

Journey

of

Shadows

Book One of the Palâdnith Chronicles

Sam J. Charlton

Epic Fantasy Adventures by Sam J. Charlton

The Children of Isador

The Palâdnith Chronicles

Journey of Shadows (Book One of the Palâdnith Chronicles)

The Citadel of Lies (Book Two of the Palâdnith Chronicles)

The Well of Secrets (Book Three of the Palâdnith Chronicles)

Praise for the Palâdnith Chronicles

Journey of Shadows

"Journey of Shadows is a wonderfully told story."

\- Tammy Dewhirst – Rabid Readers Reviews

"A very good high fantasy novel."

\- Oana Matei – All Fantasy Worlds

The Citadel of Lies

"If you like epic fantasy you will love The Palâdnith Chronicles."

\- Tammy Dewhirst – Rabid Readers Reviews

"I highly recommend this series. It is nothing short of fantastic."

Branwen – Happily Drowning in Books

All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

Journey of Shadows by Sam J. Charlton.

Copyright © 2013 Sam J. Charlton. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Edited by Tim Burton.

Original cover artwork and cover design by David Ortega.

Map by Sam J. Charlton.

Sam J. Charlton's website: www.samanthacharlton.com

 Sam J. Charlton on Facebook.

For Tim.

For your patience, dedication and sharp editorial eye.

This book is as much yours as mine.

With much love.

Contents

Map of Palâdnith

Prologue: Exile

Chapter One: A Word of Warning

Chapter Two: The Weaponsmith's Woman

Chapter Three: A Librarian's Errand

Chapter Four: Over the Mountain

Chapter Five: Gibbet's Corner

Chapter Six: Visitors at the Red Tussock Inn

Chapter Seven: On the Docks

Chapter Eight: Fugitives in Swamphaven

Chapter Nine: A Fiend in the Night

Chapter Ten: Captive

Chapter Eleven: Lost in the Tallow Marshes

Chapter Twelve: Sentorân

Chapter Thirteen: The Valley of the Tors

Chapter Fourteen: Avalon Kingswathe

Chapter Fifteen: Travellers on the Spine Road

Chapter Sixteen: Bruin's Guests

Chapter Seventeen: The Hunting Party

Chapter Eighteen: The Wraith of the High Dragon Spines

Chapter Nineteen: A Game of Melâth

Chapter Twenty: The Voice in the Well

Chapter Twenty-one: Floriana's Request

About the Author

The Citadel of Lies – Prologue: The Messenger

"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth."

Buddha

Prologue

Exile

Barrowthorne, Central Omagen

The sun slid towards the edge of the mountains and bathed Barrowthorne Tower in golden light. The tower was tall, circular and made of pitted dun-coloured stone; the same hue as the rocky slopes of the Sable Range that formed an arid backdrop behind it. Part of the landscape, Barrowthorne Tower was very old; worn by time and the harsh climate that gnawed at it – bitter winters and scorching summers, year after year.

A hot dry wind gusted down the mountainside and into the folds of the hills surrounding Barrowthorne. The wind buffeted the tower's rough stone and rattled the tightly latched shutters – all except one window, high up, where the shutters banged in the wind.

A woman reached out of the window to retrieve the flapping shutters. Tall and strong, with a sensual face, and long dark hair that flowed over tanned, bare shoulders, she was dressed plainly in a sand-coloured, sleeveless shift that accentuated her dark beauty. She wore no jewellery save an ornate golden arm ring on her right bicep.

Belythna Falkyn paused a moment at the open window. The wind whipped against her face and tangled her hair as she watched the approaching dusk. The wind was strangely hot. Belythna frowned and stepped back from the window, slamming the shutters closed.

Inside the nursery chamber, the air was unbearably close with the shutters latched. A single candle sat on the sideboard, its flickering light illuminating a large chamber with a flagstone floor. A sheepskin covered part of the flagstones and three cots dominated the centre of the chamber. Baskets filled with wooden toys lined the walls, but no other furniture adorned the nursery.

Belythna stood next to the rattling shutters and steadied her breathing. A light sheen of sweat covered her bare skin. After a few moments, she moved away from the window. She stepped close to the cots and looked down at her sons. They were all sleeping. Watching them, her face softened.

Seth, the youngest, whimpered in his sleep. Belythna reached out and stroked his brow, smiling as a tiny hand clutched hers. Only a few months old, he already had a thick head of raven hair, so like hers.

Eni, the middle child, slept deeply. He lay sprawled on his back, one arm flung across his face, as if nothing in the world scared him. At two years, he already bore a striking resemblance to his father, with the same strong, long-limbed frame and a mop of light-brown hair.

Val, the eldest, was restless. His blond curls were damp with sweat and his gentle, cherubic face was shadowed by troubling dreams. He was only five winters old, but with seriousness beyond his years.

Belythna took a deep breath and straightened up, her eyes glistening.

I'm doing this for their safety, she reminded herself – although the truth of it could not remove the crushing sorrow that compressed her chest and made breathing difficult. Belythna's jaw hardened then. She had to steel herself for what lay ahead, no matter how it tore her heart out.

First, she had a gift for each of her sons. She opened the sideboard's top drawer and drew out three amulets. Identical – the black teardrop-shaped gems gleamed in the candlelight. Belythna regarded the glittering amulets a moment. They had been a gift from her oldest friend, Floriana DeSanith.

You tried to tell me Floriana, Belythna thought sadly, I should have listened to you. You knew she would come after us.

Gently, careful not to wake the boys, Belythna hung an amulet around each child's neck.

She then stepped back from the cots and slowly raised her right arm, holding it above her sleeping children. She noticed it trembled slightly and frowned, irritated.

Perhaps becoming a wife and a mother has made me weak?

Pushing her thoughts aside, Belythna forced herself to concentrate. She moved her hand in a circle above her boys, as if the air was made of water and she was stirring it into a whirlpool. The air started to hum as she spoke. Her voice, low and melodious, made the sultry air inside the chamber shimmer.

Mother Earth and Father Sky;

Shield these three

Sons of mine;

For thirty winters from this day

From the prying eyes of darkness.

Children of the light they shall be,

Far from the shadow.

The humming reached a crescendo before dying abruptly.

Belythna lowered her arm and sighed, suddenly weary beyond her thirty-five winters – so weary she wondered how she would face what lay ahead. She could not bear to leave her sons unprotected, and so had done all she could to ensure their safety. The charms around their necks would keep Val, Eni and Seth safe for a while. The boys would never know it, but for the next thirty years, they would find themselves unwilling to remove the amulet, and would have the unexplained desire to keep it secret and safe.

Now though, Belythna had delayed long enough. It was time.

She crossed to the sideboard and blew out the candle, plunging the chamber into darkness.

Belythna made her way down the tower, her boots whispering on the worn stone. With Hath and his men gone, the tower was strangely still. The maids had swept out the top rooms that morning and were now helping the cook with the evening meal. As Belythna reached the bottom level, she caught the aroma of roasting duck with orange, and sweet potatoes frying in goose fat and thyme. The smell wafted up from the kitchens and filled the stairwell. Usually, such an aroma would have caused her mouth to water, but this eve it made her feel queasy. Taking care to move quietly, lest one of the servants hear her, Belythna crossed the entrance hall and slipped out of the great oak door.

Outside, she padded down the wide stone staircase into the courtyard. Cypress trees lined the wide expanse of pavers. The trees cast long shadows, like scarecrow fingers, across the courtyard and arid ground beyond. The wind caught at Belythna's long shift dress, causing it to flatten against her legs.

Casting her gaze about her surroundings, Belythna felt sadness envelop her. She had been so happy here. On an evening like this, in other circumstances, she would have taken a walk with Hath in the hills and watched the sunset, before returning to the tower for supper. Yet, her husband was not here, and was not due to return from his hunting trip for another two days.

This eve, Belythna had no time to admire the sunset. Instead, she took the path that led back, away from the gardens, and into the hills behind Barrowthorne Tower. Gnarled olives lined the path and the air was heavy with the scent of wild thyme. She followed the path as it climbed for a while, before descending into a rocky valley. Here a river flowed; a wide turquoise swath cutting through dun-coloured earth, grey-flecked schist and purple clumps of thyme.

Belythna made her way down the hill, her thoughts focused on her destination: a great flat stone, at least twenty feet in diameter, which lay at the river's edge.

These days, local children played on the stone, lovers met in secret and lizards sunned themselves on its smooth surface. None of the locals knew the stone for what it really was – a Call Stone – one of the many portals the Sentorân and their counterparts, the Esquill, used to travel from one end of Palâdnith to the other. Few Call Stones now remained open. Some were dormant, while others had been closed forever.

This Call Stone was still open, and Belythna could have used it to disappear to some remote corner of Palâdnith – but tonight she would not run.

Belythna began to hurry, her boots sliding on the loose stones. The sun had slid behind the blunt edge of the Sables and the sky was darkening. The last smudges of gold were fading from the sky and here, in the sheltered valley, the wind had died to a soft breeze. Belythna reached the bottom of the hill and swept her gaze to the river bank – to the Call Stone.

Her breath caught and she stopped.

She's here already.

A woman stood before the Call Stone, waiting.

Riadamor, Queen of the Esquill, was tall, plain and dressed in a long silver-grey gown with wide, bell-like sleeves and a high-collar. Her pale blonde hair fell long and lank around a forgettable face. So powerful was she, that the Queen could have given herself a fairer or fouler appearance than this one. Riadamor had tricked many with her unremarkable appearance; it was one of her subtler weapons.

"Welcome Belythna."

Riadamor's voice, though low and feminine, held incredible power.

"Come closer. Do not cower from me."

Belythna approached the Queen of the Esquill. She stepped up on to the Call Stone and felt the portal's energy vibrate through the soles of her feet.

"I'm not cowering."

She met her enemy's gaze squarely.

"Have I not come to meet you?"

Riadamor stared at Belythna. Her eyes gleamed and Belythna saw hunger and excitement there.

"Do not bother trying to escape through the stone. I locked it behind me." Riadamor warned her.

Belythna did not bother replying. They both knew she would not run.

"So you finally came for me?"

"All this time I've been looking for you – and here you were, right under my nose. I caught the others in the first years after Deep-Spire fell, even Floriana. Some I killed and some I turned into my servants. But it took me a while to find you Belythna. You hid yourself under layers of cloaking spells and buried yourself on my doorstep."

Belythna's voice was flint-edged when she replied.

"So now you have found me – congratulations."

Riadamor smiled. "You were always the strongest, by far the best of your order. You were even stronger than Serina. Why don't you join us? We are not so very different."

Belythna stifled a laugh. "Why would you want to join with those you shunned? I thought we weren't good enough for you."

Riadamor's smile widened. "Oh I do remember. When I broke away from the old ways, I asked you then to join me. You refused and look what happened? Let history speak for itself: we met you in battle and we won. Even Serina begged for mercy in the end."

Belythna stared back at the woman who had once been a Sentorân. A few years older than Belythna, Riadamor had soon tired of the constraints of their order. She chafed under the leadership of Serina, the head of the Sentorân. She challenged Serina and failed. Days later, Riadamor had disappeared from Deep-Spire. A few years later, Riadamor had re-emerged, leading a new order of sorcerers – the Esquill.

Belythna would never forget that terrible day, when the Esquill and the Sentorân fought before the gates of Deep-Spire. The power they unleashed gouged the earth into deep ravines and gullies, and shook Deep-Spire to its foundations. Many died in that battle – but a handful of Sentorân survived. Belythna lost her old life that day; she cast aside her former identity and went in search of a new one. Hath Falkyn had given her what she craved. Yet it had not been enough to keep the past at bay.

Belythna resisted the urge to spit at Riadamor's feet.

"You'd permit a Sentorân to live?"

Riadamor smiled again, although the expression was nothing more than a mere twist of the lips. "The Sentorân are no longer a threat to me. I would prefer to make an ally of you. It would be a pity to waste such skill. I saw you fight that day at Deep-Spire. I could not even get near you. If the Esquill had not outnumbered the Sentorân so greatly, victory might not have been ours. Imagine it!"

Riadamor swept her hand in an arc before her. "I now have a loyal following of Esquill – but none are as strong as you. From Deep-Spire we could rule this land. The realmlords would all bow before such power. With you as my ally and a host of Esquill at my command, Palâdnith would be within our grasp."

Riadamor's grimace widened. "And of course, I would keep your sons as my wards – before deciding their fate once they came of age."

Ice washed over Belythna. "You won't keep my sons as your wards. You will kill them before they become a threat."

Belythna locked eyes with Riadamor. She had so much to stay in Barrowthorne for. She had never wanted to take this route but the Queen of the Esquill had thrust it upon her.

Belythna would not challenge Riadamor to a duel. Casting the protection spell over her sons had drained her. For eight years, she had been free, not just from Riadamor but from the rigours that life as one of the Sentorân demanded. For the first time she had been allowed to just be a woman, a wife and a mother.

I will never see Hath again.

"You will never have my sons."

Belythna crouched low, as if preparing to strike, but instead of raising her right hand to cast a spell, she moved it earthwards, towards her feet. She wore light, lace-up boots and in the back of the right one, she had hidden an object. She grabbed hold of a chain protruding from the back and pulled it out.

She held it out before her – a red diamond-shaped pendant with a black heart – hanging from a gold chain.

Riadamor's gaze fastened on the pendant, and for a moment, the two witches froze. The Queen of the Esquill's face went slack, her pale face draining of what little colour it possessed. Riadamor rushed forward, but the stone glowed in warning and she stopped short.

Unlike the stone on which they stood, which could transport them to any number of locations through Palâdnith, this stone had only one destination – a place there was no way back from.

"How did you get one of those?"

Riadamor's voice had now lost its arrogance and her grey eyes were huge on her white face.

"This one belonged to Serina. She gave it to me before the Battle of Deep-Spire. She could not risk you taking it from her."

Riadamor's gaze narrowed. "That stone will take you with it Belythna. You have not the courage to use it."

"If it means ridding the world of you then I have courage enough!"

Belythna lunged forward and caught Riadamor by the arm.

"Marthragin!"

With that, Belythna threw the pendant to the ground at their feet.

Riadamor screamed; an agonised cry that echoed up and down the valley.

The world disappeared.

Belythna fell into howling darkness. Wind whipped about her and she plummeted into a black abyss towards nothing. Belythna's limbs flailed, her hands clawing in the dark, but there was nothing to grab hold of. Then the horror of it consumed her, and she fainted.

***

When Belythna awoke, she found herself face-down on cold, hard stone.

The smell of damp filled her nostrils.

Belythna's body ached, her head throbbed and her mouth tasted foul. For a moment she was completely disoriented. Then it all came rushing back, and with it an agonising sense of loss.

Stifling a groan, Belythna pulled herself up onto all fours and raised her head to look around. She sat on a circular, stone platform with rope and wooden bridges leading off it on all sides. Nearby, Riadamor sprawled, unconscious, on the rock.

They sat on the portal: the gateway between two worlds.

The portal formed the heart of a vast chasm. The sound of dripping water echoed in the emptiness, and only darkness stretched above and below. Pitted stone walls surrounded them, shining wetly in the light from torches chained to the rock. The flames guttered as a cool breeze whispered up from the depths and cast long shadows over the walls.

Belythna sat back and cast her gaze over the tangle of catwalks that spanned the abyss and circled the walls.

Despair threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced it back. She could not think about her boys, or Hath, now. There would be an eternity for her to wallow in desolation.

She glanced over at where Riadamor was stirring.

The Queen of the Esquill sat up. Riadamor looked about, her face stony.

Eventually, the two women locked gazes.

"What have you done?" Riadamor hissed. The torchlight gave her skin a corpse-like appearance and her grey eyes had deepened to black.

"Brought you to the one place where you can do no harm," Belythna replied.

Riadamor's face twisted.

"Don't be so sure of that. Moden has not stripped me of my powers. You have brought me to a dark place – and I have a skill for making dark things do my bidding."

Riadamor's words chilled Belythna and she felt a knot of fear tighten in her belly. She was about to reply, when noises roused them.

The creak of ropes.

The slap of bare feet on wood.

Voices whispering in the darkness.

The women craned their necks towards the sound, watching as elongated shadows appeared at the far end of one wall – parodies of men, long-limbed and bent.

Dread curled up within Belythna.

"Our jailers are coming."

The two sorceresses got to their feet. Belythna's gaze flicked to Riadamor and, for the first time since their arrival, she saw a glimmer of fear on her adversary's face.

There was no way out of here – for Moden was an ageless, timeless prison made by long-dead warlocks. Once you stepped through the portal, there was no way back. The ancients had created the perfect dungeon; one where their enemies would simply rot forever.

Chapter One

A Word of Warning

Over thirty years later...

Osforth Tower

Weatherbay, Omagen

Dawn had not yet broken when Seth Falkyn rose from his bed. The candle next to it had burnt down to a stub. Still, it threw out enough light for Seth to distinguish the interior of his tiny, cell-like chamber. Damp walls, a lichen-encrusted flagstone floor and a few items of wooden furniture riddled with woodlice surrounded him. It was a depressing abode, but one that had been his for nearly a decade.

Seth turned away from the bed, catching sight as he did so, of Matilde's tussled hair peeking out of the blankets. He envied the girl her slumber. Matilde often shared his bed. She wasn't particularly bright, or half as pretty as most of the girls in the village, but she came whenever he sent word – and that gave her a certain appeal.

The hiss of rain lashing against the tower made Seth grimace. Shortly, he would have to ride out in this foul weather. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Seth reached for his leather breeches and pulled them on. The leather was clammy against his warm skin. After that, he put on worn leather boots that reached mid-calf before layering the top half of his body with an undershirt, a thick woollen high-necked tunic and a leather vest. Then, Seth took down the hooded mantle he always wore when escorting his master, from its hook behind the door, and fastened it about his shoulders. The mantle was a deep royal blue with Marshal Osforth's crest, a white stag, on the collar. Finally, Seth buckled his sword about his hips, strapped a knife to his left thigh, and pulled on a pair of thick, leather gloves.

Matilde did not stir as Seth crossed the room and let himself out into the stairwell.

Stifling a yawn and struggling to clear the last remnants of sleep, Seth descended the granite steps that snaked their way down the tower. Candles lit his path, giving some warmth to the austere walls.

Darin and Kal were waiting for Seth near the kitchens on the ground level. Behind them, warmth emanated from the open doorway; Seth could see the glow of the ovens pulsing like a hot ember in the darkness.

Kal Roarn, his blond hair rumpled with sleep, passed Seth a crusty roll. It was still warm from the oven.

"Here. That's all we're getting till Dunethport apparently."

Seth took a bite and glanced across at Darin Mel, the third of Marshal Osforth's tower guards. A slender, sharp-featured man with piercing blue eyes, Darin was blinking, owl-like, at the stairwell behind Seth. Darin nodded brusquely at his companions.

"Osforth's coming."

Seth swallowed the rest of his roll, brushed the crumbs off his cloak and fell into line beside Kal and Darin. The three of them stood to attention as two figures descended the stairs; one portly and richly dressed, and the other whippet-thin and bent.

Marshal Osforth and his manservant Garth reached the ground floor. The marshal sagged against his servant's arm, favouring a gouty leg as he walked. He wore fine velvet robes and his long grey hair was brushed out around his shoulders. Looking upon his master, Seth was struck by how old and fat Osforth had become of late. If you were to believe the servants, the marshal had been handsome in his youth, but overindulgence in rich food and a sedentary, pleasure-seeking life, had ruined his health and looks.

Marshal Osforth halted at the foot of the stairwell. His gaze swept over his tower guards before his face darkened.

"The three of you look like you have slept in your uniforms," he snapped. "You'll have to tidy yourselves up before our audience with the realmlord. I'll not have you disgrace me!"

Seth bowed his head, so that Osforth would not see the derision in his gaze, and fell in behind the marshal.

The only disgrace here milord, is you.

There had been times, over the past months especially, when those words had been on the tip of Seth's tongue. Osforth's financial problems – the very reason they were travelling to Dunethport on this cold, wet morning – had made the marshal even more viperish than usual.

Together, the party crossed the entrance hall, their boots scuffing on the flagstones, and made their way down to the cobbled courtyard below. An assembly of servants waited next to the marshal's carriage to see him off. Osforth never left his tower without demanding that his entire household farewell him. The rain had lessened to a thick drizzle but the servants still hunched, miserable, in their woollen cloaks. They held torches aloft to guide the marshal to his carriage.

Oblivious to his servants' discomfort, Osforth limped across the cobbles to where his gilded carriage awaited. At this point, it took all three of his tower guards to hoist him into the silk-lined interior. Seth gritted his teeth as he performed the task. At times, he felt as if he was minding an enormous infant rather than one of the most powerful men in the Realm.

Garth clambered to the front of the carriage, pulled up his hood and waited. With the marshal ensconced, Seth mounted his horse. He saw Kal blow one of the kitchen wenches a kiss. She was a giggling blonde known as 'winsome Marta'. The girl tittered and blew Kal a kiss back.

Meanwhile, Darin swung up onto his horse's back, and gathered the reins. "It's too early in the morning for this," he muttered.

A moment later, Garth flicked the reins, and the two grey horses pulling the marshal's carriage moved off. Seth fell in behind as they rumbled out of the courtyard, under a stone arch and towards Weatherbay. To the east, the first light of dawn stained the sky, while behind them the shadowed bulk of Osforth Tower looked even grimmer than usual. It was a great stone edifice covered in moss and lichen, and wreathed in mist this morning.

The bad weather had closed in, and a monochrome world enveloped the party. Sheets of rain swept over the travellers and banks of porridge-like mist obscured the ocean from view. They rode through Weatherbay, but there were few outdoors to note their passing. The hamlet was little more than a scattering of low-slung timber houses with thatched roofs stretching down a long, muddy street. Firelight burnt behind tightly shuttered windows and plumes of wood-smoke rose from stacked chimneys. Seth could smell onions roasting as he passed Weatherbay's only tavern, reminding him of his own meagre breakfast.

There were no fishermen out this morning collecting shellfish from the mudflats, or netting fish in the channel. Nor were there any farmers out in the fields. Spring was nearing, and once it arrived, the countryside would come to life. For now, nature lay dormant.

Leaving Weatherbay at their backs, the party climbed the foothills of Mount Caligar. They passed no other travellers. The marshal's carriage bounced and jolted over the muddy, pot-holed road and they were forced to slow their pace for the cumbersome carriage and its wearisome inhabitant.

It was a long and tiring journey over the mountain, especially so in bad weather. As he rode, Seth let his mind wander. The spring would mark ten years since he had entered Marshal Osforth's service – and yet it felt as if the decade had passed in an instant. Seth had departed Barrowthorne with hopes of high adventure. The reality had been far less exciting. Seth had arrived in Dunethport, before finding work at Osforth Tower shortly after – and there had ended any chance of journeys and discovery. He had often talked about leaving, to Kal and Darin, over a few ales in Weatherbay. Usually this talk came after a particularly frustrating day, but Seth had never carried his complaints forward into action.

Yet now, with the marshal heavily in debt, fate was breathing down Seth's neck. The three tower guards had spoken of what they would do, if Osforth let them go. With the war between Sude and Farindell, mercenaries were in demand. Rumour had it also that Omagen's realmlord was getting twitchy, what with war on his doorstep, and was increasing the Dunethport legion – they could always find work there. Neither of those choices held much appeal and Seth eventually shut off his mind to thoughts of what the future held, instead, concentrating on the road across the mountain.

By the time they reached Dunethport it was mid-afternoon and rain still cloaked the world. Seth, like the other two tower guards, was soaked, chilled and in a foul mood.

As they rode down the long incline towards the city, Seth cast his weary gaze over Dunethport. Despite his ill temper, the approach to Omagen's capital never failed to impress him. From this angle, on the southern slopes of Mount Caligar, the city appeared much bigger than it actually was. It spread out from a long harbour and climbed the folds of hills; a jumble of white-washed walls and slate roofs nestled amongst dense copses of rainforest with the purple shadows of mountains beyond. To the east, Seth could just make out the flat surface of the Ocean of No Memory, partially obscured by thick, rolling rain-clouds and banks of mist.

As the Northern Highway wound its way down the mountainside, the trees receded and the road sloped steeply as they entered the city. They passed terraces of tightly-packed houses that spread up the hill to their left, while to the right the land fell sharply away into a rocky gorge. The River Lelith, swollen from the rains, bubbled through the gorge on its way to the ocean.

The carriage began the tortuous journey down the hillside into the city centre. The bulk of Dunethport spread out on the flat land below, in the lap of the hills. The Northern Highway ended at the bottom of the hill, where they joined the Street of Lords.

Osforth's carriage bounced over rough cobbles, following the street through the heart of Dunethport. A group of blue-robed Sisters of Sial, their hoods pulled up against the misty rain, hurried across the street in front of the party like shadows, before disappearing into a lane. Seth watched them go with interest. There were many more Sisters in Omagen these days, ever since the war had begun. Until recently, the witch women rarely ventured from the forests and hamlets of Sude. Now, they just added to the swelling number of refugees from a war that showed no sign of ending.

Further on, the travellers passed row upon row of mean-faced shops, protected from the elements by dripping overhangs. Despite the foul weather, townsfolk, huddled under hooded cloaks, went about their daily activities. Amongst them, wandered ragged and filthy refugees; dispossessed from the war between Sude and Farindell. Seth had never seen so many beggars in Dunethport. Many were in a desperate state, and few wore shoes or cloaks. He saw a butcher chase one of them out of his shop. Brandishing his meat cleaver, the butcher shouted insults at the beggar who slunk away like a beaten dog.

Townsfolk and vagrants alike peered at the gilded, mud-splattered carriage as it rumbled by.

Eventually, they reached the Sea Parade; a wide, paved road that ringed the port. Due to the murky day, the lamp-lighter had been out early and all the lanterns on the harbour-front glowed orange in the rain. Here, the carriage veered right, leaving the Street of Lords and the depressing shop-fronts behind. The road hugged the water's edge. The tide was in and water foamed against the huge rocks that formed a breakwater at the harbour-mouth, spraying across the road. Behind them, to the north, lay the port, where the outlines of ships and fishing boats emerged, wraithlike through the mist.

To the south, thrusting out its long arm into the ocean, lay Omagen Peninsula. Desolate and possessed of a stark beauty, the peninsula huddled under a bank of rain clouds this afternoon. Nevertheless, Seth caught sight of the great grey edifice that loomed over the harbour at the peninsula's neck. Marshal Osforth's carriage followed the Sea Parade to its end, before climbing the peninsula's first windswept hill towards the realmlord's fortress – Larnoth Castle.

The castle rose out of the mist like a grey giant; a grim granite fortress. As they rode into the castle's courtyard, Seth pushed his hood off his head and raised his face to the misty rain. He looked up at the walls rising high above him. Dark windows stared back at him like blind eyes. Seth had always found Larnoth an unnerving place, and he did not envy any who dwelt here.

Turning his thoughts to the tasks expected of him, Seth dismounted. He handed his horse over to Garth before helping his master alight from his carriage. Staggering, as much from his thick robes and furs as from his gouty leg, the marshal leaned heavily on Seth and Darin, while Kal followed close behind. Together, they struggled up the stone steps and into the main entrance hall.

The realmlord's chamberlain met them, his face pinched with disapproval at the muddy, bedraggled party before him. He left them outside the doors to the reception hall and went to inform the realmlord of their arrival.

While they waited, Marshal Osforth cast an eye over his tower guards.

"You look like louts! Tidy yourselves up a bit!"

Seth pushed his dark, wet hair off his face and raked his fingers through it. The others did the same, but they could all do little about their dress.

Moments later, the realmlord's chamberlain reappeared, and ushered them through into Realmlord Thorne's reception hall. Seth, Kal and Darin hung back, letting Osforth receive the realmlord's gaze.

Realmlord Vik Thorne was roughly the same age as Osforth, although any similarity between them ended there. A tall, muscular man, bald and hawk-featured, he wore black mink robes and lounged back in his seat with the loose-limbed ease of a man who had spent his life moving rather than sitting still.

Two figures flanked him – a man and a woman wearing the green robes of the Esquill. The woman was tall and proud with high cheekbones and a mane of chestnut hair rippling down her back. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, as did the other Esquill; a lithe blond man whose chiselled good looks made him appear aloof.

Seth had only caught glimpses of the Esquill during his life. They were a reclusive, secretive order employed in the service of Palâdnith's realmlords as advisors. This role had once been the domain of the Sentorân, wizards and witches who had vanished from the world nearly four decades earlier. The Esquill lived in relative obscurity, holed away in Deep-Spire; their stronghold in Central Omagen. A rare sight, these sorcerers fascinated Seth.

The Esquill scrutinised the approaching party; the brightness of their gazes made Seth wary. He tore his own gaze away and focused, instead, on the man they had come to see.

"Osforth," Thorne rumbled, steepling his fingers in front of him. "Do you know why I have called you?"

Osforth sank to his knees and bowed low before Thorne.

"My Lord. I come in supplication and entreaty. My district has suffered from last year's poor harvest, I am plagued with a land full of lazy peasants and idle fishermen."

Osforth struggled to his feet, barely catching his breath before continuing.

"I beg you to waive my taxes this year. I pledge to fulfil my fiscal obligations come autumn – I promise you I will."

"That's what you said last year," Thorne replied distractedly. "That's what you always say."

Watching the scene unfold before him, Seth knew the realmlord was playing with Osforth. Observing his master's pathetic display, Seth felt an uncharacteristic stab of pity towards the marshal.

Osforth wrung his hands together and cringed before the realmlord.

"My word is true this time. I will have my farmers beaten, my fisherman whipped and my wine-makers caned – they will all be more productive this year, I swear it!"

"Promises, promises," Thorne's voice rumbled through the reception hall. "What I want are dracs – gold, silver and bronze – not a mouthful of lies. For years, you have drained me Osforth. The other marshals do not spend their coffers on furs and jewels, on courtesans and gambling. They remember their duty and pay their taxes."

"I know I have been lax," Osforth whined, "but that will change. From today it will change!"

Thorne sighed. "I will not waste any more time on you. This year you are not going to wheedle out of paying your dues. In a week, I will send my bailiffs to Weatherbay. If you do not have my payment in full – two-thousand gold dracs – they will ransack your tower and take everything of any worth. They will strip your home clean. If you attempt to hide your valuables, I will have you arrested and thrown in Larnoth Dungeons. Do you understand?"

"My Lord... please!" Osforth wailed. "I..."

Thorne waved him away. "Be gone Osforth, or I'll throw you into the dungeons now and be done with it."

Taking this as their cue to exit lest the realmlord decide to imprison them all, Seth and Kal grabbed hold of an arm each and dragged their master from the hall. Osforth's wails and pleas echoed off the walls.

As they neared the doors, Seth made the error of glancing back at the realmlord and his advisors. The female Esquill's gaze seized his and held him fast. Seth stumbled, nearly causing himself, Kal and Osforth to go down in a tangled heap.

It was as if a whip of lightening had just lashed across the room and caught him. Her gaze was magnetic and terrifying, but Seth's reaction came unbidden.

He gathered the power she bore down on him and flung it back at her.

Release me!

The woman jolted and stepped backwards, her eyes widening.

A moment later, Seth was out in the corridor. The reception hall's door boomed shut and Marshal Osforth sagged in his tower guards' arms.

"Take me back inside," he wailed. "Let me speak to Thorne. Give me some time and I can convince him to be lenient this year. I must speak to him!"

"Milord," Seth replied, taking a firm grip of Osforth's arm and propelling him down the hallway, "if you go back inside that hall, it is likely you will never see your home again."

"The realmlord will not be swayed this time," Kal added. "It would not be wise to anger him further."

Darin led the way to the entrance hall and down to the courtyard. Osforth's protests had now dwindled to feeble threats as they bundled him into his carriage and retrieved their horses. Seized by an urgent need to get away from this place, Seth sent the carriage first out under the portcullis. Then, they rode out over the drawbridge and down the hill towards the city. A biting wind gusted down the harbour and rain lashed against Osforth's party. If it was possible, the weather had worsened since their arrival. It would be dark within the hour; they would have to stay the night in Dunethport.

Darin rode up alongside Seth, his thin face pinched. "That's it then. The marshal's ruined," he muttered.

Seth tore his thoughts away from the Esquill woman and her hypnotic eyes, and glanced back at the carriage.

"Admit it, you're not surprised," he replied. "Our days in Marshal Osforth's service are numbered."

***

The White Lady tavern lay on the outskirts of the city on the edge of a lush, terraced garden. The White Lady was Dunethport's finest tavern. It was a gracious, three-storied building, plastered white, with a slate-tiled roof. Marshal Osforth always insisted on staying at the Lady whenever they visited Dunethport; in fact, he was such a regular that the tavern reserved its best chamber, with a view over the harbour, just for him.

The stable-hands looked on in amusement, while the three tower guards hoisted the shaken marshal out of the carriage and escorted him into the tavern.

"Two thousand gold dracs!" Osforth muttered as they climbed the stairs to his chamber. "Where am I supposed to find that sort of money?"

You could sell that mountain of furs and jewels in your safe for a start, Seth thought sourly, and that armoury of ceremonial weapons you've never touched.

Servants had already brought up the marshal's two large trunks of belongings to his room. When they reached Osforth's chamber, Garth was busy warming a pot of wine over the fireplace. Seth led Osforth over to an armchair near the fire, while Kal and Darin hovered in the doorway. The marshal waved all three of them away as soon as he settled into the chair.

"Leave me," he snarled, not able to bear the sight of the three men who had witnessed his humiliation any longer. "Garth will see to me now. Get out!"

Seth glanced over at Garth, who was uncorking a small bottle of Enisflower, a powerful sleeping draught. Just a couple of drops would have the marshal sleeping like a baby. Garth, his leathery face, giving nothing away, nodded.

"Go on lads – go dry yourselves off. The marshal won't need you again this evening."

***

Seth stepped out on to the open expanse of cobbles that marked Dunethport's heart – the Great Square. Tall, narrow buildings housing taverns, brothels and alehouses ringed the wide space. Figures huddled in hooded cloaks and greatcoats milled around the entrances. In good weather, the Great Square was a place to linger and watch street performers, bards and jugglers. Yet, the sight that Seth missed this eve was that of the whores, leaning, bare breasted, out of windows on the upper stories of the brothels. Like sirens, they would call to passersby and beckon them inside. Seth rarely had enough money for one of them, normally having spent most of his paltry wage on ale in Weatherbay. Matilde on the other hand did not charge for her services, even if she was not as exciting as a Dunethport whore. Seth's casual relationship with Matilde suited him; he had just passed his thirtieth winter and had no desire for anything serious at this stage of his life.

Their destination tonight was the Golden Galleon. Squeezed in between two rowdy brothels, the tavern was a tall, timbered building that appeared to lurch out over the square. A sign, of a golden ship cresting a wave, hung above the entrance and dripped water on their heads as they pushed their way inside.

They had not even managed to cross the threshold when a drunk lurched towards them. Cursing, the huge man barrelled into Seth, and would have knocked him flat if Kal had not broken his fall.

Seth recovered his balance and dropped his shoulder. He jammed it into the drunk's chest, slamming the man back against the doorframe.

With this obstacle removed, Seth stepped past the drunk and gave him a dark look.

"Sorry mate," the drunk muttered.

The tavern was heaving. Still, they managed to jostle themselves into position at a table, next to where two pipers belted out a rousing tune. Elbow to elbow, they ordered tankards of ale and a steak and onion pie each, from a willowy girl with soft brown eyes and a mass of blonde curls. The ale arrived, warm and frothy, and the pies shortly after. The pies were the size of small pumpkins with a crisp buttery pastry and rich filling. The three hungry men took huge bites and sighed in contentment as they ate.

They needed a few more ales to wash down their fare, and after the third, the troubles of the day were little more than a hazy afterthought. When the pretty blonde serving wench brought their fourth round of ale, Seth flashed a smile, and was rewarded with a delightful blush.

All three men watched her go, admiring her shapely rear as she did so, before Darin pulled out a pouch of knuckle bones.

"Fancy a game boys?"

"Go on then," Seth grinned taking a gulp from his tankard. "It will distract me from pretty wenches."

A short while later, a peddler elbowed his way through the crowd and dumped his basket of trinkets down on their table. He was a small, birdlike man dressed in a colourful, patched cloak. He appeared oblivious to the fact that they were absorbed in their game of knucklebones

"Off you go," Darin said, without bothering to glance the hawker's way. "Take your baubles to another table."

Ignoring Darin, and obviously used to being given the brush off, the peddler began digging around in his basket.

"Good evening my good fellows."

He produced a large black feather and waved it under Seth's nose.

"How about a harlet feather for luck? I can let you have one of these rare feathers for just one silver drac!"

"That's a harlet feather?" Seth replied with a frown. "Looks a bit small to me."

"I'd say it came from a turkey," Darin added as he took his turn to throw the knucklebones and catch them on the back of his hand. "I told you, we're not interested – push off!"

Unfazed by their lack of interest, the peddler produced a handful of gleaming white stones.

"How about these Malwagen charms – they ward off the evil eye. Times like these, you need all the protection and good fortune you can get!"

"We make our own luck. I can't believe you sell any of this rubbish," Seth replied.

"Even strong men like you need protection from the forces of darkness and evil," the merchant replied cryptically, his beady eyes gleaming. "There's an eclipse coming and it is an ill omen for us all. My brother is a soothsayer and he has foreseen it. Such events bring forth great change, and the war to the south is but a sign of what is to come..."

As he spoke, the peddler reached into his bag.

"Look!" he exclaimed, producing a small, stoppered bottle. "I have a special draught, made by one of the Sisters of Sial. It will give you the strength and potency of ten men!"

Seth picked up the peddler's basket and handed it back to him.

"Enough. Sell your trinkets and spread your nonsense about eclipses and dark times elsewhere. We're busy."

"Very well," the peddler replied meekly, grasping his basket to his chest. "I wish you all a fine evening."

The man moved on to the next table and Seth heard him begin his patter once again.

"Good evening my good fellows. How about a harlet feather for luck?"

Kal watched him go before shaking his head. "What a life. Suddenly, our profession doesn't seem so onerous."

"Well enjoy the security while it lasts," Seth replied as he took his turn at throwing the knucklebones, "for that could be you in a few months time."

The evening wore on and the Golden Galleon pulsed with music and laughter. The three companions played a few more games of knucklebones and discussed the day's events. Eventually, his bladder full of ale, Seth left his friends to finish the last game on their own and pushed his way towards the privy. Unsteady on his feet, Seth shoved his way past the revellers. A long day, combined with copious amounts of ale, had made him tired.

It was an effort to cleave a path through the packed tavern, and Seth had almost reached the privy when he collided with a woman.

She was attractive: tall and well built with wavy brown hair and laughing blue eyes.

"Well hello, my lovely."

He put his hands on her hips, as if trying to move her out of the way, but instead his touch lingered. It was then he noticed that she wore blue robes and a silver-star pendant around her neck. The fact that he was fondling one of the Sisters of Sial would have put Seth off had he been sober. Many men believed that to touch a Sister brought a lifetime of impotency upon you. Yet, few of the Sisters were as attractive as this one. She was about his age, with full lips and a swelling bosom that pressed up against his chest as the crowd jostled them.

"Hello yourself, handsome," she replied with a knowing smile, running her hands across his chest in admiration. "It is not often a comely man such as yourself throws himself into my arms."

"I can do much more than that if you're willing," Seth replied, letting his own hands wander over the curve of her hips and the swell of her bottom.

Her smile widened at his suggestion, but then froze on her lips.

