Journey of Shadows (The Palâdnith Chronicles Book 1)

by Sam J. Charlton

  He turned his shoulder to Nevis. “Leave me be, witch.”

  Seth heard Nevis stand up. She paused for a moment, as if about to say more, before the rustling of her robes indicated that she was leaving. When Seth turned back a few moments later, he saw that she was walking away. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, before it shifted to the far wall.

  The Esquill were gone.

  Seth returned to his drinking, although the ale now tasted sour in his mouth and his temples were pounding. He hid himself away in the corner, slumped against the stone pillar, grateful to be left alone.

  As the night wore on and dawn approached, the inn-keeper had finally had enough of his rowdy clientele and the drunken din they were making.

  “That’s it!” he shouted. “All out! Get yourself home and sleep it off!”

  They made a fuss, but most of them were so drunk they just had to be steered in the direction of the door and pushed through it. Now that the inn had stopped serving ale, the rest of the rabble also moved on, but not without a few half-hearted insults and belligerent threats thrown in the inn-keeper’s direction.

  Seth had fallen asleep against the pillar, his empty tankard on his lap, when the inn-keeper shook him awake.

  “You too,” the inn-keeper removed the tankard and yanked Seth to his feet. “If you want to sleep here you’ll have to pay for a room.”

  “What time is it?” Seth replied groggily, rubbing his gritty eyes. “My ship leaves at dawn.”

  “Sunrise is not far off,” the inn-keeper pushed him in the direction of the door, “so I’d get to my boat if I were you.”

  Seth shook himself awake and tried to rid himself of the fog of sleep and drunkenness that pressed down upon him. He felt as if he were wading through thick porridge, and he suddenly regretted drinking so much ale. It was stupid to dull his senses when he was in such danger.

  Outside, cool air settled over Seth in a damp blanket, awakening his senses and drawing him from his fug. He stumbled away from the Crow’s Nest Inn and tried to get his bearings. Which direction was the ship for Narn moored in? Panic seized Seth then – he could not risk missing that boat. He stopped, took a few deep breaths of crispy, salt-laced air and made himself concentrate.

  Get a grip on yourself Falkyn, he told himself, and think. The Crow’s Nest is at the north-end of the docks and your ship is at the south-end – that means you turn right. Relieved at finding some sense in his befuddled mind, Seth set off along the dock. It was deserted at this hour and the inn-keeper had spoken true; the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. Dawn was approaching.

  Seth had not travelled far from the Crow’s Nest, when a noise on the wooden dock behind him caused him to start. It had sounded like footfalls. He turned, squinting in the orange-hued lamplight.

  Seth never had the chance to see whether he was being followed or not – for a heavy blow suddenly caught him across the back of his skull.

  The last thing Seth saw, before passing out, was the pitted wooden decking of the Dunethport docks rushing up to meet him.

  Chapter Eight

  Fugitives in Swamphaven

  A freezing wind howled across the Cathernis Plains and battered the grasslands; roaring up from the great frozen continent far to the south. Eni felt as if the skin on his face was being flayed. He walked, bent, with his head into the wind. Darin Mel strode beside him. His thin face was chapped from the cold but his eyes were as sharp as ever.

  Like Eni, Darin’s clothes were caked in mud and dust, but the southerner appeared tireless. Eni was having trouble keeping up with him. There was nothing to Darin – he was as lean and sinewy as a tracking dog – but if it had not been for the southerner, Eni would have travelled half the distance they had managed over the past two days. The realmlord's men would have surely caught him.

  Eni took a gulp from a bladder of water and offered it to Darin, who shook his head. Fortunately for Eni, who did not invite idle chatter, Darin was also a man of few words. He said little, but Eni was aware the southerner was constantly thinking, observing and planning.

  Frankly, Eni was surprised Darin was still with him. If their positions had been reversed Eni would have ditched him after the first evening up the Tarneedle tree – especially after hearing the strange tale about a cloaked assassin hunting him.

  As soon as Darin had finished his story about Seth, and his narrow escape, Eni had dismissed it as far too farfetched to be real. They had not spoken of it since, although that did not mean the southerner’s warning did not haunt him.

