Nightfall

by Den Patrick

‘Well, aren’t you the champion of Frøya? That’s what he said.’ Streig smiled at Taiga. ‘And you’re a priestess.’

  ‘A high priestess,’ replied Taiga, correcting him gently.

  ‘Can’t you pray to her for a miraculous recovery?’

  Kimi knelt down next to Tief and pulled out the jade dragon that hung around her neck.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Streig.

  ‘This is the closest thing I have to a miracle,’ replied Kimi as Taiga knelt down beside her. ‘Will you pray with us?’ She watched the young soldier hesitate a moment before kneeling. It was no small thing to ask an Imperial soldier to pray to a proscribed goddess, even if he was a deserter.

  ‘What do I do?’ he whispered.

  ‘Have a little faith,’ replied Kimi, though her confidence in their undertaking was far from resolute. ‘The more the better, to be honest.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Taiga with an impish smile. ‘I’ve faith enough for both of you.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Kristofine

  Captain Hewn became something of a friend of mine in the years that followed after. Many times, usually at the end of a function or feast, I would ask him if he had ever received his payment from Boyar Sokolov, a private joke known only to a handful of people. He would look at me with a rueful cast in his eye and reply, ‘I never believed she was who she said she was for a second, but it seemed important to Streig she be aboard.’

  – From the memoir of Drakina Tveit, Lead Librarian of Midtenjord Province

  Everything clenched tight.

  Fists clenched in pain and frustration.

  Stomach clenched tight from the agony of her wound.

  Every ounce of energy clenched around her feelings less they flow down her face in a torrent.

  Eyes squeezed shut to keep out unwelcome daylight: the dim and jumbled slowness of her thought was all she could focus on.

  The city, which had been sporadically on fire ever since she had arrived, was hushed. The rain had silenced the many flickering tongues of flame during the night and even the most ardent of gossips dared not speak in anything more than a whisper. The Emperor ruled in name, yet silence reigned in Khlystburg.

  ‘You still with me?’ Reka, solid, dependable Reka, had conjured a mule out of all that silence and set his gaze south. The mule plodded beneath her and she plodded along with it. Reka had not, as far as she could tell, stopped walking since they had left the inn, leading the beast of burden by its reins.

  ‘You tried to teach me how to fight,’ she mumbled. It was hard to get her thoughts in order, harder still to say what was troubling her, but the silence troubled her more.

  ‘I did. And I’ll not hear you be hard on yourself for being laid low by a tavern keeper with a hidden knife.’ The mule plodded beneath her and she plodded along with it. Kristofine lifted heavy eyelids and lifted her sagging head. Before her was the sombre, deep blue expanse of the Ashen Gulf.

  ‘How?’ was all she could say.

  ‘I told Steiner I’d get you to safety, and that’s exactly what I’ve a mind to do.’

  ‘Is there’s a ship down there?’ she asked, afraid it was a mirage brought on by blood loss or some nameless madness.

  ‘It is. And we’re going to board it and voyage to Arkiv.’

  A small settlement of refugees had sprung up at the top of the cliffs and a great deal of noise could be heard, even half a mile away as they were.

  ‘I think they may have the same idea,’ said Kristofine. ‘That’s a huge amount of people to fit on to one ship.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ said Reka. Kristofine closed her eyes and surrendered to torpor once more. The wind gusted, bringing a scattering of chilly raindrops.

  The noise of the crowd was both overwhelming and hard to ignore, even for someone in Kristofine’s condition. The mule plodded beneath her and she plodded along with it, begrudgingly opening her eyes. They were in the midst of the camp now, surrounded on all sides by the locals of Khlystburg.

  ‘There certainly are a lot of carts and wagons,’ she said, sleepy and delirious, ‘given that there are no animals.’

  ‘I’m beginning to regret giving you that draught now,’ said Reka, eyeing her warily.

  ‘A draught?’

  ‘Something to take the edge off. Some herbs for the pain and brandy for …’ Reka gestured. ‘Well, the brandy was for the pain too.’ He took out a hip flask and medicated himself.

  ‘You there!’ came a voice above the crowd. ‘I have need of your mule.’

  ‘Here we go,’ grumbled Reka. He drew steel: not a long weapon, but it was sharp in the right places and he liked the balance.

