Journey of Shadows (The Palâdnith Chronicles Book 1)

by Sam J. Charlton

  The terrible howling suddenly choked off. A whimpering cry followed, then silence.

  Val scrambled out of bed, grabbed the candle and padded across to the door. In the hallway, bleary, disoriented men in various states of undress staggered out of their rooms.

  “What in Moden was that?”

  “The dogs – someone’s outside!”

  The door next to Val’s room opened and Lady Cirinna peered out. Her face was blotchy and her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Yet, when she caught Val’s eye, she still managed to look imperious.

  “What is it?”

  “No idea, but I suggest you get back inside your room and bolt it shut on the inside.”

  Her eyes narrowed in response; she made no move to obey him.

  “On your head be it then.”

  Val turned his back on Lady Cirinna and followed the other men down the hallway.

  In the common area, Hendel Wulf stood in the centre of the room, buttoning up his shirt. Ariana, wrapped in a quilted blue robe, stood next to him. Val could not help but notice that her long blonde hair rippled enticingly down her back, and the colour of the robe matched her eyes.

  “Get back to our room and lock the door,” Hendel told his wife. His usually good-natured face was hard and worried.

  Ariana hesitated and Hendel’s face darkened.

  “Now woman!”

  Ariana gathered her robe tightly about her and did as her husband bid. She threw Val a beseeching look as she went. Val spotted Captain Tobin behind the inn-keeper; he was buckling his sword around his waist.

  “Who is it?” Val approached the inn-keeper. “Sude soldiers?”

  “Someone who has no business in these parts,” Hendel replied with a grunt.

  The inn-keeper turned to the men who were milling around him.

  “Those of you with weapons and brawn, follow me!”

  Val turned to make his way towards a shadowy corner.

  “Out of the way,” Tobin snarled and shoved Val aside. “Get back to bed if you’re not going to be of any use!”

  Val ignored the captain’s scorn. Instead of returning to bed, he hovered at the back of the crowd, next to the soothsayer, whose face had gone the colour of parchment. They watched as Hendel Wulf unbolted the door and flung it aside.

  Val could see nothing but black stillness beyond the door. The night’s chill drifted into the room, draining it of the lingering warmth from the hearth’s embers.

  “Who goes there!” the inn-keeper shouted but no one responded to his challenge.

  Brandishing torches, Hendel, Tobin and two other heavy-set men who carried hunting knives, stepped outside into the darkness. Moments later an angry shout reached those inside the Red Tussock Inn.

  “No!” Hendel’s shout was raw, “Ridge, Drago...”

  Then the inn-keeper gave a sudden yell.

  “Watch your backs!”

  A high keening shriek, followed by men’s screams, pierced the night.

  Moments later, white faced and wild-eyed, Hendel Wulf and Roth Tobin appeared in the doorway. The other two men who had followed them outside were nowhere to be seen.

  Behind Hendel and Tobin, a tall shadow loomed out of the darkness. A tattered cloak, hooded face, long limbs and stooped shoulders appeared; followed by a flash of silver as the newcomer drew forth a long, curved and wickedly serrated blade.

  Too late, the two men turned to face their attacker – only to find him upon them. The curved sword slashed and blood sprayed across the door-frame. Hendel Wulf crumpled against the wall, shoving his torch into his assailant’s face as he did so. The cloaked figure shrank back, cowed by the flames.

  Val watched, rooted to the spot – unable to run, unable to help – while Hendel Wulf slid to the ground, whimpering and clutching his stomach.

  Meanwhile, the attacker, having knocked the torch aside, leapt at Tobin. The captain’s heavy broadsword clashed with the serrated blade. The two figures struggled, forming one monstrous silhouette in the doorway.

  The curved sword slipped and slashed across Tobin’s left shoulder. The captain gave a grunt; the only sign the blade had wounded him, and kicked his assailant in the stomach.

  Winded, the tall figure bent double for a moment. Tobin grabbed a torch with his left hand, from where it hung on a bracket on the wall, and plunged it into the shadowed cowl. Then, with his right hand, he brought his sword down hard against his opponent’s blade.

