“We’ve got company.”
Tobin thrust the ends of the two branches into the fire. They ignited with a roar into flaming torches. Lady Cirinna awoke and scrambled to her feet. Tobin passed one of the branches to Val and handed him a short sword. Val took them without argument, although he felt too frightened to move let alone wield a weapon.
The door began to rattle. A fist hammered against the wood in dull blows. Captain Tobin had done a thorough job of boarding up the door and even though the intruder threw its weight against the wood, the boards held fast. They heard an angry, swearing hiss before the footsteps moved off, circling the cottage once more. The dwelling was a small, one-room structure and there was only a single window on the far wall. The footsteps stopped outside it and the sound of fingernails scraping on wood followed.
“If it gets inside,” Tobin whispered to Val, “stick your torch in its face!”
If I don't die of fright first.
The boards across the window started creaking. The intruder was taking a new approach, attempting to pry the boards free with its fingers; something most men would not have had the strength to do for Tobin had wedged the boards in tight.
Val's heart started to hammer and his mouth went dry. His hand, which gripped the sword's hilt, was so slippery with sweat he wondered if he would be able to keep hold of it.
One of the boards came free with a crack and fingers appeared, gripping the next board and yanking hard. The hands were huge, raw-boned and pale, with disproportionately long fingers and long, unkempt fingernails. The second board came off, easier than the first and thin wrists appeared, followed by sinewy arms. The third and fourth boards came free easily and a hooded figure appeared at the window.
Val went cold. It appeared to be the same cloaked figure that had attacked the Red Tussock Inn.
Lady Cirinna screamed and flattened herself up against the wall.
“Get back!” Tobin shouted, “Come not in here fiend!”
The silhouette gave a rattling wheeze before responding in a low, sibilant voice.
“Then give up the Sentorân and I will go.”
Confused by the strange demand, Captain Tobin frowned. Moments passed before the hands reappeared and gripped the edges of the window frame. Then a leg swung over the ledge and the figure was illuminated.
Unlike two nights earlier, they now had a clear view of the intruder.
He had the longest legs Val had ever seen; twice as long as his own with large, muscular feet and filthy toenails. The cape he wore had fallen back revealing tattered trousers that came down to mid-calf and a stained leather vest. The body was sinewy, hairless and so pallid it looked as if the being had never seen the sun, with muscles like knotted rope.
In the torchlight, Val saw a lumpy face, pocked and scarred, like badly moulded clay. He had a bald head and small, pointed ears which lay flat against his head. The wide, lipless mouth was parted slightly, revealing two huge canine teeth. The face bore livid burns; signs from his encounter with Captain Tobin and Hendel Wulf – confirming that this was, indeed, the attacker from the Red Tussock.
“No further!” Tobin shouted, and Val heard the fear in his voice.
The captain rushed forward, brandishing his sword and torch. Half through the window, the intruder swung his right arm inside. He gripped a heavy crescent-shaped sword – presumably the same one that had slain Hendel Wulf. The sword whistled past Tobin and its serrated edge snagged his cloak, tearing it as easily as if it had caught thin gauze. Tobin jumped back and swung his own blade round. The shriek of steel against steel filled the room.
Captain Roth Tobin was a tall, muscular man, and even wounded he was more than a match for most. Yet, his attacker merely swiped him aside. Tobin flew across the room. He slammed against the wall, his head cracking loudly against stone. The captain slumped, motionless, while his torch rolled across the floor.
“Sentorân,” the cloaked one wheezed, and looked straight at Val. Two black eyes, filled with cunning intelligence, fastened on him. “Skewer yourself on my blade and spare your friends.”
Sentorân?
“You’re mis…mistaken,” Val stammered. “There is no Sentorân here!”
The intruder, still half-inside the window, ignored Val’s response. His muscles tensed, as he readied himself to push through into the room.
Val knew he must act but fear rooted him to the spot.
It was then that a slim figure shot past Val, grabbed the fallen torch and ripped the other torch from his limp fingers. Taking advantage of the fact that the intruder’s gaze was riveted on Val, Lady Cirinna acted. She shoved one torch against the intruder's leg and with the other, set fire to his cape.
