Seth’s mouth filled with saliva at the sight of such a feast. Still, the crowd made him nervous.
A cruelly handsome man, who had been sitting at the end of one of the tables, came forward to greet them. Like the Malwagen who had brought them here, this one was dressed in form-fitting leather leggings and a waistcoat. Although his attire was simple, Seth could see his clothes were made out of costly silks and leathers. He had thick, white-blond hair which trailed over muscular shoulders; his gaze was cold and assessing as it swept over the four prisoners. A simple silver crown sat upon the Malwagen's head.
Was this the mythical Malwagen King?
Although the Malwagen had not yet spoken a word, Seth could feel this individual’s power. His gaze seared Seth, taking him in from head to toe, before moving on to Nevis, and then Lethian. His gaze finally rested on Edessa, and there it stayed.
The female Esquill stiffened under his penetrating gaze but she did not flinch away. Seth could feel the rage emanating from her. Lethian gave Edessa a warning glance, cautioning her against losing her temper.
He need not have worried; it appeared that Edessa knew when she was beaten. Despite the hostility that rippled from her, she did not react. Eventually the Malwagen smiled and cocked his head to one side, as if considering something.
“Welcome to the Hall of the Malwagen,” he finally spoke. Like the Malwagen who had brought them here, he spoke their language with a gentle, lilting accent – rolling out the words like music. The Malwagen’s tone was affable but the effect was like cloaking a steel blade in silk. “Please – sit down and eat. You are welcome to dine at our table.”
After days without a crumb of food, Seth, Nevis, Edessa and Lethian did not hesitate. They took their seats at the table and fell upon the feast.
The Malwagen who had accompanied them from their cell, squeezed himself in opposite Seth and watched him silently. The sprite picked at a rabbit leg and took a bite. Ignoring his gimlet gaze, Seth stuffed a wedge of bread into his mouth. He then took a huge bite of pigeon breast, before helping himself to a gigantic bowl of stew which he mopped up with chunks of bread.
As he ate, Seth was aware of the other Malwagen around the table watching them with amusement. The women were even more striking than the men, although they had a feline, wildness that cautioned Seth from making eye-contact with any of them.
The crowned Malwagen returned to the head of the table with a lazy, loose-limbed stride. He poured himself a goblet of plum wine and took a long draught. When he lowered the goblet, his lips were stained purple. His gaze moved along the table, coming to rest once more on Edessa. The Esquill ignored his stare as she ate. She ripped a roast rabbit to pieces and stuffed the meat into her mouth.
The Malwagen circled the table, goblet in hand. Despite that his large, leathery wings were tucked up behind him, Seth could still feel the draft they created when he passed behind him. The hair on the back of Seth's neck stood up in warning. Seth helped himself to more roast potatoes and tried to ignore the sensation. Beside him, Nevis had started her third bowl of stew.
Finally, when the platters of food were empty, and his four guests had eaten their fill, their host poured himself another goblet of wine and held it up in a toast.
“I am Bruin, King of this domain. This is my cousin Thur,” the king motioned to the Malwagen seated opposite Seth, “I hope the feast is to your liking.”
His guests remained silent and waited for Bruin to continue.
“These days, few venture into the Valley of the Tors,” Bruin mused, “the tors let you travel far into my kingdom before they alerted me of your presence. The way is blocked, as it has been for two-thousand years. Mortals are forbidden here and yet the four of you enter my domain as if it were your right.”
The king drained the rest of his goblet and thumped it down on the table. He took a seat and leant back in his chair, surveying his prisoners under hooded lids.
“The penalty for such an offence is, of course, death,” he announced.
“We only ventured into your domain because we were trying to recapture our prisoner – this man,” Lethian spoke up for the first time, and pointed to Seth. Ignoring Bruin’s threat, the Esquill regarded Bruin imperiously before continuing. “I am Lethian Fairwye and this is Edessa Delfen. We are members of the Esquill and we are upon an errand of great importance.”
“I know who you are,” Bruin replied.
