“Milord.”
Val bowed before Kaur and felt his master’s gaze slide over him. Finally, when he had finished his assessment, Willem Kaur spoke.
“I hear that you are fluent in Ancient Goranthian – is this true?”
“Yes, Milord.”
A surge of pride went through Val as he replied. His fluency in the dead language of scholars and sorcerers was something he was incredibly proud of.
“Where did you learn this tongue? To my knowledge, no academy in Palâdnith teaches it these days.”
“My father has an extensive library at Barrowthorne, and among his books were a number of volumes in this language – I taught myself,” Val replied.
Lord Kaur raised an eyebrow at this.
“Remarkable. I take it, you are fluent in the spoken language as well?”
Val nodded, a slight unease stealing over him. Why was the realmlord so interested in his language skills? As if sensing Val’s discomfort, Lord Kaur smiled. It was not a pleasant expression and Val’s stomach clenched. The realmlord leaned back in his throne and surveyed Val before continuing.
“I have a task for you – a quest of sorts that will require your skills in Ancient Goranthian.”
Val did not reply. Instead, he waited for the realmlord to continue.
“You will accompany Captain Tobin here,” Kaur acknowledged the soldier with a nod, “and my daughter, Cirinna, on a journey to the Citadel of Lies. Once there, I require you to translate a scroll of the upmost importance that Tobin will carry with him.”
The realmlord paused here, his gaze drilling into Val.
“An ancient artefact has been found, previously thought to be lost forever and I need someone fluent in Ancient Goranthian to retrieve it. The Guardian of the Citadel was reluctant to let me have it, but fortunately he is very keen to wed my daughter.”
Kaur’s voice trailed off and he lapsed into silence for a moment.
“Such a small price to pay for something so valuable,” he muttered to himself.
The Citadel of Lies.
Val’s stomach clenched. The Citadel was famed, both in Palâdnith and abroad, for its mysterious beauty. It was the only remaining relic from an ancient order of warlocks that had once ruled this continent. There were secrets within its vaults that most inhabitants of Palâdnith could only imagine. Val had studied the Citadel at length and had dreamed of seeing the Great Bibliotheca. Yet, now that he would really be travelling to the Citadel of Lies, Val was suddenly not so keen to see it.
Realmlord Kaur then fixed Val with a hard stare, all pretence at civility gone.
“Your task is crucial,” Kaur’s voice slashed across the Great Hall, “and if you bungle it you will never set foot inside your beloved library again.”
“Yes sire.”
“It will be a chance for you to see a bit of the world Falkyn. You’ve spent too long hiding in your library – now it’s time for you to prove your worth. You leave at dawn on the morrow.”
Chapter Four
Over the Mountain
Seth led his horse out of the stables and glanced up at the sky. After a downpour that lasted all morning, the rain had finally stopped. The cloud was now lifting and the sun showed its face for the first time in days. Colour was seeping back into the world.
Seth tightened the horse’s girth and, satisfied that the saddle would not slip, he swung up onto his mount’s back. Then, he rode forward and drew level with Darin. Behind them, Marshal Osforth was shouting at Garth. The manservant wore a pained expression as he perched on the top of the carriage and rummaged through one of the trunks strapped to the roof.
“Not my cloak man,” Osforth barked. “Get me my stole, the black one!”
Seth exchanged a look of exasperation with Darin.
“It is already after midday,” Seth whispered between gritted teeth. “At this rate we’ll be crossing the mountain in the dark.”
Darin rolled his eyes. “That’s if we ever depart.”
“I will not travel underdressed!” Osforth continued, his voice echoing across the stableyard. “Find me my stole or we aren’t moving!”
Kal drew his horse up next to the carriage’s open window.
“We shouldn’t delay any longer, Milord.”
“The realmlord might to dictate to me, but you do not!” Osforth shouted. “If I decide we depart at midnight then we shall!”
“I’ve found it, Milord!”
