The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection

by Tom Lloyd

  The morning chill didn’t bother him. Kastan had settled into a natural dent in the steep earth, wrapped in a bearskin and cradled by the mountain where he’d spent his whole life. The valley below spread out to the south where the lower ground became lush woodlands fed by the mountain rivers; receding into the distance as dark smears on the horizon. Always open to attack these parts were, but this village was rarely bothered. In Kastan’s life there had been only three raids on the village, the last being just a band of beastmen too pitiful to be captured for the fighting-pits.

  That day the men of the village had looked to him for leadership when the alarm was sounded, even the veterans. Only fifteen summers old, Kastan had already possessed an air of authority that made battle-scarred ex-sergeants follow his commands. The immediate obedience had felt both natural and intoxicating.

  That day he’d seen the sadness in his father’s eyes as the man saw it was time for Kastan to leave. They both knew it had been coming; he’d bested every man in the village before the end of puberty, but the widower had been able to ignore the day not yet upon them until then. Seeing Kastan lead the counter-charge and cut down the largest of the attackers with ease, it had been clear to all that it was time.

  As the sky brightened, Kastan wondered why he felt no regret at leaving. Perhaps because he’d always expected it; that from his youngest memories the old soldiers had told him he would leave to fight – perhaps because this village was always going to be too small for a Menin white-eye, the largest of all men in the entire Land.

  Or is it because I’m a white-eye and have no use for regrets?

  White-eyes didn’t become farmers, or even blacksmiths or hunters. It had been more than a year since he could safely wrestle or spar with anyone from the village. Since then he’d only laid hands on another when a drunken fight had broken out, his prodigious energy channelled into hard labour and the study of any books he could trade or borrow.

  The dawn chorus had ebbed and flowed over the undulating ground even as he’d left the house and walked up here in the predawn dark. The sweet liquid voice of a thrush rang out between indignant outbursts from a blackbird. A choir of starlings chittered merrily from the village surrounds, but the call he had been hoping for came strong and clear over their gossip.

  The red merlin wasn’t one to participate in the greeting of the sun but, as most birds, they had chicks in the nest and were out hunting early. Native only to these parts, it was a rare sight to those who didn’t know where to look and a beloved talisman to locals. The merlin’s shrill ‘kek, kek’ sprang out from the stony slopes and brought a smile to Kastan’s face. It would be years before he heard that sound again.

  He didn’t bother looking for the bird. It would be well hidden in the rusty-green undergrowth; three or four bronze tarnished eggs nestled peacefully on the ground. No one knew why the small hunter nested on the ground, often where the slope was little challenge to predators. The snakes that would happily feast of their eggs rarely did so, preferring to keep clear when they themselves could be the meal.

  Kastan loved them for that. To make a home where they wished was to invite danger, but the swift birds would fight like demons rather than abandon their eggs. Perhaps that was why they were so fondly regarded by villagers who lived outside the Ring of Fire, vulnerable to the predations of the warped tribes of the Elven Waste.

  At last, through the thin lines of cloud that bordered the horizon, the burning lances of dawn pierced the blue above. The dew-kissed pastures before him were bathed in warm, comforting light. Alone on his mountainside, Kastan breathed in the earthy odours of home as the blessings of the Gods blazed up and over him. This was the time of peace that he would store deep inside his heart, the shining core of his soul to sustain him through dark times to come.

  He had no illusions about his future. The Reavers were the finest single unit ever to do battle in the history of the Land. As implacable as the Farlan Ghosts were, as furious as the Chetse Lion Guard might prove, the Reavers were greater still. Even the tales of the Elven Dragonguard, Aryn Bwr’s elite, made them out only to be heroes one and all, but the Reavers were not interested in heroism.

  Their training was comparable to torture, their ferocity unmatched. An average man wouldn’t survive and few normals ever even tried to join; only the finest of Ascetites whose latent magic had driven them beyond natural limits. But in the main, there was only one sort of man welcome in the Reavers – white-eyes. Exalted and feared equally by their people, the savage sub-breed of humanity were the finest of all warriors and the very name of their regiment struck fear in the hearts of all.

  ‘A last sunrise?’

  Kastan leapt to his feet at the unexpected voice, every instinct suddenly alive. In one movement he was up and spinning to face the newcomer, blade sweeping up from his hip.

  ‘I hardly think that’s necessary.’

  Kastan felt his grip inexplicably weaken. He tried to force his fingers closed again, but couldn’t prevent the longsword falling from his hand and dropping to the ground. His struggle to keep his hand raised faded when he took in the figure before him. Slowly, Kastan stopped fighting and stared in astonishment.

  The Menin were a tall, swarthy people with weathered skin and coarse black hair, their women were rarely so fine-featured or slender. A warrior people respected the qualities of strength and honour first and it was said beauty begat weakness.

  The woman stood before him was quite unlike any he had met before and dressed equally as fantastically. Long tresses of coppery hair glowed bright in the first rays of dawn; her milky skin looked soft and fragile against the harsh lines of the mountain. A pale blue cape hung from her shoulders, fastened at the neck by an ornate gold brooch. Kastan couldn’t make out the design; the pattern seemed to shift under his keen eyesight, which instead drifted down to the curve of her breasts above a rich green dress.

