by Jayne Castel
Ryana raked a hand through her messy blonde mane. “I’d rather not—it’s too open here—difficult to set wards.” She paused, her face tightening. “But, if my shadows fail, that’ll be our only option.”
Gael stood on the brow of the hill and watched the battle unfolding below.
He’d never seen such a spectacle. The noise was incredible; a wall of sound lifted off the vale and echoed high into the sky. For a time it had seemed as if the Rithmar force would win—for it was definitely the better organized of the two armies—but as the night drew on, and the Enchanters of the Light and Dark fell or exhausted themselves, the tide slowly turned.
One by one, those flares of light winked out. And each time one did, the shadow host grew stronger.
King Nathan was still there, fighting in the midst. Gael could see his banner, listing now under the onslaught.
Not much longer.
All these years he’d waited, and now—finally—the road was clear before him. There had been times over the past decade when he’d thought he’d never find the second half of The King Breaker. He’d hardly believed it, when Brand had sent word from the House of Light and Darkness that Ryana had returned … with the second half of the talisman.
Ryana.
Gael sometimes thought of her. He’d sacrificed much for this life and regretted little. There had been plenty of women after Ryana, but none had left a mark upon him like she had. Earlier that evening, while he talked with Brand and Trond at the fireside, he thought he’d caught her scent. Every enchanter’s magic carried a distinctive signature, and he’d never forgotten Ryana’s.
Yet Brand had told him that Ryana was imprisoned in the Vault under the House of Light and Darkness.
She can’t be here.
Gael checked himself. The Shadow King still waited behind the Ice Door. He needed to focus on the task before him.
Ryana didn’t matter, the next few hours did.
Even through the heavy cap of cloud overhead, he could see that the eastern sky was lightening. At the bottom of the hill, he saw a figure, sandy hair gleaming in the light of the torch he carried, approaching.
Brand.
The young enchanter reached him, his round face pink, his eyes bright. “We are gaining the advantage,” he announced, out of breath from the climb. “Have you seen?”
Gael nodded, smiling. “I never had any doubt we would.”
The pair of them stepped out onto the track and began the climb up the mountain. The way was narrow, stony, and potholed, but the two men scaled the slope quickly. A forest of jagged, black rocks rose up either side of the path, towering overhead.
As they climbed, Gael stole glances at his companion. Brand had come a long way from the awkward lad Trond had raised. It had been a boon to discover the boy showed signs of the Dark, as Gael himself had at the same age. Raised by his gutter-whore mother in Errad until her death, Brand had been eager to ingratiate himself with his father.
“Has Trond spoken to you?” Gael asked finally, slightly out of breath as they began the steepest part of the climb. “Will he make you his captain as promised?”
Brand’s face tensed. “He hasn’t spoken of it yet.” The young man cast Gael a penetrating look then, showing the steel that lay just beneath the surface. “What about you? What are your plans once Valgarth is free?”
Gael smiled. “It goes without saying … I’ll serve him.”
“Really? It seems to me that you serve only one person, Gael … yourself.”
Gael laughed. He liked the enchanter’s sharp tongue; it made their conversations interesting. “I admit it freely. Putting your fate in someone else’s hands is a fool’s move.”
“So why serve The Shadow King?”
Gael met Brand’s eye, his expression turning serious. “Valgarth is the only enchanter in history who’s been able to wield both the Light and the Dark. I want to learn how he did it.”
Brand considered his words for a moment before answering. “I must admit, I’m curious about that as well.”
Gael gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t pretend you’re not as ambitious as me.”
Brand shrugged. “I have aspirations, I admit, but not like you.”
Gael gave him a sidelong glance. Brand didn’t fool him. “Own your ambitions, boy.”
Brand stiffened. “The Shadow King will be pleased to meet you,” he replied, his tone cool. “You’re just the man to lead his Shadow Army to victory in the south.”
Gael snorted. “If Trond doesn’t try to take that position for himself.”
