by Jayne Castel
The star branded onto the palm of his right hand glowed silver; pulsing white-hot in the darkness. Apart from the torch in his left hand, it was the only weapon he wielded.
Don’t fail me.
Asher fought in the middle of the field now. His world had shrunk to a diameter of five-feet around him, hemmed in by a wall of writhing bodies. He had no idea where Thrindul and Irana were, if they were even still alive, or whether King Nathan was safe.
Asher was now concerned wholly with his own survival.
He and his enchanters had cut a swathe through the front ranks of shadow creatures, and now he faced men: big, leather-clad men brandishing iron and steel.
Till now, the Light had proved a powerful weapon, for the creatures of darkness shrank away from it, or fell back howling when he lashed whips of fire into their midst. But The Brotherhood weren’t afraid of the Light. They ran at the enchanters, screaming filth and swinging broadswords, double-headed axes and huge, spiked maces.
In front of Asher, one of the enchanters of the Light—a man named Brennan—went down. A blade sliced through the enchanter’s neck, spraying Asher with blood. Brennan crumpled. There was no time to help him, no time to even glance down to see his end, for a hand axe flew through the air, straight at Asher’s forehead.
Asher twisted and ducked. The axe skimmed past him, catching his temple as it went. Only his quick reflexes had saved him from having it embedded in his skull. A stinging pain flowered across his forehead, and he felt the wet warmth of blood trickling down his cheek. But, once again, there was no time to hesitate.
The Brotherhood closed in on him.
Four of them—big bastards with faces twisted in savagery—advanced. Asher couldn’t see any of the other enchanters now, or Nathan’s soldiers.
He stood alone.
Asher’s gaze swept over them, taking their measure. There was no fear, no panic. Time slowed down. The roar of battle quietened, and Asher’s head cleared. There was nothing but stillness now. He stood in the eye of the storm, where even his own thoughts could not intrude.
He met the gaze of one of The Brotherhood warriors coming for him; the biggest of the four who swung a mace the size of a man’s head.
Come, he called to the Light as he swept his right hand before him. We’re not finished yet.
This close to death, life had never seemed so precious. He’d never take it for granted again. He’d fight for it—right to the bitter end.
Light flared in his right hand, so bright that the men flinched and shielded their eyes from the glare.
Recovering swiftly, they lunged, howling the battle cry of The Brotherhood.
Grinning savagely, Asher stepped forward to meet them.
The flare of the torch sputtering into life made Lilia draw back. She squinted, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. After hours spent in darkness, her eyes had adjusted to it. The light hurt her now.
Recovering, she glanced around at her companions. One look at their faces told Lilia of the strain they’d all been under. Ryana’s eyes were hollowed in the flickering light, her face all tight angles, her mouth thinned. Dain was haggard, although he wore a hard expression, his blue eyes narrowed against the light. And Saul … Saul was a mess. One eye was swollen shut, his bottom lip was split and his nose was broken, swollen and bruised.
Lilia sucked in her breath. “Shadows, Saul … your face.”
Saul gave her a lopsided smile, wincing as his lip hurt him.
Lilia glanced across at Dain, frowning as their gazes met. She’d prepared herself for Saul’s injuries but the sight disturbed her nonetheless.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said quietly. “He had it coming.”
Lilia bit back the anger bubbling up inside her and focused instead on her surroundings. They stood just inside the entrance to the Caverns of the Lost. Massive black pillars rose around them, forming a grand entry into the caverns. It was eerily quiet in here, away from the wind and the thunder of battle far below. The air smelled dusty and dry.
Ryana held the torch aloft and stepped forward, studying Saul’s battered face before her gaze slid down his body. He wasn’t standing straight; clearly favoring his left side. “Are you even fit to fight?”
He nodded. “It looks worse than it feels.”
“I wasn’t talking about your face.”
Saul’s mouth quirked, before his gaze flicked to Lilia. “I can fight.”
Lilia watched him. She hadn’t realized she’d wounded him so badly. However, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about it; he’d been trying to steal The King Breaker after all, and would have harmed her to get it.
It had been self-defense.
They moved away from the entrance and began their journey into the dark. After a few yards, the entry widened out into a great hall. Lined with tall columns, with a spider-vaulted ceiling and a mosaic floor, it was a grand, kingly space.
It was also deserted.
Lilia followed Ryana and Saul down the long hall, with Dain bringing up the rear. She looked down at the intricately patterned mosaic floor, noting that it resembled the sky at night—a sea of black, studded with stars of varying sizes and a great silver moon in its center.
The only sound in this empty place was the scuff of their boots as they crossed the floor.
“The Hall of the Night Sky,” Ryana murmured, her voice echoing in the stillness. “I thought it was just a legend.”
At the far end rose a great stone dais, and upon it a throne made of black stone. The massive chair gleamed in the lambent light and Lilia realized it was made of obsidian, like the pillars at the entrance and the Altars of Umbra Valgarth had placed in the center of every settlement in Serran.
“It’s a magnificent hall,” Dain said, his tone subdued as he glanced around. “I didn’t think anything belonging to The Shadow King would be pleasant to look upon.”