  They had spent two nights out here on the plains, huddled around a miserly campfire, peering out into the darkness and taking turns at sleeping. When he did manage to sleep, Eni was plagued by nightmares of the botched hanging. On both mornings since his escape, he had awoken in frosty dawn, soaked in sweat with his heart thumping against his ribs. The sun was high and a light breeze fanned their faces when the two men finally rested again. Eni sank onto the ground and lay on his back, exhausted. The sky wheeled above him and his heart beat in his ears. Darin passed him a piece of dry bread and rock-hard cheese and Eni rolled over on to his side to eat it. After a couple of mouthfuls, Eni’s jaw ached from the effort it took to chew the stale food.

  “That's the last of our provisions,” Darin advised him before he pulled the stopper off the water bladder and took a swig. “Fortunately, we should reach Swamphaven by dusk and will be able to replenish our supplies there.”

  For the first time since their flight from Catedrâl, Eni gave some serious thought to where they headed. It had made sense, since they had fled south-west, that they would continue in the same direction rather than retrace their steps. Although the Cathernis Plains were exposed compared to the marshy estuary to the north of Catedrâl and farmland to the south, it was also the least likely path a fugitive would have taken, for this reason. Still, at the mention of Swamphaven, Eni felt a pang of misgiving. The Tallow Marshes were notorious; a refuge for those who were not welcome in more ‘civilised’ areas – the thieves, deserters and renegades that Realmlord Valense had purged from Cathernis.

  The fens covered a huge area, stretching from the eastern edge of the Cathernis Plains to the foothills of the Starwalden Alps. There lay the entrance to Fallenstar Pass. It was the only path into Central Omagen without having to travel for seven days to the south. Once they crossed the border into Omagen, Realmlord Valense would have to obtain a warrant from Realmlord Thorne before continuing the hunt, a process that could take weeks. It would allow Eni to lose himself in the wilderness of Central Omagen. Eni had estimated that it would take about three days to cross the marshes to the Alps from Swamphaven. They could have taken the Alpine Highway that skirted the edge of the marshes, thus avoiding Swamphaven, but it would take twice as long.

  “We should part ways,” Eni swallowed a mouthful of dry bread and cheese. “You’ve delivered your message.”

  Darin shrugged, re-plugging the water bladder and putting it away in his satchel.

  “I was going to look for work in Cathernis – but they’ll be looking for a sharp-tongued southerner. We might as well stick together for the time being.” Darin’s sharp gaze scanned the surrounding grassland as he spoke. “When I tire of your company I’ll let you know.”

  They resumed their journey south-west, meeting no one and seeing nothing but league upon league of windswept plains stretching from horizon to horizon. As the afternoon wore on, the ground slowly became spongy underfoot, and clumps of reeds appeared. Their boots started to squelch and pools of stagnating water covered the ground in places.

  Eventually, they caught sight of something on the horizon. At first Eni could not discern what it was but as they drew closer he was able to make out a tall hardwood frame dug into the marshy ground with a rusted cage hanging from it. The cage creaked in the wind; the sound a lonely cry in the desolation of the marshes. Within it slumped a tangle of bones and rotting flesh, and the remnants of clothing flapping in the breeze.

 
The two men stopped a short distance off. It was a sharp reminder of Eni’s own recent brush with death – although dying of thirst in a metal cage while birds pecked at your flesh seemed worse than a quick execution at the end of a rope.

  Despite this, Eni was relieved to see the cage and its occupant.

  “A Marsh Cage. We must be close to Swamphaven. I was worried we'd travelled too far east.”

  They edged by the Marsh Cage. It was a macabre sight but Eni found that he could not look away as they passed by. Marsh Cages were how Swamphaven dealt with its criminals – by making examples of them. There are supposed to be many of these grisly spectacles dotted around Swamphaven's outskirts.

  It was impossible for them to discern whether the condemned had been a man or woman. Skeleton hands gripped the bars even in death. As they left the Marsh Cage behind, it was a while before they no longer heard the eerie creaking.

