 
Chapter 1

Endings

"We got it, Pall!" Gibbs cried. "Said we would, didn't I? Easy work for those that know how!" The old man smiled, revealing a mouth full of rot festering in a white-flecked brown beard. Red-rimmed eyes glimmered as Gibbs finally focussed on Rianthan before turning back to study his prize.

"Yes, we damn well got it," Rianthan snapped, irritated at having to smooth his hair back yet again. "But what? What was our lord here trying to buy his bloody life with?" He nodded over to where the corpse of a blond-haired man in his middle years lay with his head sagged against his chest. Bloody clumps of flesh showed through green silks where once his arms and legs had been. Gibbs had even gone to the bother of laying the legs at the shoulders and the arms at the waist. He'd taken the man's dignity in his life and his death.

Knocking his pipe against his hand to empty the drum, Rianthan turned his head away as a strong gust of wind blew shattered pieces of stained glass from where it had clung to the frame of the window, onto the boards of the antechamber floor. He reached up to refasten the leather cord around his forehead as dark hair fell across his face. Giving up, he spat and stuffed the cord into a ripped pocket. Things hadn't been easy lately. Not easy at all. His leather tunic hung off his wiry frame, more so now than ever before.

"Pall!" Gibbs called, beckoning him over with a near-skeletal arm. Things hadn't been easy for any of them. To give the old man his dues, what they did have, he shared.

"And so it is," Rianthan sneered as he ran his belt-knife across the large plaque hanging over the door to the adjoining chamber. "Permanence is the triumph of the worthy," he hissed as he read the ruined inscription aloud. His fingers reached instinctively into his tobacco pouch. At finding it empty, he cursed before crossing the chamber in long strides, the pieces of red and yellow glass which swam in a growing pool of blood crackled as they were crushed beneath his boots.

Old Gibbs managed to sway, even as he and Bandra, a big lad the old man always kept close, huddled around a lock box. Gibbs always fought drunk. Said it made him stronger. Rianthan knew that really it just made him braver. The man got his kicks from cruelty and violence. Just look at the corpse in the silks. Underneath all that though, the old bastard was as big a coward as any of them. All his life, Rianthan had followed Gibbs. They'd dealt out a good few beatings, done more than their share of thieving. They'd conned people, coerced them, scared the hell out of them too. All the standard stuff, with all the standard pay, just to get what they needed. This time was different. This time, Gibbs thought he'd finally hit the jackpot – thought he'd finally found something worth the effort. "Times were changing and you had to change too. Do nothing and you'll end up as nothing," Gibbs had once said. Rianthan had to agree with the old man there.

"Show it then, old man," Rianthan said, stopping Bandra from pulling the lid of the lock box back down.

"All right, Pall. All right." Gibbs stood and made a show of turning around, the foul smile returning to split his face. He cradled a long, thin bundle wrapped as tight as swaddling, and he swayed as he shoved past Bandra. The fool looked all the world like a proud father holding his first-born son. Even bloody rocked him in his arms.

"Come on, damn it. I want to see if this was all worthwhile, Gibbs. I want to see what's got you all riled up!"

"Quiet now, Pall. Quiet and we'll take a peek shall we?" Wheezing as he giggled, Gibbs unwrapped the grey cloth.

Bandra took a step back towards the open door leading to the stairs. He swallowed as he took it upon himself to stand guard by the long window to his right. He gave the bundle one last nervous look and then turned his back to watch the men below. Shaking his head at Bandra, Gibbs' eyes widened as he returned to unwinding the layers of cloth, exposing a long, white rod elaborately decorated with gold candles spiralling along its length to where folded hands, also worked from gold, tipped the end. "You see what this is, Pall?" Gibbs breathed, holding the rod out. Rianthan leant forwards, suddenly unable to resist the urge to place his hand on it. At Rianthan's touch, a glowing white light started to emanate out until the rod itself could not be seen beneath its expanding radiance.

"A bloody priest's sceptre," Rianthan whispered before pulling his hand back as if he had been burned.

"Yes, yes!" Gibbs' remaining top teeth pressed into his lower lip and his jaundiced eyes grew wider still. "You're a bloody priest, Pall. Old Gibbs always said it'd pay to keep you close! This is what this poor soul was keeping here. Ghearal hinted at it, didn't she? But I didn't dare believe. This is our payment, Pall. And for what? Ending the fool as he cowered?!" Gibbs practically danced in his glee.

"Now what, old man?"

"Now it's simple. We take it to the camp and we hide it. If it's all true and the storm comes to take us then we'll use it ourselves. You'll use it, Pall," he corrected himself. Rianthan could easily imagine the fool's eyes popping from his fool head. "Permanence, Pall. For us. The bloody worthy!" Gibbs wheezed, panting and staring reverently at the sceptre in his hands.

"I'm no damn priest, Gibbs," Rianthan replied, cutting short the other man's celebrations. "Besides, what happens if nothing comes? If it's all just bloody stories again?"

"If nothing comes? Well, there'll be plenty who'd be willing to spend some decent coin on a genuine sceptre, Pall. Especially one as old as this–"

"Gibbs? Pall? There's something coming." Gibbs pulled his lips back in a snarl as Bandra's rough voice interrupted him. Rianthan made his way back to the smashed window, stood to one side and peered out.

The tower perched in a large clearing atop a hill which provided an unobstructed view out to the west of a broad river, the Songway, meandering into the distance through a forest of pine trees. To the east of the tower was Pexxil Wood, or the "Red Wood", so named for some battle years ago before Rianthan's time. The tower had been built at the site of that battle to mark the event as one of the bloodiest in Aledin's history. The wood was where the wounded had been taken from the battle to receive aid before being slaughtered when the last standing men were overrun. Or so the stories said. Rianthan didn't care much for the past. It was best left where it was.

The other lads were down on the lush grass which surrounded the tower. They had stopped piling the bodies of the lord's men and were all staring out towards the treeline to the east at a man who stood alone, facing the tower. His hands were balled into fists, pulling tightly against the hair on the top of his head as his mouth worked, shouting something that could not be heard from this distance.

"Who's bloody coming?" Gibbs snapped. "The damn king, is it? Well, let's not let his highness catch us..." The remainder of Gibbs' sentence was drowned out by a deafening cracking noise, like a mountain being struck with a colossal hammer. The shock wave made the tower lurch, sending all three men sprawling on the floor.

Feeling like he had Bandra sitting on his back, Rianthan used the window sill to pull himself onto his feet, one inch at a time. Darkness crept in around the edges of his vision and a high-pitched ringing sounded. Feeling as though he would empty his stomach, he leant forwards against what remained of the window.

The man was moving towards the tower, fast. Even at this distance, he looked gargantuan, like a different race of man. He was clad in black plate armour and held a long sword in his left hand, a tall, rectangular kite shield in his right and the hilt of a two-handed sword showed above a massive shoulder, the blade held in a harness. Given the weight of the man's armour and weaponry, he ran at an impossibly quick speed. But even that wasn't what struck Rianthan dumb. Still reeling from the thunderclap moments before, he wasn't sure he could trust his eyes. A black aura surrounding the man built and emanated out before dissipating into the air. Again and again it pulsed rhythmically as he ran. Rianthan watched, transfixed, as the gap closed between the giant and the base of the tower.

After a few moments Rianthan turned to stare at Gibbs and Bandra who were still both climbing back to their feet. Gibbs shuffled over to him clutching the bundle which he had re-wrapped with none of the skill of the last person to do so. Droplets of blood stained the cloth as it leaked from his nose and ears.

"What's bloody happening, Pall? What's out there? Get us out of this, damn it!" Gibbs cried.

Opening his mouth to reply, Rianthan tasted the iron in his own blood. "Not the king, Gibbs." he shouted, his voice unusually shrill. "The bloody king's Champion. And he's coming for us! We can't face him, not just us. We need another way out."

A man's bellow came from outside at the base of the tower, followed by shouts from one of the lads below. "Gibbs? Pall? Get down here and help us!" The high pitch of the voice reminded Rianthan of his own. He turned back to look through the window to see the warrior closing on the three lads staggering about as if they'd been drinking more than dragging corpses. He saw the man clearly now, noticed details like hair as dark as his own tied back in a tail and a greying, short-cut beard covering his face. But it was the eyes Rianthan fixed on. His eyes were pure white. Made the bastard look blind. Or already ended.

Another pulse of black energy surged out, knocking the lads onto their backs, their swords only half drawn. The king's Champion came on, his shield raised and sword tucked in behind. Trim had pulled himself up and now staggered to stand in an attempt at a defensive stance. Always was a damn idiot, Trim, Rianthan thought. Trim's brother, Hadin, moved to stand a few paces to Trim's left, sword drawn fully now and held quivering in both hands. The third, Grady, backed up to the doorway of the tower and turned to stare up at Rianthan, who stared back blankly before nodding in what he hoped would be taken as encouragement.

At the last second, Trim unfroze and went to turn and run. The warrior crashed into the smaller man, his shoulder tucked in behind the shield. Trim's head snapped back in an explosion of red, before cartwheeling through the air, his body limp and his bones shattered like the glass under Rianthan's feet. Trim landed in a heap. Twisted, broken and unmoving. Hadin dropped his sword as the warrior turned to face him, the heater shield thrust forwards with the blade of the long sword balanced on its top, always pointing towards his foe as the warrior strafed him. With his mouth hanging open, Hadin sagged to his knees.

"Damn well get back down there, you spineless bastard, Grady!" Rianthan turned at the sound of Gibbs shouting. "Bandra! Pull his guts out of his mouth if he doesn't start moving." Bandra looked from Gibbs to Grady. He nodded and enveloped the younger man, who stood panting from fear as much as from his sprint up the tower's stairs, in two fat arms.

"Gibbs? Pall? You've got to come help us. He's too much for us, damn you!" Grady screamed as Bandra pushed him so hard that he tumbled out of sight around the curve of the spiral stairs.

"What are we going to do, Pall?" Gibbs cried, ignoring Grady's plea for help. Rianthan turned back to the fight outside, ignoring the old man in turn. Hadin was still on his knees, the bottom edge of the heater shield embedded in his chest so far that it propped him against the grassy earth. The warrior left it lodged in the corpse and advanced towards the tower door just as a bloodied Grady stumbled out to lean heavily against the doorway. He held up his own sword as the warrior approached.

Got to think now, Pall. It'll be you against him if you don't come up with something, Rianthan thought as Gibbs grasped his arm, his grip painfully tight. The old man's eyes were bloodshot now and wild. Spittle hung from his mouth, mixing in with the blood. Rianthan pulled away from him in disgust, but not before he made his decision. Gibbs was on his way out anyhow.

Below, Grady had started to cry. The damn soft bastard. He made a play of holding his sword out in front of him, for all the good it would do him. The huge warrior copied the pose and waited, dead still. Both men faced each other, one a miniature version of the other. They reminded Rianthan of a frustrated father trying to teach his idiot son the forms. The warrior simply breathed hard while Grady sobbed. Despite himself, Rianthan chuckled.

"Make it. Now." The words came as deep booms from the warrior, his white eyes clear through the dark aura. Grady grimaced through his tears and lifted his sword two-handed, slowly above his head. The warrior did not move to copy him – instead he simply held his sword out in front. Grady screamed as he began his downwards strike, while in a blur, the warrior dropped his sword and ripped the two-hander from the harness on his back, bringing it down in an arc which shattered first Grady's sword, then forearms and then skull. Black trails of smoke marked the sword's path as it descended in an executioner's strike.

"Hells, Pall. Hells!" Gibbs said through sobs, once again clawing at Rianthan's arm.

"Get away from me, Gibbs!" Rianthan shouted. "Bandra, stand the door. Protect Gibbs, you damn sap."

Bandra looked at Gibbs for confirmation and on seeing Gibbs nodding frantically before cowering next to Rianthan, he moved dutifully towards the chamber door. The old man still held the bundle pressed against his chest but Gibbs was an old drunk, and slow. Rianthan snatched the bundle easily, straight out of Gibb's arms before shoving him to one side.

"What in hell?!" Gibbs cried, his back hitting the panelled walls.

"Leave him, Pall. I'll break your bloody neck for you," Bandra shouted as he took a step towards them. All three men froze at the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs, mailed boots striking stone with a one-two, one-two.

"Who awaits? Who is next to end?" The booming voice seemed to fill the chamber. Rianthan and Gibbs glanced at each other as Bandra started backing into the room.

"Rianthan, son. I... What are you going to do?" Gibbs whimpered as Rianthan pulled the grey cloth away from the rod. Once again it began to glow, the light intensifying as he held it in his hands.

"Mercy!" Bandra cried. Rianthan looked up and swallowed. The giant warrior had arrived. He stood, filling the doorway.

The king's Champion seemed unreal. Black smoke poured from armour and sword as if the man burned. Rianthan watched as he turned his head slowly towards Bandra, his white eyes unblinking. The glass of the long window at the top of the stairs exploded outwards as Bandra's bulk crashed through. So quick had been the movement of the warrior's arm that Rianthan only saw the smoke trails which now faded in his vision. As Bandra's scream ended abruptly with a wet thud, the warrior turned to Gibbs and started to cross the chamber, holding his sword now in both his hands, by the hilt and halfway down the blade.

"I'll not bloody end here!" Rianthan cried as he threw the glowing rod. A white light filled the chamber and the warrior and Gibbs were lost to Rianthan's sight.

Still sure he was facing the stairs, Rianthan ran towards them, arms outstretched sideways. One hand slapped hard against the cold stone of the archway as his shoulder was pulled painfully back, slowing him but preventing him from going into a fall worse than Grady's down the tower stairs. Even so, Rianthan half ran, half tumbled down the wide spiral staircase, his vision still blurred from the shock of the light to his eyes. Even his legs felt weaker than usual. He squinted against the light of day as he passed through the entrance to the tower, and then he was out, jumping over the butchered corpse that had been Grady.

Fear alone gave him the energy to run far faster than he thought himself capable of these days. He braced as he zig-zagged across the clearing, not daring to look back. He half expected a sword to swing down to cleave through him at any second. On reaching the woods, he scurried between the trees, aware that their protection was simply an illusion against a foe that would seemingly run straight through them unimpeded. He slid down onto his knees before twisting around to lie on his front, gasping and fighting the urge to empty his stomach as he stared back at the tower. There was no movement, no sound. Braster, the king's Champion, had not followed. Get out of that one, Gibbs, you old bastard, he thought, his usual wry smile returning despite the familiar feeling of weakness spreading through his body. You'd have done the same if you'd been able.

Getting back to his feet, Rianthan brushed himself down as he searched his tunic for his pipe. Remembering he had nothing with which to fill it, he spat, and began to stagger through the trees, again without a backwards glance.

*

"What power were you using? Damn it, man. It'll consume us all. You as well!" Gibbs pressed himself back against the cold wall as he rubbed his eyes. He felt like he'd stared at a burning candle too long. The man in front of him seemed smaller, still huge by any normal standards, but definitely smaller than before Pall had thrown the sceptre at him. That was apparent now – he faced a man, not a creature out of a nightmare. The bloody king's Champion. Flaming Braster, he thought, his mind whirring into action at last. White eyes were now dark brown and intelligent, and his face showed a mixture of tiredness and what Gibbs thought he recognised to be grief.

"What is it you want?" Gibbs asked, forcing a smile through trembling lips. His head might have been addled, but it was still his head. You didn't get this old without relying on your wits, he reminded himself. "We all want something now, don't we? Tell Old Gibbs here, he'll set things right. There's no need for more blood today."

"I want nothing." The man bared his teeth as he raised his hand and shoved Gibbs hard into the wall. He then bent down, taking the sceptre in both hands, one at each end of its length. Once again it began to glow but, far from its peak, it faded back to its base white. Bending both ends downwards, Braster broke it in two with a crack like a dry twig snapping, leaving jagged edges at the break in the centre.

"What have you done?" Gibbs whispered, horrified. If the man didn't want a sceptre for his own sending, or for the wealth it would give him, Gibbs could not imagine anything else he might desire.

"You thought this would save you?" Braster asked, leaning in close and staring down into Gibbs' face. "This won't stop them taking you, you fool. All this" – he waved around the chamber – "just to get this worthless ... thing? You thought it would send you? All it has done is end you. I want nothing!" Gibbs felt both ends of the sceptre pierce his gut as they were thrust into him. He opened his mouth to scream, his chance to bargain gone. Braster pushed harder, until Gibbs felt himself lift from the floor as agonising pain paralysed him. He felt his body weaken and begin to shudder. He fell to the floor as Braster finally let go of the halves of the sceptre.

Gibbs watched as the warrior turned and looked down at the corpse which lay leant up against a red tapestry depicting a hunting scene, with the lord himself sat atop his horse and a wolf collared and chained to his outstretched arm. Braster ripped the tapestry down and laid it carefully over what remained of the body. They'd used the lord as a plaything, before the end. Shamed him and ended him. Gibbs felt what he thought might be regret as his vision began to darken.

"How is it you get the same as him?" Gibbs heard Braster say. "How is that right? Damn you, old man..." The words trailed off. There was that same feeling again. Gibbs looked back to the sceptre. A real sceptre, and within his reach only because it was what had ended him. Was I worthy? The thought didn't linger long. His hands clenched around the ends of each half protruding from his body before they slipped away, along with his last hope that somehow it would glow for him too.

Chapter 2

The Vigil

The vibrancy of the day had gone. The colours of the woods and meadows below had faded with the light, as if the trees and plants could no longer hold them. Darkness spread across a sky once more abandoned by the sun, which had taken its light and sunk uncaring behind the hills in the distance. From out of the cold, dark earth around his outstretched legs, black tendrils of smoke swirled, converged and funnelled unabated into Kandorl's body. The tightness in his chest grew to a point where he thought his heart would perform one last violent, rending beat. Gasping, he lifted his hands and watched in sorrow as they balled into fists which then curled up towards his wrists. His arms folded inwards around him, providing an involuntary hug which provided no comfort against the familiar sense of hopelessness. His jaw extended and his lips pursed as the paralysis of his body was complete.

"Leave me, damn you. Leave me." Kandorl forced the words out between breaths as he lay curled up, grotesque and petrified against the rough trunk of the tree. The world became ever darker and colder, the silence only broken by his whispered pleas and the sound of his breathing. Kandorl watched helplessly as the black smoke continued to pour into his body minute after minute until he thought, this time, he would draw it forever.

Finally the release came, allowing Kandorl to wipe ashamedly at his eyes with otherwise useless hands. He regained control over his shuddering body one breath at a time. It always ended like this – the black smoke had somehow been depleted and as his surroundings once more took form in the light from the moon, he recognised the passing, as if a great dark hand had released its grip and given him back his body. Arms, hands and fingers uncurled and became his own once more as all the while the pressure mercifully lessened in his chest. Pushing himself up into a crouched position, Kandorl shut his eyes. In doing so, for the first time that day, he abandoned his vigil.

*

As soon as he opened his eyes, Kandorl began to rummage through his pack with hands which still felt as if is they were not completely his to command. His efforts become frantic as he searched for a means to make light. Scooping his tinderbox from his pack, he set about lighting the candle lantern he'd placed next to him earlier, in preparation for the night. Cursing his hands, he worked for what felt like an age in the silent dark until eventually, through luck more than skill, the wick was lit. Swinging the lantern back and forth, he scanned the area for any sign of the black tendrils. Nothing stirred around him now and he released a long-held breath. He rubbed his hand across his brow, smoothing back dark brown hair still wet with sweat and stuck to his forehead.

Kandorl leant back against the tall red-brown stump of the beech tree that had been his seat since early that morning and pushed his feet into the dirt, testing his strength as it slowly returned to his legs. He shivered as a cool wind blew across the Ridgeway and he cursed himself again as he longed for his thick travelling cloak. This was where he always set his vigil – at the same place he had come every day he was able, since Braster had led him here for the first time all those years ago. The heavily wooded hilltop provided a secluded vantage point over the country below that had seemed so beautiful and full of enticement the first time he was shown it. He remembered gazing with awe at the Mithians in the distance, which formed the backdrop to a scene of breathtaking natural beauty completed by the striking River Calder curving down from its source in those great hills. During the day it was easy to make out the red, marbled slabs of stone which formed a raised walkway to a small island in a widened section of the Calder. The island had formed where the river split its flow in two, between the Mithians and the Ridgeway on which Kandorl now stood. Braster had told him that it was on that island where the priests would break from their journey west to rest – making a camp under the stars. People from all around would join them to hear their lessons, Braster had said and Kandorl often found himself daydreaming about making the trip to that island himself to join the priest's camp to hear their words. Sadly, like his awe, those days were long gone and seemingly were never to return. None would dare cross those lands now, not even the priests.

Braster had warned that the Mithian hills marked the border between beautiful Aledin, where Kandorl had grown up, and the unknown lands beyond. He had spoken of marauders crossing those hills to take what they wanted from the lands below, with livestock being the best of it. Braster had known of many who had been ripped from their homes and families, just to be dragged over into Dracia to face a fate Kandorl dared not imagine. None had returned and no one desired to live in or work the land below now. In more recent years, Braster had sat with Kandorl in silence, pounding a fist into his hand as they watched fires flickering in the mist on those hills. Dracia stirred, that was clear. An invasion was imminent. The storm was coming. It was going to take all of Aledin, no matter what anyone did. With the wind blowing in the right direction, the sounds of a great mass of people on the move would carry to where Kandorl and Braster waited. Just audible to those that knew to listen.

Of late, those fires appeared daily and the noise had become almost constant. The end was coming and nobody damn well believed it. Braster had left. Braster always did. When he had been around, the village had put his warnings down to simple eccentricity. No one wanted to believe an uncomfortable truth, regardless of who told it. He was held in the highest regard, of course – he was Blackford's very own hero and a bear of a man wearing black, gold-inscribed armour only seen in children's pictures, wielding a sword even the blacksmith would struggle to lift. Kandorl found himself longing for Braster's return. He felt the man had always been with him, even if it was never for long. He'd taken Kandorl under his wing from a young age. He had taught him the bow and the sword. He'd taught him his wood craft too. If not for Braster, Kandorl would know nothing of this land, or the one beyond.

A moan both sonorous and miserable brought Kandorl out of his reverie with a lurch of his stomach. He reached down, swinging his pack onto his back before turning in tight circles, trying in vain to shine the lantern light in all directions at once. He froze as the moan came again, the sound like an unearthly creature lamenting or in unbearable pain.

"We come for you. We come to take you! We would break you." Kandorl panted as the noise formed into whispered promises. "Be with us. Suffer as we must. Kandorl!"

"Where are you, damn it?" Kandorl whispered. His voice shook terribly. "Leave me be!" Nothing came in return, just silence. Kandorl once again felt his strength draining, making his legs shake as much as his voice. He stood still in the near pitch dark, listening for the voice to speak again. Still nothing came. He waited, rooted to the spot, his breaths coming faster and faster.

"Kandorl!" The voice reverberated around the inside of his head, making Kandorl cry out as he jumped backwards, his lantern swinging so hard as to risk extinguishing its precious light. "Mine!" the voice cried again. Never before had the smoke taken form. It had started coming for him only once Braster had left, each time he had lingered too long on the Ridgeway. Now, in front of him, stood the figure of a man made entirely from it. Its opal eyes sat in the middle of a swirling face twisted from its hatred of him.

Instinct took over, letting Kandorl break the creature's stare as he turned to run, his legs mercifully filled with some reserve of strength as he sought to scramble away through the trees. The woods thickened as the ground sloped away and he began a crashing descent through the undergrowth, racing knee-deep through a swirling blackness which formed peaks before falling away again. The forest floor had become an ocean, with the smoke its waves. The light from the lantern provided glimpses of small evergreens growing between the tall beech trees, and the dark smoke swirled around even the top of these, as high now as Kandorl's waist. It rose and fell, getting higher with each surge.

Sweat poured down Kandorl's face, despite the coolness of the night. It stung his eyes and blurred his vision as he sought to dodge around anything in his path that was illuminated by the fleeting light of the lantern. At any other time he could have found his way back down to the forest path easily without the light. He knew where to reach out for low branches to stop himself falling head first, as instinctively as he knew where not to step. The ground ivy which grew in between the trees was particularly thick and tangled and it would trip anyone not wary of it before sending them crashing down into plants which would sting and emit a repulsive stench when disturbed. Now, as he tried desperately to outrun the darkness before it consumed him again, he could only fall through the trees in a blind panic, in the hope that luck alone would carry him safely through.

Just as he thought he would finally lose his battle to keep his feet, Kandorl felt the ground level out. He jumped out of the smoke roiling down the slope to land heavily on the even ground of the forest path which ran dead straight through the woods at the base of the Ridgeway. He closed his eyes as he continued his escape, the moaning sounding inside his head again, rising in pitch and desperate to take its last chance to claim him. Looking down to see the darkness converging once more, Kandorl howled and pounded his chest with a cramping hand, as if doing so could destroy the foulness trying to enter his body. The dull pain it caused continued to grow and he feared his heart would not stand the exertion. Distracted, he stumbled before coming to a halt, just managing to keep himself from falling head first onto the path. He paused, staring at the ground and ready to concede defeat as he prepared to let the darkness take its toll.

After a few moments, hope returned as panic subsided and Kandorl allowed himself to look around. Lights from clouds of torch-bugs provided a yellow-green illumination as far as the eye could see in either direction, giving the trees and plants of the woods' edge an ethereal glow. Breathing ragged breaths, he held the lantern low to the trail and made out grassy patches through scatterings of fallen leaves which felt soft beneath his feet. Just the very ends of the tendrils of smoke poked through the ground. They swayed in unison like a field of grass stirred by the wind. He swung around and shined the lantern back to the woods' edge. The black smoke swirled in on itself, somehow prevented from coming further onto the path. Looking down at his chest, Kandorl sighed in relief as he saw the dark green leather of his tunic free of smoke. It seemed the creature had somehow lost its power and was unable to follow him onto the sanctuary of the forest path.

Kandorl set his lantern down, briefly dissipating what remained of the smoke below, and swung his pack from his shoulder to rest on his chest. Opening the drawstrings, he reached inside and pulled out one of the bottles of apple brandy he had packed for the walk back to the village. He pulled the cork and took a long drink, half finishing the bottle as he stared back at the forest. The familiar acidity of the liquid hit his stomach, having burned all the way down. It made him double over to retch, spraying the last of his mouthful over the ground. He straightened and drank again from the bottle. The first gulp was always the worst. Kandorl pulled another bottle from his pack and stuffed it into his coat pocket and set off along the path with the soft glow of the torch-bugs guiding him back towards the village. The black smoke still waited with a seemingly malevolent intelligence at the edge of the path, its moans faint now – diminished but no less bone-chilling for it. He swigged habitually from the bottle nestled against his chest and stared in defiance at the swirling mass. You'll have to stay there now, he thought. As his head began to feel pleasantly light, he allowed the beginnings of a smile to form. Stay there, and away from me. Have you not had enough? How much of me do you want to take? You want to take and take until there's nothing left of me? Until I'm just as you! He stood for a while staring between the trees, waiting to see whether the figure had given up its pursuit, remaining held within the boundaries of the woods.

Kandorl flinched as the glass banged against his teeth, making him drop the now-empty bottle onto the path. He bent down to retrieve it, cautious of putting his hands so near to the ground. He smiled openly now as he looked across the path and into the trees. There was no sign of the tendrils. All had retreated back into the earth. As he stood, he noticed a faint smell like wild garlic mixed with wood smoke, as he often did when walking along the path at night. He breathed in its fragrant, heady smell as he weighed the bottle in one hand and flung it back into the quiet wood. His foe had retreated back to wherever in hell it had come from.

"Take your fill of that," he shouted. His fingers found their way to the cork of the bottle resting in his pocket and he released it as he pulled it from his coat, letting it fall to the ground. He again cradled the bottle to his chest, keeping it safe. A gentle wind had begun to blow through the trees to either side of the path which ran from Blackford, through the forest and into the west. He had never gone any further from where he left it to enter the woods – only ever up to where Braster had taken him to their outlook all those years ago. The wind caused a rhythmic swishing from the higher branches and in the warm light of his lantern and the swirling yellows and greens of the torch-bugs, Kandorl could imagine he was being rocked to sleep, safe and high up in the boughs of the trees and far out of reach of anything which threatened below. Out of reach of this thing which stalked him, that now lurked in the darkness between the trees, waiting for its next opportunity to take him. The smell which hung over the path dissecting the woods grew stronger and Kandorl turned to look back down its length as it stretched to the west. After a few moments he resumed his walk, drinking deeply from the bottle as he did so. He was quite sure he could hear gentle chanting and the muted whomp whomp of drums coming from somewhere behind him, calling for him to approach.

"Late out again, friend Kan?"

Kandorl came back to his senses with a start as he recognised the man's voice. He instinctively slid the now half-empty bottle up the sleeve of his cloak. "Yes, a fine night to be walking and getting some of the ... air," he replied, before forcing a laugh and hoping he only sounded tired.

The silhouette of a man standing behind a five-bar gate which marked the boundary between the path and the fields beyond took form, illuminated by the light of Kandorl's lantern. Although he must have been roughly Kandorl's own age, Rack always seemed to Kandorl to be far older. He looked to Kandorl as youthful as he imagined himself to appear, but Rack always had the kind of wisdom to impart that he would expect from Old Orland or Jon Blent. It was that which irritated Kandorl about the man – Rack always made him feel naïve and foolish, especially when what he said made perfect sense. He was unusual looking too, as far as Kandorl was concerned – his hair was shaved at the sides and slicked back on top – most unlike anyone else in the village. Rack said it kept his head cool in the heat of the day when helping out as a farm hand for Jon Blent. Kandorl had never seen the man in the village itself and he hadn't seen him joining in with Jon and the rest of his lads in their work either. Must just like his own company. Probably enjoyed the simple nature of his work and always bloody would. Probably unaware the world existed past the end of his plough. Kandorl realised he envied him that. Woodworking came more naturally to Kandorl – making bows like the one his friend Draefan carried. It kept him in pocket, more or less. He supposed he could have made more out of it. If he had considered it important.

"Been on the brandy again, Kan?" Rack said, swinging open the gate. "You'll fall over in them woods one day, mark my words. Fall over, bang your head and nobody will know about it 'till you've gone cold. Gone cold, Kan. Ended. You might want to think on that, next time."

Stalking up to Rack, Kandorl held the lantern up to the other man's face. "Why don't you go back to leaning on your gate, or whatever the hell it is you do all day? Why don't you keep your fucking wisdom to yourself? Do you want to think on that, Rack?!"

The man shrunk back as if Kandorl was about to strike him. "Right. Right you are, friend Kan. Right you are. It's no business of mine telling you what to do."

"That's right, Rack. It bloody isn't," Kandorl said over his shoulder as he walked through the gate and into a field of tall, golden corn. He stopped a few paces down the narrow dirt track and shook his head before letting the brandy bottle slide back out into his hand. Turning, he looked back at Rack, who was closing the gate after him. "I'm sorry, Rack," he said after taking a swig from the bottle. "I shouldn't have said that. It's just that if any of you realised what ... Well, you'd all be in a worse state than me."

"Pay it no mind, Kan," Rack replied. "It's just one of those things. Shouldn't have put my nose in. Just get home and we'll talk again next time."

"Will do, Rack. I'm not really myself tonight."

Kandorl pulled at his hair as he crossed the field, heading towards the safety of the first houses of the village. I'll see you tomorrow, you fool. Kandorl looked over his shoulder as he walked, expecting to see Rack close behind. As the swinging lantern took its circle of light, Rack nodded as he hooked the gate rope back over the post and blended back into the darkness.

*

Kandorl let his hand trail through the waist-high corn on either side of the footpath running through Jon Blent's field. He felt bad about Rack but, as far as he was concerned, it wasn't normal for a man to be out on his own every night, standing by a gate, long past dusk. He began to wish he'd packed a third or even a fourth bottle. His last bulged from his coat pocket, empty and, tragically, alone. The inn was still a way off and the walk always seemed that little bit further every time. He could remember the nights a long time ago, when he'd wake up back along the path, one half-drunk bottle lying beside him and no recollection that he'd stopped. Must be watering the stuff down, he thought, wincing as a sharp pain in his temple heralded the inevitable onslaught of a headache.

The thatched roofs of the single-storey wooden structures, which formed the first few clusters of the more modest dwellings in Blackford, came into view. There was good trade in the village, set as it was just off the road running between Darbor's Port fifteen leagues to the south and Corimil, the capital, twice that distance to the north. Villagers would set up carts each week around the small square in the centre of the village, to form a temporary market, although Blackford was best known for its annual wool market. The market square was where Kandorl would set out his few crafted pieces for sale, to make his modest living from the people passing through. It was there that he was heading tonight, as he did every night. The Traveller's Delay sat proudly as the largest building in the village, barring the lord's manor, on the east side of the square. It was the only place to get a decent drink this time of night and, unfortunately for Kandorl, that also made it the hub of the community. At best he would have to suffer the usual well-meaning fools and their damn wisdom. At worst, he would have to suffer the unique hospitality of the landlord. His lantern swung as he quickened his stride, with dreams of the common room driving him forwards. He was willing to suffer the comments and the jibes, if that was the price of forgetting the encounter with the creature back in the woods. Indeed, he intended to forget both the creature and the invasion. If only for a few hours.

The golden corn shone in the moving ring of light, with the waning moon contributing enough to illuminate full-size corn-dollies – mostly dressed in shifts or tunics and set out to line the path through the crops. Made lovingly by the children of the village, albeit under the strict guidance of their parents, they had been placed in anticipation of the harvest and had been made to represent different locals, be they mothers, fathers or siblings. Even beloved pets. To Kandorl's mind, they served nothing but to scare people walking out late or returning from the fields. Distorted figures caught the half-light, creating flickering images of dismembered bodies tied to posts and left to die. Kandorl shook his head in an attempt to clear both his building headache and the unwanted thought.

"Merely corn-dollies, created by gleeful children. Nothing more," he murmured.

Despite his attempt to reassure himself, Kandorl tried to look at anything except the corn-dollies as he stalked along the footpath. He thought he saw Rack among them, as in each swing of the lantern, the light revealed a figure standing alone in a wide, flattened circle of corn. Kandorl stopped, blinking as he held the lantern still and trying to focus on what surely wasn't Rack. In a shrunken head sat a single feature – no more than a hole – appearing too high to mark where the mouth should be. The creature turned as it held Kandorl in its regard, now sucking in what must be breaths, seemingly excited and agitated in equal measure.

Kandorl staggered backwards, recoiling from the horror in front of him. The dollies began to shake. They seemed to be gripped by seizures. He stared as the bent creature spun, arms outstretched above its head. It orchestrated a macabre dance of bleeding corpses tied by their necks, thrashing in a futile attempt to free themselves. No sound came from Kandorl's mouth when he opened it to scream – as if it had been clenched tight in an unseen hand. The figure moved quickly now, dancing between the tortured bodies and then abruptly disappeared. Kandorl twisted to and fro, scanning up and down the footpath, desperate to flee but with no idea which way would lead him to safety. He instead stood, unable to follow the thoughts required to make the decision. He clamped his teeth together, and in doing so, nearly bit through his tongue. The horrific creature appeared out of the dark, standing close with what passed for its mouth gibbering madness into his ear. Kandorl again thought to scream as hot breath burned his face and stung his eyes. He dropped the lantern to the dirt and backed away, his eyes stinging as if boiling water had been thrown in them. Half blinded, he waited helplessly for the creature to do as it would. Instead, it backed away, rasping its satisfaction, and resumed its dance among the thrashing corpses. Kandorl turned and sped as best he could towards the village, his lantern forgotten on the footpath behind.

As he reached the first of the houses, Kandorl slowed and dared to turn and look back along the footpath. He waited until he was sure that nothing followed. There was nothing to see now, besides a few corn-dollies decorating a field illuminated by a lantern, the moon and a beautiful showing of stars. Despite the equally terrifying thoughts that he had either been attacked by creatures from his nightmares or that he was sinking into some kind of madness, he stood, captivated by a vague familiarity in the artistry of those stars. Some were distant, dim and clustered together in the contrasting dark. Others were close, alone and shining brightly.

Once fully composed, Kandorl staggered on to where the footpath widened to join the lane which ran past the church. Up ahead lay the main road through Blackford – running across this part of Aledin from south-west to north-east. The church was comprised of a wooden building which was no bigger than any other dwelling in the village and a stone tower, which Kandorl had been told predated Blackford itself. The tower could be seen for miles around, especially on such a bright night, with its pale stones reflecting the soft light of the moon. The church also radiated the same sense of peace its priests did, remaining close by for the good people of Blackford and guiding them in life, before they were finally laid to rest here, within its grounds. The sending was performed here for the people of the village, as was correct. This was also where those who were not to be sent ended up. Kandorl refused to dwell on the thought – that was something best left to the priests.

Tonight, even the peace the church offered Kandorl would not be enough of a salve for his particular malady. Instead, he turned to look to where the apothecary's house stood on the right of the lane. In contrast to the church, the thatched roof was in dire need of repair. The little remaining willow sprouted in tufts – the baldness of the roof serving as a reflection of the man whose task it was to maintain it. Flickering candlelight from the windows confirmed Kandorl's suspicions that Old Orland still toiled over his potions, even at this time. He had little care for anything else, his appearance included. Only Medral seemed to keep him from forgetting to eat and she would probably also be there now, tending to him as he worked. Kandorl rubbed at his temples as he walked and dismissed the idea of calling in on the ancient alchemist. Visits were always anything but brief. The pain building in his head was becoming intolerable. He pulled the bottle from his pocket, inspected its lack of contents and then attempted to crush the thick glass in his hand in frustration as he thought back to his chase from the vigil.

"Why is it only me?" he asked aloud, raising the bottle with the intent to smash it against the hard dirt of the lane. "I can't maintain this alone!"

"That you, Kan?" Kandorl lowered his arm at seeing Darl and his wife Shania walking with theirs entwined, towards him. "Talking to yourself again?!" Darl shouted up the street. "It'll do you no good. You'll be asleep on your feet!"

People still moved about despite the late hour, most coming home from their evening meal and drinks at the inn. Any witless enough to remain there too long would be permitted to, until Kraggly carried them out when he judged enough of their coin had been spent for the bother. The innkeeper was a bear of a man – a big, arresting man – and as with most men like that, Kraggly revelled in its power.

"Darl, Shania," Kandorl replied, nodding and trying to smile. "What mood's he in tonight?"

"He's a bastard, Kan," Shania slurred. "He shouted at Darl for just having the one drink and called me a whore for saying it was time we went home. You know who I feel sorry for? Siana. Poor old Siana. She's too good to be in that place night after night."

"I had one drink, Kan," Darl said when Shania stopped for breath, winking and tipping his head towards his wife. "That's one a night, for seven nights a week, for fifteen years. Fifteen years we've been drinking there and he hasn't gone a night without upsetting someone."

"Anyways, Kan. We've got something to celebrate," Shania said, her glassy eyes open wide. "Shame you weren't about earlier, but we know you like to get out and ... "

"I've been commissioned by Lord Petran, Kan," said Darl, interrupting Shania in his haste to be the one to tell the news. "He's asked for a suit of armour, decorative of course, to make his grand hallway all that much grander."

"A good few months' work, that is," cut in Shania, "and once word has passed round of how fine a suit it is, he'll be getting commissions from all over the land. He'll earn an income large enough to make a lady of me." Shania smiled up at Kandorl, swishing her woollen skirts as if they were made of the finest silk.

"Lady? That's going too far," Darl whispered, leaning in towards Kandorl.

Kandorl smiled and nodded as they both joked and flirted with one another, quietly resenting how happy they were. Happy and so blissfully naïve. Why the hell are you making plans, you fools? You'll not have the time to finish it, let alone enjoy the coin you get from making it, he thought. He wanted to get away, to get to The Traveller's Delay and try to make sense of all that had happened. His hand tightened on the empty bottle again. Listening to this madness was doing him no good. He felt a growing sadness threaten to overwhelm him as he listened to Shania making her plans and Darl pretending she was acting the fool, when it was obvious he was just as excited as she. Kandorl wanted to scream at them. He longed to tell them to hold each other close and brace for the inevitable flood which was coming to engulf them all. He wanted to protect them, find a place for them to run to where they could genuinely feel joy. He raised his hand to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his cloak and saw a yellow stain on the light-brown wool as he lowered his arm. He looked back up to see Darl and Shania laughing together, gently wrestling and making a show of their pretend outrage. Everything he could see was stained yellow.

"So you see, Kan. You might want to be around a bit earlier tomorrow. Come have a drink in the Delay. It's been a long time since we've done that and you could put old Kraggly in his damn place as usual ... " Darl's voice trailed off as the smile fell from his face. "You all right, Kan?" His laugh was short, sudden and as obviously forced as his acting. "What you staring at her like that for? She'll never love you more over me." Darl's warning was clear and this time, his laugh showed no attempt at mirth at all.

"What's the matter, Kan? What is it? Why you looking at me like that?" Shania asked, wiping at her nose and cheeks as if something terrible was growing on her.

Kandorl stared into Shania's yellow-tinged face. Only just in her middle years, you could still see what had attracted Darl and what had made the male villagers and most of the men travelling through the village pursue her so determinedly. Her beautiful pale blue eyes, her rosebud lips, and her heart-shaped face framed by curled hair still dark brown, almost black, began to wither before him. Her eyes lost focus and became milky and sunken, her face sagged and the faint lines deepened and spread. Her hair became transparent then fell from her head, leaving behind only clumps. Sores formed on her face and head and began to weep as her own tears streamed down her hollowed cheeks from eyes whose lights had blinked out. She spat blackened teeth as she tried to say something Kandorl couldn't understand. The breath escaping her collapsed mouth forced him to reel backwards to avoid smelling any more of the rank smell of decay coming up from deep within her. Her laugh was shrill and wicked as he turned his head and emptied his stomach on the ground.

"Hell's damn fires, Kan! What's the matter with you?" Darl began, dragging a restored but visibly shaken Shania away.

"Are you alright, Kan? Kan?" Shania's voice held shock and concern in equal measure.

"Shan," Kan gasped more than spoke as he tried to catch his breath. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's happening. Please, I'm sorry."

"He's been out drinking alone again, Shan. Damn drunken fool's lost his wits. He should be locked away."

Kandorl crouched down on the ground, his head in his hands. When he looked up, his friends were gone. He found he wanted to weep for them. He found he wanted to weep in mourning for the joy they had felt.

Chapter 3

The Delay

With the exception of the church tower, The Traveller's Delay loomed over Blackford, dominating an otherwise unobtrusive skyline and boasting the only ground floor to be built from stone. Large, mullioned bay windows presented a view out to where the road through the village widened to accommodate the market square, in the centre of which sat the village well which provided the people of Blackford with fresh water from the stream running below. The timber-framed front of the first and second floors sat under a roof of grey slate below which was the loft space and abode of the landlord, Kraggly. The rooms on the floors below were the best, kept pristine to accommodate the wealthiest of merchants as they either passed through on their way to or from the capital or when visiting for the annual wool fair held in the field behind the inn.

Stone shields bearing a collared and chained wolf depicting Lord Petran's crest sat either side of the great stone archway, forming the main entrance to the inn and outbuildings which surrounded the small, open-air courtyard within. The great oak door stood open, held back by a large pile of firewood. Although the nights were far from cold – autumn still lay far off – there was something to be said for having a roaring fire to make certain the patrons inside settled in for a long evening of drinking. A cobbled pathway led through the arch into the inner courtyard with the right-hand side dominated by stables large enough to hold twenty horses. Above these were further rooms for those without the right coin or correct standing to rent rooms in the inn's main building. On the left, a smaller doorway led through to a passage which served as the main thoroughfare down to the common room and a smaller dining room behind.

Kandorl ran his hands over the crest, making sure to touch both the wolf and the collar around its waist and took a deep breath as he stood under the arch, his usual reluctance to enter causing his hesitation, even after his flight here. He longed to go home and lock the doors and windows but knew he would only get rest if he fell into his bed, his mind settled, addled and suitably diminished from drink. He hoped Kraggly had decided to go visiting Lord Petran, as close as they were, or had indulged in too much of his own ale and retired early to his rooms upstairs, either way leaving his patrons in peace. It would be better if there were no patrons at all. That way, Kandorl could be left to sit alone with his thoughts, to try to make sense of what had happened this evening.

He shrugged as he stepped through onto the cobbles, as all hopes of solitude were dashed. The only solitude lay behind him at the Ridgeway anyway and he wasn't about to go back there before dawn. Music floated across the courtyard from where a lute provided accompaniment to a female singer straining as much to drown out the rowdy laughter and thumping of fists on the outside tables as to hit her notes. It crossed Kandorl's mind as he glanced over, that the girl had been chosen for her looks rather than her sweet voice. The men were obviously travellers with a bit of coin weighing down their pockets, and Kraggly liked to lay on some entertainment for those he could alleviate of their burdens. He would most likely look after them personally while keeping them out of the way of the usual patrons, preferring for his regulars not to see a subservient side to his character.

Hoping to remain unseen, Kandorl passed through the doorway and onto the dark flagstones of the passage. He paused, his head spinning as shouts from the cook and her ever-suffering staff came from the kitchen and seemed to pass straight through him. It was a blessing that Arabel Kraggly was confined to the one room, as where the innkeeper himself was large and bullish, his wife Arabel was small, scrawny and asserted herself through sheer spite. To give the man his dues, Kraggly knew that type of character wouldn't do well for business, the only inn for miles around or not. Consequently, he did his best to keep her out of everyone's way.

The sound of footsteps coming from behind him made Kandorl's heart leap and he fell into the wall of the hallway as he spun around, terror gripping him as he prepared for another abomination to present itself. He regained his control with a couple of deep breaths as he recognised Siana in the dim candlelight of the interior, stepping in from the courtyard and struggling to bear a large wooden tray of tankards.

"Good evening, Siana," he said, pushing himself away from the wall and silently chastising himself for being so typically formal and awkward. He regarded the ale with eyes that felt like they must be bleeding and even the dim light from the ensconced candles made him squint, with himself feeling anything but. The tray swayed dangerously as Siana walked towards him with the tankards threatening to spill their precious contents down the front of her already stained apron. "He working you hard again, is he?" Kandorl asked absently as he watched, longing for a long drink of the cool liquid to stop his legs from shaking and his head from pounding.

"He doesn't know any other way, Kan," Siana said, then laughed, her usual warm smile lighting up her face. He watched her as she struggled under the weight of the tray, trying to blow away long, dark hair which fell across her face. A little younger than Kandorl himself, Siana was tall compared with the other women in the village, but also delicately framed. She certainly wasn't made for carting around trays of drinks for men twice her size.

"I'll take them through," Kandorl said, and instantly regretted it as he reached out to place his shaking hands on the raised sides of the tray.

"You do that and he'll kick me out while taking great pleasure in blaming you," Siana replied, not attempting to cover a worried glance at his hands, before adopting a no-nonsense voice that Kandorl had learnt to take notice of. "Now come on, out the way. There's one here for you." Siana looked up at him as she brushed past, her smile returning. "I thought I'd see you about this time," she said as Kandorl followed to peer into the common room, trying to see who he would have to contend with tonight.

The inn's biggest room was dominated by a large inglenook fireplace which stretched across the length of the wall to the right of the doorway. A fire was set in the hearth and the logs crackled and spat, occasionally sending sparks to die on the cold flagstones. Tallow candles held in sconces dripped their yellow wax onto the floor and added their light to the glow from the fire, illuminating the market square through large, lead-lined windows under which sat two long bench tables. Opposite, a handful of card tables were placed a pace away from the oak-panelled walls so that a chair could be pulled up to each side. Siana placed the tray on one of those smaller tables where Jon Blent and his three sons sat hunched over around a dealt deck of cards. Tarot was the game everyone played and was also what everyone obsessed over, as far as Kandorl was concerned. Cards were traded or won and no tarot merchant held onto their stock for long. It all passed Kandorl by. The game itself was fine – he enjoyed a hand or two himself when in the right mood – but the way everyone flocked to buy, trade or fight over the fanciest deck was complete nonsense. It was often the case that those with the fanciest decks didn't actually have any skill in the game at all. Didn't need any, he supposed.

"Evening, Jon. Lads," Kandorl managed as he kept moving, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. He made his way over to the far end of one of the bigger tables and waited for Siana to bring him his promised tankard.

"Kandorl," Jon acknowledged, along with a nod of his head.

"Here's yours, Kan," Siana said as she walked over to the table with the last of the tankards, as if she had read his thoughts.

"Thanks, Siana," Kandorl replied. "You'll bring a ... "

"Yes, yes, I'll keep them coming." She held his gaze for longer than he felt comfortable with before a sudden look of concern crossed her face. "What's happened to your eyes? They're red-raw, Kan. You feeling all right?"

"Just get the fool a barrel up, Siana!" Fram, Jon's eldest, interrupted with a shout. "Probably been a couple of hours since he had his brandy, by the looks of him!"

"Keep your cards and your mouth to yourself, boy," Jon said as he rested a thick finger on Fram's cards, revealing them as he pressed them down onto the table.

"You want any more drinks, Fram, you'll keep it buttoned, right?" Siana said before glancing at Kandorl. There was that same worried look again. Kandorl shook his head as Siana walked back into the hallway, tray full of the Blents' empties and pitcher and leaving him to turn and glare at Fram.

Kandorl wished he had sat out in the courtyard, anonymous in the dark, as he turned to look out of the window, deciding it best to ignore Fram and his foolish game. He took a gulp of the ale then set his drink down to rub his stinging eyes. A sudden bout of laughter jolted him upright. He held his drink to his lips and looked over the rim at the table opposite, his anger threatening to spill over as he gulped his ale. His annoyance wasn't simply due to Fram's dim-witted comment and inane grin – it was more at himself for not putting the damn fool in his place. He gripped the edge of the table as he heard both the men outside laughing, leering over the poor singer, no doubt, and the lads around Jon's table giggle as their pathetic contest resumed. All laughing and joking as the bloody sky was falling in. No one saw what he saw. Everyone just ran around taking such stock in the things they were doing, their pointless lives, their petty achievements. No one cared that at any moment any of them could be snatched away. Either that or survive just to be overrun when the whole damn invasion got this far, sweeping away everything in its path. Why is it just me that sees it? How do these fools manage to simply carry on blindly, paying no attention to what is clearly coming to take them? He thought back to tonight, to what had happened in the woods and then in the field. Is it all a taste of things to come? Who will find me the next time I resume the vigil, strangled by the black smoke, my heart burst. Or tied to a post by the neck in the corn field. Either way a corpse, an ended desecration of a life. All because no one else bothered to stand guard in this damned village! The questions ran through his head, one after the other. The ale had fallen far short of calming the pounding in his head or the rising desire to lash out in release.

The empty tankard thudded against the thick wood as he slammed it onto the table. Daggers, Kraggly's dog, yelped and ran to hide under the Blents' table, peering out from between the table and men's legs, his frightened stare belying his name. Kandorl hadn't even noticed him come in. Jon and his boys looked over, Fram grinning again, holding back a laugh. As Jon cleared his throat, Fram looked first at his father then sullenly back at his cards. He had been a fat child, now inescapably growing into a fat man, despite Jon's efforts to work it off him. But as he watched, Kandorl noticed his chubby face turning gaunt, his eyes and mouth becoming sunken and a feverish yellow colour staining his skin. His long lank hair began to thin even further, falling out onto the table and drifting down onto the floor. As he watched, Kandorl felt his heart starting to race and a pressure growing in his stomach which lurched and threatened to erupt.

"He's already here. Just sat down by the window." Siana's voice floated through from the hallway, making Kandorl look over in anticipation of who was to arrive. He looked back to Fram and, to his relief, the boy was back to his normal-looking self, studying his precious cards held nonchalantly between his blunt, chubby fingers.

"He'll be buying then, if he can't even give his friend a knock on the way through," came a deep male voice.

"You'll buy your own, Theco. Just for the novelty. See if you can't make it a habit." Siana laughed as she walked through the door, holding up a full pitcher and waiting for Kandorl to nod his head in consent and hold his empty up in return.

My friend comes to join me. My friend by familiarity. Kandorl smiled as he watched Theco follow Siana closely into the common room. Theco always seemed to be prepared for show, like one of his pigs, and tonight was no different. His hair was cropped as short as ever and he wore a farmer's under-chin beard which he never left to grow naturally. The stocky man wore a sleeveless leather shirt to show off well-muscled arms, under a plain, brown woollen cloak. Kandorl thought bitterly that he would have similar arms himself, if his life was also spent wrestling swine. Theco had a way of making him laugh though, forcing him out of any dark mood that took him. Kandorl didn't really have a choice in the matter.

Seeing his friend sitting in the corner, Theco grabbed the pitcher from Siana and an empty tankard from the Blents' table. Giving Siana a wink as he passed, he came to sit down opposite Kandorl before pouring himself a drink.

"Where you been, Kan?" Theco's smile disappeared as he paused halfway through filling Kandorl's tankard. "You been up in those woods again, staring out at nothing all bloody day, haven't you?"

"Just pour the bloody drink, Theco. What I do all bloody day is up to me," Kandorl said before sighing at his friend. The reason Theco could bring him out of himself was that Kandorl knew he'd never understand. There was no point in trying to explain anything to the man. He just wouldn't get it.

"Fine with me. I'll just pour. Good health, Kan," Theco roared as he smashed his tankard into Kan's before draining half its contents. "What's keeping the others?" Theco asked as he lowered his drink to the table with a satisfied sigh.

Kandorl looked over his friend's shoulder and his heart sank as he saw the tall, heavy-shouldered man standing in the doorway. Dressed in a leather apron over a tent of a white shirt that Arabel had conceded a rare defeat in her attempts to get him to change, Kraggly leant heavily against the timber frame, his unlit pipe held between his teeth. "Good question, Theco. I bet you told them to stay away, didn't you, Kandorl? Too worried you'll lose your personal flaming barmaid?"

"Kraggly," Theco said, turning to nod at the landlord. Kraggly nodded back but didn't look away from Kandorl.

"May I get past, please?" Siana asked, as polite as she ever was with the ox that employed her. "Need to see to those sitting outside."

Kraggly didn't move, still filling the doorway as Siana took a step backwards and looked up at the man. "What do you reckon, Kandorl? Is it all right if she leaves you a minute?" he asked and then slowly shook his head. "Well? Going to say anything?"

"Yes, it's fine, Kraggly," Kandorl replied through gritted teeth.

"There you go, Siana. He's allowed it!" Theco turned around to smile at Kandorl, who could only glare back. "Sorry, Kan," Theco added, frowning as he did so.

"Well, there we are, it's decided. Hurry back though, girl. If he's warned off his little party of friends, he'll have to buy those drinks he's cost me. Shouldn't be a problem for Braster's bloody ward though, should it? Always made sure you were all right. Till he left," Kraggly said, laughing as he turned and disappeared back into the hallway.

"Why'd you just sit there when he does that, Kan? He's not so bad if you talk to him right," Theco said, still frowning at his friend.

"He wouldn't be, Theco. It's just the way he is with me. Never was before though, bloody coward."

"You're off the hook, Kandorl!" Kraggly's voice boomed from outside.

"Doesn't matter anyway. Sounds as if the others are here," Theco said, grinning in anticipation as he turned towards the door.