  Her figure was slim and graceful, but the warrior in him could see the power still for all her slender charms. It was her face that really surprised him. A thin jaw, high, chiselled cheekbones and pouting lips curled into a faint smile – arresting and bewitching yet overshadowed by the unnaturally brilliant emerald of her eyes.

  ‘You picked a fine spot to watch it from, but surely the top of the mountain would be finer still?’

  Kastan could hear the goading in her voice. Quite apart from the treacherous ice in spring the mountaintop was full of dangers, but a white-eye was supposed to fear nothing. The prickle of anger deep inside collided with trepidation as he recognised her from the temple wall. For an instant there was a balance between the two in his heart, but he fought them and both receded before the sheer force of will. Surprise, anxiety, recalled knowledge – they all clashed behind those eyes but he refused to allow any such emotion to escape.

  ‘I’ve seen it before,’ he replied, keeping his voice level and his stance wary. ‘I’m saying goodbye to my home, not to the Land.’

  ‘I know that. Perhaps better than you might think,’ came her strange reply. She half-turned away, then paused and looked back at him through long lashes.

  ‘Walk with me a while.’

  Kastan stared after the striding figure for an instant, stunned by the impact of her gaze, before he shook himself awake and bent to retrieve his sword. He returned the weapon to its sheath and shook out his cloak before he slipped it over his shoulders.

  When he looked up, Kastan gave a start, his mouth falling open in surprise. The mysterious woman had inexplicably covered a hundred yards and stood waiting for him, hands on her hips in exaggerated impatience. Kastan breathed a soft oath as he realised this was all a test of some ineffable design. His lips tightened as a greater resolve came over him. If this were a test then so be it – she would see what sort of man he was.

  The woman’s irritation was genuine by the time he had sauntered over, taking time to enjoy the view and even pausing to savour the scent of a wildflower. Her smile vanished when at last he met those flashing ey
es, but he managed to betray no consternation at her glower.

  ‘Do you know who I am, boy?’ she snapped, the honey tones of her voice suddenly supplanted by venom.

  ‘I do, Lady. You honour me with your presence.’

  ‘Hah, at least you know when to curb your insolence. Surely you know I am not renowned for my patience?’

  ‘But of course I dismissed it as the prattling of priests.’

  ‘You do not believe you should listen to your elders?’

  Now he did allow himself to smile, hearing in her voice she was looking for something more than subservience.

  ‘I’m too young to believe that. Since white-eyes live longer than most humans, I may be persuaded in time.’

  She regarded him coldly for a moment. Then a smile broke over her face and the warmth of the sun suddenly returned.

  ‘In the case of priests, I agree with you. I’m happy to have temples and shrines in my name, but I have little use for the pious. They tend to be deficient in worldly areas and useless to me.’

  Kastan nodded, that was well known. The Lady – Fate herself – was unconventional among the Gods, perhaps unique. She wielded little power and commanded few servants, yet was respected as if she were a member of the Upper Circle of the Pantheon. Kastan was burning with curiosity. He had attended his studies well enough to know she gave no straight answers. He would have to earn anything he learned. She was here to tell him something, but Gods were capricious at the best of times.

  The Lady stopped, looking north past a copse of gnarled olive trees and into the vast golden rapeseed fields. Kastan took up position slightly downslope of her, noticing for the first time that she was not much shorter than he. That was rare for any man, but she didn’t appear to be oversized in any way. She merely met him on his own level. Tearing himself away from the burnished curls that spilled down her back, Kastan followed her eyes to focus on a kite hovering ahead.

  ‘We will sit,’ said the Lady suddenly.

  Her words came unnaturally loud to Kastan’s ears, and the compulsion to obey was terrifyingly strong. Turning, he saw two tree stumps where he would have sworn there had been none before. And yet there they were, weathered by sun and rain and perfectly placed behind the Lady and himself. He sank down gratefully, her command having drained his will to stand. She followed suit with perfect elegance and never once losing sight of the fields ahead.

  Once seated, Kastan recovered his wits and wondered what this would mean for his future. He was leaving home today to establish his place in the Land, to seek the fame and glory that was all a white-eye could hope for. That Fate herself had come to speak to him was enough to set a worm of unease in his gut.

  All the priests said she was a harsh mistress to those she chose for her designs, and what future could he have serving a God other than the Patron of the Menin? The hand of Fate was as likely a curse as a blessing. But how do you refuse a God when you cannot even remain standing in her presence?

  ‘What do you hope for in life?’

  The question was as abrupt as it was strange and Kastan replied with a blank face. He had been expecting many things, but not such a seemingly idle question.

  ‘Well, boy? You must have some reason for leaving home.’

  ‘I … my reason for leaving home? I’m a white-eye; I wasn’t born to stand behind oxen all day. Why does any man want to leave home?’

  Kastan looked at the perfect features of the Lady and his mind went disconcertingly blank. Her ethereal skin seemed to glow with an inner light rather than the bright rays of dawn.

  ‘Are you as unthinking as that?’ she replied scornfully.