  The hood caught fire and, giving a piteous wail, the intruder staggered backwards and was swallowed up by the night. Seizing the moment, Tobin slammed the door shut and bolted it. He then sunk to the ground, clutching his injured shoulder.

  Outside, a pain-filled, furious cry split the night.

  Val crept forward and sank to his knees next to Hendel Wulf. He rolled the inn-keeper on to his back and gasped at what he saw. The serrated blade had slit Hendel Wulf open from sternum to pelvis and the sight of so much blood, and of entrails oozing through Hendel Wulf’s splayed hands, made Val’s stomach heave.

  Val sat back on his heels and struggled not to let nausea overtake him. Worse still, the inn-keeper was not dead. His eyes were glassy and his mouth moved soundlessly.

  “Ariana,” he eventually groaned. “Fetch her.”

  She came, and was spared viewing her husband’s injuries for someone had laid their cloak over Hendel Wulf’s torso. Ariana, her face stricken, sank down next to Hendel and cradled his head on her lap.

  “No my love,” she whispered through her tears. “I beg the gods, no…”

  Val stepped back and, fighting tears himself, glanced over at where Roth Tobin still sat, leaning against the wall. For the first time, Val saw the captain truly shaken. His heavy-featured face was pinched and his eyes were haunted. He had received a gash to his shoulder, but was fortunate to have escaped further injury.

  “So fast,” he muttered. “I’ve never seen a man move like him.”

  “But was he a man?” the soothsayer spoke up shakily. “I’ve never seen anyone fight in such a manner – and that sword!”

  Their voices hushed then, and all gazes fastened upon Hendel Wulf and his pregnant wife. Ariana bent over Hendel, her hair falling in a golden curtain over them both. Sobs wracked her body as her husband died in her arms.

  ***

  The dawn arrived, still and clear; the sky a blaze of gold. Frost covered the ground in a carpet of tiny diamonds. Val Falkyn stepped out of the inn and took a few deep breaths. The crisp air was a balm after the stench of death that still stained his nostrils. The whole inn stank of it.

  In the courtyard, someone had covered the bodies of the two men, who had ventured outside with Hendel Wulf and Captain Tobin, with sheets. The only sign of their fatal injuries were the blotches of red that had seeped through the material. Once the ground thawed, they would be buried. Inside, they had laid Hendel Wulf out on his bed, awaiting his own burial.

  The carcasses of the two wolfhounds still lay, twisted and broken, against the Red Tussock Inn’s exterior wall. Averting his gaze from them, Val strode away from the inn, and made his way further along the ridge. His boots crunched over the frozen ground and his breath steamed in the cold, dry air. He finally stopped and looked back at where the Red Tussock Inn hunched against the skyline.

  He never wanted to live a night like that again.

  Ariana Wulf’s sobs still rang in his ears, and her grief haunted him. Thank the gods he had no one to lose. He had only once experienced such loss; when his mother disappeared all those years ago, it had torn his father to pieces. As the eldest son, he had suffered far more than his brothers. He wondered how Ariana would cope now with a baby on the way, running an inn without a husband to protect her.

  Val took a succession of deep breaths and felt his nerves settle. He looked across the view to the north. Before him, lay undulating folds of red and gold grassland. The faint, serrated outline of the High Dragon-Spines rose behind. It would take them another two days to reach those mountains.


  “Falkyn.”

  Val turned and saw two figures on horseback emerge from the stable-yard, leading Val’s horse behind them. Val joined them with a mixture of reluctance and relief. He had no wish to linger at the Red Tussock, and yet he knew it would have been respectful to have stayed a little longer and assist with the burials. When he had suggested it, Tobin had flatly refused.

  Val swung up into the saddle and gritted his teeth while his thigh and hip muscles readjusted to sitting astride the horse. He leaned forward and patted its furry neck, grateful that the horses had been spared during last night’s attack.

  “Today we ride hard,” Tobin informed Val and Lady Cirinna, “and let us hope we don’t meet last night’s visitor on the journey.”

  Lady Cirinna frowned, having been spared the horror, but Val felt a needle of fear stab him in the guts at the mention of last night’s intruder. No one who had spent last night inside the Red Tussock Inn had any idea who the cloaked assailant was, or the reason for the attack. It was a far darker portent than an eclipse to start their journey under.

