by Joshua Khan
“What in the name of the Six is happening here?” Lily pulled Zephyr up to a sharp stop as she entered through Skeleton Gate.
Custard appeared out of nowhere, literally, and barked and jumped around the horse’s hooves.
The courtyard, normally used for weapons training and riding practice, was now a campsite.
Most had wandered in on foot, carrying bundles of blankets and food. Others had loaded furniture and older relatives on top of their wagons. Children herded in goats and sheep, and baskets of squawking chickens dangled off the backs of farmers.
Dozens of small fires smoldered among crude tents and hastily erected huts. A bunch of squires were chopping up logs for a queue of waiting villagers. Another group lined up in front of a stack of barrels. The baker was handing out flour, two scoops per family.
Those are our winter supplies.
Music rose over the din of people and livestock. Merrick conducted his musicians up on the steps. His jugglers and acrobats had a clear space in front of the stables and were busy performing tricks and feats for a ragged crowd. Children clapped and the parents laughed as Merrick’s wife burst into song.
Thorn frowned. “She’s singing ‘The Old Duke’s Longsword,’ I think.”
Merrick joined her, to the cheers of the audience. So did a few of the donkeys, in their own way.
“Tsk,” Mary said when she and Dott arrived. The troll lifted her off the mule. “Look at this mess. Thank the Six I’m back.”
Mary stood in the center of Skeleton courtyard, hands resting on her wide hips, and rocked on her heels. She grabbed one of the stable boys by his collar. “Go find me the red ledger.”
“But it’s with the steward, Mary.”
“Get it off him.” She dropped him and clapped. “Gather round, you lot!”
“It’s funny,” said Thorn as he shoved the stable boys into a group to listen to Lily’s maid, “but I think we’ve got a chance if Mary’s back.”
“I know what you mean,” said Lily, smiling. “The castle hasn’t felt right, till now.”
The red ledger arrived, along with the steward. There was an audible sigh of relief when he handed Mary her precious book containing list after list of what the castle required to run properly. Mary tutted as she flicked through the pages. “We should have double this amount of flour. And what’s this with the salted beef? Don’t tell me Hades ate all the cows!” She slammed the book shut. “Any villager with an animal to slaughter—go tell them we’ll pay double market rate, but only if they sell it to us right now. And that goes for eggs, too. Find out who’s got milking cows. Put them in the pens along Bone Yard.”
Thorn pointed toward a group of shambling figures by the entrance. “What are we going to do with them?”
People had brought more than just livestock; they’d brought their entire families.
Living and otherwise.
A zombie was hopping around, having dropped his leg somewhere. A small girl, his granddaughter or even great-granddaughter, was helping him search for it and lifting him back up whenever he fell, which was every few paces, or hops.
“I don’t know whether to laugh or…really laugh,” said Thorn. “Still, family is family.”
A squire ran up to take care of Lily’s horse. “M’lady Shadow! You’re back!”
“Who are all these people, Marts?” asked Thorn.
Lily gave the squire a second glance. Yes, Martin, that was his name.
How was it that Thorn remembered everyone’s name when he’d only been here three months? She’d lived here her whole life and could only put names to a dozen, maybe a score if pushed, of her servants.
Martin looked from her to Thorn and back, not sure whom he should direct his answer to. Which was irritating. It should be obvious. “Well?” she prompted.
“Local villagers. They’re here because of the trolls,” said Martin, answering the space between her and Thorn. “You must have heard the drums?”
“The trolls should never have gotten this close.” Lily grabbed his arm. “But what’s happened to Baron Sable? Where’s his army?”
“There isn’t one, not anymore,” Martin answered, pale-faced. “The trolls destroyed it.”
Wade had one arm in a sling. He was ashen, his eyes darkly ringed and wide with fear. Whatever had taken place, it now haunted his sleep.
“Go on, boy, tell us what happened,” said Old Colm, more kindly than Lily had ever heard him speak.
Wade nodded. “We met the trolls just south of Ice Bridge. They’d already crossed, and they were lined up to face us—just a few hundred yards lay between our two forces. Baron Sable didn’t waste any time. He had the archers fill the air with arrows for a few minutes, to get the trolls angry and stewed.”
