Ruled by Shadows (Light and Darkness Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  Clinging to the side of the wagon, Lilia peered out through a gap in the tarpaulin, at where foot soldiers marched alongside the supply wagons. Asher had told her that these wagons would be travelling at the back of the army, in the rearguard. The king would be travelling further forward, at the head of the main army, as would the Enchanters of Light and Darkness.

  Where’s Dain?

  Worry fluttered at the base of Lilia’s ribcage. What if he’d been unable to join the King’s Guard? What if he’d gotten into trouble? She wouldn’t find out until she was far from here, and by then it would be too late to help.

  She could do nothing but trust he’d succeeded.

  It was a bumpy ride down to the lower town, and by the time they rumbled toward the outer gates, Lilia felt as if her teeth were being shaken loose in her skull. Next to her, Ryana had awoken. Watery daylight filtered in through the gaps in the leather tarpaulin, illuminating Ryana’s pale, tense face.

  “This is going to be fun,” she muttered. “My arse hurts already.”

  Lilia winced. “Let’s hope the ride’s smoother once we get off these cobbles.”

  Outside, the roar of the crowd rose around them like a flock of starlings coming in to roost. Lilia watched as women flung themselves out onto the road, clutching at their men. Their wails, their cries, rose high above the wagons. Many of the women’s faces were wet with tears and twisted in grief.

  Lilia’s throat closed; she’d never seen the reality of war before. She watched a young woman cling to her lover—a foot soldier who marched alongside the supply wagons. The young man hugged the girl close, his shoulders quaking. However, the army would not stop, not for any of them. Soldiers pulled the lovers apart and manhandled the girl back into the crowd.

  Her sobs followed the wagons, a high-pitched lament.

  The rearguard travelled out of the city and onto the rutted highway beyond. Here, the going was less bumpy, although the wagon jarred intermittently as they hit potholes. Behind them, Lilia heard the boom of the heavy gates shutting. With the bulk of the army, and the king himself, gone—the capital would be locked down until their return.

  “Do you have any water?” Ryana asked, her throat raspy.

  Lilia dug into her pack and extracted her water bladder, passing it to her. “Careful,” she warned. “We won’t be able to stop to pee until noon.”

  Ryana muttered a curse. “I need to go now.”

  Lilia frowned. Her companion’s ill-temper and whining was starting to wear on her already and they’d barely set out. “Maybe you’d prefer to be back in the Vault?” she muttered, snatching her water bladder back once Ryana had taken a few sips.

  “At least I had a chamber pot in there,” Ryana sniped back.

  They said little after that.

  36

  The March North

  Dain marched at the tail-end of the main army, amongst the ranks of foot soldiers.

  Most of the men surrounding him carried ash spears—a forest of iron tips rising into the encircling mist. He was lucky, Dain realized, for Captain Garick had gifted him a sword. It was nothing fancy—a two-edged flat iron blade with a leather pommel—but it was well balanced and had a sharp edge. He carried it strapped to his back, within easy reach should he need it. Dain had left the wood-axe behind, it had been a crude weapon at best, although he had acquired two sharp fighting daggers—one strapped to his waist, the other to his right leg.

  Despite the cool, misty day, Dain was sweating heavily. He’d been much more lightly dressed on the journey here; now he was weighed down by boiled leather armor that creaked when he walked. Thick leather bracers covered his forearms and the shoulder guards made him feel like a gigantic beetle. Not only that but he carried a heavy pack on his back.

  It was nearing noon; he could see the pale glow of the sun overhead, even through the mist. They were marching on the Great Road, heading through the northern reaches of the Rithmar Highlands. Steep wooded slopes rose up either side of the road, forcing the army to narrow and extend along the road, the flanks pressing close. The Highlands surrounded the capital in all directions for many leagues, spreading out from the city like a rumpled blanket and providing a natural barrier from invaders.

  Up ahead, Dain could see the king’s banner, hanging limp as it was a windless day. Nathan rode at the head of the main army, although Captain Garick had ridden ahead with the bulk of the horsemen to form the vanguard half a league farther on.

