by Jayne Castel
Strangely, she found herself enjoying it.
Slipping out of the perimeter, where soldiers were erecting a line of pitch torches, Ninia strode up a slope toward the tree line. A dark wall of conifers towered over her. She stopped a few feet away and fluttered the fingers of her left hand.
Until now, she’d always undertaken her daily training with Ryana at her side. It felt strange to practice alone. One or two of the other enchanters of the Dark had offered to train with her, but Ninia had declined.
She wouldn’t be with the Order for much longer—she needed to start training alone.
The reminder that her new life in Rithmar as an enchanter was coming to an end made Ninia’s chest constrict. Just a few brief months of freedom. How she would miss it.
Ninia let her hand fall to her side as her thoughts turned inward.
She’d been so lonely, locked away in The Swallow Keep. Her parents had been overly protective of her, and when the queen had discovered her daughter’s abilities, she’d been paranoid her husband would learn of them.
Once you’re queen of Thûn, you make the rules. Asher’s words returned to her then. He’d been right, she wasn’t returning to her old life. If anything, the challenges before her were far greater than any she might have faced if she’d remained in Rithmar.
Enough of this. Ninia flexed the fingers of her left hand once more. Ryana would tell you off for letting your thoughts wander during practice.
The Star of Darkness burned in the center of her palm, as it always did when she summoned enchantment. Drawing in a slow breath, Ninia reached out her left hand toward the long shadows that stretched out from under the boughs of the trees before her.
The darkness shifted and moved away from the copse, rippling like dark oil over the ground. Whispering, chattering, the shadows slid toward her, pooling at Ninia’s feet.
She was just about to go through her drills when movement up ahead caught her eye.
Small, dark shapes flitted in and out of the trees. Their excited chatter drifted toward her.
Ninia went still.
Dusk Imps. She hadn’t seen any since leaving The Forest of the Fallen.
And as she watched, one of the imps stopped, its long whip-like tail snapping back and forth like an angry cat’s. Yellow eyes stared at her through the gloaming, unblinking.
Ninia stopped breathing. In the Dim Hold, an entire host of shadow creatures had knelt before her and called her their queen. But that had been months ago. Out here in the wild, they might not even recognize her, or care.
A heartbeat later the Dusk Imp gave a high-pitched yip and bounded forward, following its companions into the shadows.
Returning to the camp, Ninia was introspective. She thought shadow creatures kept well away from folk these days, especially after their defeat in the north.
I must alert Asher to their presence.
Making her way into the center of the encampment, she headed to where the Order had pitched their tents for the night. The rumble of men’s voices surrounded her, and like earlier she caught snatches of conversation.
“Anthor won’t know what hit them.”
“We’ll free Thûn.”
“We’ll send those southern bastards home.”
Ninia’s breathing quickened as she listened, and she momentarily forgot about the shadow creatures. It was all becoming real now. She could almost taste the men’s eagerness. Nathan had whipped them into a frenzy.
Ninia’s mouth curved into a rueful smile. Despite the fact that she resented Nathan’s heavy-handed approach with her, she had to admit he knew how to lead. These men weren’t just fighting for him, but for justice.
Continuing on, Ninia headed toward the enchanters’ tents. Nathan and his King’s Guard had camped in the heart of the encampment, with the enchanters flanking him. The Royal City company formed the next ring, while the rest of the companies—soldiers from Orin, Errad, Idriss, and the Western Cradle—spiraled out toward the perimeter.
In the midst of the enchanters’ enclosure, Mira was lighting a fire. She stood before the High Enchanter’s tent, a large conical structure with a stag’s head flag hanging from the center pole.
Mira glanced up at Ninia’s arrival and raised her eyebrows. “Where have you been?”
Ninia forced down an irritated sigh. Old habits died hard it seemed. Mira sometimes forgot that she was no longer her protector. Even so, it wasn’t something to get surly over. “Practicing the Dark.”
Mira accepted her answer with a tired smile. “I was going to break open a skin of ale. Do you want a cup?”
