‘Kayan, this is Lord Trogothal Kon,’ Amrodan said.
‘It is nice to meet you in more congenial circumstances. I would shake your hand but I have heard the stories,’ Lord Kon said.
‘Do I know you? Have we met before?’
‘Yes we have, you routed my army from the battlefield earlier today.’
‘Oh.’ She looked down. If her face had been capable of getting hot, now would surely have been the time for it. ‘I’m sorry. I was made to do that.’
‘You killed fewer than three hundred men. My soldiers were young and fast enough to escape the worst of your storm. I could have lost my entire army had it not been for Amrodan’s warning on the eve of the battle. He told me not to commit too many troops to the fray, and he also told me my enemy was concealing something.’
‘Lord Kon has agreed to help us. I have told him about our plight and he is sympathetic to our cause. He has also agreed to forgive your past indiscretions and keep your existence a secret. All you have to do is help him destroy Lord Tarinhelm’s army and take his fortress,’ Amrodan stated.
‘It will be a chance to get revenge on the man who imprisoned you,’ added Lord Kon.
Kayan knew that this was the chance she had been waiting for. A chance to get the vengeance she so dearly craved. She did not fully trust Lord Kon, but she also knew she had little option.
‘Kayan will be your guest at the fort, Trogothal. She will come and go as she pleases, and I will visit her every so often to check on her wellbeing,’ Amrodan said.
‘I will see to it personally that any doors or bars are removed from your quarters, Kayan, and that you have whatever you require for your particular needs,’ Lord Kon added.
‘Once you take Fort Tarinhelm,’ Amrodan warned, ‘Kayan must never again be used as a weapon in the squabbles of men. She holds the power to aid in the destruction of a more deadly enemy.’
Amrodan rose and stepped closer to Lord Kon, putting his hand on Kayan’s shoulder in the process.
‘I will be watching over Kayan very closely.’
Lord Kon nodded and gestured towards the door: ‘My coach awaits, Kayan.’
Kayan snatched a meat pie from the table before making her way towards the cave entrance. Glancing back at Amrodan, who smiled at her, she stepped out of the cave munching.
Once in the coach, while the driver spurred on the horses, and as the coach bounced and rattled down the snow-covered track, Kayan’s thoughts turned to Lord Tarinhelm, her mind fixed on vengeance.
Lord Tarinhelm paced in his tent, clenching his fists. Five of his chieftains were lined up in front of him, shifting uncomfortably.
‘What do you mean, she is gone? Find her,’ he shouted. ‘I do not care what it takes, just find her.’
‘Our men are combing the countryside, My Lord. There’s no sign of her, not even a footprint,’ one chieftain said.
‘Widen your search, or better still get out there yourself,’ Lord Tarinhelm screamed in his face, as the chieftain looked at the ground.
‘The lookouts say that a dragon appeared on the edge of the camp. It’s possible that it took her and flew off. The burnt bodies of the men guarding her would seem to support that, My Lord,’ another chieftain said.
‘How do you know? This could be another one of her tricks,’ Lord Tarinhelm said.
‘My Lord, up to now her powers have revolved around cold and ice, not burning people,’ the chieftain stated.
Lord Tarinhelm’s narrowed eyes let the chieftain know that he did not appreciate being contradicted.
‘Of course, it is entirely possible that this could be another, different form of witchcraft from her, My Lord,’ the chieftain quickly added.
The other four chieftains nodded in agreement.
‘I do not want any more excuses, do you hear me? Get out there and find her before—’
He was interrupted by a young messenger pulling back the flap of the tent, allowing light from the morning sun to come spilling in as he entered.
‘My Lord.’ He bowed, red-faced and sweating. ‘Scouts have reported that Lord Kon’s army is mobilising on the eastern shore of the River Vasaala, ten miles upstream. They’re preparing to cross it.’