  Dain wondered how far they’d have to travel before the mountains pulled back. He’d heard that the northern territories of Rithmar were sparsely inhabited and bleak. The northern edge of the Highlands merged into spreading swamps, and after that it rose into rolling, bleak moors. He remembered seeing a map of the area once, and recalled there was a vast lake to the north, shaped like a slightly misshapen kidney. Harrowmere—that was its name.

  Deep in thought, Dain marched alongside men he didn’t know. There was little in the way of conversation around him—like him, the other soldiers were preparing themselves for what lay ahead, or perhaps thinking of those they’d left behind.

  Casting a glance over his shoulder, Dain strained to catch sight of the convoy of wagons in the rearguard. However, the mist was too thick; he couldn’t see further than a few yards back.

  A horn blew up ahead, the mournful sound drifting down the valley, signaling that the army would take a brief rest. Around him, men grunted in relief, some of them chatting amongst themselves for the first time all morning, as they opened their packs and pulled out travel rations. Many sat down at the roadside to eat. Yet Dain couldn’t rest. He slipped out of the ranks and walked back along the road, threading his way through crowds of soldiers. He’d never seen so many men together in one place. He wasn’t sure how big the army was, but from where he stood it looked as if there were a thousand strong at least. The rumble of men’s voices echoed off the sides of the valley.

  Dain broke into a jog. He needed to get back to the rearguard before the army moved on. He hadn’t seen Asher since setting out, and wondered how the enchanter would manage to find him in this chaos.

  I need to find Lilia.

  A short while later, he’d almost reached the first of the wagons, when the thud of hoof beats behind him, made Dain turn. Asher rode up, astride a fine grey stallion, along the muddied verge. “There you are,” he greeted Dain brusquely. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

  Dain looked up at him, noting the tension on the enchanter’s face. Asher was risking much to help them. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever find me. Are we close?”

  Asher nodded. “Follow me.”

  The convoy of supply wagons were tightly packed so Asher was forced to dismount and lead his horse through their midst. He led Dain to a wagon covered by a blue tarpaulin. Drawn by two heavy bay horses, the wagon sat in the midst of the convoy. A young man sat up front, eating his noon meal of salted meat and bread. He watched Asher curiously as he approached.

  “What do you want?”

  Asher reached into a pouch at his waist and extracted a silver talent. He passed the shiny coin up to the lad, who grasped it eagerly, his eyes widening. “What’s that for?”

  “You never saw us here,” Asher said gently. “Understand?”

  The young man stared down at him a moment before realization dawned, and he nodded.

  Asher and Dain walked on, a few steps more. Then the enchanter halted, passed the reins to Dain, and began to untie the edge of the tarpaulin.

  Dain leaned close, whispering. “Can you trust him not to say anything?”

  “I don’t know,” Asher admitted, before favoring him with a half-smile. “However, silver usually buys a man’s silence.”

  Lilia stretched, pushed back her hood slightly, and raised her face to the day. It wasn’t much of a day—the fog still hung low overhead—but it was a welcome sight after hours trapped inside the wagon.

  “Better?”

  Lilia finished her stretch and glanced acro
ss at where Dain leaned against the wagon, watching her. “Aye.” Now that she’d emptied her bladder and stretched out her cramped limbs, she was able to concentrate on other things again.

  He stepped close, his hand tracing the line of her jaw. His eyes were deep-blue, the color of a summer’s sky just before sunset. His nearness caused Lilia’s pulse to quicken. She wanted to melt into his arms, to kiss him, but she was aware that they weren’t alone.

  Ryana and Asher stood a couple of feet away, next to a grey horse. They weren’t focused on Dain and Lilia—their heads bent close together as they talked in low voices—yet Lilia felt exposed here in the midst of the convoy of wagons. She could hear the rumble of male voices nearby, soldiers conversing while they finished their noon meal.