“No discipline; trolls don’t know the meaning of the word,” said Sir Grimsoul. “That would have prompted a charge, yes, sonny?”
“That it did, m’lord. Or so we thought. The trolls came on, a broken, ragged line. Easy pickings for our cavalry. Baron Sable gave the signal, and the whole of the Black Guard galloped in.” Wade wiped his eyes. “Straight into a trap.”
Lily stared. “A trap?”
“Trolls came out of hiding, on both our flanks. They’d buried half their army in the snow. The weather was so bad we hadn’t spotted them, and…well, no one thought trolls could make such plans.” Wade sank. “The Black Guard was cut off, and that just left the militia. Everyone knew it was hopeless, but no one backed down. We fought till our spears broke, then fought with rocks and our bare hands. It was…horrible. The snow fell harder and harder, and you couldn’t see anything. All you heard was the screaming.”
Lily’s heart raced. She wanted to give Wade a reassuring hug; he looked so lost in it all, as if he was still on the battlefield. “What about the baron?”
“I don’t know, m’lady. All I heard was the horn sounding the retreat, and that’s what I did. We ran away as fast as we could. I hid in the mountains the first night. Then, by morning, I saw a line of Black Guard and others making their way back. I joined up, and they gave me new orders.” He drew a line across the table. “This is Grendel’s Gorge. We were to get across it with the squires and wounded and head back to Castle Gloom. Our fight was over. Whoever could still wield a sword was going to stay and make a last stand, to delay the trolls long enough for us to get back. That was three days ago.”
She couldn’t believe it. “Has anyone come back from the gorge?”
Old Colm’s answer was grim. “No, m’lady. We have to assume the worst.”
Thorn sat with Wade on a bench and put his arm around him. Wade seemed so…small.
They were in her study, her best men.
Correction: her best remaining men. She had Old Colm, Grimsoul, a few of the captains, and now Golgoth, who was determined to stay until they saved Gabriel. But there was no Baron Sable, and there was no Tyburn.
Lily thought back to when she’d arrived and walked through the Great Hall, unprepared for the shock, the scale, of the wounded soldiers lying there. The stench had been unbearable.
How could it have gone so wrong so quickly?
Golgoth leaned over the map of Gehenna. “Baron Sable—er, I mean the remaining Black Guard would have destroyed the bridge. That’ll slow the trolls down, won’t it?”
Lily joined him. “Only a little. There are too many other ways through the Troll-Teeth.”
Old Colm spoke. “A big army moves slower than most. I estimate they’re five days away, give or take.”
“Reinforcements, that’s the answer,” said Sir Grimsoul.
Old Colm snarled. “And where are we to get them? Baron Sable took almost every fighting man north with him! And those zombies…they’re a joke!”
“If we fight, we’ll lose,” said Lily.
Old Colm stared at her in horror. “We can’t surrender….”
Golgoth tapped the map. “We could raise the drawbridges and ration the supplies. Sit tight in Castle Gloom. Its walls are thic
k enough to withstand trolls. They’re raiders. They lack the patience for a long fight. They’ll give up and head home.”
“The trolls aren’t here looking for a fight,” said Lily. “They’re here looking for their kin.” Lily nodded at Thorn. “Tell them what you saw up in the cloud ship.”
Lily watched Old Colm, Sir Grimsoul, and Golgoth as they digested Thorn’s tale. He went all the way up to what they had learned from Mary. When Thorn finished, the three men sat silently. It was Golgoth who hit upon the answer first, the same one Lily had reached.
“We give the trolls their people back, and the war’s over.”
“Exactly,” said Lily. “And to do that, we need to meet with Weaver.”
Sir Grimsoul only remembered Branwen vaguely. Old Colm would have been around, too, but he was adamant in saying that he recalled nothing about her father’s early “dalliances.”
Still, neither of them, nor Golgoth, seemed surprised. Natural-born children weren’t uncommon.
Old Colm looked grim. “And a cloud ship. These walls won’t be of much use then, will they? He’ll drift right over them.”