“Aye, thank you.” Ninia sat down upon one of the leather packs that had been dumped outside the tents. Her throat was dry after a long day’s travel.
“This reminds me of the old days,” Mira said, handing her a cup. “On the road together.”
“Aye, Nelly and Melinda,” Ninia replied with a snort. “I think you enjoyed posing as my bossy aunt.”
Mira laughed. “I loved putting you in your place.”
Ninia’s mouth quirked. It worked both ways. On their journey north, as they tried to escape capture by Anthor soldiers, she’d taken pleasure in defying her protector.
They were half-way through their cups of ale when Asher appeared. Lilia and Dain were with him. Ninia waved them over. She’d met the couple for the first time that morning. Lilia especially fascinated her.
“Take a seat and grab a cup,” Mira greeted them. “Pour yourself some ale before we finish it.”
“Generous of you, my love.” The High Enchanter sank down onto the ground and folded his legs with loose-limbed grace. He took the cup Mira passed him, before his attention then shifted to Ninia. “Do you need to go through some Light drills with me later?”
“I’ve taken to practicing on my own,” Ninia replied. “I think I’m ready.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the Dusk Imps she’d spied in the woods. However, something stopped her.
She wasn’t sure why, but her instincts told her that she should keep her news to herself for the time being.
Asher frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Cursing how astute he was, Ninia shook her head—Asher must have seen her hesitation. “I’m just tired.” To prove her point she gave a delicate yawn.
“Make sure you get a good night’s sleep,” Asher replied, raising the cup of ale to his lips. “Tomorrow we take the leaguefort.”
Tension settled over the group gathered around the fire. Asher’s comment was a reminder that tonight was the last moment of quiet before the campaign truly began. Everything would change from this moment on.
“The men are excited,” Dain said, breaking the taut silence. “They’re itching to get to the border so that they can tear down that fort.”
Lilia muttered something under her breath at this, although Ninia smiled. She glanced over at Dain, meeting his eye. “It’s strange, but now that we’re on the march, I am too,” she admitted.
Around them the dusk settled in a heavy grey curtain. The mist that had wreathed the mountaintops lowered, blocking out the sky. The glow of the camp fire illuminated the faces of Ninia’s companions as they shared a simple supper of bread, butter, and boiled eggs.
Lilia sat to Ninia’s right. She had joined the army as a cook, and traveled in the rear-guard, whereas Dain was one of the foot soldiers.
Ninia kept stealing glances at Lilia. Small and flame-haired, she had a sweet, pert face and expressive brown eyes. Few realized that Lilia was a shape-shifter. Asher had warned Ninia to keep this fact secret during their journey south. Shifters had been reviled for centuries. Despite what Lilia had done, the soldiers on this campaign wouldn’t want her kind amongst them.
Eventually, Lilia stopped eating and looked over at her.
“It’s alright,” she murmured, her mouth curving. “I’m not going to suddenly start sprouting red fur and baring my fangs.”
Heat rushed into Ninia’s face. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I
didn’t mean to stare.”
Lilia shrugged. “Your reaction is better than most. Curiosity I can understand … revulsion is harder to take.”
“Asher told me what happened last year,” Ninia replied, meeting her eye. “About what you did.”
Lilia smiled. “It’s strange, but these days it feels as if all of that belongs to someone else’s life.” Her expression shadowed then. “Unfortunately, destroying The King Breaker didn’t fix everything. There’s always another threat to deal with … and this one has been growing for a while now.”
“Ninia … is it true Nathan is going to put you on The Swallow Throne?” Dain asked, his brow furrowing. Seated next to Lilia, he’d been listening to their conversation.
Ninia’s mouth curved. “Aye,” she replied. “If we manage to topple Reoul off his perch.”
24
Take It Down
THE ROAR OF BATTLE assaulted Dain’s ears, vibrating in his bones. Raising his shield high, he pressed forward. Arrows rained down on them, peppering their shields. Yet, the men advanced, foot by foot, until they were before the great iron gates.