“Then let us go,” Edessa cut in, her eyes flashing. I demand that you release us and our prisoner. Keep the witch and do with her what you will but free us.”
“You and your friend are not in the position to make demands,” Bruin’s gaze narrowed but his voice remained genial.
Bruin’s words hung in the air, while the trilling tones of Malwagen conversation at other tables ebbed and flowed around the prisoners.
“I was thinking about hanging the four of you up by your ankles over a ravine. You’d make excellent harlet fodder.”
Bruin's gaze fastened on Edessa when he finished his sentence, and Seth saw the king’s face soften.
“However, upon meeting you Edessa Delfen, I’ve changed my mind. You might have a sharp tongue, but you are a lovely creature. Better still, you are a sorceress – one of the Esquill, no less – and as such you could bring me an even greater standing in the eyes of my people. If you agree to stay here as my queen, the others can go free.”
Lethian's breath hissed out between clenched teeth, Edessa blanched, and Seth felt a surge of hope that he and Nevis might get out of this alive. He risked a glance in Nevis’s direction and saw that the scene unfolding before them had transfixed her.
“I will never give myself to you,” Edessa replied, her voice as hard as tempered steel.
Seth’s fragile hopes dissolved. Beside him, Nevis sighed.
Bruin cocked his head to one side and raised an arched eye-brow. “Never is a long time, my beauty,” he replied softly.
Edessa stood up abruptly, pushing her chair back so it clattered to the marble floor. Lethian put out a hand to restrain her but Edessa shoved it aside.
“I'd rather have that foul bird feast on me than become your queen!” she snarled.
Bruin laughed. “Of course you would,” the Malwagen king appeared to be enjoying himself. “Shall I offer you a choice then?”
When Edessa did not reply, Bruin continued as if she had given her assent.
“Either you stay here, become my queen and these three individuals go free, or your two male companions must challenge Thur to a game. If Thur wins, your companions die and you stay with me. If your blond friend wins, you and he can go free – and the other two lose their lives.
Bruin paused here, smiling. He then motioned to Seth.
“But – and here’s the spice – if your prisoner wins, only he and the woman go free. Your friend dies and you become mine.”
A hush descended upon the banquet hall then. All eyes rested on Edessa and the decision Bruin had given her. The king watched Edessa under hooded lids.
“Which will it be?”
Chapter Seventeen
The Hunting Party
Eni shivered and hunched down in the saddle. Not for the first time, he wished he had a cloak. Valense’s soldiers had taken it from him before the hanging and it was especially fresh in Fallenstar Pass. Little direct sunlight reached here and the wind whistled down the canyon at a ferocious speed. Winter’s chill still lingered in the air, despite the wildflowers and clumps of golden daffodils at the entrance to the pass.
Irwyn hated the wind. He carried his head low, his large ears pinned back and his gait deliberately slow. Eni felt sorry for the donkey – but not enough to get off and lead him. He was still weak and even walking short distances exhausted him. Yet, he insisted that Avalon take her turn riding Irwyn.
The road through the pass led steeply upwards for most of the morning, until the air had the dank smell of ice. They were so high now that, beyond the steep walls, snow carpeted the mountains
ide. Half-way up, they came across a small fresh-water spring. A clear stream of water sprouted from the rock face before running down a crevice, where it would eventually reach an underground river. Eni and Avalon filled their water bladders, drank their fill and watered Irwyn. The chill water was a balm on Eni’s parched throat. As he drank, he felt energy seep back into his wearied limbs.
They passed no other travellers that day. It was a long, boring road – not that Eni minded. After the trauma of the past few days, he welcomed the monotony of Fallenstar Pass. Still, he had to stop himself from constantly glancing over his shoulder. Surely, Valense’s men would have given up by now?
That night, they made camp in the heart of the pass.
“I’m lighting a fire,” Avalon announced, unstrapping a bundle of firewood from behind Irwyn’s saddle, “and don’t tell me I can’t. We’ll freeze to death up here without one.”
Eni gave his travelling companion a jaundiced look in reply, but said nothing. He hoped that the soldiers had, indeed, abandoned the chase.
