by Jayne Castel
After Tallow, they made a point of traveling only in daylight. They journeyed east, and the overcast weather followed them. A cloak of low cloud settled over the Western Cradle, blocking out the sun and making it difficult to see more than a few yards ahead. Their world shrank.
They kept up a brisk canter, riding in pairs, Saul and Ryana out front with Dain and Lilia following close behind. Conversation was stilted, although Lilia often saw her two companions up ahead exchange terse words as they discussed the practicalities of their journey.
The tattoo of their horses’ hooves on the open road had a lulling effect on Lilia, despite the urgency of their pace, and her thoughts turned inward. The lack of sun made the verdant landscape seem drab, and she felt her mood lower to suit. Likewise, Dain said little. The endless grey was starting to affect them all.
Two days on from Tallow, Lilia grew tired of churning over her own thoughts. She and Dain rode side-by-side along the road. Around them lay a murky landscape draped in wet mist. They reined their horses in close as they passed a travelers’ wagon. Men and women journeying from the capital sat perched upon hard, wooden slats, their expressions pained from days of discomfort.
“This weather,” Lilia began, breathless from the ride. “Don’t you think it’s odd?”
Dain shot a glance at her. “Not really, although I’d admit it’s not much of a summer.”
“This isn’t summer.” She raised a hand from the reins and gestured to the helmet of grey that surrounded them. We haven’t seen the sun in days.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re right.”
They both fell silent then. Lilia found herself frowning as she pondered her own observation. It seemed a trifling thing, to worry about the weather. And yet, she found it a strange coincidence that shadow creatures had started to venture forth now the days had turned gloomy.
“Wait!” Saul shouted.
The wooden palisade surrounding the hamlet of Hillbrook rose out of the gloaming, where two guards were hauling the gate shut for the night.
“You cut it fine,” one of the guards growled, his face pinched. He pulled the gate back enough to let the four horses file inside. “Once we close the gates, no one gets in or out till dawn.”
“A warm welcome,” Dain muttered, catching Ryana’s eye once they were inside.
“From what we’ve seen so far on this journey, they probably have their reasons,” she replied mildly. He watched her cast a look around her. “This place is even grimmer than I remember.”
They rode along Hillbrook’s main street. Dain surveyed his surroundings with a frown. What a drab place. The street was muddy, lined by mean-faced timber dwellings. Halfway along, the way widened out into an open space, where the hamlet’s Altar of Umbra pierced the mist. Unlike the way into the village, where they had encountered no one, there appeared to be some commotion in the area ahead.
A shrieking, shouting crowd jostled around the base of the Altar of Umbra.
Dain glanced across at Ryana, catching her eye. “What’s going on?”
He had just spoken when two burly men emerged from a building, dragging a heavyset man clad in leather breeches and a long-sleeved woolen tunic through the mud toward the obelisk. The crowd parted before them.
Dain urged his horse forward, following his companions as they rode closer to the fracas. As he neared the altar, he saw there was someone tied to the base of the obelisk: an older woman with a mane of grey hair and a proud face.
The men tied the struggling prisoner to the obelisk as well, while the crowd jeered and spat.
Looking on, Dain felt a chill wash over him. He twisted in the saddle and called to a man who was loitering on the edge of the group of villagers.
“What’s happening here?”
“Sacrifice to the Shadows,” the man, a sallow-faced individual with a mouthful of rotting teeth, mumbled. “Every night of late, the servants of The Shadow King come. They climb our fences. They break into our homes, steal some folk away and slay others.”
Beside him, Dain heard Lilia gasp. His attention flicked back to the man and woman tied to the altar. The man was sobbing, while the woman glared out at the crowd, defiance on her face.
Dain looked around him. Where was the village garrison? The guards should put a stop to this. He surveyed the crowd but saw no sign of the men who guarded the town; Dain wagered that they’d deliberately stayed away.
“What have those two done to deserve this?” Lilia demanded, her voice choked.
