The Book of Never: Volumes 1-5

by Ashley Capes

  Someone else then.

  Peering up and down the line of tents, he caught a glimpse of barrels and crates stacked together. He gestured to the others and crept down the line, stepped over tent pegs and detoured torches that burned on stakes driven into the hard earth.

  He passed the barrels, which would have been filled with arrows or crossbow bolts, and moved to the next stacks. Most were square, too short. From the markings, they housed breastplates. Further along, there waited three sets of rectangular boxes.

  Longswords.

  Perfect. Creeping along the stone, he lifted one end of the first box, pausing for Luis to grip the opposite end. Together, they took a few steps toward the deeper shadows beyond the camp.

  A voice groaned from a nearby tent.

  Never froze.

  Muttering continued, following by a scrambling as if for a tent flap. A soldier burst from the tent and stumbled into the row, then fell to his knees, retching. Never kept still, watching. Luis was frozen too, but Tsolde had a hand on her own blade and was circling the tent.

  If she had to use it, would the glow of the sword be concealed by the tent?

  The fellow continued to empty his stomach, eventually falling down.

  He did not move.

  Never met Luis’ eyes. Poison? Never lowered his end of the crate and waved Tsolde back. She joined them and lowered her voice. “What happened?”

  Horns rang out in the night.

  Torches blazed and figures leapt from the darkness, converging on the camp from beyond the tower. Fire bloomed and cries soon followed, joined by the clash of steel on steel. An attack, but whom?

  Best not to find out until the fighting had died down.

  Never waved Luis and Tsolde into the stones but they’d barely taken half a dozen steps when a voice cried for them to halt. “I’ll shoot you all,” it promised. “Do not move.” The man spoke from the opposite end of the camp, as if he’d approached from the Hanik side of the King’s Road.

  Never did as he was instructed, Tsolde and Luis following.

  Light bloomed.

  “They’re not Vadiya, sir,” the same voice called. “Just like I thought.”

  More footsteps and a rasping voice. “Very well, hold them, Mondesa. We’ll clean up and see what you’ve caught.”

  Never blinked when he realised that Mondesa and the raspy fellow were speaking Marlosi.

  “Drop those weapons and kneel,” Mondesa continued. He sounded young, but his voice was still hard.

  Never complied, the blade clanking with a vaguely metallic sound, but one unlike regular steel. “We’re not working with the Vadiya,” Never said. “We’d be happy to talk to your Captain,” he said.

  “He’s just as anxious to speak with you,” Mondesa said. “So save your breath for then; no more talking.”

  Again, Never complied. It wasn’t time to try anything bold. And besides, the Marlosi were not likely to detain them, not when they had a common enemy. Waiting quickly grew painful, the cold of the mountain seeping into his knees, but he did not complain. Luis and Tsolde were equally stoic as the sounds of the Vadiya being slaughtered soon faded away.

  The sentry who’d complained of feeling unwell and the man who’d lost his last meal, the relative ease with which the Marlosi force appeared to have subdued the camp, all now made sense.

  All that wonderful-smelling stew had obviously been laced with poison.

  A classic tactic but one most armies would have guarded against. Had the Vadiya camp been over-confident? Or did the Marlosi possess some undetectable poison?

  Never shifted his bodyweight. No matter – in the end, the result was the same. The Vadiya were dead and he would be able to leave soon enough to find the Altar of Stars before the new moon tomorrow night.

  All they had to do was convince Mondesa’s superior that they were no threat.

  Easy.

  Chapter 26.

  “I don’t believe them; they’re hiding something, I’ll bet my sword on it,” said the rasping voice of Captain Sirgeto. His dark hair had been hacked off near his shoulders, a grey streak running through it. Unshaven, the man appeared a mercenary but the battered imperial breastplate suggested otherwise – as did the red stallion engraved in the hilt of his longsword.

  Never looked to Luis and Tsolde, bound beside him in the quiet watchtower. Neither refuted the Captain’s claim. The man hadn’t appeared to listen to much of what they’d had to say thus far – dawn was already breaking outside.

