by S J Hartland
Azenor opened a clenched palm. Her held breath released. Thank the Three.
But now a shadow thickened off canvas. A third man rushed at Kaell, steel in his hand. Kaell edged back, blank surprise on his face as if the gods failed him.
With a heartbreaking cry of fear and rage, Vraymorg sprang at the man. His thundering blow ripped the sword from his opponent’s grip. The man hurled his palms up to shield his head. The Mountains lord ruptured his chest with iron.
Pairas, his tunic crimson at his hip, limped to Vraymorg. The Mountains lord’s shoulders heaved. His breaths racked out in jarring gasps.
“A pity.” Pairas nudged a body. “You can’t question them about why they came at you.”
“They didn’t come at me,” Vraymorg answered grimly, already looking away to Kaell. “You, boy. Are you hurt?”
Kaell dusted his tunic. Sullenly, he muttered, “You shouldn’t have taken my sword. I couldn’t defend myself.”
“No.” Vraymorg said. “I shouldn’t have taken your sword.” A faint smile shaped his lips. For a heartbeat, beneath that darkness, he looked barely older than Kaell.
Azenor blinked. Impossible. A trick of fading light. Or her fading vision.
Ethne crouched beside a dead man. “They’re Cahirean,” she told Vraymorg. “We saw them plotting in the field tavern earlier.”
“Cahirean.” Kaell frowned. “My lord, why?”
Vraymorg sheathed his sword and dragged bloody fingers through his matted, dark hair. To Pairas, he said gruffly, “You’re wounded.”
The Isles captain shrugged. “A scratch.”
“I suppose you have my gratitude. But this is still not your business.”
For a thank you, hardly gracious. Azenor burst out laughing. Such arrogance.
Vraymorg’s scowl swung to her.
Even though she knew he couldn’t see her face, Azenor dropped her head. An ache ribboned in her brow. Her eyesight blurred, the dizziness this time stirring up her gut. She pressed her fingertips into the bridge of her nose, breathing through pain until it ebbed away.
The servant rushed up with two soldiers.
“My lord, I fetched help.” His glance fell on the broken, bloodied bodies. The stench of iron was overpowering. “Which you don’t need. Who are they? Are they—?”
“What goes on here?” A soldier wearing a captain’s shoulder clasp pressed forward. “Who are these men? Who killed them?”
“They attacked us, captain,” Kaell said. “We defended ourselves.”
The captain wheeled with a glare. “I didn’t address you, boy.” He faced Vraymorg. “Is that true, my lord?”
“It’s true.”
“We all saw it,” Pairas said. “They attacked without provocation, weapons drawn.”
“And who exactly are you?”
Kaell stalked away from the raised voices towards the horses. Azenor made certain her hood covered her face and followed.
“Why do Cahireans want you dead?” she said.
Kaell turned in surprise. Wind stirred hair the colour of darkly woven gold. “There’s some who have good reason. But Cahireans? I don’t understand.”
“Kaell.” Vraymorg advanced. “We’re leaving.”
“Yes, my lord.” Kaell dragged mutinous feet towards his lord. Unexpectedly he glanced back at her with a charming grin, then strode on.
As Azenor stared, he blurred. Then a fog covered him. No, no, no. She blinked to clear her vision, rubbed her eyes, but the shroud this time came down completely. Shapes floated in a soup of grey. A violent shiver lifted gooseflesh on her arms.
Not yet, she thought. I’m not ready.
Her knees hit hard ground. Like blood from a wound, panic drained her will and strength. She heard rushing footsteps, felt Ethne touch her shoulder.
Azenor’s stunned disbelief froze out the world. She knelt in the dirt, hardly aware of their questions, only staring at shadows. Etched figures moved about her. Voices assaulted her like a distant buzzing.
Then she beat the ground with her fists, shrieking out her fear and frustration, thrashing against their hands as they tried to grab her. Until finally Pairas held her to his breast, and she sobbed and sobbed.
Kaell
Azenor. Her name stung with memory. Sun upon his face; Aric’s taunts as they hewed and thrust with steel in that dusty yard at Dal-Kanu. Writhing in agony in a hot, darkened room, his broken body aflame. Wretched. Alone.
