by Jayne Castel
Asher looked out across No Man’s Land toward the Shadow Army. A space of just over two furlongs of flat, arid land separated them. At this distance, the enemy was a wall of squirming darkness. There were no torches at all in the front ranks. Further back, pitch torches guttered in the breeze, and standards bristled against the sky.
King Nathan had just raised a black flag, indicating a request for a parley—they were all waiting to see if The Brotherhood would comply.
“They’ve put the shadow creatures up front,” Asher murmured to the young captain next to him. “The Brotherhood are waiting at the rear.”
Like the enchanter, Captain Garick was on horseback. They were at the front of the army, just beyond the ring of shields and spears that hemmed in Rithmar’s troops. To their left, Thrindul and King Nathan sat astride their mounts, talking together in low voices.
Captain Garick acknowledged Asher with a nod, his mouth thinning. His gaze narrowed as he regarded Asher through the eye slits of his helmet. “Makes sense—put the rabble in the front ranks.”
Asher made a face. “Rabble? They might not look organized, but I wouldn’t dismiss them.”
“I’m not—like you I’ve seen what they’re capable of.” Garick watched him steadily for a moment. “You told me shadow creatures butchered a company of The Brotherhood on the Eastern Road. Why is it they appear to be working together now?”
Asher exhaled slowly. “Thrindul believes the proximity of The King Breaker to the Ice Door has allowed Valgarth to wield influence beyond his prison. He has gathered the shadow creatures here and bid them to join with The Shade Brotherhood—for the moment at least.”
The captain grunted at this news. “At least they don’t outnumber us. I’d say we’re evenly matched—around a thousand on each side.”
“They don’t have cavalry, either,” Asher pointed out, “or enchanters.”
“No,” Garick replied, his gaze flicking back to the surging mass up ahead, “although I don’t think that worries them.” The chatter of excitement reached them; the shadow creatures were growing restless, spoiling for a fight.
Asher’s horse side-stepped nervously, its nostrils flaring. “Are the men ready?” he asked.
Garick nodded. “They wait for my command.”
King Nathan’s army had halted on the edge of the field of barrows and formed a line. The enchanters of the Order of Light and Darkness made up the right and left flanks with the main body of foot soldiers forming the center. King Nathan’s personal guard rode behind the infantry, with the cavalry making up the right and left flanks at the rear.
Garick glanced right, to where a group of men and women in smoke-grey and charcoal robes stood, armed only with quarterstaffs. “And your enchanters? Are they prepared?”
Asher nodded. The truth was that most of the enchanters of the Light, him included, were drained after nights holding the light sphere aloft. He was concerned how long they’d last on the battlefield; those of the Dark would be of greater assistance, although the shadow creatures were easier to fight when wielding the Light. He didn’t speak of this to Garick though. He didn’t want to risk lowering morale.
Garick shifted in the saddle, guiding his horse left so that he moved alongside the king. “Milord—it’s time. They’re coming.”
Asher glanced ahead, watching as a small group emerged from the Shadow Army and advanced across No Man’s Land. In response, the four riders—King Nathan, Captain Garick, Thrindul, and Asher—drew level with each other, forming a line, and rode out to meet them.
As he rode, Asher’s thoughts shifted momentarily to Ryana. He hoped her mission had been successful, and that she hadn’t died for nothing.
The two parties met in the center of No Man’s Land.
In the light from their torches, they studied each other.
The Shadow Army’s envoy consisted of a huge bald man clad head to foot in leather, and three shadow creatures.
The man wore a hard, arrogant expression and held himself with supreme confidence, his dark cloak rippling in the breeze, but it was his companions that drew Asher’s gaze. Two he recognized, a Nightgenga and a Hiriel, although he’d not seen the third creature before. It stood around seven feet tall, and was entirely clad in tattered grey robes that brushed along the ground when it walked. Long, bell-sleeves covered its hands, and it had a deep cowl with only darkness beyond.