They chose the most sheltered area they could find to make camp, beside a cluster of boulders that shielded them from the wind. Behind them rose a high wall of stone. While Eni lit a small campfire, Avalon busied herself with making a simple stew. She cut up some wild garlic, shrivelled carrots, parsnips, potatoes and chunks of salted pork and threw them into a small pot she had dug out of her pack. When the vegetables were browned, she added some of their precious water and a few sprigs of thyme.
Eni’s mouth watered as he watched the stew bubble over the fire.
“You’re a good cook,” he noted upon taking his first spoonful of stew.
“I didn’t used to be,” Avalon admitted, “but my father said that I’d never find a man if I didn’t learn.”
Eni grunted and took another mouthful of stew. “Wise man your father.”
The light had now faded completely and the first stars twinkled overhead. A waxing gibbous moon rose into the night sky. When they finished their supper, Avalon put away her cooking implements while Eni fed a branch to the fire and stirred the embers to life once more. The fire was crackling when Avalon rejoined Eni. She watched him across the flames, before she poked the embers with a stick and sent sparks billowing up into the darkness.
“Who are you running from?” she asked eventually, “and don’t tell me you aren’t running. I know a hunted man when I see one.”
Eni frowned. He had sensed this question coming but was reluctant to answer Avalon honestly. Valense had put a price on his head and money had a way of swaying people. Still, refusing to answer her was not going to build trust between them. After losing Darin, Eni was in need of a friend. Eni sighed and raked a hand through his hair before answering her.
“I’m running from the Realmlord of Cathernis. He accused me of murdering his son, Flynn.”
Avalon gaped at him.
“By the gods, no!” Her face hardened then. “You didn’t kill him did you?”
Already regretting his decision to confide in Avalon, Eni raised his hands defensively.
“Of course I didn’t. Before you jump to conclusions let me tell you what happened.”
Avalon listened, her young face tense and angry, as Eni began his story. He told her about seeing Flynn Valense stabbed, of his arrest, and of how his former lover had turned on him. He told her about the botched hanging; and of Darin and their flight across the plains of Cathernis. He finally recounted how they had escaped Swamphaven and of losing Darin in the marshes.
The only thing he left out was Darin’s warning from Seth – that did not make sense, even to Eni.
When he finished his tale, Avalon sat back and regarded him solemnly.
“You’re a lucky man Eni Falkyn – to survive a hanging and escape the realmlord’s men by the skin of your teeth. The gods must have plans for you.”
Eni snorted at that. “By making me a hunted man? How benevolent of them!”
The fire crackled and moths danced around the flames.
“So you’re a weaponsmith,” Avalon turned the conversation to a subject that Eni was far more comfortable with. “Do you belong to the guild?”
“I did, before my arrest.”
“I’ve heard that those of the guild can weave charms into weapons? Is it true? Can you bond a weapon to its owner?”
“I can,” Eni gave a rare smile. Her curiosity about his craft was welcome. “In fact, I can weave a variety charms.”
“Really?”
“I can show you, if you like? Do you wear any jewellery?”
Avalon shook her head, her face falling.
“Here,” Eni reached under his cloak and removed the amulet that he wore around his neck. He handed it across to her. “We can use this – you can have it.”
Avalon took the amulet, her eyes widening as she studied the black stone.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “There are runes on the back – what do they mean?”
“No idea,” Eni shrugged, “I’ve worn it since childhood. My mother gave it to me.”
“Then you shouldn’t give it away,” Avalon held it back to him. “I can’t take something so precious.”
“Go on,” Eni waved her away. “Take it as thanks for helping me. I’ve worn it long enough. It’s time it had a new owner. My mother disappeared when I was little; she abandoned us all without a backwards glance so I don’t see why I should be sentimental about a pendant she gave me. Frankly, I don’t know why I’ve worn it this long. Now, for my charm – are you ready?”
Avalon nodded, reluctantly taking the amulet back.
