by Greg James
“Your Sarah?”
“Forgive me. I know she is not my blood, but I treated her so. I am, I was, Woran Bean, and I lived on the hill in the Norn Valley. My home. It’s so far away now.”
“Mine is too.”
“I know. Sarah came to me when she was as you are now: somewhere new and strange, with no friends or family to call her own.”
Woran reached out a hand to Kiley.
“Let me be a friend to you, child.”
Kiley hesitated. “D’you know where my sister is? What happened to her?”
“I do and I do not, I regret to say.”
“Tell me, please. Then we can be ... friends.”
“I know only what happened to Sarah until the last time I saw her. She left me with a Wayfarer to journey in search of a sword. The Sword of Sighs. It was to be her salvation from the pursuit of the Fallen-born. It proved to be so, as she did return to my home afterwards, with other new friends. She told me of her adventures and then she ... left me ... ”
Wayfarer. Fallen-born. Sword of Sighs. Kiley felt even more lost and understood even less, but before she could ask another question, Woran let out a sob and fell to his knees.
“She did not leave me ... I betrayed her ... His Shadow entered my soul. He meant to use me to claim her life. But ... I fought him. I did. I fought against the horror raging inside me, and she escaped. Then, I only remember fire and awakening here.”
“What’s His Shadow?”
Woran’s eyes met Kiley’s and she shivered. His gaze was haunted. Something worse than death had touched this gentle old man. She understood and answered her own question.
“The monster under the mountain; it’s his shadow, isn’t it?”
Woran nodded. “Yes. He has been with us since the world was made. We have fought him. We have failed because the hearts of men were touched and corrupted by Him. E’blis, the Creator of Men and Prince of Pain, is to blame for that.”
E’blis ...
“I think I’ve seen him.”
“I’m sure you have, dear child. The cursed ones who brought you here were his Mind-Reavers. They serve no other.”
“He wants to ... use me. To make Sarah betray some people because he has me as a prisoner.”
“Do you remember who, child? Did he give a name?”
Kiley flinched at the memory. The pain E’blis had caused her was a ghost she did not wish to raise. She tried to remember, even though tears prickled in her eyes at the memory of E’blis’s cruel voice.
“I remember something. Kay ... Kay ...”
“The Kay’lo!”
Kiley nodded.
“Dear Mother, I see it. The Kay’lo. Sarah seeks to call them to aid Highmount and the Three Kingdoms. She would not seek them for any other reason.”
“What will happen if she betrays them?”
“Destruction. Slaughter. Without the Kay’lo, the Three Kingdoms will be doomed. Without the Three Kingdoms, hope will die. The Fallen One will rise and find Seythe, and every world beyond, ripe for His consumption.”
Every world beyond ...
Kiley said nothing. She looked at Woran, her mind reeling. If not for his soft voice, he might have sounded like a madman to her ears. Except he was not mad, she could see that. He was a part of this nightmare that was unfolding around her.
Nightmare—could that be it? Is that what this is?
“I want …” she paused, feeling her throat catch on the words, “I want Mom! I want Sarah! I don’t want to be here!”
It was her turn to sob. Woran laid his hands on her shoulders and leaned in until his brow was almost touching hers. “Gently, child. Do not let yourself open too much to despair. He feeds upon it, and he will feed more of it into you. You will never escape this place if you let the Darkness That is Not Darkness consume your heart.”
Kiley shook her head, her face streaming with tears.
“Child, tell me your name so I can talk with you as a friend.”
“Kuh ... Kuh ... Kiley.”
“A sweet name. Now, Kiley, listen to me. Your sister is alive, and she is powerful. Her might is stronger than you could imagine. If she knows you are here, she will fight for you. She will not give in to despair so quickly, and neither should you.”
“But I’m scared.”
“And you think I am not? I may be old, and I may have fought in battle, Kiley Bean, but I am scared too. Few have been so close to the heart of the Shadowhorn and remained alive. In this knowledge, I find a small kernel of hope. You should too.”
