by Meg Cowley
More.
His hands stroked up and down her back. Twining one in her hair, he caressed the nape of her neck with an idle thumb and deepened their kiss, making her moan in anticipation.
Suddenly, he stilled and pulled away. His magic dissipated and water crashed to the ground around them, drenching their cloaks. Harper stilled, too.
What is that shrieking?
It echoed off the cliffs. Chattering in a harsh tongue jarred her ears, magnified as it came at them from all directions.
Harper opened her mouth, but Aedon swore in a tongue she did not know and shouted, “Goblins!”
He grasped her hand and broke into a run, pulling her behind him. They sprinted to camp, just as the first missiles struck the rocks above their heads. Ragnar was already up, brandishing the axe he usually kept belted at his waist. He turned to them, raising it with a snarl, but halted when he saw them.
“We cannot outrun the filth,” he said, his teeth bared.
A moment later, Brand and Erika burst into the clearing, faces flushed from their sparring.
In the fire’s light and the moon’s gleam, Harper saw shapes racing down the cliff face. She blinked. There was no way anything could run down a sheer cliff face, but there they remained. She now saw the glint of armour and tangled limbs. What had been pleasure quickly turned to unease, then flickered into fear.
Claws, teeth, and death raced for them.
Fourteen
“To me,” Brand bellowed.
They ran to form a small arc, the fire to their backs, and drew their weapons. Aedon hurled magic at them, knocking several goblins, screeching, off the cliffs to fall with a sickening crunch. Erika darted forward to dispatch them without mercy.
Harper drew her dagger, Aedon’s gift, with a shaking hand and brandished it before her. Erika crouched beside her, her twin blades drawn, and Brand flanked her on the other side, holding his giant, two-handed blade before him.
“Goblins hate fire, iron, and magic,” he growled.
Harper nodded, but her throat was suddenly dry and she could not seem to form a reply. Now, the chattering of the goblins was a cacophony that hammered into her mind. Their tongue was hard and savage, their shrieks even more excited as they found their prey for the night. Goblins leapt from the cliff face and advanced on the group.
They wore odd armour over their strange figures. Mismatched leathers and sparse metal plating or chainmail adorned them as they ran in a crouched position, almost on all fours, brandishing an odd assortment of weapons, from knives, to axes, to spears with cruelly pointed and serrated blades.
There was no more time to figure out how she would defend herself, let alone attack, for the handful of goblins fell upon them, dozens more racing down the cliff.
Brand cleaved left and right with his blade, slicing through their paltry armour. They died, squealing, at his feet. Some dodged and met Erika’s mercy – a quick, silent death. Others avoided the pair and made for Ragnar, who held his own, wielding the giant axe with more skill than Harper realised he possessed. Aedon held them back with blade and magic, but more kept coming.
Harper was grateful for Brand’s and Erika’s protection. Without them, she would have been long dead. Goblin faces, distorted by hate and bloodlust, snarled at her as they approached, only to be cut down by her companions.
Pointed, filed teeth were covered in blood, which had splattered over their faces, matching the bloody handprints and gory, daubed decorations of their clothing and armour. Their shrieks were only outdone by the terrified screaming of the horses as they were also attacked. Their voices faded, and Harper knew the worst had happened to them.
In the darkness, the firelight throwing shadows around them, the goblins were demons of the night, and Harper shook with fear and adrenaline. There was no time to think as she dodged blows and struck out with her dagger, to no avail. A goblin shrieked as he stepped on a pinecone and tripped. Emboldened by an idea, Harper dodged back to the fire’s edge, where their woodpile lay.
Remnants of Aedon’s magic still swirled within her and she grasped for it, pulling it together with the last dregs of her own strength. Bolstered by the rush of battle, she hoped she could manage what needed to be done. Harper sheathed her dagger and gathered an armful of pinecones.
Lighting one at a time in the fire, shielded by her companions, she darted between them to throw pinecones at the goblins, sending them on their way with her own magic, willing the fire to spread. After a few attempts, the pinecones flew true, catching in the goblins’ clothing, the fire spreading in the fabric and fur trimmings. Harper crowed with renewed vigour as she became the flames, using her magic to tease them across the goblins to catch upon their neighbours’ garments.
The distraction was enough. As the goblins fell into disarray, trying to avoid the fiery missiles, her friends advanced, hacking them down where they stood, until the tide receded before them. The last wave of goblins swarmed from the cliff, but her companions were too spread out, too protected by the fire.
Harper threw as many fiery pinecones as she could, but her magical reserves were almost spent and she was entirely unprotected by the fire. A goblin broke through and ran for her. Harper tossed her last pinecone at it, but it bounced harmlessly away before she could coax the fire to jump hosts.
Her magic sputtered. Her dagger would take too long to draw, and she could not move her arm through the terror anyway. The goblin was upon her, his gleeful snarl wide. His pointed teeth in her face, the stench of rotting meat rolled over her, clogging her lungs. Harper could not even draw a breath, so frozen in fear was she.
Crunch.
Eyes wide, the goblin fell to the ground as Aedon withdrew his blade and stood shoulder to shoulder with Harper.