Kandorl followed Theco's gaze and smiled at the two men walking into the common room. Draefan was one of the tallest men in the village and had been noticeably so since he and Kandorl were children. As ever, his face was half hidden in the shadow of the same brown, hooded top he wore pulled up, even now in the comfort of the inn. Behind him came Wrald. Considerably shorter than Draefan, he proudly wore a long beard which he always fidgeted with when he wasn't adjusting the patch across his left eye.

"About bloody time. Thought you were supposed to be here early? I was late enough waiting for him," Theco blared, thrusting a thumb at Kandorl. "Didn't bloody come calling, did he? Then you two fools turn up with half the night gone ... "

"Shut up, Theco, you ridiculous, bald pig," Wrald said, cutting his friend off. He smiled at Kandorl as he slumped down on the bench next to him. "Try to think why he wouldn't want to spend more of his evening with you than he really has to. Really try, Theco. To think."

Kandorl joined Draefan in laughing out loud. Wrald didn't tolerate Theco's attempts to dominate, and Theco certainly didn't ever want to go head to head with him, not with words at least.

"Besides," said Draefan, "we're not late. We've been outside watching that girl singing and struggling to keep herself out of reach of Kraggly and those travellers. And we were worried you may already be in here."

"Didn't notice our gracious landlord to start with. I'm just glad he's got something to hold his attention," Wrald murmured, adjusting his eye-patch just for it to return each time to sit in its original position.

"Where's Siana?" Theco asked, ignoring Draefan. "Need another pitcher here," he called out in the direction of the hallway.

All four men had grown up in Blackford together, Theco working on his family's farm out to the east of the village and Draefan as apprentice at his father's bakery. Wrald's father, Jarn, was the village joiner who never had a kind word to say about Kandorl, always tending to be short with him when he had tried to strike up a conversation. Jarn seemed to believe Kandorl was wasting his opportunity to turn carpentry, or his pastime as he called it, into a full-time profession. Wrald was kind enough not to talk of his father but always took an interest in whatever Kandorl was working on, offering advice wherever he could. Kandorl suspected Jarn's disappointment lay with his own son not showing a greater level of interest in his father's trade but Jarn, like everyone else, was always mindful of Wrald's temper.

"Siana!" Theco shouted. "Bloody pitcher!"

"Damn it, Theco," Kandorl said, annoyed at his friend making him jump a foot off the bench.

"OK, so that'd be two pitchers now, wouldn't it?" Wrald began gently. "How many people are here at the table? There were two, now there's another two, so that means we need how many pitchers?"

Theco replied simply by holding up two fingers on each hand in a deliberately rude gesture, even going as far as waving them at Wrald. Kandorl laughed, he enjoyed Wrald's company and hoped he could learn a bit from him in dealing with the likes of Theco.

Siana came through the doorway to the common room, light from the fire flickering across her face which unashamedly showed her anger. "There's two bloody pitchers coming," she said, one hand on her hip and index finger of the other hand pointing at the group of friends. "That way you can give me a break and maybe your damn mouth too, Theco. Maybe give me enough time to see to someone other than you!"

"Heathen," Wrald said to Siana as he pointed at Theco. Siana sighed before whirling around on her heel and stalking back through the doorway.

Kandorl stopped noticing the drinks as they were delivered, just letting his tankard be filled each time by one or another of his friends. This was the part of the day he enjoyed the most. His head was numb and pain-free and his eyes had half closed, giving the common room a dreamy feel. Drifting out of a conversation where Theco was arguing with Draefan about how best to bake sour bread, while Wrald smiled as he listened, packing and lighting his pipe, Kandorl sat back and let his friends go out of focus. He thought back to earlier and wondered whether it had really happened. He viewed it dispassionately now as if he were disjointed from it. He had been attacked by that smoke before up in the woods but it had never taken on a form like that. Then seeing that creature in the field and what it had done to his eyes. Why hasn't anyone else seen it? he thought, shaking his head. All of it had felt so real at the time but now, it was as if he had heard someone else tell it in a story. A story he would have struggled to believe. He took a long drink from his tankard and looked around at his friends. In the hazy smoke of the warm, low-lit common room there was nothing that could reach him here anyway. Invasion be damned, dancing damn spitting spirits be damned. Black smoke trying to screw him into a ball be damned too. "Damn you, damn you and flaming damn it all!" he said out loud before he could catch himself.

"What you singing about, Kan?" Theco said, grinning inanely and slurring his words. "Have you finally cheered up a bit, you miserable bastard?"

"Well," Kandorl shouted as he stood up on the bench before laughing at Theco. For a big man, his friend really couldn't hold his drink. "Today, I've been thinking. We should leave. Get out of Blackford and go see all those things Braster used to talk about." Ignoring Theco's groan, he continued. "Do you know that there's a whole load of abandoned villages out there? All manner of mysterious things just left where they were dropped!" he declared, swinging his tankard. "There's a bloody lake too, where the priests used to wash while they prayed or swam or something. I've seen it myself," he whispered, leaning in close now and nearly falling onto the table as he did so. "I think we should go. I don't think we should stay here." He looked down at Wrald, who had put a barring arm across his legs. "What's keeping us here, Wrald? Nothing!"

"No there isn't," Draefan said, leaving a long pause before he continued. "There's no villages out there at all, Kan. And there's certainly no bloody treasure just left behind waiting for us to pick up."

"Not treasure, Draefan," Kandorl replied, slipping on some of the spilt ale. "Secrets. Long-forgotten secrets."

"He might have a point you know, Draefan," Wrald said as he forced, more than helped Kandorl back down off the bench and onto a more secure footing. "There's a lot we'll never see sat in here, night after night." He passed his lit pipe to Kandorl. "I'd personally be very glad to get away from some people."

"Exactly. There's things out there," Kandorl said before pausing to blow a line of smoke up above his head. "Even if there's only half of what Braster hinted at, it'd still be better than staying here. At least we could look."

"There bloody isn't," Draefan said, almost sneering. "You're talking about the border, aren't you? Braster didn't know everything, Kan. You'd believe the heavens lie across that damn border if he told you so."

"Yes, Draefan, I would. And the reason I'd agree with him is that chances are he's been. Or if he hasn't, he knows someone who bloody has," Kandorl replied, smiling and pointing the stem of the pipe at Draefan, jabbing it in the air to punctuate his reply. "Anyway, it's more plausible than taking on someone's opinion who makes taking the opposing view their bloody craft."

"Got you there!" Theco said, more than happy to pick his side.

"Don't think you'd agree with that, would you, Draefan?" Wrald said, grinning and reaching across the table to pat him on the shoulder. Draefan drew on his own pipe, his brow furrowed as he thought of something to say. Moments passed as all three men stared at him, watching as his mouth worked silently. No words came. They all collapsed in laughter, spilling the one remaining full pitcher, and none laughing harder than Draefan himself.

"Right. I'm off to find the privy," Kandorl announced. "It's that way?" He asked, pointing vaguely out into the hallway.

"That's it, Kan. But they moved it next door. Ask missus Kraggly to show you where you can do it," Wrald said, leaning forwards so Kandorl could shuffle past. "And if you need help, then you'd better call for Siana," he finished, winking at Theco.

"Siana!" Theco shouted as a thought came to mind. "Siana! A tankard, I mean pitcher! Four each!"

"Get off your lazy arse and get them yourself," Kandorl heard Draefan say as he walked back across the common room. The flagstones seemed uneven, something he hadn't noticed on the way in. Could trip a man if he wasn't careful, he thought, just as he stumbled into the Blents' table and realised for the first time that it was empty and cleared. In the hallway, he leant against the wall as he took his time to get his bearings. "In front's the courtyard," he confirmed in a whisper, "don't go the wrong bloody way. That way would be dangerous." He pointed as he set off, following his own finger. Behind him, wide, winding stairs led up to the rooms above and beyond lay Kraggly's abode. Being caught on either floor would end in a rough escort out of the building and a few cheap punches. Kraggly didn't mind giving a mild beating to those that wouldn't remember where it had come from the next morning. He stopped as he neared the kitchen and waited for his moment before stumbling in his best attempt at a run past the momentarily quiet room. Maybe Arabel has retired for the night and her cooks are finally enjoying some respite, he thought as he all but fell out onto the courtyard, regaining his feet just as he saw Siana coming up from the cellar with more pitchers balanced perfectly on her tray. The singer was sitting on the knee of one of the men now and was smiling, albeit nervously, at the man. The lute player was reciting a poem which was met with as much enthusiasm as it was delivered, while the men laughed and joked between themselves, competing for the singer's attention.

"May as well bring that barrel, Siana," Kandorl said, his eyes half shut and unable to stop himself from grinning as inanely as Theco.

"May as well move you four down below. We'll set a table up for you tomorrow, if you like?" Siana replied, smiling back at him. Despite her balancing act as she walked up the cellar stairs, she seemed to float above the ground. He found he was mesmerised by her movements as she glided gracefully towards him. It surprised him that he hadn't noticed before. The raucous laughter and shouts from the drunkards in the courtyard became muted as she looked up to him with beautiful brown eyes, vast and twinkling in the reflection of the stars above, suggesting a similar wondrous universe within waiting for him to explore. He stood enthralled as contoured lips lifted at the edges in a beautiful smile which made him gasp, forcing him back to his senses, the comparatively vulgar world around him rushing back into being.

"Kan," she said patiently, "you're standing in the bloody way." She looked at him for a while and then grinned.

"Sorry, Siana, I was just ... "

"You were what, Kan?" she replied, looking through long lashes at him.

"Just need to go. Over there." He pointed to the other side of the courtyard.

"OK, Kan, don't be long now. Theco will drink the bloody lot," she said, waggling her finger, this time in good humour, before laughing as she disappeared back inside. Kandorl started to cross the courtyard, unsure whether he'd get to his destination without ending up sprawled on the cobbles below. The men at the table were spread out, the benches and stools arranged around Kraggly, who sat perched on top of a barrel. Except for his pipe, he mirrored the fury which sat just below the roofline – both being fat, hunched and grotesque. Kandorl thought to mention it. Kraggly straightened as he saw Kandorl and aimed at him a smile with no kindness in it. So this is where you've been all night, Kandorl thought as he pushed open the outbuilding door. Found yourself an audience.

"Now look at this, lads." Kandorl winced as Kraggly shouted over the din, pointing over at Kandorl. "She's come out to sing us a song!" The men all turned round to look at Kandorl as he stood staring back at the landlord. Kraggly sat up even straighter on his barrel, pipe clenched between his teeth, waiting for a response he doubted would come.

"That's the trouble with Kraggly here," Kandorl replied, his voice level even as his mind whirled. "Never was able to tell the difference between a man and a woman. Never cared to either! A tankard on me if anyone has the stones to tell his wife the same." The men roared with laughter. "You'll find her in the kitchen. She's the one holding the pan getting ready to beat old Kraggly off her if he tries crawling into the marital bed again tonight!" The men banged the tables with their tankards now, the singer forgotten, to her obvious relief. Kandorl imagined that they'd probably had a whole night of Kraggly's boasts of how he really ruled in Blackford and that he was Lord Petran's man. It wasn't all that far from the truth but he could imagine Kraggly sitting there raised above them all, acting like a king presiding over his loyal subjects. Kraggly was tolerated by all bar the biggest fools or those that didn't know his position in the community. He'd won Lord Petran's ear somehow and he was bigger and fiercer than most men. On top of that, he kept the best cellar of beer and brandy between the coast and the capital and there was no sense in making an enemy of the man for that reason alone. Not so as he'd know anyway. Consequently, most liked watching him get knocked down a peg or two, as rare as it was.

"Has it always been that way, King Kraggly?" spurred on by the men's cheers, Kandorl continued. A dormant part of his brain seemed to be awakening – he felt no fear, felt none of the usual blankness as he searched for the right words, no desire to run rather than stand his ground. He could take on the bear, even as he stood in its cave, and he had every weapon he needed at his disposal. "Wasn't it your wedding night the last time goodwife Kraggly allowed you a visit? I suppose if you were able to get past the guard dog and slip in without waking her, she'd never know you'd been!" The riotous laughter died down as he spoke, the men turning to their host, their grins fading. "Never did give her a child, did you?" Kandorl bit his tongue too late. Kraggly stood now, looking as if he would bite his pipe stem in two and flexing his great, fat hands. Kandorl he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, knowing that he had gone way too far. He suspected it was only his link to Braster which kept Kraggly from pulling his knife from his belt and sticking him with it.

"You hear Braster was seen coming out of the lord's manor tonight, Kandorl?" Kraggly asked, a wicked smile returning to his lips. "That's right. Came back after how bloody long away? Heard he dropped something off, then headed straight out again. Strange how he didn't think to visit you, Kandorl. He used to like to visit your mother too I remember, before she left as well, that is."

Kandorl stared at Kraggly as the silence in the courtyard grew, his hand clenching into a fist.

"She's not singing now, is she?" Kraggly continued, grinning at the men around him.

"Come on, Kan, leave him to his playmates," Siana whispered in Kandorl's ear. "Let's have another song then, shall we?" she called to the singer, who had edged her way towards the entrance to the courtyard. "It's very quiet out here. Maybe we need some dancing? Lads?" Siana dragged Kandorl back by the arm as he stared, teeth bared at Kraggly, who smiled in return before turning back to the table of men, once again settling in to hear his next tale.

Kandorl didn't notice as Siana's arm entwined with his as she led him back down the hallway. Instead, he fought furiously with himself over going back out and demanding Kraggly tell him when Braster had left. Why would he just leave again? He knows it's just me here, watching and waiting day after day for any signs from Dracia. Damn it, why would he just leave? he thought, sure that if he held a pipe between his teeth, it would be little more than matchsticks now. He must know their plans? Why has he just left me to stand against it?

" ... and so, if you like, we could go for a walk tomorrow. You can talk to me, Kan. You know that, don't you? Kan?"

"What?!" Kandorl replied, only catching the end of what Siana had been saying. "Sorry, Siana," Kandorl said, absently pulling his arm from hers. "Could you bring me a bottle of the apple brandy? I'll be heading off soon. I'll bid the others goodnight first."

Siana's eyes seemed to glisten. Maybe she was as tired as he with all that fetching and carrying. "Yes, Kan. As you ask. I'll bring your bloody drink to you before I do anything else," she said as she left him to walk back into the common room alone. Kandorl rubbed his hand across his eyes. The numbness in his head had vanished. It left just a dull pain and the threat of clarity. He doubted one bottle of brandy would be enough. It never was.

Chapter 4

Ingda's Resolve

Only a desperate thirst finally forced Kandorl to open his eyes a crack in a hopeful search for life-giving water within arm's reach, which had been the theme in every one of his dreams. He recalled how he had swum in great lakes, unable to drink the green water all around him or how he had pulled the bucket from the depths of the well, simply to find a new hole in its bottom for every one he plugged. Despite himself, he grinned and just stopped short of laughing out loud. He imagined being found hours later, imagined what people would say they had discovered; a coward, lying in his luxurious coffin, ended from thirst because he was too pitifully afraid to open his eyes and see the reality of the world around him! Still grinning, he shook his head and sat up, letting the covers fall away. His head felt very light, and not unpleasantly so. He knew the pain would come later. But for now he smiled as he looked around, the light of the morning sun streaming in through a gap between thick curtains, revealing the interior of a grand chamber. A chair sat empty in the corner, with his leather tunic, breeches and cloak draped over the worn velvet, and positioned in front of a grey stone fireplace above which hung a faded tapestry of a lady pulling a man in a bucket up a tower to where she awaited him above. The weaver had captured the man's look of fearful trepidation perfectly and the small figure seemed to shrink down into the bucket, facing his fate with a cowardice Kandorl could appreciate. He laughed loudly and this time cared nothing for the noise. His laughter died off abruptly however as his eyes adjusted to the light, allowing him to clearly see the details of a carving in the ceiling of the four-poster bed. He had been lying half-awake for a while, but fitful sleep under the soft, heavy covers could no longer save him from facing the reality of his situation, the dreaded consequences of last night's actions. The toll would have to be paid. It was too late now anyway; his eyes could not un-see what he had feared was true and he could hide from it no longer. He ran his hand over a panel showing a collared and chained wolf, careful to touch both the wolf and the collar around its waist, still firm in the belief that it would somehow protect him. Lord Petran's crest was a sobering confirmation. He had let it happen again.

Kandorl instinctively grabbed at the covers at hearing a soft knock at the door to his room. Only it wasn't his room, but the finest in the Delay, saved for the wealthiest of merchants, and seemingly, fools. He jumped out of the bed, ignoring the flickering lights swirling in his vision and ran over to collect his clothes from the chair.

"It's me, Kan," Siana whispered from the other side of the door, "I'm coming in!"

"Wait! Please, one moment!" Kandorl barely managed not to shout as he ran across the room. He stood in his small clothes by the chair trying to decide between breaches and cloak. In his haste he wrapped his cloak around him and sat down in the chair as the door opened slowly.

"Kan, it's me, you've got to get out ... " Siana began. Seeing the bed empty she turned and saw Kan sat in the corner, his cloak wrapped around him, upside down and barely covering his bare torso. "What are you doing over there?" she asked, laughing and not being quick about averting her eyes.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't remember much of what I did last night either, Siana." As Kandorl spoke, a grin came back to his face. His head still felt very light. "Wasn't I leaving? How did he manage to get me up here? I'll owe him now, the bastard! Sorry, Siana." Kandorl looked down at the floor, suddenly as ashamed of his language as he was his sorry state.

A sudden seriousness spread across Siana's face as she made her way slowly across the sloping wooden floor. "There's so much to tell you, Kan. I'll explain but you'll have to get dressed. Kraggly's still in bed and Arabel was up and out before I got here. Think he drank even more than you and Theco last did night, but as soon as he remembers you're here, he'll come down before he does anything else."

Kandorl nodded and began trying to shift his cloak around the right way. He looked up at Siana and although she stared straight at him, she seemed not to see him. She appeared more lost in whatever thought had changed her mood so quickly. After a few moments, recognition came back to her eyes and she turned round quickly, colour coming to her cheeks.

"Where to start?" Siana sighed as she started straightening out the bed covers. "So, you went back into the common room after that to-do with Kraggly. Remember that bit?"

"Yes, I remember that." Kandorl pulled his shirt from under him and untangled it to go over his head.

"Well, by the time I came back in with your brandy, you and Theco were arm wrestling and acting almost as bad as those men outside. Wrald went home. He got a mouthful of abuse from some of those men who'd got sick of Kraggly's stories and Draefan went off with him, leaving you two fools to it."

"I'm sorry, Siana," Kandorl's voice was muffled through the shirt over his head. "Was Wrald ok? What'd they say to him?"

"Mocking his eye, called him the town reject. You know, the usual. He gave back as good as he got, of course. Draefan got him away before things turned bad."

"What the hell were me and Theco doing during that?"

"Good question, Kan. Too involved in your own stupid pranks. Listen, you nearly got yourself into trouble too, started going on at those men about the storm again. They said they'd heard people were taken from a village they passed, said it was just the old ones and the sick but you got all fired up like you do and ... "

"The only reason I get fired up is because it is coming, Siana!" Kandorl interrupted. "They come and they can take any of us, at any time. Me, you, the old, the young. It's not just the sick in some far-off place nobody's heard of! Braster's seen it and I believe him, Siana. Then what will happen is that all those that are left will get overrun anyway. It's coming and it's not far off either!" He stopped abruptly, realising he had stood up, his hands pulling at the hair at the back of his neck. He sat down quickly and started pulling on his boots, ashamed again, this time at having raised his voice to Siana, who had forgotten the bed sheets and turned in surprise to face him.

"I don't know what any of that means, Kan," Siana said, meeting his eyes until he looked away. "There's not many people that'd want to talk about all that, but you do when you've had too much. It'll get you in trouble, is all I'm saying. You get so angry. Kan, listen to me. You should think about Draefan; he takes in all you say even if you don't seem to notice. You always say everyone should be waiting, watching for the storm. Draefan does though, Kan. He goes off on his own, just like you. He is out there almost as much as you are and I'm worried for him too."

Kandorl started to apologise but Siana cut across him: "There's something else. Braster did come back last night. Kraggly wasn't just being mean."

"What? But where is he now?"

"He left, Kan. He visited the manor like Kraggly said, except we didn't know why, 'till now."

"What's going on, Siana?" Kandorl replied as he finished buttoning up his leather tunic and draped his cloak over his arm. "Why did he come back just to see Lord Petran?"

"Not see, Kan. Bring home. Oh Kan, he's ended. Lord Petran's ended. He wasn't sent! He was tortured, then left to die. Braster got there too late and couldn't save him, with no chance for a priest to do the sending," Siana blurted out as she wiped at her eyes. "Sorry, it's just so confusing. We all knew Lord Petran to be a moral man."

Kandorl moved across the room and stopped just short of wrapping his arms around her. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "Don't cry," he whispered, "come on, Siana. It's done now. Least he won't know anything. He doesn't suffer."

"No, but he's never going to be in heaven either, is he? He ... he just doesn't exist any more!" She broke down now, openly weeping. Kandorl stood uselessly, his hand rubbing her shoulder the best comfort he could think to offer. Why does this matter? The whole lot of them wouldn't be sent. The whole damn country wouldn't be sent if people kept ignoring the damn invasion! He swallowed what he was about to say; it didn't seem right to say what he was thinking, not with Siana as upset as she was.

"Siana. It's all right," Kandorl whispered as Siana leant into him with both her arms wrapping around his waist, despite his poor attempts at comforting her. "All right, all right . Come on now," was all he could think to say, his own arms hanging uselessly at his sides.

After a while Siana pulled away from him and looked up at him through red eyes. "I met Trep on the way over. He was up with the birds, as always. He was among the first to know. He said Lady Petran's not left her chambers and it's Melisia who's taken charge, for now. Her own maid, giving orders! It's chaos, Kan," she said, shaking her head. "Trep said there'll be an announcement this morning in the square, so that everyone will know. With Kraggly in his bed, Arabel has taken it upon herself to gather everyone." She moved across to look out the window to where people had begun to congregate around the well. She was silent for a while before continuing, her composure returned. "The corpse is being burned today. They'll bring the cart from the manor house down to the churchyard this afternoon. Remember to make sure you're inside. Don't watch it, Kan. No matter the temptation." That was the custom when someone ended, even a lord. To recognise it was unthought of. It was something nobody wanted to think about. Much like the damn invasion, Kandorl thought sourly. It was in complete contrast to those that died well, those that had a priest perform the sending. The dying were even involved, wherever possible. The celebration was encouraged, or demanded, more like.

"I'd better go, Siana," Kandorl said, "won't be long before Kraggly's up and catches me."

"Yes, you should. But, you're not leaving are you Kandorl?" Siana lifted the freshly washed white apron from around her waist and used it to wipe her eyes. "That was the other thing you were talking about last night, leaving. To find Braster. Something about wanting him here to help. Wrald said he'd go with you; that made you give him the biggest hug I think he's ever had, Kan." An unexpected smile lit up her face, and made her glistening eyes sparkle even brighter.

"I don't know, Siana, but now, with Petran gone?" He said gently, looking for Siana's reaction. "Where does that leave us? Kraggly won't let this opportunity get away from him. Lady Petran has always been ... absent ... and that just leaves little Salmin. And he's far too young to step into his father's role. As you say, chaos. And this is just the start. There'll be weeks, even months of it. Chaos with that bastard Kraggly stood in the middle of it all, making our lives hell. Including yours."

Siana looked down at her feet, seemingly lost in thought. "You're right. I don't know what to do for the best, but this is my life, Kraggly and all."

"You've got to decide what's best for you. Blackford isn't the only place in the world. You could leave, Siana. You should." Siana looked down as Kandorl realised he had moved over to her and now rested his hands gently around the tops of her arms.

"Do you realise this is the most you've ever said to me when you haven't been at the bottom of a bottle?!" Siana's smile faded as Kandorl quickly pulled his hands away and stepped back. "I'd say you were still drunk, Kandorl," she finished quietly, realising the opportunity had been lost.

"I could use need a drink, Siana." Kandorl said, managing a smile. "Water, I mean. I should get going, Siana. He won't stay in bed forever."

"Yes Kan, water. Get going then," she said, shaking her head.

*

Outside, the bright sun of the summer morning hurt Kandorl's eyes. He felt as though he'd only just put down his bottle. His head still felt light and as predicted, no longer pleasantly so. If not for his dry throat, he wouldn't know any different if someone said he'd been in bed only half an hour. He tried not to fall into the inn's archway as he passed through it and out into the market square, keeping his head down and eyes averted as he walked through those that had come to stand around the well. Clearly Arabel had had no problem with convincing people to stop their chores and gather in the centre of the village, and without having to give details. The air was thick with excited anticipation and it made him grimace. There was laughter and clapping of hands and some fool even started playing a pipe. Old Orland was playing cards with Fram Blent on an upturned barrel as people crowded around to watch. Fram, Blackford's famed Tarot master, the champion of the village, celebrated for his bravery, kindness and morality. Or, in truth, celebrated because he'd got his fat head around a child's game. His face beamed with confidence that another victory would add more importance to his made-up title. They didn't need the sun to light the square, there was enough of fat head's glory to bask in. Kandorl shook his head; he really needed to quench his thirst. He passed through the milling people and was grateful that only a few spared him a passing glance. They'd all seen him come out of the inn and they'd all reach the same conclusion that the drunken fool had been caught out by Kraggly again.

Chickens strutted across the square only to be chased by children as a cat looked on, switching between wide-eyed surveillance of the birds and spitting at Daggers whenever his circle around people's legs brought him too close for its liking. The animals were the innocents, all blissfully concerned with only what was happening now, in front of them. His heart went out to them, but this morning there seemed to be no room in it for the people all stood around just conveniently assuming they were about to hear good news. Completely unwilling to imagine anything other than what they want to happen, he thought acidly. They probably all thought this would be the start of an early harvest and the grand announcement would be made by the very man whose corpse was probably now being loaded into bloody sacks to begin its journey to the priests for burning, just as they cavorted and laughed in their misplaced expectation.

Gasps came from those stood around the barrel, making Kandorl break his stride to look at what had caused the sudden noise. Old Orland stood with his scrawny arm above his head, holding aloft what was presumably one of Fram's cards. Kandorl stopped to watch, delighted by the look of confusion and disbelief on Fram's face as he struggled, unable to come to terms with what Orland had done as the implications struck home, his very being crumbling under the blows and lost to the winds. How could the Master lose? What was he if not the Master? Bloody fools, Kandorl thought as he looked at those closest to Fram, their faces twisted in shock equalling that of their idol. Their world was probably also being shattered. They probably all let the bastard win anyway. A pain in his head stopped Kandorl from enjoying the moment more and he resumed his walk with his head once again lowered to keep the sun from his eyes. Seeing Fram again had Kandorl thinking back to something Siana had said. Wrald had agreed to join him in leaving, maybe even this very day. He felt split in two: the excitement and release of leaving pulled him as much as the comfort of the familiar, however maddening it was. He had to talk to Ingda, to tell her and ask if she knew of Braster's fleeting visit. Her house lay on the other side of the square, and she would have wine too. Something just to quench his thirst.

"I'll be round to collect you in a bit, Kandorl!" Kraggly's shout startled Kandorl and he turned, suddenly feeling a lot worse, to see Kraggly's head out of one of the top windows of the inn. Something in the way the innkeeper had said collect rivalled the need for a drink as reason to make his legs feel as if they would refuse to support him any further. "Stay off the drink today you sorry sod. You've got a few days' heavy work ahead of you!"

That brought a roar of laughter from everyone, who now quite openly stared at Kandorl, hoping for a response that would land him in more trouble. They seemed to take pleasure in the opportunity to ridicule him. Siana was right, he made no friends talking of the invasion every time he had too much to drink and he supposed it was easier, more comfortable, to dismiss someone as simply a fool when what they said nudged at a long- buried truth. He felt relief from an unexpected source as Arabel quite unwittingly came to his rescue, simply by walking around the corner and onto the square. Among others, she had Shania and Darl in tow, with Darl pointedly not looking at Kandorl, as everyone else seemed to. Shania's gaze, however, seemed fixed on him, but only with a crushing look of pity written plain across her face.

"Now you're finally out of your pit, Kraggly, you've an announcement to make. So stay where you are, damn you. I'm coming up." Apart from a few whispers, questioning why Kraggly and not Lord Petran was to make the announcement of the harvest, Arabel's shout both silenced the square and quelled the excitement. People looked nervously at her and then at one another, the peculiarity of the situation now impossible to ignore. Kandorl quickly turned the corner onto South Road, with the only sound to come from the square behind him being the bang of a window slamming shut.

Ingda's single-storey house stood on the north side of the road, opposite the village bakery. A good few years older than Kandorl himself, she was another of Braster's wards, and how many others there might be Kandorl didn't know or really care. As such, Ingda appeared in every memory he had of growing up in Blackford, and quite frequently mentioned him having to be dragged up by her, rather than brought up. Her own family history was as murky and confused as his and it was these things they had in common that had led them to form a long-lasting friendship. Admittedly, it had been a few years since Ingda had joined Kandorl and his friends in even an evening at The Traveller's Delay. She always seemed too busy to do so.

Peering through the window, Kandorl called out to Ingda, who was sat as usual at her loom, her long dark hair weaved into a braid, as if she had made it herself. She was always making clothing, always sat at the loom, day and night. She used to come up to the vigil with Kandorl too, up to only a few years ago. Things had changed when she set up her shop in the front of her house. He often worried she spent too much time there, and that she somehow had managed to forget all that Braster had shown them.

"Oh. Morning, Kandorl. Come on in then," Ingda replied. "Suspect you've had another heavy night?"

As Kandorl walked around to the door, he paused expectantly for the familiar sound of the tapping of the shuttle on the side of the weighted loom, wood hitting wood. It was always two taps with the shuttle going left, one when going right. There was no reason for it at all that he could see, all completely and infuriatingly unnecessary. On hearing two taps in quick succession, he ground his teeth and reminded himself he had chosen freely to come here.

"You wouldn't believe it," he said finally, stepping through the threshold of the front door which was left wide open, as usual. Ingda sat in the corner of the room, facing out towards the door and weaving what looked to Kandorl like it would make for a good, sturdy pair of breeches. The back door stood ajar, most likely to allow the animals to roam freely, as domesticated as they were, although you would have been forgiven for thinking one of them had run riot through her house. Bags of wool, bolts of cloth and both finished and half-finished clothing was strewn across every surface, including the table where she ate, the kitchen dresser and even the bed. Ingda always described it as having everything exactly where she needed it to be. Kandorl, however, just saw chaos. He felt the coolness of the through draft on his sweaty face and remembered his dry throat. Even nearing the end of the season, the mid-morning heat was building.

"I've so much to tell you but first, please, have you got anything to drink, Ingda?" he said.

"Bloody hell, Kandorl. You've just rolled out the inn, haven't you?" she said, not looking up from her work. "Take it you're not working today?" One tap followed her question, wood hitting wood. The senselessness made Kandorl dig his fingernails into his palms in irritation.

"I just meant water," he lied, hoping he'd done enough to keep the sting out of his voice. His disappointment made him grind his teeth even harder. "Yes, I have just rolled out of the inn and guess what? I'm now in Kraggly's debt, which no doubt means hard labour of sorts for the next three days. He'll probably even get me to start today. Have you heard, Ingda?"

"Well I'd say that'll teach you, but it won't, will it? That's the second time he's played that trick on you. Stop when you've had enough, Kandorl you fool, or work a bit harder so you can afford the bloody night in the inn once a month! Heard what?"

Kandorl walked over to the washstand where a large pitcher of water was placed next to the bowl. He filled a wooden cup and drank the lot down in one go, wiping his hand across his mouth as he turned and walked back to Ingda, her hands working quickly on the loom.

"Do you know he came back last night?" Kandorl said, moving a wooden stool away from the table and sitting down. "Did you see him?"

"Who came back?" Ingda replied without looking up, two taps following her question.

"Braster did. He came back, Ingda. Have you spoken to anyone today?" Kandorl continued through his teeth. Does it bloody help somehow in weaving the bloody weft? He just stopped short of vocalising his thought as he believed he may have screamed it. To hell with the damn weft. "Ingda. Ingda!" he shouted, finally losing his temper.

Ingda stopped what she was doing and looked at him. If she had the gift, he would have melted into the chair under that gaze. "What are you talking about?" she said, very slowly.

"Petran's ended, Ingda. Braster brought the corpse back last night. Brought it back to the manor, then left. You've got the bloody invasion gearing up, men telling of folk being taken from their homes, and nearby this time, Ingda, and now on top of all that, Lord Petran's been killed in his own damn tower. Why did he just leave again? We bloody need him!" Ingda looked through Kandorl, her eyes slightly glazed over, like she was seeing something play out in her mind.

"Wasn't sent then?"

"No, Braster was too late. Siana says they'd be taking the corpse to the church today, everyone indoors from midday. Got to ... "

"Yes, yes, got to close the shutters, the doors. Yes I know. Doesn't make sense, he always seemed so kind." She paused, rubbing her hands over her eyes. "But, people will still need clothes." She returned her focus to the loom, the unrelenting rhythm of the inane tapping dragged on, spoiling the silence as Kandorl watched her move the shuttle back and forth, back and forth, wood hitting wood in a maddening rhythm.

"Something weird happened last night, Ingda. I haven't told anyone yet as I don't know if it was even real. I saw these creatures," Kandorl said, raising his eyebrows in shock as Ingda put down the shuttle. She stood to walk over to the window and released the shutters by turning the wooden pegs to lock them in their open position.

"What happened, Kandorl?" Ingda turned to look at him intently for the first time.

"I was attacked, twice. There's something dark in the woods. A creature made of smoke. It tried to crush me, Ingda. It went into my chest, gripping, trying to crush my heart."

"Kandorl, listen."

"Then in the field, there were corpses, hanging and twitching. A creature from hell. Different from the other but it wanted me too. I did something to my eyes."

"Stop, Kandorl please. Listen to me."

"Then Shania. She rotted in front of me. Turned into a corpse! Fram too. At the inn." He deliberately ignored Ingda's attempts to interrupt him, desperate to say all that he wanted to now that he had someone who was not only listening but also not laughing at his madness. Allowing him to finish, Ingda pulled a chair up next to him and took one of his hands in hers.

"Kandorl," she began slowly. "You've got to let all of this go. The invasion, it's coming, yes. But what can we do? You think Braster can hold it back? Fight it all on his own? It's a terrible thing, but there it is. Those things in the woods, in the fields? They seek you out because you put yourself in their way. I did too, that's why I stopped watching." She was clutching his hand painfully tight now but, seemingly unaware, she continued. "You see anyone else here that's troubled? They all know it's coming, this storm, this march, this flood." She sneered as she said the words. "Whatever they want to call it, they know there's nothing they can do. Loved ones ripped away, torn out of their lives, everything they've worked for, cared about, dreamt of. All gone. Gone in an instant and with no idea when that instant will arrive. There is no escape. There's nowhere to run!" Her voice grew more and more desperate, matching her grip as Kandorl tried to pull away. "So you tell me, Kandorl. What do you want to do? Keep attracting those ... things? As I say, I've seen similar and they're terrors, they'll rip you apart, or worse, make you rip yourself apart. For the love of all that's good in this world, find something worth doing, live a normal life and fill it with something while you can, or next time, you may as well let that smoke crush what's left of your heart!"

Kandorl finally pulled his hand away. Red and painful, it felt like she had bent bones. He rubbed his hand as he looked at her, searching her eyes. She's got no hope left. She's given up. "I'm going to find him, Ingda. I'm going to get away, when it's quiet today. I've decided. I need to know more, like when and how long we've got, and what does Dracia plan for us, for after? He will know, and besides, I can't just ignore it, Ingda. It doesn't work for me. I can't blindly turn away." He choked as he said those last words.

Ingda stood and returned to looking out of the window. "And what happens when you find nothing? When you find there is no answer? What will you do then?"

"I have to try. Maybe just trying would be enough. I don't know," he said to her back as she continued to stare out of the window. "I'd love to be able to just get on with things, to live here in Blackford with everyone else, pretending it'll go on forever. But I can't, I've bloody tried. They think I'm out there every day and night wandering in the woods because I'm weak! They're the ones that are weak! They'd all crumble, each and every one of them if they weren't such cowards that they'd actually stop fooling themselves, just for one fucking minute!"

"Kandorl," Ingda said softly, "your friends are here."

He wiped his hands across his eyes and quickly walked back over to the washstand to begin splashing water from the bowl over his face.

"Ingda? You have got Kan in there!" Theco's rough shout announced their arrival at her front door. "Heard you stayed in Kraggly's finest again, Kan! Ha! Bet you feel the fool today?" Theco laughed loudly as he walked straight in without either waiting for an invitation or noticing the tension. Wrald and Draefan stood awkwardly at the front door, both with better manners and a better sense of mood. Turning from the washstand with his hair and face soaked, Kandorl looked over at Ingda, who just shook her head before taking her seat back behind her loom. The tapping of the comb restarted and it occurred to Kandorl that it was far louder than before.

"Come on in then. Though I see you're already in, Theco," Kandorl said, forcing a grin. "Bloody hot morning again," he added, wiping away the water running down his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

"It's not far off midday, Kan," Wrald said as he walked over to lean against the window. He looked from Kandorl to Ingda and back again, his brows furrowed so that his eye-patch shifted up slightly, which he quickly adjusted. "Have you heard the news?" he asked solemnly.

"Yes, I heard. He's gone. That's the end of it. It'll get worse here long before it gets any better, you know," Kandorl replied. "What the hell have you got all that on for?" he asked, noticing they all wore their long cloaks and carried packs slung over their shoulders.

"True. He's gone, nothing left to say," Wrald said, shaking his head. He brightened as Kandorl pointed to his pack. "Oh yes, so whilst you were running up your debt to Kraggly this morning, we all came to the same conclusion, and like you say, we're not hanging around to see how bad things get here." Wrald looked at Theco and Draefan in turn and waited for them to nod in agreement. "Medral is meeting us on the road too and she's got the rest of our gear" – he patted his pack – "such as it is."

"And these," Draefan said, tugging at his cloak, "are to keep things hidden until we're clear of the village." He pulled back his cloak, revealing the curved end of his short bow showing from where it was stowed on his back. "Besides, we're meeting Medral in the meadow, by the road, not on it, Wrald. Best to stay off the road if we're to remain hidden."

"So we're going today?" Kandorl began. He was surprised at how afraid he suddenly felt, now that he didn't need to convince anyone, now it looked like it was actually going to happen. And Medral going too? he thought happily. He always enjoyed spending time with her, as much as her opinions differed from his own.

"Yeah, Lady Petran's gone bloody mad, been heard howling from her chambers since Braster left last night," Theco said. "We should go now, today, or forget it. And you're not ever going to do that, are you, Kan?"

"That's because everyone'll be in shock," Draefan said as he moved to stand to one side of the door. He lit his pipe and blew a long stream over the threshold, only for it to blow back in again. "Lord Petran going without being sent, that's why it'll get bad around here. We should go before it gets bad."

"Clever bastard, isn't he?" Theco said to Ingda as he sat down heavily on another of her stools. Ingda ignored Theco's question, instead glancing over at Draefan as he put his pipe to his lips again. Kandorl heard the tap of the comb and found himself worrying whether just one tap was correct this time, before he could stop himself.

"For goodness sake, Draefan!" Ingda said loudly. "Stay in here if you just want to enjoy stating the bloody obvious, or go outside if you want to smoke that. Look!" she said pointing to the cloud of smoke billowing in a blue-grey cloud above his head. "This isn't the Delay and this isn't a bloody common room!"

"Is he more the fool for saying what is already clear to everyone, or for thinking we're too foolish to notice that's what he's doing?" Wrald mused. "Regardless, he doesn't have to make a choice, he could stand outside telling passers-by that he'd been banished from the house because he's an empty-headed fool. That way, he could enjoy his pipe and stating the obvious."

Draefan regarded Wrald from within the shade of his hood for a while before he eventually spoke. When Wrald was nervous he could be quite cutting, and Draefan hated it. "Ingda isn't impressed by your sharp tongue, Wrald. Ingda isn't impressed by anything you say. Or do. That's clear to everyone, but you seem not to notice." He shrugged. "So it obviously needs stating."

Theco looked at both of his friends in turn. His brow furrowed, forming creases which rippled his skin from his eyes to almost the crown of his head. After a moment, a glimmer appeared in his eyes and he suddenly clapped his hands together in glee. "His face is as red as Kandorl's bloody eyes!" Theco said, laughing hard as Wrald could only mumble something angrily around his pipe stem.

"That goes for you too, Wrald. If you want to smoke that, take it outside. The people that buy these" – Ingda pointed to the clothes arrayed around the room – "will want to ruin them with the smell of their own tobacco, not yours."

"That's told you, Wrald! Go on, do as she says, straight away, just like you always do!" Theco said, pushing his luck.

"There's a special place in hell for you, Theco." Wrald whispered. Ingda's comb marked the passing of time as Wrald stared death at his friend. "It's a place where people talk civilly, in intelligent, learned conversation about important matters. Somewhere you'd hate to be. And that's exactly where you're fucking going, and soon, if you don't learn to shut your fool fucking mouth!" By the time Wrald had finished, he was as near to shouting as damn it, with spittle sprayed over his beard.

Kandorl looked around the room to see the others, Ingda included, open-mouthed and staring at Wrald, who continued to fix Theco with his one good eye, his breath coming in loud gasps. Hell was never mentioned, not directly, and to suggest a place was set aside there for someone was abhorrent. Wrald did have the gift, he also had moments like these, when his rage would take over if pushed too hard. A worrying combination. The power Wrald could access when provoked was based on that rage. That was how it worked with everyone that carried the gift. A person quick to anger could unleash destruction as easily as a person who was gentle by nature could bring calm to, or heal others. Some even had the power to manipulate minds, which was why all gifted, as they were known, were mostly treated with mistrust.

"Wrald, it's just Theco. Not worth getting upset," Kandorl said, turning and waiting for his friend to meet his eyes. "I'm sure Theco is just about to apologise too," he continued as Theco simply rocked back on two of the legs of the stool, his grin a failed attempt to distract from the look of concern growing on his face.

It had been a group of travellers passing through that had taken a dislike to Wrald years before and Kandorl always maintained it was Kraggly that had egged them on. What had started as a few insults hurled by the younger lads, left to play while their fathers visited the inn, had turned physical quickly. Wrald had a way of cutting people down with words which, for certain types, gave no recourse apart from violence. He'd never learnt that he was too clever at times for his own good. They'd hurt him badly, but not before he'd made them suffer in return. In his hands he had held growing spheres of light, barely controlled by a horrified boy. It had taken the fathers of the boys and most of the other patrons of the inn that day to carry those lads kicking and screaming their pain, down to the river on the north side of the village to plunge them in. Kraggly had scooped a sobbing, confused Wrald up and roughly dragged him back to his home. He'd lost his eye in that fight, or from the beating Kraggly had given him, as Kandorl suspected, and nobody had looked at Wrald the same since. Wrald would never speak of it, and just trying to coax out the truth was the quickest way to make him angry.

"Theco, just apologise," Kandorl insisted.

"He won't, Kan, you know he won't. Come on, we'll just go outside." Draefan said, gesturing to Wrald with his pipe.

Wrald stood and began to follow his friend. As the church bells began to ring twelve solemn tolls, both men froze and looked worriedly around the room.

The bearing had begun.

"It's too late, Draefan," Kandorl whispered.

"Get those damn doors and windows shut, quickly!" Ingda said urgently, jumping up from her chair. Kandorl looked over, realising the tapping had finally stopped. The shuttle hit the floor as the last knell hung in the air.
Chapter 5

The Bearing of Grief

Trep Goodman patted the thick muscular neck of his red gelding, affectionately named Carrots by his boy, both for the animal's colouring and his insatiable appetite for the vegetable, and wondered which of the two of them was the more skittish this morning. His task today was straightforward enough: he had to simply bring the cart through the village, something he'd done countless times over the years, either taking produce to sell at the market or wool at the fairs held behind the inn. Today, there was a far more sombre reason to make the familiar journey from the manor house to the woods that lay behind the churchyard to the south, where the village gave way to the countryside beyond, and Blackford had an eerie feel now that a silence had descended, following the last ring of the church bells. Those that had remained in their chores had long since scampered into their homes, grabbing animals and errant children before slamming doors and shutters in a desperate race to shut out the world. Now, no fussing. Just lead the cart, let them unload it, then get back home quick smart, Trep thought as his fingers twirled the end of his long white beard, a habit he fell into whenever he was nervous. Today was certainly a bad day for nerves.

Trep was old, and he felt old too. Maybe that's why he'd been chosen. Too addled to put up a fight. The thought made him smile ruefully. Everything had happened so quick that he still hadn't had chance to think it all through, and at his time of life that was a luxury he had willingly grown accustomed to. He had been going out to the fields this morning, same as always, when Margret had come out the house shouting for him to come back at once. He'd had to calm her down, mind, had to get her to talk at a normal rate an old man could understand, but once he had, she'd told him what had happened to Lord Petran up at his tower. She'd wept, and he'd even shed a couple of tears himself, truth be told. The lord had gone and Lady Petran was locked in her chambers, screaming all night long, with her maid the only soul allowed in to see her. The message had come from Melisia herself, that someone needed to do what was necessary, and that's where he and his cart came in. It wasn't right to use the lord's own carriage, not when he'd gone the way he had. Back to basics is best. Get the whole thing over with. Does no one any good dwelling on these things.

Trep turned to inspect the wagon one last time before heading off. The seat, wide enough for a driver and two others, sat in front of the main body, which was a roofed, wooden structure whose base sat low to the ground with the whole construction set on four large wheels. Good for bearing loads, a good worker, just like Carrots. The Burden was concealed from view under the roof, although the curfew would keep people from getting a good look, not that any would want to, apart from mischievous children who knew no better. Part of the bearer's job in these circumstances was to make sure he and his cargo passed unseen. The passing was nothing to be celebrated, after all. The bearing shouldn't be witnessed, shouldn't be marked in any way, just the bearer and the corpse on its final journey.

The heat of the midday sun bore down on Trep's bald pate as he started to lead Carrots out of the lord's stable yards and onto the main road as the centre of Blackford came into sight. He wiped a hand across his brow as he walked slowly on, his sweat running into his eyes and starting to make his shirt cling to his back. He wore no hat, of course, and just his usual working clothes, providing another contrast to what he would have worn if the lord had been sent. Though the bearing was not to be rushed, he would keep a good pace through the village, to get it over with. To get out of this heat too, for an hour or so. First though, he would pass the cargo to the priests, who would take it and burn it on a great fire out in the woods, feeding the fire into the night. The ashes would be left to be blown by the wind, just as they'd always been.

The wagon rocked as it slowly made its way past Jarn's house on Trep's left. The double doors to his great barn he used as his shop were left drawn back, revealing his unattended bench and hand tools, so uncharacteristically abandoned by the joiner some time before. Trep gave it no further thought as the cart crawled past the barn, ever closer to the market square up ahead, with Carrots stepping slowly and whinnying, his nerves threatening to overcome him. The last thing Trep wanted was for the horse to start rearing and kicking.

"Steady boy," Trep whispered. "Steady now." Carrots was the less nervy of Trep's two horses and, being the strongest too, he was the most comfortable with pulling. Something was making him fidget today though, like he knew what he bore. He tossed his head furiously as Trep guided him on. The unnatural quiet of the village may have been enough cause, especially given the time of day. Looking up, Trep noticed that even the birds were silent. In fact, there were none to be seen, just as if they had decided to imitate the people of Blackford and turn away from the bearing.

Trep checked each house as he passed. All doors and shutters were closed and no sounds came from within. His mind wandered to the first and last time he had witnessed the bearing; it had been in his youth when the last person had gone badly, taken to the priests too late by a panic-stricken wife. He could remember his mother explaining to him what was happening and feeling no urge whatsoever to look out of the windows, even as forbidden and mysterious as it was. Definitely not something you wanted to think about. Suppose I'm lucky to have only done this once, and hopefully the last time too. It wouldn't be long before his own sending would be performed, and he let himself start to imagine the celebrations, the people lining the street showing their respect as he was taken to the priests. A fine day that would be. A fine day, well earned.

"Stop!" The high pitch of a woman's voice pierced the silence in the village as Trep's wagon left the market square. There had been birds. Crows, now maddened, broke their own silence as they frantically flapped their wings and cawed as they took to flight. "Stop now! Trep Goodman, stop!"

Trep held on as best as he could while Carrots reared, his head trying to shake loose of the reins. "Easy. Easy, boy." Trep said as loud as he dared before managing to get the gelding under control. Moving round to the side of the wagon, Trep gasped at what he saw. Lady Petran, or just Sinthia, as Trep had called her from a girl, came running down the road in just her shift, her face twisted in an ugly snarl and her normally neat light-brown hair now a tangled mess flowing out behind her. Melisia too came into view, half stumbling, half running far behind and holding her arms out in front of her as if she could not see where she was going.

"Please, my Lady, please! You must come away!" Melisia called out. Of all the madness in front of him, it was the way that Melisia spoke that struck Trep the most. Sinthia had always been far from strict, to a fault some people believed, but her maid had just issued her an order. It was that which stuck in Trep's head as he struggled as much to make sense of what he was witnessing, as keeping from running. There was something not right about either woman, not right at all. Reluctantly, he moved to stand in Sinthia's path.

"Give him back!" Sinthia shouted. Her shift was indecently thin and Trep found no difficulty in meeting eyes that were red-raw and streaming tears. "Give him back to me! Damn you, Trep Goodman! Give him back!"

"Sinthia. Lady Petran," Trep began, folding his hands. He spluttered the words. Addressing the lady of the manor by her first name in public was something even she would severely reprimand him for. His mind whirled as he thought how to calm her while holding his own nerve. He was the bearer, and he had to continue. But he had never seen her in such a state of distress. He'd never seen anyone look as she, so different, so unwell. "You shouldn't. I mean to say, I cannot let you any further, my Lady. I must be allowed to continue." Trep felt as if he had a mouthful of ashes and he sweated even more than before, his heart hammering and he swayed, fearing he may faint. He'd never been one for situations.

"He will come back with me. Now!" Sinthia shouted, adopting the voice she had used in her more formal moments and trying to step around him. Mercifully, and despite the commotion, no one had come out to see what was happening, which seemingly amounted to just an old fool holding up shaking hands, barring his Lady's way. Scowling as she met Trep's eyes, Sinthia leant in close to him. "I want him buried, he must be buried! He's your lord, damn it! He's my husband," she finished quietly before breaking down in tears and clawing at Trep's shirt. "Please, please don't let them burn him."

"My dear ..." Trep stopped halfway to taking her in his arms as he looked over her shoulder at Melisia, now only a few yards away, staggering towards them. Now that she was closer, Trep could see that she was in a far worse condition than he'd first thought, lurching as she closed on them. Her eyes were barely open, ringed in red and blue above a nose and upper lip caked with dried blood. Parts of her hair were missing too, as if they had been torn from her head, and what remained was matted with blood which had been smeared down the side of her face and neck. She looked as if she had been kicked by a horse. Trampled even. "What's happened to you, girl?" Trep asked, gaping in shock. "What has she done to you?!"

"The Lady. Please stop her, Trep," Melisia said in one long sigh before she collapsed, clutching her head as she fell in a heap in the middle of the road. Her body convulsed, her feet scratching long troughs in the dirt. As Trep stared helplessly at her, she became still, and he knew she too had gone. Her chest was no longer rising and falling, and her eyes stared sightlessly out of her ruined face.

"Move. Damn you, move!" Sinthia roared, spittle landing on Trep's cheek as he turned his face from her. "I said move!"

As she bellowed, Trep flew back into the wagon, his head cracking hard against it. His breath left his body and he sagged against the sturdy wood of the base, silently gasping for air. Did she hit me? The thought passed through a head he believed must be split. It felt warm, light, but he had no time to think of it any further. The Lady strode towards him as he slumped, unable to move, between her and her husband's remains. Madness from her grief had overtaken her mind. That much was clear from her eyes. They showed no recognition of him now, no care for the injuries she'd inflicted, nor her maid's fate, as what had been Melisia lay forgotten behind her in the road. As pain welled up in his head and his sight started to darken, Trep's thoughts went to wondering who would be the bearer for him.

"Give me back my husband!" Lady Petran's scream didn't end this time. Instead, it simply grew higher in pitch and volume as she flung back her head and shrieked up to the sky. When she brought her head back down, Trep looked into a face which should have belonged to a corpse. Still screaming, her jaw had extended, the bone stretching unnaturally, which the flesh around her mouth ripped apart to accommodate. Her eyes were fully black, no sparkling blue pupils now, no whites. Trep felt the force of her wail, even at a few feet away, like she was pushing his head further into the wagon and pinning him there as he shook with fear, all his energy seemingly spent on retaining his sanity. The pressure against his head built until he felt it would split into halves under the strain and he felt his skin burn and blister as the terrible heat of her breath melted his face.

With his eyes shut tight, he heard a second note providing a harmony to the Lady's unending scream. Lower, but just as constant and unwavering. As the dark red of his blood began to seep through the white of his beard and into his open mouth, he found he did have a last reserve of energy, and he too had used it to scream.

*

"Wagon's stopped," Kandorl whispered, turning back to look into the darkened room from where he sat, leaning his ear against the shuttered window. "Trep Goodman's the bearer isn't he? Well, he's bloody stopped!" The others simply stared back at him, open-mouthed and straining to hear anything from outside.

"Just means he's gone past us, Kan," Theco replied quietly. "There's no bloody way he's going to stop, short of his legs failing him. Fool old bastard." Kandorl frowned at Theco for that last comment. Trep was doing what everyone in the village didn't want to by being the bearer. Besides, it was immoral to mock him for his age.

"No, he just hasn't come past yet," Kandorl whispered when he was satisfied Theco had acknowledged his displeasure. "He's stopped up at the market place, he never came past. I'm sure of it." There had to be something wrong; everyone knew the bearer never stopped, not until he reached the priests.

Kandorl shivered suddenly, a chill passing through his body, at a woman's shout. The voice mingled with the fearful neighing of a horse, with the commotion definitely coming from the marketplace.

"Was that ... " Kandorl began.

"Yes, that was Lady Petran," Ingda replied, barely loud enough for Kandorl to hear. "Bloody hell, what's she doing out during this? She's the last person who should be out, unless ... "

"I'm going to look, even if no one else will," Kandorl said, cutting across Ingda as he reached for the shutter. There was something going on outside and Trep would need help if Lady Petran intended to stop the bearing, as inconceivable as that was. As he pulled the shutter open a crack, he saw what he thought was Lady Petran stalking towards Trep and his wagon. She turned her head towards Ingda's house and he froze as her gaze fell upon him.

"Don't! What the hell are you doing, you fool bastard!" Theco shouted, eyes wide and no longer bothering to whisper.

"What?" Kandorl said, holding the shutter close and breathing hard. "We can't just sit here and ignore it, something is bloody wrong." A deep, bestial roar came from the marketplace just as Kandorl felt a force throw the shutter fully open, trapping his hand against the plaster of the wall. He toppled over on his stool and, while trying to stop himself from falling, he grabbed the shutter with his other hand, pulling it away at the top and tearing it from the frame as he did so. He lay on the ground with his eyes shut, preparing for a second blast. He opened his eyes to see Draefan and Wrald standing over him, before reaching down to grasp an arm each to lift him to his feet.