Surprised, Seth followed the direction of her gaze to where his shirt gaped open. Her fingers had fastened around an amulet that he wore around his neck.

"Where did you get this?"

The sultry temptress had disappeared, and a shrewd witch had replaced her. Her gaze never left his amulet. Seth let go of the woman and stepped backwards, tearing the amulet from her grasp.

"I've always worn it," he replied. "My mother gave one to me, and to each of my brothers."

They both looked at the amulet that now lay against Seth's skin. It was tear-drop shaped and jet black, although its surface flickered as if a flame danced across it.

The woman tore her gaze from the amulet and scrutinised Seth's face. "Do you know what this is?"

Seth shrugged. The witch was starting to irritate him. He tucked the amulet back inside his shirt and turned to continue on his way.

"Wait!"

The woman grabbed his arm and hauled him back. She was strong. Her fingers bit into his skin through his shirt. Her face was fierce.

"Since you obviously don't know or don't care, I shall tell you," she spoke quietly, holding his gaze in a snare. "Who was your mother?"

Seth shook her off. "That's none of your business."

"Heed my words," the Sister of Sial replied, her gaze narrowing. "That is no pretty necklace you wear. It is a Sentorân charm stone, designed to protect its wearer. Such a charm is not given lightly. I'd wager you and your brothers are in danger, and if I were you I'd watch my step."

Chapter Two

The Weaponsmith's Woman

Castlewatch – Catedrâl, Cathernis

Eni Falkyn rose from his bed, just before the rooster in the walled garden next door started crowing. He winced as the soles of his feet slapped against the stone floor. It was a raw morning and his breath steamed in the air inside his bedchamber.

Throwing open the shutters, Eni looked out at the day. From his second floor window, on the only hill for leagues around, he had an uninterrupted view across the neighbouring rooftops. The mist lay thick over the spires of Catedrâl, forming a milky sea pierced by hundreds of darning needles. The city stretched out over the Cathernis Plains – vast grasslands that reached from the coast in the east to the Starwalden Alps in the west, where the mighty mountain range formed Paladnith's snow-capped spine.

Plumes of white smoke mingled with the morning mist, and the burnt resin smell of wood-fires followed Eni downstairs to his tiny kitchen. The fire he had tended until going to bed the night before had long gone out and the kitchen was now even colder than his bedchamber.

Still half asleep, Eni went through his morning ritual. He lit the fire, filled a pot with water, and put it on to boil. Then, he went through into his workshop to light the fire in the forge. He hated these early starts in the winter but with spring approaching, he had a lot of work to get through; the short days seemed to be over before they even started.

As the water warmed, Eni stripped to the waist and splashed his head, shoulders and torso. At thirty-three winters, he was tall and strong, with arms and shoulders sculpted by years of hammering steel and iron. His light brown hair was cut short to keep him cool in the forge. His eyes were the colour of the material he worked with day in and out – steel grey. Even alone, with only familiar surroundings as his witness, Eni exuded little warmth; austerity carved a face, which should have been handsome, into severe lines beyond his years.

Eni took a draught of water and looked around for some breakfast. The only bread he had left was hard and stale. He would have to use it in a stew later. He was out of cheese and cured ham, and the small, sweet onions he liked to eat with bread and cheese were sprouting in their basket. The lack of food reminded him that it was shopping day. He would have to leave his forge and visit Catedrâl's market this morning, or he would go hungry. Eni scowled at the unappetising selection of food left in his pantry; a few mouldy or dusty offerings that even the rats had left alone.

Eni hated to admit it but Lydia had always made sure he was fed well. She had been an excellent cook, and since she had left, he had missed having fresh bread every morning and hot dinners served up every evening. He was so busy these days that details like going to market and preparing meals seemed tiresome.

Lydia had left him last summer. Eni had been so relieved to be free of her that for a while he did not mind being on his own. Months later, in the cheerless late winter, he did not enjoy the solitude so much.

They had met at the Harvest Fest, two years earlier. It was a rare evening that Eni left his forge but, driven by the need for company and laughter, he had shut up shop and joined the revellers. The Harvest Fest took place in the woodland on Catedrâl's outskirts. They feasted on wild meat – all cooked in an underground oven with baskets of root vegetables.

The revellers had carted in mountains of flat-bread, a Catedrâl specialty, and casks of local cider. Taking a gulp of cider from a tankard, Eni had felt a rare smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He watched the flames from the bonfire roar high into the night and listened to the strains of a lyre echo across the treetops.

Then he had seen her. She was lissom and tanned by the months of sunshine that had blessed Catedrâl that summer. Long dark hair flowed over her bare shoulders like oil and she was dressed lightly, in a white, sleeveless tunic, embroidered with gold, and cinched-in at the waist with gold brocade. On her tanned feet, she wore elegant leather sandals – and she moved like a nymph. It had taken Eni three tankards of cider before he got up the nerve to approach her, and even then, he struggled with making conversation. Instead of talking, they had danced – whirling and clinging together in the smoky darkness while the bonfire licked the night sky.

Eni drank so much that the rest of the night passed in a pleasure-filled blur. The next morning, he had awoken naked in bed with Lydia beside him. In his hung-over state, he had struggled to remember who she was and how she had got there. Still, he was not unhappy about it, and neither was she.

Lydia did not leave that day, or the next. Right from the first morning, she turned his dreary, cramped living quarters into a light, airy home. She cleaned it from top to bottom, threw out all the rubbish that had accumulated in the corners, and placed vases of flowers throughout. She baked him fresh bread every morning and prepared wonderful meals for him in the evenings. Eni spent the early days, bleary-eyed and yawning at his forge, after long, hot nights with Lydia. They still talked little, but that hardly seemed to matter.

After a few months, their happiness began to fade. A short while after that they started to fight. Lydia resented Eni's dedication to his work. As payment for warming his bed, cleaning his house and cooking his meals, she wanted a man who would adore and entertain her. She wanted gifts, promises and laughter but Eni had only one love – his craft. The more she went on at him, the more taciturn he became. Their fighting initially consisted of cold silences and slamming doors, before it escalated to shouting and blistering insults. By the time she walked out of his life, the passion they had once shared was no more than a memory.

These days she worked in service for the realmlord himself, as a maid to his lady wife; and Eni worked hard to forget she had ever been part of his life.

Pushing aside bitter thoughts of Lydia, Eni went through to his workshop and warmed his hands by the forge. By mid-morning, this space would be red-hot and the sweat would be pouring off him. Now though, he savoured the warmth and a rare moment of inactivity before the day began.

Eni's forge always welcomed him like an old friend. He had amassed a huge range of tools over the years: chisels, fullers, and hammers – many of which hung like trophies on the blackened walls. A great worn anvil, given to him by his former master, Talin, stood next to the glowing forge. His current project, a light sword for a Catedrâl nobleman, lay on the bench at the far end of the forge. Eni crossed the workshop and picked the weapon up, running an expert eye over the object he had crafted. He had made quite a few of these swords of late, and this one was almost ready. He needed just a couple more days, while he finished off the hilt and wove a charm into the blade, and the job would be done.

Eni itched to start work on the sword now, but his rumbling stomach and empty cupboards reminded him that a trip to Catedrâl's market awaited him. He took a large hessian bag, slung a cloak about his shoulders for warmth and made his way into the mist-wreathed street. The other workshops lining his street were just opening for the day. As he stepped outside and locked his workshop behind him, Eni could hear the clunks of locks releasing, the slam of doors, and the clatter of iron shutters opening further down the street.

Eni lived in the heart of the twisted labyrinth of Castlewatch; the city's artisans' quarter. He made his way down the hill, and passed another forge that had just opened its doors for the day. Inside, he could see the glow of the fire.

A less welcoming sight was the heavily built, bearded man with close-set eyes and a scowling face, who appeared in the doorway. The man saw Eni, stepped out onto the street and spat on the cobbles as he walked by.

Unperturbed, Eni ignored the insult, and the muttered threat that followed it.

"I'll get you Falkyn."

Fain had lost a lot of work since Eni had opened a forge on the same street, and these days even the sight of his competitor galled the older weaponsmith. He blamed Eni for his lack of work – but Eni knew that Fain was lazy, sloppy and lacked charm-weaving skills. Charm-weaving was an integral part of the weapon-smith's craft, yet Fain had never shown any aptitude for it, despite being apprenticed to one of Catedrâl's finest craftsmen. Eni's casual dismissal of his rival's insults only seemed to incense Fain further. Eni was the first to admit that he enjoyed baiting Fain.

He left Fain and Castlewatch behind. At the bottom of the hill, the streets widened and there were more people about; carts rattled past and locals, bundled up against the cold, picked their way by, careful not to slip on the patches of frost that covered the cobblestones. Eni passed tailor and cobbler shops, before the street forked. Sometimes, when the weather was mild, Eni would take the left fork. It was a prettier, albeit longer, walk along the banks of the River Arden; whereas, the right fork, although considerably shorter, took Eni through one of the poorest areas of Catedrâl – a tangle of stinking alleyways and dilapidated homes.

Impatient to return to work, Eni took the right fork this morning.

The chill had lessened the usual stench in this area. The streets were empty here; only a couple of starved cats scratched around in the piles of rubbish that folk had thrown from their windows.

As Eni walked, his thoughts returned to the sword he was completing. He had reached the final stage, and the one he enjoyed the most – that of weaving a charm into the blade. This was what made Eni's weapons stand out from his rivals. Not only were his blades strong, beautifully balanced and expertly crafted, but he was also able to weave delicate charms into them; charms that only the weapon's owner could exploit. The nobleman who had commissioned this sword had asked Eni for an 'intuitive' charm, which would give him the ability to sense and counteract his opponent's movements. It was a difficult charm but Eni felt he would be able to manage it.

His master, Talin, had been a talented charm-weaver and had trained Eni well. Even as a novice, Eni had shown promise in the art – Talin never had to teach him a charm twice. He had felt the iron and steel sing to him as he traced his fingers across its surface and whispered each new charm. The beauty of charm-weaving had captivated Eni from the start. He was a pragmatist, unlike his older brother Val who had always been the dreamer of the family, but when he wove a charm into a blade he became a poet, an artist.

Years on, Eni wished Talin was alive to see how he had improved. However, not everyone was impressed by Eni's charm-weaving skills; Fain, and others, had spread rumours that Eni wove foul curses, instead of charms, into the weapons he crafted. Eni paid little heed to Fain's gossip-mongering. He cared little what the other weaponsmiths thought of him. What mattered was that he had plenty of customers – and at present, he had a waiting list of those eager for his skills.

The streets narrowed to filth-strewn alleyways; so narrow in places that they almost grazed Eni's shoulders. He was but a short distance from the market now, and could hear the muffled shouts of those hawking their produce. The aroma of freshly baked bread reached him and Eni decided that he would stop to break his fast on a loaf, still hot from the ovens and smeared with salted butter and honey, before buying his food for the week.

Eni turned the corner, into the last backstreet before Market Square – and skidded to a halt.

This alley was cleaner than most but festooned with washing lines. Through the clutter of drying sheets, shirts and hose, Eni saw two figures, grappling together.

At first, he thought that he had come across lovers, and was about to retrace his steps and take another route to the market, when he realised they were fighting. Both figures were cloaked; one wore a wine-red mantle with a deep cowl, and the other a black hooded cape. Eni saw the flash of steel and froze.

They were grappling with a hunting knife. As Eni watched, the figure in black gained the advantage and plunged the knife into his opponent's chest.

The red-robed figure fell back against the wall with a strangled cry, clutching the knife's hilt. His attacker straightened up, turned and looked straight at Eni. It was impossible to make out the killer's face, for he had pulled his cowl forward so that his features were in shadow. He then stepped back from his victim, turned and fled down the alleyway. A moment later, the assassin disappeared into the bustle of Market Square.

The wounded man whimpered and slid down the wall. His hood fell back, revealing a shock of wavy golden hair.

Eni gasped. It was Flynn Valense – the realmlord's elder son.

He rushed forward and crouched next to the young man. Flynn's face had gone slack and his eyes were glazing over. They had never met, although Eni had seen the realmlord's sons often enough during street parades and festivals over the years.

"Lord Flynn – can you hear me?" Eni asked, pushing aside Flynn's cloak to get a look at the wound. "Who did this?"

Flynn's mouth worked, as if he were trying to answer, but he could not seem to speak. Instead, blood leaked from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Eni looked at the knife embedded to the hilt in Flynn's chest and felt a chill go through him.

I crafted this knife.

Eni recognised the workmanship on the hilt. He had made a number of these knives over the years. They were one of his most common requests; yet they were all like children to Eni. It was definitely one of his.

The blade had pierced a lung. Flynn Valense was dying.

Flynn clutched at Eni as the blood now ran freely down his chin and soaked his fine red mantle. Again, his mouth worked but he only managed a choked, gurgling sound.

Flynn clutched once more at Eni's arm, his fingers digging into Eni's flesh. Then, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped against the wall. Eni felt the strength go out of the young man's fingers and watched as life left Flynn Valense.

Eni rocked back on his heels and cursed softly.

Shouts reached him from the direction of the market.

"Murder!"

Eni climbed to his feet – someone had raised the alarm. A knot of soldiers, all wearing the black and gold of the realmlord's guard, entered the alley. They thundered towards Eni, who remained rooted to the spot, awaiting their arrival. If he ran, they would think he had killed the realmlord's son.

"Look – he's got blood on his hands!" one of the guards shouted.

Eni looked down to see that, indeed, Flynn's blood coated his fingers. The metallic stench of it was thick in the air.

***

Skeleton trees overshadowed the road. Bare branches splayed skyward like supplicating hands and through them Eni caught sight of Haladyn Castle rising into the mist. Its white walls, built of Omari sandstone, appeared to swirl and ripple as if alive. Towers, topped in delicate turrets, perched upon its walls.

Eni rode along a wide avenue, flanked either side by guards. They had bound his hands behind him, so tightly that he had lost all feeling in them. The cold air stung his face and the damp made his bones ache. The road wound its way through Haladyn Park. In the summer, the park was an idyllic spot with the Arden River curving through meadows of wildflowers. Today, Haladyn Park was a bleak place. Mist curled between the trees. Rotting leaves lay over the frozen ground and the entire park slumbered in hibernation.

Eni and the guards rode up to the castle before crossing the drawbridge and moat. They passed under the portcullis and rode into a stable-lined courtyard.

Guards dragged Eni off his horse and shoved him forward so violently that he tripped and sprawled over the cobbles. One of the guards kicked him in the ribs.

"Get up!"

Eni struggled to his feet and snarled at the guard.

"I told you before – you've got the wrong man!"

Another guard grabbed Eni by the hair and hauled him towards a set of stairs that led underground. They dragged him down into the dungeons – a damp, dark hole that reeked of urine and decay – and tossed him into a blackened cell.

Eni picked himself up off a pile of rotting straw as the door boomed shut, trapping him in the darkness. His arms were starting to cramp, his ribs ached from the kick, and his left knee throbbed from his fall in the stableyard. He leaned against the wall and took a few deep, steadying breaths to quell the panic that was rising within him.

It seemed a long while before the guards came for him. Time lost all meaning in the darkness but Eni saw that dusk was settling as they herded him out of the dungeon and up the steps into the castle itself. Mercifully, the guards removed the ropes that bound his wrists, although the pain was excruciating when the blood flooded back into his numbed hands.

The procession made its way through the cavernous corridors. Servants stopped and gawked at Eni. Their staring faces angered him. He had worked so hard to build his standing in Catedrâl. This mistake could cost him his livelihood.

Eni entered the realmlord's reception hall, flanked by guards. Stone pillars lined the vast space and the ceiling, high and vaulted, appeared to stretch upwards to eternity.

The realmlord sat on a raised dais awaiting him. Eni looked upon Lord Valense's face and felt his pulse quicken. Like his elder son, Lord Valense was a tall, slender man with quiet ways and quick blue eyes. His once golden hair was now grey and cut short against his scalp. Grief had turned his face gaunt, and his eyes glittered out of hollowed sockets.

Behind him, stretched out on a marble slab, lay Flynn Valense. The knife had been removed from his chest and laid beside him. The blood had been washed away and he had been dressed in a black and vermillion robe. Flynn's hair draped over the edge of the slab in a golden curtain. His face, expressionless in death, was the colour of chalk.

Mattias Valense stood beside his brother's body. The realmlord's only surviving son, dressed in velvet, stared down at the ground. A mop of blond hair obscured his face. Their mother, Lady Valense, sat rigidly next to her husband, as pale and cold as stone.

The guards brought Eni ten feet from the realmlord before stepping back, leaving him exposed to the stares of everyone present.

"Milord," Eni broke the terrible silence. "I am so sorry for your loss, but I did not kill your son. I swear it upon Palâd and Nith."

Silence followed Eni's declaration. He could feel the stares of the realmlord's court upon him. He could feel their hate. Flynn, whose gentle nature and warm smile had charmed many, was loved throughout Catedrâl.

"My guards found you standing over his body with blood on your hands," the realmlord replied, his voice brittle. "There was no one else nearby. Do you deny that you murdered him?"

"Why would I hurt your son?" Eni replied. "He has never done me any harm."

"Tell me then," the realmlord answered. "I wish to hear your version of the events."

Eni inhaled deeply, grateful that Valense was prepared to listen to him.

"I was taking a shortcut to Market Square when I saw Flynn struggling with a cloaked figure," he began hesitantly. "I did not see the face of his attacker, for he shrouded it with a hood. He had just stabbed Flynn when he saw me and ran. I tried to help your son but the knife had pierced his lung. He died trying to tell me the name of his killer."

There was a deathly silence before the realmlord replied.

"These sound like the words of a liar to me."

Panic beat in Eni's chest like a trapped bird. His mouth suddenly went dry. He could see why Valense did not believe him; the truth sounded somehow hollow and feeble.

"No Milord. I swear I did not murder your son!"

An expectant hush fell in the hall – only to be shattered moments later.

"Lies!"

The crowd parted and a young woman, slender and olive skinned, with dark hair tied back in a long braid, rushed forward. She wore a long grey shift over a white linen underdress; a servant's uniform. Tears stained the woman's pretty face.

Eni gaped at the sight of Lydia, his ex-lover, standing before him.

It was the first time he had seen her in many months and she was as comely as he remembered, even in those drab clothes, with tears streaming down her cheeks. Still, the sight of her made Eni's stomach clench.

"This man lies!" she sobbed. "He murdered Flynn Valense in cold blood!"

The entire assembly went still and all gazes settled upon Lydia, handmaid to Lady Valense. Lydia turned to the realmlord and struggled to stem her sobs.

"Milord," she gasped. "Your son and I were lovers."

In the deep silence of the reception hall, everyone heard Lydia's declaration. The hiss of sharply drawn breaths followed her words. Lady Valense had suddenly come to life. She coiled her thin body inwards as outrage took her.

"How dare you!"

Valense reached across and covered his wife's trembling hand with his. The realmlord's lean face was gaunt with the effort required to contain himself.

Eni stared at Lydia, aghast, before he turned to Valense.

"It is she who lies. Do not listen to her!"

"Silence!" the realmlord commanded. He then turned to Lydia, his face hewn from stone. "Speak on."

Lydia took another deep breath and wiped away the tears that blinded her. Then, her gaze lifted and she looked at Lady Valense.

"I apologise Milady, I never meant to betray your trust." Her gaze then shifted to the realmlord, her face resolute. "The man before you was once my lover. He was violent and jealous and eventually, tiring of his cruelty, I left him."

Her words made Eni feel as if he had been kicked in the stomach. The air suddenly seemed leaden, and he struggled to draw breath. He could not believe what he was hearing – but before he could speak up to defend himself, Lydia continued.

"Here at Haladyn Castle, I have only known kindness. In service to Lady Valense, I often saw Flynn. Soon he sought out my company and we became friends. After a while, our friendship deepened and we became lovers. Knowing that our love would never be accepted, we kept it secret – and it would have remained so if it had not been for this man."

Lydia pointed at Eni.

"A week ago I was in Market Square when Eni Falkyn approached me. He bullied me and I lost my temper. I told him that I had finally found a man who would love and cherish me; I told him that Flynn and I were lovers."

Blood roared in Eni's ears at her last words.

Tears slid down Lydia's cheeks. "Eni said he would not stand by and let Flynn Valense touch his woman. He vowed to kill him."

Eni's restraint snapped and he leapt towards Lydia; only to have Valense's guards grasp him and drag him back.

"Lying bitch!" he bellowed. "There's not one word of truth in this tale. Not one!"

"Quiet!"

Realmlord Valense loomed from his chair. Fury had finally overtaken grief. Valense's thin body shook as if he had been stricken by palsy. Next to him, his wife was so pale she looked near to fainting. Her eyes were huge on her white face, and she gazed upon Eni as if he were a monster.

The realmlord stepped up to the stone slab where his son lay, and retrieved the hunting knife from where it sat on a velvet cloth next to Flynn's body.

"This is your work, is it not?"

Eni drew a deep shuddering breath and attempted to calm himself.

"Yes Milord, I have made weapons for many in Catedrâl – but..."

Valense held up a hand to silence him, before he motioned to the guards.

"Get this murderer out of my sight!"

The realmlord then turned to Lydia, his stare wintry.

"You are no longer welcome here. Gather your possessions and leave Haladyn Castle immediately."

Chapter Three

A Librarian's Errand

Tarrancrest, Farindell

Val Falkyn often lost himself in his work, and this morning was no exception.

A chest of books bequeathed to Realmlord Kaur by one of his marshals sat in front of Val, and he had the laborious task of unpacking and sorting them. At first, upon lifting the heavy lid of the chest and casting his gaze over the books, Val worried that none of them would be worthy of gracing the shelves in his library. Yet, on closer inspection he saw some of the volumes were extremely old; most of them histories and memoirs.

A forest of books surrounded Val as he worked, rising from a flagstone floor up through a three tiered gallery to a domed ceiling. Tarrancrest's Library was a shrine to the written word; an altar to culture and civilisation. Val was its only custodian.

Val pushed his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes and lifted the books carefully from the chest, before setting them upon the table in the centre of the library. He began sorting through the books and felt a flutter of excitement. They were all exquisitely made, with embossed leather covers and the finest Marl parchment. Occasionally, Tarrancrest Library received books from marshals and other dignitaries from throughout the Realm, but they were often a mixed bag. However, this marshal had bequeathed some treasures. It appeared that the marshal had once lived here at Tarrancrest, and his forefathers had all served generations of realmlords as stewards, chamberlains, scholars and librarians.

Dust covered many of the books, as if they had been pulled down off shelves and hurriedly packed into the chest without much thought or care. Val cleaned the cover of one of the dustiest books, using the sleeve of his robe. He caught his breath when he saw the title of the book.

"The Complete Book of Sorcery," Val whispered, "what a find!"

It was rare to discover a book that covered all of Palâdnith's magical orders – but this one had sections on each of them: Sentorân, Esquill and the Sisters of Sial. Val loved to read about magic, and such books were difficult to come across these days. Ever since the last Sentorân vanished from Palâdnith and all but a few of the Esquill had retreated to Deep-Spire, magic played very little part in the everyday lives of realmlords, nobility and common-folk alike.

Like most people, Val knew that the Sentorân had once been advisors to kings. After the Realm War nearly five centuries earlier, which split Palâdnith into six realms: Omagen, Sude, Farindell, Westhealm, Marl and Cathernis; the Sentorân had also counseled the realmlords. Then, one of the Sentorân, a young sorceress named Riadamor, had broken away from the order and formed the Esquill. At first, the two orders co-existed – but it was not long before Riadamor's ambitions grew. She wanted Deep-Spire, and the power held by the Sentorân, for herself.

Intrigued, Val flicked to the chapter about the conflict between the Esquill and the Sentorân and began reading.

"Once the Esquill's power grew to rival the Sentorân's, Riadamor began to challenge her rivals openly. Their conflict culminated in the Battle of Deep-Spire, in the Year 322 of the Age of the Realms. The Esquill won that battle and the surviving Sentorân fled. With possession of Deep-Spire, Riadamor began tracking her rivals down. It was said that she had turned some of them into great feral birds; monstrous creatures that fed on human flesh – which came to be known as harlets. Riadamor and her Esquill used these birds to hunt down many of the remaining Sentorân."

Val paused here and suppressed a shudder. Fortunately, he had never seen a harlet – few did and lived to tell the tale – for the birds lived high in the peaks of Palâdnith's mountains. Had Riadamor not disappeared, Val reflected, the world he inhabited would be very different. These days, the magic of mankind was limited to the Esquill, who had chosen to use their skills to aid the realmlords; and the cure-alls, potions and incantations of the Sisters of Sial – who rarely strayed from the backwaters of Sude. Some said that soothsayers, ubiquitous throughout Palâdnith in their purple robes, had magical powers – but Val seriously doubted such talk.

Leafing through the book, Val saw that there was also an additional chapter on the Malwagen. He knew he should get back to work but was unable to resist reading the first few lines.

"Like the harlets, this secretive race of winged-sprites lives high in the mountains," he read, "they are known to have colonies in the Rock and Pillars, the Starwalden Alps and the High Dragon Spines. Many do not realise that the Malwagen possess magical abilities. Yet, their magic is not like that of men – it is altogether subtler, crueler and more dangerous." Val felt excitement flutter in the base of his stomach. For centuries, men had given the Malwagen a wide berth but Val was keen to know more about them.

This book was indeed rare and Val forced himself to put it to one side. He would take it to his chamber and read it from cover-to-cover before he placed it on the shelves.

It was quiet in the library, and dimly lit. There was little natural light, save for the tiny windows high up, as sunlight faded the books. Instead, a chandelier hung from the high ceiling and cast flickering shadows across the walls of books. Few people bothered Val here in the library, save those who sent their servants to collect books, and so Val spent a great deal of time on his own.

He was so engrossed in his task that he did not notice the small figure, dressed in black robes with a high collar, which marched into the library and strode towards him. The little man strutted across the floor, noiseless in velvet slippers, and halted in front of Val. He stood there for a few moments, waiting for the librarian to notice him – but when this did not happen, the man cleared his throat.

"Librarian Falkyn!"

Val looked up and frowned at Mirkel Rod, the realmlord's chamberlain.

"What is it Mirkel?" he asked curtly.

The chamberlain thrust a parchment into Val's hand.

"The realmlord has requested these two books."

Val looked at the parchment and raised his eyebrows.

"The Secrets of the Great Bibliotheca and Lost Magical Artefacts of the Realms," he read aloud. "A bit of light reading for our master?"

"That's no business of yours, Falkyn," Mirkel replied with a scowl. "Just get the books."

Val brushed past him and went to fetch his ladder. He carried it over to the far wall of the library and climbed to the top. The two books Lord Kaur had requested were obscure, and Val knew he would find them on the top shelf of the restricted section. It was dusty up here and Val's nose itched as he traced the leather spines. Eventually locating the books, Val removed them from the shelf and descended the ladder. He brought the books back to his desk, before entering their titles and the date into a ledger.

"Here you are, Mirkel."

Mirkel Rod gave Val a sour look, picked up the books and strode out of the library without a word of thanks. Val watched him go before turning back to his new books.

"Now where was I," he murmured. "Ah yes – here's another find: The Creation of Moden."

Val could not resist taking a peek at this volume as well. The underworld prison, where until recently Palâdnith's rulers – kings, and even a few of the early realmlords – had incarcerated their enemies, was another one of Val's fascinations.

"Palâdnith's rulers used a powerful charm, the Blood Stone, to open a portal between the two worlds and banish prisoners to Moden," Val read aloud. "Large, red gems with a splash of black at their hearts – the Blood Stones were the work of the warlocks who created Moden itself. Those condemned to Moden would be tied to a pillar in the centre of a large stone platform. The judge would then stand a safe distance back, before casting the stone at the feet of the prisoner. One word unlocked the portal: Marthragin. The Ancient Goranthian word for 'banish'. A vortex would then open and suck the condemned into the underworld. There were originally ten Blood Stones fashioned from the heart of a volcano but, over the centuries, all the stones have been lost."

Val had read references to Blood Stones before, but never in such detail. He wondered what had happened to them. Reluctantly, he forced himself to close the book and return to work.

At this rate, he would have enough bedtime reading for months.

Many hours later, Val left the sanctuary of his library and made his way down to Tarrancrest's kitchens. The aroma of roasting fowl welcomed him and his stomach growled in response, reminding him that he had not eaten since his quick breakfast of pottage and bread at dawn.

It had been an eventful day. After Mirkel Rod's visit, two others had come to collect books: Dafne, the governess who taught the realmlord's two youngest daughters, Jasmina and Clarisa; and Meldwyn, Tarrancrest's physician, who usually visited the library once a fortnight. Three visitors in one day might not have seemed many, but Val was used to days stretching by without seeing anyone. He massaged a stiff muscle in his neck and shrugged the tension out of his shoulders. At thirty-five, he sometimes felt decades older. He was stiff and sore after spending days bent over books.

The kitchens took up nearly half of one lower level of Tarrancrest's great keep. Like the rest of the fortress, the walls were red, pitted stone and four-foot thick. Great fires burned along the exterior wall, with massive chimneys that pumped smoke outside. It was a vast, windowless space crammed with work benches, cupboards, and pantries that were the size of Val's bed-chamber.

A huge scrubbed oak table dominated the space. Lined with stools and worn by generations of cooks slicing, dicing and pounding ingredients on its scarred surface, the table was the heart of the kitchen. Teams of cooks worked at this table from dawn to dusk, preparing food for Realmlord Kaur and the great number of relatives, noblemen, soldiers and servants who resided within Tarrancrest Keep.

This time of day was when the servants collectively paused. The realmlord and his family would dine later that evening but, for now, the cooks, servants and scullery maids had a rare moment of peace as they sat and ate their evening meal. Everyone was already seated as Val entered the kitchens. The roar of laughter and conversation was deafening.

Two boys rushed into the kitchen behind Val, and barreled into him in their haste to reach the table.

Val grabbed the first boy by the shoulders and pulled him up short, causing his brother to collide with them both.

"Slow down boys."

He ruffled the lad's dark hair and sent him on his way.

"Off you go. Your mother's kept spaces for you both at the end of the table."

The boys were a bit wild, as their father was off fighting on the Farindell-Sude border and their mother had little time for them; she was too busy running Tarrancrest kitchens as head cook. They reminded Val of him and his brothers at the same age – boys with energy to burn, in a household of adults too busy for them.

"Val!"

Rianna, one of the cooks, waved Val over and pulled up a stool next to her at the far end of the table. She shoved a huge plate of roast marsh hen, mashed potato and turnip, and hot gravy in front of him.

"Here – if you get any thinner you'll snap. Eat this!"

Val gave her a timid smile before digging into his dinner. Usually, he took his meals alone in his chamber; but once a week he made an effort to join the other servants downstairs. Although he did not offer much in the way of conversation, often blushing the moment he became the centre of attention, the laughter and easy company were a welcome respite from the solitude of his day-to-day existence.

As usual, gossip was circulating the table. Most of it eddied and swirled around Val, and he only caught snippets. Val had finished his generous plate of food and was starting on a bowl of suet pudding with a honey and butter syrup, when he finally caught up with today's main topic of discussion: the realmlord and his family. Rianna was leading the discussion.

"I don't know how she puts up with him. Lady Mallory is such a well-mannered soul."

"That's not what I've heard," one of the servants, Tobias, replied from across the table, "I've heard she's barren and has a tongue like a viper. She should have borne him at least two children by now."

"He killed his last wife with all her pregnancies," Rianna muttered.

"Yes, but he still needs a son," Tobias replied, "and after all that business with Lady Cirinna who can blame him?"

The table fell silent then. The terrible events that had transpired at the end of last spring had rocked Tarrancrest to its core. Lady Cirinna, the eldest of Realmlord Kaur's six daughters, had disgraced herself utterly. Yet, it had been her father's cruel and vengeful response that had caused the greatest shock.

One of the cooks further down the table broke the hush

"I hear he's finally managed to find a husband for Lady Cirinna," she said, her voice high and excited. "Tasha told me that the Guardian of the Citadel of Lies has agreed to marry her!"

This juicy morsel caused the entire table to erupt in excited chatter. Tasha was Lady Cirinna's handmaid so any news that filtered down from her was regarded as truth.

However, Tobias merely sneered at this news. "I'd wager the Guardian knows nothing of her disgrace."

"That's hardly news," Rianna replied with a scowl. "We have all been threatened with our lives if we mention it outside these walls."

Val listened to the conversation with interest. For a moment, his thoughts strayed to Lady Cirinna. He had seen her less than a handful of times in his decade here. Pale, pretty and slender, she looked a lot like the realmlord's first wife. She had the same quiet manner and ethereal looks. Like everyone else at Tarrancrest he felt it hard to believe the scandal that had befallen her. However, it must have been true, for the body of her lover, one of the realmlord's most trusted advisors, had been strung up over the moat and left to rot for weeks after the scandal broke.

Val finished his pudding and was half-way through a tankard of ale, when he spotted a familiar figure at the foot of the stairwell – Mirkel Rod. The chamberlain marched across the kitchen towards Val. Watching Mirkel approach, Val's heart sank.

Not twice in one day, please.

"Val Falkyn!"

Mirkel Rod's voice cut across the roar of excited voices. Upon seeing the realmlord's chamberlain in their midst, the table fell silent. Their faces were aghast at what he might have overheard. However, Mirkel had not paid a visit to listen to their gossip. His gaze was fixed upon Tarrancrest's librarian.

"What is it, Mirkel?" Val asked coldly.

"The realmlord summons you," Mirkel informed him with equal coolness. "Come along – you don't want to keep him waiting."

***

Val followed Mirkel Rod inside Tarrancrest's Great Hall. His gaze lifted to the high spider-vaulted ceiling before travelling down towards the floor – no matter how many times Val saw it, the Great Hall's magnificence never failed to impress him. Gigantic, square pillars lined each side of the hall with a slenderer set of columns dissecting the centre. The floor was pink marble veined with crimson. A large circular window filled with yellow stained glass took up the entire back wall. Outside, the day was dim but, nonetheless, light flowed inside and pooled like molten gold on the marble floor.

Mirkel Rod strode ahead of Val and led him to the back of the hall, before smartly stepping to one side with a flourish.

"Librarian Falkyn, Milord."

"Thank you Mirkel."

Willem Kaur, Realmlord of Farindell lounged upon an iron throne at the top of marble steps. Behind him stood Roth Tobin; captain of the Tarrancrest Guard. Tobin was a tall, hard-faced man wearing a heavy chainmail vest that reached his knees and a long green cape. He was built like a bull and completely bald. Val had only ever seen Captain Tobin from afar, leading the guard during the Harvest Fest parade, or bellowing orders during sword practice in the keep's inner-bailey. The captain's gaze bored into him and Val looked away, instead focusing his attention on the man who had demanded his presence.

As always, the sight of Realmlord Kaur made Val nervous. Willem Kaur was not known for his gentle manners and Val's few encounters with his master had left him shaken for days.

Lord Kaur leaned forward in his throne and clasped his hands in front of him,

"Librarian Falkyn, I apologise for tearing you away from your supper."

Unlike his daughters, who were all willowy, Kaur was a short and stocky man. He was dressed in plush furs and jewels, while on his head he wore a delicate silver circlet. Despite that he was now entering his fifth decade, the realmlord still had a thick head of greying hair. It was his one vanity, and he wore it with a thick fringe, as if someone had placed a pudding bowl over his head and cut round it. The face below that fringe was sagging and bitter.

"Milord."

Val bowed before Kaur and felt his master's gaze slide over him. Finally, when he had finished his assessment, Willem Kaur spoke.

"I hear that you are fluent in Ancient Goranthian – is this true?"

"Yes, Milord."

A surge of pride went through Val as he replied. His fluency in the dead language of scholars and sorcerers was something he was incredibly proud of.

"Where did you learn this tongue? To my knowledge, no academy in Palâdnith teaches it these days."

"My father has an extensive library at Barrowthorne, and among his books were a number of volumes in this language – I taught myself," Val replied.

Lord Kaur raised an eyebrow at this.

"Remarkable. I take it, you are fluent in the spoken language as well?"

Val nodded, a slight unease stealing over him. Why was the realmlord so interested in his language skills? As if sensing Val's discomfort, Lord Kaur smiled. It was not a pleasant expression and Val's stomach clenched. The realmlord leaned back in his throne and surveyed Val before continuing.

"I have a task for you – a quest of sorts that will require your skills in Ancient Goranthian."

Val did not reply. Instead, he waited for the realmlord to continue.

"You will accompany Captain Tobin here," Kaur acknowledged the soldier with a nod, "and my daughter, Cirinna, on a journey to the Citadel of Lies. Once there, I require you to translate a scroll of the upmost importance that Tobin will carry with him."

The realmlord paused here, his gaze drilling into Val.

"An ancient artefact has been found, previously thought to be lost forever and I need someone fluent in Ancient Goranthian to retrieve it. The Guardian of the Citadel was reluctant to let me have it, but fortunately he is very keen to wed my daughter."

Kaur's voice trailed off and he lapsed into silence for a moment.

"Such a small price to pay for something so valuable," he muttered to himself.

The Citadel of Lies.

Val's stomach clenched. The Citadel was famed, both in Palâdnith and abroad, for its mysterious beauty. It was the only remaining relic from an ancient order of warlocks that had once ruled this continent. There were secrets within its vaults that most inhabitants of Palâdnith could only imagine. Val had studied the Citadel at length and had dreamed of seeing the Great Bibliotheca. Yet, now that he would really be travelling to the Citadel of Lies, Val was suddenly not so keen to see it.

Realmlord Kaur then fixed Val with a hard stare, all pretence at civility gone.

"Your task is crucial," Kaur's voice slashed across the Great Hall, "and if you bungle it you will never set foot inside your beloved library again."

"Yes sire."

"It will be a chance for you to see a bit of the world Falkyn. You've spent too long hiding in your library – now it's time for you to prove your worth. You leave at dawn on the morrow."

Chapter Four

Over the Mountain

Seth led his horse out of the stables and glanced up at the sky. After a downpour that lasted all morning, the rain had finally stopped. The cloud was now lifting and the sun showed its face for the first time in days. Colour was seeping back into the world.

Seth tightened the horse's girth and, satisfied that the saddle would not slip, he swung up onto his mount's back. Then, he rode forward and drew level with Darin. Behind them, Marshal Osforth was shouting at Garth. The manservant wore a pained expression as he perched on the top of the carriage and rummaged through one of the trunks strapped to the roof.

"Not my cloak man," Osforth barked. "Get me my stole, the black one!"

Seth exchanged a look of exasperation with Darin.

"It is already after midday," Seth whispered between gritted teeth. "At this rate we'll be crossing the mountain in the dark."

Darin rolled his eyes. "That's if we ever depart."

"I will not travel underdressed!" Osforth continued, his voice echoing across the stableyard. "Find me my stole or we aren't moving!"

Kal drew his horse up next to the carriage's open window.

"We shouldn't delay any longer, Milord."

"The realmlord might to dictate to me, but you do not!" Osforth shouted. "If I decide we depart at midnight then we shall!"

"I've found it, Milord!"

Garth passed the black stole down to Kal and shut the trunk. The manservant then clambered back into his seat and gathered up the reins. Before him, the horses stamped; they were as impatient as the tower guards to be off. Kal handed the stole to the marshal, who took it without a word of thanks and slammed the window shut in Kal's face.