“Thanks,” she said, but the shouting, screeching, and crashing of metal was so loud, she could not hear her own voice.
Giving a sharp nod, he turned back to their companions, who had retreated before the onslaught, and together, they gave one last push against the goblins. As the goblins finally fell back, Ragnar stumbled and tumbled to the ground with a strangled yell. The horde pounced upon him with relish, clicking, hissing, chattering, and screeching at their prize.
Grabbing him before his companions could rally, they dragged him back up the cliff face.
Brand took to the sky in desperation, chasing them, but even he was too slow. They disappeared into a fissure in the rock and the darkness of the mountain. Soon, their din was lost.
The silence was deafening.
Ragnar was gone.
Fifteen
Landry hurried through the dark streets of Tournai, his cloak and hood pulled tightly around him against the driving wind and lashing rain. Normally, the rain did not bother him, but that night, shadows, and the threat of the king’s wrath, nipped at his heels.
It had been an unproductive meet of the guilds, and worry settled in his belly. The threat of arrest was enough to terrify anyone, but when their own had been targeted...
Two guild masters were missing. Their wives had already beseeched Landry for help. He knew they had been arrested, though not what for. They had committed no crime he knew of, which worried him even more. As leader of the guilds, Landry worried he would be next to suffer the king’s wanton moods.
He was only glad that he remained free...for now. The spymaster’s dark presence dogged his steps. He still worried that it was some elaborate trick of Dimitrius’s. He still had given no answer to the spymaster, who had not approached him again. Landry felt like a dead man, waiting for the axe to fall. The promise of Dimitrius’s return was a threat that grew worse for the waiting.
Aislin threw herself into his arms the moment he entered their home. She had clearly been dithering, waiting for him to return.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re home. You’re so late. I worried...” She bit her lip, not wanting to say what she had worried, but he knew.
That I was not coming.
“I’m fine. Don’t w
orry, my love,” he said in a voice lighter than he felt, but she looked at him with creased brows, her green eyes flashing with worry.
She searched his face. “You’re not fine, though, are you? I heard... Aberon has been arrested now, too, hasn’t he?”
Face ashen, Landry could not deny her.
“You must turn from this madness, Landry. I cannot see it happen to you, as well. I fear what the king will do to all those he has arrested. I could not bear it if you were taken.”
“I shan’t be taken, Aislin. I pro–”
She stepped back. “Do not promise what you cannot keep!” she warned.
Shayla sidled from the kitchen, eyes wide. “Papa?”
Landry straightened at the little girl’s presence, and Aislin wiped the consternation and frustration from her face.
“Good evening, my little ember.” Landry smiled as warmly as he could. “Where’s my evening hug?” Shayla dashed forward to be scooped up into his arms for a scratchy kiss. “Now, go see that the boys are ready to eat.”
Shayla scrunched her nose in distaste as she wriggled free and ran up the stairs, shaking dust from the ceiling above her parents with every thunderous step as she raced to fetch her brothers for dinner.
Landry met Aislin’s concerned gaze once more. His wife stood with her arms folded. It was never a good sign.
“You need to keep your head down, for the sake of the children and I,” she said in a low voice.
“I know what I must do,” he said, more gruffly than he intended. “I am not so foolish as to act, no matter how riled up and scared everyone else is. Half the guilds are for supporting the spymaster, half against. Thus, I shall act neither way.”
Indeed, half had wanted to accept Dimitrius’s offer in their haste to secure the trade routes once more, but Landry was glad that enough shared his own trepidation at trusting the shadowy spymaster. It marginally lessened the pressure to act.
“But you don’t feel safe?” Aislin echoed the fear he did not name.
Landry shook his head, sighing. “I’m considering sending you and the young ones away. I’ll keep the twins with me, I need them to keep the forge going, but Shayla and her brother are too young for any of this.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And you are too precious.”
Her eyes narrowed in defiance. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Far above him, the house rumbled and shook as the four children barrelled down the stairs for supper.
“If it gets any worse, you must. I know you don’t want to, but your family will take you in, if needed,” Landry said adamantly.
“It won’t come to that,” she hissed as their children ran between them to the table.
Landry hoped she was right, but misgivings lurked in his stomach, and as he sat to eat, he chanced a look through the window. Another building in the city burned. The looters were out again.
I cannot send her away. I cannot let her stay. I cannot remain. I cannot leave.
The food tasted like ash in his mouth, and the walls felt too thin to protect them from the threats that lay too close to their door.
Sixteen
Thick, choking smoke clogged the city. The plains before Tournai were blackened and burnt. From the upper reaches of the city, Dimitri watched the pyres burn, suppressing shakes of anger.
Toroth had shown his hand.
It only fuelled Dimitri’s desire to crush him.
Hundreds from all walks of the city, from lords right down to the half-elf who owned the tavern by the gate, had burned. All for treason. All innocent. All for rumours of Saradon, or criticism of the king’s own failures to keep the trade routes open.
Toroth is truly insane.
