by Jayne Castel
To Ryana’s right, screeching and hissing rent the air as two creatures fought over a hare’s carcass. A small, dark-skinned imp with a whip tail hissed—baring needle teeth as a wolf-like beast with raised hackles growled back. The wolfbeast placed a heavy paw on the carcass between them.
Ryana inhaled deeply and whispered a few words to her shadows, feeling them expand and shift around her, clearing a way forward through the throng. Behind her she heard snarling, before a high-pitched wail split the night.
She did not look back, instead keeping her gaze fixed ahead, on the tops of the tents that were still some way off. She walked with long, deliberate strides, navigating her way through the shadow horde as if she were crossing a swamp filled with poisonous eels.
The shadows were her savior. Not only did they cloak her from view, but they created an invisible shield at least two feet wide around Ryana. Without it, one of the prowling shadow creatures would have collided with her.
Eventually, she reached the center of the encampment and slipped through the ring of hide tents to the clearing beyond. At its heart, a crackling fire threw out a wall of heat.
A cluster of cloaked figures stood warming their hands. Ryana had been so intent on making it safely through the ranks of shadow creatures that she had barely realized the temperature had fallen dramatically with the setting of the sun.
However, she didn’t dwell on the chill for long. Her gaze swept the group, looking for The Shadow King. She had no idea what Valgarth might look like—for no paintings or etchings of him had survived after his fall. Such a man would be difficult to miss though; she would recognize him on sight.
Yet she couldn’t see him.
Instead, a man standing directly opposite drew her attention. Tall and lean, with long dark hair tied back at his nape, he was as attractive as she remembered. Perhaps more so, for age had broadened his shoulders and given character to a fine-boned, handsome face.
Gael.
Ryana’s belly twisted. She should have realized that Gael would be part of this. Yet after a decade apart, it was a shock to see him. The last time she’d set eyes on him, Ryana had been tied up in his room above the tavern where he worked as a musician. She remembered lying on her side, gazing up at him blearily as the charm he’d used upon her began to wear off.
“Take me with you,” she’d rasped. Even now, Ryana cringed at how pathetic she’d been, how she’d worshipped him.
He’d stood over her, smiling. “I don’t think so … you’ve served your purpose.”
Ryana’s breathing hitched at the memory. Her cheeks burned red-hot as the humiliation of that day washed over her once more. She’d tried to bury that hurt, but it had lain deep within her, festering. Now that the man who’d used her, betrayed her, stood just feet away, it erupted to the surface.
Bastard.
Her hands clenched at her sides. How she wanted to attack him.
Instead, she remained where she was, rooted to the spot.
Get a hold of yourself. You’re not here for revenge.
Even so, she imagined the pleasure she’d feel in shoving Gael face-first into that roaring fire and watching him burn.
Ryana moved, walking stiffly around the edge of the fire, behind the men. She had to find out where Valgarth was hiding. Perhaps he was in one of the tents?
Gael was standing next to Brand. The young man was talking to him, his round face solemn, the breeze mussing his sandy hair. To Brand’s left stood a hulking soldier, his bald head gleaming in the firelight.
The soldier interrupted Brand mid-sentence, the low rumble of his voice carrying across the clearing. However, Ryana was too far away to make out the words.
Holding her breath, she crept up behind them before stopping around three yards back. She dared approach no further; instead, she leaned forward, straining to catch the conversation between the three men.
The soldier was still speaking. “Nathan leads his army. We will get to crush Rithmar’s spirit in one hammer blow.”
“But their numbers appear equal to ours, father,” Brand replied, “and they have enchanters with them.”
Father. Ryana frowned.
The bald man shrugged. “Aye, but they don’t have an army of ghouls.”
“I wouldn’t get cocky, Commander.” Gael spoke up. “We still need to free Valgarth.”
Ryana stopped breathing.
Valgarth wasn’t free already.
Relief crashed through her—with such force that her legs shook. She’d walked into this camp ready to face the most powerful enchanter that ever lived. It wasn’t something she’d ever expected to walk away from. Yet suddenly there was hope.