Kiley wiped her eyes, sniffled, and swallowed hard. “I’ll try, Woran. I’ll try.”
“You are a good, brave girl. Now, sit with me and I will tell you of this world, as I told your sister, so that it may seem less strange and terrifying to you.”
Kiley sat at Woran’s feet as he told her about Seythe; its plains, its mountains, its cities, and its peoples. He told her of A’aron and E’blis. He told her of the Living Flame, as much as he knew, and the destiny supposedly awaiting Sarah. When he was finished, Kiley was still afraid, but she understood more of where she was. That understanding, as dark as it was illuminating, gave her hope. When she finally slept, the old man watched over her and stroked her hair.
Chapter Five
Morning came and it found both Sarah and Jedda with dark rings beneath their eyes. Neither spoke of what had happened during the night. The throne room of Highmount palace still bore the scorch-marks and stains of the previous day’s battle. Jedda sat upon the throne uncomfortably, moving as if she feared the seat might catch fire. Not many attended the courtroom besides Sarah and Jedda. The work of rebuilding the walls and battlements of Highmount was being undertaken in earnest by as many hands as could be found. Few could be spared to undertake the long journey to Lo’a’pan, wherever the underground city might be hidden.
“Sarah,” said Jedda, “I wish I could accompany you, but this journey, it seems, is yours and not mine. The Kay’lo may forgive the absence of the Highmount heir, but without the Living Flame, they will not fight for us.”
Sarah just nodded and managed a weary smile.
“That being said, I charge your care to these servants of the crown. They served my father loyally before his death, and they fought again for me yesterday, when the power of Mikka Wyrlsorn was broken. I trust them and I hope you can to.”
A broad, dour man clad in patched leather armour presented himself from the small group that stood before Sarah.
“My name is Enna, Lady Flame. I will be your guide and guardian on this quest.”
He was bald and beardless, and although he lacked eyebrows, his eyes beneath were hard grey stones. A quiet, calm voice belied his gruff, sturdy appearance. Enna was joined by a slight, grey-haired man with fine cheekbones for his age and pale eyes. His legs were long and lithe. Sarah couldn’t help admiring them for a moment longer than she should have.
He gave her a sly, gracious smile. “My lady, I am Witta. I scouted for King Ferra in my youth and prime. I hope I can be of equal service to you in the dark days ahead.”
Enna and Witta stood aside for the last member of the group, a figure who stepped forward with a regal air. Gloved fingers drew back the hood that concealed the figure’s face. The woman who stood before Sarah was not yet old but careworn. Crows’ feet lined her eyes and shallow creases furrowed her brow. Her greying hair was woven into an elaborate braid, which tumbled free from the hood and hung almost to the floor. The woman’s robe was dirtied at the hem, as if she had been traveling for a long time, but her eyes held Sarah’s attention the most.
She knew those bright sapphire eyes, and they knew her.
Jedda interrupted Sarah’s wandering thoughts. “Sarah, may I introduce to you, the Lady Orraea.”
Orraea spoke with a husky tone, “Do you know me already, Sarah Bean?”
“I do. Your eyes. They are the same as his.”
Orraea smiled sadly. “It has often been said.”
“I’m sorr
y,” said Sarah. “I saw him fall and ... I couldn’t do anything.”
“I know,” Orraea replied. “But you were with him at the end. You were the witness for my father’s last moments. The last of Ossen Wayfarer.”
~ ~ ~
Horses and mules were packed with provisions for the journey. As much as could be carried was stuffed into satchels and bound by strong ropes to the bodies of the snorting animals. It would take time to find the secret city. Even the people of the Grassland Plains who had dwelled in this bandit-ridden environment for generations had no idea where it was.
For a short time, work on the walls of Highmount ceased. Its tired defenders paused in their labours to wave off what could be the last hope for the Three Kingdoms and its people. Jedda stood before the four companions, already armoured as if she expected the siege to begin the moment Sarah left. She drew her sword and saluted them; others did the same, whether with a sword, a helmet or a broken broom handle.
