by Jayne Castel
Balt returned with two wooden swords. Around them, men cast curious looks as they moved about the barracks, readying themselves for tomorrow’s early start.
“Make this quick,” Captain Garick ordered, passing Dain his weapon. “First man to yield loses.”
They cleared a space for them in the center of the yard. Balt began to circle Dain, still scowling. Dain copied the soldier’s stance—feet apart at shoulder width, posture straight, and body relaxed. He held the sword with both hands—elbows bent and arms close to the body—in front of him and toward his opponent’s throat.
The soldier came at him suddenly, swooping in with a quick, vicious cut. He moved fast for such a big man. However, Dain was quicker. He blocked the wooden blade and deftly side-stepped away as Balt attacked again.
The clack of blades meeting echoed across the yard, and the sound of industry around them ceased. Dain sensed his opponent’s impatience, his anger that Dain was proving harder to beat than expected—like an annoying mosquito that darted just out of reach.
Dain kept a strong defense, managing to get in a few strikes of his own as he got used to Balt’s fighting style. Soon, they were both sweating, and Balt was glaring at him. Dain grinned back.
“Annoying little shit,” he growled. “Grin at me like that again, and I’ll smash your teeth down your throat.”
Dain’s grin widened. Suddenly, he was back in The Barnacle, facing down a huge sailor who’d just realized he’d met his match. Wildness flared within him. It was as if he stepped out of his own body. He felt a complete absence of fear—the sensation was exhilarating, and dangerous. Still, he knew that Balt was the better swordsman. Dain could play with him a while longer, but in the end Balt would win.
“What’s wrong?” he taunted. “Am I embarrassing you?”
Balt snarled at him and swung at his head with the sword. That was his mistake. Dain ducked and brought his own sword round low. The wooden blade slammed into the backs of the soldier’s ankles.
The big man howled, staggered, and lunged toward him, but Dain was ready. He ducked under Balt’s guard and brought up his fist in an uppercut, punching him hard in the jaw.
The soldier reeled back, lost his footing and sprawled. Taking his chance, Dain kicked away the sword and pointed his at Balt’s throat. “Do you yield?”
Balt glowered up at him, his eyes tearing with pain as he clutched his jaw.
“Do you yield?” Dain repeated.
The soldier nodded.
Dain stepped back and glanced at Captain Garick. The blond man was watching him intently, his gaze narrowed. “That was a dirty move.”
Dain shrugged. “You didn’t say it had to be a clean fight.”
The captain raised an eyebrow and sauntered over to him.
“Where did you learn to use your fists?”
Dain held his gaze. “Does it matter?”
The captain’s mouth quirked. “I suppose not. You can handle yourself … that’s all that counts.”
Dain smiled back at him. “So I can join you?”
The captain watched him for a moment longer before nodding. “My men will kit you out and give you a sword.” Garick shifted his attention to Balt, who had struggled to his feet, still clutching his jaw. “Go to the infirmary and get that seen to.”
I can’t believe I let myself get talked into this.
Asher made his way down the stairs to the lowest level of the House of Light and Darkness. It was deserted at this hour as everyone was at supper. The meal would take a little longer tonight, for Thrindul would be giving out instructions for the days ahead. Asher wouldn’t be missed as he’d already made his excuses about having to pack up his medicines in the Hall of Healing.
Thrindul had been too distracted to pay much attention to him anyway. The tongue-lashing King Nathan had given him still stung.
This won’t work.
Agreeing to this plan was madness. If he was caught, he’d spend the rest of his days in the Vault alongside Ryana.
Silently cursing Lilia and her reckless courage, he reached the first floor and took the passage that lay between the library and the storerooms, which would led him to the Vault. However, he was only a few yards away from the Vault stairwell when he heard the scuff of approaching footsteps.
Asher suddenly stopped short.
He ducked into an alcove, just as a girl emerged from the kitchen stairwell. Small and blonde, she wore a grubby apron over a plain homespun dress and carried an empty tray under one arm.
