Light and Darkness: The Complete Series: Epic Fantasy Romance

by Jayne Castel

  The air around them rippled, as if the very fabric of the world was altering, and the ground shook.

  The battlefield went silent for a long, drawn out breath.

  The shadow creatures had stopped fighting. Instead, many of them glanced around, bemused and disoriented, as if waking from a long sleep. Nightgengas cringed under the dawn light, shielding their faces. They loped off then, shoving their way through the crowd. Dusk Imps ran squealing, while Hiriel drifted away, evaporating like morning mist.

  Lilia watched the servants of the shadows depart, fleeing to the dark places of the world, where they would hopefully remain.

  But the men stood their ground. Realizing that the tide had turned against them, The Brotherhood turned savage. They threw themselves at the remaining Rithmar soldiers, gazes wild and desperate. A great roar went up in the valley, causing the air to vibrate with its intensity, as soldiers and enchanters rushed forward to meet them.

  Hands still clasped together, Lilia and Asher watched the battle turn in Rithmar’s favor. In the face of defeat, some of The Brotherhood tried to run, yet they were cut down before they got more than a few paces.

  The morning began to transform.

  The cap of heavy cloud that had shrouded the world for days on end lifted. The sun broke through in a hail of gold, revealing powder-blue sky beyond.

  “We did it,” Asher panted. He looked ready to drop, yet his gaze gleamed with victory. Slowly, he unclasped his hand and raised it from Lilia’s.

  A pile of smoldering grey ash sat upon her palm.

  Lilia stared at it stunned. “It’s done?” she whispered.

  “Aye … you did well,” he replied hoarsely.

  Lilia flexed her fingers, letting the ash flutter to the ground. Underneath, her skin was reddened, scorched by the heat. She winced. Her hand now throbbed.

  “I’ll heal that for you later,” Asher promised, unslinging his tattered cloak and placing it about Lilia’s naked shoulders.

  Around them the yelling and cheering continued—the cries of Rithmar soldiers, not the howls of victorious shadow creatures.

  45

  After Dark

  AS SOON AS she was able, Lilia left the battle field and climbed the mountain.

  Dain was waiting for her before the entrance to the caverns. Watching her approach, barefoot and still wrapped in Asher’s cloak, a smile split his face.

  “I heard the cheering,” Dain greeted her, pulling Lilia into his arms. “I knew you’d do it.”

  “Did you?” Lilia threw her arms about him, burying her head in his shoulder. She felt weak and shaky in the aftermath, wrung out. “I wasn’t so sure.”

  She felt him bury his face in her hair and kiss the crown of her head. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he husked.

  Lilia swallowed, her vision blurring. Pulling back, she saw that his eyes also shone with tears. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I don’t intend to do anything heroic again.”

  His mouth quirked, and he reached for her hand. “Come on … let’s go fetch Ryana.”

  Back at the Ice Door, an unwelcome surprise awaited them.

  Stepping inside the chamber, they both froze. As hoped, Valgarth was gone—there was no silhouette lurking behind the wall of ice. Ryana lay on her side, eyes closed, her face ashen.

  But Gael had disappeared.

  Blood stained the ground where the enchanter had lain, and led out into the tunnel beyond, but there was no sign of him.

  Lilia tensed, glancing over her shoulder at the shadowy tunnel behind them. “He can’t still be alive … not after those blades you sunk into him.”

  “If he’s still breathing, he can’t have got far.” Dain drew a knife from his belt. “I’ll go and look for him. You check on Ryana … and get dressed.” Dain paused here, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Although I prefer you naked.”

  Lilia huffed, a smile curving her lips. However, she waved him off and crossed to where their friend lay. She knelt next to her, relieved to see that she was still breathing. Ryana’s face was soft in repose, although the dark circles under her eyes, the lines either side of her mouth, revealed the strain of the last few weeks.

  Lilia reached out and shook her gently. Ryana groaned, her eyes flickering open. “Sorry,” she rasped, “must have dozed off.”

  “Gael’s gone. Did you see him leave?”