  ‘Well … I … no.’ He gestured to the cultivated fields surrounding the village. ‘I want more from life than this.’ Kastan felt as if a weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. If it hadn’t been ridiculous, he’d have sworn from the expression before him that she had seen it go.

  ‘Then tell me.’

  ‘My family’s poor. We’re farmers and nothing more. But I can make up for the death of my mother in some measure by winning a title or lands – no dynasty of my own but cousins aplenty and a father who’ll soon be too old for ploughing.’

  ‘You think your mother’s death was your fault?’

  ‘More mine than anyone else’s!’ he snapped. ‘It was my birth that killed her, my birth that killed my twin.’

  The Lady showed no anger at his sudden outburst. Instead her face became softer, her voice gentle rather than commanding.

  ‘But that’s just what you are. That’s how your kind are born. There’s no fault to atone for.’

  ‘I’ve seen my father’s face when he sees his nephews – when his brothers cradle their grandsons. Not once has he blamed me, but everyone knows it was because I’m a white-eye. By making something of myself, I can build a future for those who can appreciate it.’

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘It’s a hard thing to blame yourself for being born. Whatever the benefits for the tribe, it’s a cruel way to bring a child into the Land. But put that aside for the moment, we must speak of the future. The past is who you are; the future is who you will become.’

  ‘And who will I become?’ Kastan asked brusquely.

  She laughed and looked up at the sky. ‘Indeed; that, my boy, is the question.’

  He followed her gaze. White bursts of cloud hung motionless above them, strangely shaped as though almost something he could recognise.

  ‘Whoever you want to be,’ the Goddess said at last. ‘I think that best describes your future. Do you know why I’m here?’ She looked back, but Kastan merely shook his head and her smile glittered.

  ‘I wanted to meet you. I couldn’t wait any longer.’

  She smiled as confusion flashed across Kastan’s face. This was not how Gods spoke in the tales. They commanded and nations tumbled. They reached out their hands and mountains split asunder.

  ‘I shall explain. My goal is destiny. My tools are people, the great and the lucky. I can fashion a man’s life as I see fit, beat him into whatever shape I require. His whole existence dedicated to one deed, to one swing of a sword or misplaced word. This is what I am and when I saw you I found a servant without equal. Your future is bright, young Kastan, so very bright it burns my eyes. And yet … and yet I cannot touch you.’

  Kastan looked up in surprise. Embarrassment and pride mingled in the Lady’s voice. Her eyes were blazing now, shining so hard he could feel the light in the deepest recesses of his head.

  ‘I have little use for priests – that has always been true. But for those who possess greatness …’ She tailed off for a moment and shook her head, a sad smile on her face. ‘And yet even at your tender age I can hardly compel you. When I forced you to sit I could feel your resistance. You almost overcame it and the years to come will see your power flourish.’

  Kastan didn’t know what to do now, hang his head in shame or look up with pride. He found both strangely absent under the green lustre of her eyes. Slowly he allowed himself to sink into that light. Her voice continued and Kastan felt the rest of the Land recede.

  ‘Within you is greatness, pure and unsullied. Within you lies the power to choose your own fate – to bend my machinations for yourself and become truly who you dream to be.

  ‘I come to you today to present you with your future. Two paths branching out – yours alone to determine. Both will end unrealised if you don’t become all that you can be, but if you succeed where you choose your deeds will blaze a trail through history, and whatever you do I cannot interfere. There is a purpose woven into the fabric of the Land that even I must obey. Some rules transcend all.’

  She stood and looked down at Kastan, her face unreadable. ‘I have been granted one boon, to speak to you now and tell you of your choice. I cannot affect who you will be, but what I am gives me the right to be present at that choice.’

  Kastan stared back at her, unable to form words as a tumult of confusion swallowed him. He swayed slig
htly, rocking back on his seat at the weight of her words. His legs would not have been able to hold his weight had he been standing and even seated his body almost betrayed him. The weight of years was suddenly upon him; lifetimes flashing before his eyes, possibilities and horrors screaming through his soul. The sun flashed overhead, cloud and rain swirling around and fading to nothing in the same instant. The landscape changed. Kastan felt the Land age beneath his feet – an echo of the future that coursed through his veins.

  And then it was gone. The sun was still climbing, the morning mist still slinking home. Kastan shook his head, gasping for breath that escaped him. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs, forcing his lungs to work again. Slowly he found his way back to normality. It felt as if he’d not breathed for years, that he had almost forgotten how. The cool clean mountain air scorched at his parched throat but gradually his heart slowed and the Land returned around him.

  When he looked up again the Lady had not moved. She stood with her hands demurely clasped, a regal calm set into those smooth, full lips. She made no movement towards him, simply watching in a remarkably inhuman manner.

  ‘Wha … what happened?’ Kastan asked, massaging his aching throat with his hand.

  ‘A taste of the future. I’m going to show you who you could be, but for you to make your choice the feelings must come from within,’ the Lady answered.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The paths before you are not static. They will change as you make choices in your life, as they would for anyone. To simply show you an image of one possible future is not enough. You must feel what you could become – understand what it means in your soul, else the choice is a false one.’