshipped him.
He’d stood over her, smiling. “I don’t think so … I don’t have to pretend to care about you anymore. You’ve served your purpose.”
Ryana’s breathing hitched at the memory. Her cheeks burned red-hot as the humiliation of that day washed over her once more. She’d tried to bury that hurt, but it had lain deep within her, festering. Now that the man who’d used her, betrayed her, stood just feet away, it erupted to the surface.
Bastard.
Her hand tightened on her quarterstaff. How she’d like to wrap this around his head.
Instead, she remained where she was, rooted to the spot.
Get a hold of yourself. You’re not here for revenge.
Even so, she imagined the pleasure she’d feel in shoving Gael face-first into that roaring fire, and watching him burn.
Ryana moved, walking stiffly around the edge of the fire, behind the men. She had to find out where Valgarth was hiding. Perhaps he was in one of the tents?
Gael was standing next to Brand. The young man was talking to him, his round face solemn; the breeze mussing his sandy hair. To Brand’s left stood a hulking soldier, his bald head gleaming in the firelight.
The soldier interrupted Brand mid-sentence, the low rumble of his voice carrying across the clearing. However, Ryana was too far away to make out the words.
Holding her breath, she crept up behind them before stopping around three feet back. She dared approach no further; instead leaning forward, straining to catch the conversation between the three men.
The soldier was still speaking. “It’s good that Nathan has joined his men. This way we get to crush Rithmar’s spirit in one hammer blow.”
“But their numbers appear equal to ours, father,” Brand replied, “and they have enchanters with them.”
Father. Ryana frowned.
The bald man shrugged. “Aye, but they don’t have an army of ghouls.”
“I wouldn’t get cocky, Commander.” Gael spoke up. “We still need to free Valgarth.”
Ryana stopped breathing. Valgarth wasn’t free already?
She’d walked into this camp not expecting to ever walk out, but
suddenly there was hope.
The soldier frowned at Gael. “You’re supposed to be taking care of that.”
The enchanter’s handsome face tightened. “I am—but the heavy cloud cover this morning meant the sun couldn’t get through. We need sunlight to fall upon the pieces of The King Breaker, or they will not fuse together. Sunlight must also touch the Ice Door itself, or we won’t be able to see the key-hole.”
“And you can make that happen tomorrow morning?”
Gael nodded. “Before entering the caverns at dawn, Brand and I will gather the Dark and lift the cloud cap above us. Then we will go to the door.”
“That should allow the sun to filter in through the hole in the roof above it,” Brand added. “Once we have sunlight, we can release him.”
The commander’s gaze flicked from Brand to Gael. “Don’t mess this up.”
Ryana watched Gael’s expression darken. She remembered his pride well; he didn’t like taking orders from anyone. “You just concentrate on King Nathan and his rabble,” he drawled. “Leave me to deal with freeing our master.”
Trond snorted. “Just don’t fail. For centuries this brotherhood has lived for one purpose. I must see it done.”
Any further conversation was cut short when the lonely wail of a horn echoed across the Vale of Barrows. The horn died away before sounding once more.
Commander Trond gave Gael a hard smile. “It appears King Nathan wants to talk.”
Saul of Anthor crouched in the gully, and gazed up at the two figures outlined against the sky. He’d been waiting a long while, but the time had come for him to move.
Saul shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the dull ache in his side. The stab wound to his torso had steadily gotten more painful over the past days. Now it pained him to breathe. Despite the cool evening, a light sweat coated his skin. Lilia had driven the blade deep into his flesh, and now the wound festered.
It had been a tough journey from the capital. Injured and forced to hunt and forage to survive, he’d spent his nights shivering in holes he dug for himself; the only places he was safe from the shadow creatures. But it was all worth it—for he’d paid close attention to the army’s rearguard and spotted the three figures slipping away just before dusk.
Pain seized his ribs in a vise, causing Saul to choke back a groan.
Concentrate.
Shoving aside his discomfort, he squinted up at where Lilia and Dain waited. He’d seen Ryana leave her companions. Where she’d gone, he didn’t know—but he needed to take action before she returned.
He had to get the stone back.
Saul didn’t understand why the idiot girl had brought The King Breaker north. The other half of the talisman was likely in the midst of The Brotherhood’s camp. Why would she bring the stone into danger?
Saul reached for his blades and silently pulled them free. He wasn’t here for answers. He’d gone soft on Lilia earlier, underestimated her. This time, he wouldn’t hesitate.
Rising to his feet, Saul crept forward. He’d only taken a couple of steps when agony lanced down his left side. He stifled a gasp, stumbling. Then his toe caught on the edge of a rock, and he sprawled onto the stony ground.
Dain whipped round at the noise behind him. He’d been listening to the night, his senses sharp as they waited for Ryana to return, when a gasp, followed by a heavy thud sounded at the bottom of the hill.
Someone had been sneaking up on them.
Dain was on him in a heartbeat. There was no time to draw his weapons; it was too dark to use them effectively anyway. Instead, he leaped on the prone figure. The man twisted under him, rolling onto his back, but Dain was quicker—pinning him to the ground.
He caught the flash of steel out of the corner of his eye. Dain grabbed the man’s wrist, slamming it repeatedly into the ground until he dropped the blade.
A moment later, a voice rasped. “Stop, you fool!”
Dain went still, his pulse pounding in his ears. He knew that voice.