  Captain Tobin did not look well this morning. His face was grey, and he appeared to sag from pain. Tobin’s wound had been dressed but Val guessed it would pain him for a day or two.

  Val fell in behind his two companions as they headed northeast. When they neared the edge of the ridge, he twisted in the saddle and took one last look back at the Red Tussock Inn. A comely figure with golden hair stood in the doorway watching them go. Ariana rested one hand on her pregnant stomach while the other gripped the doorframe for support. Ariana was too far away for Val to see the details of her face, and he was grateful for that. She did not wave – neither did Val. Turning back, Val wondered, once more, what would become of her.

  Chapter Ten

  Captive

  Consciousness seeped back slowly. First, there was the feel of hard wood under his back, followed by the jolting sensation of being bumped over a pot-holed surface. Then there was the hot, scratchy feel of sacking against his face and the musty smell of grain. Finally, there was the nausea – mounting waves of it. Seth awoke with a dry retch and clutched at the sacking. It was smothering him and he fought it off. Eventually he managed to pull the sacking aside and sat up. He sucked in deep breaths of cold air. The daylight stung his eyes and a chill wind smacked his face, rapidly clearing his head.

  At first Seth struggled to recall how he had come to be here, sitting upon a rickety wooden cart with a throbbing head – and then he remembered. His last memory was of standing on the Dunethport docks with dawn lightening the eastern sky, followed by the blow to the back of the head that had felled him.

  The cart rattled behind a grey stallion ridden by a man with long, blond hair. Without seeing his face, Seth recognised the male Esquill. Behind the cart, the female Esquill rode another grey, as upstanding as the first. Seth avoided her penetrating gaze and looked about him.

  Slowly, the aching in Seth’s head subsided. Bright sunlight hurt his eyes. He could tell from the surrounding landscape that they had long since left the coast. Omagen had some of the most varied terrain in all of Palâdnith. The coast was lush and temperate, with few extremes throughout the year, but Central Omagen was a different matter. Barrowthorne, where he had grown up, lay in the heart of Central Omagen. Seth had not been back in years but the memory of rock-studded hills and endless blue sky was still as strong as if he had just left.

  The cart was now rumbling over the spine of a low ridge. Around him, the hills resembled the folds of a faded green blanket; their crumpled outline contrasted against the sky. Here and there, the first wild flowers of spring peeked up yellow and white in the folds. Seth struggled to place the landscape – half way between the aridity of Central Omagen and the lushness of the coast. It took a few moments, as his senses adjusted, before he realised this must be the Miners’ Highway; the road that stretched between coastal Omagen and the Realm’s far-reaching interior. The Miners’ Highway was not as well travelled as the Farmers’ Highway. The latter snaked south of Dunethport before following the mighty Castorne River inland towards its source. The Farmers’ Highway traversed a fertile river valley filled with orchards and farms, whereas the Miners’ Highway crossed a bleak land with few settlements.

  “Where are you taking me?” Seth croaked finally. His throat was raw and the inside of his mouth felt gummy with dehydration.

  The woman urged her horse up close so she drew level with Seth. Despite not wanting to, Seth felt his gaze drawn to hers. When they met, he flinched back but could not break free, especially in his weakened state.

  “I am Edessa Delfen and my companion is Lethian Fairwye – we are sorcerers of the Esquill,” she began with unnerving detachment, “and we are taking you to Deep-Spire.”

  Seth stared at her a moment before responding.

  “Why?”

  “You will find out soon enough.”

  “So be it,” he winced as speaking tore at his raw throat, “but I warn you that I am a hunted man. Carting me out into the wilderness will only make my pursuer’s task easier. I just hope that when he disembowels me, he does the same to you both!”

  Edessa’s eyes widened before suspicion clouded them. Then, she tossed her hair back off and urged her mount forward, signalling that their conversation was at an end.