The man shrugged, a sheepish look flitting across his face. “No one will miss them. He’s a simpleton, and she’s his mother.”
Dain watched Lilia draw herself up in the saddle, as she stared down at the man, eyes glittering. He’d never seen her so affronted and had to admit anger suited her. Her brown eyes deepened, her pale skin flushed, and her cheekbones accentuated. “You can’t leave them outdoors overnight. They’ll die.”
The man leered, revealing a mouthful of black, stumpy teeth. “That’s what we’re hoping. Now that the shadow creatures have started scaling the walls at night, we need to leave them something to feast on.”
Lilia’s gaze swept to Dain, her expression pleading. “We can’t let them do this.”
“This isn’t our business, Lily,” he replied. “We shouldn’t interfere.”
“He’s right,” Saul spoke up. “Let’s find an inn and bed down for the night.”
Lilia glared at him. “And leave them out here?”
“Aye … if that’s what’s meant to happen.”
Lilia gave Saul a look of disgust. Then she swung down from her mare and pushed her way through the crowd. Shocked, Dain watched her go. A heartbeat later, he muttered a curse and leaped down from his own horse, striding after her.
Lilia reached the altar and faced off against the men who’d tied up the woman and her son. “Stop!”
The two men turned to her, their gazes raking over the young woman dressed in travel-stained clothing in front of them. One looked to be the village smithy, he certainly had the breadth of shoulder and brawn for it, while the second individual, short and broad, wore the clothing of someone who worked the fields. The men shared amused glances. “Are you offering to take their place?” one of them asked.
Lilia put her hands on her hips, fury turning her face pale. “You’re no better than beasts if you do this.”
“Shut up, you silly bitch!” A woman shrieked from the sidelines. “This is our home … not yours. We’ll do what we can to keep it safe.”
Dain reached Lilia’s side and put a warning hand on her arm, but she shook him off. “Barbarians,” she snarled. “Do you really think this will help?”
The smithy took a threatening stride toward her.
Dain drew his axe and stepped forward, shoving Lilia behind him. “Not another step,” he growled.
The smithy spat on the ground. “Offering yourself up too?”
“No, and I’ll happily carve your arms off your shoulders if you lay a hand on her.”
“Enough.” Ryana swept into the center of the crowd, her face thunderous. “This stops now.”
The two men raised their fists and advanced on her. In response, Ryana made a gathering motion with her right hand, causing the surrounding shadows to swirl around her in a swarm.
The group of villagers drew back, their mouths gaping. One or two of them muttered oaths under their breaths. The smithy and the farmer blanched, and they lowered their fists.
Ryana turned her right palm upward, revealing the night-black star inked onto her palm.
“I’m of the Order of Light and Darkness,” she told them, her voice flint-hard. “I serve our king … and if anyone is sacrificed here tonight, he will hear of it.”
She turned to the smithy and the farmer, imperious. “Untie these two, and take them home. Human sacrifice was outlawed centuries ago, as you all well know.”
The two men just stared at her, still gaping.
“Do it!”
Movements stiff and jerky, their faces taut with anger and eyes blazing, they complied. Ryana turned to the milling crowd. “Get back to your hovels and lock the doors and shutters tight,” she ordered. “If something comes scratching at your door tonight, you all deserve it.”
The group of villagers dispersed, although not before casting hate-filled glances at the two females who had ruined their sacrifice. As they sloped off, muttering amongst themselves, Saul sauntered up, leading the four horses behind him. “Making friends?”
Ryana cast him a sour look before turning her attention to Lilia. Dain noted that, to her credit, the younger woman stood her ground, raising her chin to meet Ryana’s hard stare. However, she was shaking slightly, high spots of color staining her cheekbones.
“That was foolish,” Ryana growled. “Things could have gone badly for you.”
“I knew you’d look out for me,” Lilia countered, although the fire had gone out of her voice, and there was a slight quaver in it. “And you did.”