“They’ve found it.”
Ryana sprang to her feet with such suddenness that her companions started. Both Dain and Lilia were already standing—too filled with nervous energy to sit still any longer.
“This way.”
Ryana headed toward one of the many entrances to her right. She strode out ahead of Dain and Lilia, torch aloft, as she led the way down a long, snaking tunnel. Their journey into the mountain seemed to go on for an age, as they twisted left and right at intervals. Finally, a narrow passage brought them to their destination.
The tunnel ended suddenly, opening out into a wide cavern. Lilia followed Ryana inside, shivering at the wave of raw, dank cold that hit her. It was so cold in the cavern that their breaths steamed like wood smoke on a winter’s night. Walls of dark schist and granite surrounded them, and a cleft in the ceiling let in a draft.
However, it was none of this that captured their attention—but the huge gleaming door blocking their path. A vast river of ice, frozen forever. It glistened silver-blue in the glow of the torchlight.
Lilia gazed at the Ice Door, mesmerized by its beauty. Yet as she stared at it, she glimpsed a flicker of movement behind the gleaming wall.
She gasped and clutched at Dain’s sleeve. “Did you see that?”
“Aye.” His voice was low and wary. “Ryana … what—”
Before he’d even finished his sentence, the shadows behind the Ice Door moved once more, and they watched a dark shape shift into view on the other side—a man’s silhouette.
Lilia froze, a chill slithering down her spine.
The Shadow King stood before them.
He was a big man, standing at nearly seven feet, and broad. It was impossible to discern his features, or to pick out his clothing through the thick ice, but she could see he was dark-haired, black-clad, and wore a heavy cloak of some kind.
All these centuries, and here he was—doomed to live in this timeless mountain prison. Even through the barrier of ice, Lilia sensed his malice, his hunger. For the first time since entering The Caverns of the Lost, she felt true fear.
“Ryana,” she whispered, her voice quavering. “Does he know we’re here?”
“Aye,” Ryana murmured, her own voice catching as she struggled to control her reaction. “He thinks we’ve come to free him.”
Dain cleared his throat. “Can he hear us?”
“I don’t think so,” Ryana replied, averting her gaze from the door and the looming shadow behind it. “The ice looks at least five-feet thick.” She stepped back from the door then. “Come … dawn is approaching. The others will be here soon, we need to get ready.”
Lilia turned her back on the Ice Door, and looked around the large cavern in which they stood. Fine gravel covered the floor, and minerals in the walls made the cavern sparkle in the torchlight. Above, she glimpsed the cloud-covered sky through the crevice in the ceiling. It was starting to lighten. Ryana had told them that Gael and Brand planned to lift the cloud cover so that bright sunlight could filter into this chamber.
Her belly clenched.
They’d reached journey’s end. This was where they’d make their stand. She looked around at her companions. Dain was sliding the two torches they’d brought with them into brackets either side of the entrance, while Ryana was in the tunnel beyond setting her wards. Gravel crunched as Ryana re-emerged, still moving her hands before her, as if she were spinning a net.
“Is it done?” Lilia asked.
Ryana nodded. “We’ll know if anyone approaches. I’m also going to cast a shroud across the entrance to this room, just so they don’t see the light from our torches.”
“Do you want us to put them out?”
Ryana shook her head. “We’ll need light later, when we leave.” Her gaze then swept from Lilia’s face to Dain’s. “I’ll attack first,” she informed him. “I’ll hit them hard, and try to do as much damage as possible in that first strike.” Her mouth pursed, before she continued. “As soon as I’ve attacked, you can jump in. I suggest you use a knife, rather than a sword, as the closer you get the safer it is. Don’t give either of them room to gather the Dark against you.”
Dain nodded, although he was frowning. “Won’t they detect your wards?”
“Not unless they’re looking for them.”
“And will they be?”
Ryana let out a heavy sigh. “We’re in trouble if they are.”