‘What? I thought we had seen the last of him, the blackguard. There is no bridge anywhere near there. The river is too wide and too deep. And the ice is too thin. If they as much as step on it, they will sink right to the bottom. For an army of that size to cross, they would need to freeze that entire section of the river,’ Lord Tarinhelm said, confidently.
‘My Lord, the river’s already frozen,’ the messenger stressed. ‘They have Kayan.’
Lord Kon’s army waited just north of the village of Rindove. They stood in the snow, primed and waiting for the enemy. The most heavily armoured soldiers and seasoned fighters were deployed at the front, with the cavalry at each side, ready to smash into the opposition’s flanks. The archers were stationed at the back, instructed to rain volleys of arrows down upon their foe.
The enemy undoubtedly had the upper hand in their last encounter; this time there would be no surprises.
Mounted on his white charger, Lord Kon glanced to his right at Kayan. Perched on her horse, which was heavily barded to avoid her coming into contact with its skin, she glared across the battlefield towards Lord Tarinhelm, a look of pure hatred on her face.
Kayan had never sat on a horse before. When Lord Kon told her that she would be accompanying him in battle and had hoisted her onto a dark brown warhorse, she had been instantly overcome with a fit of giggling and a manic urge to pet it.
‘Are you ready?’ Lord Kon asked.
‘Yes,’ Kayan replied. ‘But we will stand a better chance of getting into his fort if Tarinhelm is captured. Bring him to me alive,’ she ordered, the girl who had been delighted by the horse, disappearing as swiftly as she had appeared.
Lord Kon opened his eyes wide in surprise. He grinned to himself at the thought of this young girl giving such an order and wondered for a second who exactly she thought was in charge.
‘Will there be anything else, my lady?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Yes. I want to keep the horse,’ she declared before sticking out her tongue.
The comment raised eyebrows from Lord Kon and his generals.
When his force was ready, Lord Kon gave the order for his army to attack. His men marched forward in formation, preparing to engage the enemy. As soon as the archers got within range, they let fly with a hail of arrows that peppered the opposing ranks, injuring those that were too slow to take cover behind their shields.
The heavily armoured troops of Lord Kon’s army charged into the front ranks of their foe, slamming against them and cutting them down while the cavalry smashed into them from the sides.
The soldiers of Lord Tarinhelm’s force battled valiantly. They fought desperately, knowing that they were cut off from their homes by their enemy and had nowhere to retreat. But as brave as they were, they were no match for the seasoned, battle-hardened warriors that filled Lord Kon’s ranks. It was not a battle, it was a slaughter.
It was early morning when the few guards there were left in Fort Tarinhelm lined the battlements, unsure about what to do. Hopelessly outnumbered, they watched as Lord Kon’s army approached and fanned out along the edge of its wide moat. The fort had never fallen to siege, its remote location, high walls and deep moat had always ensured that its occupants enjoyed a trouble-free existence. But it had never been defended by such a small garrison, or been attacked without its lord present.
‘What should we do? There are thousands of them, and they have a battering ram,’ a guard demanded of his commander.
‘It doesn’t matter how many there are. They have no bridging equipment, no ladders and no catapults. With our drawbridge pulled up, their battering ram is useless,’ the commander snapped back.
But he was worried. There had been no sign of Lord Tarinhelm, or any of his men, for five days and he was unsure of what to do. Now that Lord Kon had appeared at the front gates with an army, he had to assume the worst.
‘If they cannot breach our walls, they’ll perish in the snow. We have enough food to last the winter. They won’t have enough to last a week,’ the commander reassured the men with a confidence he himself did not feel.
Below them, a tall figure in dragon-scale armour and a girl emerged from the ranks of warriors and stood before them, out of range of their arrows. The armoured figure had a dark cloak and was carrying a war hammer. The girl the defenders recognised instantly.
‘I am Lord Trogothal Kon,’ the armoured man bellowed. ‘Drop the drawbridge and open the gates and I swear to you that every person inside your walls will be spared. Refuse, and I will kill every last one of you.’