“Idiot,” Ryana muttered. She brushed past Lilia and retrieved her horse from Saul. “Next time you dig a hole for yourself, I’ll leave the others to pull you out.”
19
A Sleepless Night in Hillbrook
“Don’t worry, she’ll forgive you … eventually.”
Dain met Lilia’s gaze over the rim of his tankard of ale. They sat in a booth, in the corner of Hillbrook’s only tavern. Saul had gone off to the privy and Ryana was speaking with the establishment’s owner: a short, thickset fellow with a bald head that gleamed in the light of the flickering cressets lining the timber paneled walls.
Lilia stifled a wince. Ryana was the least of her worries. Now that the incident was behind her, she felt shaky and slightly ill. In hindsight, it hadn’t been the cleverest thing she’d ever done. If the others hadn’t been there to protect her, she could have ended up tied to the obelisk overnight.
Or you could have shifted.
Of late she’d discovered a recklessness to her own character that frightened her. If not watched it would eventually land her in trouble.
Lilia’s fingers tightened around her tankard. “The world beyond our isle is so brutal,” she murmured. “I don’t like it much.”
Dain responded with a wry smile. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking the folk of Port Needle wouldn’t act the same as those here, if threatened. When it comes down to it, people are people wherever you go.”
“They are,” Ryana agreed as she took a seat in the booth next to Dain.
“Haven’t they brought us supper yet?” Saul slid onto the leather seat next to Lilia. The booths were small, barely big enough for four, and as such Saul’s leg brushed against hers. Lilia tried to wriggle away—to put some distance between them without anyone noticing—but there was nowhere to go.
Saul noticed though, and Lilia felt his leg shift so that their thighs now pressed against each other. It was a silent statement that he remembered what had passed between them months earlier, even if she pretended not to.
Thank the Shadows that she hadn’t let Saul into her bed—or this journey would have been humiliating.
No sooner had Saul complained about the absence of supper, when two serving wenches approached the table bearing plates of roast mutton and boiled carrots and onions. One of them, a pretty girl with curly blonde hair caught Saul’s eye and smiled at him. He gave her a lingering, appreciative look in response.
Lilia stiffened.
Let him stare at serving wenches, I don’t care.
She took a large gulp of ale and met Dain’s eye across the oaken table. He was watching her, his gaze steady. The look was so intense it was difficult to breathe in the smoky, humid air inside the tavern.
He watched her as if they were the only two alive, as if no one else mattered.
Heart thumping, Lilia stared down at her meal and wondered how she would stomach the greasy mutton. She speared a piece of carrot with a knife and forced herself to focus on Ryana, and not the two men at the table.
“What were you speaking to the tavern-owner about?” she asked lightly.
“I was asking of the troubles here,” Ryana replied.
“And?” Saul drawled, leaning back against the upholstered leather.
“The folk here are panicked for good reason. So close to the wilds, the woodlands are filled with shadow creatures, and they’ve started to come out in droves after dark.”
Lilia’s mouth went dry. “You said this is the last settlement before the capital. We’ve got days of open country ahead of us. What will we do at night?”
“Put up lots of torches, light a big fire, and hope for the best,” Saul quipped. Lilia glared at him, but Saul shrugged. “Like the rest of you, I hadn’t bargained on this.”
Screams woke Lilia from a fitful sleep that night.
She sat up, heart pounding, eyes wide in the darkness, while outside the tavern wails and screeches split the night.
A few feet away, Dain cursed as he too awoke. On the other side of the drafty room, she heard the rustle of movement—the screams had also roused Saul and Ryana.
The tavern, with its handful of bare rooms, was the only establishment in Hillbrook that let out rooms to travelers. The owner had bolted the doors tight that night after closing and warned all the guests to lock themselves in their chambers, just in case intruders forced themselves into the tavern through another entrance. At the time, Lilia had thought him over-cautious. Now she did not.