The intruder shrieked and lashed out with his sword. Lady Cirinna jumped back and the blade narrowly missed her. Then, she darted forward again, dousing the cloak once more with flame. Tearing his gaze from his prey, the intruder snarled and slapped at the flames. The tattered cloak was dry and greasy. Fire devoured the material.
Across the room, Tobin had regained consciousness and staggered to his feet. In two strides he was at Lady Cirinna's side and, grabbing one of the torches from her, he thrust it into the intruder's face, as he had at the Red Tussock. Tobin gripped his sword tightly with his free hand and stabbed the attacker in the side.
A raw scream filled the cottage. The intruder writhed on the windowsill, clutching at his injured flank. Then, he lurched forward and belted Tobin across the side of the head with one huge fist. Once again, Tobin flew through the air and crumpled against the wall. Lady Cirinna, her face taut, brandished a torch in the attacker's face. Growling, he drew back against the ledge.
Flames encircled the intruder in a halo now, and the sweet smell of charred flesh wafted inside the cottage. Suddenly aware that the fire had spread to his skin, the intruder toppled backwards into the darkness, hissing and screaming.
Outside, they heard him slapping and tearing at the flames while he tried to untangle himself from the filthy, burning cloak. Then, he gave a shrill, warbling cry; the sound of feet slapping the ground followed.
Gradually the cries faded. The cloaked one disappeared, still howling, into the night.
On the floor, Captain Tobin groaned and pulled himself up onto all fours. He shook his head and, using the wall for support, climbed to his feet.
“The fiend has fled?” he croaked.
“It ran away on fire,” Lady Cirinna replied. She stood by the window, still holding both torches. Her long, blonde hair had come free of its braid and curled around her face. Her features, although frightened, were animated. She looked far from the withdrawn, sullen young woman Val had known till now.
Tobin moved across to the window, took a torch from Lady Cirinna and peered outside. Drawing back from the window, he turned his attention to Val, and spat at his feet.
“Librarian, you let a woman outdo you in bravery while you stood there shitting yourself?”
“Not only that,” Lady Cirinna added quietly, her gaze on Val as she spoke, “but while you were unconscious, the fiend named Val a Sentorân. Our travelling companion is a sorcerer. It's him that creature is after.”
Tobin's gaze raked over Val, as if looking at him for the first time. Then, the captain lunged at Val, grasped him by the throat, and pinned him up against the wall. Their faces were so close that Val could see blood trickling out of one of the captain's nostrils. Tobin, however, was oblivious to it; his focus was entirely on Val.
“Explain yourself.”
“I don't understand either,” Val gasped, grappling with Tobin’s iron grip that was slowly compressing his windpipe, “There aren’t any… Sentorân left,” he choked. “I'm... just a librarian.”
“Tell me the truth!” Tobin shouted, shaking him hard, “or I'll choke the life out of you.”
“Captain!”
Lady Cirinna stepped up beside the men and placed a restraining hand on Tobin's arm.
“My father wanted him with us on this journe
y for a reason. If you kill him now you will jeopardise your mission.”
Tobin hesitated for a moment before reluctantly deciding his charge was right. With a snarl, he flung Val into a corner.
“I still want some answers from you,” he warned.
Val huddled in the corner, miserable. He brought his knees up and hugged them to his chest. His throat ached. Tobin was right. He was useless – only good for sorting books no one ever read in a library no one ever visited. Lady Cirinna had shown courage whereas he had failed miserably. Worse still, there was a fiend out there in the darkness that was hunting him. Right now it would be nursing its burns and plotting its next attack.
He had no answers for Tobin, for he had none for himself.
Chapter Thirteen
The Valley of the Tors
Seth and Nevis rode west. The sun had just risen and a silvery veil of mist trailed over the land. The road rose before them to a broad plateau. In the distance, the chunky outline of the Rock and Pillar mountain range drew ever closer – the border between coastal and central Omagen.