The party departed the White Lady Inn and clattered out onto the cobbled way beyond. Around them, Dunethport glistened and the harbour sparkled. Outside the White Lady, children ran and splashed about in puddles. They set off across Dunethport at a brisk pace. The streets were busy; filled with townsfolk venturing out for an afternoon stroll in the sun. Beggars trailed after the carriage as it rumbled past. Eventually, they dropped back when Osforth failed to throw any dracs their way.

The travellers began the steep climb north with the sun warming their backs. Once Dunethport fell away behind them, Garth urged the two horses pulling the carriage on to a brisk trot. He was making an effort to keep up with Darin and Kal, who led the way at a cracking pace. Seth brought up the rear. He watched the carriage bounce over the uneven road with grim satisfaction, knowing the marshal would have to cling to the side to prevent injury. He could hear the muffled demands of his master but like the others, played deaf. If Osforth wished to travel home this afternoon, just hours before dusk, he would do so at the pace they chose.

As he rode, Seth's thoughts travelled back to last night's encounter. The Sister's warning had unnerved him and he reached up and touched the amulet that still hung around his neck. It appeared a commonplace jet necklace to him; there was nothing outwardly remarkable about it.

A Sentorân charm, eh? Seth grinned to himself, dismissing the Sister's warning once more. I wonder what sort of price you'd fetch at the market?

By the time the party reached the top of the mountain, they were exhausted. The rain had turned the Northern Highway into a quagmire. Osforth's carriage became stuck half a dozen times and Seth, Kal and Darin were now caked in mud after struggling to free it. They were all in foul moods by this stage, except for Garth, who sat, hunched in his greatcoat, like a thin, red-faced bird. The old man had travelled this road hundreds of times, in worse conditions than this. Inside the carriage, the marshal had, mercifully, fallen silent.

Dusk was falling when they started down the northern slopes of Mount Caligar. The sky blazed behind the rim of the Silverthorne Mountains to the northwest and in the east, they caught a far-off glimmer of the Ocean of No Memory.

They were still two hours from Weatherbay when the light faded completely.

Garth lit the lanterns and hung two on the carriage while Darin, who led the group, carried one aloft. It was the first clear night in weeks and the air was crisp and rich with the scent of wet earth and leaves. The stars sparkled overhead and a crescent moon rose into the inky sky. The temperature dropped sharply and the breaths of man and beast alike steamed in the chilled air.

At the rear of the group, Seth's stomach rumbled. His back ached from the cold and he longed for a plate of hot food and a steaming bath. Home was another couple of hours away and they would all be exhausted by the time they reached Weatherbay.

They had reached the top of the last rise before the long incline towards the Wuthering River Valley. The shadows of trees rose up either side of the highway. A few feet from the lanterns' glow, darkness swallowed the world.

It was at that moment that Seth felt a chill feather across the back of his neck. He twisted in the saddle and peered back into the dark. Had he heard something? The blackness was unfathomable, and Seth could see nothing beyond the glow of the carriage's lanterns. He strained his ears, listening, but only silence greeted him.

It's just the darkness, he told himself. There's no one out there.

Still, the sensation caused Seth to quit ruminating about his empty stomach and aching back. The marshal had hired the three of them to protect him, and if there were outlaws or undesirables lurking in the darkness, Seth's job was to keep his master safe.

They rode on a little further and Seth scanned the roadside carefully, his eyes straining to make out his surroundings. He was just beginning to relax, and to think that fatigue had caused his mind to play tricks on him when the sensation – a cold whisper – breathed down his nape and once more caused the hair on the back of his neck to prickle. This time, Seth did not dismiss it. His heart quickened and his skin broke out in a cold sweat. Seth's instincts were now razor-sharp.

Something is wrong.

Seth cursed the marshal's decision to leave Dunethport so late in the day. There could be half a dozen men out there in the trees, watching them, and he, Darin and Kal would have no idea. Osforth's stubbornness had put them all in danger.

Seth's body tensed and his horse sidestepped in response. Within him, from a place he had never before known existed, a warning screamed.

Run now!

That was all it took. As a soldier, he knew that if he did not heed instinct, he was a fool. Seth drew his sword and dug his heels into his horse's flanks. Then he shouted.

"Bandits!"

It was the one word sure to elicit the same response from the others. The forests in the Realm of Omagen were rife with outlaws. It was for this reason the marshal took his tower guards with him when he left home, for no rich man travelled alone in these parts. Seth heard his master's shout from inside the carriage.

"Ride!" the marshal screamed.

Garth shouted, lashed his whip, and the two horses pulling the carriage bolted into the darkness. Kal and Darin took off ahead of him with Seth bringing up the rear.

A scream split the night behind them. Fear clamped down on Seth's ribcage at the chilling sound. He had never heard a man scream like that – the sound was enraged, feral.

Garth crouched low over the reins as another scream rent the air. The noise made the usually unflappable old man panic and he urged the horses on. The carriage chased after Kal and Darin, while Seth galloped alongside. Garth cursed the darkness that had swallowed the world beyond the lantern light. He knew it was dangerous to push the horses so. It was too dark and they were galloping fast. Garth could hear Osforth's cries inside the carriage as he was thrown around, but he paid no heed to that either.

Garth carried a wicked knife strapped to his calf and, despite his age, he was still lethal in a fight. Yet, that scream did not sound like any bandit he ever wished to meet.

Suddenly, one of the horses pulling Osforth's carriage fell.

The beast stumbled in a deep pothole and pulled the other horse down with it. The carriage slewed sideways on the road and collided with Seth's horse – catapulting the rider into the darkness. The next moment, the carriage toppled over. Garth struggled to get free but found himself entangled in the reins.

The last thing Garth saw before he died was the bulk of the carriage crashing down upon him.

Seth lay upon the muddy ground. Winded, he gasped as pain lanced across his ribs. He struggled to catch his breath as he gingerly pulled himself up into a crouching position.

Fear froze him to the spot.

A few yards away, in the light of one of the fallen lanterns, he saw the ruin of the gilded carriage. Its wheels still spinning; it lay like a cast beetle on top of the kicking, screaming horses. Garth lay, unmoving, in the mud, half pinned under the carriage. The carriage door flew open and a dishevelled creature clambered out. The marshal's hair was wild, he had lost his stole, and blood stained his velvet robes from a gaping cut on his forehead.

"Filth!" he screamed. "You have no right to attack me!"

Seth crouched in the shadows and held his breath. If the marshal shut up and hid inside the carriage, he might survive. Unfortunately, Marshal Osforth had slipped into hysteria.

"Show yourselves!" he screamed, shaking his fist at the shadows. "I'm not afraid of you!"

"Fool."

A voice wheezed from the darkness. It was reed-thin, disdainful and chillingly slow.

Osforth's hysteria abruptly halted. His face went slack and he backed up against the carriage wall. A tall, stoop-shouldered form swathed in a voluminous cape, detached itself from the shadows. It moved lithely towards the frightened marshal in long strides.

The one glimpse Seth caught of it was enough to stir his survival instincts. It was too late for the marshal – but he still had a chance to escape. Silent in his soft-soled riding boots, Seth ran. Osforth's wail followed him before something cut it off.

Seth sprinted down the uneven highway. He was running blind but, unlike Osforth, he would not be such easy prey. Another scream shattered the night. Then he felt the attacker turn its attention on him. A moment later, a cold, whispering voice slithered through his head.

Sentorân. You are mine.

Through the thundering of his own heart and the screams of the trapped horses, Seth could hear the rasp of its breathing. Then it lunged down the highway towards him.

A shape loomed out of the darkness before Seth. A horse and rider skidded to a halt, nearly knocking Seth over, and a hand reached down to him.

"Get up!" Darin gasped.

Seth vaulted up behind Darin, and a moment later they were hurtling down the highway. His friend bent low over the saddle and urged the horse into a flat gallop. Another shape appeared ahead and they drew level with Kal. Together, they rode for their lives.

The shadow followed, gaining on them with every stride. Seth heard its panting, the flapping of its robes and the slap of its feet. All the while, the cold voice taunted him.

Sentorân. You are mine.

The horses were fast but they could not outrun their pursuer. What manner of two-legged creature could keep up with a horse? Darin was an excellent rider and he pushed the horse to its limits – but still their shadow gained on them.

Seth felt death creeping closer. Fighting the fear that threatened to paralyse him, he crouched forward and found his hunting knife. He whipped the dagger from its sheath and twisted around to face his pursuer. As he did so, Seth gripped on around Darin's waist with his free arm to stop himself from falling.

Seth's heart jolted when he saw a dark shape leaping towards him like a giant black bat. He gave a shout as he threw the knife. Under normal circumstances Seth was an excellent shot, but in the darkness and terrified, he threw blindly. The blade shot through the air and landed with a thump, embedded to the hilt in the shadow's mid-section.

His pursuer shrieked and flopped to the ground. The horses squealed and Darin's horse stumbled, nearly dislodging its riders. Only Darin's skill and Seth's tenacious grip saved them.

Pain and fury washed over Seth. Somehow, he knew that he had not mortally wounded his pursuer. However, he had hurt it, slowed it for a moment – giving them a chance to escape.

The two horses galloped away into the night.

Sentorân. The voice hissed in Seth's head like a spitting cauldron. I will hunt you down.

Seth squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to block it out. Yet, the voice persisted, echoing in his mind, pursuing him even when Seth knew the hunter limped far behind.

I'm going mad, Seth told himself as his heart still thundered against his ribs. I must be, if I'm hearing voices in my head.

Darin and Kal did not allow their horses to slow their pace until they reached Weatherbay. Even then, they did not stop.

Marshal Osforth was dead. How could they return to Osforth Tower now? With him murdered there would be questions asked, and there was no money left to pay their wages anyway. Reluctantly, they left Weatherbay's glowing windows and smoking chimneys behind and travelled north, skirting the marshy edge of the bay.

It was a still night and, apart from the rolling surf of the ocean beyond the bay's entrance to the east, no other sound could be heard beyond the rhythmic pounding of the horses' hooves on the road. After a time, the highway veered right, hugging the northern edge of the bay. It skirted the fishing village of Wilith that perched on the edge of a long stretch of silver beach, and followed the jutting coastline north once more. Here, the land folded and bunched like a heavy curtain and low stunted trees studded the cliff edge. The wind often raced at this point, but tonight there was not a breath of it. The stars reflected phosphorescent off the flat surface of the Ocean of No Memory. The highway dipped and climbed over the folds of land. Darin and Kal finally slowed their horses to a trot.

Now the terror was behind them and the adrenalin had ebbed, all three men trembled with cold and shock. Seth had to clamp his jaws shut to prevent his teeth from chattering. His feet and hands were numb and his mind throbbed. He dared not look behind him, lest he see that ghastly shadow advancing. He could no longer feel it nearby but he knew it was hunting him still.

It called me Sentorân, Seth thought, his mind whirling.

Did this have anything to do with what the Sister had told him last night?

Watch your step.

This was ridiculous. No one had seen a Sentorân in nearly forty years; not since the Esquill had finished them. If he did, indeed, wear a Sentorân charm stone about his neck, Seth had no idea how his mother had come by such a trinket. He had no memory of his mother at all. His father, Hath Falkyn, had spoken rarely about his wife – only to say that she had vanished from their lives when Seth was only a babe. Belythna Falkyn's disappearance had left Seth's father bitter and angry, and as such, his sons rarely questioned him about her.

A short while before sunrise, the exhausted men and horses reached Seacliff. A jumble of whitewashed wooden houses perched on the cliff edge; the village had been established centuries ago as a collection of shepherds' huts. The villagers tended flocks of sheep and goats on these windswept hills before transporting them to Dunethport on flat-bottomed barges. A winding pathway led down the cliff-face to a narrow jetty.

The three men took shelter on the outskirts of the village under the lee of a grassy hill. A creek flowed here and both man and beast gratefully drank from it. They saw to their horses and left them to graze. Then, Darin, Kal and Seth slumped, exhausted, on flat rocks at the stream edge. Around them, a light frost had settled in a glittering veil over the land.

Eventually, Seth looked across at his friends' haggard faces. He was sure that he looked the same, if not worse. For a while, none of the three men had the energy to speak. It was Kal who spoke at last.

"What hunts us?" he asked. "I can still hear that scream in my head."

Darin shook his head. "I didn't see it, but no man screams like that, and no man can keep up with a galloping horse..." his voice trailed off.

"It nearly had us all," Kal replied. "Osforth... Garth..."

Seth sat, hunched with cold, and remained silent. He listened to Darin and Kal's hushed voices and felt his stomach coil itself even tighter. The memory of the tall, cloaked figure as it strode towards Marshal Osforth, and the thin, whispery voice, made Seth's palms sweat.

Around them, the sky gradually lightened. The first rays of sun peeked over the rim of the world to the east and chased away the night. Never had Seth been so relieved to see the dawn. They roused themselves and led their horses into Seacliff. Smoke rose from the chimney of the only tavern for leagues around. It was a squat, whitewashed timber building with a thatched roof and numerous outbuildings. Still, it was a welcoming sight. They tied their horses outside and closed the door on the frosty morning.

An elderly couple ran the tavern. They did not have many lodgers and were pleased to welcome in the three strangers for breakfast. The tavern owner's wife plied them with plates of freshly baked bread, butter, honey and tankards of mulled cider, while her husband saw to their horses. If she noticed their pinched, haunted faces and trembling hands she did not comment on it. Instead, she left them to warm themselves by the fire.

Seth swallowed a large mouthful of bread, butter and honey and curled his chilled fingers around his tankard. He looked across at Darin and Kal, who were attacking their breakfast. He needed to tell them about the voice in his head.

"I think it's after me," he said quietly.

Darin and Kal looked up from their plates.

"Why?" Darin asked, his gaze narrowing.

Seth took a deep breath before replying. "After it killed Osforth and came after me, it... it spoke to me – but not as I am speaking to you now. I heard its voice in my head."

Kal stopped chewing and his eyes grew huge. "What?"

Seth took another deep breath.

"I heard its voice in my head," he repeated, looking glumly towards the floor.

"What did it say?" Kal pressed.

Seth gave him a pained look. "Sentorân. You are mine."

Darin's frown deepened. "What?"

Seth gave an incredulous laugh, although his insides felt twisted in knots.

"It sounds as ludicrous to me as it does to you."

He took out the amulet, and held it out to show his friends.

"In the Golden Galleon, I met a Sister of Sial who told me this was a Sentorân charm that protects its wearer. She said that since my mother gave one to my two older brothers as well, we are all in danger."

All three men studied the charm carefully. As before, Seth detected nothing unusual about the amulet – it appeared nothing more than a shiny black stone with a few illegible inscriptions on the back.

"She wasn't more specific?" Darin asked.

Seth shook his head.

"Typical of a Sister," Kal snorted. "That's not much use, is it?"

"Probably didn't help that I'd downed a few," muttered Seth in response.

Silence fell then and they finished their breakfasts. The tavern owner's wife cleared their plates and refilled their tankards. In no hurry to leave the tavern's warmth, the three friends lingered in front of the fire.

"So what will you do?" Darin finally asked.

Seth raked his fingers through his hair. His head hurt from thinking.

"I don't know," he admitted, "but I can't just run. Someone's got to warn my brothers."

"Is that wise?" Kal asked, frowning. "You'll just lead whatever's hunting you to them."

"I hadn't thought of that," Seth admitted.

"You need to leave as quickly as you can," Darin spoke up, his blue eyes sharp with intensity. "See if one of the barges here can take you to Dunethport today. Maybe, you can find passage on one of the trade ships; the ones that go north to Marl and beyond to Nothwirren."

"I can't just leave without warning Eni and Val," Seth protested. "I may not have spoken to either of them in ten years, but I don't want their deaths on my conscience."

"We could go in your stead," Kal suggested. "Where are they?

Seth stared back at Kal in surprise.

"I remember you mentioning one of your brothers lives in Catedrâl – and the other?" Darin added.

"Last I heard of Eni he was apprenticed to a weaponsmith in Catedrâl. Val was working as a librarian in Tarrancrest." Seth eventually replied, his gaze flicking from Darin to Kal. "This is too much to ask of you. They're not your brothers."

Kal shook his head. "You can't warn them yourself. No arguments Seth – it's settled. Besides, what else would we do now?"

Seth leaned back in his chair and looked at the dancing flames in the fireplace. His temples were now pounding. This was wrong – all of it.

"I wonder what they're up to these days," he murmured. "Those two are so different from each other that you wouldn't think they're brothers. They fought like dogs until they left home – leaving me alone with our bitter, cantankerous father."

Seth trailed off, as memories of his childhood rushed back. He had followed Eni everywhere, and even took his side in arguments with Val. When Eni left home without a backwards glance, Seth had felt betrayed, abandoned.

"We'll do our best to find them," Darin promised. "In the meantime, get yourself as far away from here as you can."

Seth got to his feet. He was reluctant to leave the soothing warmth of the fire but his friends' words had reminded him that it was unwise to linger. He reached for his cloak and pulled it about his shoulders. He still felt a loss for words – his friends' generosity had touched him. Kal and Darin also rose to their feet. None of the three men spoke as they walked out into the street.

It was a bright, crisp morning. The sky was cloudless and the Ocean of No Memory was an endless swath of deep blue against Seacliff's jumbled white skyline. It was the perfect day to set out on a journey but Seth felt no excitement at the prospect.

Seth turned to his friends. "Are you sure about this? I will understand if you change your minds."

Kal shook his head and slapped Seth on the shoulder. "Go on. Get out of here."

Darin shook his hand, his face solemn. "Stay safe Seth. We'll find your brothers."

Kal and Darin watched Seth's tall, dark figure disappear round a corner.

The two men exchanged looks.

"I know," Kal sighed. "I should know when to keep my mouth shut."

They turned and went to fetch their horses. A short while later, they rode out of Seacliff. A narrow road led them from the village through fields of grazing sheep. Presently, the road met up with the Northern Highway. Here, Darin and Kal stopped.

"Well, which one do you want?" Kal asked.

"Let's toss a coin to decide," Darin replied. He produced a tarnished silver drac from his pocket. "Heads I go to Catedrâl, tails you do."

The silver coin flipped into the air and winked in the sunlight before Darin caught it and slapped the drac down on the back of his hand.

"Looks like I'm off to Catedrâl," Darin announced with a grim smile. "You, my friend, have a trip to Farindell."
Chapter Five

Gibbet's Corner

Eni Falkyn leaned against his cell wall and listened to the sound of approaching feet.

They were coming for him.

The sound of heavy boots scuffing on the mildewed floor outside drew closer. The moment he had been dreading had finally arrived.

In the days of his incarceration, Eni had spent many hours raging at the injustice of it. He had shouted his innocence to the guards waiting outside his cell until his throat ached and he had lost his voice. He had beaten his fists against the door until he drew blood. Still, no one came to listen to him. It appeared that to the eyes of all he was guilty. They had not even given him a chance to defend himself.

Worst of all, Lydia had done this to him. Even now, Eni could not believe the woman he had once shared his home with had lied so outrageously, so viciously. Did she hate him that much?

The key grated in the lock and the heavy iron door swung inwards. Eni blinked as torchlight in the corridor beyond stung his eyes. After days in fetid darkness, even the murky light levels deep under Haladyn Castle caused him discomfort. Disoriented, Eni did not fight the rough hands that yanked him out of his cell and herded him down the narrow corridor.

They led Eni out of the dungeon and up a long flight of mildewed steps. His legs were shaking when he finally emerged into the stable yard. The guards manhandled him into an iron cage that perched on the back of a horse-drawn wagon. An entourage of the realmlord's personal guard surrounded him. Eni leaned against the rusted iron bars and looked up at the pale sky. The day was even colder than when they had brought him here. The horse-drawn wagon rumbled out of the castle and through Haladyn Park.

Standing in the narrow cage atop the bouncing cart, Eni gripped the bars to keep from falling, and watched the frozen landscape pass him by. The biting air cleared his head and brought him out of his numbed state. Eni looked at his hands gripping the bars in front of him. Days locked up in a black cell away from his forge had healed the numerous welts, abrasions and burns that went with his trade. The skin was white and his fingers thinner than before. Eni tightened his fingers around the rusted iron until they went even whiter. He would never feel the heat of the forge again.

Crowds awaited him at the gates leading out into Catedrâl's streets, despite the cold. People loved a hanging, especially after a long, tiresome winter. Teenage boys baited him and pelted his cage with stones, turds and rotten eggs. Women screamed insults and men heckled. Eni stared back at them, unflinching. This rabble cared not if he was guilty or innocent. He was merely a bit of amusement; an opportunity for them to water the seed of malice which flowered within them.

"Murdering dog!" screeched an old woman as he rode by.

***

Snow lay thick on the ground when Darin Mel rode into Catedrâl. Since he and Kal had parted at the end of the first day, bitter weather had dogged him the whole way up the coast. Fortunately, he carried a few silver and bronze dracs sewn into the lining of his jerkin – and the money had permitted him to stay at inns and taverns for most of the journey. He had only slept rough one night, and had been forced to move on after a few hours, such was the bone-numbing chill.

Darin's spirits lifted as he rode through Catedrâl's outskirts. It was exciting to be somewhere new and he wondered whether he might find employment here. There was no point in travelling back to Dunethport once he had delivered his warning. Spring was just around the corner and a new life in Catedrâl beckoned.

The capital of Cathernis appeared vastly different to Dunethport. Darin's home-town climbed up bush-clad hills around a long, narrow harbour, whereas Catedrâl gleamed white and spread out over a wide plain. There seemed to be more sky here, and it was harder to get one's bearings. In Dunethport he had used Mount Caligar as a reference point. Here, there was the faint shadow of the Starwalden Alps to the west and nothing more than a hazy horizon to the east. Catedrâl was at least twice the size of Dunethport, its buildings taller and sharper. Unlike the rough white plaster and slate used in Dunethport, many buildings here were made of gleaming Omari sandstone, mined in the hills to the south of the city. Even against the crisp, white snow, the buildings glowed as if they held moonlight within them.

Darin urged his horse into a trot along the avenue that led into Catedrâl's centre. He had spoken with a merchant the night before who had informed him that if it was a weaponsmith he sought, he would make his search easier by starting in the Castlewatch District, just south of Haladyn Park.

The quarter was easy enough to find but once inside it was a labyrinth of tightly-packed two and three-story buildings. Castlewatch sat on one of Catedrâl's few hills. As Darin rode through the district he caught intermittent glimpses of snow-crusted roof-tops beyond.

He passed a few forges, and was surprised to see many of them closed. Further up the hill, he discovered one or two that were open for business. Waves of heat emanated from the doors, turning the snow on the street into slush. The 'clang' of metal and 'hiss' that followed as the hot metal was plunged into water echoed off the walls. Most of the smiths had their names on signs outside but, not wanting to waste time searching aimlessly, Darin stopped to ask directions.

He chose a tiny workshop where a stout bearded man sweated over the forge.

Upon hearing Eni Falkyn's name, the weaponsmith scowled and eyed Darin up and down.

"You a friend of his?"

"No... of his brother."

The smith grunted. "So Falkyn has a brother eh?"

Darin did not reply, hoping silence would bring a suitable answer. He had not ridden days through ice and snow to indulge this man's need for gossip.

"What do you want with Falkyn?" the smith peered at him.

"That's my business," Darin snapped. His patience, short at the best of times, was starting to wear thin. "Where can I find him?"

The smith's heavy-lidded eyes narrowed, as if he was considering whether to be obstructive or not. Finally he shrugged as if the prospect of getting into an argument with this travel-weary stranger was no longer amusing.

"He's to be strung up at Gibbet's Corner today at noon," he sneered, "so I guess you'll catch a glimpse of him then. I'm about to shut up shop and make my way there."

Darin could not believe his bad luck. He'd ridden like a man possessed to warn Eni Falkyn that he was in danger, and here he was as good as dead anyway.

"Can I ask what his crime was?" Darin asked, checking his rising temper.

The man's face twisted into a grin. "Word is that he murdered the realmlord's elder son."

***

The wagon bounced down the main avenue leading to Gibbet's Corner. Ahead, Eni could see the gallows casting their grisly shadow over an impatient crowd. A high wooden scaffold reared over the street. There had not been a hanging for a while and so the two bodies dangling over the crowd were badly decomposed. One had been pecked clean by crows and was nothing more than a desiccated jumble of dried sinew, bone and tattered rags – all that remained of the man's robes. The man had strangled three townsfolk before robbing them. The second corpse was of a woman accused of poisoning her lovers. They had tried and hanged her at the end of the summer. Eni remembered both hangings vividly, although he had attended neither. They would string him up next to the woman, who many whispered had been innocent. Not that it mattered now.

The Realmlord's guard had erected a platform underneath the gallows with wooden steps leading up to it. The horse-drawn wagon cut its way through the crowd. Guards had to whip and beat over-excited onlookers to clear their path and keep them away from Eni. They unlocked the cage and hauled their prisoner out. Women spat, rotten vegetables pelted him and fingers clawed. They manhandled Eni through the mob and up the stairs.

Atop the platform, Eni had an uninterrupted view of his surroundings. He could see Lord and Lady Valense sitting atop a podium at the far end of the crowd. Realmlord Valense was pale and hatchet-faced. He was here to have vengeance, not entertainment. Beside him, Lady Valense appeared thin and sickly. Mattias stood to the left of his parents, his blond locks – so like his dead brother's – shone, despite this dull day.

The crowd bayed, impatient for the hanging to be underway. Eni closed his eyes as something nasty splattered against him. With his eyes shut, the rest of Eni's senses intensified. He could feel the bite of the chill air, smell the stench of the refuse the crowd pelted him with, and he could hear the inhuman sounds of a keening mob, along with the rapid thudding of his heart. Eni took a deep breath to still the rising terror as the guards fitted the noose around his neck.

When Eni opened his eyes again, he felt his gaze drawn to the faces in the crowd. He knew many who had come to watch him hang. Some were townsfolk with no reason to wish him ill: the fishmonger who sold him salted cod every Friday, the cobbler who made his work boots. Although Eni knew he was lacking in charm, he had never crossed these people and yet here they were; their faces tight with excitement at the thought of watching him swing.

Of course, those he had fallen out with were at the front of the crowd. Fain was yelling insults and getting those around him worked up into a frenzy.

Lydia was nowhere in sight.

Bitterness soured Eni's mouth. Lydia had not lacked the courage to stand before the realmlord and lie. She did not mind sending him to his death for a crime he did not commit, but she did not have the stomach to watch him hang. He would never know her reasons, and soon it would not matter.

For the first time in years, Eni thought of his brothers – Val and Seth. He had made Val's life a misery during their adolescence, belittling him for being bookish. His older brother had been a disappointment to a young Eni. Why couldn't Val have been interested in hunting and fishing like the other boys at Barrowthorne? Eni hoped Val did not still resent him, for they had not parted well. Seth, on the other hand, had been Eni's shadow. His youngest brother had worshipped Eni to an embarrassing degree. When Eni had announced that he was leaving home, and heading to Catedrâl in search of a new life, Seth had wanted to join him. The hurt on his brother's face when Eni told him that he was not welcome, had only strengthened Eni's resolve to leave Seth behind. He did not need anyone, and he had been determined to prove it.

Only now, standing at his execution, did Eni fully realise how much he had lost by not befriending his brothers.

Panic surged through Eni and his legs went weak. He only just prevented himself from collapsing onto the platform and prematurely throttling himself. His vision speckled and the roar of the crowd dimmed and grew louder in waves.

A horn echoed across the square, signalling the hanging was about to begin. The realmlord got to his feet. He looked brittle, and his red and black robes swamped his gaunt frame. The guards descended from the platform, leaving Eni alone.

The crowd quietened, collectively holding their breaths.

The realmlord raised his right arm high into the air.

"Eni Falkyn, weaponsmith of Catedrâl," Realmlord Valense's voice echoed across the square. "You are deemed to be guilty of murdering my first-born son, Flynn Valense. The punishment for this is to hang by the neck until you are dead."

"I am innocent!" Eni shouted in desperation, "I did not kill your son!"

The realmlord let his arm fall.

The executor at the foot of the platform pulled the rope that released the trap door on the platform above.

Eni heard the creak of the pulley and closed his eyes. All thought fled his mind as terror seized him. He felt the trapdoor under his feet start to move before it suddenly jerked to a halt. Terrible moments passed as Eni felt the trapdoor buck and jerk, but it did not shift.

Moments passed, and it was only when the crowd started to boo and hiss that Eni realised the trapdoor had jammed. The guards snarled as they climbed back onto the platform and were pelted with rotten food. The crowd were not getting the amusement they had come for. Someone had to be blamed.

The guards removed the noose from around Eni's neck and shoved him aside so they could check the trap door. Eni watched mutely while they inspected, opened and closed it. The hatch did not appear obstructed. Satisfied, the guards manoeuvred Eni back into place and re-fastened the noose.

The crowd went still in collective anticipation. Eni closed his eyes and for the first time prayed to Gods he had never believed in. The executioner yanked down on the pulley and grunted. He pulled again and swore.

The trapdoor had stuck fast and would not open. This time the booing and hissing was accompanied by cat-calls and heckling. The guards climbed back on to the platform and were splattered with turds.

Eni's mind had frozen. Fear had dulled his senses to the point that he felt as if he was watching the spectacle from afar. The guards manhandled him to one side and, once again, examined the trapdoor. When the executioner threw his weight down on the rope, the oiled wood slid easily, not catching in the slightest. To test the trapdoor when bearing a load, the guards hoisted a sack of wheat onto the platform. When the executioner pulled down on the rope, the trapdoor gave way and the sack plummeted through the gap, landing with a thump at the executioner's feet.

"Get on with it!" A man at the front of the crowd roared. "Hang the murderer! Let him swing!"

Eni was barely aware of being pushed back onto the trapdoor and having the noose refitted. The executioner took a deep breath and threw himself down on the rope for the third time.

He cursed foully.

The trapdoor was still jammed.

Eni looked across the crowd and saw the realmlord and his wife, ashen-faced and frightened. Mattias, however, was incensed. His handsome features were twisted.

At the foot of the platform Fain was ranting.

"There are dark arts at work here I'd wager! There are more ways to kill a murderer if he won't hang!" the weaponsmith shouted. He held up an anvil and brandished it high above his head. "A lynching is what's required here!"

Eni was sure the mob would trample the guards and rip him to pieces, and they might have, had not a voice – young, male and angry – cut through the din.

"By the law of Palâdnith, everyone here knows a man who survives an execution three times walks free. You cannot kill him now. The Gods have spoken!"

Necks craned to catch a glimpse of the speaker. He had a marked southern accent, with a rolled 'r' which was uncommon in these parts. However, the man had dissolved into the crowd as soon as he had spoken.

Flynn's brother was having none of such talk. Mattias stalked forward to the front of the podium, shoving his father aside, as he did so.

"The murderer must not live!" he shouted. "If the gibbet will not take him, who here has the courage to see justice done!"

"To go against the Gods is to invite pestilence, war and famine into your midst," the southerner responded. "A thrice executed man who still lives has proved his innocence and must go free!"

"Who speaks!" Mattias roared. He suddenly appeared much older than his sixteen winters. "Show your face coward or speak not!"

It was too late now for Mattias to incite the entire crowd to turn against Eni. Instead, the mob split in two: those who wanted Eni dead and those who feared the wrath of the Gods too much to defy them. Palâd, the Goddess of the Earth and Nith, the God of the Sky, were not lightly crossed. The folk of Catedrâl knew the law, even if many had not chosen to remember it on this day.

The crowd surged one way and then another. Fights broke out and fists flew. Both sides were evenly matched and what had started as a hanging quickly dissolved into a pitch-battle on Gibbet's Corner.

Eni watched the crowd boil beneath him. Bodies hammered up against the scaffold and the structure swayed dangerously. Eni, who still stood on the trapdoor with the noose about his neck, could only look on, helpless.

The crowd heaved like an angry sea. Each wave that broke against the platform weakened the structure further – until, finally, it toppled forward into the crowd.

Eni would have surely been throttled, had not the platform been attached to the gallows themselves. When the platform fell, the whole structure, complete with its grisly ornaments, collapsed on top of the writhing crowd. Many, not quick enough to move out of the way in time, were pinned underneath.

Eni collided with the beam that his noose was secured to. Heart pounding, he shifted back against the brace and rubbed the rope binding his wrists against the iron edge until it frayed enough for him to break free. Then, he wriggled out of the noose. He shimmied along the beam and climbed onto the top of the fallen structure. He was clambering over the pile of splintered boards when two men emerged onto the top of the ruined platform.

Fain and Wolloch, another member of the weaponsmith guild who had always resented him, came at Eni like charging rams. They collided with him and, together, the three men toppled off the platform into the surging crowd.

The mob saved Eni. The moment he hit the ground he kept low, wriggling, scrabbling and crawling. If people crashed into him, stomped on him or kicked him, he did not feel it. Now that he had so narrowly escaped death, clutching on to life was all he cared about. He was half way to freedom when something heavy landed across his legs and a heavy fist punched him hard in his lower back. Fain, bleeding profusely from his nose, and cursing, had found him.

"You're not getting away Falkyn!" he roared.

Fain pinned Eni to the ground and pummelled him with his fists. On his back and at a clear disadvantage, Eni fought back blindly, gouging at Fain's eyes and landing a few bruising punches. Still, Fain had years of frustration and resentment to unleash. He grasped Eni around the throat and began throttling him.

Fain's grip, like an iron clamp after years at the forge, crushed down on Eni's windpipe. Feeling himself choke, Eni kicked upwards and thrashed around in an attempt to dislodge his attacker – but Fain hung on. Eni's vision darkened and the screams of the crowd were replaced with the roaring in his ears. A few seconds more and Fain would have got the best of him.

Suddenly, the stranglehold on his throat disappeared.

Eni fell back choking and coughing as air rushed back into his lungs. Next to him, he could hear Fain howling. Still choking, Eni clambered up on all fours. Fain was bent over, clutching his head.

"This way," a voice, young and impatient, with a marked southern accent, sounded close to Eni's right ear, "before your friend realises I didn't just split his head open."

Eni staggered to his feet and was confronted by a slight young man with nondescript features, mousy hair and intense blue eyes. He was holding an iron bar in one hand and wore travel-worn clothes, torn from the fray he had just waded through.

"This way," he repeated before taking off through the crowd.

Still coughing and wheezing, Eni followed him.

***

A chill, smoky dusk settled over Catedrâl. The city's spires peeked out of the murk and the temperature dropped sharply; there would be a hard frost this eve. On the outskirts of the city, two figures slipped through the mist towards the sparse copses of trees that began where the houses ended.

Eni moved close behind the young man who had saved his life. Hours had passed since then but the two men had barely shared a word – there had been no time. Eni's breath steamed in front of him and sweat poured down his back. His limbs shook in exhaustion but he forced himself on.

Relief swept over Eni as they entered the edge of the woods. There had been times over the last few hours when he had been sure they would not escape. In the end it had been the hysterical crowd, the same folk who had clamoured to see him die, who had saved his life. The irony of it was not lost on Eni, not that he'd had time to ponder it. The townsfolk had run like maddened cattle about the streets to escape the violent battle at Gibbet's Corner and slowed the guards down just enough to let Eni and the southerner get a head-start.

The last of the light faded and soon the two men were blundering forward in the dark. Finally, even the southerner flagged. They stopped at the edge of a stand of Tarneedle trees and bent double to catch their breaths.

"We stop here tonight," the southerner gasped.

Eni was in no position to argue and followed the southerner as he moved to the base of one of the Tarneedles and began to climb.

Tarneedle trees carpeted vast tracts of southern Palâdnith. They had wide trunks covered in horny red bark and soared dead-straight into the heavens. Sturdy branches bristled from the trunk from around eight feet above the ground. The Tarneedle's foliage was dense with layer upon layer of wide fans of dark green needles. It was an ideal place to hide from prying eyes.

The southerner pulled himself up easily into the tree. Eni followed, grunting with the effort it took to haul his weakened body up into the lowest branches. After that it was relatively easy. The men climbed high; up to where the trunk thinned to five-feet across. A hammock of Tarneedle fans surrounded them. The exterior of the tree was crusted with ice but here, against the trunk, it was dry and the dense foliage protected them from the wind. Nonetheless, it was not warm. The cold began to bite at Eni as soon as he sunk down on a branch and leant his back against the trunk.

"They'll never find us here." Eni sighed, relief flooding through him.

"Let's hope not," his companion replied, his expression grim.

"I'm not moving another step till dawn."

The southerner watched him silently for a moment before answering.

"It's not the realmlord's men that concern me," the young man replied. "There are fouler things out in the dark searching for you tonight Falkyn."

Chapter Six

Visitors at the Red Tussock Inn

Val lay, staring up at the darkness and willed time to stand still.

His chamber sat at the top of one of the keep's lower towers and was very quiet at night. Usually the silence calmed Val but not so this morning – his breathing seemed obscenely loud and he could hear his heart beating in his ears.

Finally, Val threw back the covers and sat up, lighting a candle on the small table next to his bed. The flame cast a weak light over his stark living quarters. Despite that he had lived here for ten years, there was little evidence of the character of the man who inhabited the chamber. Val's true home was his library and he spent very little time within this room. His narrow bed sat up against one wall and a desk against the other. There were a couple of shelves with books upon them and a small chest of drawers for his clothes.

Shivering in his nightshirt, Val crossed to the window, unlatched the shutters and looked outside. The sun was rising. Val's window looked west across the lake and he could see streaks of red and gold rippling across the dark waters of Lake Tearfall. From his window, Val had an uninterrupted view of water, land and sky. This morning, grey mist curled like wizard's beard across the beaten bronze surface of the lake. Behind the body of water lay thickly forested hills. Beyond the hills rose quartz peaks, spiked like the canines of a great predator through the mist. It was a beautiful view but the sight of it could not settle the churning of Val's stomach.

Despite the cold, Val stayed at the windowsill for a while and watched dawn creep across the sky. Finally, with chattering teeth, he padded across to where a porcelain bowl filled with water sat on the top of the chest of drawers. He stripped off his nightshirt, splashed water over his goose-pimpled skin and dried himself off with a coarse towel. Then, rummaging through his drawers he pulled out the warmest clothes he owned: wool leggings and undershirt, a leather jerkin and his best cloak. He would leave his moth-eaten librarian's robes behind.

Once he was dressed, Val unhooked an old leather satchel from where it had hung on the wall since his arrival at Tarrancrest. Val had been twenty-five then, and still carrying the weight of an unhappy adolescence with him. He had grown into a man here at Tarrancrest, but had not ventured outside the castle's walls in all that time. Val felt a pang of nostalgia as he ran his hand over the hard, cracked leather. He had worn the satchel strapped across his chest on the journey here. It had taken nearly two weeks to reach Tarrancrest from Barrowthorne, on a shaggy black pony his father had gifted him. In his satchel, he had carried his most prized possession – the letter with Realmlord Kaur's personal seal offering him the position of librarian at Tarrancrest. Val had gazed upon that letter many times during the journey here, still hardly able to believe his good fortune.

Val sighed and pushed away thoughts of happier times. A decade on, he did not feel so fortunate to be in Realmlord Kaur's service.

It did not take Val long to pack his satchel with the few clothes and possessions he would bring on this journey. He would have liked to bring books to read, but such objects were heavy and risked damage during the trip.

Outside, the sun had risen – he could not linger here any longer. Val hoisted the heavy satchel onto his shoulder and stepped out into the stairwell. Stairs made of worn red stone snaked down the tower. Below, the labyrinth of hallways that usually bustled with life stretched ahead of Val, silent and empty. Torches burned low on their racks and Val heard a rat scamper across the stone floor behind him.