  ‘I said I need your mule,’ said a voice in the crowd. Some of the people began to stand aside and Kristofine gave a bleary smile and waved like a returning monarch.

  ‘Lovely to meet you all,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t let you go any further,’ said a young man in a pale blue cloak. There was a great sword strapped to his back and a wary look in his eye. ‘I need that mule.’

  ‘I heard you,’ shouted Reka. ‘But I have wounded here and her needs take precedence. Now do you mind telling me how the Hel I get aboard …?’ Reka’s eyes widened as he realized who the would-be mule thief was. ‘Streig? Is that you?’

  ‘Lieutenant!’

  ‘Streig! Smoke and ashes! I thought we lost you in the library.’ The old soldier grabbed the young man in such a fierce embrace a few people cleared space, as if fighting and not a reunion were taking place.

  ‘Streig.’ Kristofine tried to sort through the jumbled mess of her memories. ‘Streig in the library.’ The crowd did not seem interested in whatever history existed between the two men; all eyes were fixed on Streig, or rather the two-handed blade that hung across his back. ‘Didn’t he used to wear armour?’ added Kristofine.

  ‘I did,’ said the young man. ‘Before Bittervinge buried me in books.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Reka seized Streig by the shoulder. ‘Everything was chaos. I didn’t think we were going to make it. When the roof started coming down, well, I just …’ Reka swallowed.

  ‘I never blamed you,’ replied Streig. ‘Come on. Kimi and Taiga will want to hear what you have to say.

  ‘The dragon riders?’ asked Reka.

  ‘The very same. Come on, now. Kimi will want to know all your news.’ Streig began to lead them away when the mood of the crowd turned.

  ‘Hoy there!’ shouted an elderly man. ‘I was here long before they were. I gave you my horse for your gods-damned dragons.’ He took a step closer and prodded Streig in the chest with his finger ‘Get. Me. On. That. Ship.’

  The crowd, which until that moment had remained at a polite distance, surged forward. Reka went down first, pulled down by five people, hands reaching for his neck, seizing his arms lest he draw his blade once again. Streig fared no better; fists rose and fell and the young soldier disappeared from view as quickly as he appeared. He shouted Kristofine’s name as he was dragged under. All eyes turned on her as she sat in the saddle, struggling to balance on the mule, who stood unmoving.

  ‘Get away from them,’ she shouted. Slowly at first, then in greater numbers, the crowd dispersed, leaving the bedraggled and bruised forms of Reka and Streig crawling in the mud. The city folk stared at Kristofine with expressions of terror on their pale faces.

  ‘That’s right! You run, you worthless, flea-bitten slatterns!’ hollered Kristofine. ‘You know who I am? I’m Kristofine of Cinderfell, Kristofine of the Lovers! My man is Steiner Vartiainen and—’

  They are gone now. Do not distress yourself.

  Kristofine blinked and, being unable to locate the source of the melodious voice, turned in her saddle. Sitting on the edge of the cliff was the most stunning, vibrant blue dragon.

  ‘Oh.’

  Yes. Oh.

  ‘They weren’t running way from me, were they?’

  No, I am afraid they were not.

  Streig and Reka
had pulled themselves up and the former lieutenant stared at the dragon with unalloyed awe.

  ‘Please tell me this one is on our side, Streig.’

  The young soldier spat blood from his split lip and chuckled. ‘This is my good friend Flodvind.’

  Kristofine dared a look over the edge of the cliff and saw two more dragons, one a deep wood brown, the other the colour of dark grey stone.

  ‘How?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Streig. ‘I’m just glad they haven’t taken up their old habits like Bittervinge has.’

  The dragons did not linger for long. One by one they took to wing and headed out to sea.

  ‘That’s quite a sight,’ said Reka quietly.

  ‘It certainly is,’ agreed Streig. ‘Come on, we don’t have long left and the city folk won’t stay away for long.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Streig. We’re full to the point of going under.’ Captain Hewn gave Reka and Kristofine a rueful look. They had traversed the steep and winding path down from the cliffs until they stood on the shingle beach where the sea sighed and whispered on the stones with the turn of every wave. ‘I barely know where everyone will sleep as it is,’ he added, rubbing his bearded chin.