  The wagon driver appeared to be turning a blind eye, but she felt nervous nonetheless. She just hoped the surrounding army were too preoccupied to notice, or care, that two women had stowed away in one of the supply wagons.

  A horn blew once more, its wail stretching down the valley in a lonely call.

  Dain cursed under his breath. “So soon.”

  Lilia winced. “I suppose the king’s anxious to make up for lost time.”

  “I know, but we’ve hardly seen each other.”

  Lilia stepped close to him, her hand resting upon the leather breastplate of his armor. The soldier’s attire suited him, accentuating the width of his shoulders. “We’ll see each other after dark. Asher’s going to try and get a tent to himself and smuggle Ryana and me inside.”

  Dain nodded, reaching out and cupping her face with his hands. “Till tonight then.”

  He leaned in and kissed her, his mouth moving hungrily over hers. Lilia stifled a groan of need, her lips parting under his. Now she’d given in to her attraction to this man, she was greedy for him.

  The sound of a throat clearing behind them yanked Lilia back to her surroundings. Breathless, she pulled back from Dain and glanced over his shoulder at where Asher and Ryana waited.

  Asher was smiling, whereas Ryana wore a slightly stunned expression.

  “Enough of that.” Asher stepped back, still grinning, and gestured to the wagon. “Time to move on.”

  Inside the cramped space, it seemed even darker and more claustrophobic than earlier. Yet Lilia tried to ignore her discomfort. Half the day’s journey was over—she’d get out again after dark. She’d see Dain soon.

  The wagon lurched into motion, throwing the two women against each other. Lilia grappled for the edge of a crate and righted herself. Beside her, she heard Ryana shifting around in an attempt to get comfortable.

  After a few moments Ryana spoke, her voice wry. “I see much has changed since I was thrown down the Vault.”

  “It has,” Lilia admitted, suddenly embarrassed and glad Ryana couldn’t see her face properly in the dim interior. There was a brief pause before Ryana spoke again, her tone gentler. “I’m happy for you—he’s a good man.”

  Lilia felt her cheeks warm. She wasn’t used to having these kind of conversations. She’d always kept herself apart from others and missed out on the easy camaraderie many women shared. “He is,” she admitted, “although it’s taken me a while to see it.”

  Ryana laughed. “He hides that soft heart of his well.”

  “And I did my best to push him away.”

  “Well I’m glad you didn’t succeed—for you both.” They lapsed into awkward silence for a few moments before Ryana continued. “I’m sorry I haven’t been much company today.”

  Lilia turned, peering to make out Ryana’s face in the half-light. “That’s alright.”

  “No, it’s not really. I’ve been ungrateful and rude. It’s just that I feel I’ve made a mess of things—and I’m furious with myself.”

  Lilia regarded her for a few moments. Ryana was a different breed of woman to her: proud, and stubborn. She was also relentlessly hard on herself.

  “When it came to it, all I could think about was saving my own hide,” Ryana murmured. “I used you.”

  She had, but Lilia didn’t bear a grudge. “I know why you did it,” she replied quietly.

  “I shouldn’t have tried to gain favor with Thrindul—that was low.”

  Lilia snorted. “It was, but I think it bothered Saul more than it did me.”

  “I hope you stuck that bastard hard,” she muttered. The mention of Saul had changed Ryana’s mood from pensive to aggressive. “I hope he bleeds to death, if he hasn’t already.” The vehemence in Ryana’s voice took Lilia aback. Yet at the same time she agreed with her. She remembered the threat he’d made before leaping out the window—that it wasn’t over between them.

  Lilia suppressed a shudder.

  Dead, Saul of Anthor wouldn’t cause her any more trouble.

  The Rithmar Army camped at the bottom of a wide vale, shortly before nightfall.

  For safety, the troops bunched tightly together. The vanguard, main army, flanks and rearguard all crammed into one area so that the Enchanters of the Light could form a perimeter around the encampment.

