Light and Darkness: The Complete Series: Epic Fantasy Romance

by Jayne Castel

  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 sneered. 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.”

  40

  The Caverns of the Lost

  THREE SHADOWS climbed into the foothills of the Shadefell Mountains. Theirs was a silent, party—Ryana led the group, while Lilia and Dain followed close behind.

  Lilia inched her way upwards, sweating heavily now. 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. Lilia heard the rasp of Dain’s breathing next to her. He was struggling under the weight of heavy iron armor and chainmail.

  Ryana led the way up through the rocks. Every so often she would stop and peer around her before setting off again. They were careful not to speak, for the narrow trackway that led up into the mountains lay barely twenty yards east of where they currently climbed.

  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 they 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 Lilia, 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,” Lilia whispered.

  Above her, Ryana shifted against the ledge where she’d halted. “There’s definitely movement down there,” the enchanter 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 stomach knotting.

  “Come on.” Dain shifted away from the rock and pulled himself up onto the next ledge. “We need to keep moving.”

  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, harder route. There was also less risk of encountering anyone.

  Next to him, Ryana and Lilia had both collapsed onto the stony ground, panting, as they recovered from the climb.

  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.

  They couldn’t linger out here in the open.

  “I take it Valgarth’s lair is somewhere inside that mountain?” Dain asked, glancing back at his companions.

  “Aye,” Ryana replied, getting to her feet. “I wish I’d paid more attention to my history tutorials when I was an apprentice.” She paused here. “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,” Dain murmured, remembering the history from fireside tales of his Nan. “But he was defeated before work was ever completed … 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 spoke up. “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.

  Ryana stepped back from the mountain ledge. “There should be unlit torches by the door. Let’s check. Dain, did you bring some flint and tinder?”

  “Aye.” Dain shrugged off his pack and began digging through it.

  “Come on,” Ryana interrupted. “Let’s see if I can find a torch.”

  Retrieving his flint and tinder, Dain followed the women up to the mouth of the cavern. He 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 a while, 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.

  The star branded onto the palm of his right hand glowed silver; pulsing white-hot in the darkness. Apart from the torch in his left hand, it was the only weapon he wielded.

  Don’t fail me.

  Asher fought in the middle of the field now. His world had shrunk to a diameter of five-feet around him, hemmed in by a wall of writhing bodies. He had no idea where Thrindul and Irana were, if they were even still alive, or whether King Nathan was safe.

  Asher was now concerned wholly with his own survival.

  He and his enchanters had cut a swathe through the front ranks of shadow creatures, and now he faced men: big, leather-clad men brandishing iron and steel.

  Till now, the Light had proved a powerful weapon, for the creatures of darkness shrank away from it or fell back howling when he lashed whips of fire into their midst. But The Brotherhood weren’t afraid of the Light. They ran at the enchanters, screaming filth and swinging broadswords, double-headed axes, and huge, spiked maces.

  In front of Asher, one of the enchanters of the Light—a man named Brennan—went down. A blade sliced through the enchanter’s neck, spraying Asher with blood. Brennan crumpled. There was no time to help him, no time to even glance down to see his end, for a hand axe flew through the air, straight at Asher’s forehead.

  Asher twisted and ducked. The axe skimmed past him, catching his temple as it went. Only his quick reflexes had saved him from having it embedded in his skull. A stinging pain flowered across his forehead, and he felt the wet warmth of blood trickling down his cheek. But, once again, there was no time to hesitate.

  The Brotherhood closed in on him.

  Four of them—big bastards with faces twisted in savagery—advanced. Asher couldn’t see any of the other enchanters now, or Nathan’s soldiers.

  He stood alone.

  Asher’s gaze swept over them, taking their measure. There was no fear, no panic. Time slowed down. The roar of battle quietened, and Asher’s head cleared. There was nothing but stillness now. He stood in the eye of the storm, where even his own thoughts could not intrude.

  He met the gaze of one of The Brotherhood warriors coming for him; the biggest of the four, who swung a mace the size of a man’s head.

  Come, he called to the Light as he swept his right hand before him. We’re not finished yet.

  This close to death, life had never seemed so precious. He’d never take it for granted again. He’d fight for it—right to the bitter end.

  Light flared in his right hand, so bright that the men flinched and shielded their eyes from the glare.

  Recovering swiftly, they lunged, howling the battle cry of The Brotherhood.

  Grinning savagely, Asher stepped forward to meet them.

  The flare of the torch sputtering into life made Lilia draw back. She squinted, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. After hours spent fumbling through the dark, her eyes had adjusted to it. The light hurt her now.

  Recovering, she glanced around at her companions. One look at their faces told Lilia of the strain they’d all been under. Ryana’s eyes were hollowed in the flickering light, her face all tight angles, her mouth thinned. Dain was haggard, although he wore a hard expression, his blue eyes narrowed against the light.

  They stood just inside the entrance to the Caverns of the Lost. Massive black pillars rose around them, forming a grand entry into the caverns. It was eerily quiet in here, away from the wind and the thunder of battle far below. The air smelled dusty and dry.

  Ryana stepped forward, holding the torch aloft. They moved away from the entrance and began their journey into the dark. After a few yards, the entry widened out into a great hall. Lined with tall columns, with a spider-vaulted ceiling and a mosaic floor, it was a grand, kingly space.

  It was also deserted.