“Grasp the stone in your hand, close your eyes and think of a good memory; one that you never wish to forget.”
Avalon gave him a questioning look but obeyed.
“I’ve done it,” she announced after a few moments. “What now?”
“Keep your eyes closed, hold the memory in your mind – and don’t talk,” Eni instructed.
Leaning forward, Eni clasped his hands gently over Avalon’s. Then, after a few moments he peeled her fingers back and traced his fingertips back across over the stone’s matt surface. Quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, Eni began to sing. The words were not of the common tongue – but of a lilting, ancient language that Talin had taught him as an apprentice; and although Eni did not understand the literal meaning of many of the words, he could feel their power as they rolled off his tongue. As always, when Eni wove a charm, he felt the fine hair on the back of his arms prickle from its energy.
Eni sang the charm a couple of times, to ensure that the words melded deep inside the stone, before he drew back.
“It’s done.”
Avalon opened her eyes.
“That song,” she said dreamily. “I didn’t know charms sounded so beautiful...”
“Put it on,” Eni instructed, “and clear your mind of any thought. Then, place your hand over the amulet and tell me what you see.”
Avalon did as he bid. Her eyes grew huge when she clasped her hand over the stone.
“Gods!” she exclaimed.
“What did you see?”
Avalon’s eyes shone with tears.
“I see my father. He’s taking me to market on a mid-summer’s morning. The sun is warm on my face and I’m holding my father’s hand. It’s as if I’m back there, living it again. My father picks me up and perches me on his shoulders. He walks through the market and his friends call out to him. I’m very young – at that age when life is good and fair. Death and sadness didn’t exist and my father was my world.”
“Such melancholy words for someone so young,” Eni observed.
“Maybe, but the world can never be as it was then,” Avalon shook her head. “My mother died birthing me and I was brought up by my father. He was a tracker and trapper in Rathmir Gorge. I had to be as tough as he was. Papa taught me how to throw knives, and he showed me how to be quick. He was a small, slight man and the best hunter in the Gorge. He always said that speed was de
adlier than strength and I listened to him well. He died two years ago; he might have been quick but he could not outrun the fever which killed him.”
Avalon placed her hand over the amulet once more. Her eyes widened as the memory returned.
“It’s as if he’s still with me,” she whispered.
“That’s because I wove a memory charm. Every time you hold the amulet, the memory shall return,” Eni assured her.
“Thank you Eni,” Avalon tucked the necklace away, under her shirt. “I will treasure it.”
Eni went quiet. Her thanks embarrassed him, although he was secretly pleased at how well the charm had worked. Valense may have taken away his livelihood, but he had not stripped Eni of everything.
It was getting late, and it was so cold that their breaths steamed. Eni was exhausted; his entire body ached. Yet, he would have to stay awake for a while longer.
“You go to sleep Avalon. I’ll take the first watch.”
“Are you sure?” Avalon frowned. “You should rest first.”
“Nonsense. I’ll wake you in a bit, now go on.”
Avalon did not need a lot of convincing. Eni could see the girl was tired. She wrapped herself in her cloak and lay down on the other side of the fire.
“Goodnight, Eni.”
Eni hunched close to the flickering fire and watched the flames dance. Occasionally, he poked the embers with a stick and watched the sparks shoot skywards. Alone, with only the stars and moon for company, Eni found himself thinking about Lydia. He wondered what had become of her.
Was it worth it Lydia? I never lifted a hand to you, I was never cruel to you.
Bitterness gnawed at Eni. He had the nagging feeling there was more to the tragedy than appeared.
The night drew out and sleep beckoned. Only the cold, and the nervousness that had plagued him ever since Catedrâl, kept him awake. Eventually, as fatigue dragged at his eyelids, Eni decided he would have to wake Avalon. He desperately needed to get some rest.
Eni was about to gently shake her awake when a noise echoed up the pass.
Whispering voices and the soft scuffing of footfalls – they were coming from the east; the direction Avalon and Eni had travelled from.
Journey of Shadows (The Palâdnith Chronicles Book 1) Page 18