Garth passed the black stole down to Kal and shut the trunk. The manservant then clambered back into his seat and gathered up the reins. Before him, the horses stamped; they were as impatient as the tower guards to be off. Kal handed the stole to the marshal, who took it without a word of thanks and slammed the window shut in Kal’s face.
The party departed the White Lady Inn and clattered out onto the cobbled way beyond. Around them, Dunethport glistened and the harbour sparkled. Outside the White Lady, children ran and splashed about in puddles. They set off across Dunethport at a brisk pace. The streets were busy; filled with townsfolk venturing out for an afternoon stroll in the sun. Beggars trailed after the carriage as it rumbled past. Eventually, they dropped back when Osforth failed to throw any dracs their way.
The travellers began the steep climb north with the sun warming their backs. Once Dunethport fell away behind them, Garth urged the two horses pulling the carriage on to a brisk trot. He was making an effort to keep up with Darin and Kal, who led the way at a cracking pace. Seth brought up the rear. He watched the carriage bounce over the uneven road with grim satisfaction, knowing the marshal would have to cling to the side to prevent injury. He could hear the muffled demands of his master but like the others, played deaf. If Osforth wished to travel home this afternoon, just hours before dusk, he would do so at the pace they chose.
As he rode, Seth’s thoughts travelled back to last night’s encounter. The Sister’s warning had unnerved him and he reached up and touched the amulet that still hung around his neck. It appeared a commonplace jet necklace to him; there was nothing outwardly remarkable about it.
A Sentorân charm, eh? Seth grinned to himself, dismissing the Sister’s warning once more. I wonder what sort of price you’d fetch at the market?
By the time the party reached the top of the mountain, they were exhausted. The rain had turned the Northern Highway into a quagmire. Osforth's carriage became stuck half a dozen times and Seth, Kal and Darin were now caked in mud after struggling to free it. They were all in foul moods by this stage, except for Garth, who sat, hunched in his greatcoat, like a thin, red-faced bird. The old man had travelled this road hundreds of times, in worse conditions than this. Inside the carriage, the marshal had, mercifully, fallen silent.
Dusk was falling when they started down the northern slopes of Mount Caligar. The sky blazed behind the rim of the Silverthorne Mountains to the northwest and in the east, they caught a far-off glimmer of the Ocean of No Memory.
They were still two hours from Weatherbay when the light faded completely.
Garth lit the lanterns and hung two on the carriage while Darin, who led the group, carried one aloft. It was the first clear night in weeks and the air was crisp and rich with the scent of wet earth and leaves. The stars sparkled overhead and a crescent moon rose into the inky sky. The temperature dropped sharply and the breaths of man and beast alike steamed in the chilled air.
At the rear of the group, Seth’s stomach rumbled. His back ached from the cold and he longed for a plate of hot food and a steaming bath. Home was another couple of hours away and they would all be exhausted by the time they reached Weatherbay.
They had reached the top of the last rise before the long incline towards the Wuthering River Valley. The shadows of trees rose up either side of the highway. A few feet from the lanterns’ glow, darkness swallowed the world.
It was at that moment that Seth felt a chill feather across the back of his neck. He twisted in the saddle and peered back into the dark. Had he heard something? The blac
kness was unfathomable, and Seth could see nothing beyond the glow of the carriage’s lanterns. He strained his ears, listening, but only silence greeted him.
It’s just the darkness, he told himself. There’s no one out there.
Still, the sensation caused Seth to quit ruminating about his empty stomach and aching back. The marshal had hired the three of them to protect him, and if there were outlaws or undesirables lurking in the darkness, Seth’s job was to keep his master safe.
They rode on a little further and Seth scanned the roadside carefully, his eyes straining to make out his surroundings. He was just beginning to relax, and to think that fatigue had caused his mind to play tricks on him when the sensation – a cold whisper – breathed down his nape and once more caused the hair on the back of his neck to prickle. This time, Seth did not dismiss it. His heart quickened and his skin broke out in a cold sweat. Seth’s instincts were now razor-sharp.
Something is wrong.