  They were descending into a shallow valley now, where a dry riverbed snaked towards a cleft between two hills. The sight of the riverbed just exacerbated Seth’s thirst. He wondered how long it would be before he begged his captors for water. They had not bound him, obviously believing that he would not bother to run away. They were right – there were two of them on horseback and they were in open country. Seth would not get far.

  Despite the warmth of the sun on his face, Seth felt chilled. They had ruined his plan to escape north. The ship bound for Narn had set sail without him. Ten years earlier, Seth had arrived in Dunethport with the dream of travelling the world aboard a ship; a vagrant’s life from port to port. Once again, it was not to be his fate. Thanks to these two, the cloaked one would hunt him down with ease. Seth looked back the way they had come.

  How long, he wondered, till it catches up with me.

  ***

  At dusk, they camped next to a dry creek bed. There was no refuge in these parts, only a few dead trees; their branches reached like supplicating hands to the sky. It was a shallow valley with gently sloping sides. The ground was barren; rabbits had nibbled the grass down to the roots.

  The sorcerers tied the two horses up, only feet away from their campsite. They could not afford to lose them and Seth imagined such fine creatures would fetch no less than twenty gold dracs each at market – a small fortune.

  Lethian passed Seth a bladder of water before setting about lighting a campfire on the edge of the river bed. Seth gulped greedily; the stale water was a healing balm on his throat. The Esquill ignored him as they unpacked a few provisions and their bedrolls. Seth watched Lethian prepare dinner, his mouth filling with saliva at the thought of food. His stomach felt hollowed inwards and his head ached from hunger.

  Lethian produced a clay pot of finely ground mince to which he added an egg, pinches of coarse salt, pepper and dried herbs. He stirred the mix with a pestle before rolling it into balls. While Lethian prepared the meal, Edessa seated herself a short distance from them. She knelt and placed her hands flat on the ground either side of her. Then, she fell into a trance-like state, her face raised skywards.

  Ignoring his companion's ritual, Lethian pulled a large flat stone into the centre of the fire and once the fire had died to glowing embers, he flattened the balls of seasoned mince into discs and fried them on the hot stone. The smell made Seth dizzy. He could not bear the thought of them eating that delicious meal, and not sharing it with him.

  “You have some skill as a cook,” Seth ventured finally, hoping that while the woman was in a trance he could establish some common ground with her companion. He certainly appeared more pleasant t
han Edessa.

  “I can feed myself,” Lethian replied with a smile. “The kitchen at Larnoth serves up slop for anyone but the realmlord. I decided if I wasn't going to end up malnourished I'd have to learn to cook.”

  Encouraged by Lethian's affable manner, Seth relaxed a little.

  “I'm a poor cook,” he admitted, “there were few benefits to working for Marshal Osforth but his kitchen produced fine food. None of us had anything to complain about.”

  Edessa stirred nearby and Seth fell silent. She moved closer to the campfire, and her gaze raked across their captive. Seth stared back at her, daring her to confront him. A sense of impending doom made him reckless. He should have been sailing to freedom on a Marl trader. This woman had ruined everything.

  As if sensing the aggression emanating from him, Edessa gave a cold smile – there was no humour evident in those green eyes. Seth expected her to challenge him then but, instead, she turned her attention to the appetising meal Lethian had prepared.

  To Seth's relief, Lethian passed him a slice of bread with two patties on it and Seth devoured it. The Esquill ignored him, leisurely eating their meal and speaking in low voices. Seth caught a few words but none of it made any sense to him and his stomach was still growling in protest. He could have eaten three times what Lethian had given him.

  The sun dipped down behind the western hills and a chill settled over the valley. Seth took the scratchy blanket Lethian tossed him and wrapped it tightly around himself. He lay down on his bedding roll and looked up at the sky, watching as, one by one, the stars twinkled to life. Eventually, a half-moon rose into the heavens.

  Exhaustion dragged Seth down, but for a long while he could not sleep. Nearby, he could hear the deep, even breathing of the Esquill, as sleep claimed them both.

  Seth was just dropping off, when a hand – smooth and cool – clamped down over his mouth.

  “Quiet Seth! It’s me, Nevis of Foresthill,” a voice hissed in his ear. “I have worked a sleep charm over the Esquill but we have little time till they awake. Follow me!”