Prologue
Unlike Emily, who came from our world, Frieda was born on the Nameless World and was raised in the Cairngorms, one of the poorest and most desolate parts of the Allied Lands. She developed magic when she entered her teenage years and was sold to Mountaintop Academy, where she was lucky enough to meet Emily (The School of Hard Knocks). They became friends and Frieda was allowed to follow Emily when she returned to Whitehall
She never returned home, until now.
Chronologically, the story starts roughly midway through Oathkeeper.
There was something in the air.
Radovan could feel it as he pushed his way through the twilight, stepping between trees and down paths that had barely been explored since the nearest village had been destroyed and the land cursed. It was rare for anyone to come so close, and even Radovan himself had been careful to skirt the edge of the ruined village, rather than go into the pooling shadows. The risk was just too great. Those who walked into the ruins never came out again.
He kept moving, frowning slightly as he pressed through the undergrowth. It had been a mistake to travel so far from his village, but times were hard — they were always hard — and his family were desperately short of food. Nothing had been decided, yet, but the murmuring had already started. It was just a matter of time before the old and useless, or the small and weak, were shoved into the cold, giving their lives — willingly or not — so the rest of their families could survive. Radovan hated the thought of his aged grandfather, a man who’d reached sixty, being sent to his death, but what choice did they have? If he found food, the old man might live to see sixty-one. And here…
His fingers searched the bushes, feeling for hidden mushrooms and other fungi. They would feed the family for a few short days more, if he found enough. If not… his stomach hurt, the hunger gnawing at his soul. He knew he should bring his find home, to feed his parents and older brothers, but he wanted to eat it himself. He knew, although he’d never admit it, that if he didn’t find enough he’d put himself first.
Why not? Everyone else did.
The ground shook, violently. Radovan tripped and fell, rolling down an incline he was sure hadn’t been there a few moments ago. He heard things crashing behind him, saw giant shapes — tree trunks — flying over his head, smashing to the ground further down the incline with sounds that almost deafened him. There was a brilliant flash of light, like lightning in a cloudless sky, there and gone so quickly he barely registered it. And then the world seemed to stop dead. He hit the bottom of the incline and lay still.
Silence. There was nothing but silence. And the whispering.
Radovan stumbled to his feet, quickly checking himself for wounds. There wasn’t anything beyond a handful of bruises. He breathed a sigh of relief as he straightened, taking deep shuddering breaths. The world was a harsh place, for a man with broken bones. His family couldn’t afford to let him heal on his own, let alone take him to a healer. The very thought was utterly absurd… he shuddered, feeling his body ache as he moved. The bruises would heal quickly, if he got home. If…
He looked around. There was… something, a strange shimmery radiance, flicking in the air, calling to him. The whispering was growing stronger, a sound right on the edge of his awareness… a sound tempting him with understanding, if only he listened long enough to make out the words. He staggered towards the radiance, despite all the old wives’ tales of things lurking within the darkness. He wasn’t sure what was calling to him, but… he couldn’t resist. His legs seemed to move of their own accord.
The world shifted. Something was right in front of him, something dark and yet illuminated by a strange light that made his eyes hurt. He gritted his teeth as the whispering grew louder, unable to comprehend what he saw. Or heard. He reached out, a lone voice screaming at the back of his head to stop, to run, before it was too late, and pressed his head against the thing. The whispering grew louder, the voices suddenly clear. They promised him everything he’d ever wanted — a full belly, a life of idleness, a wife and children who didn’t have to slave all day if they wanted to see the night — as long as he let them in…
… And he did.
Chapter 1
Frieda woke, alone.
The tent felt hot and uncomfortable, a faint light shimmering through the canvas reminding her it was shortly after dawn. She sat up, taking a deep shuddering breath as she gathered herself. She’d slept in worse places — the floor of her family’s hovel, the dorms of Mountaintop — but there was something about the small tent that unsettled her. It felt both solid and flimsy, mocking her as she tried to catch a good night’s sleep. The wards crackled around her as she reached out with her fingertips, carefully dismantling the spells that had protected her during the night. She’d never felt comfortable sleeping without them, or the pistol Emily had gifted to her last year. The tent was big enough for two, if they were close, but she’d flatly refused to share. She couldn’t sleep properly if she wasn’t alone.
At least Hoban understood, she thought, brushing dark hair out of her eyes. And Emily …
The thought gnawed at her mind. She liked Hoban, not least because he let her sleep in a single tent. It was odd, she was sure, to his mind. She’d have sex, but not sleep — literally sleep—with him. Emily was about the only person Frieda had ever managed to sleep close to, and even she had been difficult, in those early days. And the less said about the dorms of Mountaintop and the rooms of Whitehall the better. She just preferred to have space to herself when she was asleep and vulnerable. The wards just didn’t feel like enough.
She crawled out of the bedroll and reached for her clothes, pulling trousers and shirt over her sleepwear. It felt grimy but compared to her childhood it was heaven. She scowled to herself — if she’d realised where they were going, she might have had second thoughts about spending much of the summer with her boyfriend — and tied her hair back in a long ponytail before clambering out of the tent. The campsite was remarkably active… she told herself she was being silly. Whitehall had spoilt her. Her old family had risen when the sun rose and gone to bed when it fell behind the distant peaks.
The air tasted fresh and pure, the faint scent of wild magic brushing against her nostrils. The campsite, nearly ten miles from the nearest major town, was surrounded by trees and — in the distance — mountains rising so high their peaks vanished in the clouds. She shivered, despite herself, as she looked at the trees. The clearing felt a little too clear for her peace of mind. It was hard not to fear unseen eyes. She’d grown up in the Cairngorms, before she’d been sold to Mountaintop, and she’d never quite managed to rid herself of the habits she’d learnt as a child. Her tutors had called them superstitions. She wanted to believe they’d been right. And yet…
She took a long breath, her eyes peering into the pools of shadow, then forced herself to walk on stiff legs towards the fire. Hoban was standing by the flames, brewing a pot of something the archaeologists — the diggers, they were nicknamed — considered stronger than kava. He smiled as she appeared, then picked up a mug and poured for her. Frieda took a moment to study him — he was tall and muscular, with hair cut close to his scalp and a nasty-looking set of scars that ran under his shirt — and then took the mug, sipping it gratefully. It tasted foul, and set her teeth on edge, but it woke her up. Hoban nodded politely — he was a man of few words — as the rest of the team appeared. He handed round the drinks without a hint of hesitation, or suggestion someone else should do the work. It was one of the things she liked about him. The men in her childhood had always passed such jobs to the women.