The guards manning the walls stood in silence, peering over the battlements. Every so often one would glance at their commander for leadership. None came.
Lord Kon waited for a response. A minute passed and there was no sign of activity.
He signalled to his troops. Four soldiers began pushing their way to the front with an armoured man in restraints.
It was Lord Tarinhelm. His face was bloodied and his gilded armour dented and smeared with mud.
The soldiers pushed him to his knees.
Kayan approached him. Standing over the kneeling figure, she pushed her hair behind her ears and looked at him with ice-blue eyes.
‘Remember the last time we spoke? I made you a promise. Now it is time to fulfil that promise.’
A look of terror swept across Lord Tarinhelm’s battered face as Kayan leant into him and placed her lips against his.
The guards on the wall watched as the lord of the fort struggled to resist Kayan’s power. They stared in horror as their leader’s writhing lessened before stopping completely.
When Kayan took her lips away and stood back, Lord Kon stepped forward and raised a war hammer above his head. He brought the weapon down upon the head of Lord Tarinhelm, shattering him like glass.
‘My offer still stands,’ Lord Kon shouted.
Another minute passed. There was still no sign of activity.
‘You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that,’ he muttered. He raised his right hand and signalled for something to be brought forward.
The ranks of soldiers parted as a wooden battering ram was pushed to the front on iron wheels. Its axles screeched as the heavy siege engine was manoeuvred into place.
The guards on the wall watched in bewilderment, wondering exactly how their enemy intended to bridge the water-filled expanse.
‘Surround the girl,’ Lord Kon yelled, and at once ten of his men took up their shields and formed a mobile barricade around Kayan.
Escorting her to the edge of the moat, they waited while she bent and dipped her hands into the water. Instantly, it began to freeze. In less than a minute the moat was frozen solid.
A cheer went up from Lord Kon’s army as chains rattled, the drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis began to open.
Under cover of darkness, Kayan was smuggled through the fortress and into the lower dungeons. Even though she had been away for five days, most of the ice and frost remained. The stairwell was now lit by torches and lamps burned in the corridor that led to her room.
True to his word, Lord Kon had had the door taken from its hinges, and as Kayan was accompanied to her quarters by his personal bodyguards blue and white lights started to emanate from the ice that covered the walls within.
Stepping inside, she found that a bed had been put in the room, and there was also a bookcase filled with books. A table and an armchair sat next to a wardrobe which, when opened, contained clothes and shoes.
Kayan lay on the bed’s soft mattress, experiencing feelings she had rarely, if ever, felt before. Comfort. Serenity. Peacefulness.
Lying next to the ice-covered wall, she ran her hand along its cold surface and smiled contentedly; she was home.
Chapter IV
The Last Stand of Tundra Evergreen
Tundra stooped to the forest floor and picked up the broken twig, inspecting it before putting it down again. Looking deeper into the woods, he listened for movement. The forest was silent save for the rustling of wind through the trees. After dropping to the ground, silently, he crawled forward, stopping periodically and checking for signs of life. He had rarely seen the forest so still.
The stag is out there somewhere, he thought. I just have to find it.
He crept closer to a log and examined it carefully, searching for signs of disturbance. There was a piece of moss that had recently been moved, possibly by a hind hoof catching it.
Using the log for cover, Tundra quietly unslung his bow and nocked an arrow. Peering over, he watched, waiting for anything to move. The golden-brown leaves of the ash trees swirled across the ground in the autumnal breeze. Daylight would be fading shortly and if the stag were to be caught today, it would have to be soon. The forest at night was no place for a lone hunter, not even an experienced one.
The animals of the Daruin Forest were notoriously hard to catch. The fact that the forest was situated so close to the mountains meant that the winds that blew through it changed direction suddenly and often, carrying a hunter’s scent towards his prey.
Tundra moved forward to the base of an oak tree.
I’ll stand a better chance of finding the stag if I take on another form, he thought.