Val made his way towards the central stairwell and felt the weight of the square, solid bulk of the castle press down upon him. The great stone staircase corkscrewed its way down to the ground level. Val passed a few servants going about their morning routine; some carrying linen and others buckets of night soil. Still bleary-eyed with sleep, they paid Val little notice.

Val eventually emerged into the outer-bailey. The bulk of Tarrancrest Keep reared above him. He glanced up at the battlements and caught sight of the Farindell Flag – green and black – flapping in the breeze from one of the squat, square towers.

Val took the path across the outer-bailey towards the gatehouse. Two members of the Tarrancrest Guard protected the gates. In leather armour and rippling green cloaks, they watched Val under hooded gazes when he stopped before them. There appeared to be no one else around and Val fidgeted.

The sun had now cleared the edge of the city walls, but there was a chill breeze coming in off the lake and Val hugged his cloak close to him as he waited. He felt conspicuous and began to wonder if he had misheard Lord Kaur. Perhaps the realmlord had changed his mind overnight or the party had left without him.

Then, Val caught sight of figures approaching from the Keep.

Captain Tobin strode ahead of Lady Cirinna and Mirkel Rod, his heavy featured face set in hard, determined lines. Tobin and Lady Cirinna were wearing thick travelling cloaks. Tobin had swapped his heavy chain mail for the relative comfort of boiled leather. Lady Cirinna's cloak was forest-green and she had pulled her hood up, casting her face into shadow. Val was alarmed to see that others were not joining them.

"Are we not travelling in company?" he asked Mirkel when the chamberlain reached him.

Mirkel blew on his chilled fingers and shook his head.

"There's just the three of you. Also, I should inform you that you will not be travelling by ship from River's End, as is the usual route to Westhealm from here. Instead, you will be taking the road over the High Dragon Spines."

Val frowned. "Why?"

"It's quicker than the sea-route which would take you at least another two weeks," Mirkel explained. "The realmlord has demanded speed."

"But it's safer to go by sea. No one takes the Spine Road this time of year!"

"They do now," Tobin interrupted their exchange. "Don't tell me you're pissing your breeches already?"

This drew sniggering laughter from the guards at the gate. Mirkel Rod chuckled and Tobin smirked, while Lady Cirinna remained still and silent in their midst.

Val's face burned and he clenched his jaw so tightly that it ached.

It was because of men like Tobin that Val preferred the company of his books to people. He had thought that upon leaving Barrowthorne, he would find acceptance at last. His father and younger brothers had dismissed his love of study and books as weakness – however life was no kinder at Tarrancrest.

Fortunately, the arrival of their horses – their shod hooves clip-clopping across the cobbles – saved Val from further taunts. The stablehands led an elegant grey palfrey over to Lady Cirinna, a magnificent bay warhorse to Tobin and a heavy-set roan gelding to Val.

Val took hold of the bridle and stroked the roan's ugly face. He had always been fond of horses and this one had soft dark eyes. It would make a good companion.

They strapped on the last of their provisions and belongings, tightened their horses' girths and mounted. As he swung up onto the saddle, Val caught a glance of Lady Cirinna's face beneath her hood. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was washed-out and expressionless. She looked straight through Val without seeing him.

Val adjusted his stirrups and turned to Captain Tobin. If they were to travel together, Val could not let this man intimidate him.

"What about the war? I'm a scholar, not a warrior. What happens if we meet trouble?"

Tobin curled his lip and cast a dismissive glance in Val's direction.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you."

***

They rode out of the gates, under the portcullis and over the green, stinking moat. The Keep stood on a hill above the city of Tarrancrest. From here, Val had an uninterrupted view of a honeycomb of red-walled courtyards and gardens, interspersed by solid square towers that some of Tarrancrest's wealthy families owned. Beyond the city, Val could see the top of the vast red brick wall that encircled Tarrancrest.

They rode down Trader's Way, a straight cobbled expanse that led directly to the city gates. Tarrancrest awoke early and merchants, farmers and artisans selling their wares thronged the street. Val was never away from his library at this time of day and had forgotten how densely populated and busy Tarrancrest was. The smell of frying onions drifted through crisp air. The smell would usually have made Val's mouth water but this morning he had no appetite.

The mist was rolling away from the banks of Lake Tearfall when the three travellers rode onto the causeway and out of the city. Tarrancrest loomed above them like a sleeping red dragon; its rough walls were the colour of dried blood.

Val glanced back at the city as they clip-clopped across the causeway. Tarrancrest was his sanctuary. Since the war with Sude had worsened, news of rebels, marksmen and mercenaries had made it even easier for him to stay within the sheltering walls of his library.

Captain Tobin led the trio down the road skirting the lake's edge. Lady Cirinna followed while Val brought up the rear. Val's horse had a comfortably long stride and its large, furry ears pointed forward in the direction of travel. Unlike its rider, the horse was happy to set out on a journey. Val's gaze scanned the lake and he took lungfuls of cool air in an effort to calm his nerves.

Evidence of the war that had brought Farindell to its knees over the past five years hit them as soon as the party rode out of Tarrancrest. Despite spending his days ensconced in his library, Val had noticed that whenever he did venture out on an errand, the numbers of refugees and beggars in the streets seemed ever greater.

They passed many people walking towards Tarrancrest. Refugees from the war, the men wore threadbare breeches and shirts while the women were dressed in worn shift dresses, tied about their waists with string. Hungry faces curiously watched the well-dressed riders pass by. Many of the refugees were injured and Val wondered how far they had travelled to reach Tarrancrest. He also wondered how Tarrancrest could possibly accommodate them all. There were shelters for refugees in the city but these were almost full. Val had heard that the realmlord was considering closing the gates to all but soldiers, merchants and those on official business. Soon refugees would find no safe haven at Tarrancrest. How long before there were camps of them, starving, outside the city walls?

Many of the homes they passed were shabby cottages with thatched roofs in dire need of repair. There were plenty of stonewalled gardens, but most of them were bare. It had been a long, harsh winter and what few vegetables grew during that season had long been devoured. The local inhabitants were little better off than the refugees, Val reflected.

The cobbles that lined the causeway out of Tarrancrest soon gave way to mud. The road hugged the edge of Lake Tearfall for a while. Looking across its dark, rippling surface, Val could see the outlines of small fishing villages, clinging to the shore like barnacles on the back of a great whale. The early morning mist had now evaporated and the landscape around the travellers stood out in sharp detail.

Eventually, they left the lake behind and rode through dense forest. Here, the ground was spongy underfoot and the air was rich with the scent of ferns. They rode in silence. The sun was half-way between the eastern horizon and its zenith when the trees drew back and the travellers passed through Millford, a sparsely populated village centred around a timber mill. There were a number of these mills, scattered throughout Farindell's forests; it was one of the few industries that had flourished during the war with Sude. Still, there were signs of the war even here. There were few young men about, and those that Val spotted were maimed. Realmlord Kaur had drafted any young man under thirty winters, leaving Farindell's towns and villages inhabited by the old, very young and the sick.

They left Millford behind and as the morning wore on, Val found himself thinking about the road ahead. He had seen paintings of the Citadel of Lies – opal spires glowing like moonlight surrounded by virgin forest. The journey to the Citadel would take them directly north for a day or two before they cut north-west over the High Dragon-Spines. Once over the mountains they would turn west for the last leg of the trip.

After a while, the forest withdrew completely and the road widened, undulating over folds of land. Despite his nervousness, the verdant beauty of the landscape they were riding through captivated Val. Evergreens carpeted this area of Palâdnith and, unlike other parts of the continent, Farindell never lost its lushness – even in the height of summer.

They passed a number of houses; low-slung dwellings made of red clay, and as the morning progressed Val saw the first signs of spring. The tips of daffodils were pushing up through the damp earth at the roadside. The sight filled Val with relief. Somehow, the idea of undertaking this journey in spring seemed less daunting.

The day warmed and, despite himself, Val enjoyed the feel of the sun on his face. They stopped for a brief lunch at noon. Relaxing in the warmth, Val took a bite of bread and salted pork and cast his gaze over his companions. Tobin was eating his lunch, his gaze fixed on the northern horizon as he did so. Lady Cirinna had pushed back her hood and was picking at her bread without much interest.

Val gave Lady Cirinna a hesitant smile.

"Isn't it a relief to see the sun, Milady?"

Silence answered him. He awaited a response, or a signal she had actually heard him, but none was forthcoming. After that, he did not bother attempting conversation.

When the bread and salted pork were gone, and they had sated their thirst from the flasks of water, the travellers got to their feet, brushed off their crumbs and continued on their way.

Gradually the lushness diminished and the ground became harder. The greenery disappeared as the road climbed onto higher ground. Here, the air was dryer and the lack of humidity gave the air a chill. Val was glad of his thick cloak and many layers of clothing.

They travelled north, watching as the sun made its way from east to west and the shadows slowly lengthened. Eventually, a rippling ocean of red and gold grasses surrounded them. When dusk crept across the land, Tarrancrest lay far to the south.

***

The Red Tussock Inn was a squat structure with a thatched roof and walls made from mud and stone. It lay stretched out over the ridge of hills and appeared as if it were trying to snuggle into the earth itself. Behind the inn's low-slung silhouette, the sun set in a crimson blaze, promising good weather for the following day.

Winters were bleak up here in the hills. Val felt the evening's cool bite through his clothing and imagined the inn-keeper would have to be a hardy soul to withstand such a life. He was not wrong. A huge man with a mane of blond hair and a splendid beard to match came out to meet the three riders. The giant was flanked by two grizzled wolf hounds – impressive beasts with hungry stares. Behind the inn-keeper, his heavily pregnant young wife appeared at the entrance of the inn.

Val was captivated – the inn-keeper's wife was a beauty with hair the colour of ripe corn and sea-blue eyes. Even the signs of a hard life: chapped hands and weather-beaten skin could not dim her comeliness. Val caught himself staring and he hurriedly looked away. Would he ever be lucky enough to find such a lovely woman? Bringing his horse to a halt, Val dismounted, stifling a groan of pain as his thigh muscles screamed from a day in the saddle.

"Hendel Wulf is my name," their host boomed. "Welcome to the Red Tussock – where a fine meal, strong wine and a soft bed awaits. Bring your horses through here to the stables and my lad will see to them."

Val followed Roth Tobin and Lady Cirinna through into the stable-yard. There, a shy young man took their horses.

"Mind you rub them down properly boy," Tobin growled as he handed over the reins, "because I'll know if you don't."

"Yes, of...of course sir," the young man stammered before turning scarlet.

Val handed over his own horse with an apologetic smile. However, the stable-hand was so cowed by Tobin that he would not meet his gaze.

Following the others inside, Val stepped through the threshold. It was a relief to be out of the cold. The interior of the Red Tussock Inn was more spacious than it first appeared, and a lot more comfortable. Dried flowers hung from the low, wood-beam ceiling. Horse-brasses and decorative plates had been set into mud walls and the floor was packed dirt covered in rush matting.

The three travellers hung their cloaks on pegs beside the door and took a seat near the open fireplace dominating the far wall of the room. Val was surprised to see the Red Tussock had quite a few visitors this evening, as he would have imagined the inn's isolation only brought in a trickle of travellers. The booths that lined the wall opposite the fireplace were all taken and a row of men perched on stools next to the counter where Hendel Wulf served tankards of home-brewed ale and wine.

The other occupants of the room were all men, and they studied the newcomers with interest. Self-conscious, Val avoided their stares. He knew that the three of them must look a curious party but he did not like the shifty way some of the men were eyeing them. They talked in rough, drunk voices. Most were dressed in mud-caked leathers, and they had matted hair and unkempt beards. Val wondered who they were and where they were from. Rather than merchants, trappers or hunters, Val imagined these men were mercenaries and Sude spies. There was a soothsayer among them; a corpulent man in filthy purple robes. Val had seen a few soothsayers in Tarrancrest. Like most people, he did not trust them. This soothsayer fixed the newcomers with a greedy stare and Val wondered how long it would take him to approach them.

Captain Tobin ignored the inn's other occupants. Likewise, Lady Cirinna sat, warming her hands in front of the fire. She appeared completely closed off from her surroundings, as if she sat alone. Not bothering to try to engage either of them in conversation for the moment, Val's gaze moved from watching two men sharing a raucous joke at the bar, to where a door led through to the kitchens. From there, the toothsome aroma of roasting meat and baking pastry wafted out into the common area.

Hendel Wulf's lovely wife, Ariana, emerged from the kitchens and visited the inn's newest arrivals at the fireside. Watching her approach, Val struggled not to blush. Ariana reminded him of Lady Miranda of River's End – Lady Cirinna's cousin. Lady Miranda had lived at Tarrancrest for a while. Radiant, with the same tumbling gold curls, laughing eyes and milky skin as Ariana, Lady Miranda never even knew Val existed; but that had not stopped Val from longing for her. When Lady Miranda was married off to the realmlord of Sude's son, he had been devastated.

"Your bags have been taken to your rooms and my husband is bringing your drinks," Ariana announced, interrupting Val's reverie. "This evening we have three choices for your dinner. There is rabbit pie; the rabbit is braised in thyme, plum wine and bacon and topped with a suet crust. There is mutton served with potatoes roasted in rosemary, garlic and goose fat – or you can have the Traveller's Platter, which has two types of cheese – sheep and goat – dry cured sausages and ham, pickled onions and fresh bread. Hendel makes the cheese, sausages and ham himself."

"Mutton," Captain Tobin grunted, not remotely impressed by the delicious menu the inn-keeper's wife had just presented. The soldier lit up his pipe and stretched his long legs out in front of the fire.

"I'll have the rabbit pie please," Val added with a shy smile.

"And you m'lady?" Ariana looked at Lady Cirinna expectantly.

The girl was staring into the fire as if the inn-keeper's wife had not spoken.

"Milady?"

A strained silence stretched out.

"Lady Cirinna," Val prompted, embarrassed, "answer her."

Lady Cirinna Kaur blinked but gave no other indication that she had heard. Then, Captain Tobin reached across, gripped Lady Cirinna by the upper-arm and shook her.

"Order your meal, girl," he growled.

Lady Cirinna shrank away from the captain, her face rigid and her eyes hostile. This time, however, she complied.

"The platter," she whispered.

Tobin let go of her arm and sat back in his chair, watching Lady Cirinna under hooded lids.

Hendel Wulf brought their drinks – three earthen mugs and a large jug of plum wine. Grateful for a distraction from the tension between Tobin and Lady Cirinna, Val poured himself a large mug of wine and took a gulp, and then another. The wine was rich and spicy. By the time he had finished half his mug, Val could feel his shoulders beginning to relax. He leaned back against his seat and enjoyed the fire's warmth seeping into his weary body. Captain Tobin downed his mug of wine in three gulps before pouring himself another. He was onto his third by the time Hendel Wulf brought the food.

"I'll get you another jug," the inn-keeper whisked the empty jug away and returned moments later with another, "I'm glad to see you enjoy our home-brewed wine. That's Ariana's specialty!"

"Compliments to her then," Val replied. The wine made him overcome his usual reticence.

"I'll be sure to pass your compliments on to her," Hendel replied with a knowing smile. Val felt his face heat up, embarrassed that Hendel Wulf had seen through him so easily. He suspected the inn-keeper was used to patrons admiring his wife.

Cheeks burning, Val turned his attention to his rabbit pie. It was indeed delicious and, like Tobin, who had enjoyed his roast mutton and potatoes, Val ordered a second helping. Even Lady Cirinna managed to pick her way through most of her Traveller's Platter. Afterwards, Ariana Wulf brought out hot honey seed-cakes and some more plum wine, this time served hot and spiced, to finish the meal.

It was at the point that the soothsayer, who had been observing them keenly all evening, slid off his stool and approached them.

"For just two bronze dracs apiece I can read your fortunes," he whispered into Val's ear.

Val cringed away from the man's foul breath.

"No thank you."

"For just two bronze dracs," the soothsayer whined. "You must have all heard – there's an eclipse coming! Don't you want to know what's in store for you? It's a bargain and I can tell you everything you've ever wanted to know about your future."

Captain Tobin loomed over the soothsayer, grabbed the collar of his robes and shoved him back towards the bar.

"Bother someone else with your cheap tricks."

The soothsayer hastily backed off, although Val could see the resentment on his face. Still, Val was relieved that Tobin had intervened. Mellowed by the excellent food and drink, Val forgot his earlier resolve not to bother trying to converse with his companions. Perhaps Tobin was warming towards him. Val took a sip of his mulled wine to bolster his confidence.

"Captain Tobin, how long have you served Lord Kaur?"

Tobin swallowed a mouthful of seed-cake and gave Val an irritated look.

"Long enough. Long before you arrived at Tarrancrest. Long before Lord Kaur married and had children."

"Were you born at Tarrancrest?"

Tobin shook his head. "I was born in a pox-cursed village just outside of River's End. I left that place on my twelfth birthday and have had no desire to return ever since."

"I suppose you've never needed to," Val agreed, imagining that Tobin's family must have been relieved to see him go. "You must have travelled widely over the years though?"

Tobin's mouth curled into a sneer. "Are you planning to write my memoirs? What do you care where I've travelled or what I've seen?"

Val felt a stab of annoyance at Tobin's rudeness but emboldened by the copious amount of wine he had consumed, he pressed on.

"Since we are travelling companions, surely learning something of each other will make the trip more pleasant?" he replied evenly.

Tobin snorted into his mulled wine.

"I have no desire to know anything about you Falkyn – the idea makes me want to gag you for the rest of the journey. Now do us all a favour and belt up!"

Val did as he was told, although he noted that his exchange with Tobin had elicited the first response from Lady Cirinna all day. She gave Val a pitying look and smirked, before turning back to the fire.

That concluded any attempt at conversation for the evening. Despite the fire's warmth and the pleasure of a fine meal, Val's mood had soured. He was relieved when Ariana eventually appeared and led them to their rooms. The three travellers followed Ariana out of the common area and through a door into a long and narrow hallway.

They passed half a dozen doors to the left and right before Ariana halted.

"Your rooms are the last three on the left hand-side."

Ariana opened the first of the three doors, revealing a small, comfortable room with rush-matting on the floor, packed mud walls, a narrow bed covered in a soft quilt and a small bedside table with a flickering oil lamp. A fire burned low in the hearth in the corner and there was a thick sheepskin on the floor next to the bed. The room looked warm and inviting, and Val was about to take it for himself when Captain Tobin shoved him aside and stepped through the threshold.

"You two take the rooms at the end," he ordered before turning and fixing Val and Lady Cirinna in a gimlet stare. "We leave at day-break. When I knock on your door I expect to find you dressed and ready to depart."

Then, he slammed the door in their faces.

Val ushered Lady Cirinna into the next room, bid Ariana goodnight and took the room at the end of the hallway. Even with the door closed, the noises from the rest of the inn reached Val. He could hear Lady Cirinna moving around next door, the rise and fall of voices from the common-area where the men were still carousing, and the strains of a fiddle as one of the patrons started to play a drinking song.

Val looked around his room and regretted he would only be spending one night here; this room was far more welcoming then his austere chamber in Tarrancrest Keep. He added another log to the fire and folded back the quilt on the bed. The lantern flickered next to his bed, sending long shadows across the mud walls. The window opposite his bed was shuttered tight and the sheepskin warmed his feet when he pulled off his boots. Val shivered as he undressed. It was a still night, but a cold one, and he expected to see the world silver with frost the next morning.

Val climbed into bed and sank into the mattress, staring up at the gnarled beams above his head and trying to make sense of the day. His body was exhausted but his mind was reeling.

For the first time, Val wondered if he disappeared tonight, ran off instead of carrying out this errand, what would happen. Would the realmlord bother to send men out after him? He toyed with the idea for only a moment before discarding it. Where would he go?

He carried his savings on him, sewn into the lining of the leather waist-coat he wore. It was enough to live on for a while but he would never be able to work as a librarian again – and he was not capable of doing anything else. Lord Kaur would blacklist him, ensuring he lived in the shadows for the rest of his life. He did not fancy sneaking out into the night either. Wolves, bandits and Sude soldiers lurked out there. Val knew he would not travel far before he came to grief. While he stayed with Tobin and Lady Cirinna there was a chance he might see his library again. If he ran away, he never would.

His body ached from a day in the saddle and tiredness weighed upon him, but Val found sleep slow arriving. He lay in the dark and listened to the night. Eventually, the sounds from the rest of the inn died down. Time stretched out and Val found himself wishing, once again, that he had brought at least one book with him. He could have lit his bedside lantern and read for a while until his mind was ready to rest.

***

The hour grew late and the last of the Red Tussock Inn's clientele retired to bed, leaving the inn-keeper and his wife to finish cleaning up. A low fire burned in the hearth, keeping the chill off the air. The glowing remnants of the fire usually lasted the night. Upon rising, Ariana Wulf's first chore was to rouse the embers so the inn's guests woke up to a roaring fire.

Leaving his wife to dry the last of the plates, knives and mugs, Hendel Wulf went outside to feed his dogs. Stepping out into the yard, the night's stillness struck Hendel – it was as if the world were holding its breath. A frost settled across the earth and a thick belt of stars twinkled in the night sky. A crescent moon cast a pale veil over the hills.

Hendel carried a lantern in one hand and a bucket of meat scraps and left-over food in the other.

"Ridge, Drago!" he called, "come here boys!"

Two large, bristled forms bounded towards their master out of the darkness. The dogs clamoured excitedly around Hendel's legs while he made his way over to their earthen dishes and upended the food. The inn-keeper watched his dogs eat for a moment or two before turning to go back inside. He reached the door, paused for a moment, and glanced back over his shoulder into the darkness.

There was something about this night that put the inn-keeper on edge. Hendel could not place exactly what disquieted him, only that he did not trust the strange stillness. Brushing aside his unease, Hendel Wulf went back inside and bolted the door behind him.

Chapter Seven

On the Docks

Dunethport was just waking when the heavily laden cargo barge slid into the dock. The cumbersome craft sat low in the water like an old turtle, moving through the water at a slow but constant rate. The sun was rising over the edge of the ocean and Dunethport sat bathed in golden light. The sun thawed the frost and warmed the faces of the men who worked the docks.

Seth stood on deck and blew on his numb fingers. It had been a long night and Seth approached Dunethport with both trepidation and relief. Although he was pleased to reach his destination, he could not feel safe here. He cast his gaze about the busy docks, his mind already scrambling for a plan. He needed to find immediate passage on a trader or exploration vessel – anything to distance himself from his tracker.

The barge's captain threw a heavy, oiled rope to a man waiting for them on the jetty and Seth heard the gentle thud of the side of the barge against the dock. The small vessel had wedged itself in between two huge boats that towered above the barge like tall buildings, casting a shadow across its deck.

Eager to get into the sun, Seth followed the captain onto the dock and pressed five bronze dracs into his palm, an exorbitant rate but one Seth had paid willingly.

"Where are you off to now?" the captain peered at Seth through a spider-web of wrinkles. His face reminded Seth of a walnut. Seth returned his gaze for a moment, debating whether the captain could help him or not.

"I seek passage on a ship travelling north," he ventured. "Do you know of any?"

"North is a bit vague," the captain replied. "Catedrâl, Barl?"

"Beyond."

The captain's eyes widened. "Nothwirren?"

Seth nodded.

The captain muttered something under his breath and swept his gaze down the crowded dock, where men humped heavy crates and sacks back and forth from warehouse to ship like a multitude of overburdened ants.

"It's said the savages on that continent boil outlanders in big pots," the captain's muttering became clear, "and that the sun's so harsh it can flay your skin off your bones at midday."

Seth stifled a laugh.

"I am an explorer in service to the Realmlord of Omagen," he lied smoothly. "He sends me on a mission to catalogue foreign lands."

The captain stared at him. "Truly? What wonders have you seen? Where have you travelled?"

"To the great continent of ice to the south, where not a blade of grass grows and the world is permanently winter," despite himself Seth was enjoying this, "and to Starne Island where flocks of great flightless birds roam virgin forest."

"Amazing," the captain gasped, "I had heard of these things but had not believed them to be true."

"So do you know of any ship that might bear me north?" Seth steered the conversation in the direction he desired and this time the captain obliged.

"Fortune is with you for the boat moored to our right bears Marl flags. I'd wager it is bound for Narn. From there you should be able to find passage across the Camberwash to Nothwirren."

The captain raised a hand and waved to a tall figure dressed in salt-encrusted leathers that was climbing down a rope ladder, against the boat in question, to the docks.

"That's the captain himself. Go on – try your luck."

***

Seth stared moodily down at his empty tankard and contemplated getting himself another. It was much rougher than the ale he was used to at Osforth Tower but it had been numbing his senses nicely over the past few hours.

The ship flying the Marl flag would indeed depart for Narn – tomorrow at dawn. The captain was still awaiting a cargo of sheep, bred in the harsher climes of Central Omagen where the wool grew thick and soft, and brought high prices in Narn's markets. He had no intention of leaving Dunethport until the last sheep was loaded and bedded down in the hold; and that meant tomorrow morning at the earliest.

Seth was not, by nature, a patient man but fear had exacerbated his impatience. He had toyed with the idea of bribing – not that he had the money to do so – or begging the captain but had reined himself in. Such behaviour would make him appear desperate. He did not want to loiter in Dunethport. Once the cloaked one discovered he had taken a barge from Seacliff, and to where that barge was headed, it would retrace its steps over Mount Caligar and make for the Dunethport's docks to meet him.

The memory of last night's encounter made Seth's bowels turn to water. He had been visiting the tavern's stinking privy far more often than he would have chosen over the last few hours – and now his guts were cramping again.

Glancing around the rough dockside bar, Seth was grateful for the crowds of sweaty dock-workers, merchants and sailors who packed out the narrow space. He was crushed in next to a couple of sailors who were locked into an escalating debate on the conflict between Sude and Farindell.

One of the sailors slammed his tankard down on the bar-top, sloshing ale everywhere.

"The same thing will happen here I tell you. Ragnost will say our boundaries encroach on what's rightfully Sude's!"

"Bollocks!" his drinking mate slurred. "Our territory's nearly twice theirs. Ragnost wouldn't dare. Farindell's just a forgotten corner of Palâdnith. No one cares what happens to a bunch of inbred fishermen and farmers."

"Thorne should do something," the first sailor continued, completely ignoring his friend's comment. "He's a fool if he thinks Omagen's safe from Sude's warmongering. We're next I tell you!"

"Listen to yourself!" the other sailor jeered. "You sound like a frightened old crone. I'm sure they're in Omagen and Sude are in cahoots – Ragnost would never have had the balls to attack Farindell without Thorne's support."

"In cahoots?" the first sailor swayed on his feet as he thrust a finger in the other's face. "There's no love lost between Ragnost and Thorne, even a witless fool living in Dunethport's slums knows that!"

The second sailor roared in response and shoved his friend, hard.

Seth edged along the bar in an effort to distance himself from them. The last thing he needed was to find himself in the midst of a tavern brawl. He intended to stay here, anonymous in the crowd, for as long as possible. He picked up his stool and wedged it against a pillar at the far end of the bar. From here, Seth had a view out of a grimy little window. The tavern was built right out on the waterfront and from this angle, he could see a pink sunset reflected off the still waters of the harbour.

Outside, the light was fading but Seth was determined not to sleep this night. His eyes burned with fatigue and the ale just made his tiredness worse. He would stay here till dawn and only allow himself to rest once they were on the open sea. Only then would the fog of terror that muddled his brain clear.

"Another ale!"

Seth slid his tankard down the slippery bar top to the man who ran the Crow's Nest Inn. The inn-keeper took no notice of Seth until he slammed half a bronze drac down on the bar top. Then, without bothering to acknowledge Seth further, the inn-keeper poured the tankard full of frothy ale and slammed it down in front of Seth, mirroring his patron's earlier gesture. He cast a jaundiced eye over Seth before turning towards to the next drunken idiot trying to attract his attention.

Seth leaned up against the pillar, buried his nose in froth and took a gulp of sweet, malty ale. The inn-keeper had been giving him suspicious looks for hours now. Seth knew he must seem shifty, constantly shooting nervous glances around the tavern, but the inn-keeper's gaze tracked him as if he were up to no good. It was not the anonymity Seth sought.

Sipping his ale, Seth turned his attention from his immediate surroundings: the inn-keeper, the din of drunken voices and the rank odour of unwashed humanity with ale oozing from their pores, to the view out of the tiny window. The lurid sunset had almost gone. He could see Dunethport's lights twinkling off the harbour.

Crushing self-pity overwhelmed him. Whatever lay ahead, he would have to face it alone, without Darin and Kal's reassuring presence. It was not until yesterday that he had realised how much he depended on his friends. The three of them had spent many drunken evenings in Dunethport's waterfront bars while the marshal bedded down amongst feather pillows with the best whore his money could buy. While Osforth 'entertained', his Tower guards revelled in their rare freedom. If one picked a fight, there were always two others on hand to lend a hand. Without Darin and Kal, Seth felt naked.

Seth was so immersed in his thoughts that he did not notice the caped figure that wove its way through the crowd of revellers towards him. The figure moved at an unhurried pace. It was only when a shadow fell over him that Seth looked up. At first, his gaze seized upon a cloaked silhouette, and his heart leapt in his chest. A moment later, he realised that the figure was a woman dressed in blue robes. She pushed back her hood so Seth could see her face.

It was the Sister of Sial from two nights earlier. Unlike their first encounter, there was no flirtation in the woman's gaze this evening.

"You! What do you want?"

The Sister gestured to an unoccupied stool next to Seth.

"May I?"

Seth grunted in response and turned back to his tankard.

Not put off by his unenthusiastic greeting, the Sister took a seat and ordered herself a tankard of ale. If the sight of an unchaperoned, attractive woman with thick brown hair and twinkling blue eyes, interested the other patrons; her voluminous blue robes and silver-star necklace made them keep their distance. Some women were not worth the trouble.

"You look like a man tired of his own company," the witch observed. She took a sip of ale and fixed Seth with a level gaze. "You didn't wear a scowl like that at our last meeting."

Seth took a deep draught of ale and choked as it went up his nose. When he recovered, he looked at the Sister and saw that she was watching him intently.

"Let's just say that since our last meeting, certain events have transpired," he replied.

The Sister raised her eyebrows.

"That sounds cryptic, do tell?"

"You wouldn't believe me," Seth sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "It even sounds ludicrous to my own ears."

"Let me be the judge of that – I'm Nevis of Foresthill by the way," she held out a hand for him to shake, "and you are?"

"Seth Falkyn," Seth reluctantly shook her hand – although the sensation was pleasant; her skin was smooth and cool and up-close she smelt faintly of roses.

Seth told Nevis, in as few words as possible, the events of the past two days. Told plainly, it seemed even stranger. When Seth had finished, the Sister sat silently for a few moments, digesting his words. Then she cast her gaze over him, assessing and questioning.

"Sentorân," her voice was thoughtful, "so you did need protecting... It appears your mother was right to give you that charm."

"It didn't offer me much protection last night," Seth gave her a sour look, "not much good is it!"

"Could be that it no longer gives you protection. If you have worn it since childhood it may have served its purpose," the Sister replied.

Seth massaged his temples; this conversation was giving him another headache.

"What would it have been protecting me from?" he asked eventually.

"The likes of those two, for one thing," Nevis answered, her voice dropping to a hush. "You should take better note of your surroundings Seth. You're being watched."

Seth froze.

"Where?"

"Across the room – to the left."

Seth surreptitiously cast his gaze across the crowded tavern, to where two robed figures leaned against the far wall – a man and a woman. The male had long, pale blond hair and the arresting good looks and high cheekbones of a native of Starne Island, which lay far to the south. His eyes were chips of ice, and they gleamed with unnerving intelligence. The female had a cool emerald gaze, flawless white skin, queenly bone-structure and a mane of auburn hair.

Seth had seen them before – they were the two Esquill who had flanked Realmlord Thorne during Osforth's visit to Larnoth Castle. With everything that had happened over the past day, Seth had almost forgotten the way the two sorcerers had stared at him, especially the woman.

"They've been watching you for a while," Nevis continued. "You seem to recognise them. Have you had dealings with the Esquill before?"

Seth tore his gaze from the sorcerers and stared down at his ale. Suddenly, his mind was wheeling and he felt unwell. He had told the Sister too much, and with the Esquill watching him from the shadows, he felt like a cornered rabbit.

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

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

The Esquill were gone.

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

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

"That's it!" he shouted. "All out! Get yourself home and sleep it off!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Eight

Fugitives in Swamphaven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They resumed their journey and Darin stowed most of the bread away in his pack, except for one of the milk and honey loaves, which he broke in half and shared with Eni.

"We should make this last," Darin advised. "There won't be any fresh bread again for a while."

Eni took a couple of bites before he forced himself to pocket the rest – even though he wanted to stuff the lot into his mouth.

The mist closed in as they walked south. When Eni and Darin crossed the main walkway leading to Swamphaven's gates, the mist was so thick that they were forced to slow their pace. The air was clammy and the feel of it on Eni's skin made him itch.

At the end of this walkway rose a cluster of massive, four-storied wooden houses. Like all of the dwellings in Swamphaven, they stood on poles. Due to their weight, they had subsided in the marshy ground and now tilted slightly over the walkway, leaning like drunks overhead. Dark windows stared down at Eni and Darin as they passed underneath.

Ahead, Eni could see that the walkway widened into a huge platform, where most of Swamphaven's town meetings and markets took place. There, at the far end of the platform, Eni spied the spiked outline of Swamphaven's gates.

They were closed.

Eni and Darin stopped and shrank back into the shadows of the houses.

Eni hissed in Darin's ear. "I assume they open the gates at daybreak?"

Darin nodded, his gaze never leaving the gates, before he frowned.

"Even if the gates are closed, their keeper would let us out. That's not what concerns me – look closer."

Eni craned his neck forward and squinted. Through the swirling mist and insipid lamplight he caught sight of shadows. Then, as he stared, the shadows materialised into men moving back and forth before the gatehouse. Eni remembered that an indolent gatekeeper had guarded Swamphaven's gates the day before. Yet, these figures wore leather armour and swords strapped around their waists.

Eni felt his breath catch in his throat – Valense's men were here.

"They're blocking the only exit."

"This is why I wanted to leave early. We should have bought supplies and moved on yesterday, even if that meant sleeping rough again," Darin whispered.

Eni listened to him with a thudding heart. He wished Darin had listened to his instincts.

They were standing there, frozen with indecision, when figures appeared out of the mist just a few feet from where they stood.

Valense's soldiers were not just patrolling the gate but were also watching the entrances onto the platform. Eni and Darin had unsuspectingly walked straight into their net. Quickly, the two fugitives stepped back, flattening themselves against the wall of one of the houses.

It was too late – someone had seen them.

"Who goes there?" a voice lashed out through the mist. "Step forward and show yourselves!"

When neither man made a move to do so, the sound of steel sliding free of a scabbard followed the voice.

"Show yourselves!"

"Follow me!" Darin whispered in Eni's ear, "and keep to the shadows!"

They ran.

Fleet and light-footed, Eni and Darin took off the way they had come. The mist that shrouded the platform now became their ally rather than an impediment. Shouts rang out behind them and booted feet pounded across the wooden deck.

Their flight shattered the morning's stillness and brought Swamphaven rudely awake. Lanterns flickered to life inside the houses, shutters opened and shadowed heads poked curiously from windows. A horn echoed across the marsh and shouts cut through the still air.

"In the name of the Realmlord of Cathernis – five gold dracs to anyone who apprehends the two outlaws!"

Swamphaven erupted into life and, all at once, Eni and Darin were no longer alone on the walkway. Men, hurriedly pulling on jackets and boots, burst from doorways and staggered out, lanterns aloft, in search of the fugitives. Five gold dracs was a fortune – especially out here in forgotten Swamphaven.

Eni and Darin slowed to a walk and ducked into an alleyway between two buildings. There were no lights here and the alleyway stank of urine and rotting food. Still, it was a temporary hiding place.

"We need to get over the wall," Eni whispered as they crouched amongst the refuse. "There must be a building close enough to the edge that we can jump from."

"There will be," Darin agreed tensely. "The challenge will be to find it without being captured first."

"Once we leave Swamphaven we will need to travel northwest," Eni pointed out. "So wouldn't it be best to head towards that side of town? We need to get close to the perimeter."

In the darkness, Eni heard Darin grunt. "Now, we just have to turn ourselves into shadows and cross the city unnoticed."

Beyond the alleyway they could hear excited voices and see the shadowed outlines of groups of men passing by; men who were now patrolling Swamphaven in search of them.

Eni's mind worked furiously. There had to be a way to get across the city unseen.

"I have an idea," he said finally. "It's not brilliant, but with some luck it might work."

A short while later, Eni and Darin made their way to the end of the alleyway and peered out. There was large group passing, all brandishing torches and weapons. In their rush to get out the door, men had grabbed the first thing to hand, from hammers to bricks. Eni could also hear other voices approaching – they only had moments to spare before another group emerged from the mist.

The ragged band of men, moving as one aggressive mob, strode along the wide platform. Their voices were harsh with excitement. Five gold dracs went far in this town.

"Griegor!" one of the men bellowed across the group, brandishing a lead pipe, "Where have you been hiding? Come for a bit of sport have you?"

"I've come for gold," a squat man with a receding hairline shouted back, "and you'd better not get in my way, Mik!"

A roar of agreement thundered through the crowd, while Eni and Darin slipped into the back of the group. Eni carried a stick that he had picked up in the alleyway and Darin had drawn his hunting dagger; the thin blade glittered in the lamplight.

The rabble reached an intersection between four walkways, before taking one that led northwest. Eni felt a surge of hope as they did so – this direction would take them close to the perimeter fence.

They passed similar mobs of men, all rowdy and overexcited by the prospect of such a huge reward. Once or twice, the group challenged those they met – mistaking them for the outlaws – only to be disappointed to discover it was the town's cobbler or cooper. Eni and Darin hung back during these confrontations, readying themselves to flee if necessary. It was a relief when, ascertaining these were not the men they were after, the rabble moved on.

They had almost reached the north-western perimeter, when the group came upon a patrol of Catedrâl guards. Eni shrank back into the shadows. If these men had been at the hanging they would know his face.

"Halt!" one of the soldiers stepped out to block the rabble's path. "Where do you think you lot are going?"

"We're after those two outlaws and the reward of course. Get out of our way!" one of the group shouted.

The soldier frowned.

"Let me see who we've got here first."

The soldier pushed his way through the throng, his gaze travelling over the rabble. He had nearly reached the back when he spied two figures lurking in the shadows, trying not to be seen.

"You two, step forward into the light so I can see your faces!"

Eni's response to this command was to take a few paces back, his body coiling in readiness to flee. Beside him, Darin did the same.

"Are you deaf?" the soldier roared, elbowing two of the group aside so he could get a better look. "Step forward!"

They were cornered. The instant the soldiers saw Eni's face, the pack would be on him like wolves. Eni had hoped to get closer to the perimeter so they could slip away from the group unseen, but that possibility was now lost.

Eni put his head down and charged past the soldier, scattering men across the walkway. Some of them plunged headlong off the platform into the stinking swamp while others staggered and clutched at him as he barged through their midst. However, the soldiers swiftly recovered and they rushed to block Eni's path.

Eni clubbed one of them across the face with his stick. His assailant fell back against another soldier who was unsheathing his sword. The men collided and Eni slipped past. Darin was suddenly at his side and Eni saw the blade of his dagger was wet with blood from where he had cut his way out of the fray.

For an instant the path ahead of them was clear – and they ran.

