“Nighteyes doesn’t like you.” Aeros took a white handkerchief from the pocket of his white jerkin and placed it over the bird. “We dock under the Fortress of Saint Only in a few hours. Stay on deck if you like. I will have Mancellor come watch you.” Aeros whirled and walked away, with the bird in hand, heavy white boots clomping along the stiff wooden deck. When he disappeared belowdecks, Ava’s stomach finally gave way.
She vomited up a stream of half-digested potato-and-red-beet soup, which streaked the outside prow of the ship like blood.
“These channel waters are not rough enough to make a girl seasick.” The Spider gazed at her, eyes pitiless and knowing. “So best you not let Aeros ever see you puke again. Else I fear he will throw you overboard himself.” He brought forth a plain leather water skin, slipping it quietly from under the folds of his cloak. “Drink.” He dipped his head to her, holding the water skin out for her almost reverently. “It will help wash the bitterness of your sins away.”
Ava took the water skin, unstoppered it with trembling fingers, then drank of its crisp water, cool and quenching.
Mancellor Allen, in full Knight of the Blue Sword livery, helm under the crook of his arm, marched up from belowdecks and stationed himself next to Ava and the Spider at the prow, all three of them staring at the looming bulk of Mont Saint Only.
“We shall be there soon,” the Bloodwood muttered. “Your turn to watch the girl, so I shall take my leave of you both,” he said to Mancellor, then took his water skin from Ava and disappeared down the same hatchway Aeros had.
“I’ve always dreamed of seeing the fortress atop Mont Saint Only,” Mancellor said once the Spider was gone. “And now here I am, about to set foot on the shores of Adin Wyte.” He then did the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over his heart. The ritual prayer startled Ava, for she had never seen one in the armies of the White Prince perform such a prayer. It was a sacred and personal ritual straight from The Way and Truth of Laijon, meant to stave off the wraiths and other demons. She suddenly found herself observing the fellow next to her in a new light. The cornrows of hair tumbling about his shoulders and the dark blue tattoos under his eyes made him look fierce in the moonlight. In the right circumstances, Ava figured the Wyn Darrè could be handsome. But as one of her captors, he was as beastly as the others.
She noticed that the same Sør Sevier slave brand on the underside of her own wrist was burned onto his, too. He’d once been a captive of Aeros Raijael just like her, just like Jenko. Perhaps he too does what he can to survive.
“My sister must think I am long since dead.” Mancellor looked at her. “Did you have any siblings in Gallows Haven?”
Ava did not wish to engage him in conversation, especially not about anything regarding Gallows Haven and her family. She remained quiet.
“My sister, Bronwyn, would be about your age now,” he said. “If she still lives. Seventeen, I reckon.” There was sadness in his voice. “ ’Course, I haven’t seen her in five years now. Not since joining Aeros Raijael’s army.”
“You mean not since Aeros took you captive?” The statement caused the Wyn Darrè to look away.
“You should know, Jenko and I found treasure in Ravenker,” he said, gazing up at Mont Saint Only. “An ax and a blue stone. We took them from that boy, Nail. The boy you both knew in Gallows Haven.”
Of course she knew of the ax and stone the Wyn Darrè spoke of. She’d spied on Mancellor and Jenko when they had gifted Aeros with the treasures. She had shown them both to Enna Spades. Is he fishing for information? Trying to glean what I know about Nail? Ava’s heart thundered. Is Aeros testing me so soon? Again she did not engage him. Her stomach still churned, the nausea worse than before.
“I fear Jenko Bruk is obsessed with the battle-ax,” Mancellor said. “I fear he will try and steal it. And that will be the end of him. Aeros will never let him touch what few treasures he holds dear.” The Wyn Darrè’s tone was flat, his eyes fixed on Ava again. As if I am one of Aeros’ untouchable treasures . . .