They rode into the foothills, and only then did they slow their pace to a brisk walk. The horses were exhausted; their heads hung low and their sides were slick with sweat. Seth loosened the reins and, leaning forward, stroked his horse’s neck. He then glanced over his shoulder to the east. The mist was starting to clear but there was no sign of the Esquill. Still, he knew they would be coming after him. Seth was impatient to press on, but he and Nevis had pushed their horses hard. The beasts needed a breather or they would collapse.
They reached a small mountain creek that bubbled under the road, before dismounting their horses and leading them down to it. They let the horses have a brief drink – not too much or it would be dangerous to ride them hard again.
Seth stretched his stiff leg and back muscles and looked across at the woman responsible for his escape. Nevis of Foresthill met his gaze; her face was flushed and her eyes bright.
“Impressed?” she grinned at him. “That sleep charm worked a treat!”
“Won’t they catch up with us soon enough? You must have seen the fine horses they ride?”
“You and I are also riding quality!” Nevis snorted, “I ‘borrowed’ these two from a merchant who owed me money in Dunethport.”
Seth was stunned into silence. He had never met a woman like this one. Nevis was so sure of herself; a unique blend of earthiness, freedom and fire. Even with her hair pulled back into a braid down her back and wearing those shapeless blue robes, she drew a man’s eye.
“How did you know the Esquill had taken me?” he asked when he had recovered his wits.
“I was waiting for you outside the tavern,” she replied. “As you emerged, I was about to approach you when those two stepped out of the shadows. The woman clubbed you so hard I thought she’d killed you. They dragged you off and I followed. I watched them load you into a cart and set off towards the southern route out of Dunethport. I quickly gathered provisions, collected these horses and set off after them.”
“I owe you thanks,” Seth said when she had finished. “You’ve got courage.”
Nevis shrugged, before fixing Seth with one of her disconcerting level gazes; the kind that forced men to tell the truth.
“Do you know why they kidnapped you?”
Seth told her about his encounter with the Esquill in the realmlord’s reception hall – and how he managed to ward off Edessa.
“Maybe they too think I’m a Sentorân?” he suggested. “Whatever the reason, they were taking me to Deep-Spire.”
Nevis nodded. “I imagine Lady Marin of Deep-Spire would be very interested to meet you,” she replied with a wry smile.
Once the horses had rested a little, they continued their journey along the Miners’ Highway. They urged their mounts to a slow canter but kept the reins loose, letting the horses find their own way over the rough road. The Miners’ Highway twisted through gradually steepening hills and outcrops. They were now riding into the Rock and Pillars themselves.
Seth had never ridden through these mountains, having always taken the longer, and safer, route to the south. He could see how the unusual topography had given this mountain range its name. Enormous chunks of schist studded the arid landscape and pillars of dark stone perched like sentinels from rocky outcrops. Now that spring had arrived, only the highest peaks were still snow-covered. On the other side of the mountain range lay the town of Mirfaran. If they kept up their current pace, Seth hoped they should reach it by nightfall.
“Nevis, I thought the Sentorân were all dead and buried?” Seth asked eventually, “but if that’s the case, why does their name plague me wherever I go?”
“The Sentorân did disappear,” the Sister replied, “yet their influence lives on. They were far more involved in the politics of Palâdnith than the Esquill are. They were more than just counsellors, but keepers of the peace. The Sentorân held high ideals of conduct, propriety and belief; in fact, many found them a bit self-righteous. Some say it was their arrogance that led to their downfall – their inability to see Riadamor and her Esquill as a threat until it was too late. Their name follows you Seth; for you and your brothers must be the last of their bloodline.”
“Well, it must have be through my mother, because my father was certainly no warlock, I can assure you.”
The idea of Hath Falkyn, a pragmatist if ever there was one, muttering incantations and poring over spell books, brought a smile to Seth’s face.
Nevis nodded. “She protected you for as long as she could, although the charm she gave you obviously no longer works.”
Seth reached up and placed his hand over the amulet. He had worn it his entire life, but until recently had never really noticed it.