“Fare well, my friends,” said Jedda, “you are our hope and we would see you again in this life. The ground of your journey will be hard more so than soft. Ride well. Keep bravery in your hearts. Let your eyes be clear and your minds free from fear. Return to us, my friends. Return and grant us victory from the hope we have entrusted you with.”
A cheer echoed from Highmount’s walls and through her emptied halls. Sarah thought the sound made the city seem more desolate and haunted than it was. She caught Jedda’s eye and knew that the princess felt the same. Another echoing cheer arose, and Enna set his mount, a stern, grey horse, cantering. He led the party through makeshift gates that were being erected from burnt and reclaimed wood. They were a shadow of the great doors Sarah remembered from her first visit to Highmount with Ossen. The thought of the old Wayfarer made her look behind, to Orraea following at her back. She felt a frisson pass between them as their eyes met, the woman’s eyes flashing bright as a cat’s in the dark. Then the moment passed, the gates closed with a rickety crash, and Sarah shook off the feeling as they left Highmount behind.
But she could not help recalling what had happened in Yrsyllor before this winter set in. She remembered Sula and Mistress Ruth—those whom she thought she could trust had turned on her, both of them wielders of magic. And here was Orraea offering to be her protector from the dread powers of the Fallen One.
Is she here for me, Sarah wondered, or for herself?
“Where to, my Lady Flame?” asked Witta, bringing his sleek, auburn-coated thoroughbred alongside her muscular ebony mustang.
“Please, Witta, just call me Sarah.”
“Very well. Where to, Sarah?”
Sarah looked to Enna, who had brought his mount to a halt and was searching the horizon for something. She took a moment to stare out over the wasteland the Grassland Plains had become, transformed by the passage of the Fallen One’s armies. No grass, only churned mud, stones and soil in all directions. The time of year saw to it that the ground was cool and firm enough to ride on.
“If we bear this way,” said Enna, “we should come to Trepolpen in seven days. We can rest there and ask the people where to go to next.”
“Will Trepolpen still be standing?” asked Sarah.
Enna smiled, the expression like granite being cut open by steel. “Yes, my Lady Flame. Word reached us at Highmount that Trepolpen still stands.”
“Some say,” Witta interjected, “that as long as Trepolpen stands, there is hope for all.”
“I hope that’s true,” Sarah said.
“Then we ride on to Trepolpen.” Enna led them on, into the ruins of the Grassland Plains. As he did, Sarah chanced a look over her shoulder and saw Orraea there, bringing up the rear. Her eyes glowed within the dark hollow of her hood.
Sarah was sure those eyes would not leave her back for as long as they rode.
Chapter Six
“What in the hell are we meant to do with her in charge? A girl! War is not for children! It is no game! The Mother strike me dead, it’s not!”
Splintered capillaries coloured the cheeks of the old soldier who stood before Jedda, drunk on cheap barley wine and fear.
This was the last thing she needed.
The soldier’s bulk barely fitted into his armour and not one inch of it was muscle. At least the man standing at her side had not allowed himself to grow so soft and decadent as the soldier before them. General Kella was tall with heavy-lidded eyes that gave the illusion he was about to fall asleep, but Jedda knew he was as hard as a rock. His buckles and embroidery glistened. His leather boots shone with spit-shine. His jaw was so square it seemed to have been cut from old granite.
Jedda could see words forming behind the pupils of the drunk soldier’s eyes. She was the kind of woman he hated. One who answered back. One who would fight. No wonder he had prospered and become so decadent under Ianna and Wyrlsorn.
His name was Morra, and he was no longer in charge. A leftover of Mikka’s tyrannical rule, he had not seen war—but Kella had. Kella had fought Fellspawn in his prime. The beauty of the old ways and times was a memory he would fight to preserve, Jedda knew.
“From what I’ve seen so far,” Kella said, “there’s little evidence you know how to fight a war. That’s why I’m in charge and you are not.”
Morra’s ruddy face grew even redder.
“You have no right to speak to me that way. No right at all! I was captain of the guard!”