Asher held his breath, willing the girl not to look left. If she did, she would see him. Fortunately, the kitchen-hand appeared to be in a hurry this eve, for she kept her gaze fixed ahead, and disappeared from sight.
Asher exhaled sharply. He’d thought they brought Ryana supper earlier than this—they must have been running late tonight. Tense now, he stepped out of the alcove, crossed to the stairwell, and descended into the Vault.
Ryana was asleep, curled up under her cloak on the damp stone ledge, when he reached her cell. A piece of hard bread and cheese sat just inside the door, next to a cup of what smelled like broth. It looked like the girl had just shoved the items through the bars and run.
“Ryana,” Asher whispered. “Wake up!”
The figure under the cloak stirred, and a pale face peeked out. “What?”
“You’re getting out of here.”
Ryana sat up, blinking. Then her gaze flicked to Asher. “I am?”
He produced a ring of keys from inside his robe, which he’d lifted from Thrindul’s study before coming down here. Selecting a key, he slipped it into the lock. The clunk of it releasing sounded obscenely loud in the breathless silence of the Vault. Meanwhile, Ryana had risen to her feet and scooped up the bread and cheese, stuffing it inside a pocket in her cloak.
“What’s the plan?” she asked. Her voice had a slight rasp to it, as if she had been crying, and her tone was flat. Asher could see the Vault had started to affect her already.
“It’ll take too long to explain,” he replied, throwing the door open so Ryana could exit. “Follow me.”
33
Stowaways
NIGHT’S DARK CURTAIN slid over the Royal City of Rithmar, bringing yet another grey, cold day to a close. Wood smoke laced the cool air, and fires burned bright along the city walls. A mist snaked in, rising up from the river below. Somewhere in the darkness, feral howls echoed down the night-cloaked valley.
Wrapped in a woolen cloak, Lilia stood in a shadowed doorway on the edge of the great square before the palace gates. From here, she had a clear view out across the glowing lower town. The eerie cries made her suppress a shudder. Over the past few days she’d been safe from the shadow creatures that prowled the night. With everything that had happened, she’d almost forgotten them … almost.
Her thoughts shifted from the dangers outside the city walls to those within it.
I hope Dain hasn’t got himself into trouble.
Their time together at The Black Boar Inn had been far too short. Nonetheless, every moment of it was etched on her memory. Their coupling had been a revelation. It was like being taken by an enchantment. Even now, she ached for him, the memory of their last kiss before parting that morning still burned upon her lips.
A thick, dank mist curled through the streets of the upper city, obscuring the towering palace above. The glow of torchlight illuminated the fog in places, but in the darker recesses of the capital, where pitch torches and oil lamps did not burn, the mist swallowed everything.
Lilia continued to wait, growing nervous now as time drew out. She’d come here at the time Asher had specified, but he hadn’t yet appeared.
Where is he?
Despite that darkness had fallen, the sounds of industry echoed up from the town below: the shouts of men drifting down from the barracks above, the rumble of wagon wheels, and the clang and hiss of the smith’s forge. Lilia imagined few would sleep tonight as they pushed to ready the army for the dawn.
> Folk had thronged the streets when Lilia made her way up to the palace earlier. Soldiers carried supplies and weapons down the hill to where the bulk of the King’s Guard were now rallying. Crowds had milled under the orange glow of street lamps, their voices laced with panic as they discussed the army’s departure. With a warlord over the border to the south in Thûn and the threat of an ancient evil being unleashed to the north, there was plenty to worry them.
Lilia peered out from the shadows, her gaze scanning the large sloping expanse at the foot of the palace gates. It teemed with wagons, horses, and men, readying themselves to depart with the dawn.
“Lilia.”
Asher’s soft voice behind her made Lilia’s heart leap in her chest. Spinning round, and shoving back the heat that started to pulse in her breast, her gaze alighted upon two cloaked figures.
“Ryana?”