My mother. Seth had no memory of Belythna Falkyn at all. He had grown up believing that she had abandoned them all. As such, Seth had long dismissed her as inconsequential; she was merely the woman who had given birth to him, and little else. Now, Nevis was telling him that his mother had tried to protect him, and that she was likely to have been a Sentorân.
Maybe he had been wrong about her all these years. Val – the only one of his brothers who had any vivid memories of their mother – had always insisted that she had loved them, and would never have abandoned them. Eni and Seth used to jeer at their older brother whenever he suggested that their mother had been the victim of foul play. Yet, Nevis’s words made Seth entertain Val’s theory for the first time.
“But how would I know if I’m a Sentorân or not?” he glanced over at Nevis and saw that she was watching him. “I’m not extraordinary.”
The Sister smiled.
“You managed to fend off that Esquill sorceress when she tried to probe your mind. Isn’t that proof you possess a skill that others do not?”
“Yes, but I have no idea how I did it.”
“You are untrained. Those born into the Sentorân spent years developing their abilities, and each sorcerer’s talents were unique to him. Nonetheless, they had to be trained, as you would need to be.”
“Well that’s it then,” Seth replied with a shrug. “I’ll never know if I’m really a Sentorân, since there are none left to train me.”
They rode on. Morning crept by and the mist evaporated. Still, it was a cool day with a colourless sky, and little warmth in the sun. The Rock and Pillars had a quiet and brooding presence. The crunch of their horses’ hooves on the gravel road seemed the only sound and the absence of trees meant that there was no birdsong.
Shortly before noon they came to a fork in the road.
The riders drew their horses up and considered the two paths.
“What’s this then?” Nevis murmured with a frown. “I don’t remember seeing a fork in the Miners’ Highway on any map.”
“Neither do I,” Seth admitted. “Sorry Nevis, but although I grew up in Central Omagen, my family always took the Farmers’ Highway to the coast. The southern route is less isolated than this road, and there are ple
nty of inns along the way so travellers don’t have to sleep rough between Barrowthorne and Dunethport.”
“I’ve never travelled this way myself,” Nevis confessed. “Until last summer, I had never left Sude. Still, I planned on travelling to Central Omagen later in the spring. I was studying maps just last week – I’m sure the Miners’ Highway doesn’t split into two paths.”
They both studied the fork in the road; the problem was that both paths were identical: about two horses in width and roughly gravelled. They sloped gently upwards before disappearing behind a slab of rock. It was impossible to know which road would take them up to the Pass of Riordin.
“Left or right?” Seth asked eventually. “We can’t stay here deliberating forever.”
Nevis shrugged. “They both appear to head up over the mountain. Maybe it does not matter which we take. Let’s take the right fork. It looks friendly enough.”
“Go on then,” Seth urged his horse right.
Single file now, with Seth in front, they rode in silence. He let his horse pick its way up the twisting, rock-strewn road. At first, they were able to move quickly, but after a while, the way steepened and narrowed. Eventually, Seth was forced to slow his horse to a walk.
After a while, they paused to rest their horses. They gave them a nibble of oats, and had something to eat themselves. Seth took a bite of stale bread and hard cheese and leant up against the cool cliff wall as he chewed. He finished his simple but satisfying lunch, before taking a couple of gulps from the water bladder Nevis passed him. Then he stoppered it and handed it back to her.
“What’s it like being a Sister of Sial?” Seth asked. He watched Nevis take a drink from the bladder, and could not help but admire the slender column of her throat. “I’ve imagined you living up trees, rubbing mud in your hair and chanting to the full moon.”
Nevis laughed at that. It was a warm sound.
“It’s the only life I’ve ever known,” she replied with a whimsical smile. “My parents gave me to the order when I was tiny. You’re right though – the Sisters do live up trees, although let me assure you our homes, although small, are very comfortable. During the summer solstice, we do cover ourselves with mud and dance naked under the full moon – to give thanks to Palâd and Nith for their blessings.”
Journey of Shadows (The Palâdnith Chronicles Book 1) Page 15