‘Can we go around them?’
‘We could, but it would take us leagues out of our way, and they would most likely still see us; there is little shelter on the surrounding moorland.’
‘That would only matter if they are waiting for us,’ Corban said. ‘Brina, would Craf take a closer look for us?’
‘He will if he wants any supper,’ Brina said.
Tukul approached the trees, a small wooded dip in the land. He tightened the hood of his cloak, a bearskin taken from Dun Vaner, masking his face. His sword and axe were strapped on either side of his saddle, within easy reach. Overhead the sky was grey, clouds low and heavy.
Highsun, already.
Craf had returned with the information that a score of men and at least one giant were hidden in these woods, off the road, no fires.
He rode amongst the first trees; the light dimmed instantly, shadows encroaching all around. It is nothing compared to Forn. He stared straight ahead; half a dozen of his sword-kin were about him, as well as Dath and Farrell.
They rode in silence for a while, only the sound of hooves echoing on the road, the creak and sigh of branches around them. Then Tukul thought he saw movement, just a shifting of shadows. He resisted the urge to touch his sword hilt.
Undergrowth crackled as the woods burst to life, figures leaping out at them, ten, fifteen, more. In a blur, Tukul had drawn his sword and thrown his axe, heard the satisfying crunch of it cleaving flesh and bone. He smiled, then froze as he saw his attackers clearly.
They were Jehar.
He stood tall in his saddle, shrugging his cloak away, revealing his coat of mail and dark robes.
‘Hold,’ he bellowed, the power of his voice freezing everyone.
A score of the Jehar stood about him, swords raised in various stages of attack. They stared at him and his companions as if they were ghosts.
They are Sumur’s; there is no other explanation. I do not want to slay these, my sword-kin.
‘Brothers, sisters, you have been deceived,’ he cried out. ‘Put down your swords; there should be no bloodshed between us.’
For a moment indecision hung in the air, everyone still, staring at him. Then another figure burst from the shadows, this one huge and broad, muscled like a bull.
A giant.
He charged straight for Dath and Farrell, a black-bladed axe raised high.
Dath drew and shot an arrow, the shaft skittering off the giant’s coat of mail, then the giant was on them, roaring as it swung its axe.
Dath yanked on his reins; his horse danced away and Farrell kicked his own mount on, barging into the giant, knocking him to one knee. He stood quickly, swinging his axe overhead at Farrell. One of Tukul’s Jehar spurred in between them, raising his sword to deflect the axe. The weapons met in an explosion of sparks, the axe-blade shearing through the Jehar’s sword, carrying on to slice into the warrior’s head, carving through into his chest, blood and gore spraying.
The act was like a spark being lit. The other Jehar who had frozen at Tukul’s words sprang to life, leaping forward with a roar. Tukul parried a sword swing and countered, saw his attacker stagger. Then other figures were bursting from both sides of the trees, Storm leading the charge, leaping upon a Jehar warrior, blood spraying as they tumbled across the ground. Meical appeared, Corban and Coralen in their wolven cloaks and claws, Gar close by, more of Tukul’s Jehar. The battle was short and furious, the surrounded Jehar fighting with the skill and ferocity he would expect, but they had no chance, outnumbered and surprised.
The giant burst for freedom, smashing through the chaos of fighting bodies with two of his Jehar guarding his escape, holding off any pursuers for a handful of moments. By the time they were dead the giant was gone.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR
FIDELE
Fidele sat at her desk with a quill hovering in her hand. Her other hand held a sheaf of parchment flat. She was sweating.
Just write it. Lykos controls me by some spell. The words my mouth speaks cannot be trusted. Kill Lykos.
That is what she wanted to write, what she was willing with all of her mind and strength for her hand to write, but it refused, as if it were a separate, sentient entity. It hovered over the parchment, a tremor of will setting droplets of ink splattering across the parchment. With a strangled yell she flung the quill away and collapsed on the desk, breathing hard.
Lykos. She could feel him, even now. A caress in her mind, a presence, like a watcher in the shadows, a maggot crawling across her skin. It made her feel sick. For a moment she could feel his hands on her, smell his sour breath, a wave of revulsion spasming through her body.
She sat up. Parchments were spread across her desk, the one before her empty, others full of her flowing writing. Most of them were orders pertaining to the movement of troops, her eagle-guard, her protectors, and she was ordering them to details in the far corners of Tenebral. Scattering any of those loyal to her away from her reach. Another wave of frustration welled up inside her.
She stood and walked to a window, gazing out over the lake and plain. Winter was on the retreat, a hint of spring coming. Her eyes were drawn to the arena that sat between Jerolin and the lake town, a malignant growth in her once-perfect view, a symbol of what was happening to Tenebral.
And how the people of Tenebral had taken to it — to pit-fighting, a fight to the death as entertainment. She would never have believed that they would scream so loudly for the sight of blood, like a pack of frenzied hounds.
Have I been so naive? Does such a darkness beat in every heart?
With a startling clarity she remembered the contest she had witnessed, the man with the axe against a warrior wielding two swords, behind them Peritus and Armatus chained to a post. Her heart had leaped as she’d seen her two old friends set free, other warriors rushing into the ring, pulling them to safety. Then the Vin Thalun had fallen upon them, the ensuing chaos ending in Armatus having his head hacked from his body by Lykos.
Peritus, at least, had escaped. Lykos had been in a rage for days after, sending warriors to scour the countryside, but Peritus had disappeared. Her guess was that he had gone home, to his village in the northern mountains. The Vin Thalun would never find him there.
Their ships studded the lake, more arriving almost every day. She didn’t know how many Vin Thalun sailed the Tethys Sea, but surely every last one of them had swarmed to Jerolin. Lykos and his kind were like one of those parasites that attached themselves to a host, laying eggs in its body and eating it from the inside out.
That was how she felt, consumed from the inside out, her whole world spiralling into an ocean of permanent despair. As she looked out of the window the urge to just step out took hold of her, to step into nothing, to just fall and fall and fall. But even that was beyond her, she knew. She’d already tried to take her life. Anything to be free of the hold on her, but Lykos’ will was a compulsion in her mind, a cage that she could not escape.
Lykos strolled in, the sight of him making a fist of fear clench in her gut. He looked her up and down as he approached, his eyes lingering.
‘I have some good news for you,’ he said, running a finger down her cheek. ‘Your time of mourning Aquilus is passed.’
I will never stop mourning Aquilus.
‘Surprisingly, at this stage in your life, you have found love again. You thank Elyon for this rare blessing.’
Dear All-Father, no, let this be a dream, a nightmare. Let me wake from it.
‘We will be wed in a ten-night. There will be much celebrating in Tenebral at your newfound happiness. Games will honour the occasion. The fighting pit will run red.’ He grinned. ‘You may smile.’