The Winds of Strife (The War of the Veil Book 1)

by John Donlan

  Thirty-Seven

  Needra stared at the statue of Naedorn and wondered if her previous visit here had not been more than mere coincidence. The statue was as impassive and lifeless as always, but now she sensed something more about it, a presence, perhaps, a grand sentience that was growing stronger and stronger the longer she lingered. She had not felt a pull the last time she had come here, but now it seemed to infuse the very air around her, as though her presence here had been predestined a long, long time ago.

  She turned her head and brushed at her shirt, sliding it away from her shoulder. The tattoo had been a part of her for so long that she had almost started to forget it even existed. Certainly it had been there in her earliest memories. She could remember asking the eldest of the wise women in her village what it meant and why she had it, but the woman had been as closed lipped as anyone else in her village. She had told Needra only that it was important, and she would understand its importance one day, but that it would remain a mystery until then. She had been far too young at the time to make any sense of what she was told, but she had remembered the words. They had been ingrained in her mind ever since, lodged there the way the words of a story well told were inclined to do. Now, finally, years later,s he was starting to understand the significance.

  Needra allowed her shirt to fall back into place and turned her attention to the statue once more. She had never heard of a god called Naedorn before coming here. Her own people had their own Gods that they worshipped, and though she had learned of them all when she was young, she had forgotten their names now in the long years since she had left her home. But the principals of this one appealed to her. She could believe in them.

  Staring at the strange visage of the statue, she thought about the creatures that had been hunting for her. She knew she should have been relieved that they had been destroyed, but she was not. She knew, somehow, deep down inside, that there would be more of them. They would not stop. They wanted her, for some strange and unknown reason, and that would spur them on again and again. Darius had swore to protect her, it was true, but he was just one man, and one man alone could only do so much.

  Perhaps Naedorn would protect her? He was a god, and though his thoughts and will was unknown to her and probably always would be, there was a chance, however remote, that she had come here to find protection under him. There had to be a reason she had been drawn to this place, at this time. She had begun to believe that it was not coincidence that had led her here; she could almost see the threads of fate and destiny pulling on her like the strings of a puppet.

  Slowly, she knelt at the base of the statue. Some roots and vines had grown over the statue at the bottom, obscuring the once intricate stonework from view. On her first visit to the shrine, she had tried to see what lay beneath the green growths, but had been interrupted and had forgotten all about it. She reached for them now and carefully pulled them away. Beneath, cut into the stone, was the same symbol she wore on her shoulder. She had not seen it before, when she had come here the first time. Perhaps she had not been meant to see it. But now that it was revealed to her, she felt as if a revelation was waiting on the fringes of her mind, like a locked door that just needed a key to be opened.

  But it remained closed for the moment. There was more to the mystery, she was sure of it. She ran her finger over the engraved shape, tracing it slowly. It was old, Darius had said, as old as the Candrille, the people who had once ruled all the lands. He had found another reference to the image in an old book in the castle’s dusty library, and there had made the link to those enigmatic empire-builders. She knew a little of the Candrille. There had been a ruin close to her village. She had journeyed there once, as a child, but had not gone into the broken and crumbling place. It was forbidden, though nobody alive truly knew why. Instead she had remained at a respectful distance and tried to imagine what strange treasures the ruins might hold. She had never seen the symbol herself, but she wondered if perhaps it had been there in the crumbling ruins all along, just out of sight.

  Needra rose and brushed dirt from her legs. She had no idea what the future held in store for her now, but she was willing to meet it, so long as she could be with Darius. She had come to see him as more than just a protector and saviour; she was growing to love him, and she was certain that he felt the same way. The expression on his face, the way he looked at her; she could almost feel his affections radiating out with each beat of his pulse. Her heart swelled every time his eyes met hers.

  Thinking of him now, she smiled, but it was tinged with melancholy. The death of his father had hit him hard, and he was grieving, even while he planned to bring justice to the one responsible. He was in the castle now, with his sister and the other lords discussing what was to come, but she would see him soon, when he was finished. She knew that war was approaching fast, and that soon the kingdom would be swept up in a bloody conflict. But Darius was strong enough to ride the wave, and she intended to be there at his side for all of it.

  “I did not expect it would be this easy.”

  Needra spun around, startled by the sound of the voice. She had not expected to see anyone here, in the shrine. The place was normally deserted, forgotten by all - which was a part of why she found such comfort in the ancient building - so when she heard someone speak, it took her by complete surprise.

  The woman who was standing in the doorway was dressed in soft leathers. Her face was placid and calm and her eyes took in the surroundings with casual interest. Needra stared, curious about the woman. There was something about the face, an in particular the eyes, that she recognised. When she realised what it was, her breath caught in her face. Those eyes, wide and tapered at either end were not the eyes of someone born in the kingdom; those were the eyes of a Tho’reen.