Lily glanced over at Wade, who was sitting with Thorn. She knew about Wade’s parentage, though she pretended she didn’t. She and Wade had played together when they were little, and she’d seen the way Baron Sable looked at Wade, like a loving father would look at his son. But Wade had never wanted to talk about it, so she hadn’t asked. First it had felt like a big secret; now it didn’t matter. Wade was Wade.
Golgoth spoke. “It’s revenge Weaver wants. He’s got the manpower—or the spider-power, we should say—to achieve it. We’ve only got beardless boys and old men to stop him.”
“Old men, like old dogs, still bite,” growled Old Colm.
“We’re not all beardless,” said Wade, scratching the pale downy tuft on his chin as if that might make it grow faster. “Not completely.”
Golgoth turned his blade over and over, as if frustrated he had no target. “Why don’t you have Thorn drop me into that cloud ship? I’ll find Gabriel and finish off this sorcerer while I’m at it.”
Lily put up her palm. “I am not in the habit of killing off my, er, relatives.”
“Then, if you don’t mind me saying, you won’t be ruling for long.”
Lily needed her father. Without his wisdom, and the resources of the Shadow Library, she was second-guessing everything. She didn’t have Thorn’s natural instincts. She’d been brought up to study, to approach problems from all angles, take advice, and then make a decision, as well informed as possible. Weaver’s theft of the Skeleton Key had crippled her—not physically, but mentally. What would her father do? What would he want?
He’d want to meet his son.
“Thorn, go to the belfry. Tell the bat master I want twenty of his best flyers fed and ready to take a message within the hour.”
“What’s on your mind, m’lady?” asked Old Colm.
“I need to talk to this sorcerer. If we send the same message twenty times, one of them should find him, and he’ll know that I’m coming in peace.”
Old Colm shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. What if he ambushes you?”
Lily patted her weapons master’s gnarly hand. “I’ll have you to protect me.”
The moment they were out of the hall, Thorn stopped her. He didn’t look happy. “Golgoth might have a point.”
“Weaver has been dealt a great injustice, Thorn. I will not add another to it by killing him.”
“I saw the webs, Lily. With hundreds, thousands, of people hanging from them. Whole families wrapped up like meat. Some already dead husks for those spiders. He doesn’t care, Lily. Not for nobody.”
“I’ve got to try, Thorn. His mother was burned to death, and he was mutilated. I have to find a way to fix that.”
“There ain’t no way to fix that. It’s the past,” said Thorn. “I get it; you want justice. But he wants revenge, pure and simple. He’s here to destroy you.”
“No, you don’t get it, Thorn. I will not kill the son of my father. No matter what.”
“Then you are going to lose, Lily.”
“Go to the belfry and get twenty bats ready.” Lily took out a box of parchment. She dipped her quill in the ink. She’d keep the message simple: a time and place.
“How do you know he’ll come?” Thorn asked.
“He’ll come.”
“Weaver won’t be satisfied until he has everything.”
“I know, but if that’s what it takes to save Gehenna, then I’ll give him everything.”
Forlorn Bridge was the most desolate place in Gehenna. The mists hung there all year, and the ground was scarred with cracks that smoked, filling the still air with poisonous smells. Small, sickly-looking shrubs dotted the mismatch of bitter grass and exposed flint. A few mangy birds nested in the stunted, ugly trees, but otherwise no living creature inhabited the moors.
It was the perfect place for making secret deals.
Lily rode at the front, on Zephyr, who, along with Thunder, had accompanied the villagers of Three Barrows when they’d sought refuge at Castle Gloom. The stallion was usually calm, confident, and totally under her control, but throughout this journey, he’d been edgy, as skittish as a colt, and unwilling to obey her.
Thorn wasn’t much better. “This is a stupid idea.”
“No one asked you to come,” Lily replied. “Why did you, anyway?”
“That’s easy. So I can tell you ‘I told you so’ in about an hour.”
There was a sun up there somewhere, but its light failed to penetrate the thick, opaque air.