"You all right, Kan?" Wrald said as he let go of his arm, all the while looking anywhere but through the window. "I don't know what that was but I damn well want nothing–"

A chilling, desperate scream drowned out whatever Wrald was about to say and Kandorl covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the penetrating noise. It did not sound like it came from a human throat and it hurt him to hear it. Kandorl felt as if it would tear his head apart from the inside if he allowed too much of it to get in. The pain grew and he looked around at his friends, who fought similarly to keep it from filling their own heads. He struggled to even think. All he could do was press his palms harder and harder until the sides of his head ached with the pressure. He wasn't sure if he would be able to stop himself, even after he had cracked his cheek bones. He felt he would have gladly forced in hot pokers, if it was to stop him from suffering any further.

As the punishing sound continued to threaten to drive its way in, a man's voice added a wail full of pain to the terrible cacophony. Kandorl bent his head down lower, wanting to curl up on himself as the sound found a way through, despite his every effort. Slowly, a ringing in his ears grew louder until it was the only thing he could hear and just then he considered the loss of his hearing a mercy. After a few moments he realised the ringing was truly the only noise, the other had finally stopped and silence had returned to the village. Taking his hands from his ears, he looked around the room as one by one, the others took their hands down from their heads slowly and held them ready alongside faces screwed up in pain, bracing for the noise to come again. Draefan looked as if he would empty his stomach; he had even thrown back the hood of his coat so that he could better force his fingers into his ears. As he straightened, Kandorl's vision darkened and he felt as if his ears were stuffed with some of the wool which had now been blasted around the room, making Ingda's previous description of organised seem credible. He walked slowly over to the window and, despite everything, he was unable to resist looking outside. He had to know when the noise would come again, and if anyone warned him against it, he didn't hear. Outside, just on the edge of the marketplace, two bodies lay on the ground. Trep was on his back and Lady Petran lay face down, both were unmoving. Far down the road to the south stood the horse, still tethered to the wagon and standing completely still, its head hanging limply as it trembled.

"Come on," Kandorl said, hoping his voice didn't sound like he'd almost lost his mind with terror, before walking towards the door. "That was Trep Goodman and the Lady. They're out there. They need our help." Not knowing if the others replied, Kandorl opened the door and stepped through.

"Wait! Kan! We could go now, couldn't we?" Wrald shouted, wincing as he picked up his pack before throwing Theco's at him. "Forget all this, let's just get away," he added, the tremble in his voice clear even through the ringing in Kandorl's ears.

"Yes, you're right. But first we have to help them," Kandorl called back as he turned to run up to the market square. All but Ingda followed him out of the doorway, lagging a few paces behind him as he sprinted up the road. As he got closer, he saw there were three bodies, not two, laying on the ground. A calm descended on him, despite the horror, and he went from body to body, judging injuries and assessing what help they would require. The third belonged to another woman which he recognised as Melisia, laying in a heap, her head smothered in blood. Unlike the other two figures, she was entirely motionless. Ended, and with nothing to be done beyond dealing with the corpse. Next, Trep Goodman. He was part of life here in Blackford; a reliable, friendly stalwart of the village whom Kandorl had known his entire life. He now lay in the road on his back, face burned and blistered and bleeding from his head, but he still breathed. Lady Petran, dressed in just her shift, lay face down. She had no injuries that he could see and her chest swelled as she breathed deeply, seemingly sleeping. A moment later, the others came to stand around Kandorl in a stunned silence, and almost as still as the figures on the ground.

"Wrald?" Kandorl said, moving towards Trep. "Help me. Trep lives, albeit barely. We need to get him help. Draefan, Theco, check on Lady Petran. Nothing to be done for Melisia, she's gone."

Draefan and Theco moved to stand over the woman in white before both warily kneeling down either side of her. Their reluctance at being this close to the Lady of the manor in her current state threatening to overrule any instinct to aid her. Propriety was a difficult thing to ignore, even at times such as these. At a nod of encouragement from Kandorl, Draefan began searching for a pulse on her neck.

"He needs a priest now. Look at him. If it were you, what'd you prefer?" Wrald said, sliding his arm under Trep's and starting to lift.

"Yes, OK, you're right. Let's get him to the priests," Kandorl replied as he helped to get the old man in a carrying hold. "Draefan, Theco, how is she?" Together, Kandorl and Wrald propped up Trep's limp form as best they could as he sagged in their arms, threatening to fall back to the ground, taking them with him. He was a weighty, strong man despite his years. Kandorl looked over to see Draefan and Theco backing away from where he had seen Lady Petran, and towards where he and Wrald now stood.

"Move, damn it. Move!" Draefan whispered, pulling his hunting dagger from where it had been concealed under his cloak before holding it in out front of him. As they edged past him, movement caught Kandorl's eye from the inn, where people had gathered to sit out the bearing. Slowly, people were coming out into the market square. He picked out Shania and Darl, clinging onto one another as they stared towards Kandorl and his companions. Others came to stand behind them, all staring agog. Someone began to cry. Kandorl looked back over to where Lady Petran lay and he realised it wasn't him they were staring at. What had once been the Lady was now rising up from the floor, her limbs unfolding as if she floated on the air, until she stood, hunched over, with her tangled hair hanging down to conceal her face.

"Get moving, you two!" Draefan shouted. "She did this to Trep!"

"She's gone. That's a fucking banshee," Kandorl whispered in reply.

At the word banshee, the creature began slowly to lift its head. Through the mass of hair, Kandorl could make out features that resembled the person he had known all his life, though the face was now just a broken, impossibly twisted mockery of the once-beautiful Lady of the manor. Images of Shania's decaying face from the night before came to his mind and he rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. The others were all staring too, confirming that this at least was real.

"Kan, keep moving. Kan!" Wrald shouted, jolting him from his thoughts as he tried to drag both Trep and Kandorl backwards.

"It's going to scream again. Move, Kan!" Theco shouted as the creature began tilting back its head, its dislocated jaw stretching as far as to rip the grey skin around its mouth further still. Kandorl flinched away as Theco suddenly charged passed him on his left, his hand clenched around a brutal looking, silver fist-weapon which he swung in a wide right arc. He connected with the creature's throat as it continued to lift, now fully floating off the ground. Kandorl stood rooted and could only watch as the creature flew backwards through the air, a rasping noise coming from it as it attempted, and failed, to scream again. Theco stumbled forwards himself, unable to recover his feet before he sprawled on top of the monster, which thrashed under his weight and clutched at its crushed throat.

Wrald and Kandorl turned away to start dragging a murmuring Trep back down the road to the south, towards where the wagon still stood. Draefan came to stand between them and Theco, his dagger still held out with both hands as if to cover his friends' escape. Kandorl glanced over his shoulder to see Theco rolling off the creature, which hissed its anger, but mercifully remained writhing on the ground.

Up ahead, Ingda stood at the front on the wagon, supporting the gelding's head in her hands. With her eyes shut, she lowered her head so that it rested on the horse's nose and held there for a few moments until the horse snorted then lifted his head. Ingda stood back, letting her hands drop away, she looked drained but she smiled faintly, seemingly satisfied with what she had done. Carrots in turn stood calmly with his head held high. Ingda looked over to see Kandorl and the others approach and started to step towards them, her hands raised as if to embrace Trep. She stopped suddenly and shook her head, a sadness coming to her tired face as she dropped her arms to her side.

"First, what the hell is that thing up there, Kandorl?" Ingda asked, trying to look past him. "Please say it's not–"

"Lady Petran," Wrald finished for her. "Yes. She's gone, Ingda. I'm sorry, they'll need to behead her. Only way to be sure. Theco stopped it screaming at least..." He trailed off, as if his words simply added to her sadness.

"A banshee?" Ingda whispered as she stared towards where it still lay. "It's the grief then, it's unlocked something in her. Trapped her in her own despair. Bet she didn't know she held the gift," she continued, briefly glancing down at her own hands. "Right, get him to Medral as quick as you can." As Ingda looked up, she barely covered a wince as she saw the old man's burned and bloodied skin. "She's his best hope. Quickly, Kandorl!" she added when he didn't reply.

Kandorl tried to think fast but his head span, all his previous calm gone. He didn't know what to say, let alone what to do. Is Ingda correct? Had Lady Petran held the gift, however appalling, without knowing it? Or had it been me somehow that had caused this? She'd looked just as Shania had, but surely none of that was real! Should we just go? Just leave the village to deal with Lady ... with that thing? He looked around at his friends, all waiting for him to decide. Leave them to deal with Melisia and another ending? He closed his eyes and tried to slow his thoughts, tried to slow them to focus on just one. Trep could still be helped, if we got him to Medral quickly enough. Is it our duty to try? He was wasting time. He pictured Trep's wife, Margret, and imagined her learning of the day's events, then being told Trep had been sent, without any attempt to heal him. Maybe Medral could do something, if they were quick. She had the gift too, and her gift was healing. It was in her nature. They'd once seen her mend a freshly broken arm, seen her heal recent wounds with just her touch. Anything recent, so there was nothing she could do for Wrald's eye. Her abilities stopped short of full regeneration. A cascade of thoughts threatened to return and render him useless again.

Kandorl opened his eyes and looked up to the sky. Clouds had formed but there was an endless deep blue behind. "Medral's too far away, Ingda," he said as clarity briefly returned. Theco and Draefan had joined them and now both stared back to the market square to where the creature sat, head again slumped forwards and its hands wrapped around its neck. "Please, come with us too."

Ingda stared at him as seemingly an internal conflict raged behind her eyes. "Get him on the wagon. You've got to go to Medral, Kandorl," she said eventually. "I've got to stay. They'll need me." Ingda pointed back up where the group of people had grown and now circled around the two forms on the ground. Some held pitchforks and other makeshift weapons out towards the creature, seemingly unsure, or afraid, to strike down what was their own Lady. Kraggly was there, pushing his way to the front with a cudgel in his hands. Kandorl doubted the man would have any qualms about delivering the finishing blow, even if that thing up there had resembled the woman who'd presided over them for all this time. He doubted that as much as Ingda's reason for not wanting to leave.

"Finish it. Finish the bearing." Kandorl and Wrald both jumped at Trep's rasping voice, "get to the priests!" The old man held one hand against the side of the wagon, slowly pushing himself upright.

"Go, Kandorl," Ingda said. "Get him up there and go." Wrald looked long at Ingda and gently placed his hand on her cheek before turning away to help Kandorl drag Trep to the front of the wagon and up onto the seat. The old man's head lolled as they lifted him, murmuring all the while about his duty. Kandorl grabbed the reins and looked down at Ingda, who simply nodded back, the look of sorrow on her face deepening.

Theco slapped the gelding's hind, sending him trotting forwards, and the wagon lurched before rolling forward down the street. Draefan and Theco moved to flank it, running alongside as they made their way down towards the church. The faces of people still unsure whether to be inside or out at seeing the wagon continuing its journey, peered out from behind doors and shuttered windows.

"Stay inside, damn it." Draefan shouted, and all shutters were closed in an applause of wood hitting wood as the would-be onlookers hurriedly scampered back to the safety of the shadows.

Encouraging Carrots to pull as fast as he dared, Kandorl looked ahead as they passed the last of the houses which marked the end of the village. The church awaited beyond, with the tower standing out against the backdrop of the woods behind. They sped past the apothecary, unlit and quiet, and slowed to turn onto the lane which would take them down to the churchyard, to the awaiting priests, and the completion of the bearing. Kandorl thought back to the previous night. It seemed so long ago. The events had rivalled those of the previous night in their horror, and a part of him felt relieved it wasn't just him alone to have seen it. Nearly everyone in the village could attest to witnessing what had happened. None more so than poor Trep, who sat leaning against him with his eyes half closed. The old man was quiet now, calmer, but his breathing was still laboured. Kandorl wasn't sure if Trep was simply slipping away from them.

"I'll find them," Draefan said as he ran in front of the wagon before Kandorl brought it to a halt. Draefan deftly jumped over the wall of the churchyard, hooded cloak flying out behind to reveal a weapons belt full of his hunting knives and the bottom of his unstrung short bow. Theco had jumped onto the side of the wagon and now held on behind the seat. He grimaced back, his face covered in a sheen of sweat. Kandorl was thankful his friend had the presence of mind to stop Lady Petran, or rather, the banshee, from screaming again. Theco retuned his stare for a moment, breathing hard. He nodded as if he sensed Kandorl's thoughts before turning to watch Draefan, who appeared from around the corner of the church tower. He dodged between the headstones and onto the churchyard path which led back to the tile-roofed lychgate, alongside which Kandorl had stopped the wagon.

"They're inside, preparing to deal with the Lady. We're to stay here with the corpse," Draefan said, pointing at the back of the wagon.

"What did you flaming well tell them anything for?" Theco shouted, wiping the sweat from his brow back across his head. "Now what we going to damn well do with it? Take it with us? I'm not going back now. Whatever happened, I just punched Lady Petran in the bloody throat!"

"They heard the scream too, Theco. They were outside awaiting the bearer. They know full well what happened," Draefan said, sneering up at Theco. "You think I should have said it was you with one of your flaming pigs?"

"We'll get the corpse out ourselves," Wrald cut in, his voice comparatively calm. "We'll put it down there on the ground and we'll take the wagon down to the path and follow that all the way along till we meet Medral. Then, she can deal with ... him," he finished quietly, pointing at Trep. The old man seemingly slept now, his chest slowly rising and falling.

Kandorl watched, waiting for it to stop moving altogether. They didn't have time to argue. "Let's get it over with," he replied.

Jumping down to join Draefan, they all made their way to the rear of the wagon, where Kandorl and Theco clambered up onto the platform to peer inside. In the dark of the interior, Kandorl could see two large grain sacks laying on the wooden floor. He tried not to think too much about why there were two and motioned to Theco, indicating which sack to pull out. At full reach, he extended his arm in and his hand landed heavily on a sack, on something he was grateful felt unrecognisable. He twisted the sack around until he could grab it by the tie at the top and began pulling it out. Theco was making similar progress with his, though he must have been less fortunate, Kandorl presumed, from the retching noises he made as he dragged it towards him. Maybe he had recognised which parts lay under the sackcloth. It wasn't the loss they felt at the man they had all known, and looked up to, within those bags which sickened them, it was the association of that man with this carrion, this rotting flesh. To Kandorl and his friends, that was how they wanted to think of it. A corpse was all it was. To them, there was nothing left of the man that had been Lord Petran. He'd gone, gone to nothing as all the immoral would. To be reminded of his ending by recognising something inside those bags would have horrified them all, as much as recognising Lady Petran in the banshee she had become. No one wanted to witness, let alone be part of this last journey. No one wanted to think on it at all. The moral had nothing to fear, Kandorl reminded himself.

Draefan and Wrald were on hand to help them carry the sacks over to the gate and drop them both heavily to the ground inside, despite the priests' instructions, before all four men quickly jumped back up onto the wagon. Draefan this time took his seat on the back and pulled his hood back up over his head, clear that he wanted to remain alone, to dwell in his own thoughts.

At the end of the church lane, Kandorl looked back over the footpath he'd walked the night before, the corn-dollies clear in the middle distance. He quickly forced himself to look away, fearful he might see a hunched figure once again dancing between them. The wagon bounced through churned mud as Kandorl guided it along the overgrown lane at the back of the church, before turning onto the path with stretched as straight as an arrow through the woods. A leafy canopy created shade, shielding them from the harsh sun and a gentle breeze, like the trees themselves exhaled in unison, cooled their skin. The path provided its usual quiet solace, leading them away from the horror behind, and the promise of deliverance ahead.

"Kan, he's not looking too bloody good," Theco said, pointing at Trep. His breathing had slowed considerably and he would have slipped off the seat if it wasn't for Wrald supporting him, holding him steady against the jolts of the wagon.

"I'm not sure he'll make it, Kan," Wrald agreed. He strained to hold Trep back after a particularly large jolt. "Maybe we should turn back, one of the priests could send him, make it right. If we carry on and get to Medral too late ... " He didn't need to finish, everyone knew the consequences of failing.

"She might not even flaming be there. You did tell her it was to be this morning, didn't you?" Theco said, twisting around as he held onto the back of the seat to frown down at Wrald.

"Yes, I told her this morning. Of course I bloody did. It's not as hard a task as you think Theco, organising to meet someone!"

"All right, all right. Listen," Kandorl said, stopping the argument before it could start. He slowed Carrots to a walking pace by pulling back harshly on the reins, making the wagon slow to a crawl and then stop. The cool, damp air of the woods cooled his skin and he mopped his brow as he looked around. He'd only ever walked to this point, as far back as he could remember. On the right was where he usually turned from the path to enter the woods, the way up to his camp, to his vigil. What am I doing? he thought, absently wrapping the reins around his hands as he stared off into the trees. I should be here. It's my responsibility. How can I leave now? It's coming!

"Kan? Kan!" Theco shouted. "Flaming well wake up. Look at him, he's ending! This was all your bloody idea, so decide what the hell we're going to do."

Kandorl shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Theco was right, he'd put them in this position. They didn't need to come, they were here only because he'd worn them down. He'd taken Trep away from the village, from his wife, from any chance of being sent. He may end because of me! Kandorl thought, certain it was what plagued them all. What would become of us if we denied a moral man his sending?! Trep was a moral man, everyone knew that.

"Got to decide one way or the other," Wrald said softly, laying his hand on Kandorl's shoulder. "Being sent when you had a chance to carry on? That can't be right. But if we let him end, do we damn ourselves?"

"We need to decide," Draefan warned as he jumped off the back of the wagon and made his way around to the front, peering up to anxiously study Trep's ashen face. As his three friends waited desperately for him to reply, Kandorl could only wish there was a priest to give them the answer. He looked up through the trees and into the western sky. Only one cloud sat in the vast blue. He made his decision.

Chapter 6

A Question of Faith

Medral smiled as she closed her eyes and turned her face up to the late summer sun, her skin tingling pleasantly as she felt its warmth seeping into her skin. Caring nothing for dirtying her loose white linen skirts and blouse, she lay back on a mattress of meadow grass and wild flowers, pushing back long strands of fair, almost white hair, offering her tanned skin up to the light. She'd chosen this point near the track, at which to meet up with Kan and the others, partially because it was far enough out of Blackford to be sure of not rousing suspicion from the abruptness of their departure, but more so because she loved to spend time here, loved to feel part of the natural beauty around her.

The track cut through the meadow and ran east along the bottom of the Ridgeway, all the way back to Blackford, through the woods. Its shady canopy of trees represented a passage leading from the mundane toil of village life, to the quiet of the unspoilt, natural world which opened up into the valley. Here, the meadows were the result of clearings once used for crops, having been left to grow wild by people working the land before Medral's parents' time. Eventually woodland would grow again and the circle would continue. Medral laughed at seeing the beauty in that. During the early spring, she had spent a lot of time wandering peacefully on her own, collecting celandine, among other things, for Old Orland to make into an ointment for the relief of headaches, mostly his own. He often joked that his sending was assured due to the amount of his life he had given to researching aches and pains, and all done for the good of others.

She laughed again, this time at the thought of Old Orland complaining, as she nested her head further into the softness below. When the weather was fine, like today, she would stay until the evening, until it turned cold. Time would pass unnoticed as she lay down, simply enjoying the peace her surroundings provided. Nothing could concern her, no thoughts could distract or busy her mind and it was only the chill which accompanied the darkening of the sky that would break the spell, and always coming as a shock. Those days would end with her enjoying a slow walk back to the village, feeling rested and cleansed, and full of anticipation to return as soon as everyday life would allow.

Old Orland never had a complaint when she returned late, albeit before the sun had fully gone down. She thought he must have once been as she was, back when his legs had allowed it. She supposed that was why he always asked her to tell him in such great detail the things she had seen, heard and smelt, sitting her down when she returned to the apothecary as he listened, enthralled while she spoke. You'll be free again, Old Orland, she thought as she drew in a deep breath which she held in long before releasing, running her hands through the meadow grass around her, grasping then releasing, feeling the blades as they passed between her fingers. She felt she could lay here for as long as the sun shone, happily allowing her thoughts to float away, to evaporate.

The shrill calls of two birds of prey above her brought her eyes slowly open and she sat up, turning to follow their path as they circled around one another, moving across the sky. "More circles." She said out loud, clapping her hands as she did so.

"What?" replied Siana suddenly, still leaning against the trunk of a lonely great oak tree and staring death back along the track towards the east. She did nothing to hide her agitation as she moved her weight from foot to foot and flicked flower heads from the palm of her hand to blow in the wind. "What's a damn circle? What are you talking about?"

Beyond where Siana stood was all meadowland, interspersed with copses of trees which spread out down the valley to the south as far as Medral could see. She often wondered what lay beyond, between here and eventually the capital. Far to the west, the hill fort Castle Radbid sat overlooking the northern borderlands of Aledin, which lay between the Ridgeway and the distant Mithians. Maybe Kan intends we go that way, she thought, then quickly turned her head back towards the south.

Standing up, Medral remembered Siana had asked her something, and slowly picked her way back through the scattered, sacrificed flowers to where she waited, careful not to tread on those that had escaped her friend's frustrations. "Siana, why don't we sit down and talk? Maybe then there'll be some flowers left in this meadow. Look, this'll pass the time." Reaching the packs that they had placed in the shade of the tree, Medral pulled open the drawstrings of her cloth backpack and stared up at Siana, smiling encouragingly.

"The only thing I want you to pull from that bag is an explanation as to why we're stood here on our own in the middle of bloody nowhere, with no sign of the fools we're supposed to be meeting! You brought brandy?"

Medral grinned as she tipped her open pack towards Siana. Inside, every available space was filled with stoppered bottles, crammed in around Medral's clothing and supplies. "Well yes, of course!" she replied. "We need some apples for the journey! It'll make the nights, or days, a little more comfortable!"

Siana stalked over to her and started to pull back the drawstrings on the other packs. "You made me carry bloody brandy all this way! Tell me these have something useful in!" she said, rummaging around in the first bag. She pulled out a battered-looking and incomplete pack of Tarot cards followed by a half-empty waterskin, a crumpled, sleeveless shirt and a cudgel. "Must be Theco's bloody pack."

"I just put it in mine, Siana," Medral said as she opened a bottle. "All that stuff is theirs. Leave it alone and come and sit down. I brought these too." Medral held up a set of cards held together by a length of string and shook them at Siana before settling with her back against the base of the oak tree. Once comfortable, she smoothed her skirts out before her and studied her friend. "You can tell me what troubles you whilst we have a game of Tarot, if you'd like?" she asked, although she knew exactly what was wrong with her friend. Talking usually relaxed people, especially Siana, and if that didn't then a couple of games and a shared bottle soon would.

"Ok Medral, I'll sit down a while. I'm only sipping though. If I have to go back, Kraggly'll send me away with his boot up my backside if he suspects me of drinking." Siana's frown deepened as she glared back along the track.

"Relax, Siana. You don't need to worry about Kraggly. As usual, he'll be too wrapped up in himself to realise you were even gone, let alone if you've got a little brandy on your breath," Medral said, unpacking the cards and dealing a hand to her and Siana in turn. "He wouldn't smell it over his own, anyway," she finished, laughing.

"Medral," Siana started, not bothering to soften her expression as she looked away from the track. "How long do you think we'll be away for, exactly?"

"It'll all be over in a week. We'll have a few nights out here in the wilds," Medral replied, smiling and pointing at the idyllic scenery. "Then he'll have it out of his system and we'll be back to Blackford. You know, the worst outcome of all this, is that you'll be free of Kraggly and his ways, and maybe you'll do something you actually enjoy in this life?!" Laughing, Medral finished dealing the cards and put the trump deck to one side. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Siana hadn't moved to pick up her cards and was still frowning very intently at her. There was nothing wrong with her dealing, and Medral was sure she hadn't miscounted. Although she only played rarely, she enjoyed the odd game of Tarot and had done since she was a child.

"Sometimes, Medral," Siana began, picking up the bottle of brandy and taking a sip, which was quickly followed by a gulp, "I don't think you're really ... with us."

"I'm here. Just the same as you, sharing this life ... "

"No, Medral. I mean ... never mind." Siana cut across her friend, her exasperation clear as she sighed. "Let me ask you. Do you really believe that he'll ever give up trying to find Braster, now that he's decided to leave? If he bloody turns up, that is," she added miserably.

As Medral played the first trick of the Tarot game, she thought through what her friend had asked. Before she could reply, Siana continued.

"You know what he does, Medral. He's out there every night watching, waiting for the bloody invasion to come," Siana said the word quietly, as if she feared being overheard. Sensing her friend's discomfort, Medral looked down, pretending to be interested in her hand. The invasion, she thought. It's always been that which troubles him. Siana followed Medral's trick with one of her own, not needing to draw from the trump deck.

"He's haunted by it," Siana continued, "he comes into the Delay white as a ghost and leaves, if he leaves, looking even less alive. This isn't some happy adventure across the beautiful country of Aledin, this is our duty to our friend who's at his wits' end. And he needs to find Braster. He's looking for answers, for Braster's aid, and I fear he won't ever find it. He's seeing things now, did you know that? Braster won't be easy to find, Medral, but Kan ... he won't give up once he's started! If he's bloody started!"

"That's the second time you've said if, Siana," Medral replied. "What is it you fear?" Medral drew a card from the trump deck and played it immediately before setting down her cards. She tied her hair up into a spiral, allowing the cooling breeze to reach the back of her neck. It was hot today, even sat in the shade of the tree. Siana's hand hovered over the trump deck and she seemed to struggle with what to say next as she watched Medral. The last trick she had played was an uncharacteristically poor one. Siana could be testy, but Medral had never seen her friend this agitated before.

"I'm not sure if he's able to just walk away from his vigil, as he calls it. He tries to hide what he does, the time he spends alone. Just give him a drink though and he'll tell anyone, betraying himself in the process." Siana closed her eyes as she continued. "We've learned to expect it, as much as we might not understand it, but other people? It's no wonder people think he's strange."

"Not strange," Medral said quietly. "He's tormented, obsessed. He's decided to go and I think it's for the best. He needs to, and even if he doesn't find Braster, he'll find his own answers. That's why I didn't think twice. I told Orland I was going, and why, as soon as I left Wrald. I want to help him, Siana."

"Yes exactly, it's an obsession, and one he's had all the time we've known him. Do you really think he'll be able to leave that behind? He thinks it's his responsibility to sit up there time after time, waiting for Dracia to show a sign that they're coming. That's what he's waiting for, that's all that fills his life." Siana stood up, letting her cards fall, forgotten, to the ground, without a care that most lay face up.

Medral felt for her friend. She made her feelings for Kan clear but Siana was holding something back, something she didn't know how to talk about, even here, away from anyone else. Medral looked around for the brandy, hoping to offer it to her friend; some people needed a drink to be able to speak their mind, after all. She quickly realised that Siana already held the bottle, sipping from it and looking back along the path once again.

"What do you think, Medral? About the invasion, I mean?" Siana's voice was tight, anxious, as the question finally came. "I don't know anything about it, don't want to really. I just want to live my life in Blackford, maybe even somewhere else, as long as it's with him." Siana looked nervously at her friend, as if she had just asked whether she thought there was a hell. She took a longer drink and quickly continued, as if she hoped her question would be forgotten. "He didn't come back for me, Medral. I mean nothing to him. And here I am, given up everything to sit in this bloody field swigging damn brandy!" Medral's eyes widened as Siana took another gulp before sitting down heavily on the ground, covering her face with her free hand as she started to shake.

"Siana, come now, please don't get upset ... " Medral stopped speaking as she realised her friend was laughing. Reaching over, Medral gently pulled her friend's hand away. Siana looked at her through tears and she giggled, passing the half-empty brandy bottle back to her. Best remedy there is for a troubled mind, Medral thought and grinned back. Siana could never hold her drink, certainly not as well as she thought she could. "Listen, Siana," Medral said before taking a long drink from the bottle herself. "The storm may come, it will come. It's tragic but it's the truth. The storm, the invasion, that time will come, but it's not now. It's a balance, Siana. The only tragedy really is that we don't appreciate the moment we are enjoying now."

Medral paused, watching her friend's reaction before continuing; she really wanted to tread lightly. "Me, I'm not going to ignore all the wonder and beauty in the world, worrying over something I can't stop. No one knows what it'll bring, what will happen to us all, but I've always thought that whatever it is, I'd be OK. That's when I have thought about it. I'm not scared, Siana, and I don't want to waste my time thinking on it. I'm certainly not going to do as Kan does and wait petrified of it, and you shouldn't either. I mean to make sure he comes back changed, at ease with himself and the world around him. It'll be enough for him to just find acceptance. So, let it go, or does the thought of you spending your nights sleeping on the Ridgeway just in case Dracia moves, and shivering in your best shift, appeal to you?" Medral laughed, relieved to see that her friend's giggling had started again. "You probably would if he was up there to see it, wouldn't you? Ha!" Medral finished off the bottle in one long drink and laughed again at the look of surprise on her friend's face. "There's more brandy, don't worry!" she said, placing the bottle on the ground. "You should have faith, Siana. He'll be here. I promise you, he will be." Medral reached into her bag and brandished a second bottle with a flourish, before pulling the stopper out with her teeth.

"He's got the time it takes us to play the next hand," Siana said. "Two hands," she added, looking at the bottle. "I'm serious, Medral. If he's not going to turn up, I need to keep my life the way it is, and that includes that old bastard Kraggly. Two hands then, then I'm gone."

Something in her friend's eyes made Medral believe she would go back, even if she had to crawl, and that meant Medral would have to crawl right alongside her. Have faith, Siana, she thought, and smiling broadly, she passed the bottle over to her friend.

*

Well into their third game, Medral noticed Siana looking up from her cards and squinting as she looked over Medral's shoulder. She seemed to be watching something, her eyes moving to track some movement. At hearing the sound of someone approaching, Medral turned quickly, as from out of the treeline which ran along the northern side of the meadow, Jon Blent stepped into view.

It took a moment for Medral to recognise the diminutive figure of the farmer, his bald head not nearly covered by wispy strands of hair succumbing to the wind. If he had worn a hood to conceal his face, she would have thought him a stranger, and probably would have ran. Instead of the normal rough farmer's clothes, he wore a vest of chain mail over a dark leather tunic, matching breeches and hunting boots. In both hands he held a spear taller than himself across his body and a short sword hung from his belt. At seeing Medral and Siana, he smiled and moved the spear to rest across his shoulder, as if carrying a pitchfork or rake, as he returned from the fields. Medral smiled welcomingly in return and watched intrigued as he approached. She looked over to see if Siana too had recognised who it was, but Siana simply squinted towards Jon, seemingly unable to distinguish him or simply didn't realise the potential threat of an armed man approaching from the woods. After all, it wasn't just the sun which caused her to squint; the brandy was responsible for diminishing both her senses and her skill at Tarot.

"Jon!" Medral called as she stood up and ran over to embrace him. "Why are you out here?"

"Where did you get all that equipment? You've got more bloody secrets than you have sheep," Siana cut in, finally recognising the man.

"Medral, Siana." Jon nodded in greeting as he caught Medral in his arms and stopped her from crashing into him. "Come, sit back down. Don't stand up on my behalf; looks like a fun game you're having," he said, motioning to the two empty bottles.

"Hello, Jon Blent," Siana slurred, leaning forward to stare closely at him as he laid his spear down behind him and lowered himself into a crouch. "Medral! He's Jon Blent, but a soldier!" she said, throwing her arms into the air in celebration.

"She's got a bit carried away with all the brandy, Jon," Medral said, smiling at Siana and then Jon. "But, why are you out here? Not that it isn't great to have you join us. Would you like a drink?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he replied, putting his hand up as Medral unwittingly offered him an empty bottle. "When were you last in Blackford, girls?"

"This morning, Jon Blent," Siana said, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hands. Her eyes seemed to still be tracking him, although he no longer moved.

"We know about Lord Petran, Jon," said Medral, "I'm sure he's at peace, whatever happened," she added, causing Jon to raise his greying eyebrows with an incredulous look appearing on his face. "How'd you think it happened?" She continued, despite his expression. She'd come to expect that kind of reaction to her opinions now.

"I only know what I heard last night, before I set out. Braster got to the tower, heard a group of men out that way were targeting it for the treasure held there." Jon said the word slowly. "You know what I'm describing?" He fixed Medral with an intent stare as if he now awaited her reaction.

"Yes, an artefact from aeons past which casts its light on the good and gives them the sending," she replied, shaking her head. "A bloody priest's sceptre."

"The one you aren't supposed to know about, yes. So, you do?"

"We all bloody do, Jon Blent. Even the flaming pigs know of it," Siana cut in as she edged closer to Medral's pack.

"And such an important item needs to be kept secret, kept away from those that would covet it," Medral said and then sighed deliberately loudly. "And why? It has no real worth, it's just a prop. An aid, a part of the story." Medral tried to stop herself from saying any more, and only partly succeeded. The apples had made her head swim pleasantly but while it did so, it had abandoned its control over her tongue. "If anyone with the right gift picked it up, we'd all see its light. And that would put the fox among the chickens."

"Well all right, but there's the problem, see," Jon said, confusion warring with incredulity on his face. "Someone else who knew of it came to take it and Braster got there too late. The things they'd done to Petran, Medral." He suddenly lowered his voice so only she could hear. "Barbaric. Beyond barbaric. Then left him so as he went badly. No priest to use the sceptre. A bloody mess."

Medral shook her head. "Great evil follows great good, follows great evil. It's a balance Jon, a circle. It's ... "

"All well and good, Medral, but to me great good means preventing great evil in the first place," Jon said, cutting her off. "Besides, it could have been the forerunners."

"The invasion again? We're all supposed to worry about them in our midst now? Like the whole land being taken isn't enough to keep us awake at night. Jon, what will happen, will happen. Besides, that could have been any random group of bandits. Is that why you're here? On patrol? Oh, Jon," Medral said, looking at him like a mother would a confused son, despite the difference in their ages.

"You're right, Medral, it probably was bandits, of a sort. Put forerunners out of your mind, child. That's just the kind of fancy silly old fools like me have once in a while. Now, you tell me what you two are doing here. Blackford has an inn, with decent brandy, decent card tables and friendly servers," he said, winking at Siana and making her giggle. "Safer too, even with Kraggly."

"We've left and we're not going back because we're looking for Braster. At least, that's what I thought we were doing," Siana blurted out.

"Medral, is that true?" The incredulous look returned to Jon's face as he spoke.

Medral laughed as she tugged her pack away from Siana and sat clutching it in her arms. Siana returned to sitting cross-legged, resting her chin in her hands as before and raising her eyebrows at her friend. Siana shrugged, feigning disinterest, but her gaze quickly fell on the empty bottle, and Medral couldn't help but smile at her friend's sudden sulky expression.

"We're waiting for Kan", Medral replied. May as well tell him the whole story, she thought, before proceeding to do so. "Wrald came to visit early this morning. He was excited. I had to get him to calm down before he woke Old Orland up from his snooze. Wrald told me to meet him and the others here with as much as I could carry. Said to talk Siana into coming too." Medral leant in closer to Jon as she whispered. "Couldn't let her stay behind. Not that she would have. She needs Kan just as much as he needs her." Medral smiled at Siana, who frowned as she strained to hear. "So that's why we're here. The brandy and the cards are to pass the time, and to stop people from getting bored and giving up," she added loudly, nodding towards a now miserable-looking Siana.

Jon stared at Medral long enough for her smile to drop. She wondered suddenly whether he was going to try convincing them to return to the village. She liked Jon, and respected him, more so now as he sat in front of her, looking so unfamiliar in his armour and carrying weapons. She should not have been surprised that Jon had a past; the war had involved everyone. An image of Old Orland, himself wearing leathers and holding a spear, suddenly appeared in her mind. Did he fight? She couldn't imagine him being anything other than the gentle man that had raised her. No one ever spoke of the war; those involved wanted to forget it, she supposed. Maybe they didn't want to awaken those memories for fear of becoming that person again. She waited for Jon to talk, certain now that she didn't want to argue with him. Eventually, he rubbed his eyes and blew out a breath.

"Braster may have gone back to the tower. He'll be driven now. He'll think he has to fix things," Jon began. "That means he'll go after the people that did this, till everyone involved is dead. Failing that, if he believes it was these bandits, as you suggest, then I'd warrant he's gone back to the Mount, to try to convince Reldal to stand against them, to wipe out the whole group."

"Group?" Medral asked, "Jon, who did this to Lord Petran?"

"The Revenants. That's what they call themselves. Presumably to cause fear," he mused. "The Returned. The only thing they've returned to is indulging in themselves and their every desire, no matter who it hurts. Bloody fools, excusing my language," he added quickly. His abashed look didn't fit Jon now. Jon the soldier, indeed.

"Foolish Ghosts," Siana said loudly as she smiled at Jon.

"Hungry ghosts, more like," Medral said, rolling her eyes as she corrected her friend.

"Agreed," Jon continued. "Aledin isn't perfect, certainly isn't what we thought we were fighting for, but it was supposed to become better than it was before. These Revenants have abandoned any principles they once may have had. Made us question our bloody efforts. And girls, they're flaming winning!" With a look at Siana, who sat gaping at both his language and raised voice, Jon visibly controlled himself. "They're nothing more than organised bandits, but they're big. Got people everywhere. They'd all step over one another for a bit of power, a bit of glory, as they'd say. Even as they claim to be brothers and sisters and all part of the same club. If you ever see them, you run. That's my advice, and don't forget it. You'll recognise them by the sign they all have painted into their skin like some kind of sigil. A spirit devouring itself. Blind bloody fools."

"And Braster, he wants King Reldal to wage a war against them?" Medral said, nodding as she took in Jon's words.

"He wants Reldal to protect his people. He hates that he does nothing and his people suffer."

Medral shook her head: "So Braster sees it as his duty to protect us all. He's always seemed tormented too," she spoke her thought out loud.

"It's his duty, yes. And tormented? Yes, he's definitely that too. You've got the right of it," Jon said sadly. "But if he keeps pressing Reldal, he'll fall from his favour. Braster's earned his position, no doubt. But there are limits."

"We're going to the Mount?" Siana said, leaning forward and looking almost lucid. "That's the other side of the bloody country! And we've only got these!" she said, gesturing at the packs lying on the ground. "We'll need more than bottles of brandy and a change of shift, Medral!"

"If that's what it takes, we'll go. Kan's been waiting for this. He can't settle, never has." It dawned on Medral for the first time that this could actually be a long, not to mention dangerous, journey. Siana was correct; the little they knew of the Mount was that it was on the other side of the country. They only knew of Braster who'd been there. Despite that, or maybe because of it, it had always been a place she had dreamt of seeing. She smiled broadly at the thought of going all that way, at all the things they would see. None of this seemed possible.

"There's a stash. Medral, are you listening? This is important; I said I'd tell him myself but I ... "

"Yes, go on, Jon. I'm listening," Medral replied. "There's a stash?"

"Up at Radbid. Braster left a stash. Weapons, a map, things left over from the war. He knew Kan would want to leave one day and said to me that if he wasn't here, that I should take care of it for him. Go to Radbid, Medral. You'll need those things."

"And how do we get into Radbid? It's a bloody fort," Siana asked with no attempt to hide her shock before plucking another bottle from Medral's bag.

"The baron's men are stationed there," Jon said, addressing Siana directly for the first time as she watched him from over the rim of the bottle. "They keep a small garrison, on alert, looking north. Ask whoever's on the gate for Trips. Wait, no. Better to ask for Captain Doln. Say Blent sent you and get Kan to do the talking. When you see Doln, you get Kan to introduce himself and say Braster's name as if his life depended on it. That's how you get in. Trips is a good man, just don't ask him where he got the name," he finished, smiling at some memory.

Medral nodded, trying to imagine whether Jon had a nickname, whether Old Orland did too. "What about you, Jon? You've known Braster longer than anyone, fought with him a few times too I'm starting to think," she said motioning to his short sword and spear. "It doesn't sound like you are coming though."

"Not me, no," he replied. "I have the farm, the lads. They'd be lost without me." He shook his head. "Well, maybe I'd be lost without them, but no. Those days are done with. Back to me crops and me sheep," he finished, putting on a thick accent.

"Thank you, Jon," Medral said as she leant over to hug him. She felt him awkwardly pat her on her back then gently push her away as he stood. "Are you going back now?" she asked.

"No, I'm not completely ready to return to the fields, not just yet." he said, winking. He collected his spear and started heading back towards the woods from which he had come. "Remember, when you get to Radbid, you ask for whom?" he called back over his shoulder, stopping just short of the first line of trees.

"We ask for Trips!" Siana shouted, before falling over backwards. As her head hit the ground she laughed. "Bye-bye, Jon Blent," she added, waving at the sky.

Medral stared after Jon as he entered the woods, fading into its darkness. First we lose Lord Petran. Then Jon Blent, the soldier, sets us off to follow one of the great heroes of Aledin. "Good follows bad, bad follows good," she said happily. "Siana, sit up. I think you're drunk, hogging the brandy while I sit here doing the talking. It's my turn now." She snatched the brandy bottle out of Siana's hands. "Come on, you said you'd play a few hands."

*

With her cards left scattered on the ground, Medral sat leaning against the wide trunk of the tree, with Siana's head resting in her lap. She hoped that when the others did show up, that they would be easily convinced to settle in for the evening in this spot. She wasn't sure how far she'd be able to walk, if she could at all. Even down to the hedgerow had almost proved too much of a challenge, the last time. With her eyes closed, she softly sang an old song she had been taught as a child, something about the king of the woods coming to rescue a helpless maiden from an evil snake in the field. Though she couldn't fully remember the exact words, or story, the melody was a good one. Siana joined in on the parts she knew, laughing all the while.

Suddenly, Siana was up on her feet, much faster than Medral would have thought possible, at the sound of a horse's hooves pounding down the track, coming from the east.

"Who's this now?" Medral asked, staring blearily down at the track. "More bloody soldiers?"

A red gelding emerged into the sunlight, pulling a wagon behind it. Medral sat up straighter at the sight of Draefan trotting alongside. Theco was hanging off the front of the wagon, waving his arms and seemingly arguing with Kan and Wrald, who sat together on the seat, with Kan driving. Her excitement was replaced by apprehension at seeing a third body slumped in between the two of them, resembling an old man who she thought she recognised. He didn't appear to be moving. Medral looked over at Siana as she tried to get to her feet. Although she didn't expect her friend to show it, she didn't look in the slightest bit relieved or happy to see Kan and the others finally arriving. She too must have noticed something was wrong.

"You should trust your faith in him, Siana. You should have known he'd come," Medral said absently. Her head was spinning, and trying to stand up was making it far worse. She put her hands down in front of her in the grass and closed her eyes, waiting, and hoping, the feeling would pass.

"Medral, there's someone with them." Siana's voice was filled with concern. "They've seen us, Medral. Come on, they're waving us over."

"OK Siana, just needed a second. Help me up please," Medral replied, holding out a hand. "I think that's Trep with them. He doesn't look right; something's wrong with him."

"Medral?" Theco's voice carried easily over the distance as the wagon rumbled onwards down the track towards them. "Get down here now!"

"Something is wrong," Siana started, reaching down as she pulled Medral to her feet. "Trep's been hurt."

Siana didn't let go of her arm, instead holding it firmly as she lifted her up and then led her across the meadow to wait on the track as the others approached. Trep's horse brought the wagon to a halt before them; the bay stood with his head held high, bright eyes staring forwards, showing a calm none of the others could match.

"Medral," Kandorl said, smiling warmly. "I'm so glad you decided to come." Medral stumbled into Kandorl as he took her in his arms, and she was glad he held onto her. "Trep," he said suddenly, as if remembering his urgency. "He's been attacked. He needs your help. Medral? Your healing, quickly please."

Medral slipped her arm out of Kandorl's grip and walked slowly over to stand next to the seat of the wagon. "Please, get him to the ground," she said as she studied the old man. "What's happened to him? He looks as if he's sound asleep."

Theco leant his aid as Wrald and Kan struggled to get Trep's dead weight down off the wagon. As they lifted the old man roughly between them, Trep's head lolled backwards and Medral heard Siana gasp. Looking from her friend to Trep, she involuntarily moved her hands to cover her scream as she looked into his ruined face.

"Much more than sleeping, Medral," Draefan said, moving round to pick the reins up off the driver's seat.

"Damn it, she's bloody drunk!" Theco said to Siana, over Medral's shoulder.

"A little, yes. We were both drinking," Siana said, worried as they carried Trep across to the shade of the tree.

"Just lay him down and let me see to him," Medral said. She waited for them to do as she asked and then sank heavily down next to Trep. She chastised herself for drinking so much brandy, long after Siana had stopped. Even drunk, she trusted her abilities to heal. It wasn't the right way to perform healing, but she took a deep breath and remembered what she had told Siana about faith. She bent down closer so that she could feel his soft breath against her cheek. "What happened?" she asked again. "He's been burned and he's cracked his head."

"Later, Medral," Kandorl said, "we'll explain later. Please, do what you can for him."

Medral placed her hands on either side of Trep's head, closed her eyes and instantly saw an image of his prone body. There were no details, just a form outlined in blue light. The light roared outwards from around his figure, like blue fire, except for gaps at the back of his head and around his face and neck. There was something inside too; a dark stain permeating through the pale blue light from the centre of his body, which spread slowly as she watched. She became aware of the contact of her knees against the grass beneath her and she pushed down to straighten her back and tilt back her head. She felt a flow of power and strength travel up her body, which pulled her back straighter as it rushed up to concentrate at the top of her head. She breathed harder as she felt the muscles in her face lifting too, and her whole body shook, barely containing the powerful rush. It was addictive, this feeling beyond joy and pleasure, and she longed to dwell in this state, often finding herself grateful that her skills were required, despite the implications. The usual feeling of guilt passed as she imagined a pillar of light escaping through the crown of her head, forming a connection from the below to the above, through her.

In her mind she looked back down at Trep's head, still held in her hands, which now glowed with a pure white light. She felt a cleansing power surging through her, and she thought she, Medral, might cease, that she might join in with the light. Focusing back on Trep's head, the energy transferred from her hands and into him, his glowing form becoming complete as the gaps filled, blue fire forming, flames dancing. Further into his form it flowed and again she recognised this feeling as something like bliss. It replaced her and she felt a warm familiarity. It felt like the end of a search and what she found was obvious, only forgotten. She couldn't even remember the confusion she imagined she must have previously felt.

Her body jolted as she began to withdraw. There was a blockage and the stain inside Trep's essence remained, untouched by her healing. Medral watched as the light faded from her hands and she let her body sink back down; the sense of confusion warring with concern for her patient crept back into her mind, a sense of balance re-forming. She opened her eyes and looked down at Trep's face. Colour had returned and his breathing was now normal, strong. She reached one hand around the back of his head and nodded in satisfaction at feeling the wound had closed, although his face remained almost unrecognisable, his leathery skin turned white under the blisters from whatever had burned him so badly. She gently laid his head down on the grass and, with a sigh, lifted her hands away.

"Did it work?" Siana said gently, putting her hand on Medral's shoulder. "You had your eyes shut for a long time? Is that good, or bad?"

"He'll be alright," Medral replied quietly. Standing up, she felt completely sober. "There was something beyond me, something I couldn't reach. He needs rest now, but I don't know, there's something there that's more than his physical injuries. Please tell me, what happened?"

"Lady Petran. She had the gift too, it seems," Wrald began, placing his rolled-up cloak under Trep's head as a makeshift pillow. "Her grief took her and she ... changed, it consumed her. Took her and left just a monster."

"Lady Petran?" Siana asked, tears forming in her eyes. "She's gone too?"

"Yes. I'm sorry," Kan replied, stepping towards Siana. He watched in confusion as she quickly turned from him and walked over to sit on the ground, away from him and the others.

"Leave her," Medral said gently to Kandorl. He still doesn't realise, she thought absently as she stared down at Trep. Lady Petran did this to him. Was that why there was a block? Or was it me? She'd always performed her healing when she was in a pure state of mind and couldn't help but feel her abilities had been diminished "Could I have done more?" she said out loud before she could stop herself.

"Medral, that's the most anyone could have asked of you," Wrald began. "You said he'll be OK and we believe you. Come on now, sit down. You look unwell."

Wrald gently urged Medral to join the others in forming a circle around Trep as he slept soundly where he lay, murmuring occasionally. At Medral's request, Kandorl told her the events of the morning from start to finish. She nodded throughout and, at the end, she reached over to give Kandorl a long hug. At least it was done with now. If the priests had done their work, both Lord and Lady Petran would be at peace, together. Siana remained sat slightly away from her friends, shaking gently as she sobbed.

"So, what now?" Draefan began. He had packed away his heavy travel cloak and now pulled the hood of his green, lightweight coat back up.

Following his lead, Theco made a show of unclasping his own cloak and letting it fall to the ground. He stood stretching in his sleeveless tunic, pulled the cudgel from his pack and sat down heavily, next to Wrald. "Whatever we do," he said, moving the weapon from hand to hand, "we're going to need more of these."

"There's a stash up at Radbid, Kan," Medral began. "Braster left if for you, for when you'd leave Blackford."

"A stash?" Theco said, sitting forward.

"You've seen Braster?" Kandorl said, staring intently at Medral.

"We've seen Jon Blent, and you'll be surprised at what we learnt," Medral replied, and smiled at the memory before relaying all he had told them. "So you ask for this Captain Doln, up there" – she pointed to the old hill fort in the distance – "then we see what Braster thought you'd need."

"There's going to be a share for us all, right?" Theco cut in. "Or what, we all stand behind Kan as he fights in his full plate and bloody twin swords?!"

"We'll find you something, don't worry," Wrald said. "Maybe a helmet so you can headbutt anything that gets in your way, maybe a brick for you to gnaw on?"

"He won't need that much," Draefan said, smirking at Wrald. "We've got these." He pointed to his bow, which was propped against the trunk of the tree, before pulling out his hunting knife, followed by its twin from where it was strapped to his lower leg. Medral shook her head; she hoped there would be no need for any of those things.

"So which one of us finished off the bloody banshee then, Draefan?" Theco shouted. "While you were there trying to scare it off with your flaming fish knife, someone had to actually do something about it or we'd all end up like that," he said, pointing rudely at the sleeping Trep.

"A bit of respect, please," Medral cut in gently; she didn't think it was right to disrespect either Trep or Lady Petran.

"You punched it in the neck even as you aimed for its face, Theco," Draefan explained slowly, smirking at him. "You missed."

"It's a shame, my friend. The first time in your life you do something worthwhile, no, more than that, heroic. And it's all a complete accident," Wrald said, feigning sympathy.

"It couldn't scream after that," Theco said through gritted teeth. "I bloody well shut it up."

"That's right, Theco, you made it shut up. Maybe Wrald could punch you in the throat?" Draefan said from within his hood.

Medral noticed Kandorl was silent, staring down at the ground by his feet and ignoring what was being said. "Kan, what do you want to do?"

"We need to go to Radbid, we need whatever's been left for us," he replied, looking at Theco. "Then we first go to the tower, like Jon suggested."

"Jon Blent, a bloody soldier," Wrald mused.

"Ex-soldier, Wrald," Draefan corrected him.

"Ex. Thank you, Draefan. At ease." Wrald had finished packing his pipe and now sat in just breeches and shirt sleeves. "I brought something too," he said, motioning for Draefan to pass his pack, and smiled as he made a show of pulling out a long-handled flail from it. Medral winced seeing the brutal spiked ball which hung on a long chain, connected to the haft. Protecting yourself was one thing, but Wrald looked adoringly at it, as if he greatly anticipated its use. "If there's a partner to this up at the fort, then Radbid's got my vote," he finished, striking a light and puffing on his pipe.

"So, what do we do about him?" Siana said as she stood and walked over to sit down next to Medral, before she could ask where Wrald got such a weapon. "He's the seventh companion, is he?"

"No," Medral replied. "He won't be able to come. He'll need his family, he'll need Margret. They'll need him too."

"So we leave him at Radbid," Kandorl said, frowning down at the old man. "He can have his wagon back, he can have anything he needs. If this Trips is as trusty as Jon said, he'll see an old man gets back to his home."

"Agreed," Wrald replied.

"Aye, agreed," echoed Theco.

"Well if Theco thinks it's a good idea, then I consent too," Draefan said sarcastically.

Medral watched as Kan suddenly scrambled back in fright, his hands clawing at the ground. Trep sat up straight now, his eyes narrowed, and his white, scarred face twisted in a mask of hatred. "I'm not fucking going back, whorespawn!" he screamed before dropping his voice to a whisper. "You're not sending me back." Bloody froth flew from his mouth as he began to laugh. "I'm damn well coming with you!"

Chapter 7

Tales in the Dark

The reflected light from the distant campfire illuminated twisted trunks and branches in flashes of warm orange as Kandorl watched and sighed irritably, as the sound of Theco's carefree laughter came blaring from deeper within the woods. The flashes of the gnarled yews formed a natural cloister under which Kandorl's companions sat, drinking and laughing together in the warm light, and doing their very best to distract Kandorl from his watch, even as they provided a beacon to any nefarious person or group who may be passing by. It had only been Medral's insistence that had kept him from walking up to the Ridgeway, which lay close enough to the north for them to follow during the light of day, but which was now absorbed by the darkness and hidden from his sight. He had decided to make do with sitting on top of the wooden structure atop the wagon alone, fruitlessly straining to see and listen for any warning of trouble, and wished he had ignored Medral at his first opportunity.

The afternoon had been spent rolling along the track, covering a few leagues as they travelled west, further than any of them had ventured before. Although no one said as much, Kandorl suspected all were as happy as he to have a lifeline back to Blackford. If anybody had felt any positivity about their decision to follow Kandorl out of the village, they kept it to themselves. Any earlier excitement at leaving to go on an adventure had vanished. Siana sat silently alone, staring back along the track and, more than once, Kandorl had caught Medral warily watching Trep, as on edge as the rest of them at his earlier outburst. Time and again Kandorl had questioned his decision to leave, and more so his decision to allow his companions to come along with him. He wouldn't blame them if they had plotted to have one night in the woods and then return to the village at first light, and in doing so leaving him to his foolish journey alone. Radbid still stood a half day's ride away to the west, despite them having travelled until the heat of the day had finally been lost along with the light. Kandorl had called a halt and insisted they make their camp deep in the forest, so that it could be hidden by the thick coniferous foliage and away from the path where he now brooded atop the wagon.

All his other suggestions, such as to not build a fire and to not make any unnecessary noise, had been ignored. So they can have their bloody party in the woods, leaving me to take the watch, the only bloody watch, he thought, his anger rising at the familiar sense of injustice. Trep had fed and picketed Carrots before leaving to settle at the camp, easily becoming very much the storyteller sharing old tales by firelight to an audience who sat like children, enthralled by the words and wisdom of their elder. Everyone had relaxed around him now, and although he didn't look like the man they all knew and respected, he at least had his temper under control. The healing Medral had performed may not have been complete, but it had at least taken his pain away.

During the course of the day, no one had dared mention Trep's possible return to Blackford, not even Theco. Indeed, it was only once the camp had been built and the brandy had come out, that Kandorl's companions had once again begun to relax. A lot had happened already today, and what had for so long seemed a dream was actually starting to happen. He'd thought a lot about taking a chance and getting away, but never under these circumstances. He supposed things had worked out well, given his friends were all here with him too. If they hadn't really decided that this was folly, and him a fool. Pushing the thought away, he found himself grateful for today's events, which had pressed them all into going, and immediately felt ashamed. Firstly for doubting his friends, but more so when an image of the Lord and Lady Petran came to his mind.