  Ryana cursed, struggled to rise, and failed, sinking back onto the stone floor. “He didn’t move after you left,” she panted. “I thought he was dead.”

  “There wasn’t any sign of Gael on the way in … but Dain’s gone looking for him.”

  Ryana’s mouth twisted. “The bastard will have hopefully crawled away to some corner to die. Can you help me sit up?”

  Lilia reached down and pulled her up by the shoulders. Pale and sweating, Ryana rested against the wall. Lilia frowned. Her injuries were more serious than she let on.

  “We need to get you to a healer.”

  Ryana made an irritated sound, brushing aside her concern. “Is The King Breaker gone?”

  Lilia nodded. “I got it to Asher just in time … the battle has ended in Rithmar’s favor.”

  Ryana let out a long sigh and closed her eyes, the tension draining out of her. “Well done.”

  Rising to her feet, Lilia crossed to the pile of clothes she’d discarded near the Ice Door. She was just pulling on her leggings, when the crunch of footsteps on gravel behind her made Lilia twist round, heart pounding.

  She’d feared Gael was creeping up on her, however, it was Dain, returning.

  He met Lilia’s eye and grimaced. “No sign of him.”

  Dain straightened up, wincing as pain shot through his temples. He stood in the midst of the battlefield and had just finished helping to shift the dead onto litters. Men were transporting the corpses of Rithmar soldiers and enchanters a furlong west of the camp, where they would be laid out upon a collection of ceremonial pyres, amongst the stone barrows.

  They would burn after dark.

  Ribbons of pink and gold streaked across the western horizon, warning Dain that the ceremony was approaching. Stretching his arms in an attempt to loosen the muscles in his shoulders and back, Dain glanced north where oily black smoke stained the sky. They had lit the giant pyre there, where they burned the bodies of The Shade Brotherhood and the shadow creatures.

  Exhaustion settled over Dain. Turning, he started to make his way back to camp. He was so tired it was an effort to walk without staggering.

  Despite their victory, the day had left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d discovered Captain Garick amongst the dead, as well as Balt—that soldier he’d sparred with to earn the right to join the army. Both men had suffered horrendous injuries, and Dain wrapped them in their cloaks before helping lift them onto litters.

  He hadn’t seen Lilia much during the day. She was busy helping Asher tend to the wounded. Dain’s own injuries pained him as he walked. His right leg was bruised and strained, his head hurt from where he’d cracked it against the cavern wall, and his chest ached with every breath.

  Reaching the camp, Dain headed for the healing tents. He’d only walked a few steps when someone passed him a skin of water and a hunk of stale bread and cheese. Mumbling his thanks, Dain continued on his way. Around him soldiers were lighting fires and skinning rabbits for supper. At the heart of the camp, he reached a cluster of tents. Asher emerged from the biggest, his face haggard.

  “Where’s Lily?” Dain asked him, his voice slurring slightly.

  Asher gave him a hard look. “She’s inside, finishing up. Someone should take a look at you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Inside.”

  Too exhausted to argue, Dain followed Asher into the tent. The injured carpeted the ground, in two rows up the length of the space, leaving a narrow aisle in the center. Lilia sat a couple of yards away. She had just bandaged a female enchanter’s arm, and looked up, her gaze widening. “
Dain … where have you been?”

  Dain favored her with a wan smile, and was about to reply, when Asher placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the corner of the tent. “Sit.”

  He did as bid.

  “Unbuckle your armor … let’s take a look at your ribs.”

  It took an effort to remove the leather and chainmail covering his torso, and each movement caused white-hot agony to lance across his right side. He sat hunched, cold sweat beading his skin as Asher examined him.

  Dain glanced down and saw a dark purple bruise covered his flank, stretching from under his armpit to his waist. The sight of it made him feel queasy.

  “You should have come to the healing tent immediately.” Asher knelt next to him and placed a flickering candle on the floor beside them. “Your internal organs are bruised.”

  “Can you heal him?” Lilia appeared at Dain’s side, pale and anxious.

  Asher gave a brusque nod, before he began to gather the Light. The tender candlelight flickered a moment and then burst into a small sphere of light, which bounced into the air and landed on Asher’s outstretched palm.