“What about me?” Lilia interrupted. “What do you want me to do?”
“Keep back during the attack,” Ryana replied, her attention shifting up to the crevice in the roof, where the grey tones of dawn were beginning to filter through. “But be ready to shift, if needed.”
“Get ready to grab The King Breaker, Lily,” Dain added. “You can’t let them use it.”
42
Before the Door
GAEL AND BRAND climbed the final stretch up to the entrance to The Caverns of the Lost as the muted light of the breaking day stretched across the sky to the east. Behind them, the roar of battle sounded like ocean waves breaking on a rocky shore. The screams and explosions in the valley were muted at this height.
The colonnaded entrance stood out ahead, even in the murky light—great columns of black volcanic rock.
The two men stopped before it.
Gael glanced up, squinting. The timing was perfect. They needed to gather the Dark while there was still enough darkness to wield it properly. Yet it wasn’t too early either—the shadows wouldn’t be able to hold the cloud cap aloft for long. There would be just enough time to get inside, fuse the stones together and open the door.
He lowered his face and cast a speculative look across at Brand. “Ready?”
The young man nodded.
Without another word between them, they began to gather the Dark. They’d rehearsed this, planned it, for it would take an enormous amount of concentration and effort to push the clouds back.
Gael moved his right hand before him and felt the Star of Darkness on his palm begin to tingle. He channeled his thoughts, drove everything else out. All that existed were the shadowy corners; the pockets of darkness around him, where his allies waited. He drew them out, gathered them to him, waiting until Brand had done the same. Then, in unison, they brought their right hands up, palms upraised to the heavens, and sent a wall of hissing darkness up into the clouds.
Gael watched, scarcely breathing, as the darkness fanned out. And then, the clouds parted. A shaft of sunlight slid across the face of the mountain.
After weeks of dull grey weather, the brightness stung his eyes. Even though they were in the far north of Serran, the warm light reminded Gael that it was mid-summer. With everything that had happened of late, it was easy to forget that.
Brand turned to him, grinning. “We did it.”
Gael smiled back before stepping close to him. Then he reached down, drew a knife from his boot and—in one deft movement—slit Brand’s throat.
He moved so swiftly that Brand didn’t even have time to bring his hands up to defend himself.
Brand stared at him, mouth gaping. Then he crumpled, dropping his torch and clawing at his lacerated throat. The warm, metallic stench of blood filled the morning air. Gael took a couple of steps back and watched the enchanter die. There was a lot of blood—he’d severed a major artery—but Brand took a few moments to fade, flapping around on the stony ground like a stabbed eel.
When he finally lay still, Gael moved forward, reached under the collar of his robe and drew the necklace Brand wore out. The second half of The King Breaker was ice-cold in his palm, despite that it had lain against the enchanter’s skin.
Gael yanked it free, snapping the chain, before pocketing it inside his leather jerkin.
He wiped off his blade on Brand’s robe, retrieved the fallen torch, and straightened up. His gaze returned to Brand’s face. The shock and dismay he saw there was almost comical.
“Sorry, boy,” he murmured, “but I’m not the type to share power.”
The young enchanter was brilliant, charismatic—and entirely too ambitious for Gael’s liking.
Gael slid the knife back into his boot and walked toward the entrance. It felt strange, crude, to kill a man with a blade rather than using the Dark, but he hadn’t want to drain himself. Once he freed Valgarth, he was likely to have to demonstrate his abilities to The Shadow King. He wished to conserve his energy for that.
Glancing up at the dusky sunrise now showing above the mountains, Gael strode inside.
He’d been inside The Caverns of the Lost numerous times now, but The Hall of the Night Sky never failed to awe him. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he traversed the length of the hall. Streams of light now pooled on the mosaic floor, illuminating the dust motes that drifted down from the slitted windows high above. Gael’s gaze rested upon the magnificent obsidian throne at the back of the hall. Soon, the rightful ruler of Serran would be seated there.
I need to hurry.