Now, she could focus on finding The King Breaker.
In front of her, she watched Gael’s broad shoulders stiffen. He turned from the fire, his brow furrowing as he scanned the darkness behind him.
“What’s wrong?” Brand asked.
Gael didn’t answer immediately, his dark gaze sweeping his surroundings.
Ryana resisted the urge to move away; her heart was pounding so loud she was sure the whole camp could hear it. Surely, he couldn’t see her?
“Nothing,” Gael murmured, turning back to the fire. “Just the wind.”
A few feet away, the commander frowned at Gael. “About freeing Valgarth,” he rumbled. “You’re supposed to be taking care of that.”
Gael’s handsome face tightened. “I am … but the heavy cloud cover this morning meant the sun couldn’t get through. We need sunlight to fall upon the pieces of The King Breaker, or they will not fuse together. Sunlight must also touch the Ice Door itself at the same time, or we won’t be able to see the key-hole.”
“And you can make that happen tomorrow morning?”
Gael nodded. “Before entering the caverns at dawn, Brand and I will gather the Dark and lift the cloud cap above us. Then we will go to the door.”
“That should allow the sun to filter in through the hole in the roof above it,” Brand added. “Once we have sunlight, we can release him.”
The commander’s gaze flicked from Brand to Gael. He was opening his mouth to reply, when the lonely wail of a horn echoed across the Vale of Barrows. The horn died away before sounding once more.
The leader of The Shade Brotherhood flashed his companions a hard smile. “It appears King Nathan wants to talk.”
39
Give Me The Stone
SAUL OF ANTHOR crouched in the gully, and gazed up at the two figures outlined against the sky. He’d been waiting a long while, but the time had come for him to move.
Saul shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the dull throb up his left arm. The injuries to his wrist had steadily gotten more painful over the past days. He’d bound it tightly, yet he knew soon he’d lose the use of his left hand. Despite the cool evening, a light sweat coated his skin. Lilia had savaged his wrist, and now the wound festered.
It had been a tough journey from the capital. Injured and forced to hunt and forage to survive, he’d spent his nights shivering in holes he dug for himself with a layer of branches and foliage on top; the only places he was safe from the shadow creatures. But it was all worth it—for he’d paid close attention to the army’s rearguard and spotted the three figures slipping away just before dusk.
Pain shot up his left arm, causing Saul to choke back a groan.
Concentrate.
Shoving aside his discomfort, he squinted up at where Lilia and Dain waited. He’d seen Ryana leave her companions. Where she’d gone, he didn’t know—but he needed to take action, before she returned.
He had to get the stone back.
Saul didn’t understand why the idiot girl had brought The King Breaker north. The other half of the talisman was likely in the midst of The Brotherhood’s camp. Why would she bring the stone into danger?
Saul reached for a blade with his right hand, silently pulling it free. He wasn’t here for answers. He’d underestimated Lilia at the House of Light and Darkness. This ti
me, he wouldn’t hesitate.
Rising to his feet, Saul crept forward. He’d only taken a couple of steps when agony lanced up his left arm. He stifled a gasp, stumbling. Then his toe caught on the edge of a rock, and he sprawled onto the stony ground.
Dain whipped round at the noise behind him. He’d been listening to the night, his senses sharp as they waited for Ryana to return, when a gasp, followed by a heavy thud sounded at the bottom of the hill.
Someone had been sneaking up on them.
Dain was on him in a heartbeat. There was no time to draw his weapons; it was too dark to use them effectively anyway. Instead, he leaped on the prone figure. The man twisted under him, rolling onto his back, but Dain was quicker—pinning him to the ground.
Dain caught the flash of steel out of the corner of his eye, and then someone head-butted him. A moment later he was underneath his assailant.
A blade rushed toward him, and Dain struck upward, grasping hold of the man’s wrist.
“Saul,” Lilia hissed. “Leave him!”