Asher suppressed a shudder; this must be one of the Thracken. He’d read about the cloaked shadow creatures who’d once formed Valgarth’s personal guard.
The man stepped forward, before speaking in a low, powerful voice. “I’m Commander Trond of The Shade Brotherhood. Speak your terms.”
Asher glanced across at where King Nathan sat astride his bay charger, staring the Brotherhood commander down. “Do you lead this army?”
“Aye,” Trond rumbled. “These three represent the Servants of the Shadows.”
In response, both the Nightgenga and the Hiriel gave mocking bows, although the Thracken remained deathly still, its rags fluttering in the whispering wind.
“There are no others with you then? No enchanters?”
A smile curved Commander Trond’s thin lips. “None that will be speaking to you.”
King Nathan leaned forward, his muscular frame taut, his face hard. However, it was Thrindul who replied. The High Enchanter sat rigid in the saddle, Grim perched upon his shoulder, as he glared down his nose at the commander. “You have things that were stolen from the House of Light and Darkness. We’ll be taking them back.”
The soldier smirked, and beside him, the Nightgenga cackled, peering out at the High Enchanter behind a curtain of lank, greasy hair.
“Go home and get ready to kneel, Nathan,” Trond replied, ignoring Thrindul and turning his attention back to the king. “The one true lord has returned to the north.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened. “We’re not leaving.”
Trond shrugged. “Then you’ll kneel before him here, it’s the same to me.”
Nathan stared at the commander for a few moments, before he urged his charger forward a step. “And where’s your lord now? Cowering in the back ranks?”
The commander’s deep-set eyes narrowed. “Valgarth does not take part in parleys. You insult your king.”
“I am the king here,” Nathan reminded him, before a humorless smile creased his face. “Valgarth isn’t here because he’s still inside the mountain. You haven’t managed to free him, have you?”
Trond’s face froze. A moment later, he launched a gob of spit at the ground in front of the king’s charger. “We’re done here,” he growled. “See you on the battlefield.”
A company of four climbed into the foothills of the Shadefell Mountains. Theirs was a silent, tense party—the strain only partly due to the battle looming a short distance away.
Ryana led the group, followed by Saul. Dain and Lilia brought up the rear; although the two of them hadn’t spoken since the decision to bring Saul with them.
Lilia cast a sidelong glance at Dain as she climbed, but he refused to look her way.
She knew he was angry with her for insisting Saul came with them; she could feel his simmering rage from here. Lilia shifted her attention back to the mountainside, focusing on the climb—however, her belly was now knotted.
This was the first time Dain had been genuinely angry with her; and she didn’t know how to respond to him. Until now he’d been her protector, her supporter … her lover.
Saul’s reappearance down below had brought out a savagery in Dain that had shocked Lilia. She understood his anger. However, the way he’d attacked Saul sickened her. She wasn’t under any illusions about the Prince of Anthor; she knew that Saul was self-serving, manipulative and ruthless. Yet she couldn’t bear to see him pummeled to death, or tied up and left to die at the foot of the mountains.
She couldn’t abide cruelty. No one deserved to be treated that way.
Lilia swallowed the lump in her throat and inched her w
ay upwards. The going had been easy enough at first, but after a short while the stony slopes had given way to a sea of razor-sharp rocks. With no torches to light their way, they were forced to work by feel, climbing on their hands and knees as they inched their way upwards.
It didn’t take long for the rocks to rub Lilia’s knees raw. The sharp edges of the mountainside dug through her leggings and cut into her hands as she climbed. Ryana and Saul led the way up through the rocks. Every so often they would stop and confer with Lilia and Dain, who climbed a couple of yards behind them, before setting off again. They were careful to keep their voices low, for the narrow trackway that led up into the mountains lay barely twenty yards east of where they climbed.
Saul was struggling; Lilia could hear the labored wheeze of his breathing. Likewise, Dain was sweating heavily under the weight of heavy iron armor and chainmail.