Kandorl took a deep breath and shifted his weight as he searched for a comfortable position which didn't exist. The air had that indistinguishable smell of summer, like every evening after a hot day, and he regretted never having done this before. He realised how perfect it could be out there, as the stars began to show, if it was just to be a simple night out in the woods, among friends with all thoughts of Dracia banished. Often, during his long vigil, he would dream of walking the forest, finding people sat among the trees with fires providing warmth and light, conversation and laughter buzzing and mixing with music, the warm light flickering and revealing to him the familiar, happy faces of all the people he'd loved. He turned again to look back towards the camp, half thinking to give in and join his friends, just to see Siana picking her way down through the trees.

"Out alone again, Kan," she said as she approached, a statement rather than a question. She'd seemed distant since he met with her this afternoon, and he could only think that the news of Lady Petran, on top of everything else, had had a greater effect on her than she let on. She wore Theco's thick travel cloak draped over her own short coat and her hair was drawn back in a braid. Clearly she'd been sat with Medral since he'd left the camp. She looked up at him, flickers of light from the fire providing the only sparkle in her searching eyes as she waited for him to reply.

"I'm sorry, Siana," Kandorl began, not knowing how to continue. How could you say everything was going to be OK when it was clear it wasn't? Their world had been turned upside down: they'd left everything behind to travel far further than any of them had ever dreamt, with their hopes pinned on the information one of the baron's men at the fort could give them. Still, they needed to ask questions, all of them, whether they realised it or not, even as the incessant laughter drowning out all the other sounds of the night showed nobody cared for the answers.

"What are you apologising for, Kan?" Siana replied, looking up at him. There was something more than firelight in her eyes now; a longing or a waning glimmer of belief, perhaps? She looked as if she were lost.

"I'm sorry for what's happened today, back at Blackford," he began uncertainly, then continued as she stared up at him, waiting. "I'm sorry that we need to find Braster. That I can't save you from it. That it's coming for us and that we may never get to Braster before Blackford is taken." He felt a sudden sense of hopelessness filling him. "I'm sorry I can't protect you or everyone else from it."

"The storm," Siana mused, nodding her head. "Is that it, Kan? The bloody invasion?!" Kandorl reeled back, shocked that for the first time he could remember, she had shouted at him. "Do you ever damn well think of anything else? Do you even see anything else with those dead eyes of yours? Do you realise what I've given up for you? Damn you, you selfish, bloody fool! You wouldn't even have noticed if I wasn't here!" She glared at him for an instant before quickly turning away to run back through the trees.

He sat, his mind whirling as he watched her disappear into the woods. At first the anger rose so that he clenched his fists to prevent him from shouting back after her. How dare she be angry at me for carrying his burden?! No one else, including her, would share it with me! How bloody easy it must be for her, for all of them, without a bloody care in the world. Just their happy, carefree daily lives stretching on for eternity, he thought, his knuckles threatening to burst through the skin. He wished he had the luxury of that peace of mind, the truth damn well hidden beneath layer upon layer of ignorance and denial. He thumped his fists down against the wagon before he slid down, thinking to run after her and hold her while he shouted back, until her head cleared and she saw the truth for what it was. It was enough to carry this responsibility; it was too much to be called selfish because of it. The thought of her turning in fear and surprise to see him stalking towards her, yelling at her, pushed all his anger down. He couldn't justify taking that away from anyone, especially her.

Abruptly, an owl hooted from where it perched, high above him in the trees. Grateful for the distraction, Kandorl started creeping quietly along the track, peering through the branches, and trying to locate where it sat. As he imagined the creature sat up so high, looking down impassively on the world below, he found he grew envious, Nnot only of its vantage point, but also for its innocence and the fact that it would never have a notion of what was sure to come. The darkness had now completely drawn in, which the soft glow of the moon did little to penetrate. He could no longer see more than a few paces along the track, and certainly not as far as the Ridgeway. He imagined the woods all around him and the shadowy places wherein lurked threats, waiting outside of the light and the sanctuary the camp and his companions offered. He was suddenly reminded of the previous night and the helplessness he had felt. He fought desperately just to stay and not to run away to safety. How quickly the laughter from his friends had become a comfort and something he longed to join. But someone had to watch. And there was only him that was willing.

The little he could see of the compacted muddy track now wavered. The darkness had returned and it now began its rhythmic rise and fall; rising, then falling and starting to converge. His courage faltered and he lurched into a run, his muscles tight and weak from sitting too long. He felt the wetness of the grass as he tripped and fell forward onto his hands, felt the blades caress his forearms, snaking upwards towards his chest. But he knew this was not all just grass. This was the smoke returned, thick and black as before, and intent on claiming him.

He shoved himself up to lurch through the woods as fast as his legs would allow, and into the light and welcoming smell of wood burning mixed with pipe smoke, which grew stronger as he dodged through the trees. The darkness reached for him, grasping as it sought to paralyse him and leave him helplessly wrapped in its clutches in the shadows of the cold, wet forest floor. Just as he thought to cry out to his friends, the warm orange light enveloped him and he crashed through the barrier of needles and branches, and into the small clearing. He came to a halt at the edge of the circle and stood panting as he checked his legs and arms, as if he expected to see the black snakes coiled around them. He inhaled deeply and swallowed the warning for his friends to flee.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Theco slurred the question drunkenly as he pointed towards Kandorl.

"Are you alright, Kan?" Medral asked as she rose from where she had been crouching by the fire. "You stay here, with us now," she said firmly as she took his hands in hers and led him towards the fire.

"Yes, just need to catch my breath," Kandorl replied, still looking around the clearing. Maybe the light keeps it away? The thought crossed his mind and was dismissed instantly as fancy. A flawed comfort, that. And one which mothers gave to their children, to say the light held that which lurked in the darkness at bay. Whatever the reason, he was thankful he saw no further sign of the smoke in or around the clearing.

"So Kan, Medral shared her stash with us," Wrald said. "And as we hoped, it contained everything we need. For tonight, at least," he continued, laughing and holding up a half-empty bottle.

"And old man Trep here," Theco joined in, "he's been telling tales like out of a flaming book. Good tales." As Theco lay on his side close to the fire, he leaned over to point a finger at Trep, and in doing so fell onto his face.

"That's just him guessing, of course," Wrald said, grinning and gesturing with his pipe for Kandorl to sit down next to him. "He's simply overheard people talking about books. He counts that as good as reading one." Still face down, Theco's laughter was wet and muffled.

"It seems I've missed a good party. I'm sure from all the noise there'll be others coming to join us soon. What's the occasion, anyway? Lord or Lady Petran's ending?" Kandorl said, and regretted his words instantly.

Wrald waited for Kandorl to sit down, then passed him his lit pipe. Draefan, who was sat off to one side of the circle and away from the fire, leant over and tapped him on the shoulder with a bottle of brandy, newly opened and untouched. Kandorl swigged from the bottle as he watched Medral returning to crouch down, all the while staring at Trep, who sat with his back leant against one of the packs. From his position opposite the old man, Kandorl could almost imagine Trep was sitting in the fire, his face burning to the bone as Medral watched on, helpless. He looked away quickly to where Siana sat on Medral's right. She kept her eyes cast down, concentrating on the hem of her skirts. There were no stories now, no laughter. Even the fire seemed to be burning low.

"All l , Kan?" Wrald whispered as he gestured for Kandorl to pass back his pipe. "You were down there a long time."

"Who knows?" Kandorl snapped. "We should set a watch tonight. But, it's clear that no one's going to want to do that." Suddenly feeling exhausted, he drained the bottle of half its contents in one long, painful drink. "Let's just bloody forget it then. We'll fall down drunk instead. If anyone comes, then let them rip our bloody hearts out."

"Easy, Kan," Medral said gently. "Trep, you must have more tales?" she asked, nodding encouragingly.

Theco lifted his head from the ground and gazed around at the others, suddenly looking very serious. "I have a tale," he said, not giving Trep a chance to reply. "I'll tell the first, and best. You lot can try to follow it."

"Yes. Tales," Kandorl said. To hell with it all. I almost want the invasion to come now, tonight. Just to see them finally see their folly. He shut his eyes and tried to focus on the numb feeling building in his head. He tried to imagine his cares and concerns burning away like leaves on the fire, or the flesh on Trep's face. "Theco. Begin your tale. Quickly."

Theco leant on his elbows now, head held just high enough to be able to sip on the bottle he loosely held upright in his fingers. "My tale is the tale of The Shepherd and the Priest," he said.

"Damn it, Theco. If you can't think of one of your own, at least tell one we don't know start to bloody finish, inside and out!" Wrald complained.

"The Shepherd and the Priest it is," Kandorl said. He kept his eyes shut as he raised a hand for silence.

"There was once a shepherd. Wait, I'll tell my own damn tale then. There was once a swineherd, walking in the woods," Theco began.

"And what was this swineherd doing, walking in the woods?" Wrald asked before shaking his head and sighing.

"Beech woods. The swineherd was in the beech woods. Letting his pigs feed on the beech nuts."

"Very good, now we're definitely all thralls to your words of wisdom. I wonder though, Theco. What season was it? For there to be beech nuts?"

"Let him tell his story," Medral said gently, raising her eyebrows at Wrald.

"It was late autumn," Theco continued, looking smug with vindication. "And because of it, there were beech nuts. As he walked the woods there was a terrible shout as a huge beast appeared, its gaze fixed dangerously on the litter."

"A terrible shout? Forgive me, Medral but I am anxious to understand. What beast could possibly shout?" Wrald said, openly grinning around his pipe stem. Kandorl opened one eye and felt himself grinning too as Medral simply shook her head.

"A wolf shouted. It bloody shouted a howl," Theco said indignantly.

"No. All the wolves are dead. We killed them all, Theco." Kandorl jumped at hearing Draefan's voice coming from behind him.

"That's true, Theco," Wrald joined in. "I thought you'd know that the gravest foe a swineherd would face when defending his pigs, would surely be a fox?"

"Fine, it was a bloody fox then." Theco said, turning to stare death at Draefan.

"A dire fox?"

"Wrald. Enough," Kandorl laughed. "Go on, Theco."

"The fox stood, blocking the track. So the swineherd took his staff, and thinking only to protect his pigs, he bravely attacked the beast, drawing it away from the litter, which were to be fattened to feed the village over the harsh winter," Theco continued, despite the giggling and laughter which did nothing to complement the seriousness with which he told his tale.

"And what happened to our brave hero? Did he have a name, this swineherd? Was it Therco or similar?" Kandorl couldn't help himself. His blurred vision only stretched as far as the trees enclosing the camp. Whatever lurked in the darkness was both beyond his sight and his concern.

"The swineherd fought with great skill and for hours he blocked each of the beast's terrible attacks." Seemingly unaware he was doing it, Theco swung his head from side to side as he spoke. Kandorl couldn't decide if his friend sought to emphasise the skill of the swineherd or the grotesque nature of the beast. "All the while thinking only of the people of his village. But the beast was clever and pretended it had been gravely injured, causing the swineherd to lower his weapon and attend to its wounds. Waiting for the swineherd to lay his staff on the ground, the beast leapt, meaning to kill. The swineherd fell back as he caught the beast mid-leap. He snapped its neck easily in his strong hands, but not before it had sunk its sharp fangs into his own. They fell together, rolling down a steep slope through the trees and landed on a priest, who had been walking the path below." Although he slurred, pride filled Theco's voice as he finished his tale. He look around at the others and waited, seemingly for the wisdom behind his words to seep in.

"That's the last time I walk the woods alone," Trep mused, causing another round of laughter. Kandorl noticed that even Siana had looked up and now grinned at Trep.

"Fangs!" Wrald cried, when he had finally caught his breath.

"So what was the moral, Theco?" Medral asked, her smile warm and far from mocking.

"The bloody moral is that the swineherd was sent. He chanced on meeting the bloody priest and was sent because he had chosen to fight bravely to save his pigs and his bloody village."

"Yes, the sending was his reward for being a morally just man," Wrald agreed. "The morality of some fool falling on a priest after hours of waving a stick at an innocent fox and thereby earning the sending is questionable though. Maybe next time you should stick to the original tale, I think The Shepherd and the Wolf was fine as it was."

"OK, so you do better then, Wrald. Let's hear your damn tale," Theco said through his teeth.

Wrald nodded and handed Kandorl his pipe as he stood. He pulled his cloak tight around him and began pacing around the fire, stepping over Theco where he lay and taking back his pipe as he passed Kandorl. When he was sure he had everyone's attention, he stopped and spun around, dramatically flinging back his cloak as he spread his arms wide.

"Now, where Theco's telling fell down is that he didn't have a believable character. Brave, selfless swineherd with great martial ability makes way for drunken fool, as thick set as thick of head, blundering his way through the woods. Now, this is a character which is easy to imagine. Especially so for us. We all know the tale of The Shepherd and the Wolf. This is the tale of The Swineherd and The Fox, as it was meant to be told." As Wrald finished, he held up his pipe in salute to Theco, who cracked each of his knuckles as he stared back.

"Be kind, Wrald," Medral said warningly.

"Kind? OK, there'll be no mention of the swineherd's real reason for being alone in the woods with his pigs." Wrald began pacing again as he spoke. Each time he passed Kandorl he briefly blocked the heat from the fire, reminding him that without it they simply sat in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night, with no idea of what else may be out there with them. Kandorl returned the bottle to his mouth and timed his sips for each of his friend's passes.

"The swineherd was drunk, this was clear by how far he had wandered into the woods. On being bitten by a fox, whose den he stumbled into, he fled back to the village, leaving his pigs to roam unattended and no doubt eaten. In his haste to return, he stumbled into a priest, knocking her to the ground. As he did his pigs, he left the priest to her fate, alone and injured in the woods. When the swineherd returned to his lord, he tells him of the fox and pleads with him to gather the militia to escort him back to the priest, meaning to be her saviour. But the lord, being wise, saw that the swineherd was a drunk and a coward and decided on a different course of action."

"Did the swineherd rip the lord's bloody head from his shoulders?" Theco said darkly. Sitting up now, his hands were balled into fists.

"The lord told the swineherd that he was brave, that facing the beast showed his honour and that he should be rewarded," Wrald continued, ignoring both Theco's question and his rising anger. "And so offered from his cellar of finest apple brandy, a choice, a small bottle or a large. Unbeknown to the swineherd, however, whilst the smaller bottle was indeed fine apple brandy, the larger was poison," he whispered dramatically. "The lord then left the swineherd to make his decision and rode off in search of the priest."

"So, the hoggish fool chose the larger bottle?" Draefan asked.

"Perhaps," Wrald mused. "But based on his decision to save his own skin at the expense of the priest and the village, did the lord simply hasten the swineherd towards his inevitable end?"

"And so what of the lord? What of the priest?" Kandorl asked, keen for Wrald to continue the story before Theco decided to end it when his temper finally got the better of him.

"So, the clever lord," Wrald said, letting his cloak fall back off his shoulders and lifting his chin. "He sought out the injured priest, and in saving her from the beasts of the forest, she gratefully followed him until the end of his days, sending him when the time came. A simple story of wisdom triumphing over mindless brawn."

"And what if the flaming swineherd had instead cut the lord's head from his body when he discovered it was poison in the bigger bottle? How wise would the lord have been then?!" Theco shouted.

"Calm down, Theco," Medral said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Such a lovely sentiment, Wrald. Now sit down. I'll tell a tale, this time without mocking anyone."

Wrald re-took his seat beside Kandorl, but not before cuffing Theco around the head as he passed.

"The priest had been passing through the woods," Medral began quickly, waving her hand to get Theco's attention. "And to regain her strength from teaching foolish lords and swineherds who cared only for their own scheming, she instead sought to teach the animals, including the pigs and the foxes that had gathered around her. She told them the message she carried, which was one of truth and wisdom, albeit a simplified version for the animals. And the message she told them was that the moral will see heaven, simply because they are without the regret which would bind them to their attachments and the decisions they made in their lives." Medral paused to adjust her skirts around her as she changed position to kneel up on the ground.

The only noise in the camp now was the crackle of the remaining logs burning on the fire. No one moved as they all waited in anticipation for Medral to continue. Even Draefan had turned around when Medral had fallen silent, his unlit pipe hanging forgotten from the corner of his mouth.

"The priest knew that the animals hadn't understood her message, despite how simply she had put it, so she said to them that she would perform the ritual of the sending to the moral, thereby ensuring they were sent to heaven," Medral continued. "As she said the words, the priest lifted her sceptre and made it glow, hoping the light would offer them comfort as it spread to the dark places of the woods. Later, when the priest had been struck by the swineherd, her sceptre was knocked from her hands and rolled into the fox's den. On seeing the sceptre, the fox called out for the animals of the wood to gather around him, and they were all convinced that because their morality was beyond doubt, they now also had the power to send any one of them to heaven. Shortly, a dying animal was brought to the fox and the sceptre. The fox and the other animals waited in vain for it to glow."

"Medral, what are you saying, girl?" Trep asked softly.

"Let her finish," Wrald said, his gaze fixed on her as she continued.

"And as the animals left, some despaired, thinking they must be immoral and unfit for the sending." Medral gently patted Trep's arm as she spoke. "Whereas others became angry with the priest and believed they had seen through her prank; that she was simply a trickster. All dismissed the sceptre and became lost, unable to return to the way they had been before. Later, when the lord demanded the priest returned to the woods to retrieve her sceptre, the animals watched her from their hiding places. In her hands she held a branch which also glowed, lighting her way through the trees. When the priest saw her sceptre lying on the ground, she picked it up, dropping the branch as she did so. As soon as the branch left her hand, it stopped glowing."

"Medral? What was the priest?" Wrald whispered.

Medral held up a hand, stopping Wrald. "Once the priest's glowing sceptre had disappeared from sight among the trees, the animals all came out of their hiding places and gathered around the branch. Although they all knew, deep down, that it was only a simple branch, they coveted it, thinking it would offer them comfort in the dark places of the woods. It filled the void inside them."

"Enough," said Trep, appalled, "no more, girl. You be careful of what you're saying! You put your own sending at risk!"

"I'm sorry, Trep," Medral said, before falling silent and studying her hands.

"Medral. Please, finish your tale," Kandorl said. Trep swallowed what he was about to say when he noticed Kandorl staring at him. Kandorl meant to hear the rest of the tale, Trep's sensitivities be damned.

"Yes, it's my tale and I'll tell it. I'm nearly finished anyhow," Medral said, although her wince as she looked up at the old man belied her indignation.

"As the seasons passed, the animals of the woods fought over the bigger and better branches of the trees, risking all to get those highest from the forest floor. One day, when the fox had scaled the largest tree in the forest, he looked up and saw the birds flying above. He saw that they were unburdened by branches and flew freely in the vastness of the sky. They had no reason to fight or be in contest with one another. The fox, instead of learning something from his feathered friends, laughed at them, ridiculing them for not taking the branches they could so easily alight upon." Medral rushed through the end of her tale then sat back down on the ground with her head bowed. "Wrald. I'd like to try your pipe," she said after a while. Wrald raised his eyebrows at Kandorl before reluctantly passing it to her.

The crackling of the logs on the fire was once again the only sound as all except Medral stared silently into the flames. Kandorl watched the red glows amid the whitened wood and didn't notice the passing of time until Theco snorted as he awoke.

"Could someone tell another? Something with a bit of bloody humour?" Theco said, lifting his head from his arms.

"Your turn, Kan," Medral said, opening her eyes for the first time since her tale had ended.

"Yes, come on, Kan. Finish your bottle up and tell us a good one," Theco said, scrubbing at his eyes and reaching for Medral's pack. "And no more bloody morals."

Kandorl rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands before pushing his hair back from his face. He had been comfortable listening to the others speak at first, and then Medral had told her tale. Her words had been like wasps in his head, stinging parts he hadn't felt before.

"Kan?" Medral asked. Her voice gently brought his eyes open and he released the handfuls of hair he had been clutching. There were so many questions. He wasn't sure which he wanted answered. He longed for the comfort of a different type of darkness.

"My tale," Kandorl began, with no clear idea of how to continue, "is what Braster told me of Dracia ... "

"No. No. No. Not bloody Braster, not the bloody flood. Tell us one that's a bit bloody cheerful!" Theco said.

Kandorl looked over at Siana who sat staring off into the woods. "All right. I have a tale." he began "It's about a Griffon who's dying of hunger. Because he only ate good-humoured barmaids."

Siana looked directly at Kandorl now, and from the anger in her eyes, he wished she still stared into the forest.

"You've done it now, Kan!" Theco laughed, filling the silence.

"Yes, Siana's the barmaid and Kan's the Griffon in this tale," Wrald said quietly in Theco's ear, "don't think he'll have his hunger satisfied tonight though. Good humoured, she certainly isn't." With a slap on Wrald's back, Theco began to roar.

"How did you and Margret meet, old man?" Theco asked Trep when he had recovered himself. "I bet you were like a bloody hero back in your day. Had your pick of the girls in Blackford?! Bet they were all good-humoured!" he finished, making Kandorl cringe as he glanced over at Siana, who simply glared back.

"Well I don't remember it like that," Trep said gently, the rasping noise that followed barely resembling laughter. "But Margret was the only one I would have picked, regardless."

The old man had everyone's attention again, even Siana's. She listened intently as he recalled his early life with his wife.

"We were always set for each other, you could say," Trep continued, blistered skin creasing in a smile. "She and I knew that since we were children, were brought up together, you see. Never saw each other as brother and sister, mind." He glared with a sudden fierceness at Theco, who opened his eyes wide, and feigning innocence, returned the old man's glare with a sickly smile. "No, not like that at all." Trep continued. "Just felt like it was meant. It always did. So it was easy, you know, our life together. We just followed the path and enjoyed every moment. Didn't ever need worry about the future because what we had, we savoured, just as we lived it." He gestured for the bottle in Theco's hands, who to Kandorl's surprise, handed it out immediately for Wrald to pass on. Theco must have been enthralled, or he'd finally had his fill, having given up his bottle without a fight.

"Trep, are you sure you should be having that?" Medral's question was very deliberately measured. "I have water, if you'd prefer that instead?" she added, for once her smile forced.

"Then of course, Sam came along. Our boy," Trep continued, ignoring Medral and taking the bottle from Wrald. He went on between sips. "So he'll take over from me, already most of the way there, truth be told. He'll find someone for himself, like I did Margret, then the circle is complete. Round it goes again." He reached out towards Siana, offering her the bottle.

"Siana?" Medral said gently. Siana looked up at her friend, her eyes glistening.

"No, no thank you," Siana said, noticing Trep's outstretched hand.

"Well, not all circles are completed," Trep said, his brow furrowing as he took a much longer drink of the brandy. From the way he clutched the bottle, Kandorl didn't think he intended to offer it again.

"Do you think perhaps you should go back to them? To Margret and Sam?" Medral said, concern plain on her face. "They'll be missing you, Trep. You know they will." Kandorl closed his eyes and took a long drink himself, wishing they'd continued to avoid the subject. Maybe Medral was right to ask, but Trep had drunk more than Kandorl had ever seen him before. The old man paused halfway through a sip with his head tipped back and held the position. His knuckles began to whiten as his grip grew stronger and stronger around the neck of the bottle.

"I told you I'm not going back, whore!" Trep shouted as he dashed the bottle into the fire, causing a shower of sparks to cover Theco, who quickly rolled away, swearing as he covered his face with his hands. Through the fire, Trep glowered, the scarred mess of his face rising up through the flames. Kandorl involuntarily scrambled away as Trep's skin caught the light, turning a brighter red until it appeared to melt, showing glimpses of the muscle and bone below. Kandorl was reminded of Shania and then Lady Petran as the old man's mouth dropped open as if to scream, his tongue lolling from his mouth, blackened and decayed.

"I told you!" Trep bellowed now. "I'm not going back. Do you think to make me, whore? The devil comes for you and he'll drag you down to rot in fucking hell!" Medral screamed as Trep lunged for her, much faster than Kandorl thought possible for a man of his age. All except Draefan remained frozen in place, the tall man springing forward to land heavily on Trep's back as the old man collapsed, crumpling under his weight, howling and thrashing as Draefan fought to hold him down. Kandorl looked quickly at Wrald before they both too hurled themselves forward, Wrald wrapping himself around Trep's legs and Kandorl scrambling over to push Trep's head hard into the ground. All three men didn't dare move until long after Trep had become still, even after the howling had changed to a muted whimper.

"Get off him. Kan, get off him. Please!" Medral pleaded through her tears. "It's Trep, it's not his fault." Siana reached out too late to stop her as Medral crawled around the fire and started pushing at Kandorl to move him away.

"Please, let me up. Please, I can't breathe," Trep sobbed weakly. Kandorl realised how hard he was pushing the old man into the ground and quickly moved away, disgusted at himself. Following his lead, Draefan and then Wrald also gingerly let go as Medral pulled Trep up and into a sitting position, cradling his head in her arms.

"I'm so sorry, Trep," Medral said, weeping uncontrollably now as she spoke. She moved her hands over his face as if she was trying to smooth away the scars. "I tried, but I couldn't heal you. There's something I couldn't reach," she continued. "I should have been able to, but my mind was distracted, addled. It's supposed to be pure. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, girl," Trep replied weakly, letting himself be held by Medral. "It's her, it's what she did to me. No one can heal it." Trep's eyes stared at the forest floor, though what he saw, Kandorl couldn't say. With his mouth hanging open, Trep's breaths came in shallow wheezes, making Kandorl doubt if he would even make it through the night, let alone the journey. "She calls for me, calls for me to go back. I'm like her now. A part of me is, anyway. Please, I need to get as far away from her as possible." His eyes rolled back in his head as he continued, almost whispering. "She's gone, but her grief remains. They haven't killed that, they can't. If I go back, they won't be able to stop me. I'll kill every fucking last one of them." Trep laughed before slumping forward, unconscious in Medral's arms.

"Yes Trep, it's OK. You don't need to go back," Medral whispered as she held the old man's head, sobbing gently now as she cradled him. "Yes, we'll get you far away from there. Anything you need. Forgive me."

*

The morning passed quickly as the camp was packed away with very little said. Trep attended to Carrots, all the while being watched over by Medral, and a quick breakfast was prepared from their supplies. Wrald had mentioned rationing more than once this morning and Kandorl agreed that they needed to start, sooner rather than later. Of course, this was met with resistance from Theco in particular, who maintained that Draefan could easily provide as much food as they required, what with his hunting skills. Draefan's eyes had lit up at Theco's dismissive comment suggesting he would, and should, provide. And although Draefan had said nothing, Kandorl was sure it wouldn't be long before the two men came to blows. And all the while you'll be happy to sit expecting it to come to you, Theco. And you'll expect your ration to simply be as much as you'd like, Kandorl thought, shaking his head. Draefan did know how to hunt, had learnt from his father. But for all the time he spent alone, tracking in the woods, Kandorl doubted his friend would find the task of keeping all of them fed easy, if it was possible at all. He for one hadn't seen much in the way of wildlife but then, he had far less skill than even his friend.

One night was all they'd been away and already he had doubts that they would see another together. Maybe it'd be well for them to return. They don't believe in it and I doubt they will, not unless hearing it from Braster would finally convince them to wake up. If they stay that long. The thought saddened him, and scared him more than a little too. The familiarity of his usual routine provided enough temptation for him to consider giving up this journey and returning to what he knew, however miserable. He doubted he would be willing to continue alone.

The cart rumbled slowly along the track as they left the camp far behind and continued towards Castle Radbid, passing through chalk grasslands which stretched from the Ridgeway to as far south as Kandorl could see. The smell of the wild flowers and the heat of the sun was a heady mix, and he closed his eyes, letting Trep guide them, and again questioned why he hadn't travelled this far from Blackford before. A sense of peace grew in him as they travelled on for the rest of the morning and, more than once, he caught himself falling asleep, only for a bump in the road or an attempt at conversation to bring him sharply awake, unable to slip into that quiet rest.

Around midday, with the hill fort now looming in the near distance, Trep pulled on the reins to bring the cart to a halt on a tired-looking wooden bridge which crossed a stream, dividing the land. Taking the opportunity to stretch their legs, all but Kandorl and Draefan made their way down to fill bottles, or in Theco's case, to stand submerged to the knees, cooling off from the heat of the sun.

As Kandorl sat watching, he fiddled with the reins until Carrots took a step forward, thinking that was his cue. Draefan sighed irritably as he stirred on the bench seat next to him, before sitting up and filling his pipe with tobacco.

"Didn't get much rest last night?" Kandorl asked, laying the reins on the seat beside him before turning to his friend. Draefan looked unusually pale, his eyes were dark and shadowed from a lack of sleep even as he reached up to the gold-embroidered hem of his green hood and pulled it back to run fingers through his light, curled hair, his face tilted up to the sun. He sat like that for a while, rubbing the base of his skull, eyes closed tightly as if he suffered with pain.

"Not a lot," Draefan replied. "Bloody head's pounding like a smithy's hammer. Bloody hell, it's bright today." Lighting his pipe, he let his mouth fill with smoke before letting out a long stream which they both watched float above them before dissipating on the warm breeze. After a moment he pointed at the Ridgeway to the north. "You think Jon Blent's out there somewhere?" he asked. "Could it have been them, those over the border, that did for Petran?" He passed his pipe to Kandorl, who took it with a nod to his friend, and let out his own stream of smoke. Again the breeze took it and it vanished from view.

"Could have been. Though Siana and Medral reckon it's these Revenants, as Jon said," Kandorl replied. "I've seen it though, Draefan. Dracia is readying to mobilise."

"I know, Kan."

"Makes sense that they'd want to take out those at the top first, create some chaos. That makes it simple for them just to come. To take us all." Kandorl turned to look at his friend as he passed him back his pipe. "Do you think we'll find him, find Braster I mean? We need him to come back, I think it's coming but I don't know when. He would, Draefan. Maybe he'd be able to do something." Kandorl stopped as he noticed Draefan frowning, his eyes closed again. "Draefan, listen. He could do something, I'm sure of it. Even if it was to just stop them taking folk at random, maybe give us a bit more time."

"We're right to try, Kan," Draefan replied eventually. "I agree, he could help by being back. He could protect us somehow, from these forerunners. Stop anything like what happened to Lord Petran from happening to anyone else. As for the storm, maybe they aren't ready yet, Kan. Maybe we do have time." Draefan went back to rubbing the back of his head, using both his hands now. "I always thought you were a bit confused, a bit obsessed, if I'm honest. I thought Braster has put those ideas in your head or maybe you'd just misunderstood or something. But over these past few months, I'm not so sure. Jon Blent? An ex-soldier, and he thinks these forerunners may have done for Petran. We all heard the stories but it was always someone far away. Never really affected us. What's next? Could be the storm coming too. There are signs, I know it." He pulled his hood back up over his head, his face lost to its shadows. "I don't think I can go back to how things were, pretending like we've got all this, forever. I wish I could, wish I was more like them."

Draefan nodded towards the stream. Siana was dipping a foot into the running water, unaware that Wrald and Theco were creeping up behind her, ready to give her a push. They watched as Trep stepped in to thwart their plans, waggling a finger and looking like a grandfather chastising naughty children. From here he looked more like how Kandorl remembered him; he could just be burned from too long working in the sun, but Kandorl still couldn't forget what he'd seen the night before. He turned, suddenly keen to ask Draefan if he too had seen Trep transforming, decaying, turning into a monster as Shania and Lady Petran had. He closed his mouth at the sight of his friend staring at him from within his hood. From within the shadows, Draefan's tired, red eyes were unmoving as he stared at Kandorl. He looked beaten, as if he had his own flood to hold back, and now the effort to do so was too much. Kandorl sat forward, his own thoughts forgotten, and desperate for his friend to speak his mind.

"I thought I'd stand watch last night," Draefan began. "I was just lying there awake anyway, listening to the sounds of the forest long after everyone else was sleeping soundly under their blankets. Thought maybe I'd have the time to climb a way up to the ridge, look for these fires you've been seeing far off."

Kandorl stared back in shock as all his friend had said sunk in. He had never heard his friend talking as if he believed him before. Draefan had always listened to him, of course, listened to what Kandorl relayed as to what Braster had told him, for all the years he could remember. Draefan had never seemed to be doing anything other than humouring him though, just listening and letting him talk things through.

"I thought I saw an animal at first, moving about further into the woods. Just an animal. But it grew clearer as it moved closer. It looked like a man, but it wasn't. It darted about, Kan, spinning. Its arms were up above it like it was conjuring or something, I don't know." Draefan looked up to meet Kandorl's eyes, he looked embarrassed, but it was too late, the flood poured forth. "It was exactly as you described. That's not all though. Not the worst of it. There were people, or corpses, hanging from the trees. The more it span, the more they twitched."

Kandorl could only stare back at his friend, his blood feeling like it was ice. He didn't recall telling Draefan, or anyone for that matter, about the creature in the fields. Maybe Siana was right, maybe he relied too heavily on his friend.

"I don't think I'll ever rest again," Draefan whispered, and seemed to sink further back into his hood.

"Draefan, this is what I–"

"Forget it, Kan," Draefan replied suddenly. "I'm tired. It's just got to be all that's happened recently. Got me seeing things that aren't there." His voice sounded as haunted as Kandorl felt.

"Draefan, listen."

"No, Kan. Stop," Draefan interrupted again. "I'm going down to fill my bottle too," he said and climbed down from the seat. He stood for a moment looking out towards the Ridgeway before turning back to look up at Kandorl. "Don't mention anything I've said, will you? They don't want to know, so leave them out of it." After waiting for Kandorl to reluctantly nod his agreement, he turned to trudge down to join the others at the stream.

Kandorl sat staring after his friend. He's seen it too? It's not just me? he thought, wondering whether losing his mind would have been the better option.

Later, as the others returned from the stream, Kandorl moved aside to let Trep once again take over the driving. They all took turns in resting on the wagon or walking alongside as their journey continued into the mid-afternoon. Mercifully, the sky had clouded over, giving respite from the hot sun. Despite that, Draefan still walked with his hood pulled over his head, and alone. Kandorl jumped down from the wagon to walk alongside him, to try to coax him into saying more, but his attempt to pull his friend off to one side was met with a stern glare and a shake of the head, making Kandorl concede out of respect for his wishes. There would be time later.

Kandorl instead jogged ahead and called for Trep to come to a halt, just where the path split, the right-hand track leading up to Castle Radbid, now so clearly in view, and the left continuing onto the west. The hill on which the fort sat was tiered, with wooden stakes forming ringed palisades which ran around each earthwork bank. The top itself was levelled flat, and was protected by stone, crenellated walls with a large gateway blocking the top of the track on this, the south-eastern side. From here, Kandorl could clearly make out the buildings within, seeing a long stone structure with a slate roof he guessed was the great hall from its size, and to the eastern side, temporary wooden buildings, constructed presumably as barracks to hold the baron's men.

The hill's position and height provided the perfect view across the borderlands, which Kandorl was keen to see for himself. He planned to ask this Captain Doln if they had spotted any activity from Dracia. Maybe then the others would start believing him, as Draefan seemed to. Maybe, as guests, they would be offered baths and a hot meal, maybe even a night in a bed. That would go a long way to lifting their mood. Castle Radbid. If anything does come, we'll all see it. The baron's men will know what to do. And where's safer than a fort? He smiled happily up at Trep and motioned for the wagon to continue forward.

Chapter 8

Castle Radbid

"There's someone up there, a guard, on the gate," Wrald said, holding onto the rest of the seat and squinting against the sun as the wagon inched up the steep track. Kandorl followed his gaze and waited until they got close enough to clearly see the man who stood on the walkway above the gate, leaning on his arms on one of the crenulations. More than once it crossed his mind to simply turn around and go back the way they'd come. Was Jon Blent right? Kandorl thought. Was this really what Braster envisaged? He had to believe so, but he still didn't like the idea of knocking on the gate of a fort and saying he was there to help himself to some bounty of equipment. Seeing the guard staring down at him and scrutinising their approach did nothing to ease his mind.

When they were within one hundred paces, Kandorl motioned for them to stop and waved up at the man on the wall. "We're here to see Captain Doln," he called out. "Braster sent us!" Kandorl hoped that both names would be recognised. He suddenly panicked, regretting that they hadn't taken the time to discuss what to do if neither name were. The only thing he could do was to simply hope and wait for a response. He was committed now. The opportunity to just turn around was gone.

"Captain Doln?" the man said sullenly, "you're talking to him."

The captain was a short man in his middle years with long, once jet-black hair which poured out from under his helm and tangled with long moustaches which caught in the wind, reminding Kandorl of a pennant blowing out behind. He wore a mail shirt over a blue tunic and a cloak, pinned at the front with a brown bear on a yellow background, the sigil of Baron Tramlon. He looked down at Kandorl with light blue eyes which seemed as cold as the stone he leant upon. He raised a crossbow from where he had it hidden behind the wall, and pointed it towards the sky. Kandorl swallowed hard as he realised that if this went wrong, it could end with a bolt through his chest.

"State your business," Doln said flatly.

"I know Braster," Kandorl began and immediately felt a fool. Was this the way to address an officer of the baron's army? Hiding behind a bloody name? "That is to say, my name is Kandorl and Braster has left something of mine in these walls," he continued, trying to sound more assured. "He said that I should ask for Captain Doln, that he was a good man who would see things right and give to me the things that were intended for me." Kandorl shifted his weight from one leg to the other and hoped that neither the man in front, nor his companions behind, could see how much they shook.

"That's the third time you've said that name. Braster is an ally of the baron, that's true." Doln turned to look over his shoulder and after a few moments he nodded before looking back at Kandorl. "I last spoke to him only a few months ago. I know your name, boy, and I know what it is you are here to collect," he said quietly as he lowered the crossbow. "You'll have to come in now." At first, Doln remained where he stood, his eyes downcast and biting his lip, before disappearing from view as he descended from the walkway. Kandorl glimpsed another face peering through the look-hole hatch which sat behind an iron cage in the left of the pair of wooden doors. After only a moment's regard, the face disappeared and the doors began to creak on their massive hinges, slowly opening to allow Kandorl and the others entry.

"That was easy," Wrald said softly, for only Kandorl to hear, as he appeared at his shoulder. "Maybe too easy?"

"Yes, Wrald, maybe it was. But this Doln knows Braster, which means he knows of me," Kandorl whispered back, watching as the doors continued to open to reveal Doln standing with the crossbow held in his hands, this time pointed at Kandorl directly. Two men flanked him, both wearing the same uniform. One was tall and heavy built, the other as tall, but slight and wiry looking. Their faces, slick with sweat, showed through their open helms and, unlike Doln's cold, dead-looking eyes, theirs seemed to rage, bloodshot and burning intensely.

"Step through, boy," Doln said, more a command than a request. "You and your party will leave your weapons in the barrel, just here. Then we'll make our way over to the hall and you can tell me all about Braster. If you are who you say you are, then we'll see about getting you your equipment."

Kandorl thought about saying something in agreement but Doln was already waving him and the others through, their compliance assumed.

"You there," the heavy-set guard said, grimacing as he pointed the crossbow at Trep. "You stay with your wagon. We'll see to you and your horse shortly."

"As you say," Trep replied and swallowed hard as he fidgeted with what remained of his beard.

Kandorl glanced up to see the baron's crest carved in the centre of the gateway as he passed through. The brown bear was damaged and looked as though it had been deliberately chipped away to remove the detail of its head. Kandorl just stopped himself from instinctively reaching up to run his fingers over the stone, and quickly put his hand back down at his side. Ahead, a small paved courtyard opened up which was enclosed by a tall internal wall, providing a killing ground for anyone that had made it through the main gate. Kandorl turned to see Draefan scanning the top of the wall, presumably sharing Kandorl's concern that more crossbows would appear, ready to send bolts ripping through them at one misplaced step. Through a second archway, a set of wide stone steps led up onto the top of the fort through which the great hall came into view, dominating the open area. The two guards with Doln called a halt and moved to flank the group, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, and looking ready to draw at any excuse. Kandorl kept his hands folded in front of him and his gaze on the paving stones below his feet, longing to move through to the open area ahead. The uncomfortable silence dragging on suddenly seemed deliberate.

"Everything you're carrying goes in here," Doln said, and nodded towards the open barrel which sat against the wall. "And I mean everything." Draefan glanced at Kandorl before taking a step forward with Theco just behind. He took his bow from his back and placed it slowly in the barrel along with his quiver. On seeing his hunting knife hanging from his belt, Doln gestured for him to step to one side and pulled it out of its scabbard. Kandorl admired his friend's calmness, as Draefan simply eyed the captain coolly from under his hood, letting him take his blade without causing a fuss.

Theco, however, had pulled his fist weapons from the pockets of his coat and had thrown them belligerently into the barrel. When Doln saw he was about to do the same with his cudgel, he held up a hand and took it from him, holding Theco's gaze until the younger man looked away.

"Any more?" Doln asked, and Kandorl moved his cloak aside to show there was nothing concealed beneath. "And what about you?" he said to Wrald, who imitated Kandorl when Doln turned to face him. "I can see you girls aren't carrying anything." Doln said gently and bowed slightly as he did so. Kandorl noticed Doln close his eyes and shake his head briefly before he brought it back up. Wrald seemingly caught it too and nodded towards the captain. There was a sense of unease about the man, as if his actions were reluctant, and Kandorl looked nervously between him and the other two guardsmen as he thought to say that this had all been a mistake and they would happily just leave.

Before Kandorl could vocalise his thoughts, the captain's eyes opened as the heavy gates slammed shut behind the party. The smaller guard stood blocking the only way out now with his twin short swords half drawn, each showing half a foot of blade. Through the jostling bodies of his companions, Kandorl watched the guard as he looked from Siana to Medral and after a few moments his face split in an evil smile, reminding Kandorl of a wolf with its teeth bared and ready to attack. Kandorl took a step towards Siana's side, too late realising he should have trusted his instincts.

"You're unwell," Medral said, addressing the guard on the gate. "I can heal you, if you will let me help?" Kandorl's heart sank. Of course, she hadn't realised the danger they were in. "What about our friend? Trep's still out there." Medral asked. She smiled nervously as she turned to the captain, who simply hung his head again, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"I said we'd take care of him, and so we will," the large guard said, laughing as he drew his own sword. Medral cried out as the guard at the gate followed his lead and drew his fully before spreading his arms wide to dissuade anyone from attempting an escape. "You're getting better at this captain," he continued. "Now drop the crossbow."

"What the hell's going on here?!" Theco began, taking a step towards Doln and dwarfing him.

"Don't," Doln said, not looking up as he laid the crossbow carefully on the ground. "They'll gladly kill you for it."

As Draefan moved to flank Theco, Wrald took a step towards the guard on the gate. His face reddened as he stared murder at the man who simply grinned back at him, as if willing him to come closer. It crossed Kandorl's mind that his friend's gift may be of some use, but only as one desperate, last resort. He wondered if he would even be able to keep it under control, or if he would simply rage, burning their would-be captors and themselves in an explosion of anger. Kandorl felt a fool for not preparing for this to happen. He just hadn't expected danger at the baron's fort, especially this close to Blackford. He had assumed they would be safe here, that the baron's men would take them in. Now, it was clear that, apart from Doln, these were not the baron's men.

"Ralta, just let them be. They've got nothing you want," Doln said, slowly straightening.

"I'm sure they've got something Drunst and I want," the large guard replied, nodding towards Medral and Siana.

"That's just what I was thinking." Drunst smiled sickly, staring at each woman in turn as if evaluating them.

"You damn filth!" Doln said, his hands balling into fists. "You'll take them to Septaln, all of them! He pulls your damn strings after all," he finished abruptly, snarling as Ralta stepped forward to put the tip of his sword at Doln's throat.

"Say one more thing captain. Please do," Ralta replied coolly, pushing the blade forwards so that it punctured the skin. Kandorl watched as a bead of Doln's blood formed, then trickled down his neck. "So. That's all anyone's going to say unless they want me to start cutting. Got it? Got it?!" he yelled, making Kandorl jump backwards in shock.

"Take them to Septaln then," Drunst began, "and I'll make sure that fiend's dealt with."

"Trep," Medral whispered. "Leave him be, he's just an old man!" she cried, looked imploringly at Drunst.

"Aye, he's just an old man. And a sick one at that. Surplus I'd say." Drunst replied, still grinning.

"Leave him be!" Medral shouted.

"Last chance. You keep your bloody mouths shut or I'll start taking heads. Even your so very pretty one!" Ralta bellowed. He sheathed his sword before stooping down to pick up the crossbow, then lifted it slowly so that it pointed directly at Medral's head. "Get these into single file, Doln and march them across to the hall." A smile appeared on his face as he continued. "Maybe that'll bring back some memories of when you being a captain meant something? Anyone thinking of doing anything but following Doln here will be the reason this beauty gets a bolt through her head. Doln! Quick march!"

Doln waited for them to form a line behind him and started walking slowly across the courtyard and up through the second archway. From outside the gate, they heard Trep cry out before the sound was abruptly cut off.

"Eyes forward!" Ralta shouted, "that's right isn't it Doln? Remember what happens if you stop walking!" he laughed and moved to walk closely alongside Medral.

They passed silently through the archway and up the stone steps onto the top of the fort, with Kandorl hoping no one was foolish enough to try to resist, before coming to stand on the hard-packed earth in front of the great hall. Its double doors were open and two more men stood guard, one either side. Unlike Ralta, these men were dressed in simple dark tunics and they wore no helmets or capes. Using guard's outfits for those on the gate made things appear normal and, presumably, maintaining the ruse was all that kept Captain Doln out of the cells with his other men, or worse, had kept him alive.

On Kandorl's right, the ground sloped down to a second, much lower level. In front of a wooden lookout platform in the corner of the site was something that looked like it had once been a well, but had been re-built for a different purpose. It resembled a pit, made from cut stone, which created a large bowl sloping down into a broad hole. From the back of the line, Kandorl saw his companions turn to look at it too as they passed. He wondered if they were thinking on its use as worriedly as he.

"That's the funnel, as we call it," Ralta said, as if reading Kandorl's mind. "First thing Septaln wanted done, after we lost the well. Now it's his favourite plaything. That hole you see in the middle there runs down about thirty foot into the ground and the top's just wide enough to fit a man in, even a big man like me. Isn't at the bottom though, thins right down, which is why we call it the funnel. Get it? Doln's men got quite familiar with that, didn't they captain? Got the first go, lucky bastards. Though all they did was complain." He laughed as he struck Doln in the back with the stock of the crossbow. "Some of them were still complaining up to about a week ago. So you see, Septaln's probably going to want more people to take a ride down there, and that'd be you lucky sods!"

Kandorl tripped over legs he could no longer feel and reached out to grab Theco's shoulders to stop himself from falling. From ahead of him, he heard what he thought was Siana beginning to sob. As they reached the open doors of the great hall, Doln stopped at the front of the line. He unfastened his chin strap and pulled his helmet from his head, before throwing it to the ground. His long hair obscured his face as he hung his head, his shoulders sagging. He pulled the mail vest over his head and let it also drop to the ground, its purpose served.

"In you go, Doln," Ralta said, shoving him roughly from behind. "Back to your station." The guards on the door smirked at that, as Captain Doln disappeared, almost falling into the dark of the great hall. "As for you," Ralta continued, "Kandorl, wasn't it? You'll talk to Septaln now. He'll want to hear all you've got to say about Braster and this equipment of yours. The rest of you are in the care of these two. Maybe they'll take you over to the funnel?" One of the guards laughed out loud at that and gave Ralta a mock salute.

"Please. Just let us go," Medral said. With an effort she managed to feign an air of authority. "There's no need to harm us. We'll not cause you any trouble. We'll just get on our way."

"Medral, they're not going to listen," Wrald said calmly. Although he spoke through gritted teeth, he gently placed a comforting hand on Medral's shoulder. Kandorl noticed his friend's face was crimson now, his one good eye as bloodshot as the guards. If they did take them to this funnel, he feared his friend would lose what little control he had and then he would burn them all.

Kandorl took a step towards Wrald just as Ralta walked over to put his face within an inch of Medral's, his crossbow now resting casually across his shoulder. "Let's get you tied and gagged, shall we?" he said before stalking towards Kandorl. "In. Now." He grabbed Kandorl by the back of his tunic before dragging him through the doors. As Kandorl stumbled backwards, he looked over to see Siana rest her hand on Wrald's arm. Kandorl just caught her leaning in towards him to whisper something in his ear, her words causing Wrald to close his eye and exhale a long breath. Then both were lost from Kandorl's sight, as laughing, the guards closed in.

*

The inside of the hall was cool and dark and reeked of decay. No fire burned in the hearths at either end of the long building, and the great brown and yellow tapestries had been taken from the pillars lining the hallway, and were now hung over the long windows, blocking out the light. One massive bench table ran down the centre of the room with chandelier candle holders hung above it, and only the furthest from Kandorl held any candles that had been lit. To either side of the table were overturned barrels with their contents scattered on the carpeted flagstone flooring and left to rot. His sense of trepidation grew as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. Bandits who had successfully taken a fort from the baron should surely be feasting and celebrating. His mind raced as he began to make out what looked like a man and a woman in the dim light, sat at the far end of the table. He wondered why these two, both presumably recognised as the leaders, had gone to such effort to keep themselves away from their men, sat alone in the unnatural dark of their claimed great hall. As he passed one of the pillars, Kandorl looked down to see Captain Doln leaning up against it. The sorry-looking man peered up through his hair as he clasped a shackle around his own ankle. He held Kandorl's gaze for a few seconds before dropping his head back towards the floor.

Kandorl let himself be dragged onwards. His fear sapped his energy and he doubted he would have been able to fight back anyway. The laboured breathing of the couple sat at the end of the table grew louder, causing a carousel of horrific images to pass through his mind. The figures simply waited, unmoving as they watched him approach.

"Think you'll want to talk to this one, Septaln," Ralta said, addressing the darkness. "Says he knows Braster. Says he's here to pick up a cache of weapons or some such. He's got a group with him too. Malk's showing them the funnel."

"Come over here and sit," the man replied, his deep voice rumbling from the dark, as Ralta pushed Kandorl further along the table before quickly stepping back.

As Kandorl stumbled forwards, he glanced at Septaln, who was now clearly visible. He was dressed in a fine black and red silk tunic and looked a powerfully muscled man, and maybe only a few years older than Kandorl himself. He wore his long fair hair tied in a tail and the sides of his head shaved. Drawn on both sides of his head in dark ink was a circular picture of what seemed to be a spirit curled around like a snake, devouring itself. The man's head and neck were covered in lesions which festered and wept, and he absently dabbed at them with the ends of his fingers as he watched Kandorl, his gem-encrusted gold rings glinting when they caught the light of the candles. The woman sitting around the table to the left of Septaln wore a matching red and black silk gown and she was as beautiful as he was handsome. Long fair hair, which she wore down, framed her face and drawn on her cheek was a picture which matched Septaln's perfectly, seemingly drawn by the same skilful hand. As Septaln motioned for him to sit, Kandorl stepped gingerly over the bench seat and lowered himself down. He kept looking ahead at the table in front of him, not daring to look up at either the man or the woman even as they regarded him like children watching an insect, and deciding on how best to crush it. Among the still-full bottles of wine, the table was covered in drawings of the woman, some unfinished, some complete. Kandorl gaped, noticing in most she was almost completely undressed, and in many she was contorted in obscene poses. For a while they left him to sit still in the quiet of the dark room, with him painfully aware of both of them staring at him. Eventually the silence was broken by the woman's laugh, startling Kandorl and making him look up at her before he could stop himself. Instead of the melodic voice he would have expected from a woman with her beauty, her laugh was instead one long wheeze which quickly turned into a fit of coughing. Blood appeared at the corners of her mouth, which she hurriedly dabbed away with a cloth pulled from the sleeve of her gown.

"The fool brings you joy, Septia?" Septaln said, his lip curling as he glanced quickly at the woman's bloodied cloth.

"He does, simply because he clearly has the worst luck. Worse even than ours." The woman replied, folding the cloth and sliding it back up her sleeve.

"Luck? I would name it as it is, stupidity. Maybe madness." Septaln whispered the last word, plainly sneering now at the fair-haired woman before turning to Kandorl. "Before we talk of these friends of yours, you're going to tell me what misfortune brought you to my fort. You say you know Braster? Well if that's so then you will tell me where the bastard is. Then you can tell me what it is you think is hidden here, this cache you seek."

Kandorl cleared his throat and did his best to meet Septaln's eyes. Even in the low light of the hall, he could see they rivalled the guards for their fevered intensity and he found it increasingly hard to focus as he desperately sought the answer which would end this with them all being allowed to walk away.

"I'm looking for Braster. Our lord, Lord Petran that is, he's been murdered. Braster brought back his corpse and then left. I haven't seen Braster for months so we thought we'd go where we thought he'd be." Kandorl realised he was stumbling over his words, his shaking voice betrayed his nerves and he looked from Septaln to Septia, awaiting her laugh. The woman's smile split her face in a grin as she watched him struggle and, despite himself, he let his gaze linger on the woman. Her smile simply made her already beautiful face, stunning.

"And you thought he'd be here, in my fort?" Septaln asked. All cruel mirth vanished from Septia's face as she suddenly turned to stare at her partner. Her eyes shone a clear green, as alluring as her smile, but there was also a passing glimmer, both devious and calculating. Although Kandorl had begun to doubt her sanity, there was no hint of the same fever that gripped Septaln lying beneath that beauty.

"Our fort, my light," Septia whispered. "Don't forget whose actions it was that got us here." The cloth appeared back in her hand and this time she used it to mop sweat from her brow. Kandorl himself felt a chill in the air, even beyond that created by these two and the looming presence of Ralta, who had moved back to be silhouetted by the daylight coming through the open doors. "You see, fool," she continued, addressing Kandorl now, her voice filling with pride, "I have the gift; I could take your life now, channel it out of you as you sit there gaping at me. Do you wonder what I would get in return? Apart from the pleasure of watching you wilt? I am rewarded with health, youth, beauty. Forever." She suppressed her laugh before it could cause her another spasm, instead leaning across the table, the lids flickering as her eyes rolled back in her head.

"And what of my health?" Septaln replied, frowning back at her. "One moment of monumental stupidity followed quickly by another."

"Be wary now, my light, and choose your next words carefully," Septia said, holding up a hand in warning. "The whore deserved all she got."

"Pushing that diseased wretch down the well for not bowing or for not calling you lady, I forget, which one was it? Is that the reason I now slowly rot?!" Septaln shouted as he smashed his fist into the table, making the bottles jump and roll about. "Then, you make no mention of it. So we continue to drink from it. And you damn well call him fool!"

"Septaln," Ralta called from the doorway, taking his attention from a seething Septia. "There's one with him who says she's got the gift. Says she can heal."

Septaln whirled around to face Kandorl. "Is this true?"

"Yes. Yes, it's true. We can heal you. All of you, if you would like. In return I only ask that if you wish to hold me, you may. Just please let my companions go," Kandorl replied, unashamed that he pleaded with these monsters.

"So, as you see my light. It'll all be fine, just as I said it would be," Septia whispered, slowing her breathing to regain her previous calm.

"You will show me which one of you can heal," Septaln commanded. He waited for Kandorl to nod in reply before staring down the hall towards the light; his fair eyebrows were raised, perhaps seeing hope for the first time.