“Aye,” a familiar voice replied huskily. “Good to see you again.”
“Come,” Asher cut in, impatient. “You two can catch up later … let’s get you into your hiding place.”
He moved off, a tall cloaked figure in the darkness. Lilia and Ryana followed.
The mist was their ally here, for it snaked amongst the crowd and hung low over the tops of the wagons, making it easy to slip through their midst unseen. Nevertheless, the three of them kept their hoods up, hiding their faces from view.
Asher crossed the square, to where a line of supply wagons sat, ready to be shackled up to horses. Servants were still filling the wagons nearest the gates, loading them up with sacks of grain, wheels of cheese, salted meat, and barrels of wine—which would be watered down when rationed out to the men. However, the wagons at the head of the line had already been filled and were ready for departure.
“Ryana,” Asher murmured, as they drew near to a wagon covered by a blue tarpaulin. “A bit more mist right now would be helpful.”
Ryana didn’t answer, but a moment later, Lilia saw a pale hand emerge from the woman’s cloak as she surreptitiously gathered the Dark. Lilia heard the faint whisper of the shadows awaking around them, and then the fog drew in, shrouding them.
The muttering of men’s voices just beyond, echoed through the mist. “Bollocks … can’t see a foot in front of my face.”
“Hurry,” Ryana whispered. “It’ll not last long.”
Asher led them round the back of the wagon and deftly unlaced one of the ties. “I checked this one earlier,” he whispered, pulling back the edge to reveal a narrow space between two stacks of wooden crates. Straw covered the wagon’s wooden floor. “Sorry, it’s a bit cramped … it’s the best I could do at short notice.”
Lilia turned and threw her arms around him, giving Asher a quick, hard hug. “Thank you … I’ll never forget this.”
She felt his body stiffen, as if he was unused to being embraced, before he gave her a hug back. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. “Go on, get in.”
Releasing him, Lilia scrambled up onto the wagon and climbed to the back so that her companion would have space.
Ryana turned to Asher, her face still shadowed by her hood. “I suppose you expect me to hug you too.”
He snorted. “Save it for later, if we all live through this … hurry up, climb in.”
Ryana ducked her head before complying. She climbed up and folded her long legs in front of her before turning to him. “You’re not going to just leave us in here, are you?”
“Dain or I will bring you food and let you out when the army stops at noon,” he replied. “I’ll do my best to get you out after dark … if I have my own tent, you can sleep there at night.”
Lilia threw him a grateful smile; like Ryana, the idea of being trapped in here for the entire journey made panic rise. She hadn’t given much thought to this part of her plan.
“Rest,” Asher told them gently. “While you can.”
With that, he drew the tarpaulin closed.
Lilia listened to the muffled sound of him retying it, before she heard him move away from the wagon, leaving her and Ryana inside.
There were gaps in the tarpaulin, which allowed the faint glow of torchlight and damp air to enter. Lilia was grateful for it; she wasn’t fond of the darkness.
The two women sat in silence for a while, each trying to get comfortable in their new, cramped lodgings. However, Lilia was suddenly hesitant to make conversation with Ryana.
The last time she’d seen her, the enchanter had tried to ingratiate herself with Thrindul, and attempted to use the stone to buy a pardon.
It hadn’t worked, but it didn’t mean that Lilia wasn’t angry at being used like that.
As if sensing her companion’s thoughts, Ryana spoke up. “I’m surprised you wanted me freed … after what I did.”
“I need your help,” Lilia replied honestly. “I’m willing to overlook the past.” It wasn’t entirely true, yet there was no point in berating Ryana now. They were going to be spending days together in close confinement—plus freeing the enchanter had been her idea.
Feeling her stomach growl, she reached into her pack for some food.
“Do you want something to eat?” she asked. “I managed to get some bread, cheese, apples, and treacle cake, which keeps well.”
“Not right now,” Ryana replied, her voice subdued. “Lilia … are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”
“I am.”