  There had been no sign of shadow creatures during the day, but as soon as dusk stretched its fingers across the land, the air changed. The odor of hot iron drifted across the encampment, as if there was a smith’s forge nearby. The wooded sides of the vale erupted with chatters, shrieks and howls. The cracking of twigs and the rustling of undergrowth, reached the edges of the camp where Asher was organizing the first watch.

  His gaze narrowed as he looked out into the gloaming at the dark shapes moving in the trees at the top of the rise.

  Behind him, the noise of the army making camp was almost deafening; it was chaos with so many men and horses packed in so close. However, it was necessary. There weren’t enough Enchanters of the Light to ward the entire army, if they remained stretched out along the valley.

  Smoke from cook fires drifted up throughout the camp, merging with the cap of low cloud overhead. Even though it was not yet dark, the enchanters standing nearby stood next to flaming torches, which had all been driven into the damp earth. All the wards were in place; Asher had set out enchanters around ten yards apart, the furthest distance he’d risk in order to keep the perimeter in place.

  Asher stood back, his gaze travelling over the line of robed figures stretching either side of him. It was time to raise the light sphere.

  “Flora,” he called to the enchanter nearest to him. “Gather the Light.”

  The tall, dusky-skinned woman nodded and swept her right hand out before her, as if gathering a net. The burning torch next to her roared high into the darkening sky, creating a shimmering curtain of fire. A moment later, the enchanter next to Flora did the same, and then the next, and the next. One by one, the veil of fire lifted around the encampment, sealing all within.

  Asher remained until the sphere was completely in place, before he checked the wards once more.

  “I’ll return with the others to take the next watch,” he told Flora.

  “How many nights till the Shadefells?” she asked, keeping her gaze fixed upon the hand she held outstretched before her.

  Asher considered. “Four to the Lonely Crossroads, and then another four, possibly five at the speed this army is traveling, to the feet of the mountain range.”

  Flora sucked in a breath. “I hope they’re not expecting us to fight once we get there—we’ll all be drained.”

  Asher grimaced. “That’s the problem,” he replied, lowering his voice. “None of us know what we’ll find once we reach the mountains.”

  37

  Day’s End

  Lilia looked out through her tiny window—a gap in the tarpaulin—her gaze travelling over a landscape of yellowed grass and blackened, stunted trees. It was four days since they’d left the capital and the lofty peaks of the Rithmar Highlands now lay far to the south. Thankfully, they had also left the stinking, midge-infested marshes behind, although the empty moors that followed were hardly welcoming. The Great Road currently cut a path through rolling
downs of wind-seared grass.

  “What a depressing place,” she murmured.

  Ryana shifted next to her, awakening from a fitful doze. “Aye, the northern territories of Rithmar are known for their bleakness. This was once the domain of The Shadow King; his fortress Dûn Maras lies north of here on the shores of Harrowmere—I imagine we’re drawing close to the lake now.”

  Lilia peered through the gap. The wagon had just crested the top of one of the hills, and she caught a glimpse of sparkling water to the northeast.

  “That must be it,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

  Ryana gave a soft laugh. “Did your parents not tell you the legend about Harrowmere when you were a child?”

  Lilia turned from gazing outside. “No—what of it?”

  “The story goes that Harrowmere was formed by the tears of a lonely princess.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes—beautiful Princess Harrow once lived with her people in the foothills of the Shadefell Mountains. Suitors came from all over Serran, hoping to win her hand, but she showed no interest in any of them. Instead she fell in love with a goatherd—much to her father’s fury. The king would not have his daughter wed a man so lowborn, so he forced the young man to join his army, and go off to war far to the south. Harrow waited for her lover’s return, but he never did. When she finally realized he was dead, she wept a lake of tears in grief.”

  Lilia turned back to the view. Despite the drab weather and a chill breeze, the lake shone like polished steel. She reflected on the story for a moment; it was a sad one. There was so much sorrow in the world.

  Swiveling around, and leaning her back against the wooden crate behind her, Lilia cast a glance in Ryana’s direction. “We’ve been travelling together for weeks now, but I feel I know so little about you.”

  Ryana snorted. “There’s nothing to know.”