Dain had never seen a leaguefort before. This one was the largest of the fortifications that lined the Rithmar-Thûn border, for it arched over The Royal Highway. The great road led travelers south from Rithmar, through Thûn, and eventually to Anthor and Farras. Until recently this leaguefort was said to have been in ruins—until Reoul of Anthor ordered it rebuilt.
Take it down.
Like the other Rithmar soldiers, Dain was determined to see this leaguefort fall. It was a symbol of Anthor’s arrogance. Battle fury pumped through him, obliterating the nerves that had twisted his belly earlier that morning.
This was his first battle, one he’d been preparing for over the past year. He’d joined Orin’s Port Guard after returning to the isle and had known he’d likely soon be called to the king’s side. Dain wasn’t afraid of a scrap—but nothing prepared you for the chaos of battle: the noise that made it hard to think; the rank odor of sweat, fear, and blood.
Boom. A battering ram slammed against the gates.
Dain gritted his teeth and surged forward, protecting the men that wielded the ram. Another volley of arrows hammered down on them. Next to Dain, a soldier gasped and toppled forward, an arrow sticking from the back of his neck.
Sweat coursed down Dain’s face as he pressed forward once more. It was nearing noon; the sun beat down upon them. His shoulders and upper arms were starting to ache, his arms trembling from the weight of the shield. He gritted his teeth, exhaustion filtering through the fury that had propelled him forward till now.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to go on.
Hold out a little longer … they’ll break through soon.
Boom.
The battering ram slammed against the gates once more. The screech of metal followed, and the massive iron gates gave way.
The horn of Rithmar rang high into the air, cutting through the din.
A roar went up amongst the ranks of foot soldiers. Exultation surged through Dain, crushing the fatigue that had made his legs go weak under him. The tide of armored bodies carried him forward.
They surged through the gates and into the tunnel beyond, bringing their battering ram with them. However, they weren’t clear yet. There was a portcullis and another set of iron gates to breach before they’d break through.
Soon after, they did just that. The fort shuddered, a groan of metal sundering, as the second pair of gates gave way. They were through.
“Rithmar … Rithmar … Rithmar!”
Dain joined in the shouting, his throat raw. The wave of Rithmar foot soldiers swept through the tunnel into Thûn.
Out in the bright noon light, Dain made sure to keep his shield raised. He shifted away from the firing line, giving the rest of the army space to move through the tunnel.
Behind him, the battle grew more frenzied. Dain craned his neck up, cautiously peering up at the walls. As he looked on, an arrow pierced the chest of an Anthor soldier. The man toppled over the edge and fell to his death, his screams lost in the roar of battle.
A shriek echoed overhead, and Dain looked up at the hard blue sky to see a white hawk circling about the leaguefort. Grim, Asher’s familiar, was surveying the fight from above.
Men and women on horseback, clad in charcoal and smoke-grey robes, thundered out of the tunnel, following the foot soldiers.
Enchanters.
Asher led the way. Wisely, the High Enchanter hadn’t worn his white robes into battle. It made him far too easy a target. Instead, he was dressed as Dain remembered him from their first meeting over a year earlier, in smoke-grey like the other enchanters of the Light.
A moment later Dain spotted Ninia. Dressed in black, she rode a stocky cob with a bristly mane. Her face was creased in concentration, her gaze fierce.
“Fall back!” A Rithmar captain roared down the line. “Move away from the fort!”
Dain obeyed, lowering his shield as he did so. He was out of range of the arrows now, but he didn’t let the jubilation at breaking through the gates distract him. The battle wasn’t over yet.
Men of Anthor spilled out of the leaguefort, their black armor gleaming in the sunlight. Shouting, they barreled toward the Rithmar foot soldiers.
Dain drew his sword and braced himself to meet them.
He’d just engaged the first Anthor soldier, a small, wiry man with wild eyes, when the ground shuddered.
His opponent stumbled, and Dain seized the opportunity, driving his blade into his neck. The man fell, blood spraying over them both, but Dain was already moving forward.