“This is too big for us,” Ryana continued. “We can’t make a difference?”
Lilia, who had been reaching into her pack for a piece of cake, paused. “The odds are against us,” she admitted, her mouth curving in the darkness. “But then they have been from the start.”
The wagon lurched forward, jolting Lilia out of a deep, surprisingly restful sleep. A heartbeat later the trill of horns echoed across the city—calling the king’s men to war. King Nathan’s army moved out with the dawn.
Goose-bumps prickled Lilia’s skin. If the fact they were heading into danger hadn’t been clear to her before, it certainly was now. The horns were loud, echoing off the surrounding stone walls, the mountain behind them, and the steep sides of the valley below. There wasn’t one soul in The Royal City of Rithmar who wouldn’t have heard it.
Clinging to the side of the wagon, Lilia peered out through a gap in the tarpaulin, at where foot soldiers marched alongside the supply wagons. Asher had told her that these wagons would be traveling at the back of the army, in the rearguard. The king would be traveling further forward, at the head of the main army, as would the Enchanters of Light and Darkness.
Where’s Dain?
Lilia hoped he’d been able to join the King’s Guard. However, even if he hadn’t, she knew he’d find a way to accompany the army north.
Dain was possibly even more determined than she was.
It was a bumpy ride down to the lower town, and by the time they rumbled toward the outer gates, Lilia felt as if her teeth were being shaken loose in her skull. Next to her, Ryana had awoken. Watery daylight filtered in through the gaps in the leather tarpaulin, illuminating Ryana’s pale, tense face.
“This is going to be fun,” she muttered. “My arse hurts already.”
Lilia winced. “Let’s hope the ride’s smoother once we get off these cobbles.”
Outside, the roar of the crowd rose around them like a flock of starlings coming in to roost. Lilia watched as women flung themselves out onto the road, clutching at their men. Their wails, their cries, rose high above the wagons. Many of the women’s faces were wet with tears and twisted in grief.
Lilia’s throat closed; she’d never seen the reality of war before. She watched a young woman cling to her lover—a foot soldier who marched alongside the supply wagons. The man hugged the girl close, his shoulders quaking. However, the army would not stop, not for any of them. Soldiers pulled the lovers apart and manhandled the girl back into the crowd.
Her sobs followed the wagons, a high-pitched lament.
The rearguard traveled out of the city and onto the r
utted highway beyond. Here, the going was less bumpy, although the wagon jarred intermittently as they hit potholes. Behind them, Lilia heard the boom of the heavy gates shutting. With the bulk of the army, and the king himself, gone—the capital would be locked down until their return. With the threat to the south, the king didn’t want to leave The Royal City vulnerable.
“Do you have any water?” Ryana asked, her throat raspy.
Lilia dug into her pack and extracted her water bladder, passing it to her. “Careful,” she warned. “We won’t be able to stop to pee until noon.”
Ryana pulled a face. “I need to go now.”
34
The March North
Dain marched at the tail-end of the main army, amongst the ranks of foot soldiers.
Most of the men surrounding him carried ash spears—a forest of iron tips rising into the encircling mist. He was lucky, Dain realized, for Captain Garick had gifted him a sword. It was nothing fancy—a two-edged flat iron blade with a leather pommel—but it was well balanced and had a sharp edge. He carried it strapped to his back, within easy reach should he need it. Dain had left the wood-axe behind; it had been a crude weapon at best. Instead, he’d acquired two sharp fighting daggers—one strapped to his waist, the other to his right leg.
Despite the cool, misty day, Dain was sweating heavily. He’d been much more lightly dressed on the journey here; now he was weighed down by boiled leather armor that creaked when he walked. Thick leather bracers covered his forearms, and the shoulder guards made him feel like a gigantic beetle. Not only that but he carried a heavy pack on his back.
It was nearing noon; he could see the pale glow of the sun overhead, even through the mist. They were marching on the Great Road, heading through the northern reaches of the Rithmar Highlands.