She said, “The White Prince has more secrets than just that battle-ax.” Her heart thumped in her chest as she spoke, knowing she was about to divulge the very secrets Aeros had just warned her not to. But she didn’t care. If Mancellor was a spy, she suddenly hoped he relayed everything she said to the White Prince. She wanted Aeros to know of her treachery and disloyalty. Hoped he killed her for the betrayal. It would be a blessed end. “There is also a strange helmet in his treasure chest. And a green stone. He keeps them with the ax and the blue stone. He has them on this ship now. Belowdecks. They are two important and ancient relics. They are what these wars are all about. They are why he has killed so many people. The battle-ax and helmet are why he destroyed Gallows Haven, why he hunted Nail. That much I have figured out on my own.”
“A helm?” Mancellor asked, eyes a-squint above his black tattoos.
“Aye, a helm.” She gazed up at him, eyes wide with hope, a feigned hope that she desired him to notice. She placed her hand against his armored shoulder. “He believes they are Lonesome Crown and Forgetting Moon, the weapons of the Five Warrior Angels.”
“The Five Warrior Angels?”
“When we reach Saint Only, we should steal the ax and helm,” she went on in a rush. “We should steal them and run away, Mancellor. Us. Together. Run far away. We should take the ax and helm to Amadon. It is what Gault Aulbrek was going to do.” She held her head high, meeting the Wyn Darrè’s piercing eyes. “And he was going to take me with him.”
“Gault Aulbrek would not have done that,” Mancellor scoffed. “He would not have stolen from his lord, nor would he have taken you away from Aeros.”
“He would, I swear it.” She met his dark glare with a stern, unyielding look. “Aeros grew suspicious of Gault, and together with the Bloodwood, he conspired to betray Gault. And they betrayed him in Ravenker.”
“Be that as it may—”
“You are like Gault,” she interrupted, hand still on his shoulder. “I know you do not want to be part of Aeros’ army, Mancellor. Together we can—”
“Please stop,” he hissed, two gauntleted hands now gripping her shoulders. “You cannot speak like this, Ava.” His eyes bore into hers pleadingly. But there was also confusion and pain there too. If he is a spy, he is a poor one. . . . He is actually considering running away with me. . . .
“What are you two discussing?” Jenko Bruk’s voice came drifting out of the darkness. He came up behind them, heavy boots clomping along the deck. He was in full Knight of the Blue Sword armor, helm in one hand, sword hanging at his hip.
“Aeros does not want you up here with the girl.” Mancellor released Ava’s shoulders, stepped between her and Jenko.
“Yet here I am,” Jenko answered, amber eyes roaming up to the shadow of Mont Saint Only before falling again on his fellow Knight of the Blue Sword.
“It’s your neck on the line,” Mancellor said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Jenko looked straight at Ava. “So what do the two of you discuss?”
Ava hesitated. Telling him could be the end of her. “I was telling Mancellor of a helmet and green angel stone Aeros keeps in his chest. The White Prince keeps them with the ax and blue stone you took from Nail in Ravenker. They may be the lost weapons of the Five Warrior Angels. I asked Mancellor to help me steal them from Aeros and run away with me.”
“Run away with you?” Jenko looked . . . stunned. Hurt? Confused? She wasn’t sure. His dark glaring gaze fell on the Wyn Darrè.
Mancellor swallowed hard. “She’s liable to get us both killed, talking like this.”
Hope of a sort lurked behind Jenko’s eyes as he turned back to her. “Tell me of this helm.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Aeros believes that the helm is Lonesome Crown from The Way and Truth of Laijon. And the green stone one of the fabled angel stones. The battle-ax you took from Nail is Forgetting Moon.”
“That cannot be,” Jenko said, hope dimming. �
��I’ve read The Way and Truth of Laijon. My father kept a copy. The weapons of the Five Warrior Angels and the stones were taken into heaven with Laijon at his death.” His eyes grew distant. “Forgetting Moon was not something a bastard like Nail would be lugging about on the back of a mule.”
“Think about it.” Ava was growing more desperate now, trying to make her point sink home. “You yourself said you felt some magic in it. I heard you say it when you gave the ax to Aeros. And Aeros hoards the ax and the helm as if magic is what he truly believes lies within them.”
“I did feel something in that ax when Nail struck me with it in Ravenker.” Jenko took a step back, the faraway look still in his eyes. He straightened his posture. “That bastard could not have bested me without some divine help.”