Gael lengthened his stride, the leather cloak that hung from his shoulders billowing out behind him as he moved. He entered the long tunnel behind the hall and followed it to the gallery beyond. However, once he reached the wide, circular space, Gael halted.
He and Brand had spent hours in here, combing the tunnels till they found the Ice Door. As such, their footprints were everywhere, tracking across the fine layer of dust covering the stone floor.
But things looked different since the last time he’d been up here. There were even more footprints than before, and the dust was brushed away in the center of the floor, as if someone had sat down upon it.
Gael tensed, his instincts sharpening.
He hadn’t expected this. He’d thought that King Nathan and the Enchanters of Light and Darkness would be too preoccupied by the battle to send a party up to the Ice Door.
Gael whispered a curse.
Idiot.
He should have anticipated they would try to stop him here.
He dug into a pocket of his cloak and retrieved the iron box he always carried with him. Opening it, he extracted the stone and pocketed it inside his jerkin, next to its twin. If there was an ambush waiting for him at the Ice Door, he would need quick and easy access to the two pieces of The King Breaker. He couldn’t waste time fumbling for them.
Gael entered the long tunnel leading to the door. His pace was slower, more cautious now. He stepped lightly, his right hand sweeping before him, gathering the Dark and sending it ahead to ensure the way was clear. However, the closer he got to the cavern the tenser he became. He didn’t need his shadow scouts to warn him something was amiss; he could smell it.
Another enchanter of the Dark was nearby, he sensed their power. He recognized their scent. The signature was subtle, so finely woven that, if he hadn’t been searching for it, he might have missed it completely.
Ryana.
Gael slowed and deepened his breathing, flexing his right hand next to him as he gathered the Dark close.
She’s here after all.
His best chance of reaching the door was to hit Ryana and her friends hard. Suddenly, he regretted slitting Brand’s throat—the enchanter would have been useful to have at his side now.
He tread as gently as possible, his gaze shifting to the far end of the tunnel. Daylight should have been filtering into it, yet a veil of darkness hung over the exit: a shadow shroud.
Gael narrowed his gaze, focus
ing. He’d shred that barrier of shadows like a cobweb before dealing with those waiting for him. He swept his hand around to call the Dark to him. Then he hurled himself down the tunnel.
He burst through the veil, the shadows he’d sent before him tearing through it, while the rest of the Dark formed a protective shroud around him.
Gael dove through the entrance to the cavern, deliberately keeping low. Something lethal—the Dark concentrated into one killing blow—skimmed just above his head. Even as he moved, his body coiling for attack, Gael scanned his surroundings.
The Ice Door glistened in the dawn light streaming down from the ceiling. A dark figure loomed behind it. There were three of them in the cavern, waiting for him—but only one of them was an enchanter.
Gael dropped and rolled, coming to his feet just two yards from the door.
Moving on instinct now, he pivoted, gathering the Dark to him once more as he faced the enchanter who’d come so close to cleaving his skull in two.
His gaze fused with a familiar pair of grey-blue eyes.
Ryana stared back at him.
43
Dance of the Dark
The enchanter had burst into the chamber. He’d arrived before any of them were ready—before Ryana had gotten the chance to give her companions their final instructions.
He was alone, and since Lilia had never seen him before, she realized the tall man clad in dark leather must be Gael. Brand was nowhere in sight.
Gael had tumbled in like one of the traveling performers she’d seen as a child. Lithe and dark, the newcomer moved with startling speed and grace.
He bounded to his feet and whipped round to face Ryana.
The two stared at each other for a heartbeat. Ryana had been expecting him, yet she flinched back as their gazes met.
The stillness, the silent recognition between them, lasted barely a moment—and then they began to fight.
The shadows around the two enchanters roared to life, surging into the center of the cavern. Dawn had broken and a shaft of bright sunlight streamed in, but part of the chamber still lay in shade. The noise was deafening—the chatter and howl of the Dark colliding.