“Your brother—”
Azenor clutched at his arm. “No. Then he is dead. I feared it when I knew you lived.”
“Aric is in the Isles. Alive.”
To his surprise, Azenor flared up. “You lie. Aric is no coward. The ghouls told him to poison you to save me. My brother would never leave me to this fate.”
“No, listen,” Kaell broke in. “He struck me down to save you, believed he had killed me.”
Candlelight lit a faraway flame within her dark eyes. “Then he told me the truth. I began to doubt, to think he lied when he said no lasting harm befell Aric.”
“Who is this he?”
“A sweet, powerful lord.” Her voice hushed with reverence. “He’ll tell you everything when I take you to him. Quickly, now. We must flee before Archanin misses you.”
“Did he hurt you?” Kaell blurted. “Archanin?”
Azenor let out a soft sigh. “A bit,” she whispered. “Disobedience displeases him.”
And she, a prisoner with as little hope as he, disobeyed? When he submitted? Shame roiled, rancid in his mouth.
“No more talking.” Azenor grasped his hand. “We need to escape. What’s your plan?”
A plan? When he was broken by guilt, no longer human, barely holding on to his reason. A plan? Put one foot after the other?
“There’s a river.” Kaell remembered sun in his eyes, boats bobbing at anchor. “The fortress of Vraymorg can’t be far away. Maybe a week’s walk. If we get to my lord, he’ll know what to do.”
“What do you mean?” she said sharply.
Kaell sighed. “You know what I am. My lord will do what’s right.”
“Do you mean kill you?” Her voice lifted a notch. “Is that what you mean?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
“No. He won’t.” Azenor dug strong fingers into his arm. “Take me to the Isles. You’ll be safe there.”
So fierce. Strong-willed. Kaell gave a short laugh. “Are all Isles women like you?”
“I don’t know,” Azenor said impatiently. “Are all bonded warriors like you? Do they all speak oddly? I can hardly understand you.”
Kaell grinned. Despite all that befell him, the emptying misery, he enjoyed her biting retorts. Perhaps the gods willed he lived just to save her.
“There might be a way to escape.” Her courage gave him the strength to at least say the words, to find something among the shattered parts of his mind and will.
Azenor swiped at a frustrated tear. “How can you doubt it? It’s foretold we’ll reach the Isles.”
More strange words. But no time to ponder them.
Kaell took her hand. “Come.”
Azenor did not hesitate, nor waste precious moments asking questions. Kaell liked that about her. Along with her courage—and sharp tongue.
He led her back to the chamber where Archanin had shackled him. The chains’ glint mocked as though awaiting his return to them.
Run, the ghost from his dreams whispered.
Guards still shuffled in the passage. Kaell crept to the balcony and leaned out, brushing stone with his fingers. Rough, though no obvious footholds. He returned to Azenor.
“We’ll climb down. I can carry you on my back.”
“Or I could stick a knife in my ribs. Are you witless? We’ll fall.” Her mouth twisted.
The door smashed inwards. Two guards stomped in.
At the sight of Kaell and Azenor, they drew swords. “What do you two think you’re doing?” one sneered. “Going to fly off the balcony? Fall to your k
nees and put your hands together at your back.”
“Make me,” Kaell said. The words felt good. Defiance felt good.
He pushed Azenor down against the wall to keep her clear of swinging weapons. Crouched, braced as the nearest guard lunged low to wound him.
Kaell seized the blade between his palms. Pain ripped like fire, but he ignored it, yanking hard. The guard staggered, the sword ripping from his grip. Steel tore up Kaell’s hand.
The second cut at Kaell’s legs. He jumped, then dived for the first ghoul’s spilled blade, fisting it in time to smash metal aside.
The guard pressed his attack, hewing his blade like an axe. Still on the floor, Kaell barely blocked, his palms stinging, the hilt slippery with blood. With a cry of anger, the ghoul tried to impale his thigh. Kaell rolled aside then sprang up. Extended the sword.
The first guard lurched to his feet. He slashed with a knife. Kaell jumped back, the thin blade uselessly swishing air. The second ghoul fell upon Kaell with battering, heaving, clamouring blows. Kaell dodged and weaved, tried to find traction on the hilt.