This time, their pursuers were at their heels. Eni ran so fast he felt as if he were flying; his worn leather boots barely touched the walkway. Darin raced ahead of him; his lean build and light frame making him a natural sprinter. Eni's blood pulsed in his ears and the ragged sound of his breathing blocked out the sounds of his pursuers. Still, he knew they were there, and steadily gaining on him.

The last cluster of houses before the perimeter loomed ahead. Dawn was approaching and Eni could see the spiky outline of the fence against the deep purple sky. Darin had already reached the platform and he shot across its shadowed surface like a hare. He was making for one of the buildings that stood flush against the wall.

In front of the building, a woman was sweeping the steps with the doorway open behind her. She was buxom and dressed in a silk dress a size too small. Upon seeing Darin's rapid approach, she tried to get back inside and slam the door behind her – but Darin was too quick.

He shouldered the shrieking woman aside and leapt through the door. Eni skidded inside and, together, they slammed the door shut and bolted it. Moments later, the soldiers were hammering on the door and trying to force their way in.

Eni and Darin now had a head-start and they were determined not to lose it. They sprinted up the wooden stairwell, taking two steps at a time. They were so intent on escaping that they only vaguely registered that they were inside a brothel. Women in various states of undress appeared on the landings between floors. Faced with the two men hurtling up the stairs towards them, the girls screamed, and fled trailing lace and chiffon behind them.

Eni and Darin reached the top landing and heard the splintering of wood below. Their pursuers were inside and crashing up the stairs.

There was only one room up here in the attic and the door was locked. Working together, Eni and Darin smashed their shoulders against it until the lock gave way and the door burst open.

Unlike the squalid room they had slept in at the Marsh-Myrtle Inn's, this room was whitewashed, clean and decorated with silks, over-stuffed pillows and flickering perfumed candles. A man and a woman, interrupted in the midst of lovemaking, cowered naked on the bed. Eni rushed past them and threw open the dormer window. He climbed out onto the roof, with Darin close behind, and crawled towards the edge closest to the fence.

The thatch was made of spiky reeds and hazel canes. It dug into Eni's hands as he crawled. Reaching the edge, both men stopped and gazed down. The first rays of daylight poked gentle fingers through the mist, illuminating their view over the shadowy marshes. It was a long way to fall. They would have to make sure they jumped wide or they risked impaling themselves on the fence.

Darin crawled up next to him. "There's no use just staring at it. We need to jump, and quickly – move!"

Dark shapes were now struggling out of the attic onto the roof. Eni and Darin had only seconds before the soldiers reached them.

Eni rose into a crouching position – and leaped.

Chapter Nine

A Fiend in the Night

Val awoke in the early hours of the morning to a full and protesting bladder. After all the wine he had drunk, he should have visited the privy before going to bed. Cursing himself, Val struggled – his stiff thigh muscles aching as he did so – out of his warm bed and pulled on a shirt and leggings.

The fire had long gone out and the room's chill made him shiver. He lit a candle and padded across to the door. Out in the hallway it was pitch black. If Val had not been carrying a candle, he would have blundered around in the darkness looking for the privy – and might have ended up walking into someone's room instead by mistake.

Val padded down the corridor; his bare feet silent on the rush-matting floor. Around him, the Red Tussock Inn slumbered. He could hear snoring reverberating from some of the rooms. Reaching the privy, Val sat his candle on a ledge and relieved himself. Then, he stepped back out into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

A cloaked figure blocked his path.

Val nearly dropped his candle in fright. Mirroring his own surprise, the shadowy form gasped and attempted to dart past him. Val recovered his wits, realising that he recognised the figure. He reached out and grabbed the young woman's arm, bringing her up short.

"Milady," Val raised the candle so that Lady Cirinna's pale face was illuminated. "Where might you be going at this hour?"

"Let go of me," she hissed. "Keep your voice down!"

Val smiled gently but did not release his grip.

"It appears to me as if you are attempting to run away," he continued, "and while I applaud your courage, may I remind you that it's a cold, dark night out there and we are in wild country. How long do you think you'd last?"

Lady Cirinna's hood fell back. Her hair was tied in a long braid, and although her face was ashen, her pale eyes were two hard shards of ice.

"Let me go!"

"Return to your room," Val replied, pushing her gently in the direction of her chamber, "before Tobin catches you out here."

The click of a door catch releasing caused any retort Lady Cirinna might have made to die on her lips. Captain Tobin stepped out of his room, carrying a lantern aloft, and light flooded the hallway. Spying Val and Lady Cirinna, Tobin bore down upon them. Val watched Tobin approach and, still gripping Lady Cirinna's arm, felt her tremble. For all her bravado, she was terrified of this man.

The captain loomed over them. His face was florid and his eyes bulged with the effort he was making not to bellow.

"What are the pair of you doing out here?" he growled.

"I was using the privy," Val replied, "and the Lady was waiting for me to finish so she could take her turn."

Captain Tobin's hard gaze raked over Val before it settled upon Lady Cirinna.

"Milady wears a cloak when she visits the privy does she?"

Tobin yanked back Lady Cirinna's cloak to reveal the bulging satchel she wore slung across her front.

"And she requires a bag as well?"

A deathly silence followed his words.

Tobin gave Lady Cirinna a hard, cruel stare.

"Never try and escape again," he whispered. "Is that clear?"

Lady Cirinna nodded, all defiance gone. She looked young, frightened and close to tears.

"Shall I escort Lady Cirinna to bed?" Val suggested, as if Tobin had just been sharing his plans for the next day. "Come this way, Milady."

They moved away from Tobin, aware of the captain's glare burning into their backs. Val opened Lady Cirinna's door for her and she went meekly, unable to meet his gaze. When Val reached his own door, Captain Tobin was waiting for him.

Tobin loomed over Val, his fists clenched at his sides as if he could barely prevent himself from striking him.

"Did you have something to do with that librarian?"

"Of course not," Val snapped.

"What were you doing out here?"

"I told you, I was using the privy."

Despite his fear of Tobin, Val could feel his anger rising at being dragged into, and then blamed for, Lady Cirinna's foolishness. For the first time he met Tobin's glare squarely.

"Why don't you show a bit of gratitude? If it weren't for me, she'd be half way to Isenlock by dawn."

***

In the breathless night outside the Red Tussock Inn, something stirred. It had waited a long while, watching and listening intently until the inn lay in complete darkness and all slept. Then, softly, it moved, crunching over the frozen ground towards the low silhouette of the inn.

The wheeze of its breathing was barely audible. However, on such a still night the sound carried and roused the two dogs guarding the inn's entrance. One of the dogs growled. The grizzled wolfhound advanced a few steps and sniffed the darkness while its companion followed suit. The old dog's hackles rose as it caught a whiff of something unfamiliar nearby. It was not the smell of the dry earth or grass, or the odour of man. The smell did not belong to a chill night, and the second dog whimpered and backed away. The older dog was not so timid. It bared its teeth and snarled.

The intruder stopped and crouched, staring ahead at where the dogs stood. It waited for the animals to calm – but they did not. Bolstered by its companion's bravery, the younger dog advanced as well, his lips pulled back in a snarl. Still, the intruder waited, its irritation growing by the moment. Stealth was its greatest ally and these animals were becoming a nuisance. The growling continued and gradually grew louder.

Finally, the intruder's patience snapped. It drew itself up to its full height and pulled something from the folds of the black cape hiding its form. A curved, serrated blade glinted dully in the moonlight. Wasting no more time, it strode forward to silence the dogs.

***

Val awoke to the sound of dogs howling.

The baying punctured the stillness and tore him from sleep. He sat up and tried to get his bearings. It felt as if he had only just fallen back to sleep after his fateful trip to the privy.

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

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

"What in Moden was that?"

"The dogs – someone's outside!"

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

"What is it?"

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

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

"On your head be it then."

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

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

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

Ariana hesitated and Hendel's face darkened.

"Now woman!"

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

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

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

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

"Those of you with weapons and brawn, follow me!"

Val turned to make his way towards a shadowy corner.

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

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

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

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

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

"No!" Hendel's shout was raw, "Ridge, Drago..."

Then the inn-keeper gave a sudden yell.

"Watch your backs!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ariana," he eventually groaned. "Fetch her."

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

"No my love," she whispered through her tears. "I beg the gods, no..."

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

"So fast," he muttered. "I've never seen a man move like him."

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

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

***

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

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

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

He never wanted to live a night like that again.

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

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

"Falkyn."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Ten

Captive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seth stared at her a moment before responding.

"Why?"

"You will find out soon enough."

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving blindly in the dark, his heart hammering from fright, Seth shrugged off his blanket and struggled to his feet. The Sister of Sial was but a black silhouette before him. Seth let Nevis take his hand and lead him away from the campsite. She must have had sight like a cat, for he could see nothing. Seth held his breath as they crept away, focusing his thoughts on escape.

They padded away from the campsite, down the bank and into the riverbed. The rocky terrain, riddled with rabbit holes and tree roots, slowed their progress. Seth stumbled and slid in the darkness, although Nevis appeared to be much more surefooted than he was.

"Quietly!" she whispered. "I have two horses tethered nearby. We must hurry if we are to reach them before your friends awake."

Seth needed no further encouragement. This chance for escape was his first blessing in days. He did not intend to waste it.

A short while later, they clambered from the creek bed and climbed a low rise. Ahead, the horses waited, their dark forms outlined against the night sky. Nevis spoke gently to the nervous beasts as she untied them. She handed Seth the reins to his horse and mounted hers.

"We ride west," her voice was terse with purpose, "towards the Rock and Pillars."

Once more, Seth gave no argument. He swung up onto his horse's back and fumbled for the stirrups. The Esquill blocked the way east, so that direction was not an option. Still, Seth would have preferred a different route to the Rock and Pillars. There would be few places for them to hide in that arid mountain range.

Seth urged his horse into a brisk trot and followed Nevis through a sparse copse of stunted trees towards the road. For the moment, they dared not ride any faster, due to the rough ground. A still night watched silently over Seth and Nevis as they rode. The moon provided the only source of light and the quiet magnified the crunch of the horses' hooves over dry twigs and grass. To Seth, his breathing seemed to echo in the silence. At any moment, he expected to hear shouts and the sounds of pursuit. He held his breath but none came.

They reached the Miners' Highway and urged their horses into a gallop – leaving the Esquill far behind.

Chapter Eleven

Lost in the Tallow Marshes

Eni squeezed his eyes shut and felt the air whistle past him. He bent his knees, praying that Palâd would embrace him gently, and hit the swamp with a slap. Cold water embraced him. Eni floundered before his feet sank into the muddy bottom. Darin landed beside him, showering Eni with mud and slime.

Waist deep and wiping the marsh sludge from their eyes, Eni and Darin waded away from Swamphaven. At their backs, they heard splashes as the soldiers followed them over the perimeter fence. Their pursuers were incensed, and their curses rang across the marsh.

The two men exchanged no words as they fled. They were both out of breath and struggling to move through the swamp. They eventually reached a patch of firmer ground, but even here it was slow going. The ground was soft and clumps of reeds loomed out of the darkness like icebergs in a cold winter sea, tripping them at every turn.

A whistling sound filled the air. Eni felt arrows peppering the dawn around him like angry hornets. For the first time since the chase had begun, Eni felt fear seize him. Darkness no longer cloaked them and the mist was starting to clear. At this rate, one of the arrows would find its mark.

Darin cried out and fell to his knees. He was a couple of paces behind Eni but upon hearing him go down amongst the reeds, Eni stopped and struggled back to him. The light of the approaching dawn made Darin easy to spot. He sank to the ground with an arrow sticking out of his back. It had gone in just below the ribs. Darin's face was knotted with pain, but his features contorted when he saw Eni had come back for him.

"What are you doing? If they catch us both I'll kill you myself!"

"Don't talk madness. I can't leave you here!"

Darin shrugged off his pack and hurled it at Eni.

"Yes you can – run!"

"I'm not leaving you."

Eni crawled forward to help Darin, but when he reached towards him, the southerner pulled out his hunting knife.

"I'm not going to say it again."

Darin's eyes were wild as he brandished the dagger.

"I really will slit your throat if you let them catch you. Run!"

This time, Eni did as he was told. He shouldered the pack and, crouching as low as he could, fled across the marshes.

***

Eni tripped over a submerged root and fell face-down in stagnant, cold water. Shaking himself off, and cursing the swamps to Moden, he struggled to his feet and stumbled onwards. A dead tree, from whence the offending root had come, protruded like a blackened thumb from the water to his left. To Eni's right, two swamp palms stood upon a mossy bank, their feathery heads bent under the weight of the sky.

A few steps further and Eni reached the far side of the pool. It had seemed like a good idea at the time – to wade across one of the marshes' many ponds, rather than cut a path through the tangle of vegetation either-side – but Eni now regretted his decision. His wet clothes chaffed his skin and dragged at his already aching limbs.

Eni grabbed hold of a clump of tussock and pulled himself onto the bank. Wet boots squelching over spongy ground, he picked his way between thorny bushes, emerging into a lumpy, boggy sea of grasses.

Before him, flat and endless, the Tallow Marshes spread out towards the western horizon. Far off, he could see the faint outline of the Starwalden Alps but they still appeared leagues away.

The morning's mist had now cleared. Eni and the handful of ragged men who still pursued him, crawled like insects trapped between a colourless sky and a dull brown landscape.

Eni's breath caught in his throat as he pushed himself onwards, across the grasses, tripping and stumbling in his haste to widen the gap between himself and his hunters. His vision was starting to blur from exhaustion.

How long had he been running since Darin had fallen, and how far?

Initially, the receding mist had still aided his flight, and once their arrows had been spent, Valense's men had been forced to throw aside their longbows and give chase.

During his escape west, the Tallow Marshes obstructed Eni constantly. Just when he thought he had found a path of firmer ground, tangles of spiky, sticky undergrowth would impede him, or the ground would turn into sucking mud beneath his feet.

The emptiness of the Tallow Marshes was all-consuming. Near to Swamphaven there had been signs of human inhabitation: marsh cages, dykes, rotting wooden platforms and terraces where men had attempted to grow food amongst the wetlands; but as Eni travelled west those signs vanished and he now journeyed through an empty landscape, devoid of man's touch.

Trembling from fatigue, Eni stopped a moment to catch his breath. Immediately, he was set upon by a cloud of biting midges.

"Bastards!" Eni grunted, swatting the insects away. Then, he chanced a glance over his shoulder.

His pursuers were still there, angry, struggling silhouettes to the east. They were gaining on him.

Eni staggered onwards. He was so bone-weary that he felt on the verge of surrender. Then he thought of Darin. The memory of the southerner's angry, stricken face and the arrow in his side, forced Eni onwards.

Eni was almost reduced to crawling – tears of exhaustion now trickling down his cheeks – when he saw his chance of escape appear in the distance. Ahead, erupting out of the lumpy grasses like great marsh sentinels, lay a spreading bed of giant flaxes. Tall seed pods stood out against the pale sky; black spears rising from the midst of an explosion of red and gold leaves.

Not risking another glance over his shoulder, for he could now hear his pursuers' ragged breathing and the splash and rustle of their path over the grasses, Eni dredged up one more burst of speed and dove into the heart of the flax bed. His breathing roared in his ears. He clawed and elbowed his way through the giants, angling to the right in an attempt to confuse the soldiers. When he heard the whacking sound of his pursuers beating their own way into the flax bed, Eni ceased his flight and wriggled his way into the centre of one of the flaxes. It swallowed him whole like a hulking carnivorous beast.

In his hiding place, his face pressed up against the cool, tough flax leaves, Eni squeezed his eyes shut and focused on quietening and slowing his ragged breathing. They were close now, fanning out across the flax bed and attempting to draw a net around him. All it would take was just one of them to dig a few feet into this flax, and Eni's hiding place would be discovered.

A hand exploded into the heart of the flax. Blunt fingered and pale, the hand groped around. Eni shrank against the wall of flax behind him. The hand swiped at his face and he craned his neck back to avoid it. A moment more and it would have found him – but the hand's departure was as sudden as its arrival. The man it belonged to cursed and yanked his hand free. Eni heard the crunch of the soldier's boots as he moved on to the next flax.

Eni listened to Valense's men crashing about, and to their shouts and curses when they failed to find him. Slowly, his body relaxed.

Long after their voices faded, and the sound of his pursuers continuing their search west was replaced by the whispers of the marshland, Eni remained hidden. Not only was he reluctant to leave his hiding place, lest the soldiers lay in wait on the other-side of the flaxes, but his body and spirit were both spent. Had the flax not been propping him upright he would have collapsed. Eni dozed a while. When he finally regained his senses, he felt as if he had been trapped in his flax cocoon for hours. Eni craned his neck upwards to see that the ribbon of sky above his head was growing dark.

He wriggled his way out of the flax, emerging on the northern edge of the bed. The sun was setting in a golden haze to the west, amidst a chorus of croaking frogs. Eni sat down, his back pressed up against the wall of flax, and decided that he was done for the day. It appeared he had lost his pursuers for the moment and it would be perilous to travel through the marshes in darkness. He would rest here until dawn.

Numb and shivering, Eni opened Darin's pack and pulled out one of the cheese plaits that Darin had bought in Swamphaven. The sight of the bread was a painful reminder of the man who had saved his life, not once but twice. Eni was not, by nature, an emotional man and he did not befriend others easily. Yet, he had never met anyone as brave as Darin Mel.

Slowly, as even the slightest movement pained his exhausted body, Eni chewed his way through the cheese plait and finished the slices of duck Darin had packed away. Then he took two measured gulps of water from the bladder. He was still thirsty but forced himself to stopper the bladder and tuck it back inside the pack – with two more days of travel through the Tallow Marshes he would soon run out.

Eni brushed off the crumbs from his simple dinner and sat under the shadow of the giant flaxes, weary and alone, watching light fade from the world.

Chapter Twelve

Sentorân

Val gazed out across the sea of red tussock. It was so desolate out here. He urged his horse onwards and followed Tobin and Lady Cirinna north-west. He pitied the shepherds who tended flocks of sheep in Farindell's extremities – what a harsh life.

After leaving the inn the morning before, the companions had ridden over endless hills carpeted with tufts of red tussock. By the time the light faded, brooding storm clouds had boiled in from the east. The travellers had spent the night in an abandoned shepherd's hut. They had locked it up tight and crouched under the leaking roof while the storm exploded overhead. It had been a long night and none of the party had slept well. All three of them were damp and bad-tempered this morning.

Before them, the High Dragon Spines inched ever closer. The great mountains reared up from the tussock-covered foothills, jagged and unwelcoming. Val had heard of the road that spanned the mountain – there were few who had not. The way, badly maintained and rarely used had many a tale attached to it. However, Val was more concerned with the fact the road was notoriously unstable; one false step and he and his horse could end up sliding down the mountainside to their deaths.

As the day wore on, the hills rose towards the foot of the mountain. The tussock gave way to withered grass, and then to loose shale. A rough road wound up the mountainside, criss-crossing its way up into a curtain of cloud that obscured the peaks of the Dragon Spines.

The party had travelled in silence for most of the day, but mid-afternoon Lady Cirinna shattered it. She pointed up at the sky to the west.

"Look! What is that?"

Val's gaze swept upwards and focused on a great black bird that glided on the thermals, far above them.

"Moden...," he whispered. Even at this distance he could see that the bird was enormous. Its wingspan must have been at least twenty feet.

Captain Tobin's face hardened as he too craned his neck and gazed upwards.

"I'd wager that's a harlet," he declared.

Lady Cirinna twisted in the saddle and stared at Tobin.

"Surely they don't exist?"

"They do," Tobin sneered back, "and you'd better hope this one has not spotted us."

Val's stomach clenched. Tense moments passed. The travellers brought their horses to a halt and gazed upwards at the dark silhouette. High above, the harlet circled in a wide arc, before heading north towards Central Omagen.

Val let out the breath he had been holding and exchanged a glance with Lady Cirinna.

Ignoring them both, Captain Tobin urged his stallion onwards. Wordlessly, still shaken from their close encounter, his charges followed.

Dusk was settling when the party reached a small stone cottage by the roadside. The dwelling was a solitary landmark in a bleak, windswept land. No lights burned from its windows and no smoke rose from the cottage's chimney. As they drew closer, Val could see it was empty. He guessed it had once been a toll-keeper's cottage; from the days when Farindell's realmlord had an interest in keeping the road over the mountains in good condition. There were signs of a long withered garden at the back of the cottage and the remnants of a wooden fence that had once encircled the dwelling. Pink and blue forget-me-nots carpeted the parched ground about the cottage. As expected, Tobin drew his stallion to a halt in front of the dwelling.

"We stay here tonight," he announced. "Help me make it safe."

Val and Lady Cirinna did as he bid them. None of them spoke of the caped attacker from the Red Tussock, but Tobin had been on edge ever since the encounter. Val, for one, was relieved at his insistence that they make their night's accommodation as secure as possible. They led their horses inside and filled the nosebags with oats. Despite being abandoned for many years, the cottage was still sound. Thieves had stripped the interior of any comforts – they had even lifted the flagstone floor. The sight of a large fireplace filled Val with relief. At least they would not freeze this night.

Val and Lady Cirinna scoured the slopes of the mountain for firewood; not an easy task as very little grew in these parts. They returned to the cottage with armfuls of sticks retrieved from briar rose, and stunted broom and gorse bushes. Tobin appeared unimpressed with their find and sent them back out again into the twilight to gather some more.

"Bring back branches as well," he instructed from where he fixed planks across the window. Fortunately, the remains of the shutters and doors still lay about the house, although much of it had rotted.

Knowing better than to argue, Val and Lady Cirinna went back outside and began another search for firewood. Night fell swiftly in the mountains, and the last rays of light were slipping beyond the line of the High Dragon Spires when the pair hurried back to the cottage carrying armloads of wood. Captain Tobin waiting for them in the doorway, his face thunderous.

"You took your time," he barked. "Is that all you managed to collect?"

"Virtually nothing grows here," Val snapped as he passed the captain. "Perhaps you should have gone foraging."

"Falkyn," the captain growled, "watch that forked tongue of yours."

Val ignored Lady Cirinna's smirk and dumped his sticks next to the fire place, before leaning the two branches he had found against the wall. In his opinion, they had managed to collect enough wood to last the night if they were careful.

Ignoring his companions, Tobin lit the fire and busied himself in wrapping oil-soaked cloth around the tips of the two branches. When finished, he lent the torches back against the wall. Val watched the captain's industry, incredulous. He had brought the branches inside for firewood to keep them warm, not for torches.

There was nothing companionable about this night. The three of them sat down in a semi-circle around the fire. Tobin handed out pieces of bread so hard it cut their mouths, together with pieces of waxy cheese and tangy little onions. They ate in silence. Beyond the fire's glow the rest of the cottage lay in darkness, boarded up as best as Tobin could manage. After their meal, Lady Cirinna curled her slender form, cat-like, as close as she dared to the fire and eventually fell asleep. Nearby, the captain dozed, one hand on his sword while Val sat, wide-awake, staring into the fire and listening to the night.

It was quiet up here on the lower slopes of the High Dragon Spines; a windless, empty night. The world sank into a deep silence and the only sound Val heard for a long while was his own breathing – and that of his companions – the crackling of the fire and the beating of his heart. The night stretched on, beyond the darkest hour, and then Val heard it.

Footfalls of a long stride circling the cottage, looking for a way in.

Val held his breath.

The footsteps sounded barefoot, rather than the thumping of booted feet, and were accompanied by raspy breathing. Beside him, Val felt the captain stir. Val had thought Tobin had been asleep, but the speed with which the captain stood up made Val realise that he too had lain awake, listening to the night.

"We've got company."

Tobin thrust the ends of the two branches into the fire. They ignited with a roar into flaming torches. Lady Cirinna awoke and scrambled to her feet. Tobin passed one of the branches to Val and handed him a short sword. Val took them without argument, although he felt too frightened to move let alone wield a weapon.

The door began to rattle. A fist hammered against the wood in dull blows. Captain Tobin had done a thorough job of boarding up the door and even though the intruder threw its weight against the wood, the boards held fast. They heard an angry, swearing hiss before the footsteps moved off, circling the cottage once more. The dwelling was a small, one-room structure and there was only a single window on the far wall. The footsteps stopped outside it and the sound of fingernails scraping on wood followed.

"If it gets inside," Tobin whispered to Val, "stick your torch in its face!"

If I don't die of fright first.

The boards across the window started creaking. The intruder was taking a new approach, attempting to pry the boards free with its fingers; something most men would not have had the strength to do for Tobin had wedged the boards in tight.

Val's heart started to hammer and his mouth went dry. His hand, which gripped the sword's hilt, was so slippery with sweat he wondered if he would be able to keep hold of it.

One of the boards came free with a crack and fingers appeared, gripping the next board and yanking hard. The hands were huge, raw-boned and pale, with disproportionately long fingers and long, unkempt fingernails. The second board came off, easier than the first and thin wrists appeared, followed by sinewy arms. The third and fourth boards came free easily and a hooded figure appeared at the window.

Val went cold. It appeared to be the same cloaked figure that had attacked the Red Tussock Inn.

Lady Cirinna screamed and flattened herself up against the wall.

"Get back!" Tobin shouted, "Come not in here fiend!"

The silhouette gave a rattling wheeze before responding in a low, sibilant voice.

"Then give up the Sentorân and I will go."

Confused by the strange demand, Captain Tobin frowned. Moments passed before the hands reappeared and gripped the edges of the window frame. Then a leg swung over the ledge and the figure was illuminated.

Unlike two nights earlier, they now had a clear view of the intruder.

He had the longest legs Val had ever seen; twice as long as his own with large, muscular feet and filthy toenails. The cape he wore had fallen back revealing tattered trousers that came down to mid-calf and a stained leather vest. The body was sinewy, hairless and so pallid it looked as if the being had never seen the sun, with muscles like knotted rope.

In the torchlight, Val saw a lumpy face, pocked and scarred, like badly moulded clay. He had a bald head and small, pointed ears which lay flat against his head. The wide, lipless mouth was parted slightly, revealing two huge canine teeth. The face bore livid burns; signs from his encounter with Captain Tobin and Hendel Wulf – confirming that this was, indeed, the attacker from the Red Tussock.

"No further!" Tobin shouted, and Val heard the fear in his voice.

The captain rushed forward, brandishing his sword and torch. Half through the window, the intruder swung his right arm inside. He gripped a heavy crescent-shaped sword – presumably the same one that had slain Hendel Wulf. The sword whistled past Tobin and its serrated edge snagged his cloak, tearing it as easily as if it had caught thin gauze. Tobin jumped back and swung his own blade round. The shriek of steel against steel filled the room.

Captain Roth Tobin was a tall, muscular man, and even wounded he was more than a match for most. Yet, his attacker merely swiped him aside. Tobin flew across the room. He slammed against the wall, his head cracking loudly against stone. The captain slumped, motionless, while his torch rolled across the floor.

"Sentorân," the cloaked one wheezed, and looked straight at Val. Two black eyes, filled with cunning intelligence, fastened on him. "Skewer yourself on my blade and spare your friends."

Sentorân?

"You're mis...mistaken," Val stammered. "There is no Sentorân here!"

The intruder, still half-inside the window, ignored Val's response. His muscles tensed, as he readied himself to push through into the room.

Val knew he must act but fear rooted him to the spot.

It was then that a slim figure shot past Val, grabbed the fallen torch and ripped the other torch from his limp fingers. Taking advantage of the fact that the intruder's gaze was riveted on Val, Lady Cirinna acted. She shoved one torch against the intruder's leg and with the other, set fire to his cape.

The intruder shrieked and lashed out with his sword. Lady Cirinna jumped back and the blade narrowly missed her. Then, she darted forward again, dousing the cloak once more with flame. Tearing his gaze from his prey, the intruder snarled and slapped at the flames. The tattered cloak was dry and greasy. Fire devoured the material.

Across the room, Tobin had regained consciousness and staggered to his feet. In two strides he was at Lady Cirinna's side and, grabbing one of the torches from her, he thrust it into the intruder's face, as he had at the Red Tussock. Tobin gripped his sword tightly with his free hand and stabbed the attacker in the side.

A raw scream filled the cottage. The intruder writhed on the windowsill, clutching at his injured flank. Then, he lurched forward and belted Tobin across the side of the head with one huge fist. Once again, Tobin flew through the air and crumpled against the wall. Lady Cirinna, her face taut, brandished a torch in the attacker's face. Growling, he drew back against the ledge.

Flames encircled the intruder in a halo now, and the sweet smell of charred flesh wafted inside the cottage. Suddenly aware that the fire had spread to his skin, the intruder toppled backwards into the darkness, hissing and screaming.

Outside, they heard him slapping and tearing at the flames while he tried to untangle himself from the filthy, burning cloak. Then, he gave a shrill, warbling cry; the sound of feet slapping the ground followed.

Gradually the cries faded. The cloaked one disappeared, still howling, into the night.

On the floor, Captain Tobin groaned and pulled himself up onto all fours. He shook his head and, using the wall for support, climbed to his feet.

"The fiend has fled?" he croaked.

"It ran away on fire," Lady Cirinna replied. She stood by the window, still holding both torches. Her long, blonde hair had come free of its braid and curled around her face. Her features, although frightened, were animated. She looked far from the withdrawn, sullen young woman Val had known till now.

Tobin moved across to the window, took a torch from Lady Cirinna and peered outside. Drawing back from the window, he turned his attention to Val, and spat at his feet.

"Librarian, you let a woman outdo you in bravery while you stood there shitting yourself?"

"Not only that," Lady Cirinna added quietly, her gaze on Val as she spoke, "but while you were unconscious, the fiend named Val a Sentorân. Our travelling companion is a sorcerer. It's him that creature is after."

Tobin's gaze raked over Val, as if looking at him for the first time. Then, the captain lunged at Val, grasped him by the throat, and pinned him up against the wall. Their faces were so close that Val could see blood trickling out of one of the captain's nostrils. Tobin, however, was oblivious to it; his focus was entirely on Val.

"Explain yourself."

"I don't understand either," Val gasped, grappling with Tobin's iron grip that was slowly compressing his windpipe, "There aren't any... Sentorân left," he choked. "I'm... just a librarian."

"Tell me the truth!" Tobin shouted, shaking him hard, "or I'll choke the life out of you."

"Captain!"

Lady Cirinna stepped up beside the men and placed a restraining hand on Tobin's arm.

"My father wanted him with us on this journey for a reason. If you kill him now you will jeopardise your mission."

Tobin hesitated for a moment before reluctantly deciding his charge was right. With a snarl, he flung Val into a corner.

"I still want some answers from you," he warned.

Val huddled in the corner, miserable. He brought his knees up and hugged them to his chest. His throat ached. Tobin was right. He was useless – only good for sorting books no one ever read in a library no one ever visited. Lady Cirinna had shown courage whereas he had failed miserably. Worse still, there was a fiend out there in the darkness that was hunting him. Right now it would be nursing its burns and plotting its next attack.

He had no answers for Tobin, for he had none for himself.

Chapter Thirteen

The Valley of the Tors

Seth and Nevis rode west. The sun had just risen and a silvery veil of mist trailed over the land. The road rose before them to a broad plateau. In the distance, the chunky outline of the Rock and Pillar mountain range drew ever closer – the border between coastal and central Omagen.

They rode into the foothills, and only then did they slow their pace to a brisk walk. The horses were exhausted; their heads hung low and their sides were slick with sweat. Seth loosened the reins and, leaning forward, stroked his horse's neck. He then glanced over his shoulder to the east. The mist was starting to clear but there was no sign of the Esquill. Still, he knew they would be coming after him. Seth was impatient to press on, but he and Nevis had pushed their horses hard. The beasts needed a breather or they would collapse.

They reached a small mountain creek that bubbled under the road, before dismounting their horses and leading them down to it. They let the horses have a brief drink – not too much or it would be dangerous to ride them hard again.

Seth stretched his stiff leg and back muscles and looked across at the woman responsible for his escape. Nevis of Foresthill met his gaze; her face was flushed and her eyes bright.

"Impressed?" she grinned at him. "That sleep charm worked a treat!"

"Won't they catch up with us soon enough? You must have seen the fine horses they ride?"

"You and I are also riding quality!" Nevis snorted, "I 'borrowed' these two from a merchant who owed me money in Dunethport."

Seth was stunned into silence. He had never met a woman like this one. Nevis was so sure of herself; a unique blend of earthiness, freedom and fire. Even with her hair pulled back into a braid down her back and wearing those shapeless blue robes, she drew a man's eye.

"How did you know the Esquill had taken me?" he asked when he had recovered his wits.

"I was waiting for you outside the tavern," she replied. "As you emerged, I was about to approach you when those two stepped out of the shadows. The woman clubbed you so hard I thought she'd killed you. They dragged you off and I followed. I watched them load you into a cart and set off towards the southern route out of Dunethport. I quickly gathered provisions, collected these horses and set off after them."

"I owe you thanks," Seth said when she had finished. "You've got courage."

Nevis shrugged, before fixing Seth with one of her disconcerting level gazes; the kind that forced men to tell the truth.

"Do you know why they kidnapped you?"

Seth told her about his encounter with the Esquill in the realmlord's reception hall – and how he managed to ward off Edessa.

"Maybe they too think I'm a Sentorân?" he suggested. "Whatever the reason, they were taking me to Deep-Spire."

Nevis nodded. "I imagine Lady Marin of Deep-Spire would be very interested to meet you," she replied with a wry smile.

Once the horses had rested a little, they continued their journey along the Miners' Highway. They urged their mounts to a slow canter but kept the reins loose, letting the horses find their own way over the rough road. The Miners' Highway twisted through gradually steepening hills and outcrops. They were now riding into the Rock and Pillars themselves.

Seth had never ridden through these mountains, having always taken the longer, and safer, route to the south. He could see how the unusual topography had given this mountain range its name. Enormous chunks of schist studded the arid landscape and pillars of dark stone perched like sentinels from rocky outcrops. Now that spring had arrived, only the highest peaks were still snow-covered. On the other side of the mountain range lay the town of Mirfaran. If they kept up their current pace, Seth hoped they should reach it by nightfall.

"Nevis, I thought the Sentorân were all dead and buried?" Seth asked eventually, "but if that's the case, why does their name plague me wherever I go?"

"The Sentorân did disappear," the Sister replied, "yet their influence lives on. They were far more involved in the politics of Palâdnith than the Esquill are. They were more than just counsellors, but keepers of the peace. The Sentorân held high ideals of conduct, propriety and belief; in fact, many found them a bit self-righteous. Some say it was their arrogance that led to their downfall – their inability to see Riadamor and her Esquill as a threat until it was too late. Their name follows you Seth; for you and your brothers must be the last of their bloodline."

"Well, it must have be through my mother, because my father was certainly no warlock, I can assure you."

The idea of Hath Falkyn, a pragmatist if ever there was one, muttering incantations and poring over spell books, brought a smile to Seth's face.

Nevis nodded. "She protected you for as long as she could, although the charm she gave you obviously no longer works."

Seth reached up and placed his hand over the amulet. He had worn it his entire life, but until recently had never really noticed it.

My mother. Seth had no memory of Belythna Falkyn at all. He had grown up believing that she had abandoned them all. As such, Seth had long dismissed her as inconsequential; she was merely the woman who had given birth to him, and little else. Now, Nevis was telling him that his mother had tried to protect him, and that she was likely to have been a Sentorân.

Maybe he had been wrong about her all these years. Val – the only one of his brothers who had any vivid memories of their mother – had always insisted that she had loved them, and would never have abandoned them. Eni and Seth used to jeer at their older brother whenever he suggested that their mother had been the victim of foul play. Yet, Nevis's words made Seth entertain Val's theory for the first time.

"But how would I know if I'm a Sentorân or not?" he glanced over at Nevis and saw that she was watching him. "I'm not extraordinary."

The Sister smiled.

"You managed to fend off that Esquill sorceress when she tried to probe your mind. Isn't that proof you possess a skill that others do not?"

"Yes, but I have no idea how I did it."

"You are untrained. Those born into the Sentorân spent years developing their abilities, and each sorcerer's talents were unique to him. Nonetheless, they had to be trained, as you would need to be."

"Well that's it then," Seth replied with a shrug. "I'll never know if I'm really a Sentorân, since there are none left to train me."

They rode on. Morning crept by and the mist evaporated. Still, it was a cool day with a colourless sky, and little warmth in the sun. The Rock and Pillars had a quiet and brooding presence. The crunch of their horses' hooves on the gravel road seemed the only sound and the absence of trees meant that there was no birdsong.

Shortly before noon they came to a fork in the road.

The riders drew their horses up and considered the two paths.

"What's this then?" Nevis murmured with a frown. "I don't remember seeing a fork in the Miners' Highway on any map."

"Neither do I," Seth admitted. "Sorry Nevis, but although I grew up in Central Omagen, my family always took the Farmers' Highway to the coast. The southern route is less isolated than this road, and there are plenty of inns along the way so travellers don't have to sleep rough between Barrowthorne and Dunethport."

"I've never travelled this way myself," Nevis confessed. "Until last summer, I had never left Sude. Still, I planned on travelling to Central Omagen later in the spring. I was studying maps just last week – I'm sure the Miners' Highway doesn't split into two paths."

They both studied the fork in the road; the problem was that both paths were identical: about two horses in width and roughly gravelled. They sloped gently upwards before disappearing behind a slab of rock. It was impossible to know which road would take them up to the Pass of Riordin.

"Left or right?" Seth asked eventually. "We can't stay here deliberating forever."

Nevis shrugged. "They both appear to head up over the mountain. Maybe it does not matter which we take. Let's take the right fork. It looks friendly enough."

"Go on then," Seth urged his horse right.

Single file now, with Seth in front, they rode in silence. He let his horse pick its way up the twisting, rock-strewn road. At first, they were able to move quickly, but after a while, the way steepened and narrowed. Eventually, Seth was forced to slow his horse to a walk.

After a while, they paused to rest their horses. They gave them a nibble of oats, and had something to eat themselves. Seth took a bite of stale bread and hard cheese and leant up against the cool cliff wall as he chewed. He finished his simple but satisfying lunch, before taking a couple of gulps from the water bladder Nevis passed him. Then he stoppered it and handed it back to her.

"What's it like being a Sister of Sial?" Seth asked. He watched Nevis take a drink from the bladder, and could not help but admire the slender column of her throat. "I've imagined you living up trees, rubbing mud in your hair and chanting to the full moon."

Nevis laughed at that. It was a warm sound.

"It's the only life I've ever known," she replied with a whimsical smile. "My parents gave me to the order when I was tiny. You're right though – the Sisters do live up trees, although let me assure you our homes, although small, are very comfortable. During the summer solstice, we do cover ourselves with mud and dance naked under the full moon – to give thanks to Palâd and Nith for their blessings."

Seth blinked. The image of Nevis dancing naked under the moonlight was distracting. He gave her a slow smile and found himself wondering what her body looked like under those robes.

If Nevis noticed the direction of his thoughts, she appeared not to mind. Instead she dug into the satchel she carried over her front and pulled out two apples.

"These are the last of the winter store," she threw him one, "but still edible."

Seth took a bite of the apple. Indeed, the skin was a little wizened but the flesh was sweet.

"There are many Sisters of Sial in Dunethport these days," he turned the conversation away from witches dancing naked under the full moon. "Has the war pushed you all out of Sude?"

"War has been a trial for my order. The Farindell army set fire to the Forests of Sial and destroyed many of our homes. Afterwards, the head of my order sent a few of us forth to travel the land and gather information on the coming eclipse, and its significance."

"Have you discovered anything so far?"

"Just you Seth Falkyn – and a very interesting discovery you are too."