Seth cursed the marshal’s decision to leave Dunethport so late in the day. There could be half a dozen men out there in the trees, watching them, and he, Darin and Kal would have no idea. Osforth’s stubbornness had put them all in danger.
Seth’s body tensed and his horse sidestepped in response. Within him, from a place he had never before known existed, a warning screamed.
Run now!
That was all it took. As a soldier, he knew that if he did not heed instinct, he was a fool. Seth drew his sword and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. Then he shouted.
“Bandits!”
It was the one word sure to elicit the same response from the others. The forests in the Realm of Omagen were rife with outlaws. It was for this reason the marshal took his tower guards with him when he left home, for no rich man travelled alone in these parts. Seth heard his master’s shout from inside the carriage.
“Ride!” the marshal screamed.
Garth shouted, lashed his whip, and the two horses pulling the carriage bolted into the darkness. Kal and Darin took off ahead of him with Seth bringing up the rear.
A scream split the night behind them. Fear clamped down on Seth’s ribcage at the chilling sound. He had never heard a man scream like that – the sound was enraged, feral.
Garth crouched low over the reins as another scream rent the air. The noise made the usually unflappable old man panic and he urged the horses on. The carriage chased after Kal and Darin, while Seth galloped alongside. Garth cursed the darkness that had swallowed the world beyond the lantern light. He knew it was dangerous to push the horses so. It was too dark and they were galloping fast. Garth could hear Osforth’s cries inside the carriage as he was thrown around, but he paid no heed to that either.
Garth carried a wicked knife strapped to his calf and, despite his age, he was still lethal in a fight. Yet, that scream did not sound like any bandit he ever wished to meet.
Suddenly, one of the horses pulling Osforth’s carriage fell.
The beast stumbled in a deep pothole and pulled the other horse down with it. The carriage slewed sideways on the road and collided with Seth’s horse – catapulting the rider into the darkness. The next moment, the carriage toppled over. Garth struggled to get free but found himself entangled in the reins.
The last thing Garth saw before he died was the bulk of the carriage crashing down upon him.
Seth lay upon the muddy ground. Winded, he gasped as pain lanced across his ribs. He struggled to catch his breath as he gingerly pulled himself up into a crouching position.
Fear froze him to the spot.
A few yards away, in the light of one of the fallen lanterns, he saw the ruin of the gilded carriage. Its wheels still spinning; it lay like a cast beetle on top of the kicking, screaming horses. Garth lay, unmoving, in the mud, half pinned under the carriage. The carriage door flew open and a dishevelled creature clambered out. The marshal’s hair was wild, he had lost his stole, and blood stained his velvet robes from a gaping cut on his forehead.
“Filth!” he screamed. “You have no right to attack me!”
Seth crouched in the shadows and held his breath. If the marshal shut up and hid inside the carriage, he might survive. Unfortunately, Marshal Osforth had slipped into hysteria.
“Show yourselves!” he screamed, shaking his fist at the shadows. “I’m not afraid of you!”
“Fool.”
A voice wheezed from the darkness. It was reed-thin, disdainful and chillingly slow.
Osforth’s hysteria abruptly halted. His face went slack and he backed up against the carriage wall. A tall, stoop-shouldered form swathed in a voluminous cape, detached itself from the shadows. It moved lithely towards the frightened marshal in long strides.
The one glimpse Seth caught of it was enough to stir his survival instincts. It was too late for the marshal – but he still had a chance to escape. Silent in his soft-soled riding boots, Seth ran. Osforth’s wail followed him before something cut it off.
Seth sprinted down the uneven highway. He was running blind but, unlike Osforth, he would not be such easy prey. Another scream shattered the night. Then he felt the attacker turn its attention on him. A moment later, a cold, whispering voice slithered through his head.
Sentorân. You are mine.
Through the thundering of his own heart and the screams of the trapped horses, Seth could hear the rasp of its breathing. Then it lunged down the highway towards him.
A shape loomed out of the darkness before Seth. A horse and rider skidded to a halt, nearly knocking Seth over, and a hand reached down to him.