They chased him about the room. Brutal swipes knocked candle holders to the floor, gashed tapestries and smashed vases.
Kaell sidestepped a thrust. Steel impaled a pillow. The ghoul took a heartbeat too long to withdraw his sword. Kaell pounced, slicing. The guard screamed and reeled, a star of crimson exploding across his breast.
Kaell wrapped a strip of cloth from his tunic about the sword hilt as the other ghoul moved in with his companion’s dropped weapon. He bellowed in fury, crashed iron down. Kaell caught the blow high on his blade. It shuddered through his shoulders.
The guard unleashed a ferocious assault, a whir of cuts and slashes. Now better able to control his weapon, Kaell met thrust for thrust, metal singing.
He yawed to avoid a crouching Azenor, her arms shielding her head. The guard followed him. Kaell steered the fight away, yelling as he jabbed and cut, his blade a grating, screeching blur. A furious strength fired his muscles, an awareness of his new power and stamina.
Kaell laughed. A cold, vicious laugh that didn’t belong to him. “You can’t kill me,” he jeered. “I’m stronger now. I have your lord’s blood.”
The ghoul blinked in alarm. With another grim laugh, Kaell bunched a fist and swung. His blow snapped the guard’s head into the wall. At once, Kaell swung high. His opponent’s rushed parry drew their blades together.
This time Kaell did not withdraw but pushed with all his might, grinding his sword past raised steel into the ghoul’s throat. Blood splattered his face. The guard’s shriek choked off as Kaell rammed the blade deeper, impaling the ghoul against a wall.
For a moment he stayed like that; his weight against the body, his breaths sharp. Blood streamed from his aching palms down his arms. Ghoul blood, wet and hot on his cheeks, clotted his hair. His shoulders and back screamed a protest.
A black joy raced through Kaell’s veins. Killing ghouls brought back some sense of who he once was. It was his purpose, his duty. What his lord had raised him to do.
He yanked out the sword. The dead ghoul slumped. Kaell felt no pity, only that detached coldness of battle fever.
“We must go. Quickly.” He reached down to Azenor.
The girl shrank away. “You laughed.” Her voice quavered with horror. “You laughed as you slaughtered them.”
Kaell’s hand froze on her arm. “I did what I had to.”
She made no reply, only clasped her knees.
A bolt of bitter anger choked his breath. How dare she judge? He killed to save her.
Impatiently, he shoved the ghoul’s sword into his belt and grabbed her hand. “Do you want to escape? This is your plan, remember.”
She hesitated. Nodded. Trembling, she let him pull her up.
Kaell led her into a passage outside, his teeth snapped shut. Her fear and revulsion stung. I know I’m a monster, he wanted to shout. But soon I’ll be dead. You’ll be safe then. Everyone will be safe.
“You keep groaning. You’re hurt?”
“What do you care?” he said. “I’m a monster. I deserve this.”
“Kaell—”
“No. Don’t—just don’t talk.”
Through shutters, daylight wisped as frail and tantalising as fragrance. Kaell listened for sounds of alarm. Only stillness rattled breathless air. Torches smoked, their flames forming pools of ivory that discoloured the gloom.
They stole down a stairwell then through empty halls of gleaming marble, of creeping ivy and shadows, to a door. It creaked open into an overgrown garden of bushes and puffy grass fading into entangled trees with roots like a tower’s buttresses.
Faint birdsong twitted. Mist swirled, its damp fingers brushing skin. At Kaell’s back, the castle loomed as stark as bones against a sky as colourless as slag. A husk, broken and twisted. Unreal. Vines entwined crumbling walls. A forbidding hush welled behind its stone.
“What is that?” Azenor wrinkled her nose.
Scents exploded. The deep richness of soil and rotting leaves. Rushing water. Then something rank and nasty. A cesspool? “Nothing.” Kaell didn’t want to know.
He led her into the trees. An uncomfortable prickling crept beneath his skin. Bewildered, he stopped. “Do you feel that?”
“A little. It’s a magical barrier. Broken now. Thanks to you.”
“What?”
Azenor grinned smugly. “You really know so little. And you, a bonded one.”
Kaell was silent.
Azenor entwined her fingers with his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be cruel. But I thought you understood. Your blood oath to Archanin, the oath of a warrior who served his brother, Khir, destroyed that barrier.”