Seth fell silent. Her words reminded him that others – the cloaked one and the Esquill – also thought he was important; worth killing or capturing at least.

"Can I see your charm Seth?" Nevis intruded upon his thoughts. "I only got a glimpse of it in the Golden Galleon and I'd like to examine it further."

Seth drew the amulet out of his shirt and lifted it over his head. "I don't suppose it can do any harm."

The witch studied the stone, running her fingertips over its smooth, matt surface. She turned it over and frowned.

"It has runes on the back."

"I know," Seth replied, taking another bite of apple. "I've never been able to read them. Can you?"

Nevis nodded before she read aloud: "Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth."

Seth felt a chill slide down his spine. There was something eerie about the words. Nevis too appeared slightly discomforted, for she had fallen silent. The witch handed Seth back his amulet and threw her apple core away.

"Come," she said briskly. "We still have a mountain to cross before nightfall."

Seth put the amulet around his neck, and tucked it under his shirt. Then, he removed his horse's nose bag, tightened its girth and remounted. Moments later, they continued their journey.

It was a short while later when, upon rounding a bend, Seth saw that the path ahead hugged the edge of a sheer cliff face and climbed steeply before disappearing through a fissure in the mountain wall. Seth rode through the crevice and found himself in a desolate valley. Behind him, Nevis emerged from the gap.

"The Pass of Riordin?" she asked.

Seth shrugged. "It could be..."

They rode into the valley down a narrow path, little more than five feet across at its widest point. Either side, the valley walls, consisting of crumbly, hard-packed earth and chunks of schist, rose steeply. Very little appeared to grow here, just straggling bushes of a vicious briar, gorse, and clumps of wild-thyme that had been afflicted by a black fungus. When they reached the bottom, Seth spotted giant tors lining the valley floor. The path skirted the edge of them. They towered overhead; great columns of rock. Seth craned his neck up to see the sky. It was still bright and he guessed they had a few more hours of daylight left.

The deeper they rode into the valley, the more uncomfortable Seth grew. He found himself disliking this place. The air was clammy and cold. What little direct sun filtered through had long since departed for the day.

The tors were an unnerving presence. Seth could have almost sworn they were watching him and every time they passed under one the air became heavier.

Time inched by and they reached what Seth guessed to be the half-way point. The biggest tor of them all, a gigantic monolith, reared above them and when they passed under it, Seth's skin prickled. It might have been solid rock but the tor felt like a sentient creature to Seth – and an unwelcoming one at that.

Seth was so focused on the path ahead that he did not notice the sudden appearance of a mist, rising up in thin tendrils from the valley floor. It was only when it snaked up across his legs that he realised it surrounded him. It had suddenly become deathly cold in the valley.

Then Seth heard the voices.

They were beautiful; melodious and sweet. Some whispered and others sung in a tongue he did not understand. For a moment, Seth was enraptured. Then, despite the exquisiteness of the voices, his instincts screamed danger.

"Nevis!" Seth called back to his companion. "We need to get out of here!"

Too late, Seth and Nevis hurried their pace. The mist was thick now, obscuring their surroundings, and the singing became louder and louder till it echoed like a choir off the valley walls.

Seth's horse abruptly stopped, nearly unseating him. Nevis pulled her horse up behind, just short of colliding with him.

"Move!" she called out. "We must keep moving!"

"He won't budge," Seth tried to urge his horse forward but it squealed and dug its hooves into the ground.

"Get off and lead him then!" Nevis shouted back. She swung down from her horse and tried to lead hers forward. However, both horses now refused to move.

Seth stopped struggling with his horse when he saw figures appearing – outlines of tall, slender forms with huge, bat-like wings, moving in and out of the mist. Seth stared at them, fascination warring with fear, before he turned to Nevis.

The Sister of Sial looked around and saw shadowy winged figures surrounding them on all sides. Seth saw the alarm, swiftly followed by resignation, which crossed her face.

"Oh dear," she murmured, her gaze meeting Seth's. "I was hoping we would avoid the sprites."

Seth stared back at her, his surprise changing to fear.

Suddenly, he remembered why his father had always chosen the Farmers' Highway when he travelled to Dunethport, despite that the Miners' Highway was the shorter route. It was not just a matter of having comfortable inns to stay in enroute. This road was dangerous.

The Malwagen had found them.

Chapter Fourteen

Avalon Kingswathe

Would the Tallow Marshes ever end? Eni was beginning to think he would never set foot on firm ground again.

The morning brought with it a damp breeze and grey skies. As soon as it was light enough, Eni resumed his journey. He struck out north for a while, as a precaution against meeting Valense's soldiers again. Then, he turned west once the sun had reached its zenith.

The day slipped away in a monotonous cycle of walking west across the ageless swamps. As he walked, Eni's gaze scanned left and right, for any sign of his hunters. He slowly relaxed when he realised he had lost them. His senses had grown accustomed to the subtleties of the marshland, and instead of an echoing silence, he could now easily pick out the croaking frogs, rustling birds and chirping insects.

The marshes might have appeared a dead place but Eni's journey had revealed the opposite. They were indeed alive with many species of birds and plenty of animal and insect life as well. This far out from Swamphaven, no further sign of human habitation appeared and the marshes spread out in all directions untouched, as they had for centuries, and most probably would for centuries to come.

Eni rested for the night under the prickly boughs of a kanewood thicket. He finished his last loaf of bread and swallowed the remaining drops from his water bladder. His thirst was already raging, and the pitiful amount of water he drained from the bladder was barely enough to soak his parched tongue. He was tempted to refill his bladder from one of the pools but after much deliberation, decided against it. Drinking marsh water would surely make him sick. Thirsty and shivering from the night's chill, Eni curled up into a ball like a hedgehog, and finally drifted off to sleep.

The next morning – the third since his flight from Swamphaven – Eni stumbled upon a path through the marshes. At first, he had merely spied a raised finger of earth in the distance but, upon nearing it, Eni realised he was looking at a crudely built ridge with a narrow pathway on its crown. The earthwork stretched southwest in one direction and northeast in the other – for as far as the eye could see.

Grateful to finally have some firm ground to walk upon, Eni clambered up onto the path and set off south-west. The path had presumably been constructed as a shortcut through the marshes, for any travellers who did not have time to skirt the fringes on the Alpine Highway.

Despite his gnawing hunger and burning thirst, Eni felt his spirits lift for the first time since leaving Swamphaven. Perhaps the gods were finally with him. Maybe he would escape Valense and find a way out of this soul-sapping swamp. Eni's jubilation was short-lived. He had travelled a few hours on the pathway, making good time now that he did not have to navigate his way through the wetlands, when a noise reached his ears.

Eni stopped on the path and turned his head back towards the way he had come, listening intently. The noise was still a way off, but it was unmistakable – the baying of hounds on the scent.

Eni cursed. He had not escaped Valense's men as he had thought. They had returned, this time with tracking dogs. He saw them appear in the far distance; a small army of men and dogs intent on his blood. They moved towards him like an angry hive.

Eni wasted no more time on the path. What had seemed like his salvation suddenly appeared the easiest means by which Valense's men would catch him. His scent would be easy to follow on the path. Only in the marshes did he have a chance of losing them.

The south-western edge of the Tallow Marshes sat in a shallow bowl on the edge of the foothills that would eventually rise into the Starwalden Alps. Here, the marshes turned into a glittering expanse of water, studded with patches of reeds and tussock.

Cold water soaked into Eni's boots as he began wading – and soon he was up to his knees. He pushed himself on at a stumbling run, not stopping to rest, or to glance back at his pursuers. The wetlands were hard going, and Eni's thigh muscles soon burned. He was downwind of the hounds and Eni hoped that since he had left the path they would have trouble tracking him through water.

At times the water rose as high as Eni's waist. He floundered and stumbled through it, sure his hunters would catch him up. At other times, it receded to mid-calf, allowing Eni to push himself faster. Eventually, the baying of the hounds disappeared, replaced by the thundering of Eni's heart in his ears. But still he did not stop.

It came as a shock when, all of a sudden the swamp fell back and Eni stepped out onto firm ground. Bewildered, he came to swaying halt on the verge of a wide road.

The Starwalden Alps reared above him, their white tips brushing banks of cloud. The highway climbed out of the flatland and wound west into the foothills. Eni had been so focused on fleeing his hunters that he had not noticed the mountains had edged closer – until they had become the heavens.

As the realisation dawned that the Tallow Marshes had actually come to an end, Eni stumbled out onto the road, nearly hysterical with relief. After days of wading through cold, wet, bog it felt odd to be standing on dry, firm soil. He now stood upon the Alpine Highway. Constructed of hard-packed earth and river stones, the road was in good condition but empty of travellers this morning.

Leaving the marshes behind, Eni climbed the foothills towards Fallenstar Pass. He was so exhausted he could no longer walk in a straight line. Just a while further and then he could rest. There was bound to be a mountain stream he could drink from. If he could just summon the strength to keep walking he would find it. Soon, however, Eni's vision started to speckle and a roaring in his ears, like crashing waves, drowned out all other sounds.

The world around him began to fade and moments later Eni Falkyn collapsed in a dead faint on the road.

***

Eni awoke to the feel of a woman's hand caressing his face and, for a moment, could not remember where he was, or how he had come to be there. He opened his eyes to see a young woman, probably no older than twenty, with long blonde hair, sitting before him. She had a sharp featured face that was slightly too long to be considered pretty. Yet, her eyes were beautiful; large and as blue as the Ocean of No Memory. Seeing he was awake, the girl yanked her hand back and frowned. Around them, the light was fading. Eni could feel grass against his back but saw that he lay on to the verge of the highway.

"Drink," said the girl, raising an earthen cup to his lips, "and make sure you don't waste any."

Eni had no intention of spilling a drop. He gripped the cup as if it held his life blood and drained it of water within moments, sighing with pleasure at the feel of it running down his raw throat. Almost immediately he felt better, although his head ached as if he had just woken after spending the night on the ale.

Groaning, Eni struggled into a sitting position and looked about him.

"You've been in the wars," the girl observed. "What happened? Are you an outlaw?"

Eni glowered at her before responding. "Girl, I thank you for your aid, but I'd be grateful if you'd not pepper me questions."

The girl sat back on her haunches and crossed her arms over her chest, her face pursing into a stubborn expression. She was dressed like a boy, in a belted tunic which came to her knees and thick woollen leggings underneath. On her feet she wore soft leather ankle boots. Although Eni was surprised to see she was travelling alone, he noted she was armed. The girl had knives strapped to her right thigh and left calf. A slingshot hung from the left side of her belt and a whip on her right. A large leather pack sat on the ground next to her and a mangy, grey donkey grazed at the verge nearby.

Seeing his incredulous look, the young woman got to her feet and dusted down her knees.

"Yes, I travel alone," she said breezily. "I can look after myself. I'm crossing into Central Omagen and making for Tarras. Where are you headed?"

Eni grunted and struggled to his feet. He could barely stay upright he was so weak. In this state he would not make it over the Alps.

"I also make for Central Omagen," he replied. "Do you mind if we travel together for a spell?"

The girl shrugged. "Very well."

Eni observed her closely, taken aback by her carefree attitude. It was not safe for her out here alone. Either she was recklessly brave or too simple to care. She might be carrying enough steel to bring down a charging bull but he doubted she knew how to use it.

"My name's Avalon Kingswathe," she held out a hand for him to shake, "and yours?"

"Eni Falkyn."

The moment the words left his mouth, Eni regretted them. Valense was sure to have put a warrant out over the whole realm. However, the girl did not react to the name. She retrieved the donkey and led it over to Eni. She then shouldered her pack.

"You'd better ride Irwyn – you don't look in a fit state to walk any further today."

Eni did not about to mind being transported on a donkey. However, Irwyn looked as if he had lived a hard life. He was moth-eaten and bony, with a sway back from a long life as a beast of burden.

"Are you sure he can carry me?" he asked Avalon.

"Of course!" she scoffed. "He's getting on a bit, but Irwyn won't have any trouble bearing you."

"Isn't he too old for this kind of work?"

"He was all I could afford. He belonged to a grain merchant in my village who used him hard. The man was going to have Irwyn slaughtered, as he was starting to slow down, but I managed to convince him to sell him to me for five bronze dracs."

Eni raised his eyebrows and regarded the donkey, who was watching their conversation with indifference.

"A bargain."

"Go on, mount him and we'll be off," Avalon urged.

"Very well girl – but don't blame me when the poor beast drops dead," Eni replied.

He mounted the donkey and they set out. For the first time in days, Eni started to relax, revelling in the luxury of being transported for the first time in five days. The donkey's furry coat was warm against his legs and its huge ears flicked about as he walked.

They rode high into the foothills. Steeling himself, as he expected to see signs of his pursuers in the distance, Eni chanced a look behind him. Relief settled over him when he saw no sign of the soldiers, or the dogs. From here, he had a clear view for leagues, east across the glittering expanse of the Tallow Marshes.

The sun had nearly set when the small party reached the entrance to Fallenstar Pass. Legend had it that a falling star, millennia ago, had cleaved a great valley through the centre of the Starwalden Alps, creating the pass. When Eni looked upon the deep gorge with its sheer sides of rock he could imagine why people believed the legend; it cut through the mountain's bulk, making it look like a giant jigsaw puzzle with a piece missing.

At the entrance Eni caught sight of a darker spot in the stone walls – a cave. It would make an excellent hiding place for the night. The opening was narrow, barely wide enough for a donkey to push through. Avalon pulled a reluctant Irwyn inside the cave and fed and watered him at the back. She complained when Eni insisted they did not light a fire.

"I must have got mixed up with an outlaw," she replied with a sniff, "if you're afraid to light a small fire."

Ignoring her complaint, Eni also employed Avalon's help to bring stones from further along the path before barricading them into the cave. He did not respond to Avalon's mutterings about rampant paranoia and sat down on the hard floor near the cave's entrance.

Avalon eventually stopped complaining and Eni heard her digging through her pack. She passed him a hunk of dried bread, a small onion and a piece of salted pork. Eni devoured the food. Hunger made the simple fare taste better than anything he had ever eaten. He took a couple of sips of water, being careful not to drink too thirstily as they had not discovered any mountain streams on their way up to the pass.

Content, Eni leaned back against the cave wall and stretched his legs in front of him. The darkness inside the cave was impenetrable. He could hear Irwyn shifting position and giving the odd snort. Avalon spoke to the donkey sometimes, her voice a low whisper.

She was an odd girl, Eni decided. He wondered in what circumstances a parent or a husband would allow her to travel across Palâdnith with only a donkey for company. Still, without her help he would still be climbing the foothills, dehydrated and starving. She had shared her food with a stranger, and a grumpy one at that. He would not have been so generous. Once again, Eni was humbled by the kindness of strangers.

Chapter Fifteen

Travellers on the Spine Road

They trekked deep into the mountains. The Spine Road led them on a tortuous, steep climb. The way became progressively narrower and more difficult to travel, while the air grew colder and drier. Below, the undulating bed of red tussock-lands spread south, eventually merging with the hazy horizon. Civilisation lay that way but they were travelling further and further from it – into the wilderness where no one would come after them if they failed to re-emerge.

Val hunched down in his cloak as he rode, trailing behind Captain Tobin and Lady Cirinna. The sound of their voices as they discussed the events of the night before, were the only sounds on this lonely road. As if sensing its rider's mood, the roan plodded forward in a lacklustre manner.

On the first night on the Spine Road, the companions camped by the roadside, huddled around a fire. A cold wind sprang up, howling down the passes and rock faces like a lonely spirit. Their backs to the wind, the travellers dined on the lean carcasses of three rabbits Tobin had caught and roasted on a spit.

Val noted that since her heroic acts last night, Lord Kaur's daughter had lost much of her aura of helplessness. She sat straighter and no longer appeared detached from her surroundings. This eve, she sat close to the flickering fire. Its light played across her face as she occasionally glanced out into the darkness. Last night's memory was too raw to allow any of them to relax. Even though she was obviously hungry after a day's travel, Lady Cirinna picked delicately at her rabbit carcass, while Val and Tobin gnawed at theirs.

Wiping his greasy hands on his cloak and throwing the rabbit bones into the fire, Tobin turned his attention to the others. Val felt the captain's assessing stare bore into him but he refused to meet his gaze. Eventually, Tobin wearied of staring Val down and addressed him directly.

"If you're a Sentorân then I'm a harlet," Tobin sneered. "Let me ask you again – why does that fiend hunt you?"

Val did not reply. The remnants of the rabbit turned to ash in his mouth and he tossed the carcass into the fire.

"Captain, what was it that attacked us last night?" Lady Cirinna interrupted, drawing the captain's focus away from Val.

Tobin shrugged, his heavy brow creased in thought.

"No idea," he admitted before turning his attention back to Val, "I'm still waiting Falkyn."

"I thought you weren't interested in knowing anything about me?"

Val could not help remind Tobin of his words back in the Red Tussock. The captain leaned towards him threateningly.

"Answer me!"

"There's nothing to tell. I have lived a quiet, solitary life. I grew up the eldest son of the Marshal of Barrowthorne in Central Omagen. My two younger brothers and I had a privileged childhood, but none of us possess powers beyond the ordinary."

"What about your parents?" Lady Cirinna asked.

Val frowned. He usually avoided thinking about Hath and Belythna Falkyn and had a strange reluctance to do so now.

"I don't see why you need to know about my parents."

"Answer the question," Tobin growled, "before I make you."

A hot tide of anger suddenly washed over Val. When he replied, Val addressed Lady Cirinna rather than Tobin.

"My mother disappeared when I was very young so I know little of her. My father never remarried. After my mother's disappearance, I saw little of him. He had no time for his sons and was always away hunting, whoring or ensuring his land was secure and taxes collected. He is one of the realmlord's favourite marshals. He has devoted his life to keeping his corner of the world under tight control. As soon as my brothers and I were old enough we left. I know not of the others, but I have never been back since. I don't even know if my father still lives."

"Your mother disappeared?" Lady Cirinna pressed. "No trace of her was ever found?"

"My father never spoke of it. All I know is she wandered off into the wilderness one eve, while my father was away on a hunting trip, and disappeared."

"You must know something of her history?" Tobin insisted.

Val shook his head. "Nothing – and I think your line of questioning has reached its end. You won't find the answers with my family."

Tobin glowered at Val and would have pushed further if Lady Cirinna had not intervened.

"Well, since we're no closer to discovering the truth, I suggest we rest. The mountains do not welcome our presence here. It's better if we quieten our voices."

Tobin's face darkened and his mouth pursed. He did not take kindly to being told what to do, especially by a woman. Nonetheless, he heeded her words and held his tongue. Lady Cirinna had alerted them to the lonely cry of the wind. Val had never heard wind make such a sound. There were times when he thought he heard voices and screams through the howling. He wished they could have found shelter in a cave, or at least against some boulders. They were too exposed here on the face of the mountain. Out there in the darkness, hopefully still licking his wounds, lurked Val's hunter.

"The Malwagen inhabit these mountains," he told the others. "Are we going to be safe out here?"

Tobin frowned, as if Val was openly criticising his decision to make camp on the exposed mountainside.

"There's supposed to be a small colony somewhere in the High Dragon Spines but they haven't been seen for years," the captain replied.

"Malwagen?" Lady Cirinna's brow furrowed. "I thought they were just a myth."

"No, I'm afraid not," Val answered, remembering the book about magic he had picked up the day before his departure – he had gleaned a few interesting facts from it. "Although they have little to do with the world of men, there are numerous historical records about the Malwagen over the centuries. The main colony is in the Rock and Pillar Range – the seat of the Malwagen King. Besides these mountains, there is also supposed to be another good-sized settlement in the Starwalden Alps."

Lady Cirinna glanced across at Tobin, her frown deepening.

"Captain?"

"My Lady," Tobin's mouth twisted. "There are few safe places on the Spine Road. It's better to sleep out here, where we can see our enemies approaching, than to hide away in some cave like cowards."

Tobin's cold gaze raked over Val then.

"Such places could end up being an entrance to a Malwagen tunnel, or worse."

Tobin let his words hang in the air, signalling that the evening's conversation had concluded. Lady Cirinna turned her back on both her companions and curled into a ball under her cloak, while Val wrapped himself in his own cloak and lay on his side next to the fire. Tobin took the first watch.

The wind whipped around Val in invisible tongues of ice, snipping and tugging at his clothes and hair. The ground was hard and stony. Jagged rocks dug into his flesh and Val wondered if he would ever be able to sleep in such a place.

It would be a long, cold night.

Val awoke in the gray light of dawn to find mist wreathing around their campsite. The fire had long since died, as had the wind. The silence was unnerving.

Tobin was huddled, snoring, under his cloak while Lady Cirinna sat staring blearily into the shadows. She had taken the last watch, after Val's shift. He had not wanted to wake her from a deep sleep, but it had meant he was able to finally get some rest.

Val stood up and stretched his cold, stiff limbs. The three horses stamped their feet and tossed their heads, demanding to be freed from their hobbles. There was little feed for them up here. What grass there was had been burnt to stubble by wind and ice, and Tobin was rationing the oats. What the horses needed was hay to keep them warm but there was none to be found up in the High Dragon Spines. As such, the horses' sides were hollowed and their eyes glassy with hunger this morning. Stroking his roan's furry neck, Val felt a pang of guilt. He hoped the horses would not suffer too greatly before they reached the other-side of the Dragon Spines.

Once Tobin awoke, the companions packed up and continued on their way. The climb was steep and the Spine Road, if it could be called a road, was crumbling and rocky. The horses gingerly picked their way up, their ears flattened back and their heads low. Eventually, they came across patches of snow on the road. During the winter, the Spine Road was impassable; carpeted under a crust of snow for three months of the year. They had arrived just after the spring thaw but the weather in the mountains was unpredictable at best and most travellers never attempted to cross the High Dragon Spines until mid-summer. The road's highest point was the Spine Pass. Val wondered how much longer they would have to travel before reaching it.

This morning, dank mist shrouded the mountain. It prevented sunlight from warming the three weary travellers. It was impossible to know what time of day it was or how long they had been riding.

Val slumped in the saddle and tried to prevent his mind from wandering. There were so many things that he would have preferred not to think about. It might have been a bit dull at times, but Val had liked his life before this trip. Now, he had been catapulted into a nightmare of events that would have tested even the bravest of men. All he wanted was to be back in his library surrounded by his books, safe from the rest of the world.

Val was so immersed in his introspection that he lost all sense of where he was, or what the road ahead held. After a while he looked up from his brooding and felt a jolt of alarm.

He was alone.

Before this journey had deteriorated into a flight from mortal danger, Val would have delighted at being rid of his companions. However, here on a desolate road surrounded by mist, the realisation he was alone frightened him. He pulled his horse to an abrupt halt and stood up on his stirrups, peering into the fog.

"Tobin!" he shouted. "Lady Cirinna!"

His voice disappeared into the mist and did not carry as he had expected. He called his companions' names again, his voice now shrill. His cries were met with silence.

Val urged his horse on, causing the roan to give a grunt of protest at being hurried along the rough path. He shouted his companions' names a few more times but stopped when his voice caught with panic.

Was it his imagination, or was the mist swirling closer?

Was that whispering he could hear?

Val's skin prickled. He was struck by a strong intuition he was no longer alone.

Someone, or something, was watching him.

Val kicked the roan forward. The poor beast snorted, tossed its head, and doggedly obeyed. It broke into a stumbling canter. Under normal circumstances, Val would have felt cruel for sending the horse careening blindly forward, but now his only thought was to distance himself from this place and rejoin the others.

They had travelled only a few yards further along the road when the roan stumbled.

The horse fell to its knees, catapulting Val through the air.

Chapter Sixteen

Bruin's Guests

The sound of a key grating in the lock brought Seth out of a fitful doze. He groaned – his stomach was throbbing in hunger and his body ached from the cold and damp. Seth glanced over at his cell-mate. Nevis was awake. She sat with her back against the wall, staring at the occupants of the adjacent cell.

Behind a row of iron bars, which separated the two sets of prisoners, sat the two Esquill. Edessa and Lethian were also awake. Like Seth and Nevis, they both looked a bit worse for wear. They had pinched faces and their fine emerald gowns were dusty and torn.

Seth had lost all count of the long hours – it felt like days – they had been locked up here. The past and the future had both faded to oblivion. It was a claustrophobic cell with a ceiling so low that they all had to bend double when standing. Seth had never liked enclosed spaces. At first, he had felt as if the ceiling was closing in on him. He could only bend double and wait for the panic to pass. As the hours slid by, the sensation had subsided, to be replaced by the gnawing fear that the Malwagen had left them here to die. Water dripped in through a small tap in the wall, collecting on a clay saucer but no food had been brought to them. The privy was nothing more than a deep narrow fissure in the far corner of the cell; although with no food they rarely used it.

The four of them had long since stopped speaking; although there had been plenty of heated words when the Esquill discovered Seth and Nevis in the next cell. Seth's ears still stung from Edessa's accusations.

Fools! Why did you go into that valley? You've brought doom upon us all.

It appeared that the Esquill had tracked Seth and Nevis through the Rock and Pillars and followed them into the valley. They never had a chance to catch up with their quarry, for shortly after entering the valley, the Malwagen attacked them. The Esquill had attempted to fight their way free, only to find their sorcerer fire failed them in their need. The Valley of the Tors – for that was the place they had stumbled into – had stripped them of their powers.

After the Malwagen had surrounded Seth and Nevis, the sprites begun to pinch and prod them. Seth's skin still crawled at the memory of their cold, clawing fingers. Nevis had attempted to cast a protection spell but, like the Esquill, she discovered that she had lost her powers. The sprites had moved so quickly that Seth had not been able to defend himself. For the second time in as many days, someone clubbed him on the back of the head. He had woken a long time later, with a pounding headache, in this suffocating cave.

At the sound of the key in the door, Seth struggled to sit up. His head spun with the effort and he breathed in deeply to steady himself. He watched the door swing inwards and raised his hands to protect his eyes when torchlight flooded into the cell.

A slender figure with leathery, membraned wings stood in the doorway with a halo of light behind him. As Seth's eyes adjusted, he was able to witness properly for the first time, a member of the mythical Malwagen.

Tall and lithe with long, finely muscled limbs, this individual made humans appear cumbersome and heavy in comparison. He was a young male with aquiline features, a haughty expression, and flowing hair the colour of moonlight. He was dressed in form-fitting leather trousers and a waistcoat. Supple boots covered his feet and muscular calves.

"The king will see you now."

For all his beauty, this creature's voice was chilling. He spoke their tongue with a low, sing-song, lilt.

Obedient, for hunger and cold had rendered them docile, Seth and Nevis staggered out into a low corridor. Nevis appeared unsteady on her feet, and Seth put his hand out to stop her from collapsing against the wall.

"Are you well?" he whispered.

She nodded and gave him a weak smile. "Just hungry."

The Malwagen then opened the door to the Esquill's cell. Moments later, Edessa and Lethian emerged.

They were indeed inside an underground prison for the corridor, like the cell, was carved out of the rock. Stalactites hung down from the ceiling and Seth had to bend low to avoid smacking his head on one. The corridor sloped sharply upwards and the air grew gradually fresher as they ascended. At the top was a steep set of steps that led to the surface.

Seth stepped out into a lofty hallway and straightened up to his full height for the first time in days. A high, vaulted ceiling rose above him and rows of white marble colonnades stretched to his right and left.

The surroundings were so beautiful that Seth could only stand and gape. It made the confines of Larnoth castle, or indeed Osforth Tower, appear depressing tombs. Sunlight filtered in from high windows and pooled like molten gold on polished marble tiles. The air was warm and soft with the faint perfume of honey-suckle.

"Incredible." Nevis whispered, mesmerised.

"Follow me."

The Malwagen set off down the hallway and his four captives mutely obeyed. Seth and Nevis trailed behind the Esquill, gazing around as they walked. Outside, beyond the high windows, Seth caught glimpses of blue sky.

"How long have we been here?" he whispered to Nevis.

"I know not," she murmured. "Time seems to have lost any meaning here. The seasons of the world do not appear to touch it."

In fact, Seth had noted that they had neither suffered from heat nor cold inside their cave cell – and the temperature inside the hallway was pleasant; far warmer than the crisp spring weather outside.

The Malwagen led them down a colonnaded hall and up a set of marble steps. Here, he knocked on heavy oak doors and waited. Moments later, the doors drew apart and the Malwagen led the way into a vast banquet hall.

Feasting Malwagen filled the room.

The noise was deafening. There were at least a hundred of them sitting elbow-to-elbow at long banquet tables. Young, old, male and female – all of them dined together. They ate with voracious, animal hunger and gulped wine from pewter goblets as if it were water. Platters of roast pigeon and rabbit, steaming tureens of stew and plates of breads studded with seeds and nuts covered every table. The Malwagen skewered their food with sharp daggers, as if they were hunting it.

Seth's mouth filled with saliva at the sight of such a feast. Still, the crowd made him nervous.

A cruelly handsome man, who had been sitting at the end of one of the tables, came forward to greet them. Like the Malwagen who had brought them here, this one was dressed in form-fitting leather leggings and a waistcoat. Although his attire was simple, Seth could see his clothes were made out of costly silks and leathers. He had thick, white-blond hair which trailed over muscular shoulders; his gaze was cold and assessing as it swept over the four prisoners. A simple silver crown sat upon the Malwagen's head.

Was this the mythical Malwagen King?

Although the Malwagen had not yet spoken a word, Seth could feel this individual's power. His gaze seared Seth, taking him in from head to toe, before moving on to Nevis, and then Lethian. His gaze finally rested on Edessa, and there it stayed.

The female Esquill stiffened under his penetrating gaze but she did not flinch away. Seth could feel the rage emanating from her. Lethian gave Edessa a warning glance, cautioning her against losing her temper.

He need not have worried; it appeared that Edessa knew when she was beaten. Despite the hostility that rippled from her, she did not react. Eventually the Malwagen smiled and cocked his head to one side, as if considering something.

"Welcome to the Hall of the Malwagen," he finally spoke. Like the Malwagen who had brought them here, he spoke their language with a gentle, lilting accent – rolling out the words like music. The Malwagen's tone was affable but the effect was like cloaking a steel blade in silk. "Please – sit down and eat. You are welcome to dine at our table."

After days without a crumb of food, Seth, Nevis, Edessa and Lethian did not hesitate. They took their seats at the table and fell upon the feast.

The Malwagen who had accompanied them from their cell, squeezed himself in opposite Seth and watched him silently. The sprite picked at a rabbit leg and took a bite. Ignoring his gimlet gaze, Seth stuffed a wedge of bread into his mouth. He then took a huge bite of pigeon breast, before helping himself to a gigantic bowl of stew which he mopped up with chunks of bread.

As he ate, Seth was aware of the other Malwagen around the table watching them with amusement. The women were even more striking than the men, although they had a feline, wildness that cautioned Seth from making eye-contact with any of them.

The crowned Malwagen returned to the head of the table with a lazy, loose-limbed stride. He poured himself a goblet of plum wine and took a long draught. When he lowered the goblet, his lips were stained purple. His gaze moved along the table, coming to rest once more on Edessa. The Esquill ignored his stare as she ate. She ripped a roast rabbit to pieces and stuffed the meat into her mouth.

The Malwagen circled the table, goblet in hand. Despite that his large, leathery wings were tucked up behind him, Seth could still feel the draft they created when he passed behind him. The hair on the back of Seth's neck stood up in warning. Seth helped himself to more roast potatoes and tried to ignore the sensation. Beside him, Nevis had started her third bowl of stew.

Finally, when the platters of food were empty, and his four guests had eaten their fill, their host poured himself another goblet of wine and held it up in a toast.

"I am Bruin, King of this domain. This is my cousin Thur," the king motioned to the Malwagen seated opposite Seth, "I hope the feast is to your liking."

His guests remained silent and waited for Bruin to continue.

"These days, few venture into the Valley of the Tors," Bruin mused, "the tors let you travel far into my kingdom before they alerted me of your presence. The way is blocked, as it has been for two-thousand years. Mortals are forbidden here and yet the four of you enter my domain as if it were your right."

The king drained the rest of his goblet and thumped it down on the table. He took a seat and leant back in his chair, surveying his prisoners under hooded lids.

"The penalty for such an offence is, of course, death," he announced.

"We only ventured into your domain because we were trying to recapture our prisoner – this man," Lethian spoke up for the first time, and pointed to Seth. Ignoring Bruin's threat, the Esquill regarded Bruin imperiously before continuing. "I am Lethian Fairwye and this is Edessa Delfen. We are members of the Esquill and we are upon an errand of great importance."

"I know who you are," Bruin replied.

"Then let us go," Edessa cut in, her eyes flashing. I demand that you release us and our prisoner. Keep the witch and do with her what you will but free us."

"You and your friend are not in the position to make demands," Bruin's gaze narrowed but his voice remained genial.

Bruin's words hung in the air, while the trilling tones of Malwagen conversation at other tables ebbed and flowed around the prisoners.

"I was thinking about hanging the four of you up by your ankles over a ravine. You'd make excellent harlet fodder."

Bruin's gaze fastened on Edessa when he finished his sentence, and Seth saw the king's face soften.

"However, upon meeting you Edessa Delfen, I've changed my mind. You might have a sharp tongue, but you are a lovely creature. Better still, you are a sorceress – one of the Esquill, no less – and as such you could bring me an even greater standing in the eyes of my people. If you agree to stay here as my queen, the others can go free."

Lethian's breath hissed out between clenched teeth, Edessa blanched, and Seth felt a surge of hope that he and Nevis might get out of this alive. He risked a glance in Nevis's direction and saw that the scene unfolding before them had transfixed her.

"I will never give myself to you," Edessa replied, her voice as hard as tempered steel.

Seth's fragile hopes dissolved. Beside him, Nevis sighed.

Bruin cocked his head to one side and raised an arched eye-brow. "Never is a long time, my beauty," he replied softly.

Edessa stood up abruptly, pushing her chair back so it clattered to the marble floor. Lethian put out a hand to restrain her but Edessa shoved it aside.

"I'd rather have that foul bird feast on me than become your queen!" she snarled.

Bruin laughed. "Of course you would," the Malwagen king appeared to be enjoying himself. "Shall I offer you a choice then?"

When Edessa did not reply, Bruin continued as if she had given her assent.

"Either you stay here, become my queen and these three individuals go free, or your two male companions must challenge Thur to a game. If Thur wins, your companions die and you stay with me. If your blond friend wins, you and he can go free – and the other two lose their lives.

Bruin paused here, smiling. He then motioned to Seth.

"But – and here's the spice – if your prisoner wins, only he and the woman go free. Your friend dies and you become mine."

A hush descended upon the banquet hall then. All eyes rested on Edessa and the decision Bruin had given her. The king watched Edessa under hooded lids.

"Which will it be?"

Chapter Seventeen

The Hunting Party

Eni shivered and hunched down in the saddle. Not for the first time, he wished he had a cloak. Valense's soldiers had taken it from him before the hanging and it was especially fresh in Fallenstar Pass. Little direct sunlight reached here and the wind whistled down the canyon at a ferocious speed. Winter's chill still lingered in the air, despite the wildflowers and clumps of golden daffodils at the entrance to the pass.

Irwyn hated the wind. He carried his head low, his large ears pinned back and his gait deliberately slow. Eni felt sorry for the donkey – but not enough to get off and lead him. He was still weak and even walking short distances exhausted him. Yet, he insisted that Avalon take her turn riding Irwyn.

The road through the pass led steeply upwards for most of the morning, until the air had the dank smell of ice. They were so high now that, beyond the steep walls, snow carpeted the mountainside. Half-way up, they came across a small fresh-water spring. A clear stream of water sprouted from the rock face before running down a crevice, where it would eventually reach an underground river. Eni and Avalon filled their water bladders, drank their fill and watered Irwyn. The chill water was a balm on Eni's parched throat. As he drank, he felt energy seep back into his wearied limbs.

They passed no other travellers that day. It was a long, boring road – not that Eni minded. After the trauma of the past few days, he welcomed the monotony of Fallenstar Pass. Still, he had to stop himself from constantly glancing over his shoulder. Surely, Valense's men would have given up by now?

That night, they made camp in the heart of the pass.

"I'm lighting a fire," Avalon announced, unstrapping a bundle of firewood from behind Irwyn's saddle, "and don't tell me I can't. We'll freeze to death up here without one."

Eni gave his travelling companion a jaundiced look in reply, but said nothing. He hoped that the soldiers had, indeed, abandoned the chase.

They chose the most sheltered area they could find to make camp, beside a cluster of boulders that shielded them from the wind. Behind them rose a high wall of stone. While Eni lit a small campfire, Avalon busied herself with making a simple stew. She cut up some wild garlic, shrivelled carrots, parsnips, potatoes and chunks of salted pork and threw them into a small pot she had dug out of her pack. When the vegetables were browned, she added some of their precious water and a few sprigs of thyme.

Eni's mouth watered as he watched the stew bubble over the fire.

"You're a good cook," he noted upon taking his first spoonful of stew.

"I didn't used to be," Avalon admitted, "but my father said that I'd never find a man if I didn't learn."

Eni grunted and took another mouthful of stew. "Wise man your father."

The light had now faded completely and the first stars twinkled overhead. A waxing gibbous moon rose into the night sky. When they finished their supper, Avalon put away her cooking implements while Eni fed a branch to the fire and stirred the embers to life once more. The fire was crackling when Avalon rejoined Eni. She watched him across the flames, before she poked the embers with a stick and sent sparks billowing up into the darkness.

"Who are you running from?" she asked eventually, "and don't tell me you aren't running. I know a hunted man when I see one."

Eni frowned. He had sensed this question coming but was reluctant to answer Avalon honestly. Valense had put a price on his head and money had a way of swaying people. Still, refusing to answer her was not going to build trust between them. After losing Darin, Eni was in need of a friend. Eni sighed and raked a hand through his hair before answering her.

"I'm running from the Realmlord of Cathernis. He accused me of murdering his son, Flynn."

Avalon gaped at him.

"By the gods, no!" Her face hardened then. "You didn't kill him did you?"

Already regretting his decision to confide in Avalon, Eni raised his hands defensively.

"Of course I didn't. Before you jump to conclusions let me tell you what happened."

Avalon listened, her young face tense and angry, as Eni began his story. He told her about seeing Flynn Valense stabbed, of his arrest, and of how his former lover had turned on him. He told her about the botched hanging; and of Darin and their flight across the plains of Cathernis. He finally recounted how they had escaped Swamphaven and of losing Darin in the marshes.

The only thing he left out was Darin's warning from Seth – that did not make sense, even to Eni.

When he finished his tale, Avalon sat back and regarded him solemnly.

"You're a lucky man Eni Falkyn – to survive a hanging and escape the realmlord's men by the skin of your teeth. The gods must have plans for you."

Eni snorted at that. "By making me a hunted man? How benevolent of them!"

The fire crackled and moths danced around the flames.

"So you're a weaponsmith," Avalon turned the conversation to a subject that Eni was far more comfortable with. "Do you belong to the guild?"

"I did, before my arrest."

"I've heard that those of the guild can weave charms into weapons? Is it true? Can you bond a weapon to its owner?"

"I can," Eni gave a rare smile. Her curiosity about his craft was welcome. "In fact, I can weave a variety charms."

"Really?"

"I can show you, if you like? Do you wear any jewellery?"

Avalon shook her head, her face falling.

"Here," Eni reached under his cloak and removed the amulet that he wore around his neck. He handed it across to her. "We can use this – you can have it."

Avalon took the amulet, her eyes widening as she studied the black stone.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. "There are runes on the back – what do they mean?"