  Needra scrambled backwards and felt herself bump up against the base of the statue. The woman’s gaze flicked back to her as she stepped down into the cool, dim interior of the shrine. “I had thought you would be protected, perhaps even locked away in a safe place, not here, wandering freely. But I suppose that luck is on my side after all.” The woman smiled slightly and drew a long-handled dagger from her belt. “Do not make this difficult. I am not going to kill you, but I can hurt you very badly if you decide to struggle. I am skilled at inflicting pain; intense, excruciating pain. I have had a lot of practice.”

  Needra felt her heart start to beat like the pounding of a drum. There was only one way out of the shrine, and that was past the woman. Needra was fast, but she could see from the easy, languid grace of the woman that she was quick and agile, too. There was no chance of her slipping past the stranger, especially not with that dagger out. Needra could not even scream for help; not that she would have expected anyone to hear her.

  She shook her head slowly as the woman approached.

  “You have nothing to say? I am surprised, but I suppose fear can steal away the voice of even the most stalwart. I would not suggest speaking in any case. I require silence, so that I do not have to kill anyone on the way out. Murder can be such a messy affair, and it leaves many problems behind. Problems I would prefer not to have to deal with. Come quietly, and I will treat you well.”

  The woman reached out, and Needra saw her one and only opportunity. She drove forward suddenly, then ducked under the extended hand at the last moment, making her already small figure as tiny as possible. The quick movement took the stranger by surprise, and gave Needra several seconds of hope that she might make it outside after all. Then a hand caught her hair and yanked cruelly, pulling Needra up short and almost bringing her down to the ground.

  “That was most unwise,” the woman said as she wrapped a strong, muscled arm around Needra’s throat. “I suppose I shall have to give you an example of what will happen to you when you cause me problems.” She lifted the dagger and placed the blade behind Needra’s ear.

  Needra felt the cold metal dig into her flesh, and in a heartbeat, she knew what the woman intended; she was going to slice Needra’s
ear clean off her body. She had already lost a tongue to the Tho’reen, and now she would lose another part to this vicious woman.

  “Needra? Needra!”

  It was Torelle. Darius’ sister was standing silhouetted in the doorway, hand fluttering to her mouth as she caught sight of what was transpiring within the shrine.

  The woman who was holding Needra hissed, and clucked her tongue in displeasure, but she removed the dagger from Needra’s ear and moved it to her throat instead. The hand did not shake; the woman was calm.

  “Stand back,” she said, coldly. “Unless you want this girl to have a fresh red grin along her neck.”

  Torelle nodded silently and stepped back away from the door of the shrine, out into the darkness of the night. Needra could see her friend’s face turning pale in the dim light of the moon. Her eyes were wide and her lips twisted in a fearful grimace.

  The stranger gave Needra a rough shove forward and then moved towards the doorway, keeping Needra close and the dagger against her throat. Needra went quickly enough. She had no intention of testing the woman. She had no doubt that if she tried anything foolish, the blade would cut her open instantly. She glanced from side-to-side as they stepped out of the shrine, hoping to see some way of escaping, but there was nothing.

  “Who are you?” Torelle asked, finding her voice finally. “Why do you want Needra?”

  “Needra?” The woman smiled. “That is her name?” She chuckled. “I do not want her at all, but she is important to someone else, someone who will pay handsomely for her. As to who I am; that is of no importance. All you need to know is that if you do not interfere, you and your friend here will both live through the night.”

  The woman began backing away, towards the wall that surrounded the castle. Needra could just see the dark outline of a rope hanging down into the gardens. She wondered fearfully how the stranger intended to get her over the wall without releasing her, and without being seen by the guards. The woman had obviously managed to get in without being seen. She had her answer a moment later when the woman began binding her upper body with the rope.

  Torelle stood nearby, watching helplessly, a look of anguish on her face. Needra tried to reassure her friend, albeit silently. She knew that there was nothing Torelle could do. Any move she might make could end in both of them losing their lives. But once they were over the wall... Needra made a slight motion with her head towards the castle, hoping Torelle would understand. She seemed to, and gave a swift nod of her head while the stranger was not looking.

  “Do not think to try anything,” the stranger warned as she finished tying Needra in place. She took hold of the rope. “I can pierce a heart from twenty paces with this dagger.” She flipped the blade in her hand once as if to prove her point, and then shimmied quickly up the rope to the top of the wall. A moment later, Needra felt the bindings dig painfully into her arms and chest as she was yanked upwards.

  The woman was strong, and she seemed to have no problem in pulling Needra up to the top of the high stone wall that surrounded the castle. From her new vantage point, Needra could see down over the rooftops of the city below. At this time of night, it was relatively quiet, and she knew that the stranger would have little problem escaping the city, even with a captive in tow.

  She wondered who the woman was. A slave hunter from Tho’reen? She doubted that. There was no bounty high enough to take a risk as big as this one, and besides, her previous owner was dead, so there was nobody left to pay a bounty. Did the stranger work for those creatures that had killed the delegates? She doubted that, too, but it was a possibility she was not about to ignore. No other theories she could come up with made any sense… unless… Had the Tho’reen heard of the slaughter already? Had the empress sent an agent to find any survivors and learn the truth about what had transpired? That seemed the most likely possibility out of all of them, and one that chilled her to her marrow. If she was being taken to the capital of the empire, then all she could look forward to was torture, pain, and eventual death or fresh slavery.