“You know about that.” His voice cracked.
“Kaell, everything happened as it should. That magic was fading anyway. Even without you, Archanin would walk free sooner rather than later.”
He had no words. Heaviness shrouded his heart. Disgust. Dread. Soon it wouldn’t matter what he’d done. What he was. Soon he’d be dead.
“Aric says barriers like this exist across the Isles,” Azenor said. “To keep ghouls out.”
“Who created them?”
“A powerful seer. Guess.”
An easy answer, but he shivered. “Your ancestor. Roaran.” As though whipped up by the name, a fragment of wind fingered his neck. “We’d best move. Before they miss us.”
“Mooove,” Azenor echoed. “Why do you speak so strangely?”
“It’s not strange to me. Or anyone else in the Mountains.” He took her hand again. Lapping water sounded close. The stench of decay thickened.
“Mooove,” Azenor teased. “Mooove.”
“I don’t see why that’s so funny.”
“Fooney. Fooney—” She broke off with a cry, her hand torn from his.
Earth collapsed beneath him. Kaell tumbled, his body thumping and rolling down a slope. His skidded heels sprayed up soil and dust until with a bump, a groan, he hit uneven ground. The dislodged sword hilt bruised his hip. Pebbles bounced in raining dirt.
“Azenor?”
The girl sprawled, coughing. Kaell swiped grime from his eyes. A pit’s walls rose around them. His arm painfully crushed bone. Shuddering, he shot to his feet.
“Kaell.” Azenor groped about. “Kaell, where are you? What is this place?”
“We fell into a ditch.” He scrambled to her. Azenor picked up a skull. She poked a finger through an eye socket, yelped and flung it away.
Kaell folded his arms about her. “Hush, you’re safe.”
“Was that—?” She clung to him. “Oh, by The Three. We’re in a grave.”
“Don’t think about it. We’re close to the river. I’ll carry you.”
Dazed, she made no protest as Kaell lifted her into his arms and bore her through the pit. Bones cut his bare feet, his eyes averted in case he recognised less decayed flesh. He helped her clamber to the top, straightened and brushed bloody palms down his pan
ts.
Just beyond the woodland, the river gurgled, spilling scents of wet soil and waterlilies.
A man laughed. “Bone dust. How pretty.”
Three men emerged from the trees. Two carried swords, the third a bow. “Thought we’d have to haul you out,” one sniggered.
Kaell looked at the men. He looked at the trees just a few steps away.
He swung Azenor over his shoulder and ran.
The men cursed and chased them. Trunks fell away to a muddy bank. Dawn’s symphony of pinks played a soft melody across a river’s mirrored surface. Birds nesting in reeds exploded into the sky, their flapping wings rending the quiet as a knife might rip canvas.
Kaell bundled Azenor into a flat-bottomed boat, jumped in and snatched up an oar. He shoved the craft from the bank as the men pulled up, breathless and angry.
“Stop!” one shouted. “We’ll shoot.”
Kaell leaned on the oar. The boat yawed. An arrow thumped into wood at his feet. Azenor screamed. Another plucked at his arm. Blood dripped, but he kept at the oar.
“Fool. Correct your aim. Our lord will want them alive.”
Hissing arrows shot up in a black cloud. They plunged wide. The boat hit the current. More arrows twanged, skidding harmlessly over the river’s surface.
The archer lowered his bow. His companions shadowed the craft on foot along the shore.
Kaell dragged in the oar. The boat slid on dark, rippling water. Above the inky canopy of clustered trees, daylight bloomed. Branches scrabbled at reed banks. The pungent odour of mud and clotted reeds assaulted, drowning the river’s cool freshness.
He helped Azenor sit, cursing at the sight of her cut feet. His bled too, but his mind detached from the pain, detached from all but one thing: Get to his lord. Die.
“You don’t have shoes,” he said.
“The Lord of Gore, Archanin, thought I might escape. Fooney, hey. Are we safe?”
“They’ll come after us. But we have a start.”
She huddled, her shoulder pressed to his as though his nearness no longer repulsed but comforted. Kaell forgot his anger. He knew he must seem monstrous. Even he feared that yawning chasm of darkness within.