"But first, we discuss Braster." Septia almost spat as she said the name. "Then we find out where this trove is we've been sitting on for these weeks."

Septaln's eyes came back into focus, bringing him back from watching whatever scene had been playing out in his mind. "Yes. Yes, imagine the treasures it might hold," he said, his eyes brightening. "So you thought the bastard was here." Septaln winced as he touched one of the sores on his throat and swallowed hard, taking in a long breath before continuing. "He is not. If he were, his corpse would be lodged at the bottom of the funnel or decorating one of the walls. Do you know who he is to us? He's the bastard we've been fighting for all these years. A powerful foe, undeniably, but so are we. More so in fact, as we are many. As for your lord, Braster didn't get to Petran in time, did he? As I say, he is only one man. An island."

Septaln's words hit Kandorl like hammer blows as he realised these were the people Braster had been fighting, and now he was trapped here as their prisoner. But it wasn't only that. He had also led his companions here to share his fate.

"Who are you? Hungry ghosts?" Kandorl asked before he could stop himself.

Septia's eyes bulged as she thrust her hand across the table, painfully grabbing Kandorl's wrist. Her long nails sank slowly into his flesh, causing him to grit his teeth, determined not to let the pain show. "Have you realised your misfortune yet, whelp? You crawl from under your stone then naively blunder your way here to ask after the enemy of the people now holding you captive. You freely tell that you are here to join that enemy, in his fight against us. The only reason you are still alive is that you say we are sitting on a cache, some trove left behind by one of the most powerful men in Aledin." Bloody spittle formed at the corners of Septia's mouth as she spoke, and flecks of it sprayed Kandorl's face. As she continued, the wheezing laugh starting again. "You've also brought sustenance to me, saving me the effort of finding it for myself. When I'm finished with your friends, Septaln here will have his pleasure. And there you sit, wide-eyed and full of hope. You've walked your little group of companions to their demise!"

As Septia laughed, Kandorl thought for a moment that the woman may have read his mind. She threw back her head to laugh, but instead choked as blood ran from the corners of her mouth. She gasped as she struggled for air and her back arched, as if she too was about to turn as Lady Petran had. Kandorl pulled away from her, despite her nails breaking his skin as she sought to increase her grip on his wrist. Septia stood, leaning with her forearms on the table and retched, stringy blood spilling out from her closed mouth to pool on the surface of the table. Finally, she gained control of herself as the fit passed and spat more than once into her cloth, which was now almost completely red.

Septaln leant forward on the table, turning away from Septia and offering no help to the woman. Instead, he stared intently at Kandorl. "We are the Revenants, you naive fool," he said. "But enough. This cache, tell me where it is!"

"Yes, and what is it?" Septia added eagerly from behind her bloodied cloth.

"I don't know," Kandorl replied, looking only at the table. The black and white pictures of Septia were now dotted in red. "I was only told it was here and that I was supposed to ask for it. Please," he said, looking up imploringly into Septaln's eyes. Of the two, the man seemed the most reasonable, although that was like comparing one viper with another. "You can have everything that's there. Just please, let them go."

"Doln!" Septaln called abruptly. "Drag your chains over here, captain. You're going to tell us exactly where this cache is, and why you neglected to mention it."

"Yes, and if you tell us where it is, I may feed from you, rather than your beloved Elaenia," Septia added, her voice measured. She took her seat heavily before setting about straightening her hair.

Kandorl heard the sounds of chains moving, the links clattering against each other. He caught movement in the half-light from where Doln had been laying against the pillar. The man came into view, shuffling forward slowly, his chains dragging across the floor behind him. As he entered the light, he portrayed a broken figure, like a man with no hope walking to the gallows, his head hanging in defeat. He came to a halt to stand before Septaln, who regarded him eagerly, forefinger tapping the gold signet ring on his right hand.

"Eyes forward, captain," Septaln said mockingly. Doln raised his head and stared straight ahead, not meeting his captor's gaze. Doln's face was sheathed in sweat and as Kandorl studied the moustached man, he noticed how his tunic and breeches hung from his body. He ground his teeth and with a great effort stood straight, as if to attention. His defiance still lingered, like he held onto that alone. Kandorl took a tiny amount of comfort from that and sat a little straighter himself.

"Doln. One simple question, and remember that if you don't want your Elaenia to suffer any further, you will answer truthfully," Septaln said slowly, his voice wavering as he spoke. "What has Braster left for his ward here?" Kandorl watched, waiting for Doln's response. The captain's gaze flickered down to regard Septaln. Kandorl suspected the captain has also noticed Septaln was beginning to tire. Whatever illness he had contracted from the poisoned well water seemed to be taking its toll. The darkness of the great hall and the untouched food suddenly made sense.

"Back, long before you came, Braster visited, bringing with him a cart," Doln whispered. "On that cart was a selection of weapons and affects. His request was that I allowed him to keep it here, in secret, and that I would see to it that his ward Kandorl would take what he needed when the time came." Doln glanced down at Septaln, who sat leaning backwards in his chair, regarding him through hooded eyes.

"And what of gold? Treasures? He must have left the whelp some of the wealth he's amassed?" As Septia spoke, Doln turned to regard her. His eyes burned with something fiercer than any fever. The captain strained against his bonds, his face twisted, making his hatred for the woman plain.

"Gold? There's some, yes," Doln replied through gritted teeth. "But never enough, not for you. You could be sat on a hoard big enough to buy a kingdom and you'd still need more." Kandorl swallowed as Doln's voice grew bolder, almost shouting at the woman who regarded him with the same alluring smile, albeit ruined now by the blood which stained her chin and throat. "When will it be enough witch? When will you reach a point in your futile existence when you're sated? When every dumb creature in the world exists simply to applaud your beauty?" Doln continued, his tirade unrelenting. Kandorl doubted the man could stop now, even had he wanted to. "Will it even be enough to live in a palace of gold? As cold, empty and fake as you are yourself? You may have taken my health but it is you who sickens, witch. You are pestilence, a scourge. You are grotesque to all, and in all regards!" Doln reached out towards Septia, his hands balling into fists as if he meant to strike her. Finally he lowered his hands as all his defiance seemed to seep out of him, as if the anger and hatred that had fuelled it had all been burned through. It was replaced with a profound sense of defeat that made Kandorl feel as if the same spark had died in him too.

Septia stood and walked behind Septaln, who now sat with his head resting on his forearms on the table, her red and black gown trailing behind her. She wouldn't have looked out of place in a royal court, with her head held high and her hands clasped together at her waist. She came face to face with Doln, and although a half-head shorter than him, she appeared the greater in stature, her confidence making her seem taller as she revelled in her position of power. Now she was much closer to him, Kandorl couldn't help but study her face once he was sure that her attention was fully on the captain. The light revealed a surprisingly aged face, suddenly with too much skin, as if the bone structure beneath had shrunk. She was still undeniably beautiful, almost as captivating as before, but the skin hanging in creases around her mouth and eyes startled Kandorl, the lines seeming to deepen even as he watched. Her light hair was now lank, its colour faded. It hung in matted clumps, as dark as the shadows surrounding her eyes.

"Grotesque," Septia whispered the word as if it was a curse. She pressed herself close to Doln, who still looked beyond her, refusing to meet her stare. "What is grotesque is that thing you once knew as Elaenia." She reached up to run her fingers down his cheek, pulling his face down to hers. He barely flinched at her nails piercing his skin and stared into her eyes, unblinking.

"Do not speak her name," he said.

"If you want there to be anything left to save of your beloved," Septia whispered and left her mouth slightly open as she spoke, her sensuality strong and teasing, despite her blood-stained teeth, "you will tell me where these treasures are hidden. She has proved a resilient woman, but she suffers and she will break in the end, but it will be when I choose to break her. I have that power. Do you realise it is you that has caused all her suffering?" she asked softly, placing her hands on either side of his head. "I remember you defending her, standing by her side, cape and hair flying in the wind like some kind of hero." She chuckled softly as she continued. "You sealed her fate that day, you fool. She would be gone now, she wouldn't have suffered so. Instead she begs for us to end her, and it really would be the kinder option. You believe me to be grotesque? Maybe we should let you see. I wonder if you'd even recognise it. Now, tell me. This treasure, where is it?!"

For a second the captain's mask slipped, momentarily revealing the extent of his anguish. Kandorl himself swallowed hard, unable to prevent himself from drawing comparisons with himself and someone he cared so deeply for. He closed his eyes as he pictured Siana.

"It is hidden in a cellar beneath the ruins of the barracks he had pulled down to build that torture device," Doln said before taking a deep breath and nodding towards the sleeping Septaln. "You'll find a trapdoor in the ground which opens up into a void beneath the floor. Underneath all that rubble, in that room, are the riches you desire." Doln tried to raise his hands to cover his eyes as he finally lost his battle. Septia simply tugged his chains back down as she intently watched him break. "Please, Septia. Take what you need from me," Doln added as he sobbed, "if she can't be sent then let Elaenia go, at least let her suffering end. I'll do all you ask of me."

Septia nodded slowly, pouting to emulate her false pity. "Of course I will. You've done all we could possibly ask of you. You've kept our presence hidden, kept the baron's suspicions from growing. You've even brought us more guests! A healer for Septaln, nourishment for me. I'll do as you ask, I'll take from you, not poor Elaenia, and I'll tell you the truth that you so undoubtedly deserve." The tendons in her hands stood out as she clasped Doln's head, looking deeply into his eyes as if she watched for something. "Elaenia died on the first week we took your fort. I fed too much. I'm sorry, Handrin, she was just too fucking weak."

Septia held Doln's head in her hands as he thrashed from side to side, trying to pull away from her grasp. "But I'll accept your kind offer," she said as Doln howled, the veins in his face throbbing as Septia's hands started to glow a bilious green. Her skin tightened, the lines disappearing and the blood from her mouth drying before flaking off. The more her eyes sparkled, the more his dimmed.

"Not too much if you please, my lady," Ralta said from close behind Kandorl. "We'll need him yet."

Septia turned quickly to stare past Kandorl. Her hair, now light again, fanned out behind her as she spun her head. She let Doln fall down against the table, used and discarded. "Yes, as you say. We may need him yet. I too must rest now," she said and walked back to the far end of the table. "Chain these two together, Ralta. When we awake we'll find this healer. In the meantime, find that cache!" Septia stepped over Doln's prone body and sat heavily on Septaln's lap, arms wrapped around his neck.

"Bedtime, captain," Ralta said as he bent down to violently jerk the chain holding Doln, causing the man to stir. "Get some rest whilst you wait for the lord and lady to awake. They'll want you both fresh for later." He grinned at Kandorl as he pulled roughly at Doln, dragging him back across the floor. "Enjoy the moment, boy. Come the night, you'll be begging to be back in those chains!"

Chapter 9

Wheel of Fortune

"Kandorl. Kandorl, listen to me," Captain Doln whispered. "It's dark now, they'll be taking us outside soon." Kandorl shifted his weight as he lay against the pillar, also shackled and chained. He leant closer to Doln and nodded to show he was listening, afraid to make any noise. No light shone through the double doors at the end of the hall, confirming night had fallen. For the past few hours he had sat listening to Doln breathing next to him, asleep and recovering from the toll Septia had taken. Their two captors hadn't shown any signs of movement either, like a sculpture of two lovers, they lay in the same position they had been in earlier, with Septia's arms still draped around Septaln's neck. Even in sleep, they still maintained an empty pretence of beauty and love. The carpeted flagstones of the great hall seemed to ripple, moving back and forth in the darkness. The candles had long since burned out and Kandorl missed even their meagre light. The blades of black smoke had appeared some time before and now, as if in reaction to Doln's words, they threatened to grow and converge as Kandorl lay petrified, waiting for their attack. His breath came quickly and his heart raced as he wondered whether the smoke would build and consume him before his captors awoke and began their cruel games. Doln's voice provided a small comfort in the dark, a single bare thread to cling onto as he felt himself teetering on the edge of a pit, just waiting to fall in. Mercifully, Ralta had left them almost as soon as Kandorl had been placed next to Doln, when the light of day had still shown at the end of the hall. He hoped he had gone to start unearthing the room the captain had described earlier. He hoped that was what all the guards had gone to do, leaving his companions alone, unharmed. For the time being at least, he thought miserably.

"I've lost, boy. There's nothing to keep me alive any more," Doln continued, his face close to Kandorl so only he could hear. "But there will be an opportunity, there always is. Look for it and when it comes, you fight. They've taken everything from me but I still have enough strength remaining to aid you. I seek revenge now, Kandorl. That's all they've left me with. Watch for that moment, and when it comes, strike. Don't spend your last days as I have."

"We're not soldiers, captain. I'm not sure if we can fight against armed men," Kandorl replied, feeling as if the drop into the pit would come at any moment. "Maybe they'll let us go if we bargain with them? Medral can heal him, and the rest of them. She could heal Septia too."

"You think they'll bargain with you?" Doln asked fiercely, as Kandorl felt the man's hands come to rest on his shoulders. "They are animals, worse. They do all this for pleasure, for their aggrandisement. The more they take and force their will on you, the more they want. They'll never stop. You really think they'll just let you walk out of here? This fort is theirs, it defines them. They think if Dracia mobilises that this will put them out of its reach, like Dracia will somehow respect them too much." Doln paused, breathing hard. He only continued once he had recovered and spoke in a soft whisper as he became calm once more. "But eventually the baron will come. I'm not going to be able to hide them from him any more. I have no reason to now that Elaenia ... " He broke off as his voice cracked.

Once again Kandorl felt for the man next to him. He imagined how he would feel, if for weeks they had held someone he cared for below, all the while not knowing for sure whether they still lived. He thought of Siana, bound, tortured and fed upon both by the guards in their own sick way, and by Septia in hers. The tendrils grew and licked towards him, clumping together as they formed groups and stretched their way closer. He tried to push himself further around the column to get away, making the chains that held him rattle, echoing in the great hall as they pierced the silence.

"Be still," Doln whispered. "You have to focus. Focus on me. You may yet survive and if so I need you to know something." Kandorl forced himself to close his eyes and think only of the man's voice.

"OK, tell me what it is," Kandorl replied, his whisper drawn out between breaths.

"They're looking in the wrong place. I lied. Listen, Kandorl. Braster made sure he provided you and whoever you were with, with the equipment you'd need, but he did leave you something else. He wanted you to know how to find him. He knew one day you would need to and I believe he always wanted you to. The equipment is in one of the cells in the guardhouse, the one they are using to hold Elaenia. The one they were using to hold Elaenia," he corrected and sniffed loudly before continuing. "In her cell, that's where the trap door is. Take all you need, Elaenia too. Take her down and bury her. I know she wasn't sent, I know she went badly. Oh, so badly." He sniffed again and Kandorl was momentarily grateful for the dark. "But please, bury her away from this place. Let her be somewhere beautiful. I assure you she deserves it. I don't understand, had you known her ... "

"You too may survive, captain," Kandorl interrupted, speaking through gritted teeth as he looked down to see the tendrils wrapping around his torso and starting to contract. "You can release her, and Septia may have lied. She may still live."

"Don't give me that hope!" Doln said, now painfully clenching Kandorl's shoulder. "I can't go back to hope! She's gone! So please, enough of that. No more. Just swear you'll do as I ask. I don't plan on seeing the dawn, I don't plan on living past seeing that bastard and his witch ended. We'll all go badly together and I'll be happy to do so."

Kandorl wished Braster were here. He allowed himself to briefly dwell in the fantasy that he'd turn up at the last, and rescue them all like a hero from a tale. The tendrils flickered back as if struck. He once again leant into Doln. "Captain? About Braster. Do you know how to find him?"

Doln shifted his legs then cursed as his chains rattled loudly. "Yes, I was to tell you where to look for him. I'm sorry, my mind feels diminished. It's been months since we last spoke but he said you must go to the Mount. You know where that is?"

"No," Kandorl replied, "I've only heard of it. That's where the king is?"

"That's right. He said to go there, to ask for the king's protection as Braster's ward. Tell them you are seeking him and they will get a message to him, if he's not there already. Braster is a powerful ally of the king. His champion, and a hero of Aledin. And he's fought these Revenants all these years. In that way he's a law unto himself. The king never delivers the final blow though, never really allows him to destroy them. What these bastards say is true: Braster is powerful but he's only one man. If he's not at the Mount when you get there, wait for him. He'll be due to return. As I say, he wanted you to find him. He wanted it to be your choice. In the cell with the other equipment is an old map which marks the Mount. It won't be easy to find but he said to go there if all else fails."

"Thank you, captain," Kandorl replied. The Mount seemed so far away, but if he managed somehow to escape these Revenants, he would gladly undertake the journey. Aledin was a much more dangerous place than he imagined, even this close to Blackford. And that was before the invasion came. "I need to find him. These people. The invasion. It's coming, and soon. I've seen the signs."

"I know. I understand, Kandorl. It is coming, nobody knows when, but it is. There's nothing even Braster can do about that, but for you, it would be better to have him around than not. I understand," he repeated as he gently squeezed Kandorl's shoulder. "He shouldn't have left you alone. You're his ward. He didn't finish what he started."

"I don't understand. It's a fact. We'll all be taken, and soon. What I can't stand are the people just ignoring it, carrying on like nothing's coming."

"I hope you find him, Kandorl."

Kandorl shook his head in the dark. Braster has done nothing wrong. What did Doln mean he hasn't finished what he's started? He showed me the truth. He quickly dismissed what Doln had said and turned back to looking across the floor. The smoke was swelling still, rising and falling in waves. He looked away, back to Doln.

"There's someone else, captain," Kandorl said, swallowing hard and closing his eyes. "There's a man from our village, Jon Blent. He says he knows you?" Anything to take his thoughts off the smoke.

"Blent? Yes, and he's a farmer now?" Doln asked, and Kandorl thought he heard a touch of mirth in his voice. "He used to serve. I hear he commands nothing more than the sheep in his field now, and they aren't too interested in listening."

"Yes, old Jon Blent of Blackford. And a soldier in the baron's army? You're right, I can't believe it," Kandorl whispered. "He said Braster would have gone to Petran's tower, to find those that killed him."

"Then by all means try there. But remember the Mount, Kandorl. That's where he'll ultimately be." After a pause, Doln quietly clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Blent wasn't just a soldier, Kandorl. He was my superior, if you can believe that. A Master Sargent. Always said he'd end up with his own farm, if he survived. Well, he earnt it."

Kandorl paused as he clutched at his chest. He needed to keep talking, needed to distract himself from the smoke trying to penetrate his chest, trying to clutch at his racing heart. An image of his friends sliding into the funnel, as these Revenants called it, came unwelcome to his mind. He felt a sudden guilt at his own luck, despite what Septia thought, at being brought in here, escaping their fate. The others could all be gone now. He tensed against his chains at the thought and his chest began to tighten, his breaths coming quicker. He could feel his hands starting to clench, his jaw extending painfully and starting to lock. He tried to focus back on Doln, back on their conversation, anything to keep from being consumed. Doln had spoken of hope, like it was an enemy and that it could only be cruelly dashed. Kandorl realised he had to keep them both from giving up. The moment to save themselves may come, and if it did, his friends would be depending on him. Still the smoke came.

"Jon Blent said not to ask," Kandorl whispered. "He said you had a nickname. Trips. Why did he call you Trips?"

"Trips? Ha! As I said, he was my Master Sargent. Gave us all names like that. Trips is what he called me, what all my unit called me. It's because I fell over dancing with the baroness at her name day celebration, years back. I was younger than you at the time and she was even more beautiful then than she is now. The baron saw me gape every time she came into sight, so first opportunity, he suggested I should dance with her. I was so nervous I'm surprised she didn't slip over herself in the pool of sweat we were dancing in. Anyway, at a nod from the baron she gave me a little peck on the cheek, in front of everyone there. When I'd stopped seeing stars, I looked up to see her concerned face looking down at me and ten more laughing mercilessly. They said I'd tripped over my tongue, the way it was lolling out of my mouth. I hadn't of course. I'd passed clean out."

Kandorl surprised himself as he managed a wheezing laugh at that, and for a moment he thought the sound may be Septia, stirring from her sleep.

"Captain, do you really think we'll get away from here?" Kandorl asked desperately. His body felt light, as if he were falling, down into the pit. The urge to fight was diminishing; he simply longed for the ordeal to end, however it would.

"As I say, when you see a chance, take it. Be sure that I'll do the same." Doln raised his hands, making his chains rattle loudly. "To hell with it. I'll not sit here any more, chained like a beast. Be ready, Kandorl. You're Braster's ward. I intend on getting you free of this place."

From within the dark, Septaln murmured as he awoke, which turned to a cry of pain. Kandorl heard a chair sliding across the stone floor as the man stood, and a curse from Septia as she was displaced from his lap.

"Get off me, woman! You let me sleep this long past dusk? With a healer here? Damn you!" Septaln shouted. Kandorl listened to the sound of Septaln's boots thudding against the carpeted floor and then striking the flagstones as he came closer, making Kandorl scrabble out of his way. Out of the darkness he saw Septaln stalking down the hall with his hand once again pressed to his neck, dabbing at his wounds. "Get up, Doln!" he shouted angrily as he passed.

The captain struggled to his feet, grabbing Kandorl under the arm and pulling him up too, up through the smoke which snaked after him, unwilling to give up its prize so easily. Doln felt surprisingly strong, despite the ordeal he had been through. In full health he must have been formidable. Kandorl hoped that his strength would remain a while longer.

"What's the matter with you?" Doln whispered, "you'll be no good frozen with fear. Snap out of it, boy!" Kandorl could feel numbness spreading from his chest into the rest of his body. He leant heavily on the shorter man as he stood, wavering.

Septaln's footfalls fell silent as he came to a halt and called through the double doors to Ralta, commanding him to present himself. Kandorl heard the creak of hinges as a chest was opened, followed shortly by the sound of metal clanking and straps being fastened as Septaln donned his armour. He pictured the armour as he swayed back and forth, wondered whether it would fit him, whether he himself would be able to fight in heavy. He thought back to training. He'd only ever trained in medium when at the Pell, guided by Braster. Always in medium, never heavy. He wondered if there was a sword or even daggers he could grab on the way through, whether Draefan still had another dagger hidden on him, whether he would be able to free his companions. He tried again to remember his training, irrelevant images flashing through his mind. One against four guards, two if Doln could fight. He looked down at Doln, his face close to his. He was moving his mouth. Kandorl shook his head, trying to hear past the thundering of his heart. The man wasn't just moving his mouth, he was shouting at him.

"Snap out of it!" Doln cried, long past caring now about being heard. Kandorl's head was jolted backwards, his face stung. He realised Doln had struck him. "Do your damn duty! Focus!"

Kandorl looked down to see his hands clasped around Doln's wrists, forcing them to his sides. He didn't want to be hit again. Slowly, he released his grip and stood back, the numb feeling was passing and he breathed regular breaths, calm gradually returning. "OK, Doln. I'm all right," he said, taking a step back from the man.

Ralta appeared behind Doln, smears of dirt on his fat face visible in the light of the box lantern he carried. Kandorl could smell the sweat on him and his thin dark hair was slicked back with it. He's been working, Kandorl thought gratefully. Doln grunted as the bigger man shoved him hard against the pillar before reaching down to unlock his and Kandorl's shackles, including those around Kandorl's wrists. As Kandorl stepped out of his, he saw Septia breeze past behind Ralta. It seemed as if she floated down the hallway, her feet hidden now by a long cloak which was fully fastened at the front, red silk embroidered with gold scrolling adorning the hem. Her almost-white hair was tied elaborately in red ribbons which matched the colouring of her cloak and it lashed behind her like a flail as she turned to regard Kandorl as she passed. She smiled horribly, revealing teeth once more stained with blood, which she covered by pulling a silk neckerchief up to her nose, concealing the bottom part of her face.

"Get moving, you two," Ralta said, pushing Doln, then Kandorl in front of him. Septia and Septaln stood at the front of the hall now, lit up by the torches held by the two guards who stood at the door.

"Bring a light in here. Just the one, you fool!" Septia called out. One of the guards presented himself, holding his torch up to the pair, and Kandorl saw they now stood facing one another, checking each other over. Septaln had donned a silver breastplate which shone in the light of the torch, and around his neck he too wore a neckerchief, which served to hide his lesions. He also had on a cloak, the red matching Septia's which she fussed over, arranging it so it didn't obscure his armour below. For his part, Septaln arranged her hair so that it fell down the centre of her back, her ribbons just so. Kandorl watched from behind Doln as the two stopped to look at each other, as if seeing a reflection of themselves in a mirror. Once satisfied, they nodded in unison, then turned to walk through the doorway, the guardsmen moving to light the way.

"You, follow now. One move out of turn and you'll lose an eye," Ralta said, holding a dagger up to Kandorl's face. "You hear that, Doln? You try anything and I start cutting him up." Doln slowly turned to regard Ralta, his eyes blank. Finally he nodded and walked on through the doors. Once outside, Kandorl shivered and turned his head away from a gust of cold wind as they walked from the great hall and around to the right. In front, Kandorl saw the funnel lit all around by torches held in sconces, struck into the ground and forming a circle of light. He looked around, desperately checking off all his companions, their hands tied behind their backs and their heads cast down as if in submission. The only person missing was Trep, and to his shame he released a long sigh of relief to see the others were all there, forming their own circle as they knelt on the stones which sloped down from around the top of the funnel. His gaze remained on Siana, who knelt between Medral and Wrald and swayed from side to side, shivering too in the cold wind. As he approached, Siana looked up at him with an unfamiliar, hard look to her eyes which disappeared as recognition dawned. Kandorl forced himself to smile at her and she responded only by looking imploringly up at him, her eyes widening. He suddenly felt as helpless as she looked, and he thought back to Doln's advice to be ready for an opportunity. As the wind sent another shiver through his body, he suddenly understood what Doln had said of hope.

The ordeal his companions had been through suddenly became apparent as Kandorl realised how long they had been sat out here, bound and not knowing when a shove from behind might send them sliding down into the mouth of the funnel to be die a slow, agonising death. He tore his gaze from Siana, as she would know if his despair took him. Draefan was on Wrald's left, flexing his feet and legs, presumably against the numbness. Theco sat next in the circle, nodding his head back and forth continuously, his gaze fixed on the hole in the ground.

As they got closer, Doln turned his head away with a look of disgust on his face. Kandorl tried to look past the captain, wondering what he had seen just as the stench hit him. It was as if his nose burned from the smell of rot and decay, which made bile rise to his throat. He choked and fought hard to keep from emptying his stomach. Behind him, Ralta retched as even he struggled with it too. The men that had guarded the hall took their places, holding their torches outstretched from their bodies as their thick woollen cloaks caught in the wind to either wrap around them or to fly out, catching the wind like sails. They moved to stand one on each side of the funnel as Ralta pushed Kandorl to his knees in the space between Theco and Medral. The big guard then motioned to Doln and they stepped back a couple of paces to Kandorl's left, Ralta still holding the box lantern in one hand and his dagger in the other, now pressed to Doln's neck.

Medral turned her head as Kandorl settled on the cold stones next to her and smiled, her face streaked with dried tears. Turning to Theco, Kandorl silently urged his friend to return his stare, but the man wouldn't look up, his bald head still nodding backwards and forwards.

"Who will be picked first?" Ralta said, laughing as he moved the lantern around in a circle, imitating a wheel of fortune and clicking his tongue each time it passed over where someone sat. Septaln absently clapped his hands together in time as he smiled back. "What thought is the worst?" Ralta continued, "that you, yourself will be trapped below, broken boned and wailing, or that one of your dear companions will suffer that fate whilst you listen on? You will soon grow to hate one another, isn't that right, Doln? Your beloved friends becoming simply the weight which pushes you further down into that rotting pit!"

"Look at us!" Septia commanded suddenly from where she stood with Septaln, behind Siana. "Enough, Ralta! Make them look before you have your fun!" She screamed when at first no one moved. The two guardsmen drew their swords and stepped forwards into the circle of friends.

"Better look at her," Wrald said through gritted teeth, just audible over the growl of the chill wind. After a few shared glances between the others around the circle, they too looked up at the woman as she glowered back, outraged at having to wait. Finally Theco lifted his head too, albeit an agonisingly long time after the others.

As they stood, beheld by their captives and guards alike, Septia and Septaln posed statuesquely, their eyes glittering. Kandorl saw that Septia smiled beneath her neckerchief as if their regard nourished her as much as Doln had. For minutes they stood, like nothing mattered apart from this moment, and that they meant to prolong it, to indulge in it. Doln looked away, the same disgust still plain on his face as on reaching the funnel. A foulness still, although now from a different source.

"Whichever one of you can heal," Septaln shouted above the wind, "speak now."

Kandorl silently urged Medral to reply. Maybe if she did heal him, he'd be held by her for a while. Maybe that would be the opportunity Doln was looking for. He looked up at the captain, who returned his stare. He nodded, his moustache twitching.

"I can heal you," Medral said proudly, "I can heal you all, if you let us go."

"Get her up! Guard, untie her and bring her to me!" Septaln said, the eagerness in his voice making it rise to almost a squeal. As Medral uneasily got to her feet, one of the guardsmen sheathed his sword and set about untying her bonds. She leant against him, her legs looking as though they'd buckle. Once untied, she was half carried over to stand before Septaln. As Septia stared at Medral as she approached, her face twisted in a sneer. Medral was easily Septia's equal in beauty, and Kandorl was glad Siana remained outside of her notice, facing away from the two captures as she was. He feared Septia would actually strike her if she saw her, or worse.

"You will answer me with my lady, beauty," Septia spat that last word, all the while searching Medral's face, seemingly transfixed. "You will heal him, yes?"

"I will try, my lady," Medral replied, "though it seems there are some things I cannot reach. I will try."

"And what of us?" Drunst said as he appeared, carrying a limp form over one shoulder. "Are we to be left to rot?" As he entered the light, Kandorl heard Medral gasp. His earlier feeling of shame returned as he recognised the unconscious Trep as the man the tall, wiry guard was carrying. Drunst walked through the circle of light and dropped the old man onto the stones and watched dispassionately as he slipped a foot towards the open maw of the funnel. Medral screamed and turned to run towards Trep, but Septia grabbed her by the hair as she passed, her head snapping backwards as she came to an abrupt, painful halt.

"He belongs down there, Septaln," Drunst began, breathing hard. He started walking over to stand next to Ralta and eyed Doln dangerously. "He's got the plague marks all over his face. Send him down there with the rest of them!"

"Then send him down!" Septaln screamed, all his posturing forgotten as he stared at Trep's burned, bloody face. "Send him, now!"

Kandorl felt the first spits of rain on his face and a rumble in the distance, off to the north. The rain drops grew in frequency until a heavy shower fell, soaking into their clothes. The sloping sides of the funnel became slick and shiny in the light from the moon and that which the flickering torches provided.

"It's not plague," Medral said miserably, her hair still held wrapped around Septia's hand, "it's just burns. He's burned, not sick. Please, I'll heal you all if you let him be, I promise."

"Lies. I won't take the risk," Septaln replied, still staring, horrified, at Trep. "If you heal me I'll finish him myself, peacefully as he sleeps. If you fail, he will suffer. We'll leave him to rot, lodged below with the other filth. Now, heal me!"

"Make him beautiful again," Septia said, first pulling Medral back by her handful of hair and then pushing her so she fell into Septaln. "Meanwhile, I'll attend to my own healing." Septia walked over to stand behind Theco, her cloak clinging to her as the rain beat down on them all and extinguished one of the torches.

Medral motioned for Septaln to lower his head. As he did so, she reached up to put her shaking hands on him, her fingers spread between his jaw and temples, obscuring his tattoos. Kandorl risked a glance over at Doln. The captain looked back down to him and nodded, just as the sound of moaning came from the top of the funnel. Kandorl looked around, following Doln's stare, to see Trep pushing against the soaked stones with both hands. He pushed himself up onto his knees, his face a ruined mask of fear.

"Help me!" Trep howled above the sound of the rain which now hammered the earth. Kandorl looked helplessly on in the growing dark as more of the torches fizzled out in the downpour while Trep grasped desperately against the stones as he slipped slowly towards the mouth of the funnel. At hearing his cry, Medral dropped her hands from Septaln's head and let the man fell to the ground to lie in a heap at Septia's feet, seemingly unconscious with Medral's healing incomplete.

"Trep? Someone help him!" Medral cried, just as Wrald flung himself forward, his arms no longer tied, and just missing Trep as the old man spun to slide down head first, his limbs sprawling as he fought in vain to prevent himself from slipping further. Wrald lay flat on his stomach on the lip of the funnel, not daring to go any further for fear of following the old man in. On his outstretched hands, Kandorl thought he saw lights flickering across his friend's fingers, lighting the stones around them.

"Get back!" Drunst shouted, "let the plagued fool go!"

Trep let out a high-pitched scream and slid further towards the darkness of the centre. Making one last attempt to stop himself falling in, he spread his arms wide across the hole, barely holding on as he lay suspended above the drop. His arms shook furiously for a few moments as all watched on, holding their breath, with the silence punctuated by the rain drumming down on the stones. Finally, the old man's strength gave way, and as his limbs wrenched back behind him, he dropped out of sight.

Septia reached over the prone form of Septaln to grab at Medral, who quickly whirled around to knock the other woman's hand away before drawing back a clenched fist, about to strike. Just then, a low moan came from way below them, making Medral hesitate as the terrible sound was amplified by the shape of the funnel, so that Kandorl believed all for miles around would hear. As intended, the old man still lived, contorted in agony and held lodged among the filth in the confines of the old well, unable to move in any direction. The moaning grew louder and was now accompanied by the sickening sound of the breaking of bones, like carrots being snapped in two.

Septia finally stopped laughing as she broke Medral's gaze and turned to stare into the almost pitch dark at the centre of the stones. The sound coming from within had changed to a much lower pitch, resembling a deep, bestial roar. Kandorl shuffled back until he pressed against Ralta, who kept him away by placing his boot in the small of his back. Kandorl turned to look up at the guard, who still held his dagger to Doln's face. The captain's eyes suddenly widened in shock and he started shrinking away, pulling himself free from Ralta, who to Kandorl's surprise, stepped back to stand alongside an equally terrified-looking Drunst. Following the captain's stare, Kandorl looked back to the funnel to see Trep climbing out of the darkness, his arms and legs bent at impossible angles and his head lolled forward on a clearly broken neck. He continued to clamber out until he stood over the hole of the funnel as all backed away from the apparition, those on their knees shifting backwards as best they could, while those standing prepared to run.

Trep's body convulsed as he stood burned and broken in the rain. His head lifted slowly to look directly at Septia, his hateful stare transfixing her, holding her in place. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened until the skin split and ripped at the sides. His jaw cracked loudly as it dislocated, and he lifted an arm to point at the woman. "Septia. You can't run, my lady. Whore. You can only do as I say." Kandorl looked quickly from the apparition to his captor. She stood completely still, petrified, her veil sucking in and out of her mouth as she panted. "I'll take everything from you, strip you bare to reveal your true nature, witch. I'll take your trinkets, your title, and your foul beauty." Trep curled his fingers, beckoning for her to move towards him and slowly she responded, like she was walking waist deep in water, struggling against his pull.

"No, you will not. You will answer to me, fool! I am Septia, the lady of this fort!" Septia said, then screamed in frustration as Trep lowered his hand on a twisted arm, forcing her to come to a halt at the edge of the funnel.

"It's too late now, lady," Trep continued, his headed lolling forward again as he spoke. With the sound of bones cracking, he lifted his head just high enough to regard Septia with his now-beady eyes. "What will be left? What are you, when all this is gone?" His voice broke off as he threw back his head and let out a long, despairing scream. Septia's arms flung out to her sides, her fine cloak and gown ripped from her body as if by invisible hands, leaving her standing in a soaked white shift, drenched almost instantly in the rain. The ribbons flew from her hair, taking great clumps with them as they pulled free, leaving bald patches which bled from the wrenching. Her rings and necklaces seemed to dissolve, melting into her until only ruined flesh remained to show they were ever there. Her back gave way as she withered, and violent coughs wracked her body, both causing her to bend double until her hands nearly touched the ground. She aged as before, but there was no healing for her now. The beautiful young lady had been replaced by an aged, sickly crone, and the rain washed away the red of her blood from the stones as she spluttered and coughed, gasping desperately for air.

"You cannot heal. You never shall again," Trep said once his scream had died off. "Do you see what you actually are? Nothing. A shell. A falsehood. Your life wasted, your being unnourished as you fed only on others, empty trinkets and empty power. You fake, fool, whore!"

"No! I ... please. This is all mine." Septia slumped to the ground, released by Trep's hold on her. She moved to wrap herself around Septaln, jolting him awake. When his eyes focused on her, he pushed her roughly back across the muddy ground, looking at her in horror and revulsion as he struggled to stand.

Trep screamed again, and this time it was filled with great pain as he looked down in disbelief at his body, still animated and hovering over the hole. For however briefly, the man Kandorl recognised had returned, and the other creature had momentarily been replaced. It simply served to make his suffering worse.

"Medral?" Trep mumbled, trying to form the words through his ruined jaw, "I can't come back."

Medral got as far as the first stones of the funnel before Septaln grabbed her by the arms and swung her around to face him. "Finish the healing!" he shouted as Medral shrunk back, the circle of torches roaring as they burst into flame.

"Release her!" Wrald shouted as he moved to stand behind Septaln. Orbs of white light surrounded hands balled into fists and held out in front of him. Kandorl looked on in horror thinking that in his rage, his friend meant to take Septaln down, no matter the cost to anyone else. Septaln stepped slowly back from Medral and raised his arms in a show of submission, all the while cringing as he watched the lights. For a moment, Wrald simply stood regarding him as he visibly struggled to contain his anger. Finally, he took in a long, deep breath and began to lower his hands.

"Burn him," Medral said softly as she pushed herself clear. A small smile played across Wrald's lips as he brought his hands together in a loud clap, pointing his fingers towards Septaln.

"Kandorl? Now!" Doln shouted from behind as Kandorl whirled around to shield his eyes as a ball of light engulfed Septaln, sending the man sprawling backwards down the slope of the funnel. He clattered into the trembling form of Trep and both men screamed as they burned before dropping down into the dark.

Remembering what Braster had taught him, Kandorl got to his feet and turned on the spot, trying to assess all that was going on around him. Doln had drawn Ralta's sword from the guard's belt and, as Kandorl watched, the captain dropped back before thrusting forward in one fluid movement to take the stunned Drunst through the neck. Uncaring that he had left his side unprotected, Doln almost invited Ralta to launch himself at him in a bid to take him down.

Behind the grappling men, a man made of smoke stalked briefly across Kandorl's vision, stopping him in his tracks as he prepared to pull Ralta off the captain. Wrald had wrapped his arms around one of the guards and held him as the light spread, burning the man alive. The man made of smoke appeared once more, briefly becoming indistinct in the flaring light. It moved away into the shadows, then turned and flowed towards Kandorl.

To Kandorl's right, Draefan and Theco were on their feet, their arms still tied behind their backs. They both faced him, Draefan shouting something that Kandorl couldn't understand over the screaming of the dying and the roaring of the torches. As the second guard ran past him in an attempt to escape, Theco kicked the man's legs from under him so he sprawled on the ground. The creature was on Kandorl now, its tendrils engulfing him, pushing him also into the earth. Dark hands pounded Kandorl's chest as he struggled against them, trying to move to where Ralta now knelt on top of Doln. Kandorl looked into the black eyes of the vile creature atop him and succumbed as the hands finally reached his heart and darkness consumed him.

*

Kandorl stood in the midst of a sprawling ruin, in the gloom of the deep woods. Groups of people huddled around piles of damp wood stacked ready for a fire, on sections of partially submerged flagstone floors, and separated into groups by the stagnant, murky water. He looked away from their blank faces as he walked through their circles. Milky, sightless eyes tracked his progress, seemingly aware of his passing. His intent was singular; he yearned for a place far off, away from here. A place of life and light, where comfort and familiarity lay. This place was cold, lifeless and appeared to hold no purpose. But Kandorl recognised there was something here; potential, the hope of a spark catching, starting a chain of events.

From one of the circles, a small woman dressed in rags just like all the others stood and approached, her face turned up to Kandorl as she blindly reached out a hand. He backed away, nervous of her touch and afraid she may trap him here, or worse, lead him to unknown places. He turned from her, picking his way across the stones as the forest thinned to reveal the shores of a lake.

Alongside him, the woman appeared and waded out into the fetid water. Her hand, still held out towards him, was the last part of her to be submerged as she was lost to the depths.

On the distant shore, the white towers of a vast city provided the backdrop as small fishing boats returned to moor alongside the many jetties stretching out into the lake. A wide track lined with statues of people Kandorl didn't recognise led up to a gate in the high city walls. On seeing the open gate, he felt a welcoming pull, a brief association of serenity coupled with a hint of a memory he couldn't recall.

He walked down across the muddy shore and out into the water. Swimming here was awkward and uncoordinated, and hands reached for him from underneath, grasping at his limbs, trying to slow him, to pull him down. Still the city pulled in its own direction but it offered a warm embrace, a contrast to the depths below. Hysteria was close, and he struggled through the water, never seeming to progress. Occasional glimpses of the shore far ahead revealed towers that had shone brightly only moments before, now growing dull as darkness descended.

He stood now on the shore, cold and wet, and his energy depleted. All the fishing boats were still and nothing and no one moved in the empty darkness. His foot slipped on the first stones of the track, which wound up towards the city wall, its gate closed. To the left, a dirt track diverted from the pathway into a copse of trees, and an entrance to a cave lay half hidden behind the brush. Inside, the floor of the cave sloped down into darkness, the fading light of day lost in moments. Kandorl became aware of others walking alongside him as he wandered lost through passageways and massive chambers lined with doorways hacked out of the stone. Some stood empty, gaping. Others had faces peering out, luminous eyes providing the only light.

Further down he travelled, all the while with someone alongside, although briefly. They changed, walking with him then leaving to be replaced by others. They spoke occasionally but it was rushed, frantic and not a language he could understand. He attempted to reply, to ask where the caves would end, whether they would they ascend, back inside the walls of the city. His destination. His sanctuary. The place he belonged.

Deeper still, bands of creatures scampered past, seemingly human but tiny, bent over and chirping as they rushed around on all fours. The pull of the city felt distant now, his purpose also, both lost to him. He was alone, and he walked on his hands now too. Kandorl was a memory and what lay at the centre was also gone, potential unfulfilled, wasted. There was just the primordial dark.

*

"Kan? Be at peace," Siana said, putting her hand on the back of his neck and pulling his head towards her. "It's Siana, Kan. Siana and Medral."

With the two women's help, Kandorl let himself be lifted and stood leaning heavily on both. In the first few moments after waking from the dream, he panicked. The women to either side of him felt as unfamiliar as his own body and surroundings. He suddenly thrashed in their grasp, just stopping himself from lashing out at them.

"I saw glimpses, truths among the muddied waters. I was, am, confused," Kandorl said as his eyes focused on Siana, who stared back as if he had lost his mind. The creature had gone, as had all the smoke. He felt cold and so very weak, as if he had slept too long and had been ripped from his slumber to be plunged into a lake of freezing water. He looked around him to get his bearings and, piece by piece, the horror of this reality replaced the other. "I'm fine," he said eventually, gently pushing himself away.

Wrald had moved away from the burned corpse at his feet, and panted as he walked over to join Draefan in pulling Theco back, stopping him from kicking the guard who had died long before. Ralta was sprawled out on the soaked ground, his eyes open and unseeing with Doln sat astride him, his sword struck through the bigger man's chest. Seeing Kandorl, Doln released the sword to grab at a hilt sticking out of his side. He rolled off the corpse to sit on the ground, his chest heaving as he struggled to draw in breath. He nodded once to Kandorl, then shut his eyes tight, grimacing against his pain.

The sound of sobbing made Kandorl turn to where Septia was pushing herself slowly to her feet. For a moment he resisted the urge to offer her his assistance, as she seemed for all the world to be simply an old lady, cold and drenched in the rain. She walked slowly, bent over with her head bowed and her gnarled hands lifted, attempting to conceal her face. She watched her feet as she stepped over her hair and ribbons, which lay around her on the ground. As she neared the funnel, she almost walked into Wrald and Draefan, who stepped back, dragging Theco with them. Turning to face Kandorl, Septia dropped her arms and lifted her head with an effort to meet his eyes.

"I curse you," she whispered before clutching her chest and bending over in a fit of coughing. When she lifted her head again, she held her chin high, her sunken eyes regarding Kandorl and then each of the others in turn. "I curse you all to live diseased, as I am now."

"You were never anything else, witch," Doln said, managing to smile between gulps of air. "You belong in there," he continued, wincing as he raised his arm to point at the funnel. "You're the pestilence on the world."

"I am nothing, now. I am no more." Septia nodded and shuffled to stand on the edge of the funnel before turning to face outwards. She ran her hands across her head and cried anew at feeling nothing but scabbed skin. She jumped backwards, landing heavily on the stones and slid down limply on her back. Without a struggle she disappeared, slipping head first into the hole.

As the wind died down and the rain abated, Kandorl and his companions stood unmoving in the low light of the pre-dawn. The only sounds were Doln's breaths coming in ever-slower gasps, and from the funnel, shrieks, which turned to sobbing moans, and then, eventually, silence.

Chapter 10

Gifts

Morning had finally arrived. The sky had lightened to the east, the rain clouds had long since passed over and birdsong heralded the end of the night. Kandorl and his companions sat to the north of the great hall, in silence around Captain Doln, his body covered in one of the blue cloaks of Radbid's true guardsmen. He hadn't seen the dawn, just as he had said he wouldn't, and had shushed Medral's pleas to let her heal him. Instead he had lain with his head on her lap, his final hours spent in peace, gazing out towards the east and his torment finally at an end. While his strength had remained, he had asked for one final act to be performed for him and Elaenia. He had requested that his remains be buried together with hers, and her body be recovered from the cell in the prison building. Find Elaenia and find Braster's stash, he had reminded Kandorl with his last words. Hours later his breathing slowed so Kandorl had to strain to hear it, then as it stopped altogether, the failing light in his eyes finally winked out, just as the light of the new day showed its promise on the distant horizon.

"Siana? It's time for us to leave," Kandorl whispered quietly, reluctant to move her from where she rested against him, her head on his shoulder. He had put this moment off long enough, finding a similar peace to Doln as he stared out towards the east with Siana pressed close to him. After the horrors of the day before, they sought comfort in one another, with any bad feeling between them forgotten. Siana murmured sleepily as she stirred, though he doubted she had slept much past fitful snatches of sleep. He doubted any of them had.

He looked around at his companions grouped closely together. No one had wanted to take shelter in any of the buildings, instead preferring to be outside where anyone advancing on the fort could be seen long before they became a threat. No one wanted to be alone with their thoughts either. Trep gone and Doln too, though Kandorl suspected he felt the latter's demise more strongly than the rest of them, having shared what he had with the man. The corpse was partially wrapped now as if ready for the ground, and its head rested still on Medral's lap. She had insisted on doing the wrapping herself, and for once no one questioned why she took so much care over it. Doln was gone, but so was Trep, and even Theco realised that Medral found her own comfort in the task, no matter how pointless. She tries to atone, Kandorl thought. She would have climbed into the funnel to pull Trep's corpse out, had we let her.

Kandorl turned to look to the north. The view of the Mithians was as clear as he had imagined. He watched, anticipating the tell-tale signs of Dracia coming to sweep across the land, consuming all in its path. He strained his eyes, believing he saw the glow of fires, far off and dotted across the hills. The thought of returning to Blackford and back to his vigil; was too terrible for him to want to dwell on. He stood quickly, shocking Siana fully awake as he took her support away, and began walking, his eyes drawn again and again to the north. He looked at his friends as he paced. He knew he had to continue on, no matter how dangerous the journey became, but as he looked at each in turn, he wondered if simply demanding they left him to do so would be the honourable thing to do. He thought again of them all sat around the funnel. The shock of losing Trep and Doln was bad enough, and the thought of any of them ending the same way was inconceivable now. He shuddered and reminded himself that they were all moral people and couldn't possibly have suffered the same fate.

His attempt at reassurance falling short, his mind wandered as he imagined them all desperately digging through the ground, trying to reach whoever Ralta had decided should be thrown into the funnel. He imagined them listening to their friend's agonising cries as they dug down with no hope of reaching them. None of them would have deserved to end. He repeated the thought as he paced, hoping it would stick. But then, did Trep or Doln deserve it either?

He sighed loudly as he absently pulled the hair on the back of his neck. Draefan looked up from where he sat with his bow across his knees, his eyes taking a while to focus as he met Kandorl's. Maybe being alone with your thoughts was something you couldn't escape, no matter how many people you surrounded yourself with. Even in the dark, the first thing Draefan had done had been to retrieve his weapons and pack from the barrel, before busying himself with sharpening the blades of his knives and replacing the bowstring. He had seen the creature, Kandorl was sure of it, and he looked as if he believed an attack would come at any moment from many sources. He also looked as if he intended to be ready for it. Nodding once, Kandorl thought to ask his friend to walk with him a while, away from the others, but before he could speak, Draefan went back to his work and his thoughts.

Kandorl pulled his heavy cloak around him, tightly wrapping himself against the chill of the early morning, and longed for the sun's heat to catch up with its light. He looked over to where Wrald sat with his hands held out towards his own orb of light he had kept alive all through the night. He was another cause for concern. He had said nothing for hours, simply staring into the orb as he made it grow with a simple spread of his fingers on one hand. During the night, the orb had surged, prompting a few gasps from those sat too close to its heat. Wrald was learning to control his gift, clearly. He marvelled at it, and Kandorl believed his mind was distracted in a way that was beyond either Draefan or Medral.

"Let's do as Doln asked, and then we'll leave this place," Kandorl said, helping Siana to her feet. "We need to go, either onwards, or back to Blackford. I'll understand if any of you don't wish to continue on with me."

Siana looked up at him as she tried to brush the dried mud from her skirts. "Is that what you want?" she asked. Kandorl couldn't understand the look of hurt that suddenly appeared on her face. Of course he didn't want them to leave, especially not her.

Wrald looked up from the light and stared at Kandorl, considering. He cupped his hands and pushed towards the orb, making it shrink, then disappear completely as he pushed his palms together. He showed no sign of pain, no sign of his flesh burning. He only looked as if he had woken from a dream. "No one's going back. None of us can now," he said eventually.

"That's right," Siana agreed. From the tone of her voice, Kandorl could tell that her hurt feelings had been quickly replaced with anger. "You can't find Braster on your own. Who knows where else these hungry ghosts are. It's not safe. I wouldn't even feel safe in Blackford, not knowing they were this close and could have come for us at any time they chose."

"Just as the invasion," Draefan said suddenly, putting his bow carefully on the dry ground around Wrald's light. "And these Revenants, they crawl over everyone to take what they can before it comes. Siana's right, there's too much danger. I for one would feel better if we found Braster. He would know of all the dangers we face," he added, looking straight at Kandorl. So I was right, he did see.

"And what will he do? Not this again, bloody hell Draefan, you're getting as bad as him," Theco said, pointing at Kandorl.

"He'd stop us blindly walking into the next trap, for one," Draefan replied, his hand still gripping his bow. For a moment, Kandorl thought he might bring it up to attack Theco, such was his anger.

"We didn't blindly walk into anything. He did. And we bloody followed!" Theco shouted, the hand of his outstretched arm forming into a fist.

He's right, Kandorl thought. I knew something was wrong here and I continued anyway. So bloody desperate to get inside the safety of the fort, I forgot everything I was taught. Braster always said to first be sure, then check again.

"You bastard, Theco," Draefan said, starting to rise from the ground.

"I'm the bastard? At least I fought! He just fell to the bloody ground. Probably been too long without a bloody drink."

"Damn it, Theco. I fought," Kandorl said, his own fury building to match his sense of injustice.

"You don't know what the hell you are talking about!" Draefan said, springing to his feet.

"Theco, Draefan. Stop," Medral said, almost shouting too. She gently moved Doln's head from her lap as she stood and reached out to take Kandorl's hands in hers. "We all came here, of our own accord. We followed, but we weren't led."

"These hungry ghosts? We'll never let them catch us like that again," Theco said, "and if we do meet them again, the only way they'll take my weapon from me is if it is lodged in their heads." For once, he spoke quietly as he reached up to run his hand over his eyes. He looked exhausted, the usual bravado now seemed hollow, as it had been finally put to the test and found wanting. "I'm sorry, Kan," he said finally, surprising everyone. "That was unfair. We know you're not strong."

"We know why you can't turn back, Kan. And we will continue to follow," Medral said, squeezing Kandorl's hands at seeing him snarl at Theco. "Wherever that takes us. Whatever we have to endure." She looked down at her hands wrapped around his, still stained with Doln's blood. She looked up quickly and smiled. "And we'll do it because we want to."

"Let's just do what we need to and leave. Now," Siana said. She clapped her hands, urging everyone to their feet, and set about organising who was to do what. She would take Medral and together they would see to Carrots, and hitch the horse to Trep's wagon ready for Draefan and Theco to lay the corpses on it. Kandorl smiled despite himself at seeing everyone scurrying at her command. He forgot his plans to talk to each of his companions in turn, to try to gently coax their troubles from them. They needed to act, not think, and Siana had managed to lift them out of whatever dark place their minds had fallen into far better than he could have. He hadn't really known where to start, especially with Medral. He found it hard to accept what had happened to Trep, let alone her. He always seemed so kind. Had what the banshee did to him changed him enough to deserve his ending?

Seeing Kandorl standing idle and staring blankly, Siana waved her hand across his eyes. "So that leaves you and Wrald," she said. "You've your own task. You made a promise, Kan. Wrald, you're to help him."

Wrald appeared instantly at his shoulder and clapped him on the back. Kandorl resisted the urge to move out of his way, fearing his touch would burn. "It won't be a pleasant task, especially on your own," Wrald said gently.

Siana shooed them off before taking Medral by the arm and heading over to the fort's stables. As Kandorl and Wrald walked past the funnel, making their way to the guardhouse, Wrald looked intently at the scorch marks which marked the trail across the stones where Septaln had stumbled into the maw of his own cruel device. At seeing a slight smile play across his friend's lips, Kandorl nudged him with his elbow and nodded towards the single-storey building as they neared, coming to stand at its studded oak door. As Kandorl slowly turned the handle and pushed the heavy door open a crack, Wrald held up one hand, palms facing upwards and his fingers curled as if he already held an orb. Kandorl looked at his friend's hand and nodded once before leaning his shoulder against the door, pushing it further open. If there was anyone waiting inside, he hoped he'd be able to jump aside before Wrald attacked. He still wasn't sure how much control his friend had actually learnt in one night.

The door creaked as it swung open under Kandorl's weight and he almost fell backwards into his friend as the stench from within the long building assaulted his nose, swiftly bringing back memories of the funnel from the night before. Before stepping inside into a long corridor which ran the length of the building, they used their cloaks to cover their noses as best they could. The corridor was bare apart from a small round table and a couple of upturned barrels, presumably used as seats, in the near corner. Scattered across the table was a deck of Tarot cards, dealt ready for a game which was never started. Of all the cell doors which lined the corridor, only one stood open. Kandorl pulled his cloak taut across his face and trudged across the filthy flagstones to peer reluctantly into the cell.