Glancing around him, Tundra pulled his cloak hood over his head. His cloak was green and brown and heavy, with leaves and strands of ivy woven into the fabric, allowing him to blend into his surroundings seamlessly. He let his mind drift; his eyes rolled backwards and turned a glassy black and everything in his world faded to darkness.
Tundra’s spirit slowly lifted its head and pulled itself free of his body.
He was never more vulnerable than when his spirit and body were separated, but winter was fast approaching and his people were hungry. His presence drifted through the forest, over the logs and down through the trees. Most things were dark in the spirit world: the trees were black, the leaves dark grey, even the water trickling through the stream looked like oil.
But he was not able to maintain this disconnected state for long. He needed a host, and quickly.
His spirit drifted through its shadowy realm, between the trees, flitting left and right, moving towards the canopy before floating down again. He looked around, anxiously searching for some form of life, as with every second that he spent in this state he risked drawing the attention of someone – or something.
Onwards he moved through his mind’s eye, stalking in the undergrowth, getting further and further from his paralysed shell. In the thick covering of leaves and branches he saw a silver light. Pulling his spirit back and looking upwards, at the highest part of the trunk, he spotted a cavity-roosting bird. Perfect.
Drifting up past the low-hanging branches, he got closer to the bird, and could see it was an owl. Living creatures shone like lamps in the spirit world, and the closer he got the brighter they glowed.
Against the darkness, the essence of the bird shone in his mind like a phosphorescent beacon. It was staring out from the hole in the tree-trunk, ready to take off and begin its nightly hunt for food in the failing light. Blinking while twisting its neck the owl looked around for immediate signs of danger. Upon opening its wings and leaving the nest, Tundra’s spirit latched on to it.
A brilliant-white flash of light hit Tundra. He opened his eyes and saw that he was falling rapidly towards the ground before a sharp change in his angle of descent, pulling up and skimming the forest floor. His gaze had changed and shifted to that of the owl as it scanned the ground for food.
Having no control over what the owl did or looked at, Tundra was mere
ly a passenger. The light was getting dimmer by the minute and he watched carefully through the bird’s eyes for signs of the stag. The owl, oblivious to its spiritual interloper, flew deeper into the forest.
This bird’s covering more ground in a minute than I could in an hour, he thought, as it weaved its way between the trees.
As Tundra was trying to spot the stag, the owl’s flight-path suddenly changed direction. It banked right, swooping around in a semi-circle and dropping onto the ground beside a small, slow-moving stream. Tundra wondered what had caused the bird to behave in such an erratic manner. All became apparent when the bird looked down at the shrew clenched tightly within its talons. It began to feed, ripping the tiny body apart with its beak before devouring the pieces.
Tundra decided that he had seen enough.
Breaking off the link between himself and the owl, he snapped out of his trance and pulled back his hood. Returning the unused arrow to its quiver and slinging his bow over his shoulder, he got to his feet, stretched out his legs, and started the trek back home, collecting the rabbits he had caught in snares earlier in the day along the way. He broke into a jog and made his way to the first boundary-marker, signified by a rope with several eagle feathers tied around a tree. Looking around him, he navigated the twisting trails to the perimeter of his home, doubling back on himself and making sure that he was not being followed.
He reached a cluster of unusually large beech tree and looked up into them. Lights danced between the gaps in a giant wooden structure. Glancing round to ensure no one was watching him he cupped his hands together and blew into them producing a low bellowing sound that reverberated high up into the treetops. A few seconds later the bottom end of a rope ladder dropped down. He grasped the wooden rungs and started the long ascent up into the trees, into Arboria.
Arboria was not a town, or even a village. It was a community. A community born out of its inhabitants’ need to stay off the forest floor at night. Set deep in the Daruin Forest, it served as a sanctuary for its population of fifty-two, protecting them from the nightly ground-based dangers of the forest. The occupants of Arboria were rangers and their families – hunters who lived off the forest and who, in turn, managed it by keeping the fauna in check.
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