  The woman was pushing her to the other side of the wall now, with the intent of lowering her to the street below. Needra knew that this would be her only chance to escape. Her knees were up against her chest as she lay on her side, which meant that her hands could reach her ankles, and the dagger she had hidden there. The stranger had not even bothered to check Needra for weapons. It would be her first and only mistake.

  Needra’s fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger, and she felt a rising elation. It was quashed almost instantly as the woman’s boot came down on her wrist, pinning it to the wall. The stranger bent and retrieved the dagger almost casually. “If I was not so rushed for time, I would cut off one of your fingers for that,” she said, hissing. “When we are clear of the city, I may do just that. If you behave, however, I might be willing to change my mind.” She smiled and then gave Needra a kick, sending her sailing out over the side of the wall.

  She jerked to a stop almost instantly and then swung inwards again to thud against the wall painfully. She winced and grit her teeth as the stranger began lowering her downwards.

  She was still a few feet from the street below when she heard a clamour rise up from the castle grounds. She smiled grimly to herself. Torelle had gone for help. Darius would be searching for her. He would scour the city to find her. This woman would not escape after all.

  She heard a dull curse from above, and a moment later, the woman dropped her the last few feet. Needra fell heavily and her skull thumped against the hard cobbles below as she landed. She groaned and her vision blurred for a brief instant. Seconds later, a pair of boots landed lightly and cat-like at her side.

  The stranger bent swiftly, untied her, and dragged her to her feet. “If you slow us down, I will kill you,” the woman said in her ear. “Now move.”

  Needra was pushed ahead of the stranger while the woman kept a tight grip on her hair, making sure Needra could not make a run for it. She doubted she could have escaped even if she had been released. Her head was still spinning from the fall and her shoulder was throbbing painfully where it had hit the rock wall. She stumbled along, barely managing to stay on her feet. She could hear horns calling from the castle, and from two streets over, shouts were ringing out through the city. She only had to stay alive long enough for Darius and his men to find her. She had faith that he would rescue her. She knew it in her heart.

  The woman was steering her towards the city wall, keeping to the shadows. People were emerging from their homes now, drawn by the shouts and the wailing of the horns. But they were moving towards the noise and could not see the two furtive shapes hurrying through the darkness. Needra considered calling out to one of them but gave up on the notion almost instantly. It would do no good, and might even end up causing the death of an innocent. She kept her mouth closed.

  When they reached the wall, the stranger propelled her along the bottom of it, towards a position that lay to the east of the gates of the city. Needra wondered how the woman intended to escape Marsh End. The walls were patrolled throughout the night, and with the horn calls splitting the darkness, the guards up there would be on full alert. There would be no time to haul Needra up another rope and down the other side before being discovered. So what?

  She knew the answer minutes later when she caught sight of a small drainage gate at the far end of a narrow, dark alley. Waste from the city flowed along a small ditch and through the tiny opening before spilling into the marsh beyond the wall. The gate was kept locked and secured normally, but now it was slightly open. Needra understood at once what the woman had planned.

  They were almost at the gate when a voice rose up from the entrance to the alley. Needra felt her spirits surge as she recognised the voice. Darius had found them.

  “Stop where you are,” he commanded.

  Needra was spun around to face the direction they had come from. Darius was standing there at the mouth of the alley, resplendent in his leather armour, sword in hand. “My me
n are almost here. You cannot escape. Let her go and we will show lenience in your punishment. But make any move to escape and we will hunt you down and execute you.”

  The woman holding Needra sneered. “You northern swine are so predictable and pathetic. You could have killed me before I even knew you were there, but instead, your honour makes you soft and weak. I could almost pity you.” Without even drawing a breath, the woman drew her hand back, then shot it forward, releasing the dagger she was holding.

  Needra watched in horror as it sailed cleanly through the air and embedded itself in Darius’ shoulder. The last thing she saw was the man she had grown to love stumble and collapse to the floor as the blade dug in deep. Blood flowed out and seeped into the culvert before being swept along through the open gate. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. A moment later, something heavy hit her across the back of the head, and she knew no more.

  Thirty-Eight

  Torchlight flickered over the stone walls of the low-ceilinged passage as a line of robed figures made their way down through the bowels of the temple and into the huge, circular chamber that squatted far beneath the earth. Huge columns of sandstone supported the ceiling above, and the dull glow of the torches depicted the faded mural covering the stone slabs above. The scene showed a world plunged into darkness, its people trapped and enslaved. Faces writhing in anguish and horror could still clearly be seen, despite the obvious age of the painted mural.

  None of the robed figures looked up as they took their places in a ring around the central, raised platform. An altar, bloodied and stained from years of use sat atop the altar. A woman, naked, was already lying on the top of the altar, bound and gagged. Her eyes moved frantically from side-to-side, seeking escape, or help, or some sign of hope. But there was none to be found. The priestess standing at her side raised a dagger as soon as the others were all present.