  ‘These are very important people!’ said Streig.

  ‘You’ve no idea how many times I’ve heard that today,’ said the captain wearily. ‘I have an entire ship full of very important people; it’s practically a floating palace.’ He turned to leave but Streig caught him by the arm. The captain looked down at Streig’s hand with a look of growing impatience. ‘I need to make ready to cast off. If you’re not on board when I give the order’ – the captain shrugged – ‘Frøya help you.’

  ‘We are part of Boyar Sokolov’s household staff,’ said Kristofine, raising her chin in what she hoped was an imperious manner. She was still somewhat giddy from Reka’s draught, but at least she could keep her eyes open now. ‘The Boyar will reward you handsomely for this service should you get us as far as Arkiv.’

  ‘And who is Boyar Sokolov?’ the captain sneered.

  ‘Ruler of Vend Province,’ added Reka. ‘Descended from the founding families of the Solmindre Empire, and close confidant of the Emperor himself.’ The former lieutenant took a step closer and Kristofine pretended not to hear what he said next. ‘Please, my lady has a very delicate constitution and she is …’ Reka laid one hand across his stomach and nodded once. Kristofine coughed behind her hand, but it was more to cover the laughter that erupted from her than to go along with Reka’s ruse.

  ‘I will demand payment from the Boyar the next time I am in Vend Province,’ said Captain Hewn. ‘You can be sure of that.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Reka. ‘We are much obliged to you.’

  They headed to the last small boat that waited on the stony shore. The crowd of those about to be left behind realized this might be their last chance. A wordless cry of rage and despair went up and blades were drawn. Streig readied the two-handed sword as the captain, his mate, and Reka dragged the boat into the shallows. The crowd came down the narrow cliff path. Falling, sliding, tumbling, heedless of the danger, desperate to be taken away from Khlystburg.

  ‘We’ll capsize if they reach us,’ shouted Captain Hewn, heaving himself into the boat as waves rippled and splashed all around.

  ‘Streig?’ shouted Kristofine above the din. The people were on the beach now. ‘We’re leaving!’

  The young soldier was holding the people back with wild swings of the great blade; they dodged out of the way to avoid the wild strikes. ‘Get yourselves to Arkiv,’ he shouted over his shoulder.

  One of the crowd lunged forward and steel flashed brightly, but Streig stepped aside from the blow and replied with one of his own. His attacker was suddenly missing one of his forearms and screamed so loudly the crowd around him faltered.

  ‘Frejna’s teeth!’ said Captain Hewn, pushing off from the beach. The mate pulled on the oars and Kristofine reached out to Streig on instinct, but it was no good. She watched him fend off the crowd, but had no idea how long he would last being so outnumbered.

  ‘Best not to watch,’ said Reka, his face twisting in despair as he placed an arm around her shoulders. ‘Look away now.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Kjellrunn

  People forget just how young the Stormtide Prophet was during the uprising. She had barely begun to know herself, and yet the fate of an entire continent rested on her slender shoulders, and on the shoulders of her most devoted handmaiden, Trine.

  – From the memoir of Drakina Tveit, Lead Librarian of Midtenjord Province

  Kjellrunn had spent an entire day in a dreamless sleep, only waking to drink water or eat what little food was left on Arkiv.

  ‘We need to leave this place before we all starve to death,’ said Romola, her anger slipping its leash. The very next morning they were at sea. Kjellrunn stood at the prow of the Watcher’s Wait, her every sense alive. The smell of salt water, the breeze on her skin and in her hair, the vivid blue of the sky, the sound of the water as it met the hull. She could taste the salt water too, but this was the leviathan’s sensation, not her own. It was easier to commune with the vast creature after resting. The colossal presence beneath the waves didn’t overwhelm her in the way it had before the attack on Arkiv.

  ‘The last week has been a blur to me,’ Kjellrunn confided to Trine. ‘Sometimes I wasn’t sure where the leviathan ended and I began. Does that make sense?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re going through,’ admitted Trine. ‘But when you first started trying to guide it, well, you couldn’t even stand, let alone open your eyes.’ She looked out to sea ahead of the ship and the taut ropes that disappeared under the water, warps that pulled them onward to Khlystburg.