  Lilia followed Ryana through the long hall, with Dain bringing up the rear. She looked down at the intricately patterned mosaic floor, noting that it resembled the sky at night—a sea of black, studded with stars of varying sizes and a great silver moon in its center.

  The only sound in this empty place was the scuff of their boots as they crossed the floor.

  “The Hall of the Night Sky,” Ryana murmured, her voice echoing in the stillness. “I thought it was just a legend.”

  At the far end rose a great stone dais, and upon it a throne made of black stone. The massive chair gleamed in the lambent light, and Lilia realized it was made of obsidian, like the pillars at the entrance and the Altars of Umbra Valgarth had placed in the center of every settlement in Serran.

  “It’s magnificent,” Dain said, his tone subdued as he glanced around. “I didn’t think anything belonging to The Shadow King would be pleasant to look upon.”

  Ryana snorted. “Even evil can appreciate beauty.”

  At the back of the hall, behind the dais, a wide stone arch led through into a passageway. In stark contrast, although this corridor was lofty, it was rough-hewn, carved out of pitted rock. There were unlit torches hanging from the walls here, and Lilia took one for herself and lit it from Ryana’s.

  Unspeaking, the party continued down the corridor. The air grew colder and staler, and Lilia was glad of her heavy woolen mantle. She hadn’t expected to like this place, but even so found it difficult not to let her imagination take hold. She tried not to think of the thousands of men and women who had toiled to carve out these caverns, before they dropped dead from exhaustion. She also tried not to think of the weight of the mountain pressing down upon her.

  They reached the end of the corridor and stepped into a wide, unpaved space. Here, the four of them stopped and gazed around. They had stepped into a gallery—with at least thirty entrances all leading off in different directions. A fine layer of dust covered the stone floor, and there were footprints everywhere.

  Lilia halted next to Ryana, and the two women shared a glance. Behind them, Dain cursed under his breath.

  Lilia’s gaze traveled around the gallery, sliding over the entranceways. They all looked identical. “Do the footprints lead anywhere?” she asked, hopeful.

  “No,” Dain announced curtly. “They appear to lead into all the entrances.”

  “Someone’s either been here searching each passage, one by one,” Ryana added, her voice tight, “or they’ve arranged the footsteps to confuse anyone who came after. Either way, it doesn’t help us.”

  41

  Finding the Way

  “I was worried we’d encounter this.” Ryana’s voice echoed through the gallery, mocking the three figures who stood at its center. “The Ice Door isn’t exactly signposted.”

  Dain turned to Ryana. “Come on then … choose a passage.”

  Ryana frowned at him. “We can’t just strike out blindly … we’ll never find the door that way.”

  “Well, how do we select one then?”

  Ryana handed him her torch and flexed the fingers of her right hand. “I’ll send out scouts. One will tell us the way.”

  Ryana gathered the Dark. There were plenty of shadows in this hollow space for her to call upon. They scuttled and scampered across the dusty floor, chattering as they came, clustering around her feet like adoring pets. Ryana whispered words to them, her voice gentle and coaxing. All the while, her right hand moved over them, gathering the Dark close.

  Lilia watched the shadows lift off the stone floor and head off in different directions, each cluster taking a different passage. Moments later they had all disappeared on their errands.

  Dain grunted. “Clever. Saves us hours of searching.”

  “We don’t have hours,” Ryana pointed out dryly, before she lowered herself onto the ground. Stretching out her legs before her, she glanced up at her companions, who were both still standing, watching her. “Sit down … we can’t do anything now but wait.”

  They waited.

  Time drew out and the night waned, creeping toward dawn.

  Lilia, Dain, and Ryana said little during their wait, although they grew inc
reasingly tense, the longer the delay became.

  Eventually, Ryana’s shadow scouts started to return, but the news wasn’t good. These ones had found nothing but endless empty passageways and dead-ends on their travels inside the mountain. No door of ice. No prison of endless winter.

  Eventually, Lilia grew agitated. Not only that, but she had lost all feeling in her backside from sitting on cold, hard stone. Rising to her feet, she began to prowl the perimeter of the gallery, peering into each entrance in the hope one would yield a clue. “Why’s Valgarth trapped in here anyway?” she asked.

  “After Dûn Maras fell, his host was pushed back into the mountains,” Dain replied. “Once the United Armies of Serran breached the caverns, he took refuge in the labyrinth of passages inside the mountain. It was at the dead end of one that he and a company of his most loyal followers made their final stand.”

  Lilia halted and glanced across at where Ryana was listening to Dain’s explanation. “They trapped him there using The King Breaker?”

  Ryana nodded. “And in doing so, the enchanter wielding it was killed … and the talisman snapped in two.”

  Lilia sighed, impatience making her snappish. “What time is it? Dawn must be approaching.”

  “It’s not far off,” Ryana admitted. “I thought my shadows would have located the door by now. The tunnels inside the mountain go deeper than I thought.”

  Lilia stopped pacing and turned to her companions. Ryana sat cross-legged on the stone floor, while Dain sprawled beside her. “What are we going to do, if they don’t find it?” she murmured. “Gael and Brand will be here soon.”

  “We could always hide in one of the tunnels, and follow them when they get here?” Dain suggested. He had propped himself up on an elbow and was regarding Lilia steadily.

  “That’s risky,” Lilia said. “They’re likely to hear us.”

  “Or we could ambush them here?” Dain replied.