A sharp wail of terror echoed down the night-shrouded valley outside, and Lilia started to sweat.
She now understood the villagers’ fear. Earlier, she had thought them merely ignorant and witless—but listening to the commotion outside, she finally realized what had pushed them to give the mother and her simple son as sacrifice. Terror could do that to you.
“Why now?” she gasped, clutching at the rough blankets bunched up under her chin. “They’ve kept away from us for centuries.”
“Something has shifted out of balance,” Ryana replied, her voice hoarse with sleep. “Something has made them bold.”
“What has the power to do that?” Saul asked.
“I wish I knew,” Ryana replied, “although I can’t help think that you finding the missing piece of The King Breaker could be the catalyst for all of this.”
“So it’s my fault?” Saul countered.
“Possibly.”
Lilia sensed the escalating tension between Saul and Ryana—now wasn’t the time for fighting. “I’m wondering,” she spoke up. “If the unseasonal weather is a sign.”
Silence fell in the room. Lilia shifted uncomfortably, feeling a bit ridiculous. She was about to explain herself further when a deep, throaty growl sounded in the street below.
Lilia shuddered, her heart now thundering so loudly she wondered if the servant of the shadows could hear it, could smell her terror. Heat bloomed in her chest, radiating out through her torso and shoulders.
Drawing in a deep breath, she counted to four and then released it. Breathe, she counselled herself. Just breathe.
“What should we do?” she finally whispered. She thought then of their four horses stabled below—would they still be there come morning?
“Nothing,” Ryana murmured back, a low voice in the smothering dark. “We have no choice but to sit this out. The world will return to normal with the dawn.”
The world did indeed right itself with the rising of the sun. However, Hillbrook bore the signs of an attack in the watery grey light that filtered through the low cloud shrouding the village.
After a hasty breakfast, the four companions retrieved their horses from the stables out back and made their way to the eastern gate. The horses were nervous this morning: prancing and snorting, jumping at shadows. It had been a long night for them all. Lilia had been relieved to find their mounts stabled where they had left them, on edge but unharmed.
On the way out of Hillbrook, Lilia spied signs of trouble: doors ripped off hinges, pools of
congealing blood on the street, and an unnatural stillness as those who had survived the attacks still cowered indoors. Axes, scythes, and hoes scattered the street—men had tried to fight their attackers off out here, and had lost.
Lilia shared a glance with Dain, noting that his face was drawn from lack of sleep, his skin pale as he took in his surroundings.
The eastern gates were still closed when they reached them, and none of the village garrison came forward to open them. Saul and Dain dismounted and, together, unbarred the heavy oaken and iron gate, before pushing it open just far enough for their horses to pass through.
Then they were on their way.
They rode up the hill, toward the line of trees carpeting the land to the east. At the top of the hill, Lilia glanced back over her shoulder at the village below.
Hillbrook lay in shadow, a huddle of wooden buildings and flimsy dwellings that had not been built to withstand nightly attacks. Mist curled amongst the thatched roofs, rising up from the stream that trickled through the valley.
Lilia found herself worrying what would happen to the folk here. She was not sorry she had stopped them from sacrificing those two last night, yet these people would have to face the same terror night after night.
“Place the torches closer together.”
Lilia glanced up from jamming a paling into the ground. A few feet away, Ryana was wrapping some tallow-soaked cloth they’d brought with them around the top of another stake. “How close?”
“Two feet … we don’t want any Dusk Imps squeezing through.”
Lilia tensed at the thought. “It used to be that just the sight of torches glowing on the outskirts of settlements was enough to warn shadow creatures off.”
“Aye … but it doesn’t seem as effective these days,” Ryana replied.
Dusk was settling over the foothills of the Rithmar Highlands. They’d traveled many leagues into the wild and were now making camp, a couple of furlongs back from the road, in a tiny clearing. Saul and Dain had hacked away the bramble here, leaving just enough space for the shelter they’d need to build.