“Saul?” Lilia had slithered down the slope and was now standing a few feet away. “What are you doing here?”
“Finishing what he started,” Dain growled. “Stay back, Lily.”
Saul wheezed. Dain was sitting on his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. “Get off me.”
“What, so that you can crush my windpipe properly this time.”
“Desperate measures, my friend.” Even injured, Saul’s voice dripped with that smug arrogance Dain couldn’t stand.
Friend.
Dain snarled and smashed his fist into Saul’s face—again and again—unleashing the beast within. Saul’s nose crunched under the force of his fist, and Dain felt a thrill of victory. Saul had caught him unawares back in the capital, and he’d have hurt Lilia if she hadn’t fought him off.
Dain had a score to settle.
Saul struggled under him, writhing and kicking, but he was weaker than Dain had expected, making it easy for him to land vicious blows.
“Stop!” Lilia rushed forward and grasped his arm. “You’ll kill him.”
Dain ignored her, landing another blow to Saul’s face. Under him, he felt the man’s body sag. He’d knocked him out.
A moment later, a woman’s voice, low and angry reached them. “Keep it down—the sentries will hear you.”
Dain froze. “Ryana—you’re back?”
He heard the faint crunch of boots on gravel as she approached. “Yes, and not a moment too soon. We have a visitor?”
“Saul,” Lilia replied. “Dain was trying to kill him.”
A faint groan reached them as the man in question regained consciousness.
Irritation surged through Dain. He turned to Lilia, wishing he could see her face properly. “He was going to kill us, Lily. You’re too soft-hearted!”
“And you’re a brute!”
Dain flinched. “I was protecting you.”
“By beating a man’s face to a pulp? I don’t need that kind of protection.”
“Silence, both of you,” Ryana growled. “Do you want to bring the shadow host down on us?”
Dain bit back his anger and climbed off Saul, hauling the injured man to his feet. Saul moaned, sagging against him. Ryana stepped up next to them, helping Dain bear Saul’s weight.
Dain peered at her; she seemed remarkably calm for a woman who’d just ventured into a throng of shadow creatures. “What happened in the camp?” he asked. “Did you kill Valgarth?”
Ryana made an impatient sound. “We need to move back a safe distance,” she replied. “It’s not wise to speak here.”
41
The Parley
The four of them sat at the bottom of a steep, rocky ledge, two furlongs west of where Dain and Lilia had waited. Even so, Ryana kept her voice low as she spoke of what she’d discovered at The Brotherhood’s fireside.
Lilia listened intently, her pulse accelerating.
Her chance to retrieve The King Breaker, to prevent disaster, had come.
“There’s still time,” she whispered. “We can stop them.”
“Any ideas on how?” Ryana asked. Now that she had finished her story, her voice was drained. Lilia didn’t blame her—she didn’t know how Ryana had managed to keep her nerve inside the camp.
A few feet away, Dain leaned forward. “When they go to the Ice Door at dawn, we must be waiting. If we climb the mountain now, we should reach the caverns well ahead of them.”
Ryana huffed. “As easy as that?”
“Three against two, how hard can it be?”
“They’re two powerful enchanters, Dain.”
“And you were willing to take Valgarth on alone. This way, you’ll have me and Lilia to help you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Can we not lay some kind of trap for them?” Lilia spoke up.
There was a pause, as Ryana considered her suggestion, before she replied. “I can lay wards near the door, to warn us of their approach. I can also attempt a distraction; however they’ll see
through it soon enough.”
“You need my help.” Saul’s voice, surprisingly strong but with a slight rasp, interrupted them.
Silence settled in the hollow, drawing out until Dain broke it. “No, we don’t.”
“You’re injured,” Ryana pointed out wearily, “and I’d sooner trust a snake.”
“I’m well enough to fight,” Saul countered, “and you don’t need to trust me—use me as a weapon.”
Dain spat out a curse, shifting threateningly toward the dark figure bent over next to Ryana. “Shut your mouth.”
“Dain!” Lilia hissed. “Just stop it, would you?”
“How do we know you won’t try to knife one of us?” Ryana asked, ignoring her companions as she focused on Saul. “You just tried to attack Lilia again.”
“I thought she had the stone,” Saul replied. He sounded exhausted; all the arrogance leached from his voice. Despite herself, Lilia felt pity for him. “It was my last chance to get it back.”
Ryana’s voice was hard when she replied. “And if we let you come with us, you’ll get another opportunity.”
“No, I won’t.” Saul’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “I don’t care anymore. It’s over—”
“You’re right, it is,” Dain cut in. “We’re tying you up like a hog and leaving you here.”
“Dain,” Ryana snapped. “We need to discuss this calmly.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” he countered. “You can’t believe anything he says.”
“You can,” Saul replied. “I give you my word.”
Lilia could almost feel Dain’s sneer in the darkness. “We’re wasting time here,” she said quickly, before he could reply with another insult. “I vote we bring Saul with us—even injured he’s good in a fight.”
“No, Lily—it’s madness,” Dain growled. “Why, after all he’s done?”
“I’m being practical,” she replied. “I’m next to useless in a fight. That only leaves you and Ryana to face the enchanters. We need to even the odds.”
“Shadows, I’d rather take my chances.”
“If the stakes weren’t so high, so would I,” Ryana cut in. “But she’s right, Dain. We can’t afford this delay—and we can’t risk failure. Saul’s coming with us.”