An icy breeze breathed down from the mountain peaks above, fanning Lilia’s heated face. The evening’s chill, which grew uncomfortable if you were sitting in one place for any length of time, became a relief now. At the half-way point, the four of them halted; taking a much needed rest before attempting the second leg of the climb.
Breathing heavily, Lilia lay back against the rock face and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, her gaze settled upon the armies far below. The Shadow Army spread out like a glittering lake at the foot of the valley before a strip of darkness that separated them from the glowing torches of the Rithmar force.
Next to her, Dain took a few gulps from his water bladder before passing it to her. She had just lifted it to her lips when a flare of light in the valley below made her freeze. She pushed herself up off the rock where she’d been resting and stared down at the bristling carpet below.
“It’s starting.”
Above her, she heard Ryana and Saul shift against the ledge where they’d halted. “There’s definitely movement down there,” Ryana agreed.
A heartbeat later, huge beacons of white-gold light erupted into the sky—turning night into day.
Lilia shielded her eyes from it and turned away. “Shadows, what’s that?”
“The Enchanters of the Light,” Ryana murmured, her tone subdued. “Asher and the others will be doing their best to blind the shadow host.”
A great roar went up below: battle cries and the thump of spears, axes and swords against shields. The rock beneath Lilia’s feet trembled. She turned back, still holding up a hand to protect her eyes from the glare, and saw that the black space between the two hosts had disappeared.
The armies had engaged.
The thunder of battle lifted up from the valley and echoed across the hillside. Lilia had never heard such a din. The cries, shouts and screams, and the clang, thud and clash of weapons colliding, rent the night.
Lilia watched, her already knotted stomach twisting further.
“Come on.” Dain shifted away from the rock, and pulled himself up onto the next ledge. “We need to keep moving.”
The four of them resumed their climb, moving gingerly over the sharp rocks and jutting ledges. None of them spoke; it took all their concentration just to move forward one foot at a time.
The tension between Lilia and Dain started to wear at her. This close to danger, she couldn’t bear to leave things unsaid between them.
She waited until Saul and Ryana had drawn a little further ahead before speaking. “I know you’re angry,” she murmured, “but I couldn’t let you kill him.”
Silence stretched between them for a few moments before Dain answered. The flares of light from the battle below illuminated his sweat-slicked face. He looked as exhausted as she felt. “I lost control,” he replied, “and I’m sorry for that—but that bastard deserved it.”
Lilia inhaled deeply. “Was it up to you to deal out punishment?”
“Was it up to you to invite him along on this climb?”
Lilia took another deep breath. She didn’t want to get angry again, not when she needed to be focused for what lay ahead. “It wasn’t just me—Ryana agreed it was a good idea.” She glanced across at Dain once more to find him watching her.
“You think me a beast, don’t you?”
She shook her head. “No, just a stranger.”
Dain’s face tightened. “Don’t say that—I haven’t changed. I was only looking out for you. I don’t want that double-crossing turd anywhere near you.”
She smiled. “You know what they say about keeping your enemies close? At least this way he can’t sneak up behind us again.”
Dain smiled back, although there was no humor in his expression. “No, this way he can look you in the eye when he sticks a knife into your gut.”
42
The Caverns of the Lost
Dain stood at the top of the mountainside and struggled to catch his breath. It felt as if it had taken them half the night to climb up here. His fingers burned from clinging onto ledges, and his shoulders throbbed from the effort. He stood upon the road—a narrow stony track that curled up from the valley below before entering the mountain. It would have been quicker to have taken that road up here, but since to do so would have taken them back into the enemy camp, they’d had no choice but to take the longer, and harder route.
Next to him, Ryana, Lilia and Saul had all collapsed onto the stony ground, panting, as they recovered from the climb. Saul looked to be in a bad way, groaning softly as he lay on his side.
Good. However, Dain was surprised that Saul appeared in so much pain. I didn’t hurt him that badly. He remembered then that Lilia had stabbed Saul when he’d tried to take the stone. The wound had soured—that was why Saul had alerted them to his presence, why he’d been so easy to overpower.