Ryana snorted. “Even evil can appreciate beauty.”
At the back of the hall, behind the dais, a wide stone arch led through into a passageway. In stark contrast, although this corridor was lofty, it was rough-hewn, carved out of pitted rock. There were unlit torches hanging from the walls here, and Lilia took one for herself and lit it from Ryana’s.
Unspeaking, the party continued down the corridor. The air grew colder and staler, and Lilia was glad of her heavy woolen mantle. She hadn’t expected to like this place, but even so found it difficult not to let her imagination take hold. She tried not to think of the thousands of men and women who had toiled to carve out these caverns, before they dropped dead from exhaustion. She also tried not to think of the weight of the mountain pressing down upon her.
This was the place of her nightmares; the last place a girl who was afraid of the dark should venture. But, here she was nonetheless.
They reached the end of the corridor and stepped into a wide, unpaved space. Here, the four of them stopped and gazed around them. They had stepped into a gallery—with at least thirty entrances all leading off in different directions. A fine layer of dust covered the stone floor, and there were footprints everywhere.
Lilia halted next to Ryana, and the two women shared a glance. Behind them, Saul let out a ragged sigh, while Dain cursed under his breath.
Lilia’s gaze traveled around the gallery, sliding over the entranceways. They all looked identical. “Do the footprints lead anywhere?” she asked, hopeful.
“No,” Dain announced curtly. “They appear to lead into all the entrances.”
“Someone’s either been here searching each passage, one by one,” Saul rasped, “or they’ve arranged the footsteps to confuse anyone who came after. Either way, it doesn’t help us.”
43
Finding the Way
“I was worried we’d encounter this.” Ryana’s voice echoed through the gallery, mocking the four figures who stood at its center. “The Ice Door isn’t exactly signposted.”
Saul turned to Ryana. “Come on then—choose a pa
ssage.”
Ryana frowned at him. “We can’t just strike out blindly; we’ll never find the door that way.”
“Well, how do we select one then?”
Ryana handed him her torch, and shifted her staff to her left hand, freeing up her right. “I’ll send out scouts. One will tell us the way.”
Her companions looked on as Ryana gathered the Dark. There were plenty of shadows in this hollow space for her to call upon. They scuttled and scampered across the dusty floor, chattering as they came, clustering around her feet like adoring pets.
Ryana whispered words to them, her voice gentle and coaxing. All the while, her right hand moved over them, gathering the Dark close.
Lilia watched the shadows lift off the stone floor and head off in different directions, each cluster taking a different passage. Moments later, they had all disappeared on their errands.
Saul grunted. “Clever. Saves us hours of searching.”
“We don’t have hours,” Ryana pointed out dryly, before she lowered herself onto the ground. Stretching out her legs before her, she glanced up at her companions, who were all still standing, watching her. “Sit down—we can’t do anything now but wait.”
They waited.
Time drew out and the night waned, creeping toward dawn.
The four companions said little during their wait, although they grew increasingly tense, the longer the delay became.
Eventually, Ryana’s shadow scouts started to return, but the news wasn’t good. These ones had found nothing but endless empty passageways and dead-ends on their travels inside the mountain. No door of ice. No prison of endless winter.
Eventually, Lilia grew agitated. Not only that, but she had lost all feeling in her backside from sitting on cold, hard stone. Rising to her feet, she began to prowl the perimeter of the gallery, peering into each entrance in the hope one would yield a clue. “Why’s Valgarth trapped in here anyway?” she asked.
“After Dûn Maras fell, his host was pushed back into the mountains,” Dain replied. “Once the United Armies of Serran breached the caverns, he took refuge in the labyrinth of passages inside the mountain. It was at the dead end of one that he and a company of his most loyal followers made their final stand.”
Lilia halted and glanced across at where Ryana was listening to Dain’s explanation. “They used The King Breaker to trap him?”
Ryana nodded. “And in doing so, the enchanter wielding it was killed—and the talisman snapped in two.”
Lilia sighed, impatience making her snappish. “What time is it? Dawn must be approaching.”
“It’s not far off,” Ryana admitted. “I thought my shadows would have located the door by now. The tunnels inside the mountain go deeper than I thought.”
Lilia stopped pacing and turned to her companions. Ryana sat cross-legged on the stone floor, while Dain and Saul sprawled either side of her. “What are we going to do, if they don’t find it?” she murmured. “Gael and Brand will be here soon.”
“We could always hide in one of the tunnels, and follow them when they get here?” Dain suggested. He had propped himself up on an elbow and was regarding Lilia steadily.
“That’s risky,” Saul said. “They’re likely to hear us.”
“Or we could ambush them here?” Dain replied.
Ryana raked a hand through her messy blonde mane. “I’d rather not—it’s too open here—difficult to set wards.” She paused, her face tightening. “But, if my shadows fail, that’ll be our only option.”
Gael stood on the brow of the hill, and watched the battle unfolding below.
He’d never seen such a spectacle. The noise was incredible; a wall of sound that lifted off the vale and echoed high into the sky. For a time it had seemed as if the Rithmar force would win—for it was definitely the better organized of the two armies—but as the night drew on, and the Enchanters of the Light fell or exhausted themselves, the tide slowly turned.