"No idea," Eni shrugged, "I've worn it since childhood. My mother gave it to me."

"Then you shouldn't give it away," Avalon held it back to him. "I can't take something so precious."

"Go on," Eni waved her away. "Take it as thanks for helping me. I've worn it long enough. It's time it had a new owner. My mother disappeared when I was little; she abandoned us all without a backwards glance so I don't see why I should be sentimental about a pendant she gave me. Frankly, I don't know why I've worn it this long. Now, for my charm – are you ready?"

Avalon nodded, reluctantly taking the amulet back.

"Grasp the stone in your hand, close your eyes and think of a good memory; one that you never wish to forget."

Avalon gave him a questioning look but obeyed.

"I've done it," she announced after a few moments. "What now?"

"Keep your eyes closed, hold the memory in your mind – and don't talk," Eni instructed.

Leaning forward, Eni clasped his hands gently over Avalon's. Then, after a few moments he peeled her fingers back and traced his fingertips back across over the stone's matt surface. Quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, Eni began to sing. The words were not of the common tongue – but of a lilting, ancient language that Talin had taught him as an apprentice; and although Eni did not understand the literal meaning of many of the words, he could feel their power as they rolled off his tongue. As always, when Eni wove a charm, he felt the fine hair on the back of his arms prickle from its energy.

Eni sang the charm a couple of times, to ensure that the words melded deep inside the stone, before he drew back.

"It's done."

Avalon opened her eyes.

"That song," she said dreamily. "I didn't know charms sounded so beautiful..."

"Put it on," Eni instructed, "and clear your mind of any thought. Then, place your hand over the amulet and tell me what you see."

Avalon did as he bid. Her eyes grew huge when she clasped her hand over the stone.

"Gods!" she exclaimed.

"What did you see?"

Avalon's eyes shone with tears.

"I see my father. He's taking me to market on a mid-summer's morning. The sun is warm on my face and I'm holding my father's hand. It's as if I'm back there, living it again. My father picks me up and perches me on his shoulders. He walks through the market and his friends call out to him. I'm very young – at that age when life is good and fair. Death and sadness didn't exist and my father was my world."

"Such melancholy words for someone so young," Eni observed.

"Maybe, but the world can never be as it was then," Avalon shook her head. "My mother died birthing me and I was brought up by my father. He was a tracker and trapper in Rathmir Gorge. I had to be as tough as he was. Papa taught me how to throw knives, and he showed me how to be quick. He was a small, slight man and the best hunter in the Gorge. He always said that speed was deadlier than strength and I listened to him well. He died two years ago; he might have been quick but he could not outrun the fever which killed him."

Avalon placed her hand over the amulet once more. Her eyes widened as the memory returned.

"It's as if he's still with me," she whispered.

"That's because I wove a memory charm. Every time you hold the amulet, the memory shall return," Eni assured her.

"Thank you Eni," Avalon tucked the necklace away, under her shirt. "I will treasure it."

Eni went quiet. Her thanks embarrassed him, although he was secretly pleased at how well the charm had worked. Valense may have taken away his livelihood, but he had not stripped Eni of everything.

It was getting late, and it was so cold that their breaths steamed. Eni was exhausted; his entire body ached. Yet, he would have to stay awake for a while longer.

"You go to sleep Avalon. I'll take the first watch."

"Are you sure?" Avalon frowned. "You should rest first."

"Nonsense. I'll wake you in a bit, now go on."

Avalon did not need a lot of convincing. Eni could see the girl was tired. She wrapped herself in her cloak and lay down on the other side of the fire.

"Goodnight, Eni."

Eni hunched close to the flickering fire and watched the flames dance. Occasionally, he poked the embers with a stick and watched the sparks shoot skywards. Alone, with only the stars and moon for company, Eni found himself thinking about Lydia. He wondered what had become of her.

Was it worth it Lydia? I never lifted a hand to you, I was never cruel to you.

Bitterness gnawed at Eni. He had the nagging feeling there was more to the tragedy than appeared.

The night drew out and sleep beckoned. Only the cold, and the nervousness that had plagued him ever since Catedrâl, kept him awake. Eventually, as fatigue dragged at his eyelids, Eni decided he would have to wake Avalon. He desperately needed to get some rest.

Eni was about to gently shake her awake when a noise echoed up the pass.

Whispering voices and the soft scuffing of footfalls – they were coming from the east; the direction Avalon and Eni had travelled from.

Eni leapt to his feet and kicked dirt over the fire.

"Moden!" Avalon groggily sat up. "What's the matter?"

"We're not alone. Quickly!"

Eni untied Irwyn. The donkey snorted nervously and side-stepped. Eni could see the whites of his eyes in the moonlight.

The voices suddenly died. Whoever approached had just realised that someone else was in Fallenstar Pass.

Eni hesitated only a moment before he slapped the beast on the rump and sent it careening down the pass. Age and infirmity forgotten, Irwyn bolted west, in the direction of Central Omagen.

Avalon rounded on Eni, her face contorted in anger. She was about to scold him for driving Irwyn off but Eni clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her behind one of the boulders. Shadowed by the mountain, the boulder almost appeared to be part of the wall of stone itself. Eni shoved Avalon inside first and wedged himself in next to her.

"Quiet, girl!" he hissed in her ear when she tried to punch him. "Don't move!"

Avalon stopped struggling. Eni held his breath and waited.

He could hear them – soft footfalls approaching the campsite, and voices. Eni could not make out their conversation, but the voices did not sound like men's. The cadence was different, somehow musical. Eni peered around the edge of the boulder.

The watery light of the moon lit the pass, but their shadowy outlines were unmistakable: tall, slender men with long flowing hair and wings.

Eni's heart started hammering.

Malwagen.

If Eni had not been afraid for his life, the sight of the mythical sprites would have awed him. Sightings of the Malwagen were virtually unheard of.

They moved like liquid. There appeared to be six of them. Their agile forms stalked, catlike, around the campsite and their voices rose in excitement. One of them crouched beside the smoking campfire and scrabbled through one of the saddle bags, discarding clothes and food on the ground as he did so. His companions appeared to be arguing. Some of them were pointing in the direction that Irwyn had fled, while others shook their heads.

Eni kept very still. He could almost smell their bloodlust.

Go after Irwyn, he silently pleaded.

A moment later, the Malwagen did just that. Three of them on foot, lean and fleet, while the remaining three took flight; lifting like giant bats into the night. The sprites took off west after Irwyn. In the high-sided valley, the donkey's receding hoof beats still pounded an echoing tattoo.

As soon as the Malwagen had disappeared, Eni squeezed out of his hiding place and pulled Avalon after him.

"Quickly Avalon," he whispered. "We've just narrowly escaped a Malwagen hunting party. They think we've ridden off. They've followed Irwyn up the pass, but it won't take them long to realise their mistake."

Avalon's eyes widened till they were two dark pools on her pale face. "Are you sure?"

"No man I've ever seen has wings, and they definitely weren't speaking the common tongue."

"What are Malwagen doing in Fallenstar Pass at all?"

"Who knows? Come, we must find another hiding place. They'll be back soon!"

Eni took hold of Avalon's hand and led her up the pass, in the direction that Irwyn and the Malwagen had departed. At first, it appeared hopeless; there was little that would provide adequate cover. Fallenstar Pass was a barren place littered with boulders and rocks.

Eni was starting to feel despair rising within him – at this rate they would be standing out in the open when the sprites returned – when his keen gaze fastened upon a dark line on the valley wall up ahead.

"I think I've spotted a fissure in the rock. Look!"

They hurried their pace and stood at the bottom of the sheer valley wall. They stared up at what first appeared to be nothing more than a dark stain on the rock. Eni turned to Avalon.

"Let me boost you up."

She nodded. "Go on then."

Even weakened, Eni had considerable strength in his shoulders and arms. Avalon, although not thin, was small enough to lift easily up to the fissure. She gripped on with her fingers. With an extra push from Eni, she managed to pull herself up.

"I'm holding on to a ledge," she called down to him. "Grab my other hand!"

Eni did as she bid and heaved himself up so that his fingers grasped the edge of the fissure. Avalon shuffled back inside, giving him room to pull himself up.

Eni had just clambered inside, panting from the effort, when the sound of Malwagen calls echoed down the pass. The sound was beautiful, akin to singing, and amplified by the valley walls.

They were coming back for them.

Eni's skin crawled at the haunting sound. They were hunting, calling to each other as they stalked their prey.

"Can you move further in?" he asked Avalon. "They'll catch us here."

The fissure was narrow, only barely wide enough for them to squeeze through sideways. Heedless of the risk that they may get stuck, Eni and Avalon struggled inside. Behind him, Eni felt a draft on the back of his neck. He glanced back and caught a glimpse of a winged outline, landing on the edge of the fissure.

It was pitch black inside the mountain. Only the fact that the Malwagen's form stood out against the moonlit mountain wall behind, allowed Eni to see him.

The sprite quickly sensed their presence.

He opened his mouth wide, threw his head back and made a trilling call to his companions. The sound echoed deep inside the mountain. A moment later, Eni heard the whispering of the Malwagen folding its wings in tightly.

Then, it slid along the rock towards them.

"They're coming after us. Keep moving."

"I can't see a thing," Avalon whispered back, "I don't know where this leads."

"Away from them."

The weight of the mountain pressed down upon them. The darkness was suffocating. Avalon shuffled resolutely on, groping her way blindly through the dark. Behind him, Eni could hear the Malwagen sliding along the rock and the soft hiss of its breathing.

Gradually, the fissure started to widen. Eni quickened his pace. The Malwagen was close now, so near he could feel its breathing tickling his skin. Eni fought to quell the panic rising within him.

Fingers snagged at his clothing.

Eni wriggled free and launched himself forward, colliding with Avalon.

Unfortunately, the girl had chosen that moment to stop.

"Eni wait!" she hissed, grappling with him. "There's a ledge here, I can't..."

Avalon never finished her sentence.

Together, they toppled forward in the darkness – into nothing.

Chapter Eighteen

The Wraith of the High Dragon Spines

Face-down on the Spine Road, Val stirred and gave a low groan. His head felt as if his horse had run over the top of it. Raising his face off the ground, Val gingerly brought his hands up and felt his skull. He was relieved to discover that, although he had a splitting headache and a lump on his forehead the size of duck-egg, his injuries finished there.

There was no sign of his horse, or Tobin and Lady Cirinna. He was alone, surrounded by impenetrable mist. Shivering, Val slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. Despite being dressed warmly he was chilled through. He climbed stiffly to his feet, his teeth chattering.

There was nothing to do but keep moving.

Val wrapped his cloak tightly around his lean frame and hunched his shoulders against the cold. Walking would take his mind off the fact he was alone on a lonely mountainside. He began to hobble, only to discover his left ankle had been badly twisted in the fall. It was not broken, but the sprain was painful enough to make his eyes smart.

Val peered into the mist, so white and thick it resembled milk foam, and wondered what had become of the roan. He hoped the horse had reached the others and not galloped from the road, only to fall off the side of the mountain. He had become fond of that horse; he missed the beast's warmth against his legs and the sight of its furry ears pointing the way ahead.

The road gently stretched uphill for a distance before rising steeply. The way was difficult, especially with a sprained ankle. Loose stones covered the road, and Val slid and stumbled his way uphill. A few days of riding had improved Val's fitness, although his leg muscles still protested at the steep climb.

Val had not travelled far before he heard the voices.

They were the same as those he had heard shortly before his fall. It was not the whisper of his footpad, nor the timbre of human voices, but reed-thin whispers; lonely and sad, accusing and angry, soft and longing. The voices closed in around him until they reached a chattering crescendo in Val's ears.

Val halted and looked around frantically. They were surrounding him but he could see nothing.

"Show yourselves!" he shouted. "If you've come for me, show me your faces!"

As if on command, hands appeared, reaching out towards him through the mist. They were white and wraithlike, part of the fog itself; slender with long-tapering fingers. The hands plucked at his cloak and pulled at his hair. Panicked, Val swiped at them.

Before him, blocking his path on the Spine Road, the figure of a woman emerged from the mist. Like the wraith hands, she was milk-white and almost translucent. Tall, slender and dressed in a long gown, the woman had flowing white hair that trailed over her shoulders like molten silver. Her face was exquisitely beautiful but haunting in its sadness. Val, forgetting his fear for a moment, was transfixed by her loveliness.

"Val Falkyn," the woman raised her arms. "I welcome you to my domain. Long have I waited."

Val gaped at her, uncomprehending.

"How do you know my name?"

The woman smiled while her eyes remained sad. "I know far more about you than that. I know that you were born during a cold spring, thirty-five years past; the eldest son to Hath and Belythna Falkyn. Your mother was one of my kind, or what I was once – a Sentorân. In the end, she and I were the only ones left."

Silence stretched between them before Val regathered his wits.

"My mother was a Sentorân?"

Val felt an odd sense of pride at this news – although it confirmed he was in mortal danger, he felt somehow special.

The woman nodded, the enigmatic smile still playing across her lips.

"What are you – a ghost?"

"Yes... of a kind. I am Floriana DeSanith, and my body and spirit parted ways over thirty years ago. Yet, I am not a wraith as you would understand it. My body lives on, taken by the Keepers of Moden and embalmed in the underworld, while my spirit was imprisoned here in the mountains where I fought her."

"Who did you fight?" Val asked. He was caught up in the woman's tale, fear forgotten.

"The same witch who is responsible for your mother's banishment," the wraith replied, and her sad eyes suddenly hardened. "Riadamor, Queen of the Esquill."

Val was shocked – that name was legend.

"My mother actually fought Riadamor?"

"We both did. After the Battle of Deep-Spire, the few surviving Sentorân fled. Not satisfied with killing our leader and gaining control of Deep-Spire, Riadamor and her Esquill began tracking us down, one by one. It took Riadamor a while, but she eventually caught up with me on this road. We fought but she bested me with a dark spell. I would never have thought any sorcerer alive possessed such power, but Riadamor had grown very strong. Although she could not open a portal to Moden, for only one object can do that, Riadamor had devised a spell that could split body and soul. She sent my body to Moden and left my soul powerless in this world.

After me, Riadamor went after your mother. Belythna had hidden herself well and shunned the life of a Sentorân in favour of a husband and family – but Riadamor eventually found her. Your mother now resides, body and soul, in the underworld. The gods only know what torment she has suffered there."

Val felt grief wash over him at this news. Of his brothers, Val had the most vivid memories of Belythna Falkyn. He could still remember her strong, beautiful face, luminous dark eyes and low, gentle voice. After her disappearance, Val had sat at the window of Barrowthorne Tower and watched for her return. Even months later, he had still hoped to see her reappear in the courtyard below – but she never did.

"I know my tale has shocked you," Floriana observed gently. "I'm sorry there is no solace I can give you."

Val stared at her. He hated the thought of his mother incarcerated in the underworld prison while her family knew nothing of it.

"It sounds like you knew my mother well," he eventually managed. "What was she like?"

"She was proud, strong willed and kind," Floriana DeSanith replied with a gentle smile, "and it must have torn her heart out to leave you all. I know she loved Hath very much."

Val thought of his father then. He had never known Hath Falkyn to be anything but reckless, hard and bitter. Like Seth and Eni, Hath had been convinced that his wife had abandoned him. Would the truth have made his grief any easier to bear?

"Can we save her? Is there anything I can do?" Val pressed.

"Not as yet. Untrained as you are, you would not last long in Moden. For now, there are matters of this world that claim your attention."

The silver wraith stepped close to Val and he felt the whispery chill of her form. She was indeed a ghost but there was something more substantial to her.

The intensity of Floriana DeSanith's stare and the determination in her face made Val draw back slightly.

"You and your brothers are Sentorân," she said firmly. "I know an assassin tracks you. Someone, most likely Riadamor herself, wants you and your brothers dead."

Val felt a chill pass through him. "They're after my brothers as well?"

Floriana nodded. "Let us hope they have been as skilled in eluding death as you."

Val's mouth twisted at these words. "It's not skill that has saved me so far."

Floriana smiled. "You carry such bitterness at the world," she observed.

"What of it?" Val snapped. "The world has made me what I am."

"Your sensitivity does you credit," Floriana countered, her voice gentle, "but you take every slight as a personal attack, every set-back as a sign of failure. It's not the world that has made you this way; it's your own self."

Val bristled. He did not like listening to such a frank appraisal of his character, even if there was an unmistakable vein of truth in her words.

"How can you be so certain in your opinion of me? We've only just met."

Again the sad smile."I told you Val, I have been watching you for years. Riadamor did not strip me of all my power. I cannot leave these mountains and cannot use my talent – but I can still use my mind to travel to every corner of Palâdnith, if I so wish. I cannot sleep, and I do not feel cold or hunger. I have been in limbo for over thirty years Val – waiting for you."

Floriana DeSanith led Val to her home. Limping badly, Val followed her up the mountainside through the mist, while around them, the voices whispered and sighed.

"You aren't alone here," he observed. "Who are the others?"

"Many have perished on this road," Floriana replied, glancing back over her shoulder at Val. "The souls of the past surround you. They are my companions here, although they are a melancholy crowd."

The wraith's attempt at humour was not lost on Val. He smiled and realised it was the first time he had done so in many days.

She took him to a cave. High and narrow, it wound deep inside the mountain. Val squinted as he entered, and tried to make out his surroundings. Seeing him fumble, Floriana clicked her fingers and torches ignited on the walls, burning silver and blue.

Val looked about with wonder. Stalactites frosted the cavernous roof and the stone sparkled with quartz. Floriana led him to the end of the cave, which opened out into a wide, lofty space. It was sparsely furnished. A wraith, with no need for food or sleep, did not require many comforts. Still, it was a place of great tranquillity and beauty.

Floriana clicked her fingers again and a hearth in the centre of the cave roared to life with the same ethereal white and blue fire of the torches. Val gratefully approached the hearth and warmed his numb fingers. As warmth seeped back into his chilled limbs, he continued his observations. A ledge ran around the walls, lined with silver cushions, and a huge, glittering chandelier hung from the ceiling. Floriana noticed Val staring at the chandelier and smiled.

"I made it from ice many winters ago. A charm keeps it from melting."

Val shrugged off his cloak and dug into his pack. His stomach was a hard knot of hunger and he searched through his few possessions for a scrap of food. Finding a dry, cracked piece of cheese, Val took a seat upon a ledge and gnawed upon his supper.

Floriana watched him eat with undisguised envy.

"It's been so long since I ate. I cannot remember the taste of cheese," she sighed and took a seat further down the ledge, continuing to watch Val consume his meal.

Had he been less hungry, such scrutiny would have made Val uncomfortable. After everything that had transpired over the past few days, having a beautiful woman watch him eat did not throw him into the deep embarrassment it once would have.

After Val finished eating she handed him a goblet of cold water. Then, the wraith walked over to the fire and stared into its depths while Val drained his glass and brushed the crumbs of cheese off his clothes.

Floriana turned from the fire, her stare drilling into him.

"I will take you to your companions before tomorrow's dawn," she promised him, "but, first, we must talk. Val, I have a great favour to ask of you."

Chapter Nineteen

A Game of Melâth

Silence stretched out in the banquet hall and Edessa's face twisted. Seth could see her confusion, and beneath it – her fear.

"What is this game?" she eventually spoke. "Tell me of it and I will decide."

"The game of Melâth is as old as my people," Bruin replied. "You play upon a great, circular board and each player is given four markers. The game ends once one of the players' markers reaches the far side of the board."

"It sounds deceptively simple, and your cousin will have the advantage, for he knows the game and Lethian and Seth do not," Edessa replied.

Bruin shrugged. "I did not say the game was fair."

Quiet descended once more upon the hall, and when Edessa finally spoke her face was hard.

"What if I choose none of these?"

Bruin laughed at that and Thur smiled.

"But you must. What will it be?"

Watching Edessa, Seth held his breath and waited. The Esquill held his life in her hands.

"Very well. Let them play – but your word is your word Malwagen. If Lethian bests your cousin and Seth, then he and I go free."

Bruin nodded and held up his chalice for yet another toast. "I gave my word, and I shall keep it."

Bruin led them over to a table at the far side of the banquet hall, where two Malwagen sat playing at an enormous circular board. Seth had never seen a game board like it; half a foot thick and made of gleaming black stone. Concentric rings had been inscribed onto its shiny surface, with lines radiating out from its core so that the board resembled a spider-web. The board was edged by a band of alternating green and red squares.

"Lilith farne Melâth!" the Malwagen King commanded.

The players promptly cleared the board and vacated their seats.

A crowd gathered around the table as Thur, Lethian and Seth took their places. Nevis stood at Seth's shoulder and Edessa at Lethian's, while Bruin lounged on a chair at the end of the table. A few Malwagen females wearing silver sheath dresses that clung to their bodies like a second skin, brought clean goblets and jugs of wine to the table. One of the females refilled Bruin's goblet before taking her place at the table next to Thur. The rest of the Malwagen seated themselves around the table. They waited for the game to begin. Their gazes fastened hungrily on Lethian and Seth.

"Now, a little background," Bruin announced. "This game is a favourite of my warriors. It has made many a long night pass more swiftly. In all my outposts, we cannot be without at least one Melâth board."

Seth sat still, his heart pounding. He glanced across at Lethian, and found the Esquill's handsome face a cool, determined mask. Seth's stomach twisted and a pain stabbed him in the side. He would wager that Lethian was a formidable player of games such as these, whereas Seth had never had the patience for them. Among his brothers, Val had been the only one to show any aptitude.

The markers were simple, smooth-edged pieces of coloured glass. Thur handed Seth four blue markers and Lethian, four red. For himself, the Malwagen took four green markers and placed them on the squares closest to him; then, he motioned for Lethian and Seth to copy him. The men complied, pulling their chairs up close to the board.

Once Lethian and Seth had placed their markers, Bruin spoke again.

"Let me explain the game a little further. Thur has two six-sided dice. One of them has three shields and three skulls – the skulls tell you to advance, and the shields to retreat. The other die is numbered, one to six, representing the number of spaces you must move. You must move all your markers away from the edge, and cannot use the same one twice in a row."

"What if we throw a shield before we have moved away from the edge of the board?" Lethian asked, frowning. "We can't move backwards at that stage."

"In that case, you simply forfeit a turn. You must throw the dice to decide who begins. A skull and the highest number starts."

Thur threw the dice first, and received a skull and a three. Bruin's cousin had not spoken a word while the game had been set up. His silence unnerved Seth, who picked up the dice, his pulse beating in his throat, and threw them onto the table: a shield and a five. Lethian picked up the dice and threw them with a deft flick of the wrist: a skull and a five.

Seth's pulse began to race. He would be the last to throw; not an auspicious beginning.

"So we merely have to move our markers towards the otherside?" Lethian asked.

Bruin nodded.

"And what's the significance of the coloured edging. Should we aim our markers for the red squares, or the green ones?"

"Either," Bruin replied with a cryptic smile. "Red or green, you decide, but you must throw the exact number to finish the game."

Lethian frowned.

"Can we take other players' pieces as we go?"

"Yes."

"It is a fancy form of draughts then?" Seth added, noting that his palms were now wet with sweat. The king nodded once more, signalling that they had come to the end of his explanation.

"Let the game begin," Bruin declared.

Lethian threw the dice – receiving a skull and a four – and moved one of his markers forward. Thur followed, and threw a skull and a two. The Malwagen's face was impassive as he reached out, without appearing to pause for thought, and moved one of his markers forward. Then it was Seth's turn. He threw the dice. When he saw what he had thrown, he felt sick.

A shield and a five.

The Malwagen surrounding Seth hooted and jeered at him. Their heckling voices and leering faces strained Seth's frayed nerves close to breaking point.

"Courage Seth," Nevis whispered in his ear, before gently squeezing his shoulder. "Don't let them destroy your concentration."

"You forfeit this turn," Bruin informed him. Seth sat back in his chair and waited for Lethian to take his turn. On the edge of panic, Seth gripped the edge of the table and forced his breathing to slow and deepen.

And so the game of Melâth progressed.

Lethian's next throw gave him a skull and a six, while Seth threw another low score. By the time Lethian's four markers were half-way across the board, Seth had lost two of his, and he trailed pitifully behind Thur. The Malwagen had lost one of his markers to Lethian as well.

Seth could not bear to look at Lethian as they played, or to glance over at where Bruin silently watched. Throw after throw, the dice gave Seth nothing but ill fortune. Around him, wine flowed and taunting comments assaulted his ears and destroyed his train of thought. The watching Malwagen were enjoying the game immensely. The girl next to Thur rubbed herself up against the king's cousin and stroked his arm sensuously as he played.

After a while, numb terror descended upon Seth. He was losing spectacularly. Sweat poured down his face and neck. Eventually, he watched Lethian pick up a marker and move it onto the red band at the far edge of the board.

The crowd hissed and chattered.

The Esquill had won.

Behind him, Seth heard Nevis exhale sharply.

He had not just forfeited his own life, but hers as well.

Only then did Seth look at Lethian's face. The Esquill's face was flushed and his eyes bright; the only sign of his triumph. Seth glanced over at Edessa and immediately wished he had not.

She was grinning at him, triumphant. Edessa might have lost her prisoner, but she had also narrowly escaped a fate as Bruin's queen. She and Lethian would walk free.

Despair twisted its blade in Seth's gut.

"That's it then," Seth's throat felt as if was filled with gravel. "I lose."

Bruin's laughter, liquid and musical, filled the banquet hall. The other Malwagen, including Thur, also roared with laughter. The room wheeled around Seth. On the verge of fainting, he gripped the edge of the table to steady himself.

"Seth?" Nevis stepped forward and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder once more. Seth had still not looked at her. He had failed Nevis. He could not bear to see her disappointment.

"No," Bruin replied through his laughter. "You have won."

The relief and smiles on Lethian and Edessa's faces froze. Nevis gasped. Seth stared back at Bruin, his senses muddled with terror.

"I said the game ended when a player reaches the far side of the board," Bruin continued. "I did not say that player won."

Lethian stared at Bruin, his face sagging.

"Such is the beauty of Melâth," Bruin continued. "You must hope your progress across the board is a slow one – for he who reaches the other side first loses."

"Trickery!" Edessa turned on the king. "You did not explain the rules!"

"Your friend had the chance to ask questions, perhaps he should have been more persistent," Bruin replied, rising to his feet.

"The game is forfeit. I demand they play again – and fairly this time!" Edessa shouted.

Bruin shook his head.

"I'm afraid it's already too late for your friend Edessa. He has lost the game, and I cannot undo it."

Edessa stared at the Malwagen, not understanding.

"Your friend asked me about the coloured squares at the edge of the board – and I gave him a choice. Green is life and red is death. The board has saved me the trouble."

"Deceiver," Lethian croaked.

Bruin shrugged. "You didn't think those two, whose game we interrupted earlier, were playing for their lives did you? I'd have no warriors left if that were the case. When we play for fun, we head for the green. You, Lethian, decided upon red."

A terrible silence fell over the banquet hall, as all waited for the Malwagen King to continue.

"In our tongue Melâth means stone," Bruin inclined his head to one side and smiled, "and that is how he will die – watch!"

All gazes in the hall turned to Lethian Fairwye.

The sorcerer had turned a sickly shade, and sweat had beaded on his forehead. He stood up and staggered away from the table. His eyes were initially riveted upon Bruin but, moments later, the changes in his body made the Esquill tear his gaze away. He lifted a trembling hand and stared at it.

"What's happening to me?" his voice was high and thin. "My hand is burning!"

"You are turning to stone," the King of the Malwagen replied, "and it will hurt."

"Fiend!" Lethian snarled, not moving his gaze from his hand.

Bruin merely smiled.

Lethian's hand started to turn grey.

"Edessa!" his voice rose to a scream. "Help me!"

Edessa moved forward but was swiftly caught by two Malwagen. Despite that Edessa was a tall, strong woman, they held her easily.

Lethian's eyes grew huge as he watched his hand freeze and drain of colour. The stone seeped over his wrist and under the sleeve of his shirt.

"Keep still," Bruin suggested. His tone was detached, but his eyes were keen. "It will hurt less."

Seth, who had been watching Lethian from across the table, was aghast at the scene unfolding before him. He got to his feet and followed Nevis towards Lethian. He was unsure as to how they could help the sorcerer, but he could not stand there gaping while he died. Nevis was digging in a pouch that she wore strapped to the belt around her waist.

Nevis and Seth had nearly reached Lethian when Thur blocked their path. The Malwagen shoved them back against the wall.

"No nearer," he growled.

"I may be able to help him!" Nevis shouted. "Let me pass!"

Seth turned to Bruin. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can," Bruin replied. "In this domain I have the power over life and death, and now it pleases me that this man dies. What do you care? Just moments ago, he and Edessa were willing to sacrifice your lives for theirs."

"Please!" Lethian sobbed, gripping his petrified arm. "I beg you. Don't let this take me."

"Release him!" Edessa screamed at Bruin, her face wild.

Bruin ignored her; his attention now fully upon Lethian.

The Esquill was now frozen to the spot, his arms outstretched in supplication. Agony twisted his handsome face. The grey was now creeping up his neck towards his head. As it did so, Lethian gave one last shuddering scream.

Then the stone took him completely.

The transformation was complete. Lethian stood, a statue of cold, dead stone; his cry still echoing within the banquet hall.

Horrified by what he had just witnessed, Seth glanced at Nevis and saw tears trickling down her face. The Sister stared at the Malwagen King, her eyes burning. Edessa, still held fast by two Malwagen, was crying. Gone was the proud sorceress who would not be commanded by anyone; her body shook from the force of her grief.

Bruin turned to Seth and smiled.

"Seth Falkyn. I had to make sure you didn't lose the game. I couldn't kill the last of the Sentorân, now could I?"

Sentorân. The mention of the name made Seth's pulse race.

"What do you mean?" Seth's voice, brittle and shaken, echoed in the hall. He felt Edessa's gaze rest on him. The heat of her stare scorched his face. Of course, she knew – she had known the moment their eyes met in Larnoth Castle.

"What now Malwagen?" Edessa's voice shook, her gaze shifting to Bruin. "Shall we play another game of Melâth? Just you and me this time?"

Bruin threw back his head and laughed. "And risk losing you? No, the time for games is over."

The king stepped up close to Edessa. Reaching out, he stroked her mane of auburn hair. She snarled and shrank away from him but he ignored her reaction.

"You will be my queen. You will bear me flame-haired sons and remain at my side."

Edessa spat in his face. "I will slit your throat in your sleep! I will strangle any whelp I bear you!"

"Then I will have to keep a watchful eye on you," Bruin turned to Thur. "Take her back to my chambers while I escort our friends out of the valley."

Thur nodded and motioned for the two guards holding Edessa to follow him. They dragged her, struggling, across the hall, towing her past the audience of watching Malwagen towards the door.

"Curse upon you!" Edessa screamed. She flung her hands forward, instinctively trying to use pale fire, the weapon of the Esquill, but her magic was still useless here.

Enraged, Edessa's gaze seized upon Seth. What he saw there made him involuntarily shrink back against the wall.

"I curse you Seth Falkyn! When I'm finished here, I'll come for you. There will be no place you'll be able to hide!"

Edessa's threats and screams echoed away down the hallway. When they finally faded Bruin smiled.

"Such spirit. I will enjoy taming her."

Seth stared back at Bruin incredulously. He was shaken by Lethian's death, but not sorry Edessa would not be released with him.

"Lead the way," Bruin motioned towards the door, "and keep straight until I tell you otherwise."

Seth followed Nevis across the banquet hall. Ahead, Nevis passed the statue that had once been Lethian Fairwye and paused a moment. She looked upon the Esquill's face, twisted from his final moments of agony before the stone had claimed him. Nevis turned to Bruin, addressing the Malwagen for the first time since their capture. Her face was cold, her eyes hard.

"What will you do with him?"

"All those I turn to stone, I use to decorate my palace," Bruin replied. "You will see soon enough witch. Come!"

They left the banquet hall and walked down the colonnaded hallway. Finally, Bruin called out to Nevis.

"Turn left."

Seth followed Nevis around the corner and felt his pulse quicken. Ahead, was a narrower hallway than the one they had just travelled. Chandeliers of dripping candles illuminated a row of statues; all made of the same pitted grey stone. The statues stretched away to a distant vanishing point. The candlelight cast flickering shadows over the grotesque faces of those who had been turned to stone. There were a few men among the statues, although most were Malwagen.

Nevis's face had gone rigid as she stared at the statues. "Did they all lose at Melâth?"

"So many," Seth whispered, "and your own people too. Why are there so many?"

"I've been King of the Malwagen a long time," Bruin replied, "and to answer your question, witch – yes, all here lost at Melâth."

Seth had no further questions. Some of the faces of the statues were so hideously twisted by agony that he and Nevis averted their gazes.

On and on they walked, until their legs started to tire. Eventually, up-ahead, a heavy iron door appeared. Reaching it, Seth and Nevis stood aside so that Bruin could unlock the door. Instead of producing a key, the Malwagen simply whispered a word, and the door swung open, as if pushed by an invisible hand.

A cool breeze caressed Seth's face as he stepped through the threshold. A narrow rocky gorge lay before him; its sides were sheer rock that loomed overhead. Yet, the lower slopes of the gorge had been terraced. Against the bare rock, greenery flourished. Seth's gaze traced row upon row of terraced gardens. He imagined that there must be many of these rocky Malwagen gardens, nestled amongst the Rock and Pillars.

Seth had to strain his neck to see the sky. The day was drawing to a close. How long had Bruin held them captive? It had felt like weeks but in reality it could only have been a couple of days. There was a strange kind of magic within the walls of Bruin's domain that made the passage of time meaningless. Now that Seth stepped back into the world he knew, he felt odd, disconnected.

He turned to Bruin, who was watching him closely.

"Is this where you leave us?" Seth asked.

Bruin shook his head. "If I did, you would never leave these mountains. We are in the heart of the Rock and Pillars and you would break your necks trying to climb out of them. Come!"

The Malwagen stretched his wings to their full extension. They were magnificent, making Bruin appear four times his usual height.

"I will carry you both to freedom. Stand shoulder-to-shoulder."

Seth and Nevis wordlessly obeyed. The Malwagen stepped behind them and clasped Seth around the waist with his left arm, and Nevis with his right. Then, before either of them had time to protest, Bruin gave four rapid beats of his wings. Suddenly, they were airborne and swooping down the ravine.

Seth watched the ground speeding below him. His throat closed. Perhaps this was how Bruin proposed to finish them off; by dashing their brains out on the rocks below. However, the king did not drop him or Nevis – instead he carried them down the ravine, up across a knife blade of peaks and into the Valley of the Tors. They flew over the giant monoliths of rock and followed the valley down to where it widened out into the foothills of the mighty Rock and Pillar Range.

Dusk was settling in a grey cloak when Bruin landed and set his two passengers gently on the stony ground. Struggling to keep his composure, and worried that at any moment the Malwagen would break his word and slaughter them, Seth turned and faced Bruin once more.

"Why the grim faces?" Bruin teased. "I will keep this promise – although I do admit I am not usually to be trusted. You have given me Edessa, a great prize."

Bruin studied them both for a moment, his keen gaze raking over them as he weighed his next words.

"I have brought you to this spot, at this time, for a reason. Shortly, I will let you go. The Andra Valley lies before you and the lights of Mirfaran beckon. But, first, I have something to show you. It's time – look to the west. Watch the sunset, although I counsel you to shield your eyes a little as you do so, or you will blind yourselves."

Seth turned west, as bid. He looked out over Mirfaran and the land beyond, at where the sun was about to set. The town twinkled in the dusk and a fine haze settled over the roof tops. The townsfolk had just lit their fires for the evening. Beyond Mirfaran, the Andra Valley formed a wide, craggy basin for as far as the eye could see before it too blended with the dusky rose sunset.

The sun was an orb of fire. The sunset had dimmed its white heat. As Seth watched, shielding his eyes with his hand, he saw a fine crescent of darkness appear at its edge. He watched the crescent widen and the sun's glow dim.

"Seth," Nevis whispered, stepping close to him. "It's the eclipse!"

"Indeed," Bruin spoke up. "Quite a sight indeed, for it heralds the coming of a new age for this world."

Seth glanced back at the Malwagen and frowned. He let Bruin's comment pass for the moment and, instead, returned to the eclipse. He squinted, as the brightness of the sun hurt his eyes. Slowly, like black ink staining parchment, the moon swallowed the sun. Then, the rosy hues of sunset disappeared and the world plunged into shadow.

Seth's skin prickled and, involuntarily, he took a step closer to Nevis. It was as if all warmth had suddenly drained from the land and sky. Before them, the lights of Mirfaran appeared to dim.

"It is but a taste of what will come," Bruin stepped up behind Nevis and Seth and placed his hands on their shoulders. "Long have I sensed this approaching darkness."

Seth and Nevis stood, transfixed, as the stain began to disappear and the sun's warmth reappeared. The fires in the town below once more flickered into life.

Nevis shuddered. Seth glanced at her face and saw, for the first since their meeting, a glimmer of uncertainty and fear.

"You feel it, don't you witch," the Malwagen murmured. "You know of what I speak."

Nevis nodded and turned her back on the sunset. Her gaze met Bruin's unflinchingly.

"What can be done?"

Bruin smiled, before shaking his head.

"The Sisters of Sial cannot stop the tide, nor can the Malwagen."

The Malwagen King turned his attention to Seth, and fixed him with a hard stare.

"Man has woven this web, and so he must unweave it."

Seth stared back at him, uncomprehending.

"You and your brothers are the last of the order," Bruin continued. "You must survive the coming days or Palâdnith will fall into dark times."

"What must I do?" Seth asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You must travel to the Citadel of Lies. You will find your brothers there. Only then, will the way be shown to you."

Seth frowned. "How do you know this?"

Bruin smiled once more, although the expression did not reach his eyes. "I am old Seth Falkyn, older than ten lifetimes of men. I have seen kingdoms of men rise and fall countless times. I have my own kind of magic – and there are many things I know that I wish I did not."

The Malwagen's voice hardened, his chiselled face as forbidding as the mountain range at his back.

"You must travel fast and watch your step. Your hunter is waiting for you. Even here, I have perceived a shadow that has been lurking, sniffing around our borders while you were my captive. Now you are free it will come for you. Lock and bolt your door tightly tonight."

"But why do I..."

Bruin stepped back from Seth. "I have spoken. Heed my words."

With that, the King of the Malwagen extended his wings and beat them hard, causing the dust around Seth and Nevis to swirl. Through stinging eyes, Seth watched Bruin rise into the darkening sky and disappear back into the Valley of the Tors.

"Heed my words," he shouted once more and then was gone.

For a moment, Seth and Nevis stood there, as the last rays of light slid behind the western horizon. Then Nevis turned to Seth. Her brow was furrowed but her eyes gleamed.

"He speaks true Seth. He's a ruthless, cruel creature, but in this I would listen to him."

Seth felt the world tilt. He did not understand half of what Bruin had just told him. It was like catching half-glimpses, fragments of something through a series of broken mirrors. Confusion made his head ache. He wiped the grit out of his eyes and felt despair well up within him. It was too much. His temples pounded.

"Nevis, help me. I'm lost in the dark – and I don't understand any of it," he whispered.

"Come," Nevis took hold of Seth's hand. Her skin was smooth and warm, and Seth tightened his fingers around hers. She smiled.

"When you're lost there's nowhere to go but forward. One step at a time – and the way will show itself."

Seth took a deep breath and looked around him. Somewhere in the gathering darkness danger lurked. They should not linger out here any longer.

"Very well," he replied, "but for tonight, let us return to the world we know. I need to see people and hear voices and laughter before I start this journey."