His indignation verged on becoming a squeal.
Jedda’s eyes took him in one more time, reluctantly. How sad.
“My orders stand,” Kella told him. “You are to stand down from your position. That burden is now mine, along with many others.”
“Majesty, please. Reconsider.” Morra began to beg. “You are not in your right mind after what has been done to you by—”
“My right mind?” Jedda snapped. “Morra, when I was cast into the dungeons and my sleep was plagued by the screams of my sister being tortured by Ianna, I was in my right mind. I gave myself to the Fallen One willingly. I willingly put a knife in the heart of love and wonder. I walked into His Shadow; no other did that for me. I let hatred and rage become one with my blood and soul. I would let them become so again in the name of my sister ... and my father. I know the armies that march upon us better than you do. The old strategies and tactics will not avail us. Mikka Wyrlsorn gave them all up to his masters. We must find another way, and I trust General Kella to do it.”
Jedda smiled thinly at the sweating, red-faced man. “You will follow his orders or I will send you out into the Grassland Plains as a scout. Do you understand?”
Morra had nothing more to say.
~ ~ ~
Alone, Jedda walked the streets of Highmount. Former Captain Morra was not the only one who carried the Fallen One’s taint. Something that seemed to have stayed with her, even after she had shaken off the Fallen One’s influence, was an ability to sense those who were still in thrall to His Shadow. Jedda still did not fully understand what had happened to her. He brought her back after Sarah slew her atop the Fellhorn, but his power over her was less absolute than it had been before. She had been able to think, after a time, to feel, and then to break free.
What had the Sword of Sighs done to her?
She watched the rag-tag defenders being drilled and watched those with the necessary skills repairing the great walls and battlements. Yes, she still felt the Fallen One’s hold upon her. It was like spiders scurrying over her skin. A bad taste in the back of her mouth that no food or drink could ever ease. It was also there, waiting for her, when she slept. When she was at her most vulnerable, His Shadow and E’blis sent nightmare upon nightmare to haunt her and each one of them resounded with her sister’s screams.
I will make you pay, she swore. You have lied, cheated and tormented me these long years. I will take my sister back. You will not take Highmount from me again. You will die, O Black Lord under the Mountain.
As her thought passed away like a curse, Jedda saw a shadow
flicker in the corner of her eye. She turned fast, her fingers sliding over the pommel of her sword.
But it was only a crow .
A black crow on a tombstone.
No, it was just a piece of broken, fallen masonry.
Jedda walked over to it. She met the bird’s dark gaze, unflinching.
She smiled at it.
“You will die, O Dark One.”
~ ~ ~
From the walls of Highmount, Jedda gazed out over the snow-covered lands that led down into the Norn Valley and beyond. The time of year might have been an advantage if the foe coming against them were mortal. But the armies on the march were not. Even without the might of Malus, there would still be Fellfolk, Phages, Dionin and the Mother knew what else to face before they could defeat the enemy.
If, she thought, only if Sarah is able to convince the Kay’lo to fight with us and to bring them to our aid in time.
Night was settling, and she could tell the guards—a motley selection of bedraggled Earlfolk and palace courtiers—were nervous at their posts, though each would claim it was only the winter wind making them shiver as they eyed the shifting shadows beyond the walls, dreading to see the Fallen One’s demonic creations springing forth from the dusk.
Jedda approached one of the guards. “Where do you come from?”
“Brindan, my Princess. I came to pay fealty to your ... predecessor.”
“You mean you came to ask him to spare lives and send food to those in need?”
The guard nodded.
“He wouldn’t have done it.”
“I know, my Princess, but I had no other choice. The people in the fields and towns were starving; they may still be.”
“The Fallen One and his spawn speak the truth to none and give no mercy. I understand that you did what you had to.”
“I would again. I hope to pay them back dearly when they come here.”
“You are eager for battle, then?”
“No, my Princess. I am afraid. We all are, I think. But they are coming, and we must fight them when they do. There is no other course open to us.”