“Get up!” Darin gasped.
Seth vaulted up behind Darin, and a moment later they were hurtling down the highway. His friend bent low over the saddle and urged the horse into a flat gallop. Another shape appeared ahead and they drew level with Kal. Together, they rode for their lives.
The shadow followed, gaining on them with every stride. Seth heard its panting, the flapping of its robes and the slap of its feet. All the while, the cold voice taunted him.
Sentorân. You are mine.
The horses were fast but they could not outrun their pursuer. What manner of two-legged creature could keep up with a horse? Darin was an excellent rider and he pushed the horse to its limits – but still their shadow gained on them.
Seth felt death creeping closer. Fighting the fear that threatened to paralyse him, he crouched forward and found his hunting knife. He whipped the dagger from its sheath and twisted around to face his pursuer. As he did so, Seth gripped on around Darin’s waist with his free arm to stop himself from falling.
Seth’s heart jolted when he saw a dark shape leaping towards him like a giant black bat. He gave a shout as he threw the knife. Under normal circumstances Seth was an excellent shot, but in the darkness and terrified, he threw blindly. The blade shot through the air and landed with a thump, embedded to the hilt in the shadow’s mid-section.
His pursuer shrieked and flopped to the ground. The horses squealed and Darin’s horse stumbled, nearly dislodging its riders. Only Darin’s skill and Seth’s tenacious grip saved them.
Pain and fury washed over Seth. Somehow, he knew that he had not mortally wounded his pursuer. However, he had hurt it, slowed it for a moment – giving them a chance to escape.
The two horses galloped away into the night.
Sentorân. The voice hissed in Seth’s head like a spitting cauldron. I will hunt you down.
Seth squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to block it out. Yet, the voice persisted, echoing in his mind, pursuing him even when Seth knew the hunter limped far behind.
I’m going mad, Seth told himself as his heart still thundered against his ribs. I must be, if I’m hearing voices in my head.
Darin and Kal did not allow their horses to slow their pace until they reached Weatherbay. Even then, they did not stop.
Marshal Osforth was dead. How could they return to Osforth Tower now? With him murdered there would be questions asked, and there was no money left to pay
their wages anyway. Reluctantly, they left Weatherbay’s glowing windows and smoking chimneys behind and travelled north, skirting the marshy edge of the bay.
It was a still night and, apart from the rolling surf of the ocean beyond the bay’s entrance to the east, no other sound could be heard beyond the rhythmic pounding of the horses’ hooves on the road. After a time, the highway veered right, hugging the northern edge of the bay. It skirted the fishing village of Wilith that perched on the edge of a long stretch of silver beach, and followed the jutting coastline north once more. Here, the land folded and bunched like a heavy curtain and low stunted trees studded the cliff edge. The wind often raced at this point, but tonight there was not a breath of it. The stars reflected phosphorescent off the flat surface of the Ocean of No Memory. The highway dipped and climbed over the folds of land. Darin and Kal finally slowed their horses to a trot.
Now the terror was behind them and the adrenalin had ebbed, all three men trembled with cold and shock. Seth had to clamp his jaws shut to prevent his teeth from chattering. His feet and hands were numb and his mind throbbed. He dared not look behind him, lest he see that ghastly shadow advancing. He could no longer feel it nearby but he knew it was hunting him still.
It called me Sentorân, Seth thought, his mind whirling.
Did this have anything to do with what the Sister had told him last night?
Watch your step.
This was ridiculous. No one had seen a Sentorân in nearly forty years; not since the Esquill had finished them. If he did, indeed, wear a Sentorân charm stone about his neck, Seth had no idea how his mother had come by such a trinket. He had no memory of his mother at all. His father, Hath Falkyn, had spoken rarely about his wife – only to say that she had vanished from their lives when Seth was only a babe. Belythna Falkyn’s disappearance had left Seth’s father bitter and angry, and as such, his sons rarely questioned him about her.
Journey of Shadows (The Palâdnith Chronicles Book 1) Page 6