Mirfaran lay before them, glowing warmly in the darkness. They set off at a jog down the hillside, towards the glowing street lamps, while the night cast the world into shadow.

Chapter Twenty

The Voice in the Well

"Avalon!"

Eni thrashed around in the darkness and fought to keep his head above water. "Can you hear me?"

Above the roar of the subterranean rapids, he heard her voice – faint and hoarse.

"Eni!"

Then, the water dragged him under again. It was freezing and the force of it threw him up against the rock walls as he hurtled through the pitch black of the mountain's belly. Eni came up spluttering, before clawing at the sheer walls for something – anything – that would slow his passage. His fingers grasped only water and air.

After he and Avalon had stepped off the ledge into oblivion, all fear of the Malwagen had dissolved. Capture by the sprites was not such a terrible fate after all.

Eni took a gasp of air before being plunged under water once more.

We're going to drown.

Panic rose within Eni. He fought to stem it; calm had been the only thing that had saved him since he had fallen into this torrent. His body was bruised, his throat raw from choking on water and exhaustion dragged at him.

I can't manage for much longer, he thought as his back slammed against a wall of rock. Then, the force of the rapids propelled him forward once more. It's beating me...

Eni's flailing hands caught the edge of a rough rock ledge. He grasped on to a spur of stone, but nearly lost his grip when Avalon collided with him. With his free hand, Eni pulled the girl against him, and managed to keep her from being dragged past by the force of the rapids.

"Grab hold of my shoulders!"

Wordlessly, Avalon obeyed. Eni grappled with both hands, his fingers sliding on the slick stone. Eventually, he managed to pull them up onto the narrow stone ledge, just above the water line. They collapsed, choking and wheezing, while water roared in their ears.

It was a while before either of them had the strength to speak.

"Is there a way out of here?"

Eni could hear the fear in Avalon's voice. He was having trouble controlling his own panic – it felt as if the darkness was pressing down upon him.

"I don't know. Let us check."

Blindly, for there was not even a glimmer of light to guide them inside the mountain, they felt around the perimeter of the ledge. It was nothing more than a narrow rock shelf. The walls were smooth stone; there were no tunnels or crevices leading away from the underground river.

"We're trapped here." Eni did not bother to hide his despair.

Avalon remained silent, although Eni could hear the ragged sound of her breathing.

The ledge was not high enough for Eni to sit up without hitting his head, so he lay back and listened to his heart pound in his ears. His mind whirled and fear pinched his belly.

"If we stay here we'll die," Avalon eventually spoke.

"I know."

"What shall we do then?"

Eni reached out and placed his hand on Avalon's shoulder. She was wet and cold. Although she was trying to control it, she was shaking.

"There's only one way out of here," he said softly.

"But we'll drown."

"We might drown," Eni corrected her, "but if we stay here on this ledge, we shall die for certain."

Silence fell between them for a moment before Avalon broke it.

"I'm scared Eni."

Eni reached down and felt for her hand. He squeezed it gently.

"And I'm not?"

Truthfully, Eni felt ill. He was not sure that he could throw himself back into that torrent. Yet, he knew he had spoken the truth. They could not remain here.

"Keep hold of my hand and we shall leave this ledge together."

"Very well," she whispered.

Eni took a deep breath and cleared his mind of thought. He held Avalon's hand tightly in his. Without speaking again, they slid off the ledge into the river.

The chill of the water slammed into Eni and he went under.

Moments later, the force of the current ripped Avalon's hand from Eni's. He could not keep hold of her. In trying to do so, he risked drowning. Eni took a gulp of air before the river pulled him under.

Further downstream, Eni bobbed up and took a succession of gasps. His lungs burned and his throat stung.

I'm going to die here.

It was then that Eni heard a thundering noise up ahead. The sound was even louder than the roar of the rapids. A moment later, he shot out of the mountain and plummeted down the rock face in a column of churning water.

Eni left his stomach behind him as he fell.

The force of the waterfall shoved him under, like a heavy hand pushing him down. Eni fought back with all his remaining strength. He kicked and clawed his way out from underneath the waterfall. His lungs were burning when he surfaced, just yards away.

He drew in great gulps of air and glanced back at the foaming water.

Avalon.

He saw her surface, face-down in the froth. Then she floated towards him, unmoving. Eni kicked out towards the girl, turned her over and dragged her towards the bank. His limbs trembled with exhaustion as he pulled Avalon up onto a large flat rock.

It was still dark, although the moonlight illuminated their surroundings enough for Eni to see that they sat on the edge of a deep pool with a magnificent waterfall thundering down from a chasm high above.

"Avalon?"

He shook her, but Avalon's body was limp and heavy. She was still unconscious, and she was not breathing. Eni remembered how his father had saved his brother, Seth, years ago when they had been learning to swim at a water hole near Barrowthorne. Seth, frustrated that his older brothers did everything first, had jumped into the deepest pool and nearly drowned. Hath Falkyn pulled the boy out and pumped his hands on Seth's chest, until he vomited water.

Eni copied his father now. He brought his fists together and pushed down on Avalon's ribs – just below the rise of her breasts. He repeated it, again and again. Panic resurfaced within him.

I'm losing her!

Suddenly, Avalon heaved up a lungful of water. Eni sat back on his heels and watched her choke and cough. She rolled on to her side and Eni slapped her back to help expel the remaining water.

"Gods," Avalon finally wheezed. "I thought that was the end."

"So did I..." Eni replied. He sank down on the rock next to Avalon, his body spent. The pair of them lay in silence, basking in the miracle of their survival. Eni sank into his stone mattress, as if it were made of feathers.

He must have drifted off, for when he opened his eyes again, the cool light of dawn stained the sky.

Eni sat up and groaned. He ached all over. He felt as if he had been in a tavern brawl. His knuckles were skinned from where he had clawed at rocks during his journey through the rapids. His shoulders, back and hips were bruised. Avalon stirred and stretched her limbs. She sat up and replaited her thick, dark blonde hair, which had come free of its leather thong and curled around her face.

The roar of the waterfall cocooned them; they sat just beyond the misty veil it cast over the rock pool. Looking around him, Eni guessed they were somewhere in the western foothills, in a steep rocky gorge.

Avalon turned and gazed back at the waterfall.

"How did we survive that?"

"Maybe you were right when you said someone was watching over me," Eni admitted."It's not my time yet – nor yours..."

Avalon swivelled round and rewarded Eni with a shy smile.

"Thank you Eni," she said, casting her eyes downwards. "It seems we're even now."

Eni chuckled, before immediately regretting it – his throat was still raw.

The sky was gradually lightening but Avalon and Eni made no attempt to leave the rock. The Malwagen seemed like a distant memory, a forgotten threat, compared to what they had just survived.

"Have you noticed where we're sitting?" Avalon's voice intruded upon Eni's thoughts.

He glanced over at her and saw that the girl was running her hand over the smooth surface of the large flat rock they sat upon.

"What do you mean? Looks like a rock to me."

"Not just any rock," Avalon replied with a knowing smile. "It's a Call Stone. There's one just outside Rathmir Gorge. The elders of my village remember when witches and warlocks used to come and go from it – although it's not been used for years now. Not in my lifetime, at least."

"A Call Stone, is that its name?" Eni looked around at their resting place with renewed interest. "There's a stone, just like this one, a short walk from Barrowthorne Tower. My father said it was a magical place but I thought he was just teasing. We used to play on it as children."

"Feel it," Avalon placed the flat of her palm on the stone, "the rock's warm, even though it's cold this morning."

Eni reached out and touched the stone, away from where their bodies would have heated it.

"You're right!" Eni leant down and placed his ear to the stone. "It's humming – listen!"

Avalon laid her head against the rock, before shaking her head. "I can't hear anything."

"You must – it's loud," Eni insisted.

Avalon shook her head. "Maybe you hit your head last night."

Eni sat up and placed both his hands against the stone. He could feel a warm, throbbing energy there; it was almost as if, upon taking notice of the stone, he had awoken it. The sensation unnerved him.

"Those witches and warlocks that used the stone in your village – how did they access it?" he asked Avalon.

"The elders said that they would call out a word in an old tongue: Artiseth. We used to try it when we played on the stone, but nothing ever happened."

Artiseth. Eni recognised the word. He had used it in the charms he wove into weapons.

"It's a word from Ancient Goranthian – it means to open," he told Avalon.

Her eyes widened.

"Ancient Goranthian – what's that?"

"It's an old tongue, once spoken by warlocks, and more recently, the Sentorân. I learnt a few words from my master."

Eni stood up. He could feel the warmth and vibration of the stone through the soles of his boots.

"Artiseth!"

A grinding noise split the air – the sound of rock sliding against rock. Eni stepped back in surprise, pulling Avalon with him.

"I don't know what I've done," he muttered, "but we'd better get off here before..."

"Look Eni!" Avalon pointed to the centre of the stone. Before their eyes, the rock appeared to hollow itself out. Then, stone steps materialised, leading down into the earth.

"I opened it!" Eni breathed.

"Why didn't it do that when I said the word?" Avalon huffed.

Eni shrugged and edged forward, peering down the stairs.

"The steps lead down to a tunnel. There's light down there."

"Shall we take a look?" Avalon's voice was tight with excitement.

Eni hesitated. They had just extricated themselves from trouble, and he was not in a hurry to find more. Still, those steps fascinated him. It could not hurt to take a look inside.

"Go on then. I'll go first."

Slowly, they descended the stairs. Eni had to bow his head to avoid bashing his skull on the narrow opening. They reached the bottom and found themselves in a narrow tunnel. Torches hung from the smooth stone walls, burning with a strange white flame. Beneath their feet was more of the same featureless grey stone. The air inside the tunnel was cool.

"Let's explore a little?" Eni suggested.

They followed the tunnel straight on for a short while before they came to an intersection; a stone square with many tunnels leading off in different directions. The square had a low ceiling and was lined with torches. Eni swept his gaze over the square, and on the entrances to the various tunnels. Where did they all lead? To other Call Stones perhaps?

A small stone well sat in the centre of the square. It was a simple, crudely made structure, covered in lichen. Eni approached the well and curiously peered into its depths.

Green, stagnant water filled the well. The pale torchlight reflected off its glassy surface. Beside Eni, Avalon glanced down into the well and wrinkled her nose.

"I wouldn't drink that water."

"What's a well doing down here?"

As Eni spoke, the water's surface began to ripple – almost as if his voice had awoken it.

Eni straightened up in surprise, still watching the swirling water.

Then a voice echoed up from the well. It was that of a woman; cold and imperious.

"Sentorân. So you have come?"

Eni stepped back from the well, his heart pounding.

Sentorân. Did this well contain a wraith – one that did not know the order no longer existed?

"Come closer," the voice commanded. "Touch the water so that I may claim you. Do it now!"

Despite his instincts, which warned Eni to stay away, something pushed him towards the well. It was as if a hand was pressing between his shoulder blades. Eni stepped forward.

"Eni!" Avalon's voice reached him. It was faint and echoing, as if she was calling to him from far away. "What are you doing? Keep back!"

Avalon grabbed Eni by the arm and dragged him towards the tunnel they had emerged from.

"Come to me Sentorân!" the voice boomed, causing the green liquid inside the well to froth and boil. "Now!"

If Avalon had not been there, Eni would have succumbed. The voice was inside his head, sapping him of will. The girl towed him backwards; she was remarkably strong for a small woman. Yet, Eni started to fight her. He had to go to the well; he had to touch the water.

Avalon kicked Eni in the shin and shoved him backwards. He stumbled into the tunnel's entrance and – as soon as he did so – the voice's power dissolved.

Eni sagged against the wall and rubbed his stinging shin. He shook his head, as if awaking from sleep.

"We're done exploring this place," Avalon told him. "Let's get out of here."

Avalon propelled him forward. Eni glanced at her face and saw fear etched there.

Eni needed no further encouragement. He had exhausted his curiosity and now wanted to get as far as possible from that well and its chilling voice.

They fled back up the tunnel, causing the torches to gutter as they ran. Ahead, the stairs awaited them. Avalon and Eni bolted up the steps and into daylight. They scurried off the stone, and heard the rumbling of the entrance closing behind them as they did so.

Eni's heart was still hammering.

"The sooner we get away from this place the better," he turned his back on the waterfall and headed west along the river bank. "These mountains have brought us nothing but trouble."

"That voice!" Avalon scrambled along the rocky bank behind Eni. "Who was it?"

"Someone we never want to meet again. I'm sorry we ever went into that place. Thank the gods that you were there or it would have had me."

It was a sobering thought and the pair of them lapsed into silence. They followed the course of the river, out of the gorge.

As Eni walked, he thought of Darin's warning. Someone believes you and your brothers are Sentorân. An assassin hunts you. At the time, Eni had dismissed the warning – now he was not so confident.

The sun had still yet to clear the sheer wall of rock to the east when they emerged into the foothills. Eni stopped and gazed upon the panorama before them. Central Omagen in all its majesty stretched out beneath rugged foothills. It was a relief to see open land before him, after his experience in the tunnel. For the first time since leaving the Call Stone, Eni felt his nerves settle.

Sharp morning light bathed the vast area known as the Rocklands. The landscape was craggy and strewn with boulders for as far as the eye could see in every direction. To their right, Eni could make out the faint strip of the highway that wound its way down the foothills before turning south. Eni felt an odd pang as he looked upon the landscape. It had been so long since he had set foot in Omagen that he had forgotten its stark beauty.

"It looks so arid and empty compared to Cathernis," Avalon commented.

"That's because it is. I grew up here. It's a land of cruel beauty."

Avalon gave him a side-long glance.

"Since you are from Central Omagen, you can tell me how many days travel till Tarras?"

"Four days at least."

Eni and Avalon joined the highway and made their way down the pebbly foothills. They had almost reached the flats when Avalon gave a shout.

Eni followed her gaze. When he saw what had attracted her attention, he smiled.

Up ahead, grazing placidly by the roadside, with his saddle and most of their baggage still strapped to his back, was a small grey donkey.

***

Eni awoke to find the sun warming his face and a bird twittering nearby. He wriggled out of his sleeping place under a boulder, and went looking for Avalon. He found her fixing two sandwiches of thinly sliced rye-bread and some roast rabbit she had kept aside from the night before.

They had made good time over the past two days, striking out south through bleak, empty terrain. At dusk on the second evening since leaving the Starwalden Alps, Avalon had gone rabbiting with her slingshot – an easy task in the rabbit-infested Rocklands – while Eni had gathered wood. This had proved a more difficult task as there were no trees in the Rocklands, only desert-loving plants such as wild thyme and stunted, thorny shrubs. In the end Eni came back to their campsite dragging two dead briar bushes. That evening, as the moon rose into the heavens, they had dined on succulent roast rabbit, seasoned with a little thyme.

Eni felt in high spirits this morning; it was incredible what a good meal and an uninterrupted night's sleep could achieve. Their ordeal in the mountains – the Malwagen, their near drowning and that terrible voice in the well, now lay behind them. It was a bright morning and the air was the warmest it had been in months.

Eni was now in Central Omagen, out of Lord Valense's jurisdiction. Yet, Eni knew he shouldn't feel too confident. The Rocklands were not policed, and if Valense's soldiers had followed him into Omagen, no one would ever know.

They set off south once more, and even Irwyn seemed energised this morning. The donkey strode out along the rocky highway, his ears pricked and his head high. Avalon rode him first. Although the road was rough and potholed, the terrain was relatively flat and they made good time. The surroundings brought Eni back to his childhood; of playing amongst the rocks in the valley behind Barrowthorne. Eni, Val and Seth had played hide-and-seek there, before their games turned nasty. Seth had been easy to push around but Val had a sharp tongue and a wilful temperament. Fortunately for Eni, Val was a weed compared to his muscular older brother; one punch usually finished the fight, but the resentment lingered for days afterwards.

Once they had eaten a brief lunch, Eni took a turn riding Irwyn. He enjoyed riding the donkey. Irwyn's gait was not as smooth as a horse's, as he had a much shorter stride, but despite Irwyn's frail appearance he carried Eni easily. Perhaps the donkey would have struggled under normal circumstances, when Eni was fit and strong, but these days Eni carried little flesh on his bones and his clothes hung off his frame.

Slowly the shadows lengthened and the day waned. Avalon started singing. She had a lovely voice and Eni encouraged her to sing his favourites, most of which were alehouse classics. Eventually, after a long list of requests, she began singing a ballad. It was one that Eni had never heard before. The loneliness and longing in her voice made goose pimples rise on his arms, despite the warm afternoon.

Over mountain

Over down

Over the dying sea

Over lands that never weep

I will search for thee.

Through long years

While beauty fades

Through sorrow and through pain

Through harm and hope I will walk my love

To hear your voice again.

"Where did you learn that one?" Eni asked when she had finished. "Can't say I like it – gives me the chills."

"From a wandering bard who visited my village last summer. He sung many such songs about love and hope, despair and loss. Half the women in the village fell in love with him."

Eni snorted at this.

Avalon turned to Eni and frowned. "Why do you scoff? Such men as him are rare, most are mannerless brutes."

"Well then, what happened to this bard of yours?" Eni replied, biting the side of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing.

"He fell in love with me, and I with him," Avalon replied, without a hint of embarrassment. "He had to return home but promised me he would be back when the last autumn leaves fell."

"But he didn't come back, did he?"

Avalon shook her head.

"And you believed him?"

"You don't understand," Avalon's eyes flashed. "A man like you knows nothing of such things!"

Eni laughed.

"That may be true but let's turn the subject of conversation back to you shall we? Am I right in assuming this bard lives in Tarras?"

Avalon glared at him. "He may be injured, or sick. I have to go to him!"

Eni shook his head in disbelief.

"Did it ever occur to you that when he told you he would come back he was lying? Many a man has done it. He probably meant no malice – he just did not want to see your tears and pleading. If you find him in Tarras you may not like what you discover. He won't thank you for crossing 'mountain and down' to find him. Life is not like the songs Avalon, tis far less pretty."

Avalon stared at him. For a moment, Eni thought she might burst into tears, then her expression hardened and he thought she might hit him. Moments later, she shrugged off his comment.

"For you it probably is," she replied airily, giving no sign that his words had wounded her. "I wonder if you've ever loved anything or anyone in your life – even your parents. Keep your wisdom to yourself Eni Falkyn, I have no use for it."

That concluded their conversation – and the singing – which was a pity for Avalon had an enchanting voice, only now she was not in the mood to share it.

The rapport that had grown between them over the past few days dissolved. Eni had enjoyed baiting Avalon at the time, but now faced with her cold silence he wished he had restrained himself. He had just alienated his only friend.

The sun's warmth faded as they travelled and the air grew chill. The land rose slightly and the highway reached an arid plateau and wove its way through great stacks of stone. The shadows of the boulders stretched across the road, blocking what little warmth remained of the late afternoon sun. After a while, they left the boulders behind and made their way down a long slope.

Dusk approached quickly in a flame of red and gold. Ahead, Eni saw something sticking up against the horizon. At this distance it looked like a dead tree, but as they drew closer, he realised it was a crossroads.

The Rocklands Crossroads was an austere spot, with just a weathered pole and equally worn signs pointing in three directions: Fallenstar Pass, back the way they had come; Tarras to the south; and Haâst to the west.

"Just a day's journey from Tarras," Eni announced, breaking the silence between them. "Shall we stop here?"

Avalon motioned towards a clump of boulders to the east. "Let's camp behind those."

Her voice was cool, but at least she was still speaking to him.

They were just about to move off the road when Avalon gasped and pointed towards the setting sun in the west.

"Eni, look!"

Eni turned and froze. The sun was a fiery red orb, almost touching the edge of the world – but a black stain was creeping over the edge of it. For a moment, Eni just squinted, uncomprehending. Then he remembered the ragged man he had witnessed ranting in Swamphaven.

It will be the end of us all when it comes...

The moon will devour the sun...

The sea will rise in a great wave and drown the world...

The Realms will fall...

Evil will crawl across the land...

Like Darin, Eni was a practical man, not given to superstition. Still, the sight of the darkness, sliding across the face of the sun, made him shiver.

"The eclipse," Avalon whispered, shielding her eyes from the glare with a hand. "The elders of my village have long spoken about its coming."

"What did they say? Is it the end of the world?" Eni's mouth had suddenly gone dry.

The darkness devoured the light. A great shadow fell over the Rocklands and threw the day into night. A chill crept down Eni's neck. Then, as quickly as it had fallen, the shadow lifted. The black fingerprint slowly edged off the face of the sun and the sky lightened.

Avalon let out the breath she had been holding and glanced across at Eni.

"No, it isn't," she gave him a strained smile. "In my village the eclipse heralds the beginning of a new era – a fresh start. Whether that brings good or evil I do not know."

They watched until the black stain disappeared. The sun was now setting behind the hazy western horizon and the last fiery ribbons curled across the sky. The sunset now looked no different to countless others Eni had witnessed.

"Maybe it is the beginning of a new era – it's certainly a new start for me. My old life is lost," he said.

"It's also a new beginning for me," Avalon answered, her face resolute, "I won't be going back to Rathmir Gorge."

Eni turned to Avalon and met her clear, blue-eyed gaze. He gave her a sheepish smile.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I had no right to make fun."

"It's forgotten," she waved him away, embarrassed. "Forget about it."

Eni turned Irwyn towards the boulders where they would make camp for the night.

"Well then, these two weary travellers should celebrate the dawning of two new lives. Go hunt us some rabbits, while I start a fire. Let's have us a feast!"

Chapter Twenty-one

Floriana's Request

Val Falkyn did not trust people who asked him for favours – especially those he barely knew.

Even if she had been a friend of his mother's, Floriana DeSanith was no different.

The connection that Floriana had forged between them, that delicate thread of trust, snapped. Val stepped back from the hauntingly beautiful wraith and frowned.

"A favour? What could you possibly want of me?"

Reading Val's expression Floriana gave him a pained look.

"You need someone who can train you in the ways of the Sentorân. Otherwise you will never be able to access the powers you possess. I am the only person who can do that."

"But you're a wraith. You can never leave the High Dragon Spines."

"In my current state I cannot, but remember – I am not dead. Riadamor did not slay me like she had the others. My mortal body lies in a slumber, hidden deep in the underworld, while my spirit rests here. I need you to call my body back. There is only one way I know of that can open a portal between this world and Moden."

Val shut his eyes and massaged his temples in an attempt to make sense of her words.

"Inside the Citadel of Lies," Floriana continued, "where Realmlord Kaur wishes you to gain access, there is a magical object – the Blood Stone."

A Blood Stone. Val remembered reading about these, just a day before his departure from Tarrancrest.

"It is a diamond-shaped red jewel with a black heart; pretty to look upon but its looks belie a great power. Your mother used one to vanquish Riadamor. It is the only known way of opening a portal between Palâdnith and Moden, which those of this world can travel through."

"I know of the Blood Stone," Val admitted. "For centuries, only kings, realmlords or the head of the Sentorân wore one. At best, they used the stone to rid the world of evil, at worst it was an effective way to dispose of their enemies. I thought they had all been lost."

"They have been – but what is lost can be found. You will need the stone in order to release me and I know that a Blood Stone resides somewhere inside the Citadel of Lies."

"What must I do?" Val's voice was flat with resignation.

"You must retrieve the Blood Stone. You must take care not to drop it, or a way could open to Moden and take you with it. Instead you must wrap this about the stone and call out the words I have written here."

Floriana passed Val a small, drawstring pouch. Val opened it. Inside, there was a lock of silky blonde hair and a scrap of parchment with words written in Ancient Goranthian.

Pathway of dark, pathway of night, take this body into the light.

Body and spirit come as one, into this world under moon and sun.

"The hair is mine," Floriana explained. "Once you have called out these words you must cast the stone to the ground, as far as possible from yourself. If the spell works then I will appear in flesh and blood before you."

"I will do it," Val replied with more resolution than he felt. "If I find the Blood Stone, I will do as you have asked. But can't we use it to rescue my mother?"

Floriana shook her head, her eyes deep wells of sadness.

"Not yet Val. Once I am free, I might be able to discover a way to use the Blood Stone to rescue Belythna, but you could never manage it on your own. If you used it to transport yourself to Moden, without first discovering a way back, you would be trapped there – I'm sorry."

Val looked down at the white and blue fire burning in the hearth and felt grief constrict his chest.

"Val," Floriana intruded upon his thoughts. "Do you still wear it?"

Val glanced up at her, frowning. "Wear what?"

"The amulet your mother gave you."

Val felt a jolt of surprise. He had worn the necklace for so long that, of late, he had forgotten about it. He reached under his shirt and pulled the amulet free.

"Can you read the runes on the back?" she asked.

Val nodded, feeling a surge of pride as he did so. It had taken him days to decipher the runes, using a book from the depths of Tarrancrest's library. The parchment had been so old that many pages risked crumbling in his hands. Eventually, he had cracked it.

"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth."

Floriana smiled. "Yes, well done. Do you know what it means?"

Val's momentary surge of confidence faded and he shook his head. "I have no idea – is it a riddle?"

"Yes, of a kind," Floriana smiled. "Come, dusk is approaching and I must show you something. Once you've seen it, you might understand."

Confused, Val followed Floriana to the back of her cave. Before them was a narrow archway, with a steep stone staircase leading upwards.

"Follow me."

Val followed Floriana's lithe, transparent figure up the steps. The wraith moved silently; the only sound was that of Val's boots scraping on the rough stone. The steps were steep and the ceiling so low that Val had to bend double to avoid hitting his head. Up and up they went, so high and so far that eventually Val's blood roared in his ears and his heart hammered against his ribs. His twisted ankle throbbed. Drenched in sweat, he paused a moment to catch his breath.

Eventually, the pair emerged onto a narrow platform. An icy wind fanned against Val's heated skin. When he cast his gaze out across the view, his breath stopped.

From this high up, it appeared as if the whole world spread out beneath him. The ledge wrapped around the tip of a snow-capped mountain peak. Val edged around it, keeping his back close to the ice wall. To the south and the north, he could see marching rows of the tips of the High Dragon Spines; and to the east the blanket of red tussock and rolling hills that merged with a hazy horizon. To the west he saw, for the first time ever, the emerald carpet of Westhealm; a vast forest that stretched from the western foothills of the High Dragon Spines to the shores of the Tarquinian Sea.

"Look," Floriana glided towards Val and motioned to the west, "you can even see the Citadel of Lies from here."

It was true – there in the distance, its gleaming spires catching the light of the setting sun, the Citadel sparkled like a rare jewel.

"It's beautiful," Val murmured. "I never knew the world looked like this from above."

Floriana smiled. "It's quite a sight, but that's not why I have brought you up here. Look at the sunset Val – just don't stare directly at the sun or you'll damage your eyes."

Val obeyed. The sun was near to sliding behind the rim of the world; a bolus of fire that reflected off the sea. As Val watched, a sliver of black appeared at one edge of the sun. Slowly, inexorably, the darkness swallowed the sun.

Val gasped. "The eclipse!"

The world plunged into darkness, and even the Citadel of Lies no longer shone. Val shivered and pulled his cloak close. He glanced across at Floriana but she was still watching the eclipse, her face a smooth mask.

A sliver of gold re-appeared at the sun's rim. Gradually, the black disc moved off the sun's face and light bathed the land once more.

"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth," Floriana turned to Val. "You've seen the sun and the moon. Now, what of the truth?"

"Is it the Citadel of Lies?" Val looked across at the twinkling spires. "Maybe it is there that truth lies"

"Perhaps. Or it could refer to the eclipse itself, as a harbinger of a new age – one of truth."

Val glanced back at where the sun had almost set. "There are those who believe an eclipse is an ill-omen," he said.

Floriana shrugged. "Folk believe many things. You can choose whether or not to listen to them."

Val watched her; his mind wheeled and his head ached.

"Come Val," Floriana glided away from him, towards the stairs. "You have seen enough. Now you must rest. I will take you to your friends at dawn.

Val needed no further encouragement. He stepped off the ledge and followed Floriana down the long stairs, back to her cavern. Limping heavily, he stumbled over to the cushions and, not even bothering to take off his cloak or boots, stretched out across them. After several nights of sleeping rough, this bed felt fit for a lord. Within moments, sleep had dragged him down into its embrace.

***

The faint glow of dawn was appearing in the east, a pale gold shimmer through the encircling mist, when Floriana DeSanith led Val Falkyn to Captain Tobin and Lady Cirinna's campsite.

"They have been searching for you," she told him as they approached the two sleeping figures by the side of the Spine Road. The embers of last night's fire smoked between them and the outlines of three horses were visible close by. Val felt a surge of relief that his roan had found the others.

Floriana turned to Val then, and fixed him in a gaze that made his skin prickle. This woman, for all her beauty, was as strong and formidable as the High Dragon Spines themselves.

"I suggest you tell them nothing of our meeting, and do not trust either of them. The captain is loyal to Realmlord Kaur above anyone else and, even though her father has sold her without a second thought, the girl still craves her father's love," Floriana advised.

Val nodded, his mind still spinning after all he had seen and heard since meeting Floriana.

"I must retrieve the Blood Stone," he returned Floriana's gaze and patted the breast pocket of his leather waistcoat where he had tucked away the note and the lock of Floriana's hair, "and bring your body back to this world."

Floriana nodded. "Take care in the Citadel, for it is an ancient place with many secrets."

Val pulled his cloak tight around him. The chill of these mountains penetrated his very soul. He did trust Floriana DeSanith, largely because he had little other choice, but also because she had been his mother's friend. His choices in life had suddenly become very limited and Floriana was a bright beacon; a pathway out of the dark.

A sense of purpose replaced Val's despair. Floriana had charged him with a task and he was eager not to disappoint her. As if reading his thoughts, Floriana smiled. The smile caused the edges of her eyes to crinkle and for the first time Val saw no sadness there.

"So short was our meeting Val," Floriana reached out and stroked his face. Val felt a cool whisper caress his skin as she touched him. "I knew you would pass this way one day and I have had no choice but to wait. Now, I must wait again."

"I will not fail you," Val replied with a stab of empathy – it must be a lonely existence up here in the cold mountains with only unhappy spirits for company.

"You must not fail," Floriana replied, her voice low and urgent. She left him then, her pale form dissolving into the mist.

His left cheek still tingling from where she had touched him, Val turned and viewed the sleeping figures of Captain Roth Tobin and Lady Cirinna Kaur.

It had only been a day since they had parted but Val felt as if years divided them. His encounter with Floriana DeSanith had completely altered his perspective. Lady Cirinna's disdain and Captain Tobin's disrespect no longer bothered Val – he now understood things they did not. When the time came for his disposal, he would be ready for them.

Crouching at the edge of the campsite, Val reached out and gently shook Lady Cirinna's shoulder. "Milady."

Her eyes opened and she stared up at him. Relief flooded across her face.

"Where have you been? We've searched the road twice!"

"Falkyn!" Captain Tobin sat up and threw off his covers. "What idiot games have you been playing? You have made us lose precious time."

"I fell from my horse and knocked my head. When I awoke I set off to find you."

"We searched the road," Tobin growled, getting to his feet and squinting into the mist. "You must have hidden from us."

"I told you. I was knocked out. I awoke next to the road so I find it surprising you did not see me. The mist must have tricked your eyes."

The captain glared at Val. He did not believe him but lacked evidence to back up his suspicions. Lady Cirinna got up and brushed off her cloak before stepping forward to examine the purple swelling on Val's forehead.

"Are you fit to travel?"

"He's travelling, whether or not he wants to," the captain cut in. "Saddle your horses."

Val turned his back on Tobin and went to the roan, stroking the horse's neck affectionately. While the others packed up, Val saddled the roan and was the first to be ready to leave.

"How much further till we cross these accursed mountains," Lady Cirinna asked Tobin. "Surely we must be almost at the pass by now."

"The Spine Pass is around half a day's ride away. It will take a day to ride through it, and another three down the other-side of the mountains before we reach Westhealm," the captain replied.

Upon those words, the small party resumed its journey up the Spine Road, into the heart of the High Dragon Spines. The first rays of sun peeked through the mist and took the edge off the bone-numbing chill. The last to move off, Val twisted in his saddle and glanced behind him.

There, merging with the pale fog, he could have sworn he saw the glowing silver outline of a beautiful woman, watching him go.

About the Author

Sam J. Charlton is an author of epic fantasy adventures. Her novels are character-driven, coming of age stories that take place in richly drawn fantasy worlds. Fast-paced, and full of memorable characters, her books are for anyone who loves traditional epic fantasy.

Sam also publishes Historical and Fantasy Romance under the pen-name, Jayne Castel. Her Epic Fantasy Romance, Ruled by Shadows is now available. Find out more at: www.jaynecastel.com/fantasy

Two of Sam's novels: Journey of Shadows, and The Children of Isador, were shortlisted for the Sir Julius Vogel Awards.

PUBLISHED WORKS:

The Children of Isador

The Palâdnith Chronicles:

Journey of Shadows (Book 1)

The Citadel of Lies (Book 2)

The Well of Secrets (Book 3)

Sam lives in New Zealand's South Island, where she works as a freelance copy writer.

Find out more about Sam's books at her website: www.samanthacharlton.com

Did you enjoy Journey of Shadows? Independent authors rely on you, the reader, to let others know you liked a book! Please leave an honest review so that other readers can find it – thank you!

Seth, Eni and Val's story continues in The Citadel of Lies (Book Two of the Palâdnith Chronicles). Will they escape their hunters? Will they be reunited? And what lies in store for them in the mysterious Citadel of Lies?

Here is the Prologue for you to enjoy!

The

Citadel

of

Lies

Book Two of the Palâdnith Chronicles

Sam J. Charlton

Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact.

Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.

Marcus Aurelius

Prologue

The Messenger

"My Queen, I bring news."

The voice rasped, breaking the endless silence.

"Obviously, or you wouldn't be here. Tell me, have my servants succeeded?"

The woman's gaze slid over the ravaged creature that bowed before her. Like the others, he would serve her till she chose to free him. Although she could not communicate directly with the four she had sent out through the portal, the others here could share their thoughts. They were one entity, the keepers – and now they served only her.

The keeper before her cringed and stepped back from his mistress before replying.

"The brothers still elude their hunters."

The woman frowned. "How is that possible?" she enunciated each word carefully, as if speaking to a half-wit. How have three creatures, bred for one purpose only, failed me?"

"They have not failed you yet mistress. The youngest of the three brothers escaped on horseback. He travelled inland and entered the Valley of the Tors, where the Malwagen took him captive. There, your servant could not reach him. He managed to escape the sprites, and his hunter has now tracked him to Mirfaran. The assassin sent after the weaponsmith travelled to Catedrâl, only to find his quarry three days gone – he now tracks him through the Rocklands towards Tarras. The eldest brother survived two attacks during his journey west, before he met with Floriana DeSanith on the road across the High Dragon Spines. She has given him courage and purpose."

The messenger's voice trailed off then, watching as his mistress's face grew thunderous.

"I gave my own blood to create those creatures," she hissed, her eyes narrowing into slits, "and they cannot catch three unsuspecting and untrained men!"

"There is still time my Queen! Your servants close in, even as we speak. They will not fail you."

The woman clenched her fists and waited for her murderous rage to pass.

"They had better not. What news of my fourth servant. Has he found it yet?"

"Not yet, my Queen. He searches still, but it has been hidden well."

"Over two decades in that place and still no closer to retrieving it – I am very disappointed in you all."

The servant quivered, but wisely kept silent.

The woman waved him away.

"Leave me. I cannot stand the sight of any of you!"

The messenger shuffled back, bowing so low that his knuckles scraped on the damp stone. Relieved to have survived the encounter, the creature stepped onto a rope bridge that creaked under his weight, and hurried away.

Riadamor, Queen of Moden sighed. She suddenly felt old and weary beyond description. She looked about her with disdain. What a foul domain she ruled. Three decades of residence in this wretched prison had not made her accept her fate.

She stood on the stone platform; the very place she and Belythna had awoken on the day of their arrival. It was the portal into Moden but in thirty years there had been no other newcomers – they had been the last.

In reality, the platform on which she stood was the flat top of a rock pillar that rose from the centre of the abyss and anchored a network of rope bridges. It was a solitary island of stone in an empty sea, and five paces from one side to the other.

Riadamor circled the platform, her long silver gown rustling as she strode. With Belythna dealt with – imprisoned in one of the many cells that lined the cavern walls – time stretched out with agonising slowness. Moden held her in stasis. She did not need to eat or sleep; she would never grow old or die. The boredom of her existence had almost broken her but still she fought it.

I will not be defeated.

The witch knelt then and placed her hands on the cold stone beneath her feet.

I came into Moden through this stone, and I will never stop searching for a way out.

More Epic Fantasy by Sam J. Charlton

The Citadel of Lies

(Book Two of the Palâdnith Chronicles)

Three brothers. Three assassins. One destination.

In the dark forests of Westhealm lies the fabled Citadel of Lies.

Seth, Eni and Val Falkyn travel towards it - and towards an uncertain future.

Val must retrieve the Blood Stone, a powerful charm that can open a way to Moden, the magical underworld prison.

He must free Floriana DeSanith - the only person who can train the brothers in the ways of the Sentorân.

Yet another, more powerful, artefact lies within the Citadel of Lies.

In the wrong hands, it could destroy the world.

Three assassins stalk the brothers. Seth, Eni and Val must die before they reach the Citadel.

Before they discover the truth.

The Well of Secrets

(Book Three of the Palâdnith Chronicles)

The last chapter in an epic fantasy adventure begins...

The Well of Secrets (Book Three of the Palâdnith Chronicles) is a tale of adventure, discovery, fear and courage. It's the story of three men, and the legacy that binds them.

Seth, Eni and Val Falkyn stand at a crossroads. The Citadel of Lies now lies behind them and the Collar of Jade is lost.

Floriana DeSanith convinces the brothers that in order to gain the skills they need to rescue their mother from Moden, they must first become Sentorân. Reluctantly, the brothers return home to Barrowthorne, to begin their training – a decision that they eventually come to regret.

Meanwhile, an ambitious young realmlord travels to Deep-Spire with hopes of power and glory. At the same time, Edessa Delfen – who has escaped the Malwagen – begins a hunt for the man she deems responsible for the death of her lover: Seth Falkyn.

When a new discovery comes to light, the brothers' focus changes once more. Instead of continuing their training, they set of on another quest – this time in search of the mythical 'Well of Secrets'.

However, there is far more at stake than the brothers realise...

The Children of Isador

An epic fantasy tale of high adventure, wizards, warriors and sorcery. The Children of Isador begins under the shadow of a land threatened by invaders from far across the southern oceans.

A year later, the continent is almost overrun.

The Morg and their war machine appear unstoppable. Led by a powerful warlock bent of vengeance, they have gained control of over half the continent and stand on the brink of taking the last bastion of men: the City States of Orin.

Morgarth Evictar has returned to Isador after a long exile. History has forgotten him but the warlock is determined to claim the continent for his own.

Isador is about to fall into darkness – and only a handful of unlikely heroes remain to save it. Among them are:

A wizard with no interest in his craft...

A witch whose powers have yet to be tested...

A warrior who is about to learn the true meaning of courage...

A guardian with undiscovered talents...

Together, they must begin a perilous quest into occupied territory – to find Morgarth Evictar and slay him. It appears an impossible task, but the fate of Isador depends on them all.

Can they rescue Isador, or is it too late?

Shortlisted for the Sir Julius Vogel Awards in 2008 (for New Zealand authors of Fantasy, Science Fiction and Horror), The Children of Isador is a gripping adventure that fans of traditional epic fantasy will love.