“That’s not all,” she said conspiratorially. “Aeros and the Spider talk of other things. They mentioned that Ethic Shroud has also been found in Amadon. They said that Nail and a Bloodwood named Silkwood are joined on a quest to get Blackest Heart and Afflicted Fire.”
“Nail?” Jenko scoffed. “And a Bloodwood, too?”
“It’s what they said. Not an hour ago. Right here where you are standing. The White Prince gets little messages from a black bird.”
“Bloody Mother,” Jenko said scornfully. “Have the wraiths truly eaten holes in your brain? You almost had me convinced.”
Ava stepped back, the nausea returning like a roiling storm in her stomach. “I am not taken with any wraiths.”
“I know,” he mumbled. “I am sorry.”
His wild swings in emotion were as baffling and conflicting and inconsistent as her own. “I only speak the truth of things,” she murmured, almost in a whisper, “and people think me crazy.” Then she leaned over the ship’s railing and vomited. She strained. It hurt so much. It was embarrassing.
When she was done, Jenko held a white kerchief out for her. She reached for it. But instead of giving it to her, he leaned in and cleaned her lips off with the kerchief himself. The gesture was so unexpected, his touch so gentle, tears nearly sprang from her eyes. So cruel to so tender in a heartbeat. Oh, what have they done to you, Jenko?
“Can I keep it?” she asked.
When he handed the kerchief to her, she saw the slave brand on the underside of his wrist, too. Jenko. Me. Mancellor. We are so alike. She took the kerchief from him and stuffed it into the belt about her waist, moist eyes on him the entire time. The wild swings in emotion he could create in her were at once both maddening and reassuring. “I do not know what the future holds for us, Jenko. But you must know this: I understand you have only done what any man would have done to survive.” She swallowed hard. A lump was growing in her throat. Forgive all, The Way and Truth of Laijon taught, for the wraiths thrive in hateful souls. “You must know I forgive you,” she finished.
“And I forgive you,” he said.
They both stood still, stricken by the common bonds they still shared. He hugged her then. Despite the cold and hard Sør Sevier armor cloaking him, just being enveloped in his strong arms was as comforting as she remembered. She felt herself melt into him.
When he finally broke away from her, he cast his gaze out over the ocean to the hulking Mont Saint Only above, tears in his eyes. “I am so conflicted. In Gallows Haven, on the beach, when Spades was going to kill you . . .” He paused, choking on his words. “I—I betrayed my father for you, Ava. I almost killed him, if he isn’t dead now. And Aeros, there are moments where he treats me as an equal, more so than my father ever did. And then with Spades . . .” He paused once again, voice cracking with pain. “You must also know, I only do what I can to survive. Please understand. I have not forgotten you.”
“Nor I you,” she said, at a loss for words at his admission. “By rights we shouldn’t even be here. Neither of us.”
“It’s Nail’s fault we are here.” Jenko’s eyes were smoldering coals. He was looking directly at her. “I will one day hunt Nail down and kill him for you. I swear I will, Ava. If it’s the last thing I do. It’s because of that bastard we are standing here on the ship of our enemy, the White Prince. They are all crazy: Aeros, Spades, Hammerfiss, the Bloodwood. And it was Nail who left us to suffer this demented torture at their hands.”
Ava felt a painful stab of hope at Jenko’s words. Does he truly hate them? Has he been acting like their friend out of pure self-preservation? Did he pledge his allegiance to Aeros purely to save his own life? Is he playing them like they play us?
“I don’t know whether I am a nice man or a bad man,” Jenko continued. “But I will avenge you, Ava. One day I will have that battle-ax Aeros keeps in his precious precious chest in my own hands and I will kill Nail with it, and then I will kill anyone else who has hurt you.”
“Best not let Aeros or any of the others hear you speak like that,” Mancellor muttered.
“I don’t care who hears what anymore,” Jenko spat.
“I understand your pain,” Mancellor said. “And, for your own good, I will make sure this conversation stays between the three of us. But you will one day realize that this person you hate, Nail, well, he did you a great favor in leaving you with Aeros. I believe Laijon has a purpose for all of us, and that is why we still live. For we now survive on the winning side, whilst this Nail fellow and those with him will be forever hunted.”