  The last day Never had to find the altar.

  The Marlosi soldier continued to pace the interior of the watchtower’s ground floor, passing before the flames and casting shadows as he did. At least the room was warm; though Sirgeto no longer seemed inclined to stay long. Eventually the Captain stopped, turning to the young, clean-shaven Mondesa and the other soldier. Unlike the Captain and Mondesa, the third man did not wear imperial clothing of white or red. Instead his mismatched armour and worn scabbard suggested an actual mercenary. “Your thoughts?” Sirgeto asked.

  The mercenary shrugged from where he sat atop a row of barrels. “Hard to say. Travellers is unlikely, and then there’s the strange swords,” he said, gesturing to the corner of the room, where the Amouni blades rested, their glow diffused somewhat by fireplace.

  “Mondesa?”

  The young man spread his hands. “I don’t think they’re spies. And I believe them when they say they hate the Vadiya as much as we do.”

  Sirgeto grunted. “That might be true but it’s not enough to satisfy me and we don’t have time to waste finding out the truth.”

  Never straightened. “Set us free; we will not interfere with your cause.”

  The Captain dragged a chair from a table and sat near the fireplace, stretching out his legs. “You want that to happen you’ll have to come up with a better story than what you’ve offered me so far.”

  Never sighed, letting his shoulders slump a little. “Very well, Captain. Luis and I are swords for hire. Tsolde hired us to sneak her into Marlosi.”

  The man still frowned but he did lean forward a little. “You look ragged enough to be plying the same trade as my friend, Vantinio here. Why did she hire you?”

  Vantinio chuckled.

  “To escape a marriage. Her husband-to-be is a piece of slime.”

  “And your noble hearts just couldn’t resist helping her, I take it?”

  Never shrugged. “She did offer to pay us.”

  Sirgeto faced Tsolde. “That true?”

  “Yes. Baron Floriak will never lay another finger on me – I’d rather you kill me than send me back,” she said, a seething but controlled fury clear in her voice. Never knew she wasn’t exactly acting; she truly loathed the man.

  Sirgeto raised an eye-brow. “Floriak?”

  “Yes.”

  The Captain stood and headed for the door. “Bring them.”

  Never was nudged toward the exit, Luis and Tsolde too. “No sudden moves, now,” Vantinio said.

  Weak light spread across the wreckage of the camp, trampled tents and bodies everywhere. They passed a blood-stained bedroll, its edges torn. Char filled the air and Marlosi soldiers picked through the mess, salvaging supplies. Never only got a glance before he was pushed along again, but the imperial force numbered half those they’d defeated.

  Beyond the watchtower the King’s Road started to slope down into Marlosa, though nothing was truly different, same grey stone and pine trees, their needles near black in the dawn light.

  Yet there was one notable feature.

  Three bodies swung from a recently constructed gallows. Two men were Hanik and one wore Marlosa colours. The Captain signalled for Tsolde to move closer to the purple faces.

  Tsolde glared at him. “What do you want?”

  “It’s not full light, you need to
be closer to see,” he said, and studied her as she stepped forward.

  Never added his own frown to the collection of unhappy faces gathered. What was Sirgeto’s game? Tsolde examined the faces a moment... and then her shoulders began to shake and she lurched forward, expression one of rage.

  “Tsolde?” Luis asked.

  Sirgeto caught her by the shoulders, and held her back, meeting her gaze. His voice was gentle. “We can leave him there, if you wish?”

  Tsolde swallowed. “No. Cut him down and cast him into a ravine.”

  Sirgeto released her and nodded to the others. Mondesa reached up to cut through the ropes and Vantinio caught the bodies of the first two, laying them across the stone. The third body, the man Tsolde had reacted to, slumped to the gallows and rolled to an ungraceful halt.

  Baron Floriak.