  ‘At first I think I summoned it with my anger, unwittingly. Then it became about control, but the idea of that was overwhelming.’ Kjellrunn rubbed her forehead slowly.

  ‘Why did you tell us, me and Romola I mean, that you could do it?’

  ‘I said I had a plan and I was desperate enough to try it, to see it through.’

  ‘And now?’ replied Trine.

  ‘And now it feels natural. I don’t have to be angry all the time. It doesn’t feel like I’m trying to assert control; it’s more like an ongoing conversation.’

  For a moment they stood together in silence.

  ‘SHIP SIGHTED!’ shouted Rylska from a hastily made perch amidships. Trine swore and Kjellrunn squinted into the distance.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Romola, striding down the ship from the helm. ‘It’s a trading vessel, and nowhere near the port. Maybe they’re smuggling.’

  ‘Smuggling what?’ asked Trine.

  ‘Who knows?’ replied Romola. ‘I’d rather leave them be if it’s all right with you, your prophetness.’ Kjellrunn smiled. Romola’s irritation revealed a little more of itself with each day.

  ‘You’ll be rid of me soon enough,’ Kjellrunn said softly. Romola blinked in surprise.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kjellrunn. This is all too strange for me and I like being in control of my own ship too much.’ She threw up her hands. ‘Are you well? I mean really? You were practically comatose not so long ago. Now you’re doing this again.’ She gestured to where the vast, dark shadow moved under the waves of the Ashen Gulf.

  ‘If I don’t get to Khlystburg soon there may not be a family alive for me when I get there.’

  ‘Steiner can handle himself,’ said Romola. ‘Trust me on that, right.’

  ‘Steiner does what he thinks is right without stopping to consider if he’s overextended himself,’ replied Kjellrunn.

  ‘Well, I guess it runs in the family,’ said Romola. Her gaze moved to where the leviathan swam beneath the waves, before she shook her head and walked away.

  The Imperial ships had arranged themselves outside the port in an arrowhead formation, the lead ship furthest out to sea. Trine gritted her teeth and sent countless arcs of arcane fire to immolate the enem
y, but this time they responded in kind. Romola’s crew ran from impact to impact extinguishing fires aboard the Watcher’s Wait with buckets of bilge water. Much of the arcane fire thrown by the Vigilants had gone astray in the high winds, but two streaks of fire had found their mark.

  ‘Gods damn it!’ shouted Romola. ‘There isn’t that much left of my ship to burn.’

  A third lance of fire crashed into the Wait and incinerated a crew member instantly. Another was sent overboard, alight and screaming. Romola gritted her teeth and slammed her hand against the helm.

  ‘Frejna take you,’ she hissed at the Imperial ships. ‘Frejna take you all!’

  The galleons blockading Arkiv had not enjoyed the luxury of having Vigilants aboard, but the ships at Khlystburg port clearly counted talented Troikas among their number.

  ‘Hel’s teeth,’ complained Trine. ‘There are three of them and there’s only one of me.’

  ‘Not for long,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘Try to hold off from using your powers.’ They had not released the warps from the Watcher’s Wait. The ship sped towards the lead galleon, led by the now surfacing leviathan. A V-shaped wave appeared in the sea before the creature and Kjellrunn could hear the screams of the Imperial sailors. A handful of them ran across the deck and flung themselves into water rather than brace for the impact that would surely end them. Kjellrunn held up a hand and Romola’s crew ceased their tasks and ran to grab hold of something on deck.

  ‘Just die!’ shouted Trine, her black hair streaming in the wind. The leviathan rose up out of the water and smashed into the prow of the galleon with a deafening noise. Fragments of wood exploded upwards.

  ‘Hold on!’ shouted Kjellrunn as the leviathan sank beneath the water once more, leaving the Watcher’s Wait to collide with the galleon. The burned bow of the red frigate ploughed into the weakened hull of the Imperial ship with a dull sound of wood grinding on broken wood.

  ‘Weapons!’ shouted Romola. Her crew sprang to their feet and raced to the prow of the ship, leaping from where the Watcher’s Wait had embedded itself in the galleon. Trine led the way, slamming streaks of orange and yellow light with a wild-eyed intensity. Romola followed up behind and the crew let out a roar as they boarded the stricken vessel.