The king had shown how fear and insecurity consumed him. Mere rumours and slights had doomed all those now lying dead before the city. Despite Dimitri’s careful assurances that no direct names had been found, that the city was loyal to him, the king had gathered up anyone he had seen as a fitting target and condemned them. Death by dragonfire for all. The great, black dragon still wheeled above the city, as if surveying its handiwork with pride.
The full force of the Kingsguard flooded the city to keep peace, for the people revolted in their open fear, anger, and hate of the king. With the troubles, food was scarce – though not at the king’s table – and the mood volatile. A spark, ready to burst into flames.
Dimitri only felt regret that ordinary folk – the downtrodden like him, who he had done all this for – had so far suffered more than the blasted king. He wondered whether the guilds would stand with him now.
Soon, he promised himself. Almost time. He could not wait for Saradon to sweep in and kill the king.
As he walked toward the great hall to attend the king, he saw Raedon storming the same way, seething. No doubt because responsibility to keep the peace fell upon his shoulders, yet it seemed to be an evermore impossible task.
Sudden inspiration struck him. “General!” Dimitri called across the courtyard, for Raedon strode so quickly, head down, that he had not noticed the king’s spymaster.
Raedon stopped and looked up. His scowl deepened when he saw who had summoned him, then he turned away, striding off once more.
“Wait.”
Raedon did not stop, and Dimitri was forced to run after him, much to his annoyance. He stepped in front of Raedon, forcing the general of the Winged Kingsguard to halt.
“What do you want, spymaster?” growled Raedon. “Get out of my way.” His voice carried across the still air.
“Meet me in the rose garden at the next bell if you want to find out,” murmured Dimitri.
He strode away without looking back. He did not need to in order to know Raedon stared after him, completely baffled – but hooked by curiosity. He would come. Dimitri was certain of it.
HE DID INDEED COME, skulking between the bushes. He had removed his distinctive red cloak, his ceremonial garb, and wore only his usual scuffed, working leathers. He cast a striking contrast to Dimitri’s smooth, black robes. Tousled, sweaty hair, fresh from his patrol of the city, compared to Dimitri’s coiffed elegance.
“What do you want?” His voice was flat as he stood a healthy distance away, arms folded, eyeing Dimitri with distaste.
Dimitri ignored his rudeness. “The Kingsguard is struggling. I hear attacks upon the red cloaks have increased this week. I am correct, no?”
Raedon’s deepening scowl was his only answer, but it was enough.
“Worry not. We are warded. This is a conversation that ought not be overheard.” Thick rose bushes enclosed the small, round, paved courtyard in a cocoon of privacy. None would see them there.
Raedon frowned, but he did not speak.
Listening... Curious... Good.
“The king is not himself,” said Dimitri evenly. “You have noticed, yes?”
Raedon did not move for a long moment, then nodded sharply.
“And, naturally, it is your job to clean up this mess. It will get worse after today, you know.” Dimitri referred to the burnings.
Raedon gritted his teeth and muttered something under his breath, clenching his hands into fists.
Dimitri leaned forward. “Hmm?”
“Fool, I said. Damned bloody fool!” Raedon seemed to feel better for being able to curse the king aloud.
“Yes. It was ill thought out. I did what I could to prevent it, but of late, he sees threats where none exist. It’s as if he thinks the very shadows are out to get him.” At Raedon’s incredulous look, Dimitri nodded. “I swear it. I tried to avoid this, but you know how wilful he is. Once an idea takes him, a dragon could not pry it from his grasp.”
Raedon grumbled his agreement. “So what do you want, spymaster?”
“I extend an offer of alliance toward you, General. We might not like each other, but we can work together.”
Raedon’s eyes narrowed sharply, filled with distrust. “For what end?”
“That depends. I seek a Pelenor that is peaceful and prosperous. What
do you desire?”
Dimitri hoped he was right to voice such things aloud to the general. He would not hesitate to punish him in Toroth’s name. He hoped he had the measure of Raedon right. That he, too, grew disillusioned with the king.
Raedon’s eyes narrowed further.
“It’s not a trick question.”
“Then you ought to know I desire that, too. I am duty-bound to make it so.”
“Of course. Of course.” Dimitri nodded affably. “And the situation we find ourselves in at present could not be further from that. Could not be moving further away from that,” he added pointedly, meeting Raedon’s glare.
“What are you proposing?” the general asked guardedly.
“If the king is not fit to rule...” Dimitri left the sentence unfinished, the words hanging in the air.
“You are an idiot if you think I will help you–”
Dimitri scoffed in disgust. “I do not want that. Don’t be ridiculous.” I might want power, security, but I don’t want to sit atop a throne. “Who are you bound to serve, General? The people and the land...or the king?”
“I won’t betray my king,” Raedon said stubbornly.
“A quality to be admired, to be sure.” Dimitri paced around the area, like a predator circling prey. He stopped to admire a rose. “Yet where has it gotten you? Over the years, you have followed orders you did not agree with. I know precisely what you have done.”
Raedon scowled again. “I don’t need your judgment. You’ve done far worse, no doubt. I’ve done my duty. I am bound to serve.”
“As are we all. But maybe that doesn’t need to be the case. Maybe we can serve and follow our conscience at the same time.”
Raedon scoffed.