One by one, those flares of light winked out. And each time one did, the shadow host grew stronger.
King Nathan was still there, fighting in the midst. Gael could see his banner, listing now under the onslaught.
Not much longer.
All these years he’d waited, and now—finally—the road was clear before him. There had been times over the past decade when he’d thought he’d never find the second half of The King Breaker. He’d hardly believed it, when Brand had sent word from the House of Light and Darkness that Ryana had returned … with the second half of the talisman.
Ryana.
Gael sometimes thought of her. He’d sacrificed much for this life, and regretted little. Yet the despair in her eyes that last time he’d seen her haunted him sometimes; visiting him at quiet times, usually just before drifting off to sleep or upon waking in the morning. He’d told her that he didn’t care, but it had been a lie.
It was easier that way—to sever all ties and let her take the blame for losing the stone.
There had been plenty of women after Ryana, but none had left a mark upon him like she had. Brand had told him Ryana was now locked in the Vault, under the House of Light of Darkness.
When Valgarth is free and we march there, I will find her, he promised himself.
Gael checked himself. The Shadow King still waited behind the Ice Door. He needed to focus on the task before him.
Ryana didn’t matter, the next few hours did.
Even through the heavy cap of cloud overhead, he could see that the eastern sky was lightening. At the bottom of the hill, he saw a figure, sandy hair gleaming in the light of the torch he carried, approaching.
Brand.
The young enchanter reached him, his round face pink, his eyes bright. “We are gaining the advantage,” he announced, out of breath from the climb. “Have you seen?”
Gael nodded, smiling. “I never had any doubt we would.”
The pair of them stepped out onto the track and began the climb up the mountain. The way was narrow, stony and potholed but the two men scaled the slope quickly. A forest of jagged, black rocks rose up either side of the path, towering overhead.
As they climbed, Gael stole glances at his companion. Brand had come a long way from the awkward lad Trond had brought back from Errad all those years ago. It had been a boon to discover the boy showed signs of the Dark, as Gael himself had at the same age. Raised by his gutter-whore mother in Errad until her death, Brand had been desperate to ingratiate himself with Trond. However, the only reason the soldier had anything to do with his bastard son was to further The Brotherhood’s cause.
“Has Trond spoken to you?” Gael asked finally, slightly out of breath as they began the steepest part of the climb. “Will he make you his captain as promised?” The question was cruel, for Gael knew that Trond had ignored his son since his arrival. The commander’s joy at having both pieces of The King Breaker in custody had been short-lived.
Brand’s face tensed. “He won’t speak of it.” The young man cast Gael a penetrating look then, showing the steel that lay just beneath the surface. “What about you, what are your plans once Valgarth is free?”
Gael smiled. “It goes without saying—I’ll serve him.”
“Really? It seems to me that you serve only one person, Gael—yourself.”
Gael laughed. He liked the enchanter’s sharp tongue; it made their conversations interesting. “I admit it freely. Putting your fate in someone else’s hands is a fool’s move.”
“So why serve The Shadow King?”
Gael met Brand’s eye, his expression turning serious. “Valgarth is the only enchanter in history who’s been able to wield both the Light and the Dark. I want to learn how he did it.”
Brand considered his words for a moment, before answering. “I must admit, I’m curious about that as well.”
Gael gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t pretend you’re not as ambitious as me.”
Brand shrugged. “I’m a man with aspirations, I admit it, but not like you.”
Brand stiffened. The atmosphere between them turned glacial then, but Gael didn’t care. He was enjoying the exchange, even if Brand now wasn’t. He liked seeing how far he could push people—although he had to admit that Brand had more self-control than most.
After a few moments, his companion spoke. “The Shadow King will be pleased to meet you,” he said, his tone neutral. “You’ll make a great general—just the man to lead his Shadow Army to victory in the south.”
Gael snorted. “If Trond doesn’t try to take that position for himself.”
“They’ve found it.”
Ryana sprang to her feet with such suddenness that her companions all started. Both Dain and Lilia were standing—too filled with nervous energy to sit still any longer—whereas Saul had been dozing on his side.
“This way.”
Ryana grabbed her staff and headed toward one of the many entrances to her right.
“Wait,” Saul grunted, struggling to get to his feet. Lilia glanced back and saw he was on his knees, his face was twisted in agony. She hurried back to him and reached out a hand. “Here—let me help you.”
Their gazes met and his mouth thinned. “Dain’s right—you are way too soft-hearted.”
“Shut up and take my hand.”
He did so, and she pulled him to his feet. A moment later, they were heading toward the entrance, with Dain close behind.
Ryana strode out ahead, torch aloft, as she led the way down a long, snaking tunnel. It seemed to go on for an age, until it ended suddenly, opening out into a wide cavern. Lilia followed the others inside, shivering at the wave of raw, dank cold that hit her. It was so cold in the cavern that their breaths steamed like wood smoke on a winter’s night. Walls of dark schist and granite surrounded them, and a cleft in the ceiling let in a draft.