Dain went rigid. He should have realized that Saul would track them north—he should have paid more attention.
“Give me the stone, and I will,” Saul snarled. He pressed down on the blade, his gaze gleaming in the darkness.
“I don’t have it,” Lilia replied, her voice tight.
“Liar.”
Dain gripped Saul’s wrist with both hands now, shoving back with all his strength.
Then something snarled in the darkness, and Dain felt Saul tense.
Lilia had shifted.
“Come near me, freak, and he dies.” Saul’s voice was harsh, although Dain caught the edge to it. He feared Lilia.
A soft growl answered him.
A heartbeat later Dain felt the sting of cold Anthor steel against his throat.
Shadows, the bastard was going to kill him.
And then the blade was gone, and Saul reeled back. Struggling up into a crouching position, Dain peered into the darkness. He could hear sounds of a struggle before choking filled the cool night air.
Dain’s heart raced. “Lily?”
“I’m here,” she murmured from next to him.
Dain went rigid. “But who’s—”
A harsh choke cut him off, and then the night went still. Dain reached for one of his knives.
“Lilia, Dain … are you there?”
Dain released the breath he’d been holding. “Ryana?”
“Aye,” the enchanter gasped. “And just in time too.”
“What about Saul?” Lilia whispered. “Is he—”
“Dead? Aye, I threw a noose of shadows around his neck.”
Dain rose to his feet, peering at the tall outline that stood against the night sky. She seemed remarkably calm for a woman who’d just ventured into a throng of shadow creatures. “What happened in the camp?” he asked.
Ryana made an impatient sound. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered. “First, we need to move back a safe distance … it’s not wise to speak here.”
The three of them sat at the bottom of a steep, rocky ravine, two furlongs west of where Dain and Lilia had waited. They’d dragged Saul with them, dumping his body into the gully.
Lilia’s heart still pounded in the aftermath of the attack. She’d shifted, and had been about to leap at Saul’s throat, when a whip of shadows had reached him first.
Saul had been sick, feverish. She’d smelt the sweet, rotten reek on him when she’d shifted. The wound she’d given him had turned sour. Ryana had dealt him a mercy by ending his life. Lilia was glad he was dead—that he would no longer stalk her steps.
Ryana kept her voice low as she spoke of what she’d discovered at The Brotherhood’s fireside. They were a safe distance from the Shadow Army, yet even so, the enchanter was cautious.
Lilia listened intently, her pulse accelerating.
Valgarth was still imprisoned.
“There’s still time,” she whispered. “We can stop them. We can retrieve the stone and get it to Asher … so he can destroy it.”
“Any ideas on how?” Ryana asked. Now that she had finished her story, her voice was drained. Lilia didn’t blame her—she didn’t know how Ryana had managed to keep her nerve inside the camp.
A few feet away, Dain leaned forward. “When they go to the Ice Door at dawn, we must be waiting. If we climb the mountain now, we should reach the caverns well ahead of them.”
Ryana huffed. “As easy as that?”
“Three against two, how hard can it be?”
“They’re two powerful enchanters, Dain.”
“And you were willing to take Valgarth on alone,” he countered, impatience creeping into his voice. “This time you won’t be on your own … you’ll have me and Lilia to help you.”
Asher looked out across No Man’s Land toward the Shadow Army. A space of just over two furlongs of flat, arid land separated them. At this distance, the enemy was a wall of squirming darkness. There were no torches at all in the front ranks. Farther back, pitch torches guttered in the breeze, and standards bristled against the sky.
King Nathan had just raised a black flag, indicating a request for a parley. They were all waiting to see if The Brotherhood would comply.
“They’ve put the shadow creatures up front,” Asher murmured to the young captain next to him. “The Brotherhood are waiting at the rear.”
Like the enchanter, Captain Garick was on horseback. They were at the front of the army, just beyond the ring of shields and spears that hemmed in Rithmar’s troops. To their left, Thrindul and King Nathan sat astride their mounts, talking together in low voices.