The emaciated remains of a woman hung shackled to the far wall of the cell, held suspended above the filthy sawdust which covered the floor. Her arms were so thin, it was a wonder they hadn't snapped under even the woman's reduced weight. From the smell, Kandorl could imagine she had been in here for weeks before she finally ended. She had been stripped down to just her shift, which clung to her skeletal form and her head rested on her chest. Kandorl was grateful her long hair hung to conceal her face. Lank, with streaks of white, it looked as if the colour had been drawn out of it. Septia, Kandorl thought. He moved away to draw a breath and then pointed to the open door.

"She's in there, Wrald. We should get her down," Kandorl said, moving his cloak away from his face just long enough to speak.

"What's the point, Kan? She's gone. It's just a corpse, nothing we can do for her now," Wrald replied, matter-of-factly. Kandorl thought back to Doln's request that he and Elaenia were to be buried together. He knew Doln understood they weren't to be reunited, but maybe he had held out some hope that they would be, despite not being sent.

"I don't know, Wrald. It just doesn't seem right, not putting them together," Kandorl said before quickly pushing the cloak back over his face.

"Nothing of what's happened here has been right, Kan." Wrald walked over to look through the opposite-door peephole "Doln's gone too; he asked this of us when he still ... existed. He just doesn't now." Kandorl went to reply but, before he could, Wrald put up a hand, halting him. Kandorl half expected a light to appear. "All right, Kan. We'll try. If its arms slip from those shackles, without us searching through all that," Wrald said, pointing at the floor, "and everywhere else in this hole for the bloody keys, then we'll take it down."

Nodding, Kandorl entered the cell, stepping carefully through the thin covering of soaked sawdust, and began quickly searching the floor, chancing that they might find the keys discarded by Elaenia's captors once they'd taken all they could from her. They'd taken the woman's dignity long before they'd taken her life. Finding neither keys nor a trapdoor, Kandorl and Wrald waved away the flies buzzing around the corpse as they walked over to the far wall of the cell and gently pulled one of the arms to see if it could be slipped from the shackles. Although she had withered to nearly nothing, Kandorl suspected she had been a large, strong woman when healthy. Her thick wrists supported large hands which were too big to pull through. Grimacing, Kandorl motioned to Wrald that they would not be able to release her. Wrald put his hand on Kandorl's shoulder and nodded in agreement.

Wrald was right. There was no point to this. She won't know whether her remains are here or with Doln. She's gone, Kandorl thought. As they walked back through the cell door, Kandorl turned to look one more time at the shackled body. He realised he felt something like regret at leaving her, but then he quickly turned away. The living awaited; there was no time to waste thinking on those that had gone. The sad fact was that Doln couldn't have been a good man, after all. Neither could this Elaenia, or Trep come to that. He pushed the thought away quickly. It threatened to unravel him.

"Kan, come over. There's a trapdoor in this one." Wrald turned away as he slowly pushed open the cell door opposite. "This could be what Doln intended. He lied. He just wanted us to find Elaenia."

Kandorl followed his friend through door and watched as Wrald moved sawdust aside with his foot to reveal a door in the floor, its ringed handle just poking through. With a nod, Wrald reached down and took the metal ring in his hand. He pulled hard, the strain showing on his face. After a few moments, Wrald fell backwards against the wall, wrapped in his cloak. The door flung back on itself to lay open and revealed a dark void below.

"We need light," Kandorl said, waiting as his friend got back to his feet and started smoothing his cloak back down around him. "Can you make a light?" Kandorl asked, not sure how Wrald would react.

"Yes Kan, it's probably something I can do without burning the whole place down," Wrald replied, smiling reassuringly at his friend. "It wasn't luck that kept that small fire going all night, you know." Wrald cupped his hand and held it out at arm's-length from his body. Kandorl watched as light ran down from his palm to the ends of his fingers as if it flowed through his veins. Concentrating hard, Wrald stared at his hand and smiled again as the light poured into small orbs which nestled on the ends of his fingers.

Despite himself, Kandorl stepped back as the light grew, throwing shadows across the cell. "Does it hurt you?" he asked, afraid he would see his friend's hand blacken or smell flesh burning.

Wrald looked up at him, wonder on his face. "No, not in the slightest. All these years I've ignored this, afraid I couldn't master it. What happened last night was like a dam breaking, but I'm sure it's me in control now, Kan. Look at me. Am I not calm?" Wrald smiled and spread his arms out wide. "I, we, could use this to fight those bastards if we run into them again. Now, let's see what we came here for," he finished, still smiling as he knelt to hang his hand down into the darkness.

The light illuminated long bundles wrapped in cloth which lay either side of a metal-braced, wooden lockbox in the small chamber below. Gesturing to Wrald, they both reached down and grabbed a handle on either side as they pulled it up and placed it on the floor of the cell. Wrald maintained the light while Kandorl retrieved all the bundles, and stacked them one by one against the damp stone walls of the cell.

"Let's check in there first, Kan," Wrald said, eyeing the lockbox. "The rest is weapons, and I'm not interested in weapons any more." He moved his hand closer to Kandorl, who jerked back, feeling the heat of the fire.

"I can feel its heat, yet it doesn't hurt you to hold it," Kandorl said, wondering. Apart from Medral, who was accepted in Blackford as the apothecary and healer, he'd only ever heard of a few with the gift. He assumed most would hide it or use it sparingly. There must have been many like Wrald who must have tried denying it. To have his friend display such a talent, with such freedom, was yet another shock.

"I can explain it now," Wrald said, staring into the swirling light of the orb. "You can feel its warmth as can I. But for me, it's only to a certain point. It's warming my hand the same way the fire warmed you through the night. But no more, not matter how I make it grow. What would burn you and cause you agony, only feels comfortable to me. A feeling I enjoy." To demonstrate, he opened his hand and the orb grew. Before Kandorl could reel back again, Wrald grabbed his shoulder, holding him close. "Wait, Kan. There's more. I decide. I can choose either to use it just for light, as it is now, or to use it to burn." He moved the orb closer to Kandorl who gritted his teeth as he fought his instinct to move away. No more than a pleasant warmth came from the orb.

"You are in control," Kandorl whispered, "What about normal fire?" The thought struck him suddenly and, from the frown Wrald returned, it was clear that this was the first time he'd thought of it too. "Have you ever felt a fire's heat get painful?"

"Have you? And if you say yes, then my next question is why?" he said, laughing as the orb disappeared from his hand.

Kandorl nodded before opening the latch on the lockbox and pulling back the lid. The hinges were badly rusted and the red powder covered the contents as it was disturbed. Inside, a rolled-up scroll held by a ribbon, the parchment yellowed and cracked in places, was placed between a couple of bulging coin purses, one of which Wrald hefted, raising his eyebrow at Kandorl as he felt its weight. Kandorl picked up the scroll and carefully untied the ribbon.

"It's a map," Kandorl said as he unravelled the scroll and smoothed it out on the inside of the lid. "It shows Blackford there in the corner," he continued, tracing a finger across the page, "Corimil over there, Castle Radbid there and over there is Lord Petran's Tower. Going on how long it took us to reach Radbid, I'd say it's just a day's journey, across the Black Hills. If Braster's there, Wrald ... " he looked up from the map to stare at his friend. "And if not, then the Mount is all the way over here," he finished, jabbing his finger at a point to the west.

With the bundles under their arms and the lockbox carried between them, they made their way back hastily down the corridor. Kandorl turned to give Elaenia's cell a last, lingering look before they once again emerged outside. The sun had almost fully risen, bathing Radbid in its light. Thankfully, it had also finally started to feel warm, especially after the dank cells. Kandorl shut his eyes and took in a long breath, feeling cleansed by the fresh air.

Theco and Draefan were walking back from the wagon to where Siana and Medral stood, Theco patting Carrots as he passed. Both women had their eyes closed and their hands out, holding each other's. Medral was speaking softly with Siana nodding as she listened to whatever it was Medral said. Seeing Kandorl and Wrald, Theco looked briefly at Medral and then spread his arms to show he didn't understand it either.

At the sound of them approaching, Medral opened her eyes and watched as they put the bundles and lockbox on the ground. "Where's Elaenia?" she said, frowning, "wasn't she in there?"

"She was, yes, Medral," Kandorl began and averted his eyes. Medral always seemed able to look straight into him, making him feel as if his most private thoughts were laid bare.

"Her corpse is, Medral. Shackled to the wall with no way of releasing it. Not unless we do a full search of this place for the keys," Wrald said, saving Kandorl from a flustered, guilty explanation.

"Wake up, all of you!" Kandorl jumped at hearing the unrestrained anger in Medral's voice. "Do you truly believe we should just leave her because she's what? Just waste now? Because there was no priest to send her? Do you honestly think that a person ceases to exist just because they didn't get to a priest in time? That's what did for Lady Petran, seeing her husband taken away, unseen, to be disposed of! You're all so happy just to go along, thinking that if you are moral enough, you'll fall into a priest's lap and be sent, that there's no need to upset yourself thinking any more about it? You fools. You're just like Carrot's over there, but if you need that to get you through then fine, live in your blinkered denial. Just don't expect me to be happy to treat the dead with such disrespect."

"Medral. Please, be at peace," Kandorl said, as he reached over to take her hands in his.

"Peace?" Medral almost shrieked the word as she pulled her hands away from Kandorl. "Doln found peace in believing he would be buried with Elaenia, and that we'd follow his wishes. Was he immoral? Was Trep? Did Doln really believe he deserved to end and that Elaenia did too? Of course not, and he realised that only once he had to face his beliefs, when he could no longer just conveniently ignore them."

"It's not disrespect though. It's just the way it is, Medral," Draefan said as he and Theco came to stand next to the others. "He's just a corpse, she's just a corpse. There's nothing more to it. Everyone knows you can't be sent to heaven without a priest. That's just life, Medral."

"It's true. Sacks of meat now. Nothing more. How much respect do we need to give them? We're burning Doln as it is," Theco said as he knelt down to inspect the bundles of weapons. A look of horror spread across and claimed Medral's face at hearing his words. Kandorl shook his head, his friend had absolutely no grasp of sensitivity.

"Medral?" Kandorl said as Siana stepped forward, ready to chastise Theco. "We need to accept that they are beyond caring now. We will do what we can for Doln."

"And that's for us, not him," Theco said, still oblivious to the outrage on Medral's face.

"You should take a little more care of your friend's beliefs. Even if you don't agree," Siana said, putting her hand on Medral's arm.

"It's fine," Medral said. Her face had coloured, though she no longer seemed as angry. "Sent or not sent, I believe they are at peace now. Maybe they are together. Maybe the time they had was enough. The circle ... " she exhaled loudly as she looked from Theco to Draefan and swallowed whatever she was about to say.

"This is mine," Theco said, pulling a bastard sword from its scabbard, which he threw on the ground among the discarded wrappings. Relieved at the distraction, all except Draefan stood around Theco, watching him gleefully inspect the sword. Theco moved to hold the sword in a low guard then moved forward into a quick lunge, the blade licking forwards, before returning to his original position, just as Doln should have done. Theco had excelled at the Pell training with the sword, and the larger the sword, the more comfortable he was with it. Now, he was as fluid in his movements as the captain had been, if not quite as controlled. His arm muscles bulged and his face was a mask of concentration as he began moving from stance to stance, displaying a prowess which made Kandorl question his earlier judgement of his friend's bravado. Theco could definitely fight; he had both the technique and the strength required. He also strived to be the best swordsman in Aledin, and he wanted everyone to acknowledge it.

Kandorl looked away before Theco could notice his admiration, reaching down to unwrap the largest of the remaining bundles. Inside lay a longsword in a black leather scabbard capped by a silver chape and engraved with the depiction of two candles wrapped around each other, to match the throat. Theco looked over, suddenly peeved that he had lost part of his audience, his own sword lowering slowly to the ground.

"You made your choice, Theco," Wrald said, looking on and laughing at his friend. "Less haste next time perhaps?"

Kandorl slid the blade out of its casing, inch by inch. Part of him expected to see script, lit up in fire along its length or some similarly wondrous thing. What was revealed was a length of dull iron, a sharp, well-balanced blade without doubt, but it would be forgiven to think the original sword had been stolen and replaced with this other. Until you saw the small etching on the metal that was, which showed an exact copy of the twin candles found on the scabbard.

As Kandorl turned at Theco's derisive laugh, the sun briefly caught the blade and, for an instant, his earlier fancy didn't seem so far-fetched. The blade shone as it captured the sun and as he returned it to its scabbard, it seemed to Kandorl that it had become less dull, as if it somehow had stored the light.

"Feels like daggers," Draefan mused as he picked up one of the smaller bundles, judging its weight in his hand and drawing everyone's attention. "I can always use more daggers."

"Firstly, do we know where we are going?" Siana said, sounding flustered as she gestured towards the wagon. "We'll sort through who wants what later. Could we please just leave? I'd like to get as far away from here as we can."

Siana was right, it was doing no one any good remaining here for any longer than necessary. They had all they needed. They had weapons and now coin, as well as a map.

"Yes, in the box. Braster left a map. He always told me I'd be able to find him whenever I needed him," Kandorl said as he attached the scabbard to his belt, running his finger over the twin candles on the silver. He considered himself Theco's equal in the sword; at the Pell there had never been that much between them. However, Braster had shown him a few things Theco wouldn't know from Lord Petran's militia training; he had drilled him in its use until he felt it was second nature. It seemed that it would be more than wooden dummies he would need to overcome in the near future, but having the sword on his hip went some way to reassuring him that they would never be caught out again. "Let's get all this loaded on the wagon. Siana's right, anyone can take what they need, but let's do it away from here."

"Is there gold in here too?" Theco said, picking up the lockbox as the others gathered up the remaining bundles.

"None, I'm afraid," Wrald said, clapping him on the back. "Just scrolls in there, lots and lots of boring scrolls, full of boring writing."

Once they'd loaded everything on-board, Kandorl climbed up onto the wagon seat next to Medral and flicked the reins, encouraging Carrots to start pulling. He couldn't help but glance back at the funnel, and Medral put her hand on his as she noticed. As the wagon passed through the gate they'd entered less than a day before, something Wrald had said earlier came to mind. His friend had been correct; none of them could go back now.

Chapter 11

The Many-Coloured Veil

The wagon rumbled over the hard-packed dirt of an ancient causeway lined with massive oak trees which cut a long swathe in the countryside, heading south-west. The cloud cover was slight and, even this early in the morning, Kandorl could feel the heat of the sun beating down on his back as he sat on the hard wagon seat, with Medral and Theco flanking him. Theco sat stripped to his waist, letting the sunlight seep into his skin. Everyone else had removed the travelling cloaks they had depended on so much the night before, stacking them neatly in the wagon where Doln's corpse was carefully laid at Medral's request. Medral herself leant against Kandorl's shoulder, her long, close-to-white hair tied up as she liked it, to keep it away from her neck. She fidgeted in her sleep, frowning slightly and occasionally murmured something Kandorl couldn't quite catch. She hadn't mentioned Trep nor the events of last night at all, but it was clear to them all that it had devastated her. With Castle Radbid and the Ridgeway now behind them, he hoped she could put the events of the past couple of days behind her. He hoped they all could.

The land flattened out into a grassy plain, with the sky seemingly stretching on forever and already a deep blue. Lying somewhere ahead, where the land rose to form the Black Hills, was Petran's Tower, and Kandorl reckoned they'd reach it this evening with ease, even on foot. They had already agreed that they would burn the wagon, hoping to give Doln a traditional warrior's funeral by returning his ashes to the land in a ritual which had not been seen, nor spoken about, since before the war. This again was at Medral's request, though she herself had little knowledge of the subject, and it was agreed without any spoken reluctance. It was clear to all that it would offer her comfort, even if they thought it naive.

After half the morning was spent travelling, with just one stop to make a meagre breakfast from their dwindling supplies, they left the causeway to head further south. Kandorl felt torn. The pull to return to the north was strong, with the view from Radbid having been his last opportunity to monitor movement from Dracia. But he also felt driven to find Petran's Tower. He held hope that Braster was still there and that their delay hadn't cost them the opportunity to catch up. He had to admit that he was keen to see the Mount, but he'd rather forego it if it meant joining Braster so soon. Their progress slowed to a crawl as Carrots struggled to pull the heavy wagon through the long grasses as they climbed into the dark, forested hills which gave the area its name. The land rose steeply onto a plateau dissected by deep valleys in which small hamlets nestled, with the town of Oltford laying far to the south being the only populated area after Blackford.

After a few steps more, Wrald called a halt, from where he and the others trailed behind the wagon. "This is far enough," he said, appearing around the side of Medral, who woke with a start as Kandorl pulled up on Carrot's reins a little too sharply. "This is as good a spot as any. If Medral is in agreement?"

"It's a beautiful place. I think anyone would agree," Medral said, wiping her eyes and looking around her. From their elevated position, the land matched the sky for its unbounded expansiveness, creating an endless world of vibrant green and blue with only the oaks of the causeway in the middle distance providing a scale. She covered a yawn with her hand before stretching her back and stepping down off the wagon, taking Wrald's outstretched arm.

"What happens with Carrots, Kan?" Siana asked as she walked to the front of the wagon with Draefan. As she went to kneel down among the grass, she looked to Kandorl as if she was encased in the long emerald blades and wild flowers from her feet to her shoulders.

"I suppose he'll carry on with us," Kandorl replied slowly, distracted by watching Siana. He supposed it wasn't right leaving Carrots behind, even though he didn't relish the thought of dragging the animal along with them either.

"No, he'd be better off left to his own devices," Draefan said, feeding him an apple that had gone far past ripeness. "Shouldn't take him with us. You don't know what's coming next, after all."

"He's got a point," Theco said, jumping down off the wagon to join his friends sitting on the ground. He collected his sword from where he had lodged it behind the seat of the wagon as he went. "Bloody thing will just slow us down too."

"He's back in the wild, where he belongs," Medral said, stroking Carrots' nose and shaking her head at Theco. "It's safe here too. It may not be further on." With the others nodding their agreement, Kandorl motioned to Draefan to unfasten the horse from the wagon and lead him over to an area a good distance away. While Carrots stood grazing, the lockbox, the bundles and their packs were pulled from the back of the wagon and placed on the ground, leaving just the corpse in the dark interior.

"We still need to hand out what's left of these weapons," Draefan said as he returned. Kandorl agreed, he did not intend to leave anything behind, not that which Braster had gone to the effort of providing him. Wrald was no longer interested in weaponry, with his flail presumably packed away and forgotten, whereas Kandorl, Theco and Draefan all kept their weapons close. It occurred to Kandorl that Medral and Siana should also carry something to defend themselves, as these hungry ghosts could be anywhere. They also weren't the only threat they faced, although he doubted any blade would protect any of them from the horrors he and Draefan had seen.

Unwrapping the remaining bundles revealed a pair of matching daggers as Draefan had anticipated. Their blades were long and serpentine, the likes of which none of them had seen before. Quickly snatching them up, Draefan laid claim to them before Theco could, as he sat almost caressing the sword which lay across his knees, distracting him from all else. Kandorl wouldn't have minded those daggers himself; everyone felt safer knowing they had a dagger to fall back on.

"What about me?" Siana said, getting up to walk over to where the bundles lay on the ground. "Medral can heal, you've all been trained to fight and Wrald now is probably our best defence," she said before returning his smile, "but I'm not going to stand around helpless and awaiting rescue when there's danger. I damn well want something too!" She bent down to pick up the last bundle and unravelled the cloth to find a hunting knife inside, which she pulled carefully from its sheath. She held it in both hands in front of her and looked up at Kandorl, her jaw set determinedly but betrayed by the fear in her eyes. "Will you show me how to use it?" she asked as she awkwardly thrust it forwards in a jab, trying to imitate Theco's earlier demonstration.

"Yes, of course. Take it. We should all know how to defend ourselves," Kandorl replied as he turned from Siana to look over the wagon, leaving her to put the knife away as her face coloured. "Now, we should get this under way. If Braster is at the tower, he could decide to leave. Sorry Medral, but we've got to get this done, now."

Once they had finished moving their things a safe distance away from the wagon, Medral took the cloak which covered Doln's body, as Medral would have them think of it, and pulled it down to reveal his face. Kandorl couldn't resist studying what had been Doln, despite himself. The man's skin was now ashen as Kandorl would have expected, but what made him suddenly turn his head away was that Doln's face held a serene look, as if reflecting his peace. Medral kissed Doln's forehead briefly before replacing the cloak. She came to stand with Wrald as all moved to stand close by him.

"Can you do it, Wrald?" Medral asked gently, "would you mind?"

"Of course, yes," Wrald replied, sounding a little shocked. It seemed hard for everyone, Wrald included, to get used to the idea he could produce fire at will and, accordingly, there was a sense of taboo surrounding the whole subject which Kandorl hoped wouldn't last. His friend was doing much better by embracing his gift, rather than suffer the frustration of trying to suppress it.

"Wait," Medral said quickly as Wrald began rolling back his shirt sleeves. "As the flames take him we should give thanks. He should know that we're grateful for what he did." Her words caused a few embarrassed murmurs among the others, and at first, no one was willing to sound a reply. "And Trep too. All of them. Elaenia, Lord and Lady Petran. But Trep, definitely Trep. May he be at rest and out of reach of that which haunted him."

"If that's what you want to do," Theco said, frowning. "It's no bother to me. Can't think of anything to say to a corpse though, seems a bit ... "

"Theco!" Siana hissed, cutting him off before he could continue.

"It seems right," Medral said, looking at Theco like a mother would a naive child. "No one needs say anything out loud. Just think what it is you would say if they were here."

"Or if that's beyond you, then stand quietly, thinking about yourself or some other matter which requires your attention," Wrald said, his gaze fixed on Theco, who stared back and swallowed. "Now?" he asked Medral gently, who nodded in return.

Kandorl watched as Wrald concentrated. Unlike back in the cell, it was just an instant before a flash of light produced an orb cradled in his hands. The orb built, crackling as he stretched his arms out before his body, then moved them further and further apart to allow the orb to grow. Kandorl looked at his companions. All but Medral, who stood with her eyes shut, addressing Doln and the others as if they were there with them, watched Wrald in wonder, their own words forgotten. Wrald walked forward, still holding the orb which now roared, easily drowning out Medral's gentle whispers. He slowly pushed his hands forward as if he were setting the light down and then stepped back as the wood caught alight at its touch. As it engulfed the wagon in flames, the orb sat unmoving, kept alive by Wrald's concentration alone and generating its intense heat. Soon the orb, like the wagon, was lost from sight as the fire spread and Wrald lowered his arms to his side, his work done.

As he watched the fire, Kandorl found himself thinking of Doln and the man's pain for his beloved Elaenia. He glanced over at Siana, who like everyone else now had her head cast down, either lost in thought or out of respect. He wondered for the first time whether there was a way of surviving the invasion, whether there might be a way to continue, or somewhere to run. Taking advantage of the loud roaring of the fire, he choked at the futility of that hope and joined her in hanging his head.

*

It was early afternoon before they started off; the fire had almost burnt itself out and Carrots had long disappeared from sight. Gone back to Blackford, Theco had said, uncharacteristically attempting to show some sensitivity. As they walked uphill through long grass which came up to their knees, flea darts tickled bared flesh or stuck to clothing, and butterflies flew up from where they were disturbed, fluttering up into the cloudless sky. Towards the top, they stopped to look back to where they could see the causeway far below, running all the way back to Castle Radbid. They stood awhile, enjoying the hot sun tempered by a cooling wind which blew stronger as they climbed.

Theco had insisted he should carry the lockbox as well as his sword which he strapped to his back, as he was clearly the strongest among them, and he stood shirtless now, with sweat pouring off him. His almost-continuous complaints at the surprising weight of a few scrolls had produced smiles and, in Wrald's case, outright laughter. Kandorl grinned as he thought back to when they'd unanimously agreed not to leave the thing at the bottom of the hill, with Theco taking their silence to be approval for both his request to shoulder the burden of the weighty box, as well as the ease with which he did so.

Kandorl scanned the horizon to the north, where the plains stretched onwards towards the Mithians, now very faint in the distance, but visible from here where the Ridgeway no longer blocked the view. Further to the west, dark woodland blanketed the top of the hill and beyond, where the land levelled out onto the plateau, the trees offering their cool shade and a promise of respite from the harsh sun. Beyond the woods, standing strong and proud against the sky, was Petran's Tower, and only a few hours' walk from where they were now. Around to the south, the land dropped steeply in sparsely foliaged tiers to form a valley with a fast running, narrow river sparkling in the sunlight as it cut through wide, grassy banks. As he traced the route of the river, Kandorl's eyes were drawn to a wide part of the western bank, the area cleared to allow space for many red and yellow-striped tents of all different sizes. From their vantage point, he could see people moving in dance, in every available space, their clothes as colourful as the tents.

"Is that a fair?!" Medral asked, just stopping short of clapping her hands.

"Not sure, Medral. Could it be the baron's spent all these weeks teaching his men how to dance in their bold, new armour," Wrald said, smiling and shielding his eye as he looked down into the valley. "It's worth us stocking up on supplies, Kan. Draefan's skills can't feed us all the time, and anyway, I think we'll be out of water by the end of tomorrow if this weather holds."

"Or if you keep making us walk up bloody hills," Theco chipped in irritably, before draining more of his water bottle to emphasise his point.

Kandorl looked down at the tents below, then turned back to the north. Wrald was right, they did need supplies as much as they needed something to take their minds from recalling the events at Radbid. He absently scratched at his arm as he worried over losing time, not noticing even as he broke the flesh. Will a couple of hours matter? he thought. They all had the option of going down there and not coming back, leaving him to continue on alone after all. They don't have to do a thing I say.

"Whoever wants to go down can, of course," Kandorl said, coming to a decision. "But pick up whatever you think we'll need, supplies, clothing, whatever you want. Within reason," he added, looking Theco in the eyes as he walked over to take the lockbox from him. "We have enough coin after all." Kandorl set the box down on the ground and pulled back the lid to reveal its contents.

"You bastards ..." Theco began, then grabbed one of the coin bags and pulled open its drawstrings. "There's a bloody king's ransom in here!" he cried, all thoughts of retribution gone at the sight of the large gold coins.

"Hardly that," Kandorl replied as he quickly snatched the bag from Theco's hand and handed it to a grinning Medral, "but there's enough for some necessary items."

"Are you not coming, Kan?" Siana said as she dropped her pack to the ground and looked up at him. "You should come down too. We could all use a break."

As he held her gaze, he wished he could so easily forget all about what was happening to the north, even forget finding Braster. He felt the pull of the fair, and imagined the bliss of clearing his mind and just enjoying her company, even if it would all surely have to end. He was about to agree, a few hours really couldn't hurt after all, when Draefan appeared at his side, his hand clasping his shoulder.

"We don't all need to go," Draefan said, "someone should stay. We don't want to be caught out again."

All thoughts of time spent at pleasure fled Kandorl's mind as he slid a nail down his arm, widening the wound. He decided that Draefan was right. He should let the rest of them go, they needed it, and he and Draefan had much to discuss away from the others. They could talk while looking out to the border. If anything came from that direction, or any direction, they would be in an ideal position to see it coming.

"I'm going to stay," Kandorl said finally. "You all go; there's still plenty of time to get to the tower before nightfall. Spend a couple of hours down there then come back to meet us here. We'll wait for your return."

"If you wish, Kan," Siana said, looking away from him as she rummaged through her pack before linking arms with Medral and leaning in to say something to her as they walked away.

"We'll see you in a couple of hours," Medral called back.

"Come on then," Wrald said. "Let's leave these to brood. Theco, I think they have pigs down there, I think I hear them calling for you." Wrald laughed as Theco shoved him forward, to where Siana and Medral walked ahead.

Kandorl watched as his friends walked across the crest of the hill, their excited chatter becoming lost in the sound of the wind as they headed towards the valley to the south. Draefan took out his pipe and stood packing it with tobacco as he stared over towards the plains to the north. Kandorl joined him, uncertain how to start the conversation his friend anticipated. Maybe it was better to just let Draefan unburden himself, in his own time.

With his pipe lit, Draefan took a long draw before pulling down his hood, showing his short, fair hair stuck to his head with sweat. After a few moments, when Kandorl thought to finally say something, Draefan spoke instead. "It's easier for them," he began. "They don't want to see it, do they? It's coming for us, one way or another and there's not a damn thing we can do about it."

Kandorl's instinct to comfort was suppressed by shock as Draefan vocalised the thoughts that had been clouding Kandorl's mind for as long as he could recall. Compelled, he listened, useless and silent.

"I used to ignore it too, I suppose." Draefan continued. "Always found some way of dismissing it, brushing it away. It doesn't work now. I can't look away".

For a moment, Kandorl thought that Draefan joked with him. His friend's feelings were far too similar to his own. I've shared this with him. I should have stayed alone. In the gloom of sorrow for his friend, there were flickers of light as hope tried to shine through. I'm not mad, he thought, I am right to feel this way. We could have watched together.

"And all this time I've ignored you too, Kan. You've suffered long and alone. I'm sorry."

The apology hit Kandorl the hardest. As his friend wept, Kandorl felt the desire to join him in that too. Eventually Draefan quietened, simply staring ahead. He went to put his pipe to his lips and gave up, such was the trembling of his hands. Uncertainly, Kandorl put his arm around his friend's shoulders.

"Forgive me, Draefan," he said simply.

*

The flute's lively melody soared above the deep, rhythmic thump of the bass drum and seeped its way through the thinning trees, reaching Medral's ears long before she stepped out of the woods to where the river hosted the fair all along its lush, grassy bank. More people than Medral had ever seen before thronged around the many-coloured tents. Merchants stood in the shady interiors, standing behind stalls displaying a range of wares such as hot and cold food, mead and cider, tobacco, clothing and various trinkets. All competed in shouting to be heard above the music, tempting would-be customers to come inside. In every available space in-between, people danced to the music of two minstrels who jumped and hopped, rollicking as they played their uplifting tune atop a precariously propped-up wooden platform, raised above the bank of the river. Those dancing close by ran the risk of sliding on the wet grass and toppling into the water, and as the merriment climbed along with the music, a few dunks seemed almost inevitable. A third member of the troupe had also begun to throw handfuls of coloured powder over the crowd of revellers, causing a cloud to hang over them as they surged closer and closer to the water.

Medral looked back briefly at her friends, who remained among the trees, trailing uncertainly behind her, and then with a laugh she ran from the woods to where people stood at the edge of the fair, the pull too much for her to resist any longer. She waved at the others, inviting them to come and join her even as she began to dance with a tall man in a pointed, green cloth hat and a small, three-legged dog jumping up and barking loudly at him.

"Meet back here in a couple of hours!" she shouted to the others, who were only now walking out to join her.

She knew full well that the two hours was supposed to have started from the moment they'd left Kan, but she was sure he wouldn't mind them being a little late. There were still plenty of hours left in the day after all. She bent down to swoop the little dog up in her arms, smiling at the man in the hat as she did so. "Wrald, Siana, don't get so drunk you forget to leave! Theco, don't get so drunk that you can't carry us back up the hill!" she said as they got closer, swaying to the music, with the dog licking her cheek as she cradled it in her arms.

"We'll be well behaved, won't we, Theco?" Siana said as she and Wrald headed towards the first tent, smiling back at Medral as they disappeared into the mass of people. With a frown, Theco followed on after the others, shouting something about Siana fetching him a pitcher.

Medral set the little dog down onto the ground and patted the animal on the head before standing up to see what other delights the fair held. The gathered people wore the most outlandish clothes she had seen; there were certainly no drab country woollens. Men wore brightly coloured waistcoats which covered every colour of shirt and headwear that made the first fellow's hat seem reserved. Great, leafy rings of all sizes wrapped around their heads, some adorned with coloured ribbons which whipped about as they danced. In contrast, the women all wore white dresses, billowy and cool looking in the heat and not dissimilar to her own. Medral made a note to spend some of the coin she had allocated herself on such a garment before she returned to Kan and Draefan. Not to be outdone by the men, the women introduced more than a splash of colour by tying scarves around their heads, with yellow, blue and green heads bobbing about in the crowd of people. Further into the crowd, a great cheer went up as a well-fed merchant and two of his assistants also began throwing handfuls of coloured powder into the crowd. Medral laughed as she realised the women's intention in all donning their white garments. It seemed they were to be a canvas for others to fill, in a celebration of colour, music and life. Further ahead, a man and a woman dressed as long-legged birds towered over the crowds, stopping every so often to bend down and peck an un-expecting reveller on the head, causing more cheers as more than one person jumped with fright.

Stopping every so often to link arms and dance with one person or another, Medral slowly made her way past the first couple of big tents. The smell of cooked meat wafting out towards her made her empty stomach growl in protest at its neglect. The tempo of the music increased further still and another cheer came from all around her as she was engulfed in a rainbow of coloured powder. Laughing, she and a much taller woman with a blue headscarf and her face painted to look like a cat, both looked down at themselves, then each other. After embracing the woman in a fleeting hug, Medral allowed herself to be caught up in the flow of people being pushed further in, towards where a smaller tent stood. People milled around a merchant who stood behind a wooden table draped in purple cloth which he had set-up in the entrance. The merchant, a balding man with a hook nose, stood in shirt sleeves almost the same colour as his tablecloth and looked up from fussing over the arrangement of his stall to take in all his potential customers. With a grand display, he whipped the purple cloth away to reveal a treasure trove of Tarot card packs. Seeing the man's wares, the crowd swelled as people clambered over each other to take a look at the many different styles of decks for sale.

"No touching, not unless you intend to buy," the hook-nosed man said, protectively leaning over his stall. From the inside of the tent a large man appeared, coming to stand next to the merchant, making it obvious that he was being paid to ward off any would-be thieves. "Each deck unique," the merchant continued, spurred on by having his man keeping a watchful eye. "You'll not see these again. Decorated by the best-skilled hands in Aledin. Step forward and buy! Buy before they're gone!" Medral was pushed back as a surge of people rushed towards the table, requesting they be allowed to handle decks they would definitely buy. The merchant invited offers as people raised and counter-raised each other, while the guard glowered at anyone who came too close, pushing back those that did, even if it was due to the mass of bodies behind pushing forwards in their eagerness.

"Didn't see anything you liked?" A man's voice came from behind Medral, who whirled around to see the man in the green hat, now carrying his dog to keep him out of the crush. Well into his middle years, his eyes seemed kind and sat in the well-weathered face of a man who had spent most of those years outside.

"I did like the one with the spirals. What I saw of it," she replied, smiling at him and patting the dog who wagged his tail furiously and strained like mad to get out of his master's arms. "I enjoy the odd game," she said, raising her voice to be heard as the song ended, prompting yet another cheer. "But I'm not going to fight anyone for a deck! No matter how nice they are."

"Hold this," the man replied, handing her the small dog, "I'll see if this lot has left any on the table," he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd. Medral laughed as more than once she saw him tapping a would-be buyer on the shoulder just to move past them as they turned. After a while of waiting to see him again, Medral started to wonder whether he would be able to make it back to her at all. He probably hadn't made any friends getting through the people jostling for position. She hoped he did return, and not just because she was holding his dog, but because it was good to meet someone who was willing to help another out. The world was full of people like that, she was sure. The hungry ghosts would not be how she imagined the world to be. She found herself holding the little dog tighter to her in a hug as she thought of Trep, calling to her as he stood above the funnel.

The music started up again, the tune every bit as lively as the last, but this time accompanied by a male singer. The words he sung were surprisingly risqué, something about women renouncing their purity. As Medral strained to listen, she was caught unawares as suddenly the man bobbed out of the crowd, clutching his hat and with a wrapped package against his chest.

"Let's try to find some space shall we?" he said, leaning in to her as he took the dog from her arms. His long dark hair was held back by a leather cord and Medral realised she was staring too long at his handsome, if gaunt face, as he smiled back at her. "This merchant's obsessed with stopping people stealing his cards, but he's managed to pilfer these people's good humour quickly enough!"

Medral laughed before looking around to receive more than one disapproving glare from the people waiting to get their chance at the table. The merchant's guard did nothing to help the mood as he did his best to earn his money, the big man moving from one side of the table to the other, roaring something about forming a queue, and all the while being utterly ignored.

"Over there?" Medral asked, pointing at a mead stall which only had a couple of people nearby. She led the man by the hand away from the stall, and they snaked through the people until they were clear. Setting his dog on the ground, the man unwrapped the package and handed her the deck with the spirals and coins, swords and sceptres as suits. As Medral fanned them out, she marvelled at the beauty of each hand-painted card and wondered how he had managed to claim them before anyone else.

"How much did you pay him for these?" she asked, smiling at the man and marvelling at his kindness too. Everything that had befallen her slipped from her mind, with death forgotten as she stood in the midst of such a grand celebration of life. This is how she had imagined the world outside of Blackford to be, vibrant and beautiful, and filled with people like this man. "They must have been one of the most sought after there. Thank you ... " She stopped, realising she didn't know his name.

"My name's Saul. I'm Saul and this poor mutt here is three-legged Barney," he replied, laughing as he winked at her. "And your name is?" he asked, holding his hand out for her to grasp.

"I'm Medral. And I'm very pleased to meet you," she said ignoring his hand and throwing her arms around him.

*

"I couldn't face going down there. Not with all those people, Kan," Draefan said, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "That thing I saw in the woods before Radbid, that spinner, I've seen it more than once. It did something to my eyes, Kan. I see people ... rotting, aging and withering even as I look at them. If I look away and back again then they're returned to normal. Did it do that to you too? That last night in Blackford?"

Kandorl gently squeezed his friend's shoulder as they sat together on the crest of the hill. The sounds of the fair, the music mixed with occasional cheering and laughter, floated up to them when the wind was in the right direction. In reality he doubted he could have gone through with going down there either. How can all those people dance around, happily ignoring the fact it could all end at any moment? He couldn't see how he could have relaxed enough to enjoy it, even with Siana. Those that didn't spend their time in revelry, fought over each other to get to the merchants' stools, vainly grasping for things they didn't know they needed until they had them thrust in their faces.

"Yes, Draefan. Exactly that. The people hanging, whilst the figure danced in-between. Yes, a spinner. It attacked my eyes in the same way. I doubted my mind, Draefan. I saw terrible things. Shania, the others. It comes and goes. But that's not the worst of it. That man of smoke, it forms out of the ground as the darkness creeps into my heart, paralysing me, then the man appears as if it's all him, as if he's stalking me. You saw it too at Radbid."

"I did. I watched it, just as paralysed as you were. I was too scared to react. If Medral and Siana hadn't come to you I'm afraid I don't know if I would have been able to," Draefan replied, shaking his head and sighing. "It disappeared when they went to you. What from hell is it?"

"I don't know. It's been present for years, but worse recently. It's never formed before either. I've heard it; it wants to claim me." Kandorl clasped his hands together to try to stop them from trembling.

"It'll come for me now too, Kan. It'll try to claim me if that other thing doesn't get me first. How am I supposed to fight them? With an arrow? A knife? All the while watching for these hungry ghosts appearing out of nowhere," Draefan said, pulling the twin serpentine blades out from their sheaths and tossing them onto the grass so that their blades entered the dry earth. "We can't bloody fight it all."

"Draefan, be at peace. It's not you they are after, it's me. You've seen them simply because you're with me. They've never troubled you before, have they?" he asked, waiting for his friend's acknowledgement before he continued. "The stalker, the spinner, Septia, they're all after me. I don't know why, but Braster will. Braster has more than just these in his armoury" – Kandorl pulled the two blades from the earth and handed them back to his friend – "you'll need these, they will protect you. We won't repeat the mistakes at Radbid, we'll know better next time. Fuck them, Draefan. These Revenants or anyone like them. Fuck them for Doln and Trep. As for those others, you must believe that Braster will know what to do."

After a few moments of silence, Draefan started to nod and looked up at Kandorl. He looked angry, and anger is better than despair. "You're right, Kan. Those bastards will pay next time, and chances are Braster is at Petran's Tower. Thank you. You should know that next time I won't stand still, scared like a damn child. I'll come to your aid, as you would mine." He smiled briefly then frowned as he remembered something. "What did you mean about Septia being after you? She's gone, Kan."

Kandorl covered his mistake by matching his friend's frown with one of his own. "Septia is where she bloody belongs, ended and forgotten. I don't know why I thought of her, it's probably just the lack of ale," he said, hoping his smile didn't seem forced.

*

Even Barney was rainbow-coloured now, as if he had found the powder pots, upended them and rolled about for a time. Medral and Saul had discovered why no one had been standing at the mead stall. The drink was foul, tasting as if it had once been a good mead before someone had thought salt was the final missing ingredient to set it apart. The short-haired woman serving it had nearly given it away, albeit with her nose in the air as if they didn't realise a good drink when they tasted one. Just the same as everyone else at the fair! Medral thought, feeling bad for the poor woman, despite her superior attitude. The troupe had taken a break from playing their music now and it was replaced with the hum of the crowd, laughter and the shouts of merchants eager to take the opportunity to advertise to anyone who could hear them. Medral caught sight of her friends walking from one tent to another, with Siana and Wrald holding packages under their arms. Theco followed, carrying what looked like a wooden box full of bottles. She laughed, seeing they were having as good a time as she. She hoped they had thought to get food supplies. She had better make sure she had too by the time they met up.

"My companions are over there, Medral," Saul said, using his foot to pull Barney back from playfully snapping at the legs of one of the stilt walkers as they went past. "Let's go over, I'll introduce you to them." He nodded towards a group of men and women sitting in a circle on the grass, slightly set back from the rest of the fair where the clearing gave way to the woods which led back towards the east.

"I'd love to," Medral said, then quickly glanced back to where she had last seen the others. There would be time to meet Saul's friends, to pick up the dress and supplies, and be back in time to meet with Siana, Wrald and Theco. She would just have to be mindful of the time passing. "Yes, let's go."

Walking over with her arm linked in Saul's, she let him guide her to a place to sit on the ground. There was a sweet, almost spicy smell to the smoke which hung over the group of two women and an old man who looked up and greeted Saul as he crouched down on his haunches next to the woman who held the pipe. Barney ran to sit between the women and looked out from under their skirts as they spoiled him with stroking and patting.

"This is Medral. She loves Tarot, but not too much. She likes mead, but not the salty stuff and she'll dance as eagerly as she'll smile," Saul said, spreading his arms wide in introduction before embracing the woman lying opposite Medral in the circle. "This is Lena," he said, patting the woman on the shoulder. "Then we have Ilona, and this is Nearin. Now we're all friends and I can rest."

"Well met, Medral," Lena replied, smiling at her from around the pipe stem she held between her lips and flicking her long dark hair, which she wore tied in a plat over a shoulder. She blew out a stream of smoke and handed the pipe to Ilona, an older woman with eye glasses and a beak for a nose, who reminded Medral of a bird.

"You enjoying the fair, young beauty?" Ilona said, smiling broadly, making her glasses lift slightly above her eyes.

"Very much so. It's beautiful here in this valley," Medral replied, noticing the woman's eyes were taking in everything around her, peaceful but alert. "Are you following the fair?" she asked.

"This is a very beautiful place," Nearin, the older man said, his voice a gentle rumble. "We come here even when the fair isn't here. Very peaceful." He shut his eyes and tilted back his head. His grey beard wiggled as his mouth moved as if he spoke still, but if he did, Medral could not hear over the noise of the celebrations around her.

"You wouldn't think so now, would you?" Saul said, motioning towards the people around the stage, who clapped as the troupe set down their drinks, ready to resume their playing.

"Peaceful but in a different way. Full of life, full of colour," Nearin continued, looking at Saul as if he was an equal distraction to the band. He fixed Medral with a stare, seemingly assessing her before he spoke. "The colours show the essence. There's simply a set of vibrations."

"Just vibrations and colour," Lena said, looking at Medral with dreamy eyes as Medral tried to understand what the old man had just said. What vibrations? she thought. Colours, yes. There are plenty of those, but vibrations? Perhaps he means the music? Lena looked the younger woman here, although Medral put her at a few years older than herself. She sat cross-legged with tied bunches of herbs in the lap of her green skirts. "Where are you from, Medral?" she asked.

"I've come from Blackford, to the east. I'm the village apothecary, Lena," Medral said, deciding quickly not to mention her healing to strangers. Even if these seemed moral people, she felt she would never be so carefree after Radbid.

"We aim to forget things like Lena or Ilona. We are all Saul." Nearin's words were acknowledged with thoughtful nods and even a small clap of hands from Lena, which made Saul frown slightly. The old man is rambling, surely! Medral thought. He reminded her of Old Orland in the way he could go off on tangents, often making little sense. Maybe he had spent the day enjoying ale, she mused, and laughed in delight.

"That's blackrose and minithrall," Medral said, pointing at the herbs in Lena's lap. She recognised the herbs the woman used, but not the recipe. "I can't think what it is you are making?"

"Thoughts," Nearin started up again, making Medral grin as the old man closed his eyes, holding his bearded face up to the sun. Maybe she was meant to be around people like this, out travelling and not spending her days in tiny Blackford, no matter how much she would miss Old Orland and the others. "Here, the sound of the water draws you into its depths," Nearin continued, his eyes still closed, "the pause between the ripples stretches, mirrored from the sky."

"She's making this, selvia," Saul said, leaning over to take the pipe from Ilona. He took a long draw and held the smoke deep in his lungs before exhaling and offering it to Medral. Medral looked from the pipe to Saul, who smiled warmly as he reached further towards her. She suddenly felt nervous and exhilarated all at once. She had never really taken to tobacco, but being an apothecary called for an inquisitive mind. Blackrose and minithrall, dried and added to tobacco, was something she had never heard of and if Old Orland had, he'd never mentioned it, although he didn't share with her everything he had done in his long life. It was clear that Saul's companions were used to taking it, and it was clear that it provided some effect they greatly enjoyed. She couldn't think how it was possible to enjoy the valley, the fair, all of it even more than she already did, but in these comfortable surroundings, she was happy to join in.

"It's not going to make me tired is it?" she asked, taking the pipe from Saul's outstretched hand and putting the stem between her lips. "I've got a way left to travel tonight and it's all on foot."

"Not tired at all," Saul said, the warm smile remaining.

"The opposite, my dear," Ilona said, removing her glasses to clean them on her skirts. "It will make you alert to the things around you. All things."

"And if that's not good enough," Lena said laughing, "you won't have the headache the mead would give you, when you wake tomorrow!"

Medral took a draw from the pipe; the taste of the smoke was as sweet as its smell and strong enough that she let a lot out without inhaling it all. The sweetness comes from the blackrose and the effect must come from mixing it with minithrall. Medral had only ever used minithrall in forming a poultice to numb pain, from a wound or a severe headache, and blackrose was usually burnt, to calm those that were restless or agitated. The effect must change when the two are combined. "The minithrall is considered a less powerful version of the hunter's minithrall. Have you thought of swapping the weaker herb for the stronger?" she asked, taking another draw and this time inhaling more of the sweet smoke and keeping it within her, as Saul had.

"If we could find hunter's minithrall, we'd surely use it," Lena said, looking at her as if she had stated the obvious. "But it's known for its ability to thwart those that look to find it. Do people in Blackford not pay you for what you can gather?"

"No, no they don't," Medral replied, absently taking another draw. "Nobody in Blackford has ever asked for it. We keep a small supply but we leave all that we walk past."

"You know where it grows, then?" Saul asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Of course she does, my foolish love," Lena said, smiling even as she chided him. "She's an apothecary, after all."

Nodding, Medral realised she had held onto the pipe for far longer than anyone else in the circle. Hurriedly, she passed it back over to Saul, who readily took it.

"I am the fool, clearly," Saul said loudly, causing Lena's vacant smile to quickly disappear. Medral couldn't decide whether he raised his voice in anger or, more likely, because the band had started up their music once again. The flute now accompanied a deep drum beat interspersed with intricate drumming of fingers. The air around her seemed to reshape, her vision splitting into squares, each filled with a part of the image of the people sat around her and the woods behind. She stared around in wonder as the squares rippled to the thwump, thwump of the drum, individual pieces of the coloured fair and valley shown in the shapes rising and falling as one, or here and there individually in time with the pat of fingers on taut skin and the high-pitched punctuation of notes from the flute.

"Take no offence from me, my love," the one with the plat said, reaching out to the man. Medral stared as a kaleidoscope of rainbow colours flickered around the woman, surging out in gentle waves which coloured the ripples from the music. At first, blue changed to purple, then to red, orange, yellow and then back to blue. Again and again it poured from the one with the plat, creating a beautiful shifting collage of the valley, pulsating in time with the beat.

"Do you see the colours, Saul?" the bearded one said, looking at her directly now, his face split in a knowing smile. He emanated colours too, but his were solid around him like fixed rings of smoke, with each changing individually to the others. "They are the essence. All living things are a vibration, nothing more. Everything else is false, empty. Our confused creation."

"Vibrations," one of the women's voices added as Medral looked around the circle of people who all blended into one, their faces holding the same kind smile. Their forms weren't them, not truly. They could have resembled anything. They existed around their forms in the colours, the vibrating colours which had merged with those of the music, the sounds of the fair, the wind in the trees, the water rushing in the river. Each rippling in unison across the squares. Above, the birds cried as they added their life, their essence to the vibrating patterns of the whole. Medral looked up to the sky, deep and blue, stretching endlessly, and recognised something in that. The clouds lay far apart like her thoughts, the blue endless, stretching. She stared, feeling a new sense beyond pleasure, a truly neutral feeling of being, a bliss.

"You feel free because you recognise now that you are more than you believed. The vast blue of the sky, the sacred space between."

The instance she was in now was eternal, this space she had heard someone call valley. This moment couldn't end. What had been before? What would follow? Could anything?

"You concern yourself with the past, the future. There is only now. Even this valley will end, nothing in it is real. Nothing here can be permanent, not even the observer."

Something tugged at her from beneath, and she looked down to see herself sat in a circle of people, colours washing over them. There was one whose colours were in spikes around him, sat brooding. She laughed; brooding about what? What could anyone find to distract them here? Again something tugged; she looked down at hands vibrating, no, shaking. A pipe was in one which clenched around the smooth wood. Her vision flickered as she looked around at the people sat staring at her now. Why were they staring? What expectations did they have of her? Someone was talking.

"I think she's had enough," Lena was saying, reaching for the pipe in Medral's hand.

"She'll decide that," Saul replied, grasping Lena's wrist, "she has her own mind."

"My young beauty," Ilona whispered as she came to sit down next to Medral. "Are you back with us?" Ilona laughed as she gently took the pipe from Medral's hand. "Where did you go?" she asked, her kind face smiling as she held Medral by the shoulders.

"I'm fine. Thank you," Medral replied. "I saw eternity, peace. Life as a pulse, a vibration on a natural line? All things linked, I ... I don't know!" she said, smiling in wonder at the memory. Eternity, she thought, then started scrambling to her feet as she remembered her friends. She pictured the others waiting at the top of the hill, Kan frantic over finding Braster. "I must go. I need to get back to the others." She stood quickly, making Ilona laugh once again as the mead at her feet was knocked flying.

"Be calm," Nearin said soothingly, "they will wait for you ... "

"I'm sorry. I have to leave, and now," Medral cut across him, smiling apologetically as she did so.

Saul stood to hand her the pack of Tarot cards and held her hands in both of his. "Your cards, Medral. Until we meet again," he said, releasing her and giving her a kiss on the cheek, making her face colour. She looked down at the cards, only now remembering them, and felt she couldn't possibly leave without repaying him for his kindness. She reached into her pocket, pulling out the coin purse, which spilt its contents onto the ground, gold coins landing in the flattened grass. Saul crouched down and started collecting them, dropping them into her hand for her to put back into the purse.

"Where is it you're going that you need all that?" he asked, his eyes glittering to match the coins in the sunlight.

"Now, my love. You'll get your nose caught if you keep sticking it into other's affairs," Lena replied before Medral could.

"You'd do well to let me do as I wish, my love," Saul replied, leaning down to pick up a leather drawstring bag which he slung over a shoulder. "I'm taking a look around." He bent down to Lena, looking as if he were about to embrace the woman in way of apology. To both Medral's and Lena's surprise, he instead snatched up a few of the bundles of selvia in her lap, and with a quick look at Medral, stalked off into the crowd. Lena stared after him, confusion briefly registering on her face before she motioned for Ilona to pass her the pipe.

"Thank you, Saul. Thank you for everything," Medral called after him before turning to address the others. "I hope we all meet again. I will come back to this valley, I may come back here for good."

"Then you take these," Lena said, putting two bundles of the herbs in Medral's hand. "Enjoy it, don't abuse it. And make sure you're with people you can trust." Lena's eyelids flickered as she fought to keep them open. "And take this old pipe too, as a gift. We have others."

Nearin and Ilona got slowly to their feet to take turns in hugging Medral, wishing her well and giving assurances that they would all meet again, in this valley or another. Nearin added that they couldn't be apart, they were all of the same thing. She laughed and hugged the old man the longest, except for Barney of course, who she picked up and held in her arms, letting him lick her cheek for as long as he liked.

Walking back into the crowd of people now dancing again as the group played a more upbeat tune, Medral didn't look back at her new friends, fearing she may return to sit down with them longer, maybe indefinitely. She thought instead of Siana and the others, whether they had had as good an afternoon as she. She smiled at the vague hope that someone had remembered to buy the supplies as a beautiful white dress caught her eye.

*

Kandorl sat and listened to his friend talk about old times when they were children in Blackford. Draefan never really spoke that much to anyone else, preferring to spend his time alone. He spoke to Kandorl though, when they were alone, and he always seemed to Kandorl to be more at ease, more amenable. He certainly seemed more at ease than a couple of hours ago and, although Kandorl realised that his friend was deliberately concentrating his thoughts elsewhere, he was still glad his words had helped, even if he didn't believe most of it himself. He was terrified of the things that stalked him, and until they found Braster, he would live with that terror, day and night. He found himself hoping one of the others would think ale or cider brandy was within reason and as he sat smoking Draefan's pipe and staring towards the far-off mountains marking the border to Dracia, Kandorl's mind drifted back to Septia's final words. She had cursed them all but, somehow, it had felt destined to be him. From another woman it would have just been one last spiteful act, but Septia had had the gift. He wondered whether that empowered her curse, even beyond her death. The woman had been a plague, draining other's health to feed her own. He wondered how long it would be before he noticed his own demise, and what form it would take. Draefan may one day look at him, withered and decaying as he watched, but this time truly happening. He sat up, suddenly very aware of his heart pounding, and tried to concentrate on what Draefan was saying: "which was when we all realised how Siana felt about you," Draefan finished, Kandorl missing the start of the sentence. "And one day maybe you'll return those feelings, which we all agree you have. Maybe you'll do something when we've caught up to Braster?"

"Siana?" Kandorl whispered, "I look at her, and the people I've surrounded myself with, the attachments I've made. I cherish you all, the joy you bring me. But the more joy you bring, the more tragic it becomes, simply because it will all be ripped away." He put his hand up, preventing Draefan from speaking. "Draefan. It's a cruelty. If I gave you something to hold onto, something to cherish, only to tell you that one day I'd take it from you, without warning, how strong would you allow your bond to grow? How deep would you let your feelings run? I think perhaps I should have stayed alone, isolated. I have tried. Maybe it would have been better. But that's something I've never managed to reconcile."