  Murmuring a healing charm, Asher lifted his hand to Dain’s bruised ribcage and, cupping the light with both hands now, drew it down his side. The heat of it on his skin caused Dain to stifle a gasp.

  “Keep still,” Asher muttered. In the dim light inside the tent, the enchanter’s skin looked grey.

  Dain closed his eyes, the heat spreading across his ribs as if he’d just immersed himself into a tub of steaming water. He felt it penetrate deep into his chest cavity, easing the agony that made every breath difficult.

  Eventually, the heat faded, taking the pain with it. Dain’s eyes flickered open, and he saw that the bruise had receded slightly and was now a sickly yellow and mauve, rather than angry purple and red. He met Asher’s gaze and smiled. “Thank you.”

  The enchanter sank back on his heels and regarded him. “I’ve begun the healing process, but you’ll need to rest over the next few days and let your body mend.” He glanced over at Lilia. “Can you bandage his ribs?”

  Lilia nodded and moved across to retrieve some fresh bandages.

  Asher swayed then, and Dain thought he’d collapse. He reached out to steady him, but Asher brushed his hand aside. “I’m well, just exhausted. I need to lie down.”

  “Rest then.” Lilia pushed in next to them and began to wind a bandage around Dain’s chest. She motioned to the fur that had been laid out behind them, against the wall of the tent. “Go on, I’ll finish up here.”

  The evening was cool and clear, the sky a vast black cavern sprinkled with clusters of bright stars. It was a moonless night; the stars stood out in sharp relief against the dark. Lilia craned her neck and gazed up at the sky. She’d once taken its majesty for granted, but she would never do so again.

  She stood on the edge of a crowd gathered around a line of funeral pyres. A sea of stone mounds surrounded them, stretching away into the darkness on all sides. The faint light of their camp glowed to the east, and the glowing embers of the great pyre to the north still burned; but here it was quiet and dark, save for the handful of folk carrying pitch torches.

  A few yards away, King Nathan of Rithmar stepped forward. He carried a torch aloft, the light illuminating the planes of his strong face. Lilia watched him. Even battle-weary and recovering from lacerations to his arms and chest, Nathan exuded calm determination.

  The king approached the biggest of the pyres. Upon it lay rows of bodies, Thrindul among them. The High Enchanter lay upon his back, hands clasped over his ornate staff. His face was stern, even in death.

  Lilia thought the king would light the pyre and then step back to watch it burn; but instead, he turned and faced the crowd of soldiers and enchanters that formed a semi-circle before him.

  “I would say that this is a great day for Rithmar,” he said, his deep voice carrying across the stillness, “yet we paid in blood for it. Our thanks must go to those who valiantly fought and gave their lives in this place … they will never be forgotten.” He paused here, his gaze sweeping across the faces watching him. It rested on three of the onlookers, standing quietly to one side. He dipped his head to them. “There would have been no victory without the valor of Lilia, Dain, and Ryana. Rithmar will ever be in your debt, as will Serran.”

  Lilia dropped her eyes as the crowd shifted its attention to her. Likewise, she sensed Dain and Ryana tense. None of them were comfortable being the center of attention.

  Fortunately, the king’s gaze didn’t remain on them long. Instead it shifted upward and he stared out into the night. Watching Nathan, Lilia saw the weight of responsibility that burdened him. It was not an easy thing to rule. When he spoke once more, his voice was grave.

  “A goshawk arrived this afternoon. While we’ve been here, ensuring the safety of all Serran, Reoul of Anthor has declared Thûn his territory. But more worrying still, he’s started rebuilding the leagueforts on the Rithmar-Thûn border.”

  Dread slid down Lilia’s spine at this news. She’d heard of the leagueforts; they were a legacy of a past conflict between Thûn and Rithmar many decades earlier. The Thûn king at the time ordered a vast defensive wall with forts every league along its length to be built on his side of the border. It stretched from the east to the west coast, although these days the forts and palisade were said to be little more than ruins.

  Until the arrival of Anthor.