  The sun was now low in the western sky. The light glittered off the water and the Tallow Marshes stretched out like a scar before them. As they travelled further inside, Eni could see the marshes were a treacherous place. No road guided them across the expanse of wetlands and peat bogs capable of sucking an unwary traveller to his death. Eni hoped it would be just as difficult for Valense's men to track them through the labyrinth of pools, reed-beds, bog-myrtle thickets and creeks.

  The marshes slowed Eni and Darin considerably. Fatigue dragged Eni's every step, and he was starting to stumble and trip drunkenly when he caught sight of the jagged edge of rough-hewn palings in the distance.

  Ahead, sandwiched between the marshes and a washed out sky, was Swamphaven. A wooden walkway, raised about two feet above the marsh, led into town. Eni and Darin took it willingly, grateful to be able to step out of the bog and walk the last stretch unhindered. There were no guards at the gates, just a bored gatekeeper. He sat smoking a long pipe in a lean-to beside the entrance, and barely glanced at the two travel-weary men entering the town.

  The walkway continued, leading them into the heart of Swamphaven. Despite his exhaustion, Eni looked about him with interest. He had never seen a town like it. A tall, spiked fence, dug deep into the marsh, circled a huge area. Walkways, some wide enough to carry a cart and pony, others so narrow they only permitted single file, criss-crossed the marsh in a haphazard web. Like the walkways and the fence, the houses were also made of rough-hewn hardwood. They stood on stilts and had thatched swamp reed roofs.

  It was not an attractive town – most of the houses resembled hovels – and both Eni and Darin wrinkled their noses at the putrid smell of sewage that floated by under the walkways. Still, there was safety in being surrounded by a township of people.

  There were plenty of townsfolk about, and most of them paid Eni and Darin little heed. A man standing upon a wooden box at an intersection between four walkways drew Eni’s attention as he passed by. Dressed in mud-caked leathers and with a tattered cape about his shoulders, the man swayed slightly and waved his hands about. His voice was rough and slurred, and he stank of ale, but there was no mistaking his message.

  “It will be the end of us all when it comes!” he shouted, punching the air for emphasis. “The eclipse is a portent of evil! The moon will devour the sun and the sea will rise in a great wave and drown the world!”

  “Mad,” Darin muttered to Eni. “I’m tired of hearing about this eclipse. The superstitious minds of folk will drive this land to ruin, not the movements of the sun and moon!”

  Eni nodded in response. He too took a practical approach to life and found this man’s scaremongering offensive. A crowd was gathering about the man, and many appeared captivated by him.

  “The Realms will fall,” the man ranted. “Evil will crawl across the land. Mark my words!”

  Eni and Darin pushed past the gawking crowd and made their way up a wide walkway. The ranter’s proclamations of doom followed them and Eni was relieved when his harsh voice faded.

  Darin asked a passerby to direct them to a cheap inn, and the stranger sent them to the north end of Swamphaven. Here, the stench of rotting waste was at its worst. Eni had to resist the urge to gag at the stink of it. He wondered how the residents actually lived with this on a daily basis. How had the town not perished of some nasty pestilence?

  The Marsh-Myrtle Inn was squashed up against the northern perimeter wall and, unlike most of the surrounding houses, was three stories high. A ramshackle building, it had been patched so many times that it was difficult to imagine how the original structure would have appeared. A hunched old woman swathed in layers of skirts and scarves greeted the two travellers at the door and ushered them upstairs. Most of the rooms had guests and Eni could hear voices murmuring from behind closed doors as they climbed the steep stairs to the top floor. They passed a couple of other lodgers – wild-eyed men with unkempt hair and weather-stained clothing.

  When Eni and Darin reached their bedroom they found it a dark, squalid space with two narrow beds covered in stained sheets. Once Darin threw open the shutters they saw a layer of grime coated everything in the room.

  Eni collapsed on one of the beds. The old woman had promised to bring up hot water and dinner, which Darin had negotiated as part of the price for the night. Eni was sure the food would be as unappealing as the room but he could not dredge up the energy to care. Darin sat down on his bed with a groan.

  “I didn't think we'd make it this far,” Darin admitted, staring up at the thatched ceiling. “Just three more days and we'll be in Omagen.”