As his friend replied, Kandorl simply nodded and smiled, not listening to his answer. There was no answer. He closed his eyes, tried to feel grateful for the small mercies. For the first time he had found that someone else had seen what he'd seen; the invasion acknowledged, not denied. He found himself wishing he could get Draefan to speak of it again. There was so much he needed to say. His frustration at watching everyone around him making plans, sharing laughter, all the while ignoring the wave that was about to come crashing down on them. He needed to talk about Septia, to make some kind of plan in case her curse did manifest in him. Will Medral be able to help if it does? Could one gift work against another in that way? He opened his mouth to interrupt Draefan, to share the burden. As he noticed Draefan frowning as he tried to correctly recall a shared memory, he stopped himself. He couldn't say anything, not with knowing the toll it would take, and not just because it would make him feel safer. Braster would know, Braster would be able to give an answer. He would keep it to himself until then, no matter what.

Draefan had stopped talking and turned to look back towards the south. Kandorl turned and shared an incredulous look with his friend as they saw four figures walking up the hill. Theco's almost-bald head marked him, struggling under the weight of what looked like a massive crate stacked with bundles. Ahead of him came the others, Wrald and Siana, both staggering a little but clearly not from the comparably meagre amounts they carried. It looked as if they had had the same idea of necessary supplies as he had hoped. Walking along behind was Medral, her arms empty, apart from a white bundle, and held up to the sky. Kandorl suddenly realised how he envied her freedom. He wondered how much he could learn from her, if they found the time. From head to toe, her skin, her tattered dress, her hair loose and blowing wildly in the wind, was covered in every colour Kandorl could imagine. He smiled despite himself, suddenly very grateful and relieved the fair hadn't claimed them after all.

Chapter 12

A Moment's Respite

Kandorl inhaled deeply, letting his nose fill with the earthy smell which always followed the rain. The warm downpour was finally easing off and now the drumming of drops onto the broad leaves of the trees had slowed to a gentle patter, as if an invisible minstrel accompanied them, providing a drum roll which ended only when the tower came into view. Glimpses of the glistening grey stones through the dark weave of branches had made Kandorl anxious for them to reach their destination as they marched along the track. On one hand, this was where he believed Braster to be, marking the end of their journey, but on the other, Lord Petran had been murdered inside those walls and if Braster wasn't there, others could be.

Kandorl fidgeted irritably, rolling his shoulders and shifting his soaked cloak, which clung to his skin. He needed to rest, or at least to get somewhere warm and dry. He was sure the others were just as fatigued as he, especially those that had enjoyed all the distractions the fair had offered. Behind him, Medral sneezed, which was met with a whispered chorus of send you as they all came to a halt at seeing Kandorl raise his hand. The tower loomed ahead, framed by the last of the trees as the track gave way to a grassy clearing, the chalk showing through the lush green as the land fell away to a bright white cliff. High up in the tower a candle flickered, illuminating the greens and reds of a smashed window and adding its orange and yellow halo to the swathe of colours striving against the dark.

"Wait, Kan," Draefan whispered in his ear, gripping his arm to prevent him from walking into the clearing. "Let me go and scout first. Keep the others here until I signal. There could be anyone in there, so let's not charge in. Even if it is Braster, he might react before he sees who it is."

His friend was right. Kandorl didn't want to waste any more time. The man could be waiting inside after all, but he was determined not to make the same mistake as at Radbid. Caution was everything.

"Ok, Draefan. You go ahead, but be careful. Stay out of sight until you are sure it's him. When you are, signal and I'll come and make it clear it's me that approaches."

Kandorl turned back to the others as Draefan slipped away, staying low to the ground as he ran. Beckoning for them to follow, Kandorl moved off into the trees to the left of the track and hunkered down to watch as the moonlight picked out the movements of his friend. Draefan notched an arrow even as he strafed the tower, drawing nearer and staying out of the line of sight of anyone who may be standing at the window. When Draefan got to the base of the tower, he turned back briefly and held up a hand to indicate they should wait where they were. After placing his bow against the surround of the doorway, he drew his knives and disappeared, enveloped by the darkness of the tower entrance.

"What is he bloody doing?" Theco whispered harshly, "and why are we sitting here, useless?!"

"Be at peace, Theco," Kandorl whispered back over his shoulder, trying hard, and failing, to not be annoyed by the distraction. "Draefan knows what he's doing. He would have come back if he'd seen danger. He must have reason to think it's safe," he continued, hoping Draefan had seen or heard something to make him think it was Braster in the tower.

After a few moments Draefan appeared back in the doorway, illuminated by a candle lantern he held low at his side. Kandorl was up on his feet before anyone else could move, sprinting through the trees, unimpeded by the branches and brush. As he ran into the clearing, a figure began emerging from the darkness of the tower. Draefan looked up at hearing Kandorl's approach and shook his head before stepping aside, revealing not the huge shape of Braster, but the figure of a slight woman, who peered out uncertainly from within the cowl of her robe.

*

The withdrawing chamber, adjacent to Lord Petran's own, was cold and dark and complemented perfectly the atmosphere created by Kandorl and Draefan's brooding silence. The priest, Siskin, had left some time ago, preferring to continue on in the dark than spend the night with strangers. She had made some excuse about having a duty to perform before she left, but in truth, Kandorl suspected the night offered respite from his endless demands regarding what she knew about the events at the tower. He had been relentless, and more than a little aggressive, and had never before spoken to anyone like that, let alone a priest. He now sat studying his sword, unwilling to meet anyone's eyes. He ran his thumb over the twin candles etched into the blade as he thought back to Medral and Siana pulling him away when he had gone beyond shouting and had even taken a step towards her. He wondered whether his desperation was a good enough excuse for the lapse in his morality. He couldn't see that it was.

Draefan sat by himself and hadn't said a word to anyone since he had disgustedly turned his back on the woman. His one question had been simple, and although it had been clear that she was unable to answer, he had shouted it at her again and again while she sought to recall the night of Lord Petran's murder. It was the same question they both unfairly expected her to answer. Where was Braster?

Siskin had witnessed the events of only a few nights before, and had hidden at Lord Petran's request, in this very chamber. Fortunately, the men that attacked had no interest in searching further than Petran's lockbox. She had arrived at Petran's request, as he'd said he had a sceptre for her. Then later, the group of men had broken in and she'd heard the screams of the lord from the other side of his chamber door. A simple promise had kept her from entering on hearing those screams; her promise and her terror, she admitted with seemingly as much shame as Kandorl now felt. Sometime after the screaming and laughter had stopped, there was a colossal bang, like the loudest clap of thunder directly overhead, and the tower had seemed to jump. Then more screams followed, this time from outside, and an argument began among the men in the adjoining chamber, their voices becoming more and more desperate as something evil approached. After a scuffle, a new voice from the depths of hell had spoken, followed moments later by one final, gurgling scream. Her tears fell from her eyes as she finished retelling the terrible events, but even that hadn't softened Kandorl or Draefan's hearts, and they had continued to press her like two foxes with a cornered hen. She had simply said she did not know if it was Braster, that she was simply here to see to her lord and had stayed hidden until the following day when she was sure she was alone. On entering the chamber she had discovered the corpse had gone, and the only evidence of the terrible slaughter she heard was a burnt patch of earth, as if a huge fire had been lit and left to burn out. Siana and Medral had done their best to sooth Kandorl, saying there was still a chance to catch up, and they would find him. Only he and Draefan understood the urgency, no one else could, and now their companions eyed them both as if their minds had cracked.

Kandorl looked over at his friend, who sat staring out of the window with his hood pulled fully over his head. Kandorl spared a thought for the old woman out walking through the night, because of them, because of him mainly, in truth. Draefan was never like that before, and he added confiding in his friend to his growing list of regrets.

"Kan," Siana said, gently stirring him out of his thoughts and finally breaking the silence. He looked over at her frowning worriedly at him, concern showing in her half-open eyes, hazy with sleep. Someone else who would have been better left in Blackford, he thought miserably.

They had gathered the few chairs they could find and had placed them around the chamber, forming a broken circle. Dark red and brown tapestries showing scenes from a hunt in a great forest of tall trees had hung from the walls and now lay atop the carpets Wrald had piled up and sat on, exposing the bare, dusty floorboards below. His head was lowered as he studied the Tarot cards Medral had passed him earlier, and he had kept his head dropped as if avoiding everyone else, for the majority of the time they had been there. He could have easily created a fire in the hearth at the end of the room, but Kandorl had wanted to keep their presence secret. Conversely, Draefan had argued that they should light it, muttering something about letting them come, before taking himself off to sit by the window which faced back out towards the woods. Kandorl and the others sat around the few lit candles they had managed to scavenge, which provided the only source of light other than the moon shining through the one small window. All sat with their eyes averted from each other. Not even Theco had been willing to test the waters.

"Kan, what do we do next?" Siana asked gently, shivering and pulling her cloak around her.

"We regroup," Wrald said softly in reply. In one hand he held the fool card and in the other a goose feather quill. Looking up from the card, his voice grew in confidence as he continued. "We get ourselves ready for the next part of the journey. First light, we head for the Mount, just like Jon Blent said to. He said Braster would be here, or if not, he'd be at the Mount. He's not here, so it's simple. We go to the only other place he'd be," he continued, stating it as if it were plainly obvious. He held the card out for first Medral and then Theco to see. Medral laughed and shook her head at seeing how the dog chasing the fool had been changed to resemble a fox, and the white rose coloured black. Theco just stared back until Wrald shrugged at his friend's lack of humour and returned the card to the pack.

"It's that flaming simple, is it?" Draefan said, his head still turned away. "We'll just follow him to the end of Aledin. Then when he's not there, and if we're still alive, or bloody sane, we'll head back, trading off of scraps as to where he might bloody be?!"

"Damn you, Draefan. You keep your bloody mouth shut you miserable bastard!" Theco shouted, getting to his feet. "It's Kan that wanted to find him and he's not sat there making the rest of us as miserable as he is!" Surprising everyone with the speed at which he moved, Draefan was up on his feet in an instant, standing almost nose to nose, looking down at Theco. Theco puffed up his chest as if compensating for the difference in height, and he looked ready, and able, to snap Draefan in half.

"Damn the lot of you," Draefan said finally, stepping back. "I wish you would all rot." He looked murder at Theco as the bigger man smiled at his victory, and Kandorl let out a breath, realising Theco hadn't seen Draefan's hand moving to one of his daggers.

"I'll stand watch tonight, outside," Draefan said, stalking over to pick up his bow from where it leant against an ornate dresser next to the window. He collected his pack from the pile of their equipment at the end of the room and kicked the door to the lord's chamber fully open so that it slammed hard against the wall. Kandorl stood up to follow. He alone knew why his friend suffered. No Braster meant no respite from the things that stalked them. They would have to contend with them alone. Before he could take a second step, Wrald sprung up too, blocking his path.

"Let him be, Kan," Wrald said, "he's always happiest in his own company. Give him the chance to gather his thoughts and he'll be more like himself come the morning. Maybe he'll rest, despite what he said. We could all do with some of that."

"The further he is from me, the better," Theco said, his teeth gritted and his face flushed a deep red. "What's rattled his cage anyhow? What's bloody well rattled yours, Kan? I didn't care much for that Siskin, stupid old fool insisting she went off on her own in the night, but it's you and him that scared her into it. She was bloody shaking by the end. There was no need for any of that."

"It's the march, isn't it Kan?" Medral asked, putting her hand on Theco's arm in an effort to halt him continuing his tirade. "You're desperate to find Braster because you fear it's coming, and soon. Not finding him here must have been a terrible blow for you." Kandorl ran his fingers through his hair and tried his best not to tug it out. Why don't they understand? It is bloody coming, him fearing it or not. Why is it down to me to wake them up?!

"The bloody flood again!" Theco shouted, pulling his arm free from Medral. He started to pace across the floor, his footsteps echoing in the chamber. "You're obsessed with it. It's not coming for years, not for many, many years. Those stories you talk about? People getting taken? That's just the old and the flaming weak. Stop crying over it, Kan; we're not weak, or old, not any of us. What the hell is Braster going to do about it anyway? Fight them all off on his own? Look to yourself for once, you damn welp!"

"Kandorl, Stop!" Medral shouted, staring horrified at Kandorl's arm. He looked down to see a line of blood widening on the inside of his arm, and his fingernail still dug into his skin. He pulled down his sleeve and quickly moved his arm away from Medral. "It's not that easy, Theco," she continued, still staring wide-eyed at Kandorl. "You've got to learn to live, not just wait, braced for something to happen. Theco's right in one sense. It could be today, now. Or it could also be in decades from now. You're wasting time that you'll never get back. Besides, you'll have us with you. I for one won't leave you to face it alone. But you must let it go. Please."

"Get your bloody head on," Theco said in disgust, ignoring a sharp look from Medral. Wrald had gone back to sit on his makeshift seat and now studied his hands as he made tiny orbs dance across them, from finger to finger. Theco walked past him to pull the packs off of the stack of wooden crates from the fair, and pulled out two bottles of apple brandy.

"Drink that," Theco said as pushed one into Kandorl's chest as he walked past him. Luckily Kandorl saw it coming in time to react. He stared at the liquid moving within as he tilted the bottle to and fro, his mind absent. Medral continued her counselling with kind words of advice, Wrald chipped in too, agreeing and offering his own comfort. It was only the sadness he felt for them which stopped Kandorl from opening his mouth, either to shout at them for being such blind fools, or to calmly counter every argument they put forward. Not that either would do any good. They were in as much bloody denial as the people in Blackford, and the people across this whole bloody country, he didn't doubt. At least the hungry ghosts prepared for it, in their own way, though theirs was a worse denial of sorts. They seemed bent on fighting for power or worthless scraps, as if that would raise them out of harm's way when the flood finally came.

Walking back from the doorway, Kandorl sat down slowly, nodding as he did so in pretence at agreement to their assurances that all would be fine. He didn't want to shout at them, he just wanted them to stop. The more they said, the worse he felt for them. He thought of Draefan and once again questioned whether he had inadvertently led him to witness the terrifying truth they all faced, by confiding in him all these years. He couldn't risk doing that to anyone else, let alone his companions. They had followed him, put themselves through grief, through the most danger they'd ever experienced, simply to support him in something they at best didn't understand.

"It's more than that though, isn't it?" Siana asked, her voice making Kandorl look up as once again he caught himself scraping his nail down the inside of his arm. He had noticed her remaining quiet as the others had talked, or in Theco's case, shouted. She had been studying him the whole time, and only now she picked up her skirts and came over to sit next to him. As she leant closer, he felt a sudden, unfamiliar longing to fold his arms around her and not let go. "There's something more," she said. Her eyes matched the deep brown of the deer's in the tapestry, holding his gaze and drawing him in. Again, Kandorl wanted to give in, to let everything go and be absorbed by her. Looking away, he returned to scraping at his arm under his sleeve. He thought back to earlier that day, as they had walked through the forest from the valley where the fair had been held. He had noticed a black spot appear on his forearm and was sure it had never been there before. His first chilling thought had been of Septia and her curse. "Something is troubling you. And Draefan too. There's another reason you are desperate to find him."

"How does finding Braster help against the storm, Kan?" Wrald asked, saving Kandorl from attempting to respond to Siana, with no idea of where to start.

"He showed me where it'll come from but I don't know when, or how to prepare." Kandorl sighed as he explained, knowing nobody would understand. Not unless he forced them to. "Braster does. So I need to find him. That's all." All he wanted now was for the conversation to end. He fought with his rising anger at their attempts to reassure him. They knew nothing. They were like children. Their words patronised him. He looked back at the door and wished he had followed Draefan.

"We'll go to the Mount, Kan," Medral said. "All of us together. None of us are in any rush to get back to Blackford. That's true, isn't it?" she asked, looking around the room as the others nodded their agreement. All except Theco, who simply stood staring at him between sips from his bottle.

"I'd stay with you for the whole journey, even if Braster was on the other side of the bloody world. You know I would," Theco said, then walked over to lean down close to Kandorl, his breath smelling of the strong apple brandy. "But it's his training I want. He's the best bloody swordsman in the realm, maybe beyond, who knows? Either way I want to learn what he can teach. That's my reason, not because I'm running scared of the damn storm." He patted Kandorl on the shoulder, making him grind his teeth, before sitting down next to Wrald and roughly dislodging him from his seat.

"A speech at last from Theco. Count the words someone! That must be his longest yet!" Wrald said, righting himself on the stack of carpets and tapestries. At least he intends to patronise. Kandorl thought and almost laughed, despite himself. Wrald could control Theco, in his own way. He also knew when to lighten the mood. Theco feigned to grapple with Wrald, who deftly moved out of the way. As Wrald leant back, Theco changed direction and pushed him the little extra that was required for him to go sprawling backwards to fall onto the floor, knocking into Medral's chair as he did so. Theco offered his hand, which Wrald took, his face reddened, but to Kandorl's relief it was in embarrassment and not anger.

"I'm going to sit alone awhile, up on the top," Kandorl said, hoping that wouldn't start off another discussion. "I just need to think." As he got to his feet, he looked down and smiled at Siana, who nodded as she returned it. He didn't want to upset he,r but he also did need some time to himself. He did need to think.

"Maybe you'll feel like company in a while?" Siana asked, passing him his untouched bottle.

"Yes, I'd like that," he replied, feeling his face colour to match Wrald's. He looked up to see Theco and Wrald pulling faces and Medral beaming at him and Siana in turn. He really did need to get out of this room; it suddenly felt very hot. As he walked towards the open door, Medral got up from her chair and caught his arm.

"See if you can spot Draefan, Kan. I'm sure he'll be fine, but just to make sure," she said. He nodded to her and walked out of the room. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Siana's merciless taunting began.

*

Kandorl pulled his cloak tight around him against the cold wind which gusted across the top of the tower, and leant against one of the crenulations as he looked towards the east. He found there was something comforting about being alone, looking down on the world below, like he was abstracted from it, protected from it in some way. It was the same feeling he found looking up at the world from the bottom of a bottle. It all comes down to perspective, he thought as his fingers wrapped around the stopper of the bottle in his pocket, testing it for tightness. Just inside the line of trees, he could see Draefan's campfire, and he felt better for seeing his friend had remained with them, albeit at a distance. He wondered if Draefan too found solace and comfort in his own company, as Wrald had implied. His friend had been right. It was better to be alone sometimes, if only because the ignorance of well-meaning friends could simply serve to test your patience, on top of everything else. With one last look at Draefan's camp, he turned away and walked around the outside of the round tower until he was on the western side. In the moonlight, he could make out the tops of trees stretching out from the base of the white cliff on which the tower stood. He saw a wide river running through those woods, shimmering as its water caught in the moonlight. He absently wondered what it was called and where it met the sea. Maybe it would appear on the map Braster had left.

With his continual checking that the bottle was correctly sealed, he had finally worked the stopper loose. He took a long swig from it and thought about the journey ahead. They had little idea of where to go from here, apart from what they had learnt from Braster's map. All they knew beyond that was how long it had taken to reach Lord Petran's Tower, which lay west and a little south of Blackford, over the Black Hills. But what lay between it and the Mount was anyone's guess. They would have to rely on the map and trust to the words of the priest, Siskin. Siana at least had the mind to ask her how to proceed to the west, once Kandorl had finished his interrogation. He lifted the bottle of brandy to his lips and almost dropped it seeing blood staining his shirt. Only now he was focused on it did the pain come. He swigged again from the brandy, wincing as he did so, and held his wounded arm up to get a better look at it in the moonlight. As he did his best to clean the wound on his shirt, he looked beneath the torn skin for signs of the blackness spreading to the flesh below. Seeing nothing, relief once again flooded through him, like the cold wind had penetrated his body and taken his anxiety with it as it passed over the tower and on into the west.

"Kan? Your arm, you're hurt!" Siana's voice startled him, so that he thought he may also have been taken with that wind, straight over the side of the tower and down the cliff, to be submerged in the water below. He had not heard her climb the spiral stairs or cross the stones behind him. He moved his arm behind his back as she came close and saw she carried a couple more of the brandy bottles and had one of the lord's fleeces wrapped around her shoulders. He swallowed involuntarily, as he realised it was just large enough for two to fit under.

"Tell me what's happening," she said, her eyes wide and glittering in the moonlight as beautifully as the unknown river below. He suddenly felt light-headed and fell willingly into their depths. He swigged again from the bottle, and stepped closer to her, drowning happily as she continued. A part of him enjoyed her concern and wanted only to indulge in it. "Let's get down to Medral, so she can heal you. Or, if you like, I could try? Should I try? I'm not ever going to have her skill but I believe Medral has taught me a little, and there's this other sensation I had when she was ... " Kandorl cut her rambling off by taking the bottles away from her and putting them down with his on the stones of the tower. He held her gently by the shoulders, looking down at her.

"Kan, you've got to tell me what's happening to you. What is it you aren't saying?" Moving his hand up to the side of her face to gently cup her cheek, he pulled her close "Kan ... I ... " She laughed and looked down, so unlike Siana. He kissed her the second she looked up.

*

Medral turned away from re-hanging a particularly nice tapestry depicting a woman in a tower, hauling a man up from the ground below in a large basket. The little woman's beaming face and his hopeful, adoring gaze upwards, was captured perfectly in the stitching. She watched as Theco and Wrald went about re-arranging the room, having agreed the moment Siana had left that if they were staying, they may as well be comfortable. After letting Siana have her pick, they had gathered the remaining fleeces and covers from the adjacent rooms and Theco had gone about arranging a comfortable area, with a few stumbles, in the centre of the room. Once content with his work, he collapsed face down into the wide throne of fleeces and carpets and lay there breathing hard, the last few drops of brandy spilling out of the bottle rolling away from his outstretched hand. Hearing the glass rolling across the floor, Wrald briefly glanced over his shoulder from where he sat in front of the fireplace. Having no need to use the stacked logs and kindling, he simply held out his hands and closed his eye. The white stones of the fireplace began to glow with a warm, yellow light as he conjured an orb and placed it, sending it through the air and onto the hearth.

As Medral felt the warmth from the orb on her face, she closed her eyes and turned into it, wondering at the gifts they had discovered. It was hard to imagine them having learnt so much, had they remained in Blackford. Despite their suffering, even so early on in their journey, she was sure it had been worth it. One thought of Trep made her force the thought from her mind. Though he was now at peace, she thought of his family, never knowing where he was or what had happened to him.

Looking over at Wrald, she smiled. He had been forced to embrace his gift, and now he took comfort from it. He was becoming as he should be, not trying to hide away from himself, and although she felt reluctant to use her gift after Trep, she had believed the old man's words those few nights ago. There would be things she couldn't heal but there were also many she could. She felt a great duty to share her gift, in more ways than one. Siana had recently shown great interest in her ability to heal and had again asked Medral to teach her. Medral was able to see the ability in another, as she could see the connection between the person, the below, and the above. If it was there, that was. Siana showed a little of that, but to her and Medral's disappointment, not enough to take root and grow. There had been something else though, something Medral didn't recognise, but something Siana certainly had. Just at the point of her reaching her full, albeit meagre, potential, Siana had pulled away from Medral's embrace with a look of such joy and wonder. She had hugged and kissed Medral, thanked her, and then ran out of the chamber, stopping only to collect a couple of bottles and the biggest fleece. Medral laughed, thinking back to Theco's surprised look as Wrald commented on how he hoped Kan didn't drink too much brandy before Siana got him under that fleece.

"Much better," Wrald said, removing his cloak and brushing the old grey soot from the hearth off it. "It'll soon be warm and Theco has done a good job creating a luxurious snug, it seems. Maybe too good. Will we ever want to continue?" He flung the cloak over the chair Medral had claimed earlier and sat down next to Theco, sliding off his boots so that he sat in just his breeches and shirt, anticipating the heat.

"So, we're not listening to Kan? About keeping our being here secret?" Theco said in a drawl as he eased himself into a sitting position and searched around for another bottle.

"I don't think Kan has secrets on his mind tonight," Wrald said, handing Theco what he sought.

"We've got a long way to go, is what Siskin said. A long way to go and with no idea what lies ahead. If he's having his comfort tonight then we should bloody well have ours," Theco said, laughing and easing the stopper from the bottle.

"Theco! That's almost witty!" Wrald said, his delight only half mocking. "You keep drinking that stuff, and I think you may be the first person known whose wits improve with it!"

"That's bloody right," Theco replied, swaying more than a little and thumping Wrald on the back, which for anyone else would have been a playful slap.

Medral let her friends talk as she watched on. This felt like being back in Blackford, in The Traveller's Delay again. She thought of the good experiences and the people she'd met, and that perhaps she wouldn't return to the village. Not to live, anyway. She didn't feel any excitement, thinking of going back to the life she'd had before. She smiled sadly at the thought of Old Orland struggling with his jars and bottles. Struggling with everything, really. Maybe she could see he was all right once in a while. She could travel to her heart's content with her knowledge and abilities. Kandorl was just confused. There was a point in living, making plans, enjoying the precious moments you had, each one at a time. The thought of him spending his in such turmoil saddened her more than thoughts of her mentor. She silently resolved to only take her leave of him once his healing was complete.

"Medral? You going to sit with us?" Wrald asked, snatching the bottle from Theco's hand and sipping furiously before he had it taken back off him. "You say you have a pipe now?"

"Not just a pipe, Wrald," she replied, pulling it and a small bundle of herbs from one of the purses around her belt. "I have something to put in it too!"

*

The room was too hot now. Wrald had been sending over a small orb of light every so often, cheering each time it added to the original, building the light and, with it, the heat in the room. Medral looked around; the pipe smoke was as dense and oppressive as the heat, and caused mainly by herself and Wrald. Theco had quite quickly given up the pipe and gone back to his drinking, complaining about a strange feeling in his head. Each small square in her vision made up the picture of the room and they had a motion, like a ripple in a pond, every time she moved her head. She studied the tapestry of the tower, vaguely aware that Wrald was laughing his way through a story which involved something Theco didn't seem keen for him to recall. She moved her head from side to side, making the little man in the basket sway and the woman pulling him up work faster and faster. The more the little woman worked, the longer the rope seemed to get, with the basket falling further down the tower with every swing. She wondered what would happen if he did get to his love, and realising, giggled. She stared intently then, her head moving in small circles, intrigued to see them finally be together. That only caused her to giggle more.

"And so, in the morning, Theco is found with a sow in his arms. But to Elisa Lock's dismay, she wasn't to be the sow to enjoy, or endure, his company that night, grunting away in the pens. Poor, dear Elisa Lock, jilted by her beloved!" Wrald finished his story and took a long draw on the pipe before raising an eyebrow at Medral and making a snorting noise. Medral burst into laughter as he choked on the pipe, his face wet with tears. An image of Elisa Lock holding a baby she knew not to be hers passed through Medral's mind. The baby was half-pig. It was always the pigs with Theco.

"He loves the pigs, but no one understands. I bet he'd pull the pig up the tower in no time." Medral stopped to think, and frowned, suddenly feeling very serious. "Would the pig share the man's gleeful expectation? Let's believe so. And if the pig could pull a rope as well as Theco, or Theco as well as the rope, then all expectations would be met, and more so," she finished, satisfied that all had been resolved. Theco looked up at her slit-eyed and grinned at her uncertainly. She fell backwards at that, laughing uncontrollably.

"What are you talking about, Medral?" Wrald said. There was not even a trace of a smile on his face. "You've given him your wits tonight and mine are at an end. And so let's move from pulling pigs, and love and frustrated expectations of lust, unsated, unrequited or un ... " His complaint trailed off as he got to his feet and started walking unsteadily over to their bags and equipment. He began moving things around and started laughing as he gestured towards the first crate, over half its bottles missing. He put the pipe down where one of the bottles had been and picked up a cloth bundle, tied with string. Medral looked at what he held, and for a moment thought she saw Elisa again, the baby's skin a very beautiful red.

"What is that?" Theco asked, slurring, "an extra bit for our bed?" Medral doubted he could even see that far. She however found focusing easier by the second, despite the growing pain in her head. The squares had disappeared, those beautiful flowing squares, all gone.

"This is mine," Wrald stated, his face intent and more focused than before. He untied the string and let the bundle unravel, the cloth red and hemmed in gold scrolls. A rounded, leafy outline of a tree on a background of a yellow sun, which Medral recognised as the symbol worn by those who announced they had the gift, was sewn into the breast. Medral shook her head fully clear and walked over, desperate to touch the cloth. She had never seen anything so well-made, so luxurious before.

"Gifted?" she asked, marvelling, "you're declaring yourself a gifted?! That is so good, Wrald!" She hugged him even as he quickly moved the robes out of the way for fear of them being crushed.

"Yes. That's right, Medral," he said, laughing again as he hugged her back with one arm. "And damn any bloody fool who has a bad word to say about it," he finished, looking towards where Theco lay.

"That's a very pretty dress," Theco said leaning up on one elbow, "but how's that going to protect you from a blade? That thing would cut you in half before you could start your bloody lights." He swigged from the bottle and used it to point to where he thought he had left his bastard sword. "The rest of you. You all think I'm a fool pig farmer with nothing here" – he tapped the lip of the empty bottle against the side of his head – "but we're not all like Wrald, are we? Or Kan? Not all got strength in wits. Some of us have got a strong bloody arm and a skill with the blade. Me, I mean. I could defeat you all in a duel, and you bloody know it. Who killed the banshee? Me. Who fought the guards at the Radbid place? Me. All without a damn sword. Just these." He lifted his hands and waved them towards Wrald. "You remember that, for the next time your tongue or your pretty lights in your pretty dress can't bloody crack any skulls and the killers are closing in ... " He trailed off with a bleary-eyed stare over towards them.

"Theco. We only joke around with you. We don't think you are just a pig farmer. Not that there's anything to be ashamed of there anyway. I pick flowers for an old man!" Medral said, trying to soothe him.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Wrald echoed, folding the robe back up with great reverence and care. "Until you're found sleeping with one of your own." Medral hoped Theco would soon fall asleep and forget about tonight. Wrald could be merciless sometimes.

"That's what I bloody mean. You bastard, Wrald. You'll see me. The next one we come across that's got a reputation and I'll take the flaming son of a whore down. Just me and him. You'll all bloody learn to respect me." He threw the bottle down with a thump and rolled over on his side, his back to them. Medral was grateful when his murmurs, something about glory, were replaced with snores.

"You really should let him be when he's been in his cups, Wrald. He gets hurt, I think," Medral said, taking the bottom of the robe from him so that they could fold it between them.

"Someone's got to bring him down a peg or two," Wrald replied, looking exasperated at Medral as she turned the robe over, in the opposite direction to him. "Besides, he gives as good as he gets." He twisted his end of the robe to match hers just as she yanked it away from him, smiling.

"Doesn't mean you should act the same way too. And yes, you do, before you start denying it." She swung the robe away from him as he grasped for it, catching nothing but air. "He uses his strength and sword skills to set himself above others. You use your mind to do the same. It doesn't seem that clever to me," she finished, deftly folding the red cloth and handing the robe back to him.

"I will think on what you've said. Not that I currently agree. You couldn't hurt him if you wrote an insult on that cudgel of his and set about his head with it," Wrald replied, bowing mockingly as he took the folded robe from Medral. "But what about you? You seem better since you came back from the fair. About Trep and all that happened in Radbid I mean. Am I right?" he asked, putting his robe back on the top of the equipment before searching around. "And where the hell is that pipe?"

Medral watched him, trying to think how long ago it was they had it. "No matter, Wrald, let's sit down," she said. "There's something I wanted to tell you and to be honest, I think it'll be easier without the pipe."

As they sat, Medral told Wrald about meeting Saul and his friends, and the things Nearin had said at exactly the same time as she had experienced them. She described feeling like she, everyone else and each moment were eternal, that there was no beginning and no end, and how it had made her truly believe Trep did continue to exist, somewhere. Wrald had listened to her intently, all the while nodding his agreement, but she noticed there was something he was holding back, something he wasn't sure about saying to her.

"Wrald, you are free to say how you feel. Please, I'd like to know," Medral said gently.

"The thing is, Medral," he started slowly and then paused. He lifted his patch and rubbed what remained of his eye with the palm of his hand before frowning at her. He was always relaxed around her, in fact, it was only when it was just the two of them that he stopped hiding his eye. Despite that, he seemed agitated, and as he spoke, his anger seemed to grow. "These herbs, this selvia. It may have just given you that feeling, you know, made you feel you experienced something. And you are an apothecary so you can get as much of this as the ground is willing to offer up. So be careful, Medral. We've sat here all night laughing and falling about, but our minds were absent, not somewhere better. I don't believe it's necessarily a window to something greater. All that you said may be true, we don't know. But for myself, I doubt you can experience that all through the right combination of plants. Just don't be a damn fool, Medral." He smiled too late, seemingly intending to soften his words. Instead, his intention was undermined by his flushed face coupled with the horror of his ruined eye. Medral believed he was right though. There was every chance that she had just got caught up in the fair, the sounds, the people, Nearin saying things that had lit up her mind. Tonight had been completely different; she had just felt happy and content being exactly what she was, and no more.

"Wrald, it's OK. I understand what you're saying and this isn't going to become something I come to rely on ... " She closed her mouth as she heard the cracking of glass being crushed from the adjacent chamber. They both sat staring at each other, waiting to hear the noise again. Theco stirred in his sleep, mumbled something, and then turned over to begin snoring again.

"I'll check," Wrald whispered as he got up, careful not to make a noise himself, and walked over to stand by the door. After a few moments, he looked back and shook his head, indicating he could no longer hear anything moving about in there. With one hand he pulled down the latch and pushed the door open, stepping into the darkness. Medral saw a flash of light which dimmed as she heard him stepping across the wooden floor. He'd conjured another orb, to provide him both a light and a weapon. She felt a small pang of worry that he may be the one to be warned against becoming reliant. The light went out and seconds later he poked his head around the door.

"Nothing there. The wind perhaps?" he asked, stepping back through. "Maybe Kan or Siana coming down to check the tower is still intact after the earth moved?" Medral joined him in laughing as he came back into the room, closing the door behind him. It was late and about time they slept. Kan would want to leave early tomorrow and Siana wouldn't be able to keep his mind on her for long. Wrald lay down next to her, kissed her gently on the forehead and then curled among the carpets and tapestries.

Medral lay for a while watching the light from the hearth slowly die down. She thought back over the evening as she listened to the rhythm of Wrald's breathing slowly synchronising to match Theco's. Everyone was finally at peace. Even Draefan, in his own way. As she closed her eyes, she smiled, enjoying this fleeting, precious moment. Despite her guilt, she accepted it was their suffering that had led them to it, that everything had worked out the way it was supposed to.

Just before sleep took her, an image of Wrald rifling through their belongings came to mind, and she resolved not to worry too hard over finding her missing pipe.

Chapter 13

Harmony

Kandorl woke with a start, knocking the fleece, and Siana, from where both had rested on his chest before hastily pulling on his boots and scrambling to his feet. Wrald's furious cry, which had pulled him from Siana and his dreams, was abruptly cut off and drowned out by raucous laughter coming from the other side of the tower.

"Was that Wrald?" Siana asked, sitting up and rubbing her shoulder from where he had pushed her onto the stones in his haste. Her half-open eyes widened as she too heard the unfamiliar voices from below. "Kan, we're being attacked."

"Stay quiet, Siana, and follow me," Kandorl replied in a whisper. "And stay low. You're right, Wrald is in trouble." He reached down to help her up onto her feet and while crouching to stay hidden behind the parapet, Kandorl led Siana around the top of the tower to peer between the crenulations at the scene below.

Wrald was lying face down on the wet ground, halfway towards the woods where they had left the track the night before. Holding him down in the mud were a man and a woman, dressed identically in dark leathers and mail shirts. Looming behind them was a much larger man, similarly dressed, but with no tunic and just the mail shirt worn over his well-muscled chest. Strapped to his back was a bastard sword which rivalled Theco's for size. To either side of the warrior stood men in two pairs, dressed as the others, as if they all wore a uniform of sorts. Kandorl remembered what Braster had taught him, and surveyed the would-be attackers, assessing each's threat. The big man in the middle was clearly the leader and the only swordsman among them. The rest carried the common axe, slung into belts around their tunics. The man standing with his boot on Wrald's back, alone carried a shield, complementing his axe. All except the two that stood nearer the woods over on the right of the field were melee fighters. On their backs were short bows with full quivers at their sides. Kandorl frowned pensively, noticing a distracting detail. All wore their hair in a topknot, matching that of the leader's. Kandorl wondered whether this marked them as a band or a clan, perhaps from some far-off place. They were all so similar, deliberately so it seemed, like smaller versions of the muscular man who now drew his sword and started performing practice swings to the delight of his followers. Each swing was met with cheers and the clapping of hands to show their appreciation, and Kandorl thought underneath it all he heard a low drone of voices, as if they all hummed the same song.

Kandorl bared his teeth at seeing them laugh and mock his friend, calling him outcast and devil among other things as they stretched his arms, painfully holding them up behind him so that he struggled to breath in the mud, unable to free his hands. The female fighter stepped backwards, only just in time to avoid a sword swing deliberately close to her. Despite her shock, her smile never dropped as she gazed adoringly at the leader, entranced by his movements. Her new position gave Kandorl a better view of Wrald, and at seeing how he was dressed, Kandorl gently squeeze Siana's arm as they shared a look. The recognition on her face mirrored his own at seeing the red, hooded robe of a gifted.

The big man stopped swinging his sword and held it across one massive shoulder in what Kandorl recognised as Wrath Guard. Below them, Theco appeared, shirtless like a fool, with his sword still scabbarded. He walked from the base of the Tower and stood unflinching, meeting the leader's stare. Though there was physically very little between the two, it seemed Theco was determined to prove himself the bigger man. Kandorl looked down at Siana, who gaped at the fighters below. Kandorl could feel her trembling as he moved his hand down her arm to clasp hers.

"Hungry ghosts again?" she whispered. "We can't let them hurt Wrald, Kan. Why does he not use his gift?"

"Maybe they are, yes. But there's something more to these, their own kind of gift?" he replied. "It won't be like Radbid. We'll never let that happen again. These bastards will get a fight."

He turned back to the scene below and almost swallowed his words, just managing not to recoil and hide behind the parapet without ever moving again from its protection, and to hell with the fight below. The open area between the tower and the woods was a sea of black. Tendrils of smoke pushed their way out of the ground to move disgustingly, like antennae of a thousand insects lurking below the skin of the earth, vainly trying to detect the odour of fear from those they surrounded, who were somehow protected, and unaware of the building desire to engulf them. His breaths came in desperate gulps which caused Siana to look up at him in shock, a question forming on her lips.

"Stay up here and keep out of sight," he said before she could speak. "Please Siana. Promise you'll stay out of the way. You do not know how to fight this," he added firmly, although he could have said the same to himself. He heard Theco shouting a challenge and pulled his hand from Siana's, grateful that she nodded her agreement without wasting time arguing.

With a quick backwards glance at her, he moved swiftly away. Somehow he would defend her. He'd stop them getting to her and the best chance he had to do so was to join Theco in taking the fight to them. As he made his way to the top of the stairs, he had to stop himself lashing out as he bumped into Medral as she emerged from below.

"Medral!" he whispered fiercely, his anger growing with his panic. "You've seen what's happening outside? Go to Siana, she's around the front. But stay low and out of sight. Make sure she does too." He made his way down the circular stone stairs, not waiting for her to reply. He burst through the door into the lord's chamber and through into where they had all sat the previous night, jumping over a pile of carpets and tapestries. On reaching where he had left his sword, he pulled the blade free of the scabbard, which he let fall to the ground, and crossed back through to run down the stairs. He jumped the last few steps and landed heavily, just inside the entrance to the tower. His heart pounded as he looked out into the light of the morning, the waves of black smoke writhed, knee-high now, all but obscuring Wrald, who was still held on the ground.

Theco stood only a few paces away, his sword drawn. Kandorl moved slowly to stand next to his friend, forcing himself to step through the swirling smoke which wrapped around his legs, threatening to trip him, to pull him down. Theco turned slightly to watch his approach, even sparing the time to smile at him, before turning back to the fighters arrayed in front of them. He leant heavily on his sword with his hands clasped over the pummel, the point lost somewhere in the smoke.

"I'll say again, you son of a whore. Step forward. I challenge you!" Theco shouted at the group's leader. Kandorl spared a glance at the man now, as close as he was, and nearly dropped his sword. Apart from his topknot, he was almost identical to Septaln, both facially and physically. Kandorl tried to recover his nerve by telling himself that Septaln was dead, that he lay burnt and broken, taken down into the funnel by Trep. Even the fighters that were spread out around their leader bared a resemblance to him, though theirs was only an attempt at replication of the man they followed. Indeed, the men may have been shorter, slimmer, or worn beards or other facial hair, but every one of them, including the woman still standing over Wrald, appeared to be diminished versions of the man they followed and clearly adored.

"Brack accepts. Come to me," the big man replied simply. His confidence made Kandorl nervous about Theco's challenge. His friend had a talent with the sword but he'd never fought outside of the training field before. If confidence was his only advantage, then against this Brack, he'd already lost it.

Kandorl went to warn his friend to fight as a unit, to try to get to and defend Wrald. He needed Theco as he feared he himself would be overcome, paralysed by the darkness reaching up to him through the ground. He spun around suddenly at the familiar sound of moaning, just short of words. All that lay behind him was the tower, but the sound echoed in his head, coming from all directions to fill it until he could hear little else. Medral and Siana were standing on top, facing each other with their hands holding one another's. As the noise in his head subsided, he wondered desperately why they were not safely hidden, as he had asked.

"Brack! Brack! Brack!" one of the men started chanting, distracting Kandorl from the tower. He turned back to see Brack pacing up and down, his face growing more and more crazed, as if he had taken his fill of adoration, yet drew more and more until he passed through ecstasy and onto madness. Soon, all the fighters joined in and the chant grew louder, more frantic. Kandorl breathed slowly, as if he could control his rising panic. With Wrald on the ground and Draefan nowhere to be seen, he and Theco faced seven. Then there was the stalker, its arrival imminent, inevitable. Neither sword could stop that.

"Brack! Brack! Brack!" Louder still it rose as the woman's shrill voice added to the drone of the men's. Brack's eyes were wide now, almost vacant. His mouth fell open as he paced to the beat of the man standing over Wrald, his axe head beating against his shield. Brack seemed to be bigger than before, towering above them all. Kandorl wondered whether the man was growing before their eyes or whether it was he, simply sinking into the ground, being pulled down into the darkness. He looked over at Theco, who stared back, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. His hands were white from gripping his sword, which he now held in a Fool's Guard, still holding the weapon low, exposing his whole body to attack.

"Kan!" Theco shouted at him, his teeth bared and snarling. Why can no one feel the black hands pulling at them? he thought, it really does just want me. He felt himself shudder and his hands began to curl inwards. Soon he would drop his sword and then all would be lost. All because of him, because he couldn't fight. Another shudder and he realised he was weakening, his knees bent as the darkness tried to pull him forwards to lie as twisted and useless as Wrald. "Kan!" Theco screamed at him as he dragged him back upright. Still looking at the ground, he didn't see the blow coming. His head snapped backwards with force, sending him sprawling back a few steps, bright lights flashing through his vision.

"Fall back to the tower, it's lost," Kandorl said miserably, knowing his voice would be drowned out by the chanting of the fighters. Now a cacophony, like there were a thousand voices rising together in unison to the beat of a drum, the percussive sound struck Kandorl as a hammer would a nail, seemingly intent on driving him into the ground.

"Brack! Brack! Brack!"

"Get your fucking head on, now!" Kandorl's vision cleared to see Theco's face up against his. "Kan, I fucking need you!"

One of the archers suddenly pointed up towards the tower. Both men unslung their bows from their backs and began to notch arrows. They'd seen Siana and Medral and now laughed as they chanted, planning to take practice shots at the women. Kandorl felt the strength returning to his hands and he gripped his sword as if he meant to bend the metal. They were going to have to get past the man and woman screening Brack and close down the archers. The tower was in range of even their short bows. Why had Siana and Medral not stayed hidden?! he thought, his anger rising, further replenishing his strength.

"Rans, Hal, take them," Brack said, pointing towards him and Theco. "Brack! Brack! Brack!!" Brack's voice boomed over the din, punishing Kandorl's ears. Even Theco grimaced, looking as if he might empty his stomach. Kandorl was distracted from the archers lining up their shots as the two axemen advanced, screaming their leader's name as they did so, and pulling their long-handled axes from their belts as they moved. Theco turned to face them both, his knees bending slightly as he assumed the Fool's Guard perfectly, the laziness of the hold belying the concentration and focus required by the fighter willing to use it to invite his foes on.

There was a moment where Kandorl thought he heard nothing at all, where everything stood still and was silent.

"Mine." The familiar, terrible voice roared through Kandorl's head, and he choked back a scream that he could not have ended. Below, the black earth churned as Kandorl looked to the sky above, fearing it had finally fallen in. In between, the battlefield whirled into murderous action.

*

"Medral. Take me back to where we went before," Siana said, her voice shaking with urgency. Medral looked across to her friend where she crouched down behind the parapet. Siana reached out a trembling hand, which Medral took in hers, wondering whether she wanted to show her healing again. She wants to discover her own gift, she realised. Maybe there is something she feels she can do to help?

"Siana? Can you help them?" Medral replied, speaking her mind, hope rising in her. From above, she could see the odds were completely against them. She looked worryingly at Wrald, who may have been injured or at least unable to fight, and fought her instinct to go down to him. She had no desire to train with the sword, nor any other weapon and so she had no place on the battlefield, which the clearing surely now was. Her work would begin after the fighting stopped. Friend or enemy, if people needed healing, she would gladly use her gift. She looked to the line of trees, to where Draefan had retreated last night. He was nowhere in sight, and again she fought her desire, reminding herself of her promise to Kan to stay with Siana. She realised Draefan may be injured too, or already dead. That just left Theco and Kan, and Kan looked to be fighting something unseen again, just like he had at Radbid. They had to do something to help, not just hide away up here like cowards.

"Yes, Medral. I think I can help Kan at least," Siana replied, letting Medral take her other hand so they knelt facing one another, hands held in each other's. "I think it will work, if we can push a little further than before," Siana finished, her voice easily drowning out the rising song of the fighters below. Why are they singing? Medral thought absently, closing her eyes after motioning for Siana to do the same. It's hypnotic, and there's power in it. The thought trailed away, the singing forgotten as Medral felt her body once more fill with the bliss of the joining of her form with the above and the below. She felt it surge through her, this growing feeling of wholeness, everything as one in its natural state. The way it was meant to be. She opened her eyes to see a blue form knelt before her, mirroring her. Siana's body was outlined in a roaring blue light, also whole, also complete. With their hands clasped together, the light merged across the joining of their forms.

"Medral?" At hearing the name, Medral flinched back, startled and nearly jolting herself away from the power coursing through her, the moment of fear almost strong enough to pervert the bliss. She gathered herself and became part of the light again; all doubt left her and she now seemed something unattainable, here in the flow of energy. Herself. Medral. The above. The below. All names for things that became irrelevant, unnecessary, she let detach from the moment.

"Medral, look at me." Medral acknowledged the sound more calmly this time, realising it came from opposite, Siana's form, she remembered. She wasn't here to heal; she had distraction from her purpose, and it would be natural to stay, to become free. "Help me make it grow. You have to show me how to make it," Siana's voice continued, reminding Medral that her friend had asked for her help. She had been trying to help Kan, through her gift. Medral looked down at the ground around Siana; there were shapes forming there. Small, vaguely diamond shapes which fitted together, like the skirts of leaves they had made for the corn-dollies when they were children. She watched as they formed, interlocking. They were leaves, only made from the light surrounding Siana. They seemed blocked, unable somehow to grow any further. Siana, or something else, was stopping them.

"Siana, feel the power from my hands. Feel it also from above you and below. Let your form open up to it, like you have through my touch. Let it grow; you're holding it back. It cannot harm you." The leaves shifted, locking into place only to then just slide over each other, trying to encase Siana, but still they were held back. "Siana, let more of the power in; let it show you your real form, not the one you imagine here," Medral said, herself letting more and more light flow through her. "Kan needs you, Siana! Let it form!" She shouted now as she felt Siana's form convulse. A huge flow of power then suddenly came rushing through her hands, pushing Medral backwards to lay on her back on the stones of the tower. Siana began to lift, her legs uncurling from beneath her and she rose off the ground to stand upright, the blue leaves enclosing around the raging blue fire of her legs and up her body, first to her waist, and then onto her torso and arms. Smaller leaves covered her face, all shifting, interlocking then shifting again and from the top of Siana's head. A blue light shone as she floated above the tower. Medral watched in amazement as her friend transformed into her true state. Medral's gift for healing had somehow unlocked her friend's abilities, like a beautiful flower blossoming.

"I can feel his pain." Siana's voice chimed, like notes played skilfully on a xylophone as she reached her hands down to Medral. Taking them in hers, Medral let Siana gently pull her to her feet. "We need to go back, Medral." The chimes continued, melodic yet commanding. "We need to go back, now!"

*

Kandorl slowed his breathing as he focused, studying the fighters, like pieces laid out before him across the field. He shook his head to clear his vision. His face stung but that was irrelevant now, a distraction. All that mattered was playing the game in front of him. He could almost hear Braster's voice speaking to him, telling him what was important, and what to ignore. To his side, Theco planted his feet as the closest man, short and bearded, advanced with the second, ugly and scarred, both melee fighters, with their long axes providing a shorter range than the sword. Theco turned and pointed towards the shield man, shouting an instruction that was lost to the percussive banging of shield man's axe, as he stepped over the prone body of Wrald, beginning his slow advance. Kandorl caught glimpses of Brack towering monstrously behind his fighters, grinning as he watched his men advance as he came to stand alongside the woman, her beautiful face twisted, showing her mania. She stood where the shield man had before, her boot replacing his as she held Wrald down, unmoving in the mud.

"Brack! Brack! Brack!" Again the thunderous cries came, over and over, punctuating each movement in the game just as an internal, private scream of mine! threatened to split Kandorl's head from within. With an effort, he cleared his vision again, refusing to be distracted.

The two archers had drawn back their bow strings, their arrows already notched and aimed at where Siana and Medral stood atop the tower. Theco stepped close on his left, his blade flashing up to connect with short and bearded, ripping through leather and flesh as the man screamed his agony before falling to the earth. The shield man had closed the gap between himself and Kandorl and swung his axe in a circle, first backwards then snapping forwards in a heavy strike. Instinctively, Kandorl's arms flexed in response and his sword met the haft of the axe, twisting out and away before it could be hooked. The man's attack had brought him close to Kandorl's side and he quickly withdrew, his shield raised.

One archer no longer laughed, instead his face was a mask of shock as blood poured from his mouth. He'd taken an arrow through his neck, the tip protruding through his ruined throat. The second archer turned to the source of the attack, his interest lost in the tower, as Draefan appeared from the trees. Draefan threw his bow to the ground and pulled serpentine blades from his belt as he began running across the clearing.

Shield man advanced again, bringing Kandorl's attention back to his own fight. "Brack! Brack!" The man continued to shout, but it sounded desperate now, more frantic, as if its power had ebbed. The black tendrils of smoke converged, reaching for Kandorl's chest and becoming harder to ignore, enough to distract his mind from watching the moves. Just in time, his arms again flexed instinctively, his sword swinging up into High Guard as a mistimed shield bash followed by a vertical axe swing left shield man's side exposed. Kandorl dodged to the left, just as the axe swung uselessly past. He took his opportunity and exploited the opening, his blade coming crashing down, slicing through the man's side, the armour unable to prevent the sword from opening him from armpit to hip. He stepped to his left then thrust his blade through shield man's open mouth before withdrawing again, quickly back to Long Point Guard.

Brack appeared again, yet to enter the fight. He seemed smaller now, as if he no longer took power from the chant, which had become uncertain and stuttering. He shouted and waved his arms, before pushing beauty forward, allowing himself space to withdraw, his sword held out in two-handed Long Point and his eyes searching, full of fear.

Draefan dropped to the ground and rolled as an arrow whistled past, no more than a foot above his head. The archer dropped his bow and drew his short sword as Draefan closed and engaged him, his daggers flashing as he sought a way past the man's quick-wristed blocks. As Brack turned and thrust wildly, missing Draefan completely, a robed figure appeared from between the trees, its shrunken head turning towards Kandorl's friend. It began to spin, its mouth hole sucking in air excitedly as it danced away to disappear into the woods, beckoning as it did so.

Theco stood with his sword held low, once again in the Fool's Guard, and waited for ugly and scarred to make his move. He circled the axeman, moving so that he was always facing his foe, intimidating him with his head bobbing to and fro and a wide smile on his face. Theco stepped back as the man changed his hold on his axe to grasp it under the head, attempting fast draw and push cuts, every one of which missed, falling short of their target. Theco shouted an insult as he surged forward, his sword swinging upwards in an angled upper cut which ripped through the man's tunic and bowels. His axe fell to the ground as Theco's sword rose and fell, needlessly butchering the man.

Stepping over her dead comrades, beauty closed uncertainly, no longer chanting. Now silent, afraid. There was a sudden flash of light as Wrald pushed himself to his knees. His good eye glared furiously in a face stained brown and red from the mixture of bloody mud pooling on the ground, and he tore his eye-patch away in a rage as he looked around, seeking his foe. Beauty screamed and fell forward, waving her hands around her head as a globe of light appeared around it like a helm, burning her hair away to nothing before her flesh sizzled as it melted.

Mine! A man made of smoke appeared in front of Kandorl, its face twisted in hatred, its hands clawing at his chest. His concentration finally broken, Kandorl lost his focus and fell backwards under the onslaught. He dropped his sword from trembling, twisted fingers that were no longer able to hold it.

Just before his head hit the ground, Kandorl glimpsed the tower through the lashing smoke. He saw Siana, composed of flickering blues and whites like a river in the sunlight and hovering in the air, a full span above the top of the tower. He did his best to reach out towards her.

*

Kandorl stood in the midst of a sprawling ruin, in the gloom of the deep woods. Groups of people huddled around piles of damp wood stacked ready for a fire, on sections of partially submerged flagstone floors, and separated into groups by the stagnant, murky water. He looked away from their blank faces as he walked through their circles. Milky, sightless eyes tracked his progress, seemingly aware of his passing. His intent was singular; he yearned for a place far off, away from here. A place of life and light, where comfort and familiarity lay. This place was cold, lifeless and appeared to hold no purpose. But Kandorl recognised there was something here, potential, the hope of a spark catching, starting a chain of events.

From one of the circles, a small woman dressed in rags just like the others, stood and approached, her face turned up to Kandorl as she blindly reached out a hand. He noticed she frowned, as if she battled with her pain, and he gave her his hand for the comfort it may bring her, despite his fear of doing so. Together they walked down towards the lake, helping each other across the stones. He felt the woman pull on his hand and he turned to follow her to where a small row boat lay on the mud.

On the distant shore, the white towers of a vast city provided the backdrop as small fishing boats returned to moor alongside the many jetties stretching out into the lake. A wide track lined with statues of people Kandorl didn't recognise, led up to a gate in the high city walls. On seeing the open gate, he felt a welcoming pull, a brief association of serenity coupled with a hint of a memory he couldn't recall.

He took the oars and rowed swiftly across the water until they were among the fishing boats, the people aboard too busy with their nets to notice their passing. Kandorl climbed from the boat and was led by the woman along the jetty and onto the track, walking hand in hand once more, up towards the city bathed in light, before passing through its gates.