“But Nail is free and I am not,” Jenko said. “And I have compromised much of who I am because of Nail’s betrayal.” He gripped the railing before him, looking directly at Mancellor, venom in his tone. “And I will hold you to your promise, this stays between the three of us.” He dipped his head to the Wyn Darrè, and turned to go.
Ava grabbed his arm. “Thanks for risking coming up here, Jenko.” She wished he would stay, the words of his heartfelt confession tumbling roughshod through her mind. “Thanks for talking with me.”
“ ’Twas my honor.” He bowed to her before taking his leave. “And I pray your sickness is but a passing thing.” He walked away, his back stiff and proud.
As she watched him disappear belowdeck, Ava felt her stomach churn, almost as if his mere saying the word sickness was enough to invoke more illness within her. Again she leaned over the railing and puked. And as the remains of her guts spilled out into the night, a disturbing thought entered her mind. She’d seen village girls get sick like this before. Pregnant village girls . . .
When was the last time she had felt her womanly course, her bleeding time? She clutched the railing, gasping for breath. A cold hand gripped her arm, steadying her. It was Mancellor Allen, who stopped her from falling. When she looked up, the knowing look on the Wyn Darrè’s face was one of pity and concern.
As she used Jenko’s kerchief to wipe her face, all she could picture in her mind’s eye was Aeros Raijael drowning a small baby in a crystal cool stream outside the small hamlet of Leifid.
* * *
Every remnant of the nameless beasts of the underworld was found and destroyed, every bone, scale, and tooth, every cave and dungeon they dwelt within pillaged and set afire, all to cleanse the putrid stink of their foul existence.
—THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
STEFAN WAYLAND
16TH DAY OF THE ANGEL MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
DEADWOOD GATE, GUL KANA
Stefan Wayland and Seita rode together atop one of the stolen draught mares, Culpa Barra the other. Four days of hard riding and the three travelers broke from the rolling, wooded hills just northwest of Deadwood Gate. They proceeded up a rising slope of thick brush and tall boulders. The mares carried them haphazardly around the numerous rock obstacles to a flat, barren peak.
It was there that Stefan finally saw the entrance to the mines Culpa had promised they would find. One of many such entrances, he claimed, and a grim sight indeed, naught but a dark hole in the ground circled by a peculiar-looking fence. As Stefan drew rein before the hole, he realized the fence was made of bones. Not animal bones
, but human. Or perhaps bones of both oghul and human. Whatever they were, they were nailed together and driven into the turf, stark and white against the dark green foliage and harsh gray rock on the windswept hill. Culpa dismounted and stepped carefully over the low-lying fence, a long coil of rope in hand. His black-lacquered armor creaked as he moved. The crossbow, Blackest Heart, was strapped to his back over the top of his heavy gray cloak.
Stefan and Seita climbed from their own mount and watched as the Dayknight tossed one end of the rope down into the hole. A moment later a black stream of shrieking bats came pouring out. Culpa took a startled step back as they swirled past his head, fluttering away into the northern sky.
Culpa said, “Ever since Shawcroft and I left this place five years ago, these forests north of Deadwood Gate have been overrun by evil creatures.” He secured the other end of the rope around the thick neck of his draught mare. “We’re lucky no oghuls have spotted us, entrenched deep within their lands as we are.” After tying the rope around the mare’s neck, the Dayknight patted the horse on the haunch. “Your journey ends here, girl.” He turned to Stefan and Seita. “She’ll be a stout enough anchor as we lower ourselves into the mines.”
“No lunch or discussion of pleasantries first?” Seita pulled down the cowl of her hood. In the stiff breeze, the Vallè’s hair fluttered like finespun sunlight. “We just ride on up into a boneyard and drop ourselves straight down a hole in the ground?”
“Aye,” Culpa said, examining the rope. “No pleasantries.”
Four days of riding, and it seemed every communication between Seita and Culpa was not just a little strained, but bordering on the unkind. What few hamlets they’d passed through, Seita had wanted to stop at the inn, eat a hot meal, possibly sleep a night in comfort. But Culpa had insisted they stick to eating what few cold rations they had and sleep under the stars.
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