  Eni was too tired to respond – he could not even think that far ahead. Ever since the hanging, his future had been fragile and shadowed. If he survived this, he would go back to making weapons but for the moment, he could only focus on getting through this day.

  A knock on the door brought Darin lithely to his feet. Eni did not bother moving; no one was shifting him from this bed tonight. Darin opened the door to the old woman who bore a wooden tray of food, and a chubby wench carrying two pails of steaming water.

  “Thank you Mother,” Darin addressed the crone in the traditional southern manner, before nodding to the girl who smiled shyly and placed the pails under a washstand in the corner.

  “There be roast fen duck, pottage and bread baked this morning,” the old woman rasped, ushering the girl out of the room ahead of her. “How many nights will you be staying?”

  “Just the one,” Darin replied, pressing a silver drac into her wrinkled palm. “We will be leaving first thing in the morning.”

  Thankfully, the crone did not appear remotely curious about these two lean-faced men. Eni imagined she saw all types here and preferred not to ask questions. Once she and the maid had left, Eni struggled up into a sitting position. Darin passed him his pail of hot water, and Eni splashed water over his face and neck before gratefully receiving a plate of food Darin had dished up from the tray. Perhaps it was his half-starved state but the food was wonderful, and there was plenty of it.

  Ravenous, Eni and Darin fell upon their dinner and ate until their bellies ached. There was some left over and Darin packaged the slices of roast duck and slabs of bread carefully in oiled cloth.

  “I will get some more provisions tomorrow morning,” he explained, packing the parcel away, “but it’s best not to waste a thing – food will be in scarce supply on the road we’re taking.”

  It was still light outside, perhaps an hour before sunset. Darin lit a lantern to provide a little illumination in the room and pulled the shutters closed so they could rest properly. There were no complaints from Eni. No sooner had he stretched back out on his bed than he fell into an exhausted slumber.

  ***

  When Darin shook him awake, it took Eni a while to rouse himself from the depths of sleep. Eni opened his eyes to see the window was open and it was still dark outside.

  “It’s the middle of the night, Moden damn you,” angry and disoriented, he shoved Darin away. “Let me sleep!”

  “We must go,” Darin whispered, “and keep your voice down
– you’ll wake the whole inn. In another hour the sun will be up. We need to go now while it’s dark.”

  Still grumbling, Eni rolled off the bed and dragged his exhausted body upright. Like Darin, he had slept fully clothed, so it took them only moments to gather their things, pull on their boots and make their way from the room. The stairs squeaked as they crept downstairs. Eni cringed with each creaking step he took. The noise seemed to magnify in the stillness, and he only relaxed when they finally reached the bottom of the stairs. The crone was not yet up so they let themselves out of the inn, unnoticed.

  Outside, a thin mist rose up from the swamp and wreathed, white and curling through Swamphaven’s web of walkways and ramshackle wooden structures. Lanterns hung atop tall poles; most of them leaning drunkenly. Their pale glow illuminated the walkways at the points where the wooden platforms intersected, leaving long stretches in shadow.

  As Eni's eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could make out the shuttered facades and the town’s locked up shop-fronts of the sagging wooden edifices. Due to its marshy site, Swamphaven had been built in clusters. Networks of walkways linked wide platforms that formed the only open spaces within the town. Each cluster appeared a village in miniature, with shop fronts at ground level and residences above. Reaching the first cluster, Eni screwed up his face at the constant stench of sewage. This morning, the pong was almost overwhelming.

  Like two marsh cats, the men moved quickly and silently through the sleeping town. Eni followed Darin unquestioningly, aware that although this was the southerner's first visit to Swamphaven, Darin had already mapped a route in his mind straight to the gates. The southerner moved with calm self-assurance and, without him, Eni realised he could have wandered lost for hours.

  In one of the bigger clusters, Eni and Darin came across a bakery. Unlike the rest of Swamphaven, which still slumbered in darkness, light emanated from the narrow front door and from gaps in the shutters. The aroma of fresh bread wafted out across the marsh, momentarily masking more unsavoury odours. Darin paused here and knocked on the door. A small man wearing a flour-dusted apron opened it, and Darin bought four fresh loaves from him.