Thorn edged closer. “And we should have brought Golgoth.”
“I don’t trust him.”
Thorn shrugged. “Me neither. But right now an executioner’s what you need.”
“We’ll get Tyburn back,” said Lily, watching Thorn. She could tell he missed Tyburn more than most.
Lily thought about the taciturn, plain-speaking warrior, one of the most dangerous killers in the world. Or so everyone said. In all her life, she’d never seen him even raise a fist in anger. In fact, she’d never seen Tyburn angry. His silent, methodical nature was what made him so menacing.
As opposed to Thorn, who couldn’t restrain his emotions if they were wrapped in iron chains.
What were Tyburn’s plans for Thorn? Tyburn was well over forty, and executioners rarely made it to old age.
No one could shoot like Thorn. There was a gargoyle up on the outside of the Great Hall with an arrow down its throat, put there by this boy from Herne’s Forest. The other squires still talked about it. Every one of them had tried to hit the same spot, and none had gotten anywhere close.
But Thorn couldn’t be an executioner. He’d never kill on command, never slay rivals nor behead traitors on her, or anyone else’s, orders. He’d never call her “m’lady.” And that suited Lily just fine.
“What are you looking at?” Thorn asked suspiciously. “Have I got something hanging out of my nose?” He rubbed it hard. “Is it gone?”
Lily laughed, and it was good to fill her lungs with merriment instead of dread. “I was thinking, why do I need an executioner when I have the likes of you and Old Colm?”
They both looked back.
Old Colm struggled along the path, thirty or so yards away.
He wore his ancient battle armor and with it his ferocious skull-faced helmet. Old Colm had been one of Gehenna’s fabled death knights, the best of the best. Waaay back in her grandfather’s time. The sword on his side could take the head off an ox, but now he struggled even to lift it. He sat on his warhorse, huffing and red-faced but refusing any help. Thorn was keeping an eye on him. With only one real leg, Old Colm was at risk of simply tilting out of his saddle.
Thorn stopped. “Now that doesn’t look good.”
Thick, sparkling cobwebs covered the trees lining the riverbank. Barely a piece of bark could be seen under the heavy layers of crystalline spider silk. Nets stretched f
rom branch to branch, and birds and bats hung trapped within them.
Of the jewel spiders themselves, there were thousands. The ground itself moved, made up as it was by a rolling sea of crystalline arachnids.
“We should turn back, m’lady,” urged Old Colm.
“This is Gehenna,” stated Lily, more bravely than she felt, “and I can go wherever I want.”
It’s so much worse than I’d imagined.
What if this spread across Gehenna? A kingdom of dreamers, all under the control of her half brother?
The mist remained, obscuring everything beyond twenty yards. The only sound, aside from the nervous whinnying of the horses, was the constant chiming of the jewel spiders.
Thorn reined in Thunder. “Look.”
On the far side of the river waited three men, one of them Weaver.
“You were right,” said Thorn. “He did come. What message did you send him?”
“The one he wanted.”
“I should have brought Hades,” Thorn complained. “And my bow. I don’t feel right without my bow.”
“We’re not here to fight, Thorn.” Fighting wasn’t going to get them anything but more trouble, and right now she was drowning in it.
“I know that, and you know that. But do they know that?”
Lily felt cold and afraid. She was taking the biggest risk of her life.
Weaver was her enemy. But he was also her brother. Her older brother, and a powerful sorcerer. In a just, fair world, he would be sitting in Castle Gloom.
Lily wanted to be a just ruler. Otherwise, what was the point?
His shoulders sloped to one side, and his left arm was twisted, the fingers curled in on themselves like the legs of a dead spider. Half of his face was raw, red, and shriveled. Only the eyes remained whole and true. Gray and brooding and full of a storm’s fury.
His robes were old-fashioned, theatrical. Black with silver spider-silk embroidery.
He thinks that’s how a sorcerer should look. A Shadow sorcerer.
Nearby were two others, likewise dressed to impress. One man, dark-skinned and in a turban, wore long, flowing red-and-yellow robes, and beside him was an older man in blue and white, his cloak lined with feathers.