  “Rithmar stands alone in the north now that Thûn has fallen,” Nathan continued. His gaze raked across the crowd, his face fierce. “The Shadow King no longer poses a threat, yet Reoul of Anthor does. He will learn of this battle, of all the men who fell here, and he will press his advantage thinking us weakened. We must be ready for him.”

  Nathan of Rithmar raised his torch to the heavens. “To the dead.”

  “To the dead.” The crowd echoed.

  The king turned, his blood-stained cloak billowing behind him, and lit the pyre.

  Lilia watched it catch alight, smoking at first as the tender tongues of flame grew, and then it went up with a whoosh.

  Dain stepped close to Lilia, placing an arm around her shoulders.

  She tore her gaze from the roaring pyre and looked at him. Next to Dain, Ryana was watching the flames, her cheeks wet. A few yards away, Asher stood with the other enchanters who had survived the battle. Like, Ryana, his attention was on the burning pyre. His eyes glittered as he stared at the devouring flames.

  “To the dead,” Lilia murmured, suppressing a shiver. The king’s words had dulled her relief at ensuring the Shadow King would never walk free. Rithmar was still in peril, this time from a no lesser evil—humanity itself.

  Dain’s grip around her shoulders tightened. “To the living,” he whispered back.

  Together, they watched the lighting of the rest of the fires. Grief settled over the Vale of Barrows in a chill mantle, and Lilia drew her cloak close, shivering.

  They’d done it—tracked The King Breaker north, retrieved it, and disposed of it—sealing Valgarth in his tomb for eternity. And somewhere along the way, she’d grown to accept who she was.

  A shifter.

  She wasn’t a freak, something to be hunted down and exterminated. There was beauty in her true nature. She would never again feel ashamed of it.

  Lilia averted her gaze from the fire and buried her face in the hollow of Dain’s neck, breathing him in. Dain was her anchor. Life could be dark, senseless, and cruel, but his touch reassured her that there was also beauty, happiness, and love to be found—all you had to do was open your eyes to it.

  Lilia leaned into him and closed her eyes.

  “Our task is done here, Lily,” he said softly, his breath feathering against her ear. “Let’s go home.”

  Six months later …

  Epilogue

  Home

  The Isle of Orin

  The snow fell, drifting down from the dark sky in large, silent flakes. It settled on Lilia’s
fur mantle and hair, frosting her eye-lashes as she crunched along the ermine-crusted quay.

  The chill weather hadn’t kept folk indoors. Children darted about, throwing snowballs at each other, their squeals lifting high into the raw, smoke scented air. Men and women hurried by, bundled up in furs, their cheeks ruddy with cold.

  Rows of glowing orange lanterns illuminated the docks, staining the snow. Lilia passed The Barnacle. Icicles hung from the eaves outside the tavern, and indoors she could hear cheering and laughter. She and Dain sometimes visited the tavern for a meal, but Dain no longer spent his evenings fighting for coin there—he now worked in the Port Guard.

  Many things had changed since their return to Port Needle.

  They hadn’t gone back to live at The Grey Anchor, nor had Lilia taken up her old job as cook there. These days, they shared a tiny home above the bakery at the eastern end of the pier, where Lilia worked in the mornings, helping to bake pies for the market. Unlike her job at The Grey Anchor, this one allowed her afternoons off, giving her time to go for walks and to enjoy the day.

  Dain’s parents—his mother especially—hadn’t been pleased by their decision. Yet there had been little she could do to prevent it. Her son was a grown man and had a right to choose his own path.

  Lilia reached the crowd thronging Port Square. The snow was now falling thick and fast, floating down like ash after a great bonfire. The Altar of Umbra rose before her. Lilia stopped, her gaze settling upon the great, black obelisk.

  She frowned. Someone should tear that down.

  “There you are.” Lilia turned to see Dain striding toward her across the snow. Dressed in his Port Guard uniform, black leather armor and a jade-green cloak, he cut a striking figure. Lilia noticed two girls nearby eye him appreciatively. He’d cut his hair since joining the guard; it no longer flopped boyishly over one eye. It made him look older, harder … until he smiled.