Inside, people had gathered at the centre of a great square. High above the others, one man stood atop a plinth, throwing cards out into the crowd. The woman pulled at Kandorl's hand, trying to guide him away, but he let himself be drawn in as he tried to reach out to catch one of the cards as it fell. The woman, unable to follow him, was lost from view as he fought among the throng. As he fell to the ground, he saw a giant figure pushing the plinth back and forth until the man on top stopped his laughing and fell screaming to be ripped apart by the crowd. Kandorl thought to crawl through the writhing mass, back to where he had last seen the woman, but something heavy fell on his back as his vision darkened. The last thing he saw was a card in his hand. The tighter he held onto it, the quicker it crumbled.

Through the confusion of limbs, Siana appeared. Her body was covered in small leaves made of the same blue light which shone resplendently from her head. Kandorl recoiled as she reached down to him, but feeling her hands enclose around his, he surrendered to her and she pulled his broken body up from where he lay. As her light spread to envelop him as well, she held him in a long embrace, out of reach of the brawling crowd.

*

The stalker stood a few paces away, bent double and screaming silently as it clawed at the air in front of it. Surrounding Kandorl was a faint, blue-tinged dome, just visible at the corners of his vision. Blue light streaked through it, pulsing from top to bottom as if water cascaded over a perfectly round canopy, protecting him from the stalker who sought to resume its consumption of him.

"Stay back!" Kandorl shouted, feeling the ground around him, trying to find his sword. What just happened? He'd been taken away again, only to be prevented from reaching somewhere he yearned to be. He had a feeling he himself blocked his own progress, as if he grasped for the wrong thing. He'd seen Siana, at the end, pulling him back to her. He glanced up at the tower to see her floating above it, a blue dome to match the one around him surrounding her too. Her arms were out at her side, as if she supported herself in the air, and her skin flickered like a fire running out of fuel and burning out. Medral was there too, looking up at her. She seemed unable to enter the space around her friend, just as the stalker couldn't enter his own. He forced himself to turn to face it, to look into eyes like polished opals, its hatred inexplicable and plain on a face created out of swirling smoke. It held Kandorl in that horrific regard for a few moments, before it turned, raising its arms as if in submission, and sunk back into the ground. Kandorl watched until just small tendrils protruded from the earth, and then they too disappeared. His relief was momentary as he heard a scream from the top of the tower as Siana, now unsupported, fell to land heavily on the stones, with Medral quick to rush to her aid.

Kandorl pushed up onto his feet, readying to run through the fighting to Siana. He heard the sound of a woman weeping weakly and turned from the tower to see Wrald standing over the female fighter, smiling madly through his bloody mask as he carefully placed globes of burning light on her body. Laughing at her pleas, he continued until a line of orbs sat burning her flesh from feet to blackened head. Kandorl watched horrified as her hands dug desperately at the ground in a futile effort, with Wrald making sure of his retribution, pinning her as she had him before. The stench seemed disturbingly pleasant, bringing the unwelcome thought of food. He turned away from the torture, over the corpses on the field and towards where Theco now circled Brack. Theco laughed as the man struggled with a sword now too large for him to wield, swinging it in more and more desperate attacks, leaving himself exposed again and again. Theco waited, easily parrying each strike, taunting him and clearly not ready to finish the fight, or his sport. Brack looked sickly, scrawny even, and unrecognisable from the hulking warrior he had been only minutes before. Kandorl almost felt sorry for the man, as he did the female fighter. Both had been unnecessarily toyed with by Wrald and Theco. He decided not to intervene; neither man would listen to him anyway, and besides, suffering as they waited for their inevitable ending was what these bastards deserved. It was surely how it was meant be.

His thoughts returned to Siana. He looked back up to the tower to see her back on her feet, leaning heavily against Medral, who led her out of sight. He wondered if he had really seen her floating above the ground, encased in leaves made from light as she had been in that place the stalker had drawn him to. He shuddered as he remembered its face, and seeing his sword, he bent down quickly to retrieve it, despite knowing that if the creature returned it would be useless. Siana had been able to protect him. She had encased him somehow and the creature had been unable to pass through. It wanted to destroy him, as if it hated his very being, and there was no clear reason why.

His head spun. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out questions and scenes of misery alike. He felt nauseous, and as if his knees would give way. He leant heavily on his sword, depending on it to hold him up, as images of Theco and Wrald's cruelty, the stalker clawing at him and Siana falling to hit the stones passed through his mind. Then there was Draefan, looking petrified as he fought the bowman, desperately fending off Brack's wild attacks. He opened his eyes and frantically searched the field. Draefan was nowhere to be seen. Everything had been so quick, just glimpses, moves in a game.

Kandorl heard Wrald and Theco's laughter rise in unison as Brack's head hit the ground before rolling away from his body. The headless corpse remained upright for a moment, before collapsing forwards to land in a heap. The once-beautiful woman's scream filled the area as Wrald finally had his fill and engulfed her in a massive sphere of light. It wasn't so much the attack on his senses nor the evil culmination of his friend's indulgent torture that froze Kandorl's blood. What chilled Kandorl to the bone was the sudden, returning memory of what had appeared from the woods.

Chapter 14

A Problem Shared

Theco looked up from where he was kneeling over Brack's body as Kandorl jogged past. He used the edge of his sword to cut free the man's topknot before standing and kicking the head away. "Where are you going?" Theco shouted after him. "You running from your shadow again?!"

"It's Draefan!" Kandorl shouted over his shoulder as he ran to where he had seen the spinner appear from the woods. "Theco, go see to Medral and Siana, she's injured. Take Wrald too and stop him from burning everything. I have to bring Draefan back." He ignored Theco's reply that no one cared where Draefan had gone, that he hoped he'd gone to hang. His friend didn't realise he had unwittingly spoken Kandorl's very fear.

As he entered the half-light of the thick woods, he slowed to a walk, raising his sword out in front of him in fear of the spinner appearing at any moment from behind one of the thick trunks. He searched for any signs of disturbance on the ground, any indication of where Draefan may have run, or worse, been dragged. He envied his friend's tracking skills, and little else, at the moment. Kandorl himself was clearly lacking and there seemed to be nothing to determine his friend's course, or if he had even come this way at all. All he could do was to progress further into the woods, still cold from the night, and simply rely on hearing or seeing something in time to react. He searched ahead with a mixture of hope and dread as he prepared for any sign of movement among the trees, his every step slow and careful as he tried his best to move silently. The relative safety of the clearing no longer protected his back, adding to his sense of exposure as he tried to look everywhere at once and strained to hear over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Apart from a slight wind stirring the branches and the occasional bird call from high up in the pine trees, the woods were silent, reassuring Kandorl at least that there was no one walking the track which lay somewhere to the east. He had enough to occupy him without worrying over more attackers making their way towards the tower. Despite Theco's willingness to fight, he worried they would not be able to defend themselves this time without himself and Draefan. Then again, if Wrald used his gift, he could end the fight before it even started. Whether that was without harming his friends in the process was what concerned Kandorl most. If Wrald couldn't control himself, then someone else would have to. He glanced back towards the tower and regretted it as soon as he did so. The tower and the clearing were now completely obscured by a mass of trunks and branches. As he made his way deeper into the woods, he realised the futility of his stepping so carefully over the roots. The spinner could be anywhere, watching his efforts. It could attack at any time, from any side, all completely at its leisure.

Something moved ahead, momentarily blocking out where the sunlight had managed to penetrate through the trees. Kandorl fought the urge to either run towards it, his sword swinging wildly, or turn and flee back towards the tower. He silently berated himself for considering leaving Draefan to his fate and slowed his breathing until he regained enough of his composure to remain. He moved to crouch down behind a tree, doing his best to remain completely still as he waited for either the spinner or his friend to reveal themselves. On seeing no further movement, he began to edge from behind the tree, little by little closing in on the area he had fixed in his sight. For the first time it occurred to him that if the creature had taken Draefan, there would be nothing he could do aside from run, like he had all those nights ago walking back to Blackford. He glanced down at his sword held out in front of him and stifled a laugh as he wondered if the blade would even hurt the creature. He wasn't even sure if he could force himself to get close enough to use it. He grinned as he felt the handle slipping in his hands and the thought of throwing the weapon at the creature before it fell from his grasp.

As the wood gave way to a small clearing up ahead, he caught a glimpse of something in the trees, something which looked like legs hanging down. His blood froze as he was reminded of the corn dollies in Jon Blent's field. He darted to the side and leant his back against a tree, facing back the way he had come, towards the relative safety of his friends behind the stone walls of the tower. He again considered going back, getting the others to follow him. He thought maybe the spinner would be powerless against them all. Or maybe there is something Siana can do? he thought and instantly felt ashamed for considering it. Draefan was in here somewhere and he needed him to act, now. He imagined Theco's disgusted face at him returning alone, asking them to accompany him in his search, like a child afraid of the woods. Not for the first time, he felt a true coward.

Theco's face was replaced by Braster's in his mind, as he remembered something the man had taught him. It wasn't having the fear itself that made you a coward, it was how you reacted to that fear. If you've never felt fear, how do you know if you're brave? He reminded himself the fact he was still here, albeit shaking and chilled as his sweat dried in the damp air, confirmed he was no coward. He imagined what Braster would do, in his place. He would have cut through those hungry ghosts and these creatures. He wouldn't have let Draefan be taken in the first place, he thought miserably.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Kandorl surprised himself by moving out from behind the tree and walking forwards. He let go of the breath he had been holding as he entered the clearing; it wasn't legs exactly that hung in the trees, but two pairs of breeches, moving gently in the slight breeze which blew through the woods. This time he did laugh. This had been someone's camp, but not Draefan's. He was sure he had seen his campfire the night before, and that had been nowhere near here. Apart from the few items of clothing, there was a small shelter made of chopped branches and brush. The camp looked as if it had been left in a hurry; clothes were precious and especially so to someone travelling or living outside of the towns and villages. He walked over to look down at the burnt-out fire. This can't have been what he had seen the night before. He thought back to standing on the tower; the direction he was facing then had been over to the east. He bent down to put his hands around the edge of the fire to feel for any residual heat. Feeling nothing, he stood back up and froze, dropping his sword to be lost in the leaves and dirt below.

He closed his eyes, knowing the featureless, shrunken-headed creature was there. He felt its hot, stinking breath on his face, its mad gibbering in his ear as spittle sprayed onto his face. He wasn't sure if it was bravery or simply wanting the terror to end which finally gave him back control of his body. Either way, the decision to fight had been made. He opened his eyes and snapped his head backwards, away from the creature's puckered mouth, which almost pressed against his face. Yellowed, pointed teeth, like those of a rat, ringed its maw, protruding at different angles as if something had forced its way out from within.

Kandorl pushed out with his hands, attempting to knock the thing back by the shoulders but it whirled out of the way before his blow could land, like he was swatting at a fly. He let himself fall into a run, the only option remaining, and bravery be damned. He stumbled on through the woods, only daring to look back once he had weaved in and out of the trees, changing his direction many times. Always the creature was there, impossibly just a few steps behind, spinning with its arms raised and herding him on.

Kandorl determined to redouble his efforts to outrun the thing and crashed straight through the pair of breeches from before, wet and heavy and presumably where they had been left to soak in last night's rain. He tripped and fell to the ground, rolling as he did so to end up on his back looking up at the tops of the trees, where tiny patches of sky showed through gaps in the canopy. His side hurt from where he had hit the ground, and breathing was painful as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. Looking back to where he had tripped, he very nearly screamed. It hadn't been wet clothing he had ran through, he would be sat in the fire now if it were; he had run into the blood-soaked legs of a man, strung up in the trees by his neck, with blood pouring from where he had been disembowelled.

All around Kandorl, the trees held victims. Women and men, all strung up similarly and each one cut in the same way. He looked away as more than one of them twitched, seemingly fighting to hold onto life. The creature stood to one side of him, its attention elsewhere as it faced into the woods, focused on something Kandorl couldn't see. It had something in its hands too and Kandorl stared at it, trying to make out what it held and wondering how it had managed to overtake him to be here, ahead of him. He looked around as another spinner, clearly the one that had been behind him, appeared around the hanging body of the man Kandorl had collided with. It became harder to breathe, as if he couldn't draw enough air in, no matter how hard he tried. There's more than one. So how many are there? Does that mean there are more stalkers too? How am I ever going to be free of them? He felt the desperation of his situation fully now. He had come to rescue his friend but instead had run straight into his own nightmare, stupidly unaware that he rushed to seal his own fate. There was nothing to do; he couldn't fight them and he couldn't run from them. Draefan was gone too, and he would soon follow. He would never know what had happened to Siana, if she had hurt herself, pointlessly, and just to help him. I'm not a moral man, he thought sadly as he searched around the trees, trying to choose where he would hang himself.

Even facing the certainty of his fate and the ending that would follow, his body still naively fought on in an attempt to preserve itself. A futile gesture and nothing more, without a willing mind. He scrambled backwards as the spinner that had chased him moved towards him, its arms moving from high above it, to down low in a macabre, sickening dance. The corpses it passed began to thrash about, just as they had before, lashed tightly to their trees by the ropes around their necks. Kandorl stopped suddenly as his head cracked against the trunk of a tree. He looked up to see the cloth shoes of a young woman twitching more and more violently as the creature got closer. He turned his head away from it, to look out into the forest and see something other than the horror facing him. In doing so, he saw what had captured the other creature's attention. Sitting on the lowest branch of a tree was Draefan, his face turned down and almost completely obscured by his hood, slipping a thick, noosed rope around his own neck. The shrunken-headed creature's face was held up towards him and Kandorl could hear it sucking air through its only feature in disgusting eagerness. He could see that in its twisted white hands it clutched Draefan's serpentine daggers, ready to begin its work.

Kandorl realised that a growing part of him envied Draefan, as he watched his friend tighten the noose around his neck. He would soon have his release. There would be no more living with the constant threat of the invasion coming in the night, wondering whether this time it would be him or someone he loved stolen away. No more waking up to yet another day of these abominations stalking him, cursing his every waking moment until he could take to his cups. No more sadness at the fools running around happily ignoring that any day the whole damn lot of them would be wiped away, taken by an unstoppable tide. Hurry, he thought as he watched Draefan shuffle forward on the branch. He wondered whether the rope, or the cutting, would be first to end his own life. The spinner, his spinner, moved closer to him, and in doing so brought his liberation within arm's reach. He looked up blankly at where the creature's eyes should have been, and having moved far beyond fear now, he willingly got to his feet. The tree behind him would do. He didn't think it mattered if he shared it with the young woman. He stood and walked towards the creature, transfixed by its horrific visage. Something so unnatural and absolutely ugly could be his salvation, the release he had sought for so long.

"Are you so unnatural after all?" he said as he stared at its face, its skin mottled and tight across a tiny skull. There was a different hue to the skin around its neck which he hadn't noticed before. A blue light, like a candle behind coloured glass, spread slowly across its face, across its fleshy jaw until it encompassed the entire head. The creature hissed as it turned, spittle flying in wide arcs as its head whipped around. Kandorl turned and nearly hissed himself. Stood among the trees, and only a few paces away, was Medral, her hands clasped over her mouth and her eyes wide as if she were about to scream. Next to her floated the form of a woman surrounded by a faintly shimmering blue dome and completely encased in tiny blue leaves.

"Siana," Kandorl whispered as he recognised the figure hovering a yard above the ground. As he watched, the leaves around the figure's head unfurled enough to reveal her face, just as blue light projected in a column from her head.

"What the hell are you doing? Draefan? Stop!" Medral cried, staring past Kandorl. "Draefan? Kan, why won't he look at me? Why are you letting him do this?!" she asked. Her voice sounded so unfamiliar, a mixture of anger, fear and despair. At his silence, she went to step towards him. Siana reached a glowing hand down to prevent her from moving any closer.

"There's something here," Siana said, the blue light shining now from her eyes as she looked around. "It isn't their will that has brought them here, Medral. Something else has done this. We need not enter."

Medral fought to push past Siana, then abandoned her efforts as Siana gently pushed her back. Kandorl watched as Medral sank to her knees, letting her hair fall over her face, blocking the sight of Draefan in the tree. "Get him down, Kan. Please, get him down. Before it's too late," she said as she lifted her head up. "Help him, you bastard!" she screamed, grabbing at her hair as if she meant to rip it out.

Kandorl looked over to Draefan, who sat with his head hanging heavily in the noose. One slip and he would fall to hang from his neck. I'd given up on him, he thought, the horror returning. Even if it meant I'd have been ripped to shreds by these creatures, how could I have just resigned myself to watching him die?

Both spinners began to move towards Siana, both hissing their rage as they lurched forwards, no longer dancing. The corpses once again twitched violently on the end of their ropes, as if sensing more bloodshed was about to occur. The creature that had been watching Draefan spread its arms, holding the blades out wide as it advanced. Kandorl watched as Siana mirrored it, spreading her arms also as the dome around her began to grow, stretching across the forest floor to encompass him also, just as it had outside of the tower. It flickered as it passed over his head and he wondered if it was actually a sphere, half above the ground and half below. Blue lights, connected by wispy strands, cascaded like water across it, forming it. A whistle made Kandorl duck down, covering his ears as he cowered. The creatures sounded their frustration at being pushed back by the dome as it now completely enclosed and protected him, repelling the spinners as it had the stalker. Inside the dome, a feeling of great empathy and compassion grew, all seemingly created by the link between himself and Siana. He took a step away from the tree, his will now returned, and towards the spinners, who both shuffled backwards, their shrieks joining those coming from the figures hanging in the trees. Kandorl glanced over at Siana. Her arms were still spread wide as if she offered an embrace, and moving forward became easier, with all fear of the creatures now replaced, not with resignation, but with a sense of his own resolve. As Siana's light burnt brighter, the leaves swirled around her as if there was a wind lifting them, and her, from the ground. Kandorl pushed the creatures back, holding his own arms forward as if it was his power that banished them. The trilling built into a crescendo outside of the dome, although the noise was softened as if distant to him. Medral's cries seemed clear though, imploring him to continue onto Draefan, screaming the same question again and again as to why he wasn't hurrying, and screaming at Siana for not letting her stand. As Kandorl pushed them back, the spinners finally turned and whirled away into the woods, one dropping Draefan's blades as it went.

As a stillness began to return, Kandorl looked up to see that the trees now all stood empty, the victims gone with their torturers.

"It's OK now, they've gone," Kandorl called out to Siana and Medral. He was aware of the dome disappearing while he watched in wonder as Siana nodded, then drifted slowly back down, the leaves lifting from her body to fly up into the sky and disappear as her feet touched the ground. She was beautiful, he realised. In either form. He still felt the bond between the two of them, as strong as it had been within the sphere, as if it lasted like the image of the blue light still visible when he closed his eyes.

"Draefan!" Medral shouted as Kandorl turned to see his friend pulling his head out of the noose just as he began to slip from the branch. He reached Draefan slightly before Medral, as the man dropped heavily to the ground, wincing and rubbing his neck as he dragged himself awkwardly to his feet. Medral pushed past, knocking Kandorl aside, and flung her arms around Draefan, who simply stared at Kandorl, his mouth working silently as he tried to comprehend what had happened, and what he had been about to do. Only he and Kandorl could truly know what they had experienced.

When Draefan finally hugged Medral back, he looked as if he may crush her. His head nestled in her light hair falling loosely over her shoulder. Kandorl felt for Siana's hand and, as she cupped his in both of hers, they watched as their friends fell to their knees, clinging onto one another.

*

The sun had risen fully by the time Kandorl and the others emerged from the woods. They had remained far longer than Kandorl would have liked, but no one had been willing to hurry Draefan along. He walked behind now, half supported by Medral, who held him close, whispering reassurances and smiling kindly every time he looked down at her. She had found something new to nurture, that was obvious. Maybe she had found someone she felt would help her to atone for Trep. Once or twice, Kandorl turned to share a look with Draefan. He knew later they would talk about what they had seen, what the others could not, but now was not the time to bring it up. Medral had a gift for healing all wounds, physical or otherwise, and it was best for Draefan that she was allowed time to do so. He looked down at Siana as she walked alongside him, her hand still held in his. She was someone else he would talk to at length. He had many questions for her too, though they would have to wait until they were alone. A memory from the night before almost made him stumble and she smiled warmly at him when he leant into her, squeezing her hand as he did so.

Sitting by the entrance to the tower were Theco and Wrald, with all their equipment piled up on the grass, to one side. Smoke rose from a cookpot which balanced on top of a large sphere of light which Wrald watched intently. He had the look that his father sometimes had when he applied his craft. The beauty of creation, Kandorl mused, and here the beauty will be determined solely by its creator.

Theco looked up from sharpening his sword at their approach and nodded once in acknowledgement before returning to his whetstone. He and Wrald sat opposite one another, and appeared to Kandorl as two sides of the same coin. Before today he had thought there could be nothing about these two that could surprise him; he had believed he knew both better than they did themselves. Looking at them now, he wasn't so sure.

Wrald, his head covered by the red cowl of his robe, turned at something Theco grunted, then he too looked over to watch Kandorl and the others approach. He put his hand up to attract their attention before pointing to the pot. Kandorl doubted it was the food itself his friend was keen to point out. More likely, Wrald was keen for them all to see how it was cooking.

"Got some rabbit to go with the potato and carrot. Got a stew going," Wrald said, smiling as he lifted the lid to the heavy cooking pot and gave it a stir. "Not really breakfast, but it'll do for now, and later too. Can always heat it up again," Wrald continued, motioning for Kandorl to crouch down to smell the food.

"Seems he's got a thing for cooking," Theco said, not looking up from his work.

"Found these in the kitchen. Best to take them with us," Wrald said, for once ignoring Theco and pointing with his ladle to six small wooden bowls and spoons laid out around him.

The smell of the stew brought back memories for Kandorl that he would sooner forget. Just hours ago he had sickened himself at almost enjoying the smell of that woman's burning flesh as she suffered at his friend's hand. From the shadow of the cowl, Wrald regarded him with his one eye. His patch must still be out on the field, forgotten among the corpses. Kandorl returned his gaze uneasily. He had to admit his friend looked horrific with his scarred face and its missing eye. What was worse was how he smiled, enthusing over something as ordinary as cooking. Wrald showed no sign that he regretted drawing out the woman's ending in the most painful way he could.

"Rabbit is courtesy of Draefan of course," Wrald continued, his smile fading, "too busy hunting to raise the alarm?" Draefan looked back at him, his own hood was down but his cloak was pulled up high under his chin, no doubt to hide the rope marks around his neck.

"Fighting with flaming rabbits is about his limit," Theco said harshly. "Bloody useless, skulking about in the woods. Took these three to convince you to come back? If you're done with us, then leave. Bloody simple," he finished as he turned the blade in the sunlight.

Kandorl reluctantly accepted the wooden bowl Wrald held out to him, trying to put thoughts of burning flesh out of his mind, and waited for the explosion from Draefan which was sure to come.

"Not fighting rabbits, Theco. I was being attacked myself," Draefan said, surprising Kandorl with his timid reply.

"Leave things be, Theco," Medral said, her voice stern. "There's a lot you don't understand."

"And again. I don't ever understand, do I?" Theco replied, standing as he performed a few practice swings of his blade. "What I do know is that if you're standing watch, you need to raise the signal. If you're skulking in the woods because you are full of bad temper then bloody well say so!" Satisfied with the edge he had created on the blade, he sheathed his sword carefully and sat back down on the crate he had been using for a seat. "Didn't need him in the end anyway. So he may as well go back to the woods," he finished, eyeing Draefan with disgust.

"You've no idea at all, Theco," Siana said, shaking her head at him. "He stopped those bowmen ripping us all to shreds whilst you sauntered about in your own battle ... "

"He's going nowhere. He's staying with me," Medral cut across Siana as she pulled Draefan protectively towards her, closing her eyes and placing her hands on either side of his head. Kandorl watched as Draefan's own eyes widened as Medral's healing began, then moved to block Theco's view as he saw Draefan's hand cup Medral's chin as he stared at her in wonder. The last thing they needed was Theco mocking them for their new-found closeness.

"We need to hurry," Kandorl said, in an attempt to draw the attention to himself. "We should continue on, west, as soon as we've finished here."

"Worried more of those bastards are coming this way, Kan?" Wrald said as he handed out bowls filled with stew to Theco and Siana.

"Nothing we can't handle," Theco chipped in, "little Brack over there said more would come, before he lost his head, and I say let them come. If we set up right, we'd be able to hold this place from anyone."

"The baron's men will come and take this place back, straight after they've figured out something's wrong at Radbid," Kandorl said, careful not to antagonise his friend. They needed to leave, and the more they argued, the longer it would take. "Besides, Baron Tramlon would have heard about Lord Petran by now and could be just days away."

Braster could only be a couple of days away too, and they could still catch him without having to journey halfway across Aledin. Kandorl felt his desperation to find him, not only for himself, but now for Draefan and the others too. Braster would know how to rid them all of these creatures, no matter how many of them there turned out to be.

"We need to leave," Kandorl said as he suddenly got to his feet, fumbling his stew. Will Braster stop anywhere to re-supply? Can we make up some time if he has? He didn't notice Siana's worried look or that he knocked her arm away as she reached over to put it around his shoulders.

"Bloody well calm down, Kan," Theco said, "I could use a few more of these." He pulled a string up from the ground next to him on which was tied seven topknots, the scalps still attached, one from each of the fighters. As Theco held it up to himself, Kandorl recognised what Theco was wearing. The blood-stained, sleeveless, mail vest was that which had belonged to Brack. Theco finished tying the two ends of the string together, before looping it around himself so that it hung diagonally across his chest, displaying his trophies for all to see.

"That's disgusting," Medral said as she appeared at Kandorl's side to collect a bowl for herself and Draefan. Kandorl watched with interest as Draefan untied the string top of his cloak before rubbing his neck. His skin was smooth, with no sign of the noose having been around it, Medral's healing had worked, though it was far from complete.

"The bodies all show the hungry ghost tattoo. It was them again, Kan. Seems like there's a lot of them," Theco said, serious now. "They're taking it all. And maybe they've got the right bloody idea. Did you see Brack? The way he grew when they were chanting his name? Can you imagine that? Having the people following you make you the best fighter around?!" He pulled his sword out of the scabbard and held it aloft with both hands in what wasn't even a deliberately ridiculous pose. "I could be a leader like that! My own people worshipping me. I'd be the swordsman of Aledin! I'd rival even Braster!"

"I'll be sure to act quickly, should I hear that chanting again." Wrald glared at each companion in turn, as if he challenged any of them to remark on what had befallen him.

"Theco, you are a fool," Siana said, deliberately cutting Theco off from what he had been about to say. He merely closed his mouth as he let his sword lower to the ground.

"A complete fool," Medral agreed, "these Revenants care nothing for morality or anything pure. Did you see any of them worry about ending? Or their moral obligation? No, of course not," she said as she handed Draefan a bowl of the steaming stew. "I might not agree with the disrespect we have for any poor soul who doesn't get to a priest in time," she continued, not caring for the raised eyebrows at her words. "But at least it makes people consider their actions and live to a moral code, not abandon it for the first bloody item they desire for themselves." She looked pointedly at Theco's sword as she spoke. "These fools here, and at Radbid, care only for things, the self-obsessed flaming fools! And you're willing to flaming well become one?!"

Kandorl's eyebrows crept even higher at hearing Medral swear. She never swore. But he knew she was right.

Theco rounded on Medral, causing Draefan to take a step towards him, which Theco acknowledged with the baring of his teeth. "Where have bloody morals got us, Medral? Nearly thrown into a funnel to rot. Where did morals get Lord and Lady Petran, Doln, Trep? All good people and they never got the sending. To hell with morals."

Medral put her hand across Draefan's chest, holding him back as she planted her feet and held her ground against Theco. "Take this tower, Theco. See what has happened to those people that have fought to claim this lonely pile of stones as their own. The baron's men come to take it from anyone who says it is theirs. So it's only a temporary thing. It has no permanence. Just like with Radbid and those other fools. These hungry ghosts are wasting the life they've been given and for what? I'm growing tired of teaching you. Drown in your own confusion, if you must. I have others that need me," Medral finished sadly.

While the others had been talking, Wrald had been watching Theco's posturing with a look of disdain. "Did you also notice, Theco, that these idiots all had something else in common, besides their hair?" he asked, pointing at Theco's trophies. "All were missing a finger. The same finger. And why? Simply because Brack, who now lays out on the grass in two pieces, was also missing his. Can you imagine if they'd all been alive long enough to see his head roll?" he added, laughing as he shook his head. "I think these bastards would welcome you as one of their own, Theco. You'd have a group in no time. All eunuchs, of course."

Kandorl covered a smirk with a spoonful of stew. He felt like laughing, or howling. He wasn't sure which. They needed to leave, this was just a distraction. "These hungry ghosts will try to cover the whole damn country," he said, trying to cut in before Theco realised he had been insulted. "There won't be any place for morals, just fights over who has the biggest tower. And for what? Just so it can all get ripped away from them ... " He stopped himself short. None of them, Draefan in particular, needed to be reminded of what was coming. Not then, especially not if it was going to re-kindle the argument. This group looked like it could burst into a wild fire at any moment. They needed to leave.

"As you say, the baron's men will reclaim anything they take, straight back off them," Medral agreed, diverting Kandorl's meaning as if she also shared his concerns. Her voice had returned to its natural softness. She held her hand out for Draefan's bowl and smiled warmly at him as he handed it to her. Kandorl was surprised to see his friend smiling back, just as warmly, before he returned to staring at Theco, poised and waiting to strike if he needed to. "Nothing here is permanent." She paused halfway in handing the bowls back to Wrald. "Not you, not me. Even the stones of that tower are transitory," she whispered, before Wrald reached the rest of the way to gently take the bowls from her hands.

Kandorl paused to think on what Medral had said. She was right about that as well; nothing was worth investing in. He wondered if she meant to say that she now accepted the invasion.

"I thought you'd lost that pipe," Theco said, changing the subject as he walked away from Medral to get his share of the stew. "Sounds like you've been smoking it again. And anyway," he continued, looking heatedly at Wrald and making Kandorl think that perhaps he had finally understood the joke, "if you want to talk about morals, just ask this man. Torturing a woman like that? Where's the good in that? Where's the glory?"

"I know what you all think," Wrald said before anyone could answer, "but I did nothing worse to her than she would have done to me. I don't have to put up with any of that. I am gifted and I intend to let anyone who wants to cross me know in no uncertain terms!" The sphere of light disappeared as he clapped his hands together, and the cooking pot fell to the ground, spilling most of the remaining stew.

"Wrald. Stop. You don't need to impress us. We liked you well enough before you started using your gift," Kandorl said, worrying whether his friend would be able to stop himself if left unchecked.

"Talking of gifted, what has happened to our barmaid? Floating off into the woods and glowing?! We all saw it," Theco said, strangely seeming to have regained his temper at watching Wrald lose his.

"Yes, what have you uncovered?" Wrald replied eagerly, the cookpot left for Theco to right as he began scooping out what was left into his bowl.

Kandorl looked down at Siana and helped her to her feet. "What did happen, Siana?" he asked gently as he lifted her up. "It looked like you had changed form? Did it hurt you?"

"Hurt me?" Siana replied, laughing. "No, it didn't hurt me at all. I felt the opposite, as if I had transformed into something more natural, like I was almost complete. Falling to the ground the first time was the only part that hurt!" She looked over at Medral then, who nodded thoughtfully in return.

"We're finished here," Kandorl said, pointing at the spilt stew. "Pack up, we've lost enough time." Not waiting for an answer or to listen to Theco grumbling about leaving the tower, Kandorl motioned for Siana to follow him. After they slung their packs back on their shoulders, he led her some distance away from the others as they set about collecting theirs. He stopped when he could no longer hear them talking as they went about their activities.

"Siana, I need to tell you about what happened, what is happening, with me and Draefan," he began as Siana looked up at him, her brow slightly creased. "You need to know what stalks us, what held us in the woods. You were aware of it, I think. Do you remember?"

"Yes, Kan. I knew something was there, something that compelled Draefan to do what he was doing," she replied, avoiding the words neither of them wanted to say. "I thought you both were being led to do the same thing. You looked like a shell, Kan." She looked away as her voice cracked. "But you seemed to come back to yourself when you saw me. I knew you were in danger, somehow, but what would you have done if I hadn't been there?"

Kandorl regretted his decision to talk to her. He was making her upset, making her worry for him even as he put her in harm's way. Last night seemed so far away. He wasn't sure they would ever be able to go back. He forced the next words out. "Siana, one day they'll win. Those things you sensed, they will beat me. I don't know how to fight them, maybe Braster does, but if it takes too long to find him, or we never do ... I don't want them to switch their attentions to you, like they have Draefan." As he looked down at her, he longed to tell her everything; about the stalker, the very start at the vigil, the spinner and what it had done to his eyes. He didn't know how he could tell her he saw people rotting in front of him. He stopped himself from saying any more. He looked at her, listening, trying to take everything in so that she could help him with anything he asked for. This wasn't right, would be a terrible thing to do to her. These creatures stalked him, and until he could find Braster, he intended to keep it that way. It was too late for Draefan, but not Siana.

"The way you transformed and came to help me, Siana; it's right what you said, it felt natural. I could feel it through that sphere, like we were linked. You can't expose yourself to them, to protect me. You mustn't. Neither of us will beat them, so please, just help me find Braster and stay away from me otherwise." He didn't know how else to say it.

As she began to speak, Kandorl quickly turned away, unable to watch her as her face turned from concern, to shock at his blunt dismissal. "We have to go, Siana. We've lingered here too long as it is." Without looking back, he strode off to where the others waited, forcing himself to walk away from Siana, who stood silently. Will Siana be next? Will she stay away? It was only a tiny part of him which felt glad she could not see his face. He could just turn around, just walk back to her and end both of their pain with one embrace and a thousand soft apologies. He yearned to, but couldn't. It was better they wait; maybe she'd forgive him when they found Braster and he could rid them of these creatures. He wouldn't let her suffer as he and Draefan had.

Soon, they would all have to listen, learn as he had about the coming invasion, from the one who knew the most about it. They'd have to listen then. They would have to accept they needed to watch, to prepare. Then they'd understand why he had to focus on finding Braster above all else, especially Siana. Most of all, he was desperate for her to understand.

Chapter 15

A Storm Comes

Rianthan Pall laughed softly and shook his head. Stupid bastard, he thought as he watched the tall, dark-haired man they had called Kan break the fool woman's heart and walk away to leave her sobbing like an infant. Fool woman she might be, but a man could forgive a few flaws for a beauty like that. Not like the kind of women he was used to, not in recent times anyway. His last had been his typical sort of late. True, she'd been plain, but also quite willing to do as she was told when a man with a bit of something about him graced her with his attentions.

It wasn't this Siana however that had captured his interest and made him forget his previous association and her poor, confused, broken heart. Just means it matches her confused, broken mind, the addled whore, he thought as he shifted around to watch Kan walk back towards the others, all waiting eagerly for his next bloody command. No, it was Medral that he sought after. She was a beauty herself, with her long, almost-white hair and a figure that a man would kill for his time to hold. A close second to this girl though, truth told, but she fawned over Kan, now handing out his orders and making at helping his damn followers get their gear on their backs. Rianthan spat. On another day it would be her he would pursue for a while. And maybe he would, if things weren't the way he imagined them to be with Medral. Just because the pretty ones didn't mix in his circles didn't mean he couldn't charm them like the birds from the trees.

Rianthan let his gaze follow Kan, walking tall and almost as arrogantly as the bald stocky man at his shoulder, like they were competing over who was the new lord of the bloody tower. Not much more than a boy really, with his dyed leathers and expensive cloak. Then there was the sword. Rianthan whistled quietly between his teeth; that was no ordinary sword and to give the boy his dues, he'd been taught how to use it. Rianthan spat again, thinking of the man who would have performed those teachings. Braster. Bloody, flaming Braster. That was one man Rianthan didn't want to ever run into again, not even with an army at his back. Maybe with one in front, he thought and smiled wryly to himself. He supposed there were men that would have felt bad about abandoning their own, just to save their own skin. But he doubted those men would be many if it was the bloody champion of the realm on one of his righteous quests they needed to escape from.

He scanned the group as they began to pick their way through the bodies which still lay out, baking in the sun. Rianthan had spent a long time with Gibbs, frequently dodging encounters with these Revenant idiots. All they wanted was all they could get. That hadn't really been what it was about for him. He didn't want to be a lord, didn't want vast riches. He just wanted enough to get him from place to place, to indulge in his vices, and every man should have his vices.

It had been quite the show, sitting here in the Red Woods, watching as these whelps took on and defeated that infamous group. Brack was well known and feared; rightly so, too. Sure, he wasn't really a match for Rianthan, or even Gibbs, not on his own. But once he had his fighters around him, singing that weird song as they did, well then he made the same list as Braster did. Not a man you'd face unless it was that or chew through rock to get away. Worth sacrificing a few teeth in the effort, if you asked him.

They were getting closer now, near to where Brack's headless body lay. His life spent chasing his own fame ended like this, his fighters cut to bits, or burnt alive, and his own sorry head now scalped and kicked away from its corpse. As the party came closer, Rianthan slid down on his stomach and pulled his cloak up and over himself. They would have to step on him to know he was there. Rianthan knew how to stay hidden, unlike that fool who had set up his own camp the night before, down the other side of the tower and near the path, of all places. The two swordsmen, Kan and the bald-headed fighter with Brack's mail shirt on, led the party on, down towards where the Songway flowed out towards the west. Behind them came the gifted; yet another fool, half-blind and dressed like he belonged in that bloody travelling fair. He smiled as he was reminded of the previous day. Walking through and helping himself to his choice of other's belongings had been as simple as he had hoped. One look at his blades had them all cowering; not a single one of them willing to put up a decent fight, not even the so-called bodyguard of the Tarot seller. The fat man had been good at scaring crowds into line but he'd left his employer to defend his own wares. And defend he did, truth told. Not even a pummel in the jaw had stopped the hook-nosed fool from releasing his grip on his pack.

Rianthan almost clambered to his feet, nearly giving himself away as the party passed mere yards from him. There was Medral, walking alongside Siana, first and second of the most beautiful women he'd seen in months, walking together through the woods like in a bloody child's story. All they needed was the twisted, evil wizard and the hero, though the gifted could play the former. Kan would probably play the latter too, he thought and nearly spat again.

Medral, the apothecary. Medral the beautiful, wide-eyed innocent who was on a grand bloody adventure, leagues from home, following some fool boy with bags of gold coin and master weapons, and showing it all off for all to see. They'd have a thieves' blade to the throat for even a rumour they carried even one of those coins. He shook his head, which brought the usual pain, and wondered if she had any selvia left. It wouldn't be long before he himself would run dry, despite clearing out those fools' supplies. He balled his hands into fists as the weakness came, as if thinking about it had brought on the effects of going without. It was a terrible feeling, like he had all the energy had taken from him, leaving him trembling and breathless until all he could do was reach for his pipe. Damn selvia, he thought. What he needed was a woman with either the coin to trade for it, or the knowledge to find it. Find a woman who had not one, but both, a pretty face and a trusting mind, and you had something a man like Rianthan would kill for. Every man should have his vices.

The other thing that had him forming fists, his hands squeezing the leaves and dirt from the forest floor, was the fool walking arm and arm with Medral. If he thought Siana had fawned over Kan, this whelp was like Medral's bloody thrall, clinging onto her and smiling down every time she looked up at him. What had Rianthan cracking knuckles, and to hell with the noise, was the way Medral smiled back. The boy was a bowman, and supposedly their hunter and tracker. Probably only a week away from village life, and still too bloody wet to know anything about anything, including women. He wouldn't pose a problem. He'd fought well enough though, Rianthan had to admit. What with thinking to take out the ranged fighters, let alone somehow dodging that arrow. A slippery fighter, and good with those knives at his belt. But nobody knew more about slippery than Rianthan. Just ask Gibbs.

Trying too late to stifle a laugh, Rianthan did manage to choke back a curse as the tall bowman halted the group, seeming to hold his breath as he looked through the trees, seeking the source of the sound. Rianthan knew these children would never find him unless they did blindly stumble across him, but the gifted made him uneasy. He'd never seen anything like those spheres of light he'd used on that woman. Having one of those on top of him would have him scrambling away, starting a chase through the woods as the evil wizard cast his damn spells. Rianthan wasn't even sure if that's how it bloody worked, but the thought of dodging balls of burning light as he made another escape through these woods didn't appeal at all. Sharp blades and a sharp mind had been enough to keep him alive all these years; he had nothing but resentment for these gifted, as they named themselves, or anything they were capable of.

Rianthan joined the bowman in letting out a long breath as the party resumed their movement through the trees, stumbling generally towards the west. He watched on as Medral comforted the bloody whelp again. The boy seemed to be as close to taking flight as he had earlier that day.

Rianthan stopped himself from whistling. What an opportunity this strange bloody group of fools offered. Gold, swords out of stories and the women the same. The only issue was the gifted they had with them, and that they were all determined to find bloody Braster. During the night before, Rianthan had been able to keep quiet enough to sneak right past what passed as the watch of the bowman. It had only been the damn smashed glass on the floor which had threatened to give him away as he tried to leave. He'd learnt a lot, and most importantly, a lot about Medral. This Trep sounded like he'd been the kindly bloody grandfather taking the young ones on an adventure. It seemed she had felt a lot for him, and presumably, he'd died. She'd been talking about the preaching of another old man too. All that talk of eternity and the bloody essence of life that had very nearly sucked him in. She had respect for old bastards, that was clear. A damn fool's idea if you asked him. Men didn't get any wiser as they get older; they just had more mistakes to talk about.

There was a storm coming. He'd lived outside long enough to know when to prepare a shelter, or better still, find someone else's. He wondered how the old woman would fare that night. She'd wanted to go out walking in the middle of the night without anyone to watch her back. If she hadn't been a priest he would have left her there, lashed to the tree for the baron to collect. Tramlon would have to come out of his hiding place eventually. They'd been right about that; the baron would come this way to take back their precious tower for the next pampered fool to flounce about in.

As he watched the group disappear between the trees, Rianthan waited until he could no longer hear Kan's voice, encouraging the others to keep up. He'd learnt a lot about this Kan too. They sought Braster, and Rianthan certainly wasn't going to hang around for that, bloody right he wasn't. Two encounters with the hell-spawn bastard was too much for even him to expect to escape. The man had him marked now, he was sure of it, and he'd run out of old fools to sacrifice. No, Rianthan was going to do what he always did. He'd take what he needed from those fool enough to not see it coming. Then he'd bloody run.

*

The sound of running water guided Kandorl as he led the group out of the forest and onto the bank of the wide, shallow river. The waters were clear and inviting, especially with the heat which had been building all day, seeming to get hotter even as the afternoon wore on. The sun had been at its zenith maybe five or six hours earlier, but the sweat still poured off him, soaking through his shirt, with his tunic long since packed away. Big bushy plants with purple flowers that Medral called willowherb obscured the river in places, and the only way of cooling off was where there was a break, with the bank sloping gently down, allowing them to stop to splash water over themselves. Kandorl waited eagerly for the next opportunity to do so, and if he hadn't had thought it would slow them down further, he would have considered simply wading through the river water.

His friend's conversation kept his mind off Siana, who walked at the back, as far away from him as was possible. He forged a path through the knee-length grasses, which was hard going in the heat, and he longed to call a halt, even just to sit alongside the river for a while. Maybe he'd get to share a look with Siana. Maybe she'd do something to let him know she understood. Maybe she'd never speak to him again and he'd wake one morning to find her gone. He kicked out at the grass in his frustration, which was only made worse by hearing Theco's laughter. His friend had dropped back and was once again discussing the fight against Brack. Draefan was now his only audience with everyone else doing their best to ignore his boasts. Both men seemed to have forgotten their animosity towards each other, joking now at whether Draefan's nimble feet would still be too slow for Theco's incredible swordsmanship. Despite his irritation, Kandorl was glad to hear Draefan's laugh when Theco suggested he sought out the travelling fair, that they could use some tumblers for entertainment. There were even hints of admiration as Theco recounted the miraculous dodge the taller man had performed in avoiding the arrow meant for his head. Medral walked arm in arm with Draefan, which Kandorl was also glad of, and his friend wore his hood down, happy for once to be in the midst of the conversation. Of course, Medral kept talking over her shoulder to Siana, trying to bring her out of her solitude. No doubt the two women would talk later, out of earshot of the rest of them. Maybe Medral would be able to say something to her, make her see that Kandorl was simply doing what he must. Just until they find Braster, he reminded himself. He must have gone through the same cycle of worry followed by hard-earned reassurance a thousand times in his head. Each time, the cycle stopped momentarily, but only when he had convinced himself Siana knew deep down his distance was only a temporary thing, and for the best.

Kandorl stamped down a sudden and outrageous feeling of jealousy towards his friend. Draefan needed the comfort his fledgling relationship with Medral was providing; he had nearly died at the hands of those creatures. Kandorl shook his head to clear it, to get the image of Draefan with the rope around his neck out of his mind. Again he questioned what he said to Siana. He had been right to, he was sure. It was just unfortunate he had said it now they were finally getting close. Unfortunate? he thought, and felt his stomach lurch as he realised the timing of his words. They must seem nothing other than a deliberate, harsh rejection of her, considering what they had shared the night before. He kicked out again at the grass before stopping in his tracks. Audience or not, he needed to set things straight, at least to say to her that he hoped they could talk later. He turned around and just managed to stay on his feet as Wrald bumped into him, not looking where he was going with his attention fully on Medral's Tarot deck, which he held fanned out in his hands.

"Hell, Kan. Give us a bit of warning if you're going to stop, you fool!" Wrald said as he checked the cards over for damage. They may be Medral's, but it had been the others that had shown far more interest in them than she did herself.

"We're stopping? At bloody last," Theco said as he and the others caught up to Wrald. Everyone looked at Kandorl expectedly; everyone except Siana, that was. She stopped and pretended she saw something of great interest down by the river.

"We could all use a rest. Siana ... "

"Well, if we're allowed to rest, then I'm going to make the most of it," Siana said, cutting Kandorl off before he could request the conversation he longed for. She pushed her way past him before flattening some grass to sit on where the bank sloped down to the river once more. Kandorl tried to catch her attention as she passed him and only just stopped himself from putting his hand on her shoulder. From the look on her face, he thought she may have bitten it.

"Me too," Theco said as he walked over to drop his pack next to Siana. It bulged now; the crates had been abandoned back at the tower, and Theco had become custodian of the remaining brandy. He untied the top of his pack and pulled out a bottle which Siana quickly snatched from him. Grunting his disapproval, he pulled another out and sat so that he was between Siana and his pack.

Kandorl grimaced. He had wanted to keep going the rest of the day, into the night even. He wondered if Braster had even come this way. He would be grateful to find other people, a town, or a village even, somewhere he could ask around. If people had seen him, the stories would spread like wildfire.

"So, it's the apple brandy again?" Wrald said, sitting himself down next to Siana. He lay his pack on its side and did his best to squash it down so that it formed a roughly flat surface. As Draefan and Medral also dropped down to form a tight circle around it, Wrald placed the deck of Tarot cards face down on the rudimentary table. "Brandy and cards?" he asked, looking up at Kandorl. Seeing the brandy bottles being somewhat reluctantly passed around by Theco, Kandorl had to admit that after today's events a few drinks to relax them all may be the only way he got his chance to talk to Siana, and before nightfall. Images from their evening huddled together on the top of the tower flashed through his mind, his to recall whenever he pleased. Maybe she would understand. Maybe they could at least be civil, maybe more. Only slightly disgusted at himself for letting the thought linger, he gladly accepted the bottle in Theco's outstretched hand and squeezed in next to Siana.

*

As evening fell, Wrald conjured a handful of spheres which he made hover above the circle of friends, thankfully bright enough to allow them to continue the game, but without adding to the heat. Through bleary eyes, Kandorl appreciated the cosy feel provided by the soft glow of the lights coupled with the sound of rushing water, as he tried to ignore the thick clouds which had formed to the east, promising rain. Kandorl squinted through one eye as Theco began to deal the cards again for another hand. He had lost track of how many they had played; he'd lost track of how many bottles of the sweet apple brandy they had got through too. Earlier they made a game of letting the bottles race down the river, which they had abandoned when it began to rush as it did then, the level of the water raised high enough to where Draefan and Medral lay together, so much so that they could submerge their feet in its dark waters. After only a few hands, they left the game and had taken to sharing the selvia Medral had remaining, burning it in Draefan's pipe as they held their whispered conversations. Kandorl couldn't hear what it was they said, but he watched as they used their arms and hands expressively, often pointing up to the sky. He wondered what is was they saw that had them either wide-eyed in wonder, or laughing like a couple of fools, as if they saw their own private joke written in the stars. More than once the two of them had shared a kiss, seemingly oblivious to the others who watched over their hands, their cards momentarily forgotten. What brought a chuckle from Wrald or a lewd comment from Theco simply made Siana frown and stare down at her own hands folded in her lap.

Kandorl looked at Siana out the corner of his eye whenever he swigged from his bottle, having long given up offering it to her. She had turned away from him moodily, the only indication that she knew he was there. The memory of earlier came back hazily to him and, as he nestled in the brandy's warm embrace, he felt distanced from it. It seemed so unnecessary to have warned her off. Those creatures wouldn't bother him again. They had run scared in the end. Pathetic shriven bastards. He laughed at the thought of wearing their heads on a string around his chest. At his laughter, the others looked over to Draefan and Medral then quickly back at him, puzzled at what they had missed.

"You should concentrate on your cards, Kan, and leave the watching to Wrald. He seems to enjoy it so," Theco said, slurring drunkenly as he drained his bottle before passing it over to Wrald, grinning inanely as he did so.

"I believe so, Theco," Kandorl began even before Wrald could vocalise the cutting retort on his tongue, "and so far from Ingda, I'd started to believe he'd lost interest in his spheres. Except those made of light." Theco stared at him for a second then roared with laughter, slapping Kandorl hard on the back.

"Now there was me, sat here minding my own affairs and you two go and drag me into another of your damn stories," Wrald said, carefully laying his cards face down before tipping the empty bottle upside down in front of Theco. "Firstly, I will need a drink before I give you my considered reply." Wrald swayed even though he sat cross-legged, his cowl half off the back of his head. "Fetch me and Kan a bottle, Theco. And one for Siana too, though on second thoughts, I believe she would nurse it more so than Medral is Draefan." Wrald's laugh was cut off as Theco snatched away his empty bottle before replacing it with a full one. Kandorl cursed as he also had his taken from him, mid-drink. The rim cracked against his teeth, causing a familiar pain, before he had the replacement pushed hard into his chest.

"Wrald," Kandorl said before his friend's tirade could begin. "I think that any of our usual suggestions regarding Theco's intentions towards pigs, may risk him sickening for them and draw him into a rage, longing for their snuffling attentions. Neither do we require him to start brandishing his sword, telling us all of his conquests, pig or otherwise, nor do we deserve to suffer his requests for a comparison, believing that his is the largest of the group."

"And what of Siana, Kan?" Wrald replied, relishing the opportunity to have a battle of wits. "She surely would be able to confirm, that as far as your own comparison goes, and simply based on the laws of chance, that from what was revealed to her last night, Theco surely is in possession of the greater weapon."

"Grotesquely so, Wrald. But who desires the blunt strikes from an oversized blade?" Kandorl replied, only vaguely registering Siana as she stood up to walk away. "When the more skilled combatant holds, let's say a slightly smaller weapon in his hands, and of course not as small as those Draefan has at his disposal, well, that's when the magic is revealed." Kandorl pulled the cork from between his teeth as he choked back a laugh. He threw it at Wrald as he continued. "And besides, I seem to remember you abandoning your own, meagre as it was, with all interest lost in the remote possibility it might see some use?" There was a silent pause as Draefan and Medral looked over at the mention of Draefan's name. Wrald and Kandorl looked at each other and then fell about in laughter while Theco looked on, his brow creased as he looked from one person to the other. Noticing their friend's confused face and Draefan's dazed smile only made them howl even more.

"Damn it!" Siana's shout had Kandorl sitting up in an instant, his hand reaching for his sword where it lay with the rest of the equipment. "There's a damn storm coming," she continued, then stalked away to stand looking at the river.

"I think she might be right, Kan. We're in for some weather, and soon. The wind's picking up and I don't like the look of them," Wrald said. Composed now, he gestured towards the spheres, which instantly grew fainter, and pointed to the clouds that had travelled at some rate from the east to lurk malevolently overhead.

"There's no bloody might about it, Wrald," Siana answered angrily, her target chosen. "I don't need you to tell me there's a bloody storm coming, I can feel it. I've been feeling it all bloody day." Medral regarded her with the same awe as she had the sky earlier as Siana leant down to help her up.

Trying to escape Siana's wrath, Kandorl got to his feet and urged Theco and Wrald to do the same as the first drops of rain started to fall. They scrambled drunkenly to shoulder their packs, Wrald collecting up the cards as carefully as Theco did recorking the remaining bottles of brandy. Draefan and Medral now seemed the most sober, though due to their own excesses, they both looked as if they were about to be sick. Great sheets of rain began to pour down, soaking them all as much as if they had been wading through the river all afternoon.

"Into the trees!" Theco shouted over the noise of the rain hitting the river. He gathered all the packs he could lift and started running unsteadily for cover. The others quickly followed his example, sliding about on the muddy bank, just one slip away from being doused in the river. A cataclysmic crack of thunder, which had Kandorl thinking the sky had finally fallen in, stopped them all in their tracks, making them crouch down in a unifying, primordial fear. Kandorl took an uncertain step over to Siana as he saw her rain-soaked form, made smaller with her arms protectively covering her head. Before he could take another, the whole area across the river was lit up by a great column of purple, as on the far bank a tree exploded in a shower of burning splinters. Kandorl tried to blink his vision clear as he looked around at the others, the purple light still visible in his eyes.

"We've got to find shelter! But not the trees!" Kandorl shouted, fearing the next thunderclap heralding another strike. "Keep away from the bloody trees!" He began gathering everyone together; his only thought was to try to get out in the open, and away from the lightning. None of them knew if they were even close enough to a village or town for there to be old farm buildings. He cursed himself for not taking more care to ask Siskin more constructive questions.

"There is no shelter but through the trees!" A man shouted as he appeared ahead, through the rain. Kandorl caught a glimpse of a smaller, hooded figure standing at the edge of the woods in front of which the man stood, before it took a step back to disappear into the darkness. Kandorl was only just behind Draefan in drawing his weapon. Theco dropped his burden and also pulled his sword free as he advanced to stand at Kandorl's shoulder.

A tall wiry man with long dark hair tied by a leather cord and plastered to his head, stepped into the light cast by the great sphere Wrald held above his head, poised ready to hurl it at the stranger. Shirtless, with skin paler than even Draefan and Medral, he wore two short swords on a harness, their hilts sticking up behind either shoulder, and more daggers than even Draefan carried were sheathed at his belt. Looking at the men arrayed in front of him, he smiled and held his hands up to show they were empty.

"Saul?" Medral shouted through the rain as she pushed past everyone to greet him. "What are you doing out here?"

"Medral, I thought it was you!" the man replied as the thunder boomed again, this time directly over their heads. "I'll lead you. The storm's come!"

The End

of the First Book of

The Procession