The ground shook once more and with a whoosh the leaguefort burst into flames.
It went up like a torch—as if it had been doused in oil.
Dain stumbled back. Around him the shouts of panicked men were deafening.
The fire roared high. The heat from the inferno licked Dain’s face, and he brought up his shield to protect it. Flames raced along the walls now, devouring the wood. Dark smoke plumed into the sky.
“Shadows,” the Rithmar soldier beside Dain grunted. “What caused that?”
Dain’s gaze shifted to the small figure a few yards away.
Ninia still sat upon her cob, flanked by two other Enchanters of the Light. Her right arm thrust forward, her fingers splayed as the flames leaped higher still.
Dain heaved in a breath, awe filtering through him. He’d heard about the princess’s abilities, but until now hadn’t witnessed them. A grim smile stretched across his face. With Ninia in their front lines, Anthor didn’t stand a chance.
25
News from the North
REOUL OF ANTHOR surveyed the yard. Ten of his men lay scattered across it, either dead or injured. Smoke rose from some of their bodies, while one corpse still burned. The sickly sweet stench of charred flesh drifted through the air.
In the midst of the space that had once been the training yard of The Swallow Guard, was a sallow-faced young man clad in smoke-grey robes. He stood in battle stance, legs akimbo, right hand still holding the bolus of sunlight he’d just wreaked havoc with.
“Well done, Daric,” Gael called out. “That’s it for now.”
The youth nodded, relaxing his stance.
“What do you think, Your Highness?” Gael asked.
Reoul tore his gaze from one of the few men who’d survived the attack. The soldier, one who’d followed him loyally for the past decade, lay on his side whimpering, his face a ruin.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Reoul braced himself to look at Gael. The grey rat sat on the enchanter’s right shoulder, its crimson gaze spearing the king. At the sight of the rodent, Reoul started to sweat. “Impressive,” he finally managed.
Gael grinned. “Magnificent, wasn’t it?”
That was one way to describe what he’d just witnessed. Gael had promised him a demonstration of these powerful new enchanters he was training, but when Reoul had
descended from the keep, he hadn’t been expecting much.
He’d instructed ten of his personal guard—his best fighters—to attack the lad Gael had selected for the demonstration. They’d swaggered into the yard, grinning at the chance to beat the weakling into a pulp.
One enchanter wasn’t a match for ten trained killers.
But when the lad had moved, Reoul felt a sinking sensation in his gut.
The young man lost his gaucheness the instant he’d gathered the Light. He’d brought all of them down within moments.
It had been horrific to watch, and Reoul’s heart still pounded against his ribs in the aftermath. That—and the rat’s proximity—was making him feel unwell. However, on the outside he kept a semblance of calm.
Reoul cast a glance over his shoulder at where his consort stood a few feet behind him. Saskia’s face had gone the color of milk. Her gaze was riveted upon the carnage scattered across the yard. Unlike her king, she found it hard to contain her shock.
“It’s a bit messy, I’ll admit,” Gael continued with a shrug, “but you needed a show of power to impress.”
“Aye.” Reoul forced his voice into a drawl. “You’ve certainly done that.”
Gael’s dark gaze gleamed. “Praise indeed from you, sire.”
Reoul nodded, although he found it hard to concentrate. The rat was now preening itself. “How many people know of this?”
“Just us,” the enchanter assured him. Reaching up, Gael stroked the rat’s silky back.
Reoul swallowed, hard. “What about the High Enchanter?”
“I’ve said nothing to her,” Gael replied. “Daric is the only enchanter, besides myself, who has been trialed with the Stynix. I wanted to be sure there were no side-effects.” Gael stepped forward then, narrowing the gap between them. “Does this mean you’ll attack Rithmar now, sire?”
Reoul’s breathing constricted, and his heart started to hammer against his ribs. It took all his will not to draw Reaper and throw it at the rat. His aim was good; it wouldn’t survive. However, the creature was Gael’s familiar—he wouldn’t take kindly to having it slain.