The realization didn’t make Dain feel any pity for him though.
I’ll save that for Lily, she has more than enough for the both of us.
Although they’d mended things a little during their climb up the mountainside, Dain was still sore over the fact that Saul wasn’t lying dead in the gully they’d discovered him in. Even injured, the man was dangerous. Lilia knew that, yet her soft heart blinded her. Ryana knew that, yet her desperation to stop Gael and Brand from freeing The Shadow King made her cast it aside.
I’m the only one who can see that the moment he has his chance, he’ll turn on us.
Wiping sweat out of his eyes, Dain looked up at the heavens. The heavy, cloud-covered night sky pressed down upon them. This high up, the sounds of battle had muted slightly. The flares from the Enchanters of the Light continued to illuminate the sky in bursts.
I hope Asher’s managing.
Dain turned his attention to the archway before him, a black maw leading into the darkness, and felt a pang of misgiving. He had the nagging feeling they’d had it easy so far. He walked over to the edge of the road, peering down at the sea of jagged rocks beneath.
“What now?” he asked his companions. “I take it Valgarth’s lair is somewhere inside that mountain?”
“Aye,” Ryana replied, getting to her feet behind him. “I wish I’d paid more attention to my history tutorials when I was an apprentice.” She paused here, gathering her thoughts. “This will be the entrance to The Caverns of the Lost, named for the thousands who died carving tunnels and chambers out of the rock. He wanted a second fortress here, should Dûn Maras ever fall.”
“But he was defeated before work was ever completed,” Dain added, remembering the history from the fireside tales of his Nan. “It’s supposed to be little more than a network of rough-hewn passages and crude chambers.”
“And somewhere inside is the Ice Door?” Lilia asked. “How will we find it?”
“We’ve got time,” Ryana replied. “There are still a few hours till daybreak.”
“But in the dark?” Lilia sounded unconvinced, and Dain realized how frightening this would be for her. Lilia hated the darkness—but would now have to venture deep inside a network of unlit passageways.
Ryana stepped back from the mountain l
edge. “There should be unlit torches by the door. Let’s check. Dain, did you bring some flint and tinder?”
Dain went cold. He’d hurriedly filled the pack he carried, and had rope, food and water—but no flint or tinder.
Shit.
“I’ve got some,” Saul spoke up, his voice raspy. “Lucky for you, Dain.”
Dain clenched his jaw.
“Come on,” Ryana interrupted. “Let’s see if I can find a torch.”
They walked up to the mouth of the cavern. Dain could just make out the outlines of two gigantic columns. He reached out to touch one, and was surprised to discover it was made of a slippery, cold stone: obsidian.
Nearby, he heard the scuff of Ryana’s boots as she moved along the wall, the whisper of her hands tracing the stone as she searched for torches. It took her awhile, and he was beginning to think they’d have to travel blind into the mountain, when he heard her exhale sharply. “Here, I’ve found one.”
Sweat slid down Asher’s back. The muscles in his shoulders and forearms screamed as he fought to keep the plume of fire aloft with his right hand.
In his left he carried a flaming pitch torch. It was his light source—and without it, he’d have nothing to gather the Light from. Even so, he could feel his connection waver. It was usually a steady flow, a deep thread of power from his core, as strong as an iron coil.
Not so tonight.
Stay with me.
The final moments before battle, after the parley ended, had been hard. Fear had cramped his bowels and turned his legs weak; the sour odor of terror smothered him. Unlike some of the men and women surrounding him, Asher had fought the shadow creatures before—but those had been brief, violent skirmishes with roaming bands. This battle was a different beast.
His courage had hung by a thread.
Yet the moment the two armies had rushed at each other, howling and screaming, Asher’s fear left him. The surge had caught him, carried him aloft as if upon the crest of a wave. There was no time for panic, no time for any thought save killing.