Captain Garick acknowledged Asher with a nod, his mouth thinning. His gaze narrowed as he regarded Asher through the eye slits of his helmet. “Makes sense … put the rabble in the front ranks.”
Asher made a face. “Rabble? They might not look organized, but I wouldn’t dismiss them.”
“I’m not … like you I’ve seen what they’re capable of.” Garick watched him steadily for a moment. “At least they don’t outnumber us. I’d say we’re evenly matched … around a thousand on each side.”
“They don’t have cavalry though,” Asher pointed out, “or enchanters.”
“No,” Garick replied, his gaze flicking back to the surging mass up ahead, “although I don’t think that worries them.” The chatter of excitement reached them; the shadow creatures were growing restless, spoiling for a fight.
Asher’s horse side-stepped nervously, its nostrils flaring. “Are the men ready?” he asked.
Garick nodded. “They wait for my command.”
King Nathan’s army had halted on the edge of the field of barrows and formed a line. The enchanters of the Order of Light and Darkness made up the right and left flanks with the main body of foot soldiers forming the center. King Nathan’s personal guard rode behind the infantry, with the cavalry making up the right and left flanks at the rear.
Garick glanced right, to where a group of men and women in smoke-grey and charcoal robes stood. “And the enchanters? Are they prepared?”
Asher nodded. The truth was that most of the enchanters—Light and Dark alike—were exhausted from holding the light spheres and shadow nets aloft on the journey here. He was concerned how long they’d last on the battlefield. He didn’t speak of this to Garick though. He didn’t want to risk lowering morale.
Garick shifted in the saddle, guiding his horse left so that he moved alongside the king. “Milord … it’s time. They’re coming.”
Asher glanced ahead, watching as a small group emerged from the Shadow Army and advanced across No Man’s Land. In response, the five riders—King Nathan, Captain Garick, Thrindul, Irana, and Asher—drew level with each other, forming a line, and rode out to meet them.
As he rode, Asher’s thoughts shifted momentarily to Ryana.
Was she even still alive?
The two parties met in the center of No Man’s Land.
In the light from their torch
es, they studied each other.
The Shadow Army’s envoy consisted of a huge bald man, clad head to foot in leather, and three shadow creatures.
The man wore a hard, arrogant expression and held himself with supreme confidence, his dark cloak rippling in the breeze. But it was his companions that drew Asher’s gaze. Two he recognized, a Nightgenga and a Hiriel, but he’d not seen the third creature before. It stood around seven feet tall and was entirely clad in tattered grey robes that brushed along the ground when it walked. Long bell-sleeves covered its hands, and it had a deep cowl with only darkness beyond.
Asher suppressed a shudder; this must be one of the Thracken. He’d read about the cloaked shadow creatures who’d once formed Valgarth’s personal guard.
The man stepped forward, before speaking in a low, powerful voice. “I’m Commander Trond of The Shade Brotherhood. Speak your terms.”
Asher glanced across at where King Nathan sat astride his bay charger, staring the Brotherhood commander down. “Do you lead this army?”
“Aye,” Trond rumbled. “These three represent the Servants of the Shadows.”
In response, both the Nightgenga and the Hiriel gave mocking bows, although the Thracken remained deathly still, its rags fluttering in the whispering wind.
“There are no others with you then? No enchanters?”
A smile curved Commander Trond’s thin lips. “None that will be speaking to you.”
King Nathan leaned forward, his muscular frame taut, his face hard. However, it was Thrindul who replied. The High Enchanter sat rigid in the saddle, Grim perched upon his shoulder, as he glared down his nose at the commander.
“Where is Valgarth? It’s him we wish to talk to … not his minions.”
The soldier smirked, and beside him the Nightgenga cackled, peering out at the High Enchanter behind a curtain of lank, greasy hair.
“Go home, and get ready to kneel, Nathan,” Trond replied, ignoring Thrindul and turning his attention back to the king. “The one true lord has returned to the north.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened. “We’re not leaving.”