  Never had not met the man, but it was the obvious explanation. Which meant the other two were commanders of the border. All had no doubt been killed by the Vadiya; Floriak discovering that reward for treachery was simply more treachery.

  Tsolde turned away and Luis moved closer, letting her lean against him a moment.

  “You believe us,” Never said.

  Sirgeto scratched his cheek. “One more question. Those swords, where did they come from?”

  Never hesitated. If he told them and they went down there looking for more... they’d not be able to open any of the doors but the stone wraiths remained. “Beneath the earth,” he said. “We were forced to take the Iron Pass thanks to the large force of Vadiya that we told you about,” he said.

  Vantinio gave a low whistle but Sirgeto didn’t react. “Enchanted blades in the Iron Pass sounds crazy enough to be true. And I’ll be letting you go but keeping the swords.”

  Never drew in a breath but did not object. The blades were ancient and no doubt powerful beyond what they’d revealed so far. They were part of his heritage... but they were not the Altar of Stars. He knew where many more swords could be found, if he truly cared.

  “Something to say, Never?” the Captain asked.

  “Only that you should be careful with them. We don’t know if they are dangerous or not.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Sirgeto said. He waved a hand as he started off, calling over his shoulder. “Mondesa. Set them free and help them along – take from the Vadiya supplies but be quick about it. We have another trap to set.”

  The young soldier took Never’s hands and sliced through the ropes, doing the same for Luis and Tsolde. He smiled when he gestured they should follow. “I’m glad we don’t have to kill you.”

  “That makes four of us,” Never said.

  Mondesa wove through the wreckage and stopped near the crates, where he rummaged around a moment, before coming up with a serviceable-looking Vadiya blade. Shorter than the Marlosi swords, it was still a killing tool. “What do you think?”

  “I’d prefer knives, if possible,” Never said.

  The man dropped the blade. “No problem – why don’t you look around and I’ll work on some supplies.”

  Never thanked him and started collecting what he could from the crates, then it was time to pilfer from the dead. Unpleasant enough with all the blood and the lingering stench of old vomit, but at the end of his scavenging, he’d replaced his missing knives. Not his preferred cast, but he’d adjust to extra weight quickly. He also found a new belt, some coin, a black cloak and a pack which he filled with water, tasteless but nourishing travel rations and cooking tools.

  When Mondesa returned to add more food and tightly-rolled tents to their plundering, Luis and Tsolde joined him. Luis now carried a spear once again, and the weapon suited him like a long lost partner. He also bore a new blue tunic over a Vadiya breastplate. Tsolde wore a short sword in addition to a new belt knife. He couldn’t recall whether she’d taken any training for sword play – hacking the stone-wraiths was altogether different to fighting a trained swordsman.

  Something he would worry about later.

  “If you’re heading deep into Marlosa, watch yourselves on the plains; they’re crawling with Vadiya. You might be better hiding out in Quisa.”

  “How goes the resistance?” Luis asked.

  Mondesa sighed. “A small victory such as today is all we seem to manage. The problem is, we aren’t coordinated. Sirgeto says if we could find the Empress, she’d pull everyone together.”

  “Then Crisina lives yet?” Never asked.

  “So we think,” he said. “She was last heard from near Monasema Mountains.”

  A voice called across the camp. “Move it along, Sergeant.” Captain Sirgeto was striding through the corpses, heading back toward the watchtower.

  “Pacela watch over you then,” Mondesa said as he hurried after his commanding officer.

  Never flipped a blade into his hand then tossed it up, snatching it from the air. “Time to finally find the mysterious Altar of Stars.”

  “Any ideas yet?” Luis asked.

  “Nothing, but if it’s anything like the buried city, I’ll feel it, Luis. Of that I’m sure.”

  Chapter 27.

  Nightfall landed across the King’s Road – called the Folhan Highway on the Marlosa side – the worn trail sloping ever-downward but revealing no Altar of Stars, no altars of any sort. Yet he did have the urge to drag his feet onwards. Something lay near, some space that had once held meaning for the Amouni.

  Full dark and the new moon unrisen yet, time remained on his side for the moment.

  “Hope we’re getting closer, Never,” Tsolde said.

  “As do I.” He turned toward a stand of trees beside the road. He increased his pace as best he could in the uneven light. “Maybe sooner than I thought.”

  Hidden at the end of a narrow trail and tucked between two spurs, lay a grove. It was set back far enough from the road to make an ideal campsite – something others had done, many times over the years, if the generations of ash on the ground were any indicator.

  Yet it would not be perfect. A clearing within the towering pine trees did not offer full shelter. It lay open to the elements on one side, the pines offering a screen in a half-circle only.

  “This is the place,” he said. “I cannot say why, but we are here.”

  The trunks were broad, open to the sky – branches did not begin until nearly half-way up the tree. He approached the first, placing a hand against the rough surface. There, a ridge, as if bark had closed over an old wound. Someone had sawn away the lower branches a long time ago.

  Shrubs crowded the area beneath the trunks, though some of the taller sections of undergrowth had been cleared. Again, some time ago, but far, far more recently than the shorn limbs.

  The tree second from the end seemed to have fallen prey to some manner of wood-land disease but the sixth stood tall and smooth. He slapped a hand against the wood, a smile shifting his cheeks. A good feeling. “We’re here. This is the altar.”

  “It doesn’t look like a traditional altar,” Luis said.

  “No. But this is the place. We just have to wait now,” he replied.

  “And then what?” Tsolde asked.

  “Excellent question.”

  Never helped set up camp while he waited for the new moon, shielding their small fire with the tents as best they could. Then it was simply time to sit, fire warming the night as the meat sizzled on the pot lid.

  Luis appeared happy enough, leaning back to eat with a contented smile, but Tsolde had taken little and her expression was flat. When she eventually stood to walk into the trees, mentioning something about standing watch, Never exchanged a look of worry with Luis before following. Her short figure stared across the empty road.

  “Never, I’m fine,” she said without turning.

  “So I see.”

  “No joking around, all right? I just want to be alone.”

 
He checked for sap then leant against a tree. “I really should keep an eye on you, to be safe – and you don’t need to say it, I know you’re thinking you can take care of yourself. And you do, you’re good at it too.”

  She drew in a breath then nodded, her curls near-to-black in the night. A small stone clinked across the ground beyond the tree-line, illuminated by growing starlight. Tsolde threw another, then her shoulders slumped. “It’s nice to hear that, Never.”

  “Want to talk about Floriak?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  Never turned to footsteps. Luis appeared, waving his arm. “Never, something’s happening.”

  He dashed back to the clearing, nearly trampling Luis’ heels before skidding to a halt. Starlight was still splashed across the tree trunks but now something stirred in response, like the five-pointed leaf responding to the moon on the Amber Isle.

  He stepped closer.

  Images swam in fiery blue lines, as if small ghosts were trapped within. The scene was wide enough to cover each trunk, and while watching it, the thin gaps between the trees offered black lines of emptiness – and part of the scene was missing, due to the fifth tree.

  But the images were clear enough.

  War, slaughter.

  Blood.

  A swarm of armoured men hailed arrows, spears and sword blows upon a circle of robed Amouni. Where the Amouni stood, it was behind a thunderous force of blood – the torrents shattered bones and cast men aside, seared them where they screamed.

  Yet the Amouni were heavily outnumbered.

  And the armies were not without their own magics. Some hurled lightning down from the sky or threw fireballs of their own. Lightning shattered against an unseen barrier above the Amouni, others struck with explosions of dirt and limbs flickering on the tree trunks.

  Next, the scene leapt forward in time, and the leaders of the armies were sifting through the robed corpses. When they lifted their bounty from the ash and blood, it was to show a companion a jewelled amulet, sometimes a dagger or other weapon, but always the sense of power was clear. Men and women from Hanik, so it seemed, and Vadiya, Marlosa and Kiymako too